What Do I Know

Dear Imaginary Reader,

           

            When I look at my past, I don’t see anything amazing. I see my mistakes. Looking toward my future is overwhelming as I face the hurdles that stand before me. Presently, I am grateful for my wonderful husband and three beautiful boys. So, when I read other people’s advice to “write what you know” I couldn’t think of anything to write. It wasn’t until 2012 when I met, and later became friends with, a fellow writer. She was entertained by my random thoughts and conversations, leading to a comparison between her life and mine. For the first time, I saw my life through someone else’s eyes.

            I knew what it was like to be torn from a family. Forced to integrate into a new family. Torn from my brother. All of this from the single event of being adopted. I knew what it was like to run away from home. Not a live on the streets kind of way, but a hide in a friend’s backyard trailer for three or four days. This also happened to be one of my first sexual experiences. Few people believe that I was seven, maybe eight, when I decided I could make my life better. In high school, I broke up with a guy that I really liked not long after we started dating. He believes it was because he was a rebound. The truth is that not long after our first date my uncle was hospitalized. The idea of death due to obesity issues terrified me, an overly self-protective sixteen year old. If this was happening to my uncle what would the future hold for my current obese boyfriend? Out of all the friends I have lost over the years, he is the one who still haunts my memories. In college, I lived in a friend’s garage without a bathroom. At night, I had to potty in a bucket and clean it out in the morning. When I looked at these experiences, I realized that I had plenty to write about.

            However, attempting to put my experiences onto a blank page, became a distracted rant of inner turmoil and angst of a child. Scraping the idea of autobiographical material, I began to write about my life in third person. Giving this person a new name, a new environment, a new life. I could write about the imaginary people and give them the attitudes of friends and family. I could enhance traits I liked and minimalize what I did not. (This is not to say that I made everyone perfect.) I could focus my hate and anger at a multitude of people into a single villainous character. Slowly, a heroine appeared with friends and family and enemies who were life like because they were modeled on actual people. Suddenly, I had written a fantastical tale that I was pleased with and looked forward to editing.

            I guess what I am trying to say is that I agree with the idea of writing what you know. As long as you write it in a way that you would want to read it. And, if you are lucky, maybe someone else will want to read it too.

Thanks for Reading,

E. Schierschmidt

P.S. I should tell you that writing this letter was like pulling teeth. Next time, since it is my own blog and I can post whatever I want, I would consider scrapping the idea and finding something else to write about.

            This is an idea that I would put into practice for Nanowrimo when I am struggling within the first week or so. I don’t understand why I wouldn’t do it for a blog post as well.