Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

On Writing: Memories

By | Published Tuesday, January 15, 2013

I've decided that the first post of each month is going to address writing. Because that's one of the top reasons I started this blog, and because for every five question I get... at least two of them are related to writing/blogging.
(And just like the rest of the entries in this blog (unless otherwise stated), these "writing posts" will also be based off of my personal experience. I write for fun, as a hobby, for when I'm supposed to be doing actual work, ...and because it makes me look productive when I'm supposed to be doing 'actual' work. Not because I necessarily know what it is I'm doing with my writing.)

Apparently one of the many 'labels' for the kind of blog posts that I do is: 'medical creative non-fiction.' There's an entire genre out there of this style of writing! I only learned this a few months ago! Because up until that point outside of calling it "my blog posts" ... I also referred to these entries as "my memories."

Writing about your medical history is already on its own intimate. The things that have happened to your own body are (whether you understand them or not) - a personal and private affair. And while medical professionals can explain and label, and family members can care for and worry: the things that happen to you medically are your own. They are your own experiences that no one else can feel or think about for you. Regardless of how 'textbook a case' may be that you've presented, once you've experienced it it becomes yours - and remains uniquely your own. Sharing these experiences should, for the writer, be treated like some kind of risk you're taking - and for the reader, with the respect that this moment of sharing demands.
That is what I try to get across in my blog posts. The underlying tone, and the courage that I need to put these experiences down all comes from the fact that I own them. They aren't right or wrong, it's just how I've remembered events or experiences from this one aspect of my life. And even with these assurances I still feel a flip-flopping nervousness in my stomach as I schedule posts to be published.
There is a vulnerability in writing (and sharing) your memories that is simultaneously cathartic and nerve wracking. It's like right before you see your x-ray, you either know already something is wrong or not - but it's out of your hands now once it's caught on that film. Once your truth hits paper it becomes something that others can discuss and interpret, you sit back and wait for the feed back to drift back to you. Uncertain how you will react to it, and even more uncertain to whether or not you can do anything with the feedback you get. For an action driven person this can be tough!

Against the recommendation of many "professional" "real" "serious" "actual" bloggers out there... I don't do drafts of my posts. (Maybe for about a handful of the hundreds that have been written.) In part it's because I want to stay true to those memories that I initially recall, and also in part because I haven't figured out a way to manage my time to allow me to do drafts & final versions of my posts. With that in mind, I also try to focus on one 'memory' or incident at a time. It gets overwhelming, for me anyway, when I try to remember all the times I have broken a bone in school. Or if I try to remember all the times I have had to splint myself. Honing in just one moment allows me to stay as true as possible to the thoughts and emotions I am recalling during that event. It also, by default, means that I am slowing those experiences down in my mind in order to recall as accurately as possible. And that's where the real work is for me, arguably where I struggle the most when it comes to writing my memories. But it's also the part of the process I am most drawn to, over and over again.

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I'm Thinking of Just You

By | Published Monday, May 21, 2012

Last week we celebrated the first birthday for the blog. I'm still a bit shocked that it has already been that long, or surprised that it has ONLY been a year - because with so many of the people I've met through sharing my posts, it feels like we've known each other for far longer. 

During the time I have been keeping this blog I've also been fielding questions each week for the Fracture Free Friday Q&A column. Most of the questions have to do with something medically related or has something to do with my experience as a young adult with O.I. However, one of the most common questions I've gotten has nothing to do with O.I. or being disabled. Here it is: "How do you keep writing blog posts? Where do the ideas come from?"

This is when I wish I had an actual camera of my own to use because I would snap a picture of the unlined notebook pages I use to plan entries. Since that's not a possibility you'll have to bear with my descriptions of the writing process instead: at the start of each month I have a massive brainstorm where I list any and all ideas that may serve as blog post fodder. Then on the next page I create a terrible hand-drawn calendar. This calendar is complete with crooked horizontal and vertical lines to create the numerical grid, I fill in the numbers and often I mess up doing this part.. (like forgetting that February has 28 days etc). I then take the blog post ideas that I brainstormed and attempt to schedule it into this calendar, doing my best to make sure that there is a variety in topics for each week. Voila! Now we have ourselves a blog editorial calendar!!

But still that doesn't really answer the question. That's, honestly, just the simple stuff to how this process works. The tough part is actually sitting down in front of my computer and thinking about the content behind those topic ideas. Here is my secret: I'm often thinking about just one person in my head. 
Sometimes that one person is a first-time mom or dad who is worried, sometimes that person is a classroom aide uncertain of what to do, maybe it's a doctor, a friend, a passersby on the street, a young teenager, a college student excited for new independence, a 20-something partying away... sometimes it's the person next to me in an elevator, sometimes it's the roll of toilet paper, or sometimes it's my wheelchair, sometimes it's to myself at a younger age, sometimes it's the conductor of the subway. Just one person (or thing) is all it takes.

According to my blogger data my readers span from ages 13 to those who are 55+! You are representing 20 countries around the world and speak more than 10 different languages! Those statistics alone can make writing a blog entry overwhelming and intimidating; it's easy to quickly fall into the trap of oh my god what do these people want to hear about? What would be most helpful for all of them? How can I make all of their lives easier? (I have discovered that no answer exists for any of those questions).
I'll be the first to admit that there are many days when I feel like I am grasping at empty thought bubbles, clumsily and blindly popping all of them hoping for something truly awesome and meaningful to splatter onto the computer screen for me. That rarely happens, actually it has never happened.

But then I remind myself of how this all began in the first place. Perfectly Imperfecta didn't set out to try to rid the world of all its problems with its first entry. I would be a total fool to think I could destroy all the barriers anyone has ever faced, and I'm not writing for the masses to peruse while standing in grocery check-out lines. This crazy adventure began because I'm trying to break barriers one post at a time, by speaking to just one person at a time, about one issue at a time. I want to talk to you because I believe that you matter. It's just that simple. 

Back to the idea of thinking about you - the clearer the image of that one person I have in my mind, the 'stronger' the blog post tends to be. This is also the general strategy for how I tackle other projects or problems: when I can clearly see just one piece of the final end-product, or the final solution in my mind -- I have a better sense of how to get there. Otherwise when I try to tackle the whole shebang it becomes too daunting and I get this paralyzing sense of I can't do this.
Just one piece at a time, we'll see it together and when our visions align we'll break just one more barrier together. 

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Because Language Allows Openness

By | Published Thursday, April 12, 2012

I am slightly embarrassed that I neglected to list that April is also National Poetry Month in yesterday's post.

Among my friends, and now you - it's widely understood that my preferred means of communication is through writing. I have a strong dislike of phones (in part because of my hearing-loss), and if I had it my way humans would only use their voices to make music or to shout cries of joy! If I had it my way everyone would just write to each other. The world would be a vastly different place if I had it my way...
I've always been like this since elementary school, always that slightly nerdy girl who had it in her head that she was the reason Roald Dahl came up with Matilda. I think I was always sort of slightly weird. But language helped me become less 'weird' in the eyes of my peers. Why? Because I learned to take my ridiculous made-up stories and turned that language into a means of communication with others.

By finding self-confidence on that blank piece of paper I found self-confidence in my audible voice. It took years and I am still practicing; but I have found out that when we take the effort and painful first step to reach out to others - we find that people often welcome us with open arms and eager hearts.

In light of what I just said - I figure I'd share another bit of myself with you through a poem I wrote:

My story begins Once Upon A Time
from An I Can Read Book,
scrawled on perforated paper from the Apple II GS.
I am from the garden of Cabbage
Patch Kids and the Sour ones too.
I am from traditions once lost
now heard, between clinks of tea cups
and snaps of chopsticks.
I was born from a revolution
the slogans dutifully recorded in some
Little Red Book, may it “Long Live…”

I am from an infinite longevity,
from stringent respect not given
till “you say my name.”
I am from telephone numbers
that don’t have fours,
and expectations of high scores.
I am from Newton
or Jew-ton, and lanyards trailing
from cargo-pockets.
I am from popsicle’d Color Days,
and that jarring band trip.

Follow the rising steam marching from
General Tso’s Chicken,
I am from wherever that ends.
I began with AIM and sadly I am also
of html construction: of brb’s and lol’s.
I am from the hodge podge of
MADE IN CHINA, hailing
from the plastic pole of your
red, white, and blue. 

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