Lungs: Notes On A Story

#ShortStory #BehindTheScenes #Inspiration

The story's title is "Lungs", but you're seeing an image of bandaged hands. WHY? Read the story (by clicking the image) to find out. [Copyright: Rocco Stoppoloni]

I don’t like ghost stories.

In fact, when I watched Netflix’s adaptation of “The Haunting of Hill House”, I deeply regretted it.

I still do.

But I realize that in some way, a ghost story is what I created with my new piece here in Inner Worlds.

So, why did I do that?

Create something I am averse to?

If you read my new story (titled Lungs), you will find a rather complex work of flash fiction there.

I wrote Lungs because I wanted to explore the something that lurks in the in-between. Not necessarily a spirit or anything like that. But an unnamed force, a worry or a thought that drives our deeper reasoning, therefore, our actions..

Have you ever considered what a phantom can be? ]

I have.

It can be an idea, an unresolved emotion. A thought that won’t let go.

It can be unforgiveness.

These things lurk in the past and show up conceptually as ghosts in the present. I wanted to represent this idea in a way that skips past our defenses and rationalizations, and goes straight into the imagination. Straight into the heart of where our emotions lie.

Am I allowed to do that?

WHY DO I ASK?

Why do I ask if I am allowed to do that?

Because creative people have a responsibility in how they choose to present the ideas in their works.

You can of course write whatever you please, but the way a writer frames the themes, the topics and the characters they write about should be done with careful attention.

Literature is a magical thing. I know that.

I have read works that were a light in my life when I really needed them. But literature is also a house of ideas.

It is housed by ideas. If you aren't careful, you’ll find the ideas you include in your work are very poor representations of people. Or at least, incomplete representations of them.

Who hasn’t read a line in a novel or short story where a certain class of people was shamelessly disparaged, or straight up dehumanized.

I never want to be someone who writes work that does that. And I don’t believe I have done anything like that.

I say all of this to say that when I was writing this story, I was very conscious of the fact that in writing a story about a phantom/ghost/lingering entity that centered in the Nigerian psyche of the metaphysical, I needed to be honest.

People believe these things exist. That they are powerful and hold sway over what happens in the everyday.

I believe we tend to put an undue weight on this, but that is for another day. For the story to work, I had to examine it from that particular angle, one that took it for granted that the audience would believe this is... real.

I wanted to present the idea of a "phantom/ghost" in a way that gives full credence to the cultural context the story is written in, but goes beyond that as well.

Down the line, I start to show my hand. The story really talks about the power that unresolved trauma – that unnamed things, unnamed fears - can hold over a person. Over generations really.

That is how I chose to represent this idea in my story, Lungs.

I gave special attention to the culmination of the story.

In my head, the main character refuses the pain that is offered to him at the end of the story. It isn’t his burden to bear.

But I ended the story on the note that I did because I wanted to leave the reader right in the middle of that dilemma. In the middle of that choice that needs to be made: you have to decide what to do with pain.

You can’t keep running. You can’t outrun it.

You have to stand still at a point, and face it head on.

That is how I chose to represent this concept.

WHAT DOES A PHANTOM MEAN?

Because if grand-uncle were part of a whole, he would be that – the breathing organ that didn’t ask questions. Just raised and lowered itself in a steady tide, keeping something else, something undefined alive.

--- Excerpt from the story.

In Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House, towards the end of the story, there is a scene between the father and the son.

They are sitting in the car, and the father wants to burn Hill House to the ground. He believes that is the only way to set themselves free from the ghost of that house.

The son begs to differ.

He doesn’t believe there is anything going on in the house, it is all unresolved family trauma.

Et cetera.

(Spoiler: it isn't)

Of course, the film doesn’t want the audience to believe it is only unresolved trauma.

But it isn't only a ghost story either.

I imagine some of the things that go on in a place like my cultural context, where it is pretty hard for people to admit there is even trauma in the first place.

Before even going ahead to admit something needs resolution.

These things are frightening. I know. It is not easy to talk about pain, but I wish we did.

And this goes beyond the confines of family.

We can talk about how our terrible fear of the unknown, of order and decency comes from being constantly traumatized by the people in power who should have done better with their authority. It sometimes feels easier to just do things “anyhow”.

I don’t mean only politicians and public servants, I mean the random person in charge of a project the neighborhood wants to do – who decides to pilfer the funds. I mean reporting to a teacher about how you got bullied or cheated out of something, and with that, you the victim, are chastised. You were not “sharp” so you deserve to suffer for 'letting' someone treat you that way.

If you notice something, the real trauma is that authority figures cannot be held accountable.

In this story, the granduncle, the grandfather, try to pass a baton of pain to the next generation.

Instead, the person keeps running out of their clutches.

(Also, that line of don’t make the same mistake as your father is 100% gaslighting. I wanted it to read as such.)

The silence makes me angry. The way it twists things up and makes it hard to speak about our true feelings and worries upsets me.

But what makes me weary is how weary we are of fighting. How much easier it is to join the crowd and silently swirl ourselves in this mire.

That is what haunts us, keeping a thing that hurts alive. Without even asking who decided this is the way it must be done.

Well.

Let me get off my soapbox now.

I really hope you enjoy reading Lungs.

If you have the chance, you should read the stories in the issue my story is featured in. They are so, so lovely.

Here are some of my favourites.

1) Strangler Fig by Katharine Tyndall. The first line had me HOOKED. And it rounded up with a touching, almost wistful ending.

2) In The Vanguard by Chloe Smith: A little bit of sci-fi, a little bit of space travel.

In closing, I’m glad I get to share this story with the world.

And that I get to share the inspiration and though-process as well.

You can leave a comment below and tell me what you think about the piece – or, about this blog post.

Or just say Hiii.

See you in the comments!