When does this story begin?
A. At around 7 o’clock on the morning of March 11, 2018, when my niece, Alex, who is visiting from out of town, comes into the bedroom I share with my husband, crouches down on my side of the bed, and says, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took Noah to the hospital last night, because I determined that he is a danger to himself.”
B. Two months earlier, in mid-to-late January, 2018, when Noah, who turned 20 on December 4, appears at my office door and says, “I think I need to see a psychiatrist.”
C. Forty-four years earlier, the night of March 6, 1974, when my father, a rabbi, tells my mother, a reading teacher, “The temple is going to fail. The city is shrinking. I’ll be out of a job and we’ll be homeless because the temple owns our home. My insurance policy is worth more now than it will ever be again. You’ll all be better off without me.”
D. All of the above1
This is the correct answer.
Painful memories Debby. I admire the strength you have to share these difficult times with us. I also think that being able to share these life stories has had a very positive effect on your life.
I do think A is the most powerful way to start this. Drops us right into the action and is a good inciting incident in the sense that it sets everything in motion. The deeper storyworthy problem soon emerges which is this interesting juxtaposition of what happened with your father and what was happening with your son. I'm looking forward to reading the way you make art of all of this.