Reflecting on the Grist… the inspiration and the process

I don’t know where this story came from, except I borrowed details from other stories, true stories.  My older son’s classmate broke his neck at Sandys.  During an autobiographical class at University of Hawai‘i, Mānoa, I met their classmate who had been bodysurfing with him when the accident happened.  My friend Marty had been a paramedic and answered a call where a young man died of a pneumothorax wound; that incident deeply affected Marty; he felt so helpless, because at the time paramedics in his state were not authorized to treat that particular injury.  I fact checked with my classmate Dr. Tim.

In the story, there’s a stretch of road where the accident occurs.  In reality, it’s the stretch of road across from Crouching Lion, and although I have often seen rocks piled on the side of the road there, I have never seen a surfer, only fisherpeople.  

I inherited a purple troll from a family event.  The cooking classes in this story were fictional at the time I wrote this story, but in pre-COVID times, classes were taking place at the college where I teach.

Although I’ve never had to deal with the death of a child, I have friends and family members who have lost a child and then their minds for a time.  Based on their experiences, I don’t think there’s anything worse than burying a child. 

The story was workshopped under the mentorship of Ian MacMillan and included in my MA thesis, The Grace of Dark Times.