Last week, I came across a video of a poem called Dinosaurs In The Hood by Danez Smith. I’ve never heard of him as a poet before, it was a random night of me browsing Facebook videos after a funny cat video. The video, though, resonated with me on a profound level. Lately I’ve been struggling with how I receive and digest black trauma and black pain, and even my own. This poem recited in this video said more about my feelings towards these uncertain feelings better than I could, or possibly can. It’s taken me well over four months to craft these feelings perfectly, but basically, my trauma and pain is not for sell.
It feels very
writerly of me right for me to have a post about the one thing I somehow have never spoke about: my writing process. I’ve rambled on Twitter a few times once I started releasing my flash fiction, but I know that 140 characters can’t explain this method of madness correctly. While this isn’t so much about the process and just a more key guide on understanding my writing style, it only seems right to include everyone in on this methodical process I call writing. This is a very opinionated piece that’s solely about my writing process, style, and thoughts on writing. These views are very much subject to change as a grow, too. But for now, this is the three novel idea/ projects and two short stories version of myself. What do I know, though? I’ve never been mentioned on Buzzfeed or in a Lenny Letter.
It was 2013 when I gave birth to my daughter. Motherhood, especially when unexpected, comes at you so fast that it catches you up in the rapture. There was so much about that time that was a blur because I didn’t spend a moment of it outside my head, outside of the moment of being a mom. It was a shock to no one that I was hit with post partum depression, but it was a complete shock to me that within nine months, and the one month of the baby being outside of me, I gained 75 pounds.
Every age has given me a deep sense of grief in some ways. I remember turning 13 and thinking that there was some sort of defined sense of maturity that I had to embody. It was the faux sophistication that ruined my teenage years. Of course, don’t all teenagers believe they know it all? Then there was when I turned 18. Suddenly, I wanted to be more open and vulgar, honest, and openly sexual without a sense of regret. Again, still being a teenager I felt at though this was what I was supposed to do, but still thought it made me special because I was the only one who felt strong enough to do so. Without too much digression, my sense of open honesty and shameless sexual liberation made me remarkable to certain people, and others for other reason. Then I was 20, feeling less accomplished than my other friends because I began college late and still don’t know my “meaning”. It was stupid to feel this way, looking back on it. Sadly, I’m 25 now. Twenty-five years old and feeling was less accomplished than 13, 18, 20, and even 24 year old me. Though .. that’s not all true.
There are only about 20+ posts on my blog and I feel as though that 70% of them include the words Fight Club. Most of them mention my love for it, or how great it was for me, or just how much I consider it to be a literary masterpiece. The things is, for a very long time I haven’t been able to properly articulate why and how it affected me. I say it’s Fight Club, but it’s a lot more than that.
I remember when the film premiered in the late 90s, when it came to HBO and all I understood was that there was some fighting and the name was carved into pink soap. This was before I was deeply in love with Brad Pitt and had to see all his films. This was also the time that my idea of a great film to occupy me was Spice World or Rugrats Go To Paris. I still had youth left in me, and with that in mind, I didn’t honestly have the attention span or intelligence for this movie.
In a way, I still don’t.