On Writing

Memories as a six-year-old: I penciled my first stories on those grayish sheets that had huge turquoise lines and dashes through their middle to guide kids learning to form their letters. My mom would then type up the stories on her mechanical typewriter and then I’d get out my satisfyingly gigantic box of Crayolas and illustrate my “books.” I was especially proud of my own Miss Nelson story in which the beloved teacher—who would dress up as the mean substitute Miss Swamp when her class misbehaved—rode in a hot air balloon.

 

A later scene, inside a gothic college building: People at a poetry reading, some with orange-soda and Kool-Aid hair. Some with talent, others feigning talent by carrying three notebooks in two pockets. Me in the corner simply listening, wondering at the confidence of the readers who voiced their ideas with such conviction, in such absolutes. How are they all so sure about everything?

 

Another scene: A Southern California beach where I watch the surfers riding waves against the sunset. I sit, with my journal, my toes buried in the cool sand, and I think, and I write this. In a few minutes, the sun will sink lower forming a shimmering line across the horizon of the ocean and then vanish, leaving the sky a mixture of lavenders and blues. The wet breeze, curling my hair and dampening my skin, will make me shiver and force me to leave. I have this idea of writing things down and not thinking so much about whether they are right or wrong, only that they are.

 

I lift my pen again. This is how I picture the narrative in my head. Pen on paper, ink on paper, words from my head on the paper. I’d like to think my words—my stories, my essays—affect readers in some way or at least offer some small insight, a new way of thinking or looking at the world. I’d like, too, to recapture the pleasure I felt in telling stories when I imagined Miss Nelson taking flight in a hot air balloon. I’d like to think that it doesn’t matter who reads this, that it matters only that I wrote it. My craft of writing stands simply as an experiment in expressing.