WHALES

IRA GLASS ON STORYTELLING

"Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through."

BURDEN

She shuffles through the massive, revolving doors. The faint smell of vomit and disinfectant is strangely comforting to her. This is how she spends her Friday nights, volunteering at the Children’s Hospital. When she reaches the sixth floor, she is over an hour late. The Child Life Specialist, Sarah, is always telling her not to apologize.

Sarah asks her if she wouldn’t mind visiting a five year old girl in the ICU. The girl is on droplet precautions, requiring hand hygiene (soap and water before entering), vinyl gloves, a paper gown and a mask. The volunteer scours her hands. Every time she exhales through the mask, her glasses fog. Volunteers don’t read patient’s charts, so it’s often hard to tell who the precautions protect. The girl’s little limbs are crumpled in their nest of wires and tubes. The volunteer’s paper mask, the girl’s oxygen mask and the whirring machines make communicating difficult. The girl wants a puzzle. Her father seems languid and distant as he chats on his cell phone, but what distinguishes numbness from strength?

The volunteer returns after locating a Strawberry Shortcake puzzle. She is struck by how well the puzzle matches the rash covering most of the girl’s body. She climbs back into her mask, gown and gloves. The girl keeps scratching at her foot. She tries to distract her, unsuccessfully. Before they can finish the puzzle, the nurse comes to change the girl’s diaper and remove the IV from her foot. The volunteer steps aside, and the girl’s father takes her seat. The nurse leaves after adjusting tubes and tape. Then the volunteer pauses. “Would you like me to stay?” The girl shakes her head. So the volunteer tosses her layers into their respective bins and heads toward the elevators, feeling less useful than when she arrived.

A SERIES OF UNCOUTH PHOTOGRAPHS

I MISS THIS.