Generally, all Creative Writing majors are supposed to take Intro to Creative Nonfiction their freshman year. It’s been very interesting to see how some of my friends and I are taking to this genre with which we are not necessarily experienced. Some are quite enjoying it and thinking that this may be the genre they’ll concentrate on in upcoming years. Some—ahem, me—are struggling with it.
I posted earlier about writing my memoir piece and the vulnerability it entailed. Pouring my soul onto the paper—that was hard. And now, the prospect of rewriting it so it’s suitable to be workshopped next week—that’s even harder. I feel as if I’ve already offered up so much of myself on paper already, and I have this kind of reluctance to give up any more.
Obviously, memoir writing involves a lot of self reflection. I think of myself as a very reflective person, but I’m finding it difficult to pinpoints moments, or scenes, that will showcase how I’ve become the way I am, at least in certain regards. I feel as if some of it I can’t explain; such-and-such trait is just in my nature.
Memoir writing also involves more than reflecting; it requires reimagining. All memoirs take a certain amount of liberty. For instance, few people remember dialogue word-for-word from ten years ago, but dialogue is sometimes necessary in a memoir. I am having trouble giving myself that sort of leeway. I am a perfectionist, and I suppose that translates into an unreasonable desire for authenticity.
The other issue for me is that I’m not a very visual person. Important memories I don’t remember in a sensory way, but an emotional way. I can easily access what I was feeling and what that moment meant to me, but I need more than that. I need to paint pictures in the minds of my readers. Struggles like this have made it difficult for me to write a memoir that reads like a story, rather than just my ramblings on life.
Something I’m worried about is that people in my class will judge my creative nonfiction as being representative of my writing skill. I think that my fiction is a lot better, and I am pretty certain it is the genre I will pursue during my SU education.
I posted earlier about writing my memoir piece and the vulnerability it entailed. Pouring my soul onto the paper—that was hard. And now, the prospect of rewriting it so it’s suitable to be workshopped next week—that’s even harder. I feel as if I’ve already offered up so much of myself on paper already, and I have this kind of reluctance to give up any more.
Obviously, memoir writing involves a lot of self reflection. I think of myself as a very reflective person, but I’m finding it difficult to pinpoints moments, or scenes, that will showcase how I’ve become the way I am, at least in certain regards. I feel as if some of it I can’t explain; such-and-such trait is just in my nature.
Memoir writing also involves more than reflecting; it requires reimagining. All memoirs take a certain amount of liberty. For instance, few people remember dialogue word-for-word from ten years ago, but dialogue is sometimes necessary in a memoir. I am having trouble giving myself that sort of leeway. I am a perfectionist, and I suppose that translates into an unreasonable desire for authenticity.
The other issue for me is that I’m not a very visual person. Important memories I don’t remember in a sensory way, but an emotional way. I can easily access what I was feeling and what that moment meant to me, but I need more than that. I need to paint pictures in the minds of my readers. Struggles like this have made it difficult for me to write a memoir that reads like a story, rather than just my ramblings on life.
Something I’m worried about is that people in my class will judge my creative nonfiction as being representative of my writing skill. I think that my fiction is a lot better, and I am pretty certain it is the genre I will pursue during my SU education.
Theoretically, I might even fall in love with Poetry whenever it comes time to take that intro course. I could end up saying goodbye to novels and fiction and dedicate myself solely to an art which, previously, I saved only for dabbling.
I must admit, though, I'm not seeing this as likely.
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