By Wendy Reed
On a wet Tuesday morning in 1996, Wendy Reed's motor vehicle hydroplaned, crossed an interstate median, and crashed into an oncoming automobile, whose motive force used to be killed. notwithstanding Reed and her son have been unhurt and Reed firstly defined herself as "fine," within the months that she will be engulfed in a typhoon of guilt and recrimination, in addition to jarring criminal complaints over the twist of fate. In An unintended Memoir, Reed, an award-winning documentary filmmaker, issues the lens at herself and explores that twist of fate and a succession of private reports via truth and fiction. instructed from strange views and in hugely figurative language, the tales draw at the Southern Gothic culture of Flannery O'Connor and have darkish humor, improper humans, disastrous occasions, and moments of religious grace. Taken jointly, this choice of intentionally fragmented essays and brief tales develop into a meditation on matters corresponding to paintings, kin tasks, dying, and elevating a...
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Additional info for An Accidental Memoir. How I Killed Someone and Other Stories
No decathalon or anything. Not even walking. And in this room. Standing only. The legs are amused; they like a good pun. They’re even more amused at the thought of standing. I think of an alternative. Maybe I can slide right off. Piece of cake. Sliding is easy. My sisters and I line up and do the electric slide every chance we get. We subject bystanders to our version, not because it’s so much fun for us, but because we’re so good at it that we’re sure everyone will be enthralled. Even an hour and fourteen hundred front-back-together-front-back-side-side-slide-turn-turn-slides later we’re sure the enthrallment has only increased.
Like me, she hid behind whatever she could get her hands on. The day I found the steer skull, I’d reached the location by following a rudimentary topo map. I was discussing the best way to cut an access road to new property. The wavy lines on the map depicted the ups and downs of the land itself. The boundaries were a mess. But I’d been in similar places before. This time, I’d lied to get there. Told my kids half-truths about where I was going and with whom. I’d gone into the forbidden once again, and like the earliest pagans of Sumer who offered sacrifices to the moon gods, I understood about impulsive, sacrificial pull.
I finally get the ER registrar’s attention. She looks nice enough, a little blurry around the edges, maybe, but nice. Perhaps she’s melting. ” she barks. Her voice hasn’t melted, that’s for sure. On second thought, maybe I’ll just go back home and lie down. If I could’ve, I probably would’ve. But my balance was getting a little suspect. I cleared my throat and leaned in. “This is rather embarrassing,” I start, only to have her interrupt me. “No, this is an Emergency room in a Hospital,” she says, like I can’t read all the signs.