My thoughts on the New Year.

“New year, new you” is the phrase – this is a chance to start fresh, to begin again, to forget the past.

Well, I think that’s wrong.

It’s not about starting over. No one can erase the past and the things they’ve done.

We’ve survived another year – why erase that? And sure, we’ve made made mistakes along the way, but this is our chance to learn from them as best we can.

It’s not time to start over; it’s time to keep going.

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”– Maria Robinson

Carpe diem.

I’m about to embark on a journey.

I am here because I want to be.
By “here,” I mean in a place where I can explore the concept of creatively composing a self through writing and other media.
I don’t think this will necessarily be an easy task. Despite the difficulty in it, though, I think of how much I might enjoy learning how to best present my ideas, thoughts, stories, and truths through effective writing.
Over the next few months, I expect to improve my rhetorical skills, get better at blogging (hopefully), and gain a better understanding of the way writers represent different selves. My creative non-fiction writing skills might benefit as well; before this I’ve written mostly fiction and poetry.
As a student, I think this sort of exploration is the kind of thing I had always hoped to do while in college. I have a lot planned for this project, including an interview, immersion journalism, story stories based on real events, essays and even a little poetry. It’s good to know I’ll being writing so frequently (even if a tiny voice in the back of my head is complaining). The more regularly I write, the easier it seems to get, and often it doesn’t feel like work. However, as I think it is important to include outside voices to support my own, I’ll have to hone my research skills.
This undertaking of mine is sure to be a little stressful – but then again, many exciting things are. I hope through this experience, I will uncover a truth or two about myself, other people, or just life in general. I plan to complete this project within 15 weeks, but I don’t think that the process of composing a self ever really ends.

Youngwanderingwriter was here…

What does it mean to “compose a self?” To write nonfiction? To write the truth?

Composing a self, for me, is a process of creating a multifaceted image of myself or another person through writing. In doing this, I feel I must try to adhere to actual facts and events, and present some aspect of what I believe to be the truth.

To write non-fiction, it must, by nature, be an account of things that exist, or did exist at some point. In writing creative non-fiction and composing a self for the readers to see, I arrange the facts and “truths” into such a way that is intended to evoke a specific affect. There are a thousand different ways to say any one thing, but each presents a different facet of the truth. I do not know whether is it possible to write the absolute truth, but I do believe that one can write a truth, at the least.

In writing about past experiences and present viewpoints, as in my story Pieces, I find a sense of recreation and discovery. I relate to André Aciman’s statement in Intimacy: “And maybe this is why we write. We want a second chance, we want the other version of our life, the one that thrills us, the one that happened to the people we really are, not to those we just happened to be once.”¹ I think writing about myself and my life tends uncover the truth more often than distort it. Sometimes, it’s some fascinating combination of both, which can be enlightening if I allow it to be. I find some accuracy in what Eula Biss wrote in The Pain Scale: “Imagination is treacherous. It erases distant continents, it builds a Hell so real that the ceiling is vulnerable to collapse.” Through writing, as well as other art forms, what is imagined can easily become what is real. Composing myself is, for me, a process of discerning the reality in my imagination, and putting it together with events that have occurred in the course of my life that inspire the world in my mind, the world through my eyes. I think poetry, especially, lends itself to this method, as is not required to be as precise as prose.

Composing a self is not always subsequential, taking place after the moments one is writing about; it can be a very active process as well. Doing something with the intention of writing about it later can have a very different effect. While writing I can be outgoing, too, I found myself going out of my way to do unusual things (unusual for me, anyway) in order to give more life and substance to my writing. This making writing less of a passive activity, as it sometimes appears to be. I think, when it comes down to it, nonfiction writing is about doing. One writes about things people have done, will do, or wish they had done. I write about life, and life should not be passive, so neither should writing.

As I mentioned earlier, composing a self and writing nonfiction are do not necessarily mean writing about myself. There are roughly 7 billion other people in the world, each with their own story (stories, really!) so why would I limit myself to writing about just one?  Writing about someone else can be more difficult, though. One has to be more careful in presenting another person. You don’t know their thoughts, or everything about their past. You have access to a limited amount of information, and you have to figure out how to use it in the way that will create the image you want to portray. Nonetheless, composing another self can be very rewarding. I think understanding other’s perspectives (or at the very least, genuinely trying to) is an essential part of being human. An interview is one way to do this. The writer composes him- or herself through the questions they ask, and also contributes to composing the self of the interviewee because of what the questions may prompt; the interviewee composes a self through their answers. While interviewing Irma Morales, I learned not only about her and the topic of the interview, but also a thing or two about myself, and just life in general.

So, in short, here’s the answer to my original questions: the goal of writing nonfiction is to expose or accentuate a truth, and in the process, the writer composes a self that readers will perceive and interpret.

Review of “Exit Through the Gift Shop”

Exit Through the Gift Shop.

I’d never heard of this film before watching it. The name “Banksy” was unfamiliar to me, as well. I was curious enough to see what the behind-the-scenes of street art is like. Street art is an unusual art form – very public, untraditional, ephemeral, “out there,”  and, of course, generally illegal. My interest is piqued when I find something painted on a wall, drawn on the ground with chalk, etc. However, as I live in a suburban area, I’ve never had the chance to see much street art. It is certainly a interesting medium for self-expression, especially with the element of mystery that the artist often lends it – particularly in Banksy’s case. It is quite a phenomenon for someone to be very renowned, but for the world to really know nothing about him at the same time. That is, if such a person actually exists, as I have since heard speculation on the subject. I’d admit that this elusiveness makes me more interested in his art than I otherwise would be. I am intrigued by the way Banksy has created a image of himself composed only of images, his art, without connection to his face or physical appearance.

The film, while primarily focused on Banksy, also involved other street artists, such as Thierry Guetta, who filmed a significant portion of it before becoming the one in front of the camera. Before this happened, Thierry spend his time filming… well, everything. There’s some appeal in the idea of being able to capture so many moments that might otherwise be lost and forgotten, but I can’t help but wonder if he missed out of a lot of the things happening right in front of him because he had a camera filtered his view of the world. I think maybe some moments aren’t meant to be recorded anywhere but in our minds.

Through Exit Through the Gift Shop, the subjects presented a self via two modes: through the film itself, and through the art. As it is a documentary, they are supposed to exhibit some facet of fact, of truth. I think when it comes down to it, even outright lies impart some measure of truth, if in a more convoluted, less direct way. My impression is that like all film, it was carefully edited to portray a certain aspect of things, of the individuals. While I don’t know much about the other artists mentioned, I got the sense that Thierry and Banksy were a bit pretentious. This could be a notion pulled from inaccurate tidbits stuck in my head. Even if not, one might argue that Banksy, at least, has the right to be, with his level of influence. However, I had hoped that street artists, of all artists, might be more down-to-earth.

To be honest, I was not very impressed with most of the art. I liked the idea of it more than the application. There was just less meaning behind the pieces than I had hoped – at least, that I could see. Maybe I am just not very good at analyzing art.

While writing this, I auspiciously came across a quote that I see as relevant, I suppose it is rather unprofessional to include the whole thing here, but I am, after all, not a professional.

“Now the hand-painted image of a person is costly because the time of a well-trained artist is required to make it. The time spent by the painter is time spent seeing as well as making. Literally thousands of separate perceptions must be consolidated into a single image by the portrait painter. Even where the style is naturalistic and the technique meticulous, the necessary process of amalgamation entails synthesis, generalization, exaggeration, and simplification. Hence, much as we admire the painter’s craft, we know that it changes optical data. The invention and perfection of photography has taught us to see how painters change what they see. Oddly enough, we are less conscious of the fact that the camera also changes reality. Beyond that, most of us do not realize how much the photographer manipulates what the camera sees because we have been thoroughly conditioned to believe in the photographer’s—as opposed to the painter’s—mode of representing reality. For practical purposes this means that we regard photographic imagery as truthful while painterly imagery is viewed, at best, as poetic.” (Feldman)

I think this speaks to how art is viewed as opposed to what is captured through the camera, and the different selves the artist can compose of the subject depending on the medium used. People like to think of art as subjective and photography as objective, but I don’t think that’s always the case. In the case of art, the artist controls the final product, the image they present. In film, both the cinematographer, the subjects (or actors), and the editor contribute to the final presentation of the product. Either way, however, the person(s) creating the piece cannot entirely control its effect. The selves they intend to display may or may not be the ones the viewers see.

So… I’m a Millennial?

After reading an article called “Millennials: Confident. Connected. Open to Change,” I started to think about the similarities I have to my peers. If someone of my parents’ generation were to categorize me as being the same as most others of my generation, in many ways, they would be right. Technology is a huge part of my day-to-day life; I’m not religious; and (sadly) I don’t claim that a great work ethic is one of my most defining qualities. But in some ways, I am not the stereotypical Millennial. I haven’t exercised vigorously in the past 24 hours, unlike 56% of my generation (although I idly considered going to the gym, I never actually made it there today). I’m actually quite surprised that so many people exercise. I guess I’m glad to be part of such a health-conscious generation. As well as health-conscious, I think Milennials tend to be pretty environmentally-conscious. I like to think that I am too, but I don’t buy green products, unlike 53% of my generation (albeit, I might if I had a little more money).

Unlike 65% of my generation, I don’t get my news from the television – actually, I don’t really get much news from anywhere – maybe I should make more of an effort to be aware of current events. Unlike 53% of my generation, I tend to think that the government is too involved and society would do better if individuals and businesses were left more to their own devices (admittedly, I formed this opinion based on discussions with my parents). Unlike 69% of my generation, I am not a registered voter (although I did just recently turn eighteen). To be honest, I think young people around my age are too decided in their opinions and not well informed enough on both sides of issues – I try not to be too stubborn with my own views, because I know they can be improperly founded. I remember one of my friends once saying, “I feel as though the world is topsy-turvy and everyone keeps changing their opinions at the drop of a hat. Each time I try to make an educated decision, it turns out my education was wrong. Somebody just tell me the truth.”

Unlike 56% of my generation, I think that technology is an easy way to waste time; unlike 54%, I don’t think it genuinely makes people closer. Yes, I spend a lot of time on the internet and on my phone. But I don’t think it’s genuinely fulfilling – it’s just a habit and a way to procrastinate, in most cases. I’d rather have a conversation on the phone than on Facebook, but few of my friends care to do that – even though of my them once said, “Facebook is the imitation crab meat of social-ness” – it tastes decent, and it’s cheap, but the quality is not the same. But even as I write this essay, I’m multitasking and communicating with people via the internet. I’m quite the hypocrite, clearly.

I can’t exactly back this up with facts or statistics, but I wonder how many others might share the opinion that my generation, or at least some of the people in it, often have this air of entitlement? They – or should I say we? – seem to expect a lot from the world. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, in all cases, but maybe it’s setting us up for disappointment. Nobody ought to think success will just be handed to them on a silver platter. This idea about Milennials really just speculation in my part, and hearing what other people think about this. One of my friends said on the subject, “Grow up, people….stop complaining about your jobs, that’s the way you make money in order to do the stupid things you do. Stop complaining about college, you paid to go, so just man up and do work.”

“Every generation welcomes the pirates from the last.”
― Lawrence Lessig, Free Culture: The Nature and Future of Creativity

In looking at the full report of “Millennials: Confident. Connected. Open to Change,” I noticed some interesting trends over time, some shifts in a certain direction from generation to generation. I think generally, people have become more accepting – of biracial marriage and gay marriage, for example. This makes me wonder what the next generation will be like. Hopefully we’ll keep moving in this direction. Who exactly are the “pirate”s of the Millennials? I don’t think I’m one. The ways in which I am different  seem to me more like lingering effects from my parents’ generation, Generation X, than anything new that could become more significant with time.

Note: Statistics collected from “Millennials: Confident. Connected. Open to Change.”

 

Tumblr as a Platform for Composing a Self

My generation is notorious for its prolific use of social networking and social media websites.  One, in particular, is of interest to me: Tumblr. Tumblr is a blogging platform that was launched in 2007 by David Carp, founded was he was only nineteen. Recently, he sold the company to Yahoo. At the moment, Tumblr is the home of 154.4 million blogs. Roughly 92 million posts have been made today alone. Since 2013 is coming to a close, Tumblr has created a review of the year – and Michael Liedtke recently posted an article discussing that.

So, why was Tumblr rated the 6^th best social media site (and the only blogging website of the six)? I’m sure it’s for a variety of reasons, but I think the most prevalent is that its format allows for it to be personal. With many options for customization, there is the opportunity for the user to be creative in their presentation and allow their personality to show through these choices. Moreover, the option to communicate both publicly and privately with other uses gives the impression that Tumblr is not just a website, it’s a community. While it is also utilized by businesses, it is (probably more) commonly used by individuals. As such, it can be a place to post original artwork, writing, videos, music, and so on, or to reblog others posts. According to a Forbes article by Jeff Bercovici, “sensory and emotive, “the Tumblr experience can be boiled down to people expressing themselves publicly.” This makes it an excellent medium for composing a self.

But enough sounding as if I’m writing an ad for Tumblr (unfortunately, nobody is paying me to write this).

I made my first Tumblr blog in May 2012. I became one of over half the users who are under 35 years old (and followed primary only those around my own age). I’d hear about it from my peers and thought I’d give it a try. For many months, my blog was wildly unsuccessful. I was frustrated because no one was reblogging my inspirational quotes and sunset pictures. Now, I am still wildly unsuccessful, but much less so. I learned how to compose my blog in a way that was much more appealing to other users. However, while I enjoyed my slightly wider following, I realized that the self I was composing was based entirely on images and words that belonged to other people. So was this self I was presenting really like me at all? Was there any truth it in?

Although I only glimpse a few of the many bloggers, and the many varieties of blogs, something I have seen users articulate and reblog often is the idea that Tumblr is a home of sorts, and that they feel they can be their truth selves more through Tumblr than they can around people in the real world. I felt that way too, for a while.

Then, I realized, that a blog couldn’t sum up who I was, and that I wasn’t more real on a website than I was in my non-virtual life.

However, I think that my blog did portray an aspect of myself: first, it was the side of me that shared many of the same interests with my friends. Then, it was the part that was unhappy, and felt that black-and-white photographs and dark poetry described me best. Then, it was the facet of myself that enjoys bad puns and poorly-written television shows.

Finally, I rediscovered my desire to express myself through my own words and images. So I started a photography blog, and a poetry blog. The photography was a flop. With my poetry blog, on the other hand,  I found that there were people who would follow me based on my original work alone. As a writer, seeing others share your writing extremely rewarding, and it gave me a bit of confidence.

Now, I have four Tumblr blogs, and I use each of them to compose a different facet of myself. I admire others who use Tumblr as a way to share a part of themselves, whether that be through original media or by conglomerating  the things they are passionate about.

I think composing a self is like painting a picture, or telling a story. I’m kind of proud to be part of a generation that has discovered a new way to do that.

Music sets the mood.

I find it hard to explain why this fits on my blog, but I know that it does. I think maybe I associate the idea of finding home with finding oneself, because I have found that I feel most at home when the self I present is truest to the person I think I am. Over the past semester, I’ve grown to accept my college as my home, as well as my hometown, and I think it’s because I’ve learned to accept myself.

Peel the scars from off my back
I don’t need them anymore
You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars
I’ve come home

I adore inspirational quotations.

“To quote from Whitman: ‘O me, o life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life? Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?” Dead Poets Society, 1989

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…” – Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

“But things change. Stuff happens. And you know what? Life goes on. In fact, that’s what life is. […] So I can’t say this is the end or even an ending because it isn’t. It’s just life, and you know what? I’m going to do my best to try and really live it.” – Elizabeth Scott, Perfect You

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” — John Lennon, Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)

“Life is but life, and death but death!
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
And if, indeed, I fail,
At least to know the worst is sweet.
Defeat means nothing but defeat.” – Emily Dickinson, T’ is so much joy!

“I know what I have to do now; I’ve got to keep breathing because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”—Cast Away, 2000

“This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath.” – Regina Spektor, On The Radio

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
– Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan
–
“It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
“I know who I am and what I am, and that’s what counts, not what other people might think of me.” – Frank Abagnale, Catch Me If You Can

“I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there.” – Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being A Wallflower

“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.” – Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.” – Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

“for life’s not a paragraph\
And death i think is no parenthesis” – e. e. cummings, since feeling is first

Pieces.

When I was a young child, I used to have this blanket that I slept under at night, and dragged around the house by day. I can’t remember at what age I received it, nor what was special about it – but it was pink, and soft. Despite its widening holes from the woven pattern, and the few loose strings, it made its way into a few family photographs.
When I was six, my family and I drove out to California for a trip. I don’t remember this particular trip, although I’m sure I must have enjoyed myself. What I do remember is packing up as we were leaving the hotel room, and not being able to find my pink blanket.
The blanket I was given in replacement was not the same, and could not stop me from crying at night. This is the first thing I can recall losing.

I know that things I lose rarely come back (especially the ones that matter most). More often there’s an empty space that I try to fill, but somehow the replacement never quite fits.
When I was a child, my mom used to read to me frequently. One of the books she read was a story called “The Missing Piece” by Shel Silverstein. In this book, there is a small shape rolling around, a sort of circle with a slice missing, and it is searching for its missing piece.
I used to feel like I was missing a lot of pieces, some tiny and some larger chunks.
……….
While considering my missing pieces, I wondered what losses other people carry with them, so I asked around.1
What’s something you’ve lost?
A friend?
“I lost […] people who were once my “best friends[.]”
I’ve lost a lot of friends. Some of them I lost gradually, after moving from one side of Phoenix to another. Some of them I lost more all at once. That time, it was my fault.

Or a trinket of sorts?
“I lost […] a necklace given to me by a kind stranger that saved my life. It came in a box where you had to open up a clam and put the pearl in a little cage that went on the necklace. I loved it.”
When I was nine, I lost my favorite doll in a park. It was my fault – my mother told me I shouldn’t bring any of my most important toys.
When I was 11, I lost the earrings my ears had been pierced with. I shouldn’t have left them in my pocket.
When I was thirteen, I lost the locket my mother gave me. I shouldn’t have taken it off and put it in my open handbag – I should have realized how easily it could slip out.

Your mind?
“The most important thing I’ve ever lost I would say has to be my sanity.”
I know I’ve felt a little less than sane at times, but I’m thinking (hoping) that’s a stage that everyone goes through at some point, to some degree. Otherwise, I might have just been a little crazy.

What else have you lost?
“my fear to let go.”
“I’ve lost […] my respect for a huge figure in my life.”
“I’ve lost some confidence in myself.”

When I was fifteen, I lost my great grandmother.

By my seventeenth birthday, I’d lost both my grandfathers, as well as my great grandmother. It is still so strange to me, that emptiness where a life used to be.

By the time I was seventeen and two months old, I’d lost my way.

I thought I would never find it again.
……….
When I was about nine years old, I went on a particularly challenging hike in the Superstition Wilderness with my father and younger brother. I loved hiking, and we did it often, but this one was about eight hours round trip, up (and then down) the mountain, with an elevation change of about 4,000 feet. I remember reaching the summit, seeing the whole valley of Phoenix laid out before me, distant mountains, the huge open sky. Somehow, though, I got separated from my dad and brother. Maybe they knew where I was, but I felt lost. On top of this immense mountain, all alone, with nothing but my backpack and a digital camera. I don’t think I called out to them, but I did start crying. Instead of looking for them (as I remember being told to stay in one place if I ever got lost), I walked around a bit, taking pictures of flowers, sniffing sadly, but distracted slightly by the effects of the unusual amount of spring rain that year. I felt that I might as well make the best of the situation by getting some pretty photographs out of it.
It wasn’t long before I was reunited with my dad and brother. If you asked them about that hike, they would not even say I had gotten lost. The rest of the hike was painful for my legs, but pleasant enough. I stopped frequently on the way back down to take more pictures, even though my dad told me the more often I stopped the harder it would be to keep going.

Superstition Wilderness. Photo Credit: Victoria Johnson
……….
If you could have back everything you’ve lost, would you want to?
What if some things are best let go of? What if they aren’t meant to be found?
But maybe it’s not so much about the things we lose as the things we find.

“Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect.” – J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix

What have you found?

“my old tarot cards, which helped me realize myself in a weird period.”
“I found a university student buss pass so I be bussin round for free.”
“my ability to create music.”
“Love again, another chance.”
“the ability openly express stuff that’s personal like that in my writing and in my art.”
“a newfound talent of mine […] that helped me realize I could be special and I could do something to
make me happy, not others.”
“I found myself after losing some of my friends.”
……….

In the Shel Silverstein story that my mom used to read me, the character eventually finds a piece that fits, but after a while, decides it was happier without that piece. It realizes that maybe it was never really missing a piece after all.
For a long time, I felt like I was missing essential parts of myself.

I lost things I couldn’t see coming. I lost my best friend, after years of friendship, because she said I was depressing, I was bringing her down.
I lost the first person I really, truly fell for – because he told me, how could he love me if I could not love myself?
But after all, they weren’t really pieces of me, and I didn’t need them to be whole.

When I was seventeen, I didn’t think I would ever feel whole again. I wondered what had happened to the nine-year-old that got lost while hiking – she never, ever could have imagined that I’d lose the will to live.
I couldn’t have imagined that I’d find it again.
But I did, and here I am.

When I was eighteen, I realized that maybe I’m glad I lost my way, because that gave me the chance to find a better one. Despite, or maybe even because of the pieces I’ve lost, I’ve found myself.

“For I am not dead yet,
I am not in the ground,
And in life I may be lost,
But someday I will be found.”2

things I’ve found:
my favorite pair of cheap earrings
a passion for swing dancing
my unfinished journal
a sense of belonging
my second favorite doll
family photographs
my voice
the other sock in the pair
a guitar pick
inspiration
good music
my mother’s wedding rings
a perfect seashell
old letters
new friends
and

hope.

1. These responses were collected from a survey of selected Tumblr bloggers, and from a question posted on SoulPancake.com
2. From a poem by Bookie user Truthdefiesreason