An Introspective Experience: A Self Reflection

Here I am again: frantically clicking away on my keyboard into the wee hours of the morning. At this point, I’m convinced that being late is a personality trait I inherently possess and can’t get rid of. But, nonetheless, I still manage to get it done.

As most writers do, I question whether I deserve a seat at the writers’ table. I question whether my writing is good enough, unique enough, and just enough in general, to go anywhere further than a Word document on my laptop or the Turnitin drop box for a class. Will my words be read by people who have never met me and not just my family, friends, and professors? But then, I think, am I just seeking praise and approval? Or am I seeking validation? Why is it so important to me that my professors actually enjoy reading my work? Why do I fear my professors potentially having a negative perception of me?

Introspective is the word that comes to mind about all of that. Who am I as a writer? Where am I going with this degree? I’m honestly not sure. The only thing that I know for a fact is that I love the process of writing, piecing together different words to say the same thing in multiple ways. And that my mom tells me that she loves my writing. But she’s supposed to, right?

When reviewing my work throughout the semester, I realized something. I actually liked what I was writing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve liked some of my work in the past, but this was different. I could see a shift in my writing. I could see my writing and communication style evolving and maturing right in front of my eyes. My writing. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

The big first assignment of the semester was memoir flash. My piece was a series of flashback scenes on a very specific day. In the final flashback scene, I detail the night that I was weighing the pros and cons of committing suicide. In the feedback provided on that paper, possibly starting with the pros and cons list in a revised version. So, that’s what I did. I took the very serious and concise list of pros and cons and elaborated on it, adding a satirical tone to the story. I titled the piece Pros and Cons of Killing Myself: A Comprehensive List. I have a dark sense of humor, so I had a few good chuckles throughout the writing of this piece. I feel like I really incorporated that term used at the beginning of the semester, Autobifictionalography, in that piece. Is it based on an actual event? Yes, it absolutely is. Are all the items on the comprehensive list things that I had on my list? Of course not!

Moving on to the second piece of the semester: the journalistic essay. The piece of writing I submitted for this was about my sister finally leaving her narcissistic, emotionally, and mentally abusive girlfriend after four years. It was happening in real-time as I wrote it. To say that there was a lot going on in my home at that time is an understatement. I went through a bit of a last-minute struggle when figuring out how to revise it significantly. I made sure to ask my sister if she was okay with me writing about her situation, to begin with. However, when I ran my idea of revision for the piece past her, she shot it down, hard. I was at a loss. However, once I received some guidance on the matter, the words began to flow. And thus, What If was born. To ensure that my sister was comfortable with the piece, I switched the narrative around to an inner dialogue that had been taking place in my head. What if I had never introduced them to each other in the first place? Could I have prevented my sister and my niece from experiencing all of the emotional abuse and belittling that they had endured? I ran the finished product by my sister to ensure her level of comfort with the piece and she approved. I did something different with the use of implication in that poem. Rather than saying out right where we were located, I implied it with common phrases associated with the area. I actually like how it turned out. I did a good job incorporating it into my writing style.

The third major writing assignment of the semester was the lyrical essay. This piece was inspired by my close friend whose husband committed suicide this past October, right before their anniversary. This was another piece that I took my revision piece from the comments section of the paper. Up until that point, I had never heard of the term Ars Poetica. So, down the rabbit hole I went. I spent entirely way too much time looking into Ars Poetica style poems. In the process of this, I signed up for Poetry, the Poetry Foundation’s monthly magazine subscription, as well as created an anthology on poets.org of strictly Ars Poetica poems. After I was done hyperfixating on the subject, I began my revision. I took the line from my original piece that was deemed Ars Poetica and ran with it. This resulted in the creation of Another Poem Titled Ars Poetica, my first intentionally Ars Poetica poem.

For this piece, I found that I really enjoyed the specific form of it. I always had a hard time classifying my poetry. I would often call it existential and self-reflective. Now I know that it is better described as a poem about a poet. When reading the multitude of poems, I had never felt more understood. The first one I read was Marianne Moore’s Poetry. When discussing poetry, she says that “when they become so derivative as to become / unintelligible, the / same thing may be said for all of us — that we / do not admire what / we cannot understand” (lines 11–15). And it was after reading that poem that I realized that my type of poetry had a name. And there are so many poems that encompass the theme of poetry that mirror my thoughts and my work. I enjoyed playing with this form for my revision. As I was reading it over when I was finished writing it, I sensed a noticeable shift in my writing. I have moved past the point of only being inspired to write from my pain. I have finally gotten to a point where I can fully understand what Lindsey King-Miller meant when she said that “the most painful stories are not the only ones worth telling.” And I am still in awe of it.

Now, last but certainly not least, the reason why my portfolio is late; the revision for the final assignment of the semester: the hermit crab essay. I never want to see another sticky note for as long as I live. I have instructed every person who has helped me throughout this sticky note journey to slap the creativity out of me the next time I come up with some off the wall idea for a final project. I have an album in Google Photos titled “Post it Pyramids” that contains 211 pictures of sticky notes. However, I digress.

Anyway, the final paper for the semester was the hermit crab essay. This is the only piece that I didn’t revise in the way of the actual writing. But rather, I changed the form of it. I took my poem, The Great Pyramids of Giza, and wrote the poem out on individual sticky notes for each word. One word = one sticky note. I then formed the sticky notes into multiple pyramids to show their growth after continuously adding more words. Throughout building the pyramids, I was simultaneously taking pictures. I attempted to use Adobe Premiere Pro to piece them all together into a stop-motion film. However, when they included the word “Pro” at the end of its name, that disqualified me from being able to successfully utilize it, the software was too complicated for my knowledge base. So, I opted to use Microsoft Clipchamp due to it being more beginner-friendly. It was a symbolic moment, for me. The pyramids represented my identity as a writer. Slowly over time, I’ve grown. There were periods of minimal growth, when my word count stayed the same. And there were times of exponential growth when I could hardly fit all the words on the page.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the people who helped me throughout this grueling process. And by grueling process, I am referring to the tenth level of hell: the creation of the Post-it Pyramids. During my stay in the tenth level, I had a lot of time to reflect. I mean there isn’t much that my brain can do while my hands repetitiously put sticky notes on a board for hours over the course of FOUR days. On one of these late nights, a friend of mine, Denise, came over to help build these pyramids.

The conversation was about my writing. I was talking about my self-doubt and how I was worried about my professors thinking that I take shortcuts in my work and just throw it together because I have fallen behind yet again this semester. After a little while, we just continued to work without speaking and just listened to the Lo-fi music playing in the background. Our next exchange of words has stuck with me ever since it happened. It went like this:

Me: “I can’t believe we are putting 760 sticky notes in the shape of pyramids.”

Denise: “I can’t believe we are putting up 760 sticky notes and you still think your professors think you take shortcuts.”

She was right. I may struggle with making deadlines due to having a lot on my plate, but I still make an effort to do the best that I can at that time. I try so damn hard. So, why am I questioning whether my professors can tell that I am? They are working adults, too. Hell, they all have PhD at the end of their name. They must be well acquainted with the struggle of working and going to school at the same time. And I’m sure that some of them became parents at some point on their educational journey. So, they should also know the struggle of being a full-time working parent going to school full time. With all that being said, this semester’s revision project has been an adventure; an introspective experience, if you will. I’ve learned a lot and, more importantly, my writing has not only improved but also matured.