On Injustice (For My Sister-in-Law)

A New Lit Salon Essay By Sarah Orman, Including Sarah's Author Note & Thoughts on the Editorial Process

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Hello, hello!

First things first, congratulations, to WITDer Phyllis U., who wrote yesterday to say:

I'm dying to share my big news with everyone here because it's all I can think about right now. I learned a few days ago that I won a fellowship for a 2-week residency at Dairy Hollow Writers Colony. I'm stunned. I almost didn't enter, because I knew I'd be competing against writers with credentials much more impressive than mine. But a few days before the submission deadline, I remembered that it's not about me; it's about serving the story itself. So I put together a writing sample of my best manuscript excerpts and hit "send." And then I won. Wild!

How is this related to my experience with the Writing in the Dark Visceral Self exercises?? Well, let me just say this: lately I seem to think in thing-full poetry instead of idea-full sentences. I look at my tangled clematis vines, and I see colors and shapes and textures before meaning and analogies and metaphors. This is new for me. And this new way of writing was evident in the passages I submitted. So I now have an opportunity I wouldn't have dreamed possible before.

I'm in awe of this whole process. And soooo grateful to all the splendid, brave, truth-telling writers in this community.

Phyllis, we are so happy for you! Yay!! Huge congratulations.

And now, welcome back to the second installment of Writing in the Dark’s newest Lit Salon feature, where we share reader essays/stories/poem-ish things written in direct response to specific WITD exercises. To enrich the whole experience of a “salon,” these submisions are accompanied by Author Notes and relevant observations on the editorial process.

So far, I am loving this experiment a lot!

The queue of submissions is already long; thank you! I have read many of the pieces you’ve sent and am in awe of what you are doing with language in response to the simple but never easy invitations you find here. Truly amazing work. I wish I could share them all. I appreciate your patience as I inch along.

And by the way, if you haven’t yet heard about this new opportunity to submit your work to WITD for publication, you can read all about it here:

Call for Submissions! Writing in the Dark Now Pays for Essays, Stories, and Poem-ish Things!

Accepted pieces receive publication, $50, and much love.

To note, for these WITD Lit Salon essays, I am looking not for “perfect” prose, but, rather, for writing that is alive. Also, that is clearly and even doggedly in response to a WITD exercise, even if the piece has blossomed quite abundantly away from the original exercise in the end. I am interested in work that shows a writer’s curiosity about process—i.e., I do want to hear about the process in the Author Note, but I also want to feel some process crackling under the surface of the piece itself, not in a gimmicky way—not at all!—but in a feral way, in a way that feels as if the piece took the writer in a direction somewhat beyond their own intention or control, as constrained exercises often do. Constraints send us a little bit off the rails, so I hope to feel that quality, that slight recklessness, in these pieces as they unfold their meaning and aboutness.

Importantly, this does not mean a piece has to be experimental. I certainly am interested in work that is inventive and takes risks, so experimental work is welcome, but I also love traditional narrative. Just because a narrative is traditional does not mean it cannot be alive and full of movement. It matters not to me whether a thing is more like prose or more like a poem, or whether it is longer or shorter. I am interested in things that are interesting and that have a good idea of what they are about, and that reach that aboutness through some illuminated process of discovery.

As for this week’s accepted flash essay from Sarah Orman, I was drawn to it as soon as I opened the email because I remembered having been moved by it when Sarah shared it in the comments section of my Capturing an Untamed Thing post (where I shared an earlier version of my novel prologue) back in February. In that post, I offered a highly constrained, strange, multi-step “recipe” for a writing exercise (more on that below in The Exercise Under the Essay) and Sarah shared a snippet of writing in response to that strange exercise.

I was excited, too, knowing that Sarah’s piece was born from one of the strangest and most constrained WITD exercises I’ve given. It’s not necessarily the strangest of all (I don’t know if I could say which one is!), but it’s certainly on the far end of the continuum of strangeness—so it thrilled me to see a writer having circled back to that exercise and finished a version of a thing in response to it.

Why? Because I am a big believer in getting out of our comfort zones, out of our heads, out of our familiar ways of writing, out of our autopilot ways. I know that strange constraints can crack open material we might otherwise never access in quite the same way.

Therefore, I was curious to see what Sarah had done with her piece since its first draft, especially because she said she revised partly in response to observations from other WITDers. And one thing I noticed right away is that Sarah chose a new title that easily and powerfully points us toward aboutness from the jump—as flash titles are so wise to do.

Other things I love about this work are Sarah’s elegant braiding of not just two narrative threads, but three, if you count the recipe (which I do), all in a very tiny container. Also, her finely tuned balance, so finely tuned it’s like an egg on its end on equinox, between a clear aboutness and a resonant and assured white space that leaves ample room for meaning to be felt rather than explained and for readers to draw associations on their own. And Sarah accomplishes all of this through precise, plain language that stands on its own two feet without making any more noise than it needs to.

Finally, that ending (!!).

It’s such an honor to share Sarah’s essay with you along with her thoughtful Author Note and her brief observations of the editorial process. Thank you, Sarah!

The Exercise Under the Essay

Sarah wrote this flash essay in response to "Capturing an Untamed Thing" which ran on February 28, 2024. That post shared a snippet of (what was then) the latest version of my novel-in-progress’s prologue, along with a writing exercise that consisted of a 9-ingredient “recipe” with 4 optional “garnishes” and 3 “helpful tips” for writing a scene/flash piece/prose poem/hybrid something-or-other that could either stand on its own or lend itself to something larger or already in progress. It was a weird exercise and Sarah took it up with earnest curiosity and made something unusual and beautiful in response.

Interestingly, although Sarah wrote her piece using a recipe structure, the original exercise does not call upon writers to write a recipe “hermit crab” type piece. It only asks that you find a place for instructions and the imperative voice. For me, this is such a good example of the wide continuum of interpretation when it comes to exercises! And you can try this exercise yourself here.

On Injustice (For My Sister-in-Law)

by Sarah Orman

I remember thinking of you on a summer morning. My daughter and I were in the kitchen, still in our pajamas. I handed her the ingredients for our favorite raspberry macaroons. In the hospital, you took off your clothes and folded them neatly in the corner, placing your panties discreetly beneath the jeans.

1.     In a large bowl, mix a bag of sweetened, shredded coconut with half a cup of sugar and half a pint of raspberries.

I took out a big silver bowl, bought on the Bowery in another life, before I was anyone’s mother. My daughter and I scooped sugar into a blue measuring cup, my hand over hers. One by one, she poured berries, sugar, and coconut into the bowl and stirred slowly, watching the red spiral spread. You put on a flimsy smock and situated the opening in the back as best you could.

2.     Beat whites from three eggs, reserving the yolks.

Why do some women get pregnant in beds, backseats, and bathroom stalls while others pay doctors in lab coats? This girl with her curly head bent over a bowl of berries—she came to me so easily. I felt her in my womb before she could make the pregnancy test turn pink. Now she washes her hands at the sink and asks me for a glass of milk.

3.     Pour ingredients into a food processor, add a pinch of salt and pulse 10-12 times, until batter resembles a pulverized Easter bunny.

Reaching into the fridge, my daughter told me about a time she drank milk that had gone sour. “That was when you taught me the word ‘curdle,’” she said, and we riffed: “Curdle, girdle, fertile. Have you met my turtle, Myrtle?”

4.     Drop batter by the tablespoonful onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper and bake at 325 degrees for 25-30 minutes. 

Just then, the glass bottle slipped out of her wet hands and hit the linoleum floor with a satisfying pop. We stared at the growing puddle of white. In the silence before my daughter’s wail, I heard the sizzle of caramelizing sugars, and the aroma of baking raspberries filled the air. I resisted the urge to writhe in pleasure; it would have seemed unfair.

Sarah’s Author Note

The random parallels of that morning—my daughter and I playing around with the word "fertile" while my sister-in-law went to an appointment with an infertility specialist—were rattling around in my mind for a while before I found a way to write about them. It was summer when this happened, but we often make these macaroons at Passover, which calls to mind spring fertility rituals. I liked how the scene included vivid red and white and symbols of fertility like eggs and milk.

Jeannine's writing prompt made me think of that memory because of how she phrased it as a "recipe" with "instructions." I especially liked her "garnishes" because they encouraged me to add elements that weren't necessarily a part of my memory. For me, comparing the chunky macaroon batter to a pulverized Easter bunny accomplishes three of Jeannine's optional garnishes: an animal, a vulgarity, and a surprise.

At first, I wrote this with the recipe instructions (adapted from Smitten Kitchen) at the top and the scene afterwards. When I revised it, I found myself blending all of the elements—or perhaps "folding" would be a better culinary term, since I hope the separate pieces remain distinct.

I posted my first draft in the comments, and the reactions of other WITD readers were very helpful. In my first draft, it wasn't clear that my daughter was born without intervention. In revision, I tried to be more explicit about the central injustice: that some women get pregnant easily, while others have to seek medical intervention.

And about that aroma—I wasn't kidding about the urge to writhe in pleasure. There is something deeply sexy about the smell of baking raspberries. It sort of shocked me the first time we made this recipe. I want this short piece to hold all of those truths about my experience of motherhood: the sensual pleasure mixed in with frustration, anguish, and tedium.

Sarah’s Thoughts on the Editorial Process

Jeannine’s thoughtful edits added specificity to a couple of places that were unclear. She also confirmed some changes that I’d made since I wrote this piece in response to her exercise. For example, that title. I was hoping it sounded like June Jordan, but I wasn’t entirely secure about it. I was relieved to have it blessed! I’ve never written something that combines the form of a recipe with other writing, and it’s something I’d like to do again. So I especially appreciated where Jeannine questioned a repetition of the recipe instructions, because her comment pointed me to a place where there was more to discover.

More About Sarah

Sarah Orman writes personal essays and poetry. Her work has been published in Narrative, Witness, Stonecrop, oranges journal, and elsewhere.  She also writes A Reader's Compendium, a Substack newsletter about reading and writing as a way of life. Find her at sarahormanwrites.com or on Instagram @sorman33. She lives with her family in Austin, where she is writing a memoir about reckoning with her wayward youth.

Want to Submit to WITD?

Read full submission guidelines here. Then, if you have something you wrote in response to a WITD exercise that you want to polish up and send, please do. I would love to read your work.

Sarah Orman with her daughter in Kauai in summer, 2023