Content warning: Mentions of miscarriage
"You should read The Light Between Oceans," someone will tell you, six months after you miscarry. They won't know what you know now, the myriad ways your own minefield of a body can betray you. You'll stand by the stove preparing dinner, the landline cradled between your shoulder and ear, and feel the steam from the boiling water scald your face. You'll watch the bubbles rise from the bottom to kiss the surface while your friend goes into detail about the novel.
"The couple in that book had two miscarriages and a stillbirth," she'll say, as though it's some kind of competition, as though the book isn't fictional, as though grief can be quantified. "Can you imagine that?"
Begrudgingly, half of you will pay attention to your friend; the other half will be listening—though you'll never admit it to yourself, to anyone—for the frenzied footfalls on the other side of the phone, the lively lilts of lullabies, the sibilant sounds of someone practicing their ABCs. The last time you spoke with your friend, just as you were preheating the oven to cook garlic bread, you heard that coveted word in the background, high-pitched and desperate: Mama. It hit you like a hurricane, made you recoil. The landline landed in a pot of pasta sauce. You picked it up, red and dripping, apologized to your friend, told her you had to get dinner started for your husband. That night, the two of you ate takeout.
"You should talk to someone," a different friend is going to say, three months after it happens. You'll both be sitting at the local coffeehouse, inhaling the aroma of dark roast and watching the rain sluice down on pedestrians. By then, you'll already be an expert at reading between the lines, well-versed in finding the subtext in people's well-intentioned advice. You'll know what your friend means: You should talk to someone else.
"It's been three months," he'll say, as though grief can be quantified. He'll take a gulp of his double-shot espresso and you'll take a sip of your fruit juice. A force of habit—sometimes you'll forget you're back to drinking for one, that it's fine to have caffeine, if you want. You won't ever want to.
The last time you drank caffeine was at your baby shower. When your friend offers the name of his therapist, that's what you'll be thinking about—the cupcakes and the balloons and the decorations, all hot pink. You'll spend countless nights thinking about that day, remembering how everyone raised their wine glasses, so sure of something so uncertain, when your husband proposed a toast. "To baby Ava," he said, and everyone drank. You smiled, because the name was your idea, and took a sip of Coca-Cola, the closest drink to you at the time. The bubbles burned your throat and tingled your gums and filled your stomach. You swore you felt the baby kick.
You'll wonder, later, about things. If that sugar-sweet sip of soda, your one transgression in the months of water and juice and milk, was what did it. You'll wonder how something could take up so much space inside you, in your body and your mind and your heart, and then, one month later, leave you hollow. Empty.
Before you leave the coffeehouse, before you throw half your juice in the trashcan, your friend will scribble the therapist's information down on his receipt and pass it to you. Thanking him, you'll offer a broken smile as you glance at the name on the paper: Ava Brooks.
"You shouldn't blame yourself for it," your doctor will say during your follow up appointment, a month after it happens. Her words will sound hopeful, but you won't feel uplifted. She'll scoot her rolling stool closer to you and touch your arm and look you in the eye.
"Listen, you did nothing wrong. These things can just happen. For women your age, it's about a fifteen percent chance," she'll assure you, as though grief can be quantified.
Still, she'll run some tests, do an ultrasound, have your blood drawn. You won't mind the phlebotomist's needle as it lances your vein. You won't feel a thing. You'll be too busy remembering the blood and the cramping on the day your life changed. The way you thought you were being punished for something, and the price you paid for the pain to stop.
"You should take the rest of the week off," your boss will say when you call him the morning after it happens, a Thursday. Then he'll regrettably apprise you of the fact that the company doesn't do bereavement for this type of circumstance, so he can't pay you if you do. As though grief can be quantified.
"Take it easy and try to enjoy yourself." You'll cringe when he says that, like you're going on a vacation.
It's only two days off work, but you'll take it. You'll make plans to go shopping, catch a matinee, take a walk in the park to clear your head. You can imagine it: Strolling through the shopaholic streets of downtown, seeing everything and buying nothing. Watching a Nicholas Sparks movie alone in the theater, ensconced in darkness and heartbreak. Sitting on the edge of the park's fountain, feeling the water spurt up and mist over your body.
Instead, you'll actually spend those two days, and the rest of that weekend, sequestered inside your house. The only shopping you'll do is picking out different television networks. There will be no Nicholas Sparks movies to choose from, no running water strong enough to cleanse you.
But you will try. All of it.
You'll try the book your friend recommended, but put it back on the shelf before the stillbirth part, unable to differentiate yourself from the childless heroine.
You'll try meeting with Ava Brooks, the therapist, sprawl out on her lumpy chaise lounge, and even manage to last a few sessions before proclaiming yourself to be miraculously cured and cancelling all future appointments.
You'll try not blaming yourself, but it wasn't your husband's fault and you stopped believing in God long ago, so somebody will have to take the fall.
You'll try enjoying yourself, but realize that it's harder than it looks now. You will go shopping, but you'll find yourself drawn to the maternity clothes. You will go to the theater, but leave halfway through the movie when you sense a happy ending coming. You'll visit the park too late in the year and find the fountain dry.
But you will try it all because, on the day your lives were upended, your husband helped you into bed, and when you woke up, the bathroom floor was spotless and lemon-scented.
Because he bought you your favorite gourmet chocolates and takeout and a Nicholas Sparks movie, and anything else you asked of him.
Because the only thing he said that day was: "You should tell me how I can help you."
Because, unlike everyone else, he wasn't giving you advice when he told you that. He was waiting for you to help him so he could help you.
Maybe you were waiting too.
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Great story! Sad, certainly, and the subject of miscarriage is a devastating one. Still, the story ends on a hopeful note. It's not about healing, but it's about building up to where healing might be possible.
And that's the thing I really like about this story, the theme. The whole time I was reading it, each time a friend or professional offered their advice, I saw "both sides". The protagonist's resignation, that polite-but-distant "yes, thank you, I didn't ask for advice but I guess you mean well," and the fact that the other party *did* mean well. The discomfort this generated felt very real.
It also beautifully sets up the ending. That's one of those lessons that's both simple and profound, and yet for some reason so bloody elusive.
I'm going to ramble a bit. The story got me thinking.
There's something in us, I think, most of us anyway, where we see someone hurting and we want to help. But we don't really know what we're doing. Sure, if someone's on fire, you can take action and put them out.
But what action can you take with a pain like this? We get restless and default to something -- anything -- even if it's unsolicited advice or canned "nuggets of wisdom." Maybe the problem is that listening feels like inaction. Maybe it feels like an admission that the problem doesn't have an easy solution, or maybe doesn't have a solution at all, and that scares us because it makes the world less black & white and shows us our limits.
Maybe we fear limits because limits mean failure, and failure is bad. Certainly it seems like it anyway. Socially we celebrate winners and shun loses, after all. And of course this is ironic, because our need to "win" against problems like this gets us nowhere, while the husband that listened, that realized time, space, and being ready to help when she needed him was more important, was actually in a position to ultimately do something.
Thanks for the thought provoking story!
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Thank you, thank you, Michał, for such a thoughtful, detailed comment. You're a great reader -- knew exactly what was going on with the theme and the story being more about the possibilities for healing.
Also, I know you've told me you're a software developer (I still can't believe you're not an editor), but if you ever feel like doing something else, I bet you'd make a killer anthropologist with this kind of analysis. Seriously, you're very knowledgeable about people and why they do what they do. Glad to see your thoughts on this subject matter -- I think you hit the nail on the head with your social commentary. Thanks again!
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Michal, I'd like to hire you as a Doula for my agency. Because yes to all of that!!
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Zack, I think I mentioned how restraint gets to me more than melodrama, and how going against the grain will get me more than anything else. That ending is all this: while love and hope finally show their faces tentatively, like animals after a storm, the delivery is dry and unsentimental (unlike my simile) and all the more moving for it.
It's striking how well you have captured the everyday inferno of mourning, from the well-meaning platitudes that can make you rethink a friendship to the smallest triggers waiting in ambush day and night. While I trust you've never experienced first-hand the tragedy of a miscarriage, you display once again a remarkable gift for empathy. This, along with your natural talent for a good turn of phrase, is one of your most precious tools as a writer.
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Thank you as always for this, Patrick. I don't always succeed at keeping melodrama out of my stories, but I try.
You're right. I've (thankfully) never experienced this type of situation firsthand - the same goes for most of my stories, now that I think about it - but I really enjoy writing about these types of situations and seeing how people navigate them. Resilience fascinates me. I feel like I've become more empathetic myself from writing these stories.
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This is so beautifully written with so much empathy and emotion that it sounds like a personal experience. Nicolas Sparks is a great go to for processing sadness and melancholy.
I love the ending especially…how you brought them back around to help each other through it.
I always learn when I read your stories. You seem to work at challenging yourself to write a variety of ways and you truly excel at all of them. 😻
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The entire mood of this story felt, (fittingly) like a cold, rainy day. My heart went out to the main character and I cringed at all the ways people tried to help. It’s quite obvious you have empathy in abundance and understand how grieving people feel. Well done.
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Zack, this was beautiful, and you have such an amazing ability to summon emotions. Your prose is so smooth it's like it melts off the page into my brain. Well done. :)
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It’s not only the fact that you can successfully write a story in both second person POV and in future tense, it’s the fact that you can do all that and still pull my heartstrings. You really made my feel the emotion of the character, the heartbreak in the situation. Miscarriage is such a devastating topic that you handled with such grace and understanding.
This is such a beautiful story from a fantastic writer!
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Thank you for the kindness, Ella! It's always nice to hear that the emotions of the story can affect the reader. Thank you, thank you.
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Beautifully sad. Like I literally shed a tear. I've never experienced a miscarriage, thank God, but everything you described applies to all loss. Well-meaning friends and family all try to help, but really don't know how or what to say. Having someone just sit with your, hold your hand in the silence is sometimes the best thing to do in those moments. But whether you receive that or not, the only thing to heal the pain is time. Thank you for this raw story.
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Thank you very much for this comment (and a belated I'm sorry for making you cry). You got it exactly right - being well-meaning/helpful can be a lot more complicated and nuanced than it looks, sometimes nigh-impossible. Time is the biggest healer of them all. Thank you for reading this one.
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Wow, this was an incredibly moving story. You have a great talent for sensory language when it comes to small detail and although I have no experience with this heavy topic, this story really affected me.
"sibilant sounds of someone" is of course brilliant.
"You'll visit the park too late in the year and find the fountain dry" was heartbreaking.
You have a great talent for observation, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading this story.
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Thank you very much for the kind comment, S, and especially for noting the fountain line. That's the one I was hoping would hit the most.
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This was such a poignant story. The way you run through the many different affronts (bordering on microaggressions) the narrator experiences is an incredibly effective way to drive home how an emotional wound can be reopened again and again, even by well-intentioned people. The turn at the ending is also deeply moving.
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Thank you very much, L.M. You got it just right - I couldn't have said it any better myself.
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I was really moved by the grief in this story, and the sense of isolation in the face of ‘helpful’ interventions. The hint of connection and comfort provided by the husband is beautiful.
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Thank you very much, L. I'm glad the isolation translated to the page.
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I know from reading your other stories you are an amazing writer and really get human emotions and relationships, but I was still impressed (and a bit surprised tbh), that you could get so believably into the head of a woman who has miscarried. This subject is close to home for me, and you really picked up on so many things - the guilt and trying to find a reason for what has happened, the well meaning people saying clunky things and recommending terrible books and movies, the hurt of seeing other parents with their children, doing normal things like shopping reminding you of the loss.
"the myriad ways your own minefield of a body can betray you" - this is such a great line.
Other thoughts in no particular order;
Second person POV works so well when you do it. I actually made an attempt at it after seeing it done on here and was just switching heads and tenses all over the place. You make it flow and feel really seamless, but I get it is actually a lot of skill to make it look easy!
I really love you you did the timeline by starting six months later and then going back through the last six months of everything she has tried to help with grieving and working back to the beginning, the 2nd person was really an effective technique for this too. It adds to the sense of looking back reflecting.
This format combo of the 2nd person/reversing time could have easily gotten confusing, but signposting it with the "three months later etc" references, keeps it moving backwards in a clear way. (Since you mentioned timeline/transitions on your comments to me I was paying attention to how you handled that part of it).
I really love that even though the end takes us back to the beginning, there is a sense of hope in it, because of the love and support between her and her husband.(Also, I appreciate that you did not use her getting pregnant again to provide that sense of hope/healing). Even though I always enjoy your humorous stories, I have to say the 'realism' you write is what really speaks to me and touches my emotions.
Your writing is just so good, flowing and descriptive and slightly poetic (the lively lilts of lullabies) and lines which are really powerful:
"You'll wonder how something could take up so much space inside you, in your body and your mind and your heart, and then, one month later, leave you hollow."
Sorry I feel like all this is not entirely coherent (I literally write my stories in 1 day and spend 6 days editing, my off the cuff unedited writing is a mess even in review form!) but I love that you chose to write about this and did so in such a sensitive and thoughtful way.
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I think this is the longest comment I've ever received on here, so thank you for putting so much time and thought and care and effort into writing this, Kelsey! Just made my whole day. And I'm happy to know I did the subject matter justice - I'd hate to be insensitive on a topic like this (with which I have limited experience).
I'm right there with you on 2nd person POV. There's something about writing it that just makes me lose all sense of tense usage (hence the future tense in this story to try to keep myself from messing up). It's definitely an entirely different behemoth than 1st and 3rd person (which I also personally find tricky).
Very glad the timeline and the ending made sense. And yeah, I love realism so much; it's definitely my favorite genre (as I'd bet it's yours too). I think I've said this to you before, but I absolutely love finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. The way people connect with each other and the emotions they experience are so much fun to explore.
I'm always amazed at the people who can sit down and crank out a story in a day. I've tried so many times and it just never works out. Hats off to you. Maybe some of your skill will rub off on me.
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Favorite sentence in the entire piece:
for the frenzied footfalls on the other side of the phone, the lively lilts of lullabies, the sibilant sounds of someone practicing their ABCs.
So I'm a doula, have been now of almost a decade. Bereavement support is something I do, and something that I hope is never needed. When it happens, and it does, it's just a different kind of devastation. I think of the countless people in my life that are marked down on dates throughout the year to wish their children a happy birthday or to wish them a happy Mother's Day... Because we're the ones who don't shy away from that.
I liked how you used the dripping phone in red sauce because it gave a foreshadowing down to the part where the blood and cramping starts.
I liked the repetition of As if grief can be quantified. It goes back to that whole notion of it not being linear or static right? That's how I describe it anyway.
I'm a SUPERFAN of 2nd POV, and I cannot resist it. I wish more folks would give it a try. You executed it well and I always love seeing the male perspective on this topic, especially with how you closed out the story.
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Shea, what a lovely comment! Thank you for mentioning the "frenzied footfalls" sentence. I felt like I was really overdoing the alliteration, so it's amazing to hear that just the opposite.
Also, yeah! You gave me a comment a couple stories back about grief being neither static nor linear, which directly brought up the quantification line. So, thank you once again.
2nd POV is super underrated. There's something about inhabiting the life and actions of the main character that you just can't get in the other POVs.
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This was a beautiful story, Zach, and I'm glad that I read it. You absolutely hit this story out of the ballpark with how it was organized and also all of the different characters. It's easy to relate to the main character, even if you've never experienced this situation before.
You have quite the way with endings, as well. I love how you worked through every single thing that didn't work with the other characters until you got to the one thing that did. It made the final scene of the story mean even more because now you have all of this reasoning behind the character's experience, why she keeps going even when it gets very tough.
What a moving story, Zack. Thank you for sharing this!
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Thank you, Kai! I had doubts about a lot of the things you mentioned as I was writing it (the ending especially), so it's so relieving to hear that things worked. Thanks for reading it!
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Heartbreaking, but beautiful. Once again, amazing work, just like all of your other stories.
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Thanks for always bolstering my confidence, Awexis! You're awesome.
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J.C.!
Thanks for the compliment on the six-months-backwards structure. It was the only format I could think of to keep myself on track for the narrative, so I'm glad it did its job. And I'll trade you the ability to write literary prose if you trade me your ability to write fantasy 😬. Urban, medieval, literally any kind - I'm desperate to learn the secret of how to do it!
I wrote this yesterday, a few hours before the deadline (i.e. after I read your story for the week), and I'm thinking now the Nicholas Sparks reference and happy ending line had to have been subconsciously influenced by your story, LOL. So, before I forget, thanks! 😘
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To page 2, and many more! 🎉🥂
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There's this quality in all your pieces, which makes the reader believe you have lived those characters' lives. And you don't just write about them, you transmit their essence to the readers! That's a tremendous gift as a writer you have,Zach.
It's brave of you to have tried this theme(especially speaking in mother's voice) but you have done it so well.You have chosen to give credit to her partner for giving her space to grieve and not give out generic forms of quick fix healing. Surely he too has some healing to undergo. It is a welcome departure from another 'mother' figure offering help. I liked the ending.
The third paragraph 'begrudgingly... ' is my fave in this piece. It has powerful imagery, turns of phrases and a couple of gut punches that truly land.
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What a lovely comment, Suma! That's a huge goal of mine as a writer (probably everyone's goal) to write stories in a way that rings true and real, so thank you, thank you!
The third paragraph was the most fun to write of the whole story, so you have no idea how happy I am to hear that you enjoyed it. Thanks again for writing this!
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I'm sure this is news to absolutely no one but god, I'm so in love with the way you write!
At the very start I copied the sentence "They won't know what you know now, the myriad ways your own minefield of a body can betray you." Because it hits home and it is beautiful... But then I realized I can't just copy paste every sentence to fangirl over. The whole piece is beautiful - just masterful, stunning, lyrical prose. And 2nd person made a come back! Before Reedsy I never realized its potential... It was definitely the right choice for this story.
Loved how the husband was such a nice guy here - and in the back of my mind, I'm like... I hope he is given attention and help, too. And yeah, not the kind where people talk as if grief can be quantified. I think the friends / boss' advice was unfortunately spot on...
Hats off to you, and need I say good luck in the contest?
This reads like a winner. ❤️
PS: Next week's prompts look fun!
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I'll be honest: You were the one I had in mind when I wrote the minefield line, which was directly inspired by your "TMI" story from last month. 😂 I'm shameless, I know, using your writing for inspiration on this type of subject matter like that.
I was 100% sure 2nd person POV was retired, but hey, contest deadlines force you to do some crazy stuff, am I right? Plus, second person is a nice excuse to cross future tense off my writers' bucket list (that FOR SURE is getting retired with this story, LOL).
And I've got a bet going (with myself) about the prompt that you're gonna choose for next week. One of them looks like it's got your name ALL over it, but we'll see.
Related side note: It's too bad you wrote "Dressage Diaries" already. That one would've fit right into the fifth prompt.
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Aww I'm happy I can be useful inspiration :D
Also, nice one with the future tense! I don't think I've ever done that, but it's definitely something for the future (LOL)
You'll have to tell me which prompt you mean, I'm curious! I've not even decided yet..!
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I do NOT recommend future tense, LOL. It was an absolute nightmare trying to get everything to line up, hence my late posting of this story (and also, you know me and deadlines don't get along).
And I'm thinking the "friendship involving two species" prompt seems right up your alley, what with your story about the lizard men (I know they were both lizard people; I'm just saying you're really good at writing non-human characters), and ESPECIALLY the Selaphiel stories (I'M creatively classifying angels as a species different than humans, so it counts, in my mind).
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Oooh that reminds me I already have the draft for my next Selaphiel story..! And you're right I was eying up that prompt, haha. But maybe it's too soon for another one 🤔
PS: I know how late you started writing your story this week so I'm genuinely impressed you got it done by the deadline, and on top of that, it's so good!
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👀 Another Selaphiel story, you say? On the bright side (no pun intended), you at least have a contingency plan this week, if all else fails. Just slap some angels on it and call it a day, LOL. (Maaaaybe too soon, but it's always in your back pocket.)
And thank you! This piece was my backup, backup plan, because the other two stories were going to be too long to finish by the deadline, so it's nice to hear it's actually decent.
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Good I've got nothing to hide x"D
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OMG, what a Horrible Book to recommend to anyone!!
Zack, I had to go back to reread your story title; I felt it could have been "As If Grief Can Be Quantified." I felt those words, repeated as they were, held the heart of your story.
I love how you introduce the husband's actions--what he did and didn't do. I had wondered what went on between them as he would need support as well. He's a strong man in his sensitivity and caring and I applaud him.
There are parallels with grief and death here. People think they are 'helping.' When they should be "waiting to help" (to paraphrase your words.)
Thank you for bringing a women's private issue to public awareness :)
Yours in writing,
Lavonne
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Thanks, Lavonne! I must've gone through ten different titles for this story, and I'm not even that jazzed about the one I have now, so I'm happy to see a replacement suggestion. Totally agree with you about the merits of the one you chose; don't be surprised if you see the title of this piece change in a day or two.
You got what I was getting at too (and articulated it better than I could've). Unsolicited advice can be just as harmful as it is helpful, especially with this kind of situation. Glad the husband's sensitivity translated to the page.
I saw you just posted another new story too. You can bet I'm gonna go take a look.
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Why must you write sad and touching stories so darn well? Your going to make me cry one of these days and that is just an ugly sight to behold. I’m holding it back, but good grief Zack have mercy on me!
“The myriad of ways your own minefield of a body can betray you.” That is such a good, heart wrenching line! Spectacular line I might add. You capture emotion so well in your stories. Like really really well! You showed how grief can really swallow us whole, and how well intentioned but somewhat thoughtless advise can make things worse. Sometimes we just need someone to shut up and help us out.
10/10, well done, bravo 🎉
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Thanks, Bradon! I've got a story brewing for this week's contest already, and I PROMISE it won't be as depressive as the last few have been. Probably...maybe...we'll see how it goes.
The minefield line was one of my favorites here (maaaybe my favorite), so it's nice to hear that it worked. You got exactly what I was going for with the story too. Thanks for being a good reader!
By the way: I was surprised we didn't see a story from you last week! That week seemed geared towards comedy pieces, so I thought for sure you'd throw your hat in the ring. Either way, I'm looking forward to seeing another one of your stories sometime in the future!
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Life has gotten in the way of my writing recently but I really like the prompts for this week so I’m hoping to make time to crank out a story. I might stray from comedy just a bit. Probably…maybe…you get the idea😂
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LOL. Well, whatever you come up with, I'll be looking forward to reading it, comedy or otherwise!
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This is a weird question, but would you mind if I used your name in a story. It would be a brief cameo appearance. Essentially my narrator would attempt to leave me for a better writer. I figured I would ask first though
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LOL, absolutely. You're more than welcome to use whatever of mine you need to if it means you're writing a story!
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