Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.
Let’s spin the WHEEL OF MISERY and write some short scenes based on whichever stage of grief that it lands on!
During the last stream, a subscriber requested that we write some stories based on the five stages of grief.
According to psychology, there are five stages of emotions that a grieving person goes through:
- Denial – When you believe the unfortunate situation is mistaken, and cling to a false, preferable reality.
- Anger – When you recognize denial cannot continue, you become frustrated. “Why me? It’s not fair!” “Who is to blame?”
- Bargaining – When you try to find a way out of the unfortunate situation. For example, promising to change your lifestyle in exchange for a cure, etc.
- Depression – When you despair, become silent, spend time mournful and sullen. “Why bother with anything?” “What’s the point? Why go on?”
- Acceptance – When you embrace the reality of the unfortunate situation, typically achieving a calm perspective. “I can’t fight it; I may as well prepare for it.”
We put all five options on a wheel, spun it, then wrote short stories based on that stage.
The first one was: bargaining.
Here’s what we wrote:
“Please, Mom!” I begged, holding both dinosaur LEGO sets in my hands. “I can’t choose just one. Can’t I have both?”
“No, sorry, Gunther,” Mom said, glaring at me. “I said you can have one. Remember? This is something we’re trying to work on.”
“I know, but…” I said, my legs bouncing up and down in frustration. “But… this is different. You have to buy two sets to enter the LEGO sweepstakes online!”
“Gunther,” Mom said, starting to raise her voice. “You can get one set now, and hey, your birthday’s coming up, right? You can get the other one for—”
“No!” I cried. “Then it’ll be too late. The contest ends in two weeks. Please, Mom. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll… um, do the laundry for a month. How about that?”
Mom snorted. “I don’t think I can trust you around all those Tide Pods.”
“Please, Mom! I’ll cook dinner. All month. I’ll even clean up the dishes too!”
Mom made a retching sound. “I’m pretty sure the only dish you can make is microwave macaroni and cheese. I’d probably need an IV of all the nutrients I was missing after a week.”
“Please, Mom…” I begged one last time. She shook her head, and that’s when I knew I had to bring out the nuclear bomb. I steeled my nerves, my face, and put on my serious voice. “If you buy me both, then I won’t throw a tantrum here in the middle of Wal-Mart.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed to burning slits. “Gunther Mackenzie, now you’ve made me mad. You put both those LEGO sets back on the shelf right now, mister, because we’re—”
“I’m going to scream that you’re kidnapping me,” I said, holding both LEGO sets tight to my chest. “They’re going to have to stop you. And ask you questions. That’s the law.”
The air between me and Mom was on fire. Both of us stared each other down, waiting for the other to give in. But I couldn’t. I’d gone too far. I’d put all my chips on this bet, and if I lost, I was done for. No LEGOs and a spanking when we got home. Even if I won, I knew those sharp slaps against my tushy were still coming anyway, but I could endure that. So long as I had both LEGO sets.
“Let’s go,” Mom said curtly. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you until we get home.”
She turned and clacked away on her high heels. Not a single word about putting either of the LEGO sets back on the shelf.
Nice. I kept my smile of victory to a minimum as I followed behind her, not wanting to rub it in her face or anything. In all honesty, I wasn’t even really thinking about her anymore. The only thing on my mind was how jealous Tommy Johnson was going to be when I told him I got to enter the contest online and he didn’t.
Heh, maybe I’d even invite him to my birthday so I could show off both sets to him. That’d make it even sweeter. You only turn 45 once, after all.
Next we spun the wheel again and got: acceptance.
Here’s what we wrote:
Whenever Joana used to get a fresh rejection letter in her inbox from a literary agent, the pain would sear through her skull all day like a hot nail driven in with a hammer. They always came in the morning, starting off her day by puncturing another hole in her shriveling self confidence.
You’re not good enough. That thing you created isn’t good enough. Even though you poured all of your heart and soul into it for years, it’s not good enough. You can try again, but no matter how many times you try, the things you create can only be as good as you are. And the fact is, you aren’t good enough.
But now, as Joana stared at a new rejection from her latest novel in her inbox, there were no searing nails. There were no poisonous whispers in the back of her mind.
There was only a calm acceptance.
Somewhere around the five-hundredth rejection, anger and sadness evaporated away into a quiet peace. She’d tried so many different stories, so many different strategies, but they all ended up at the same incinerator disguised as a finish line.
After ten years and just as many novels, Joana was finally okay with the reality that she was not going to be a published author.
That’s the thing about admitting a dream of yours has flatlined. Other people never understand. They try to figure out a way to give it CPR or defibrillate it. “You can just self-publish!” “Maybe your next one will make it!” “Go to more writing conventions!”
It’s kind of strange, in a way. How attached we are to other people’s dreams coming true. Maybe that’s because so few people actually have a chance of pursuing their own, and even when they do, so many of them are too scared to actually do so. So they live vicariously through other people’s dreams, always with the thought that maybe their own will come true someday, somehow, for some reason, but if they see yours die, then they may have to accept the reality that theirs is already dead.
But here’s the thing. No one else except you knows how hard you’ve worked on accomplishing your dream. You know all of the hundreds, thousands of hours you’ve poured into it. You know all the incredible things you’ve learned. You know how much better you’ve gotten than when you started, even if your “better” still isn’t good enough. Or ever will be.
But that’s exactly it right there. A dream isn’t a cake. Or a picture. It’s not something that is finished and then eaten or hung up to stare at forever. It’s not something you can even touch. It’s an idea, like freedom or justice, that has no beginning or end, just different levels of density. Clouds of dreams that can sometimes be thick rumbling storms, or barely visible white streaks in the sky.
Joana is proud of what she’s created. All those books she wrote, most people go through life not even writing a single one. Just like most go through life not driving a monster truck, going to the moon, slaying a dragon. She went places most can only dream of, even if she ended up as one of the armored skeletons on the ground in the dragon’s cave, rather than the hero who actually ends up slaying it.
What happens to a brave warrior’s wonderful story if it is never told?
It lives happily ever after inside of them.
“Acceptance” illustration by cozyrogers
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Top image: Pakutaso