Response to Concept: Week 2; M, 8/19

I have always struggled with writing about the things that truly pain me. My first year in high school, I was assigned a laws of life essay. The essay required each student to dispell their most personal secrets to a committee of judges for the possibility of gaining a $500 reward. I did not want my miseries to be seen as futile and less than compared to those of someone else. My past is valid. My pain and dwelling worries from a moment where everything was low would be cast in the spotlight in front of wavering, unknowing eyes. And, to be frank, it made me sick to my stomach. I would stare at my empty laptop screen for hours on end. Trying to muster the courage of opening sealed wounds. And for who? A group of men and women who would say- yes, your traumatic memories are worth third place. I couldn't do it. I opted out of writing something deep and broke the system. I wrote about a happy moment instead. While reading the Poet's Companion, a certain statement caught my attention. I was reminded of that fear from four years ago. It said, "...what you'll discover in your reading is that writing about the family is an American tradition, a way of knowing about ourselves." (Addonizzio,31) If we desire to write about something meaningful than we must first begin to understand our very own meaning. What makes us tick? What are our deepest worries? What inside us makes us most empathetic? The only way I'll be able to answer these questions is by continuing that story from a long time ago. Using our family as inspiration for writing is necessary. I was taught that important concept at a young age, but I shielded the lesson under foreboding circumstances. As an aspiring writer, I would like to pick that concept back up from the cobwebs in the back of my head. And say fuck it, let's begin.