Blog article has been published

For my faithful blog readers, this article has been published in SCAD District Quarterly. It has been edited to fit the requirements for the publication, however it's still pretty exciting!

You can read the original here on this site!

Great article by Daniel Mendelsohn

A small portion of a larger article written by Daniel Mendelsohn of The New Yorker, entitled, "The History of Memoirs." This article details the history of the memoir and why, in most cases, these "truths" writers claim to be telling aren't in fact truths at all. They are "a truth," but not "the truth." See the full article here:

Once the memoir stopped being about God and started being about Man, once “confession” came to mean nothing more than getting a shameful secret off your chest—and, maybe worse, once “redemption” came to mean nothing more than the cozy acceptance offered by other people, many of whom might well share the same secret—it was but a short step to what the Times book critic Michiko Kakutani recently characterized as the motivating force behind certain other products of the recent “memoir craze”:

“the belief that confession is therapeutic and therapy is redemptive and redemption somehow equals art.”

But Enough About Me

Creative Writing Assignment

I do not deserve these faces to look upon me and see something that I've never seen within myself.

I can't force myself to imagine what they would do if they knew the side of me that I despise and can't run from.

The dark, pitted hole within oneself that churns away like a soft supple butter to only mask the wave of nausea brought on by the embarrassment and pain.

But perhaps at certain times I guess they do see that side of me; that of which I can't and won't necessarily elaborate on for it is not at all to be used in some form of amusement to you.

And so then, if they have seen that side, where is the pain that is missing from their faces, yet is ever so present in mine?

Good people I believe are people who should be spoken about.

Brought up in most worthwhile discussions in order to paint a picture of a face that is so unique and intriguing it only adds a human touch to an otherwise cliche story.

There are a few good people I have met in my life that I feel are worthy of ever talking about.

As for the rest, I wish to block you forever. You've done with me what you wanted, I've learned what I can from your experiences and interactions with me and as far as I'm concerned, that's all I will ever and can ever take from meeting you.

The good ones, the really, truly stunning and inspiring ones have caught my heart and the very essence of my soul in a way that has never been.

Growth has sprung from me and every day it is a new growth that takes place gulping for any chance of a new experience with them, until that donning darkness comes.

I believe now though that when in the right company, darkness can hold a gentle hand; it can feel.

The one with the sunflower hair and fair skin that is popped by enormous dew drop eyes and wild black poppy brows looks at me in a dark hour. The point in which I was speaking of before, when that ugly side within myself has shown it's rearing head.

She says sweetly and ashamed, "You know me. I'm not good at comforting people or saying the right things when someone needs me too. I'm sorry."

Pain behind her eyes because she can't help me. Not because of what I had done, but because she honestly and truly felt bad for not being able to comfort.

I do not deserve someone thinking about comforting me, let alone, someone who feels bad because they can't but want to.

Did I break? Did you see it there, in that moment of silence when my eyes opened up like french doors to show you the horrible side of me? The sort of gray, fuzzy, sticky side to me that I know is there? Did you? Were you let in to the scary depths of my entirety that ever presently resembles Dante's venture into the electrifying Inferno?

Free Writing

It was kind of awkward I'll have to admit.

I never thought I'd end up there in that stone cold, yet humbly furnished apartment. Walking up that staircase to the see the night sky was probably the best part.

Too much wine is never a good thing, and my friend and I found that out the hard way. There were too many issues with that night, and yet for some reason, we still thought it was O.K. to go there.

I wore a new white dress I had just bought at Victoria's Secret which managed to accomplish what anyone would want out of a Victoria's Secret dress. It looked how you think it looked I'm sure.

My friends and I decided to start the night out at Bacchus, never thinking we would be up until 6:30 A.M.

Over wine, we discussed our lives. It was a while since we had all really caught up. We played silly games like, "Kill him, Date him or Marry him."

Most of the guys mentioned I wanted to kill instead of marry... I found that to be strange. None of the guys I really wanted to marry anyway, or would never even consider.

There are too many guys who like to play games, and there are too many guys just looking for a girl to bite their bait. I wasn't in the mood for playing games and you'd think that would have stopped me from going out.

Games are what you have to play apparently to get a guy, unless their one of those really nice, overly sweet ones who will never bullshit you and always come off a little too strong. I'll admit, I like the ones who are impossible to get and are devilishly cunning and somewhat brute.

I was glad I went with my friend though, someone like me who doesn't entertain a waste of time.

However,

for some reason, there is something about one person that I can't seem to put my finger on.

I'm usually a good judge of character and against what everyone has told me, I still choose to see the good in him. I'd like to think that he is able to open up and show his true self, however, I'm not too sure he ever has.

At least to me. But who am I, really? I'm not anything, or at least not someone he would probably open up to. Why would he?

And yet, against my friends words and advice and even strangers, I really cannot let this go. It's probably the part of me that always wants to see the kindness in people, no matter how horrid they may actually be.

I hope I won't be disappointed that I wasted at least some energy in thinking that he could be nicer than he somewhat shows.

A truly talented soul, intelligent as anyone I've met here, and someone who is easy to talk to, I hope I'm making the right decision.

I'm probably putting too much thought into it.

Just saying...

Court, me?

I hate going to court. Having spent most of my time in court while in high school--I spent most of senior year skipping class and was on the verge of being a truant--I've developed a strong disliking for it. As I'm sure, most others have.

I made an illegal U- turn when I was 16 years old. 16 years old.

4 years later, I am summoned to court to appear since I have apparently failed to do so.

I was unaware I was supposed to appear. Apparently, at the time I was in Savannah for college. I'm surprised a warrant hadn't been out for my arrest.

My sometimes absent minded father told me last night at 11 p.m., "Oh yeah, Claire. You have to go to court tomorrow."

My father tends to forget about a lot of things before it's too late. True, it wasn't his responsibility, but he was living up to his expectations.

We never paid the ticket so I had to now endure this mess.

I was supposed to have a parent there with me, but since both work, I had to beg my older brother to come. PLEAD him to come.

Matthew's disposition is as sunny as an electric eel. "He's a pill," my grandmother used to say when describing him.

On the way there, he expressed his anger for having to stop what he was doing to accompany me to court,
which is in downtown Dallas.
Which is one of the most infuriating places to drive in.
Which is on a day it's 102 degrees outside.

Who knew so much could go wrong.

First while going through the required metal detector, Matthew had a pocket knife on his keys, so he was asked to leave and come back without it. He had to walk back to the car
which was parked 2 blocks away.
which he had to walk to in the blistering heat.

When he returned, he was even more surly than before.

Second, I had forgotten to wear a jacket in the courtroom and had on a tank top, so I was asked to leave until I covered my shoulders.

I began to panic because I didn't have anything else to wear and I had 2 minutes until court started. Matthew, being the great problem solver he is, decided to give me his Ralph Lauren pink polo,
which unfortunately he had nothing on underneath.
Which he had to walk back to the car and sit shirtless in after giving it to me.
Which now forced me to go to court guardian-less.

"People are going to think I'm a crack addict. Hurry up, Claire," he said behind his teeth.

I tucked his large polo into my skirt, rolled the sleeves and walked back in, while my brother sat shirtless in the car, that also had a knife in it.

At least if some crack addict decided to break in, he could have defended himself.

So, I walked back into the courtroom as the judge laughed looking at what I had now put on.

Thankfully the issue got dismissed considering the (expletive) U-turn took place 4 (expletive) years ago, and this whole day could have been avoided had my father just paid the ticket.

I hope I never have to go to court again.

Thank you, Matthew. Not many people would sit in the car shirtless in 102 degree heat, surrounded by homeless people, beggars and crack addicts.

As for the judge, thank you for dismissing my case.

Graduation- So what if I've had six glasses of champagne already?

Well, it's here. I'm finally home.
After slaving over finals for the last week in order to get them done early, I am now finished.

It feels great.

Other than Philip's graduation, which will be happening today, there have been several other festivities I've had to go to.

1. Brunch for Philip's friends.
This was fun. It was held at one of his friends houses around 11 a.m. yesterday and the food was to die for.
(That's always the best part for me with these things. Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, watermelon and proscuitto, biscuits... mmm.)

2. Baccaleureatte
Basically a church service that was long and drawn out and of course, I wasn't dressed properly because I was under the assumption it was going to be something other than a church service.
I walked into the church wearing a neon pink, studded dress that was shorter cut and black gladiator heels. Among very conservative families, I stood out like a sore thumb.
That was embarrasing, however, I still love the dress and will continue to wear it.

3. Another party
After the baccaleureatte, another one of Philip's friends held a get-together at their house for cake and champagne. The plus side was that I got to drink for free, the down side was that I had to do it discreetly. I'm not 21 yet, and no one failed to remind me of that.

Lady: Claire, are you 21?!
Me: No, 'maam, I'm not. My parents don't mind though. It's just one glass. (Lie. It was actually the third.)
Lady: Oh well, we don't let our children drink.

Oh yeah, are those your kids sitting in the corner looking depressed as shit because everyone else is drinking but them? Sucks.

I walked away and downed my glass, while making my way toward the bar to get another.

4. Graduation Dinner
My family and our cousin's family, along with both sets of grandparents, aunts and uncles, all went out to Nick and Sams for steaks.
I ordered the $125 Surf and Turf with Philip. I figured I should make the best of it since I had been living off macaroni and cheese, pasta and pizza for the last two weeks in Savannah because I was broke and that's all I could afford.

It was worth it because the lobster was huge and the steak was cooked perfectly.
The bill came out to be a whopping $1,400.
My grandfather paid for it. I smiled and thanked him.

It's always a fun time when both of our families get together. We are very tightly knit, and my cousins are great. Caroline, my cousin, is in the same grade as Philip at E.S.D. so they'll be graduating together.

5. Graduation
This is today and currently we are all sitting around the living room drinking coffee and watching the Food Network. I have a dress that I just bought to wear to this function and hopefully it doesn't stand out as much as the neon pink one.
Who cares though, because these conservative assholes can all stick it.

"Oh, that's Claire. She's the artsy one. You know, she left E.S.D. to attend that Arts Magnet school. She's at some art college now, I don't really know which one. But what's the difference?"
Yeah, I honestly heard someone say that about me the other night.

Well, fuck you lady. Just because I didn't marry rich right out of high school and am deciding to make something of myself, which just so happens to be through an art form, doesn't mean I'm any lower than you are. We come from the same kind of families, and you know you wish you could wear this dress as well as I am right now. Too bad you can't.

Hopefully you can see why it was I had to get the hell out of that stiff ass school. I never really fit in, and unfortunately some of my classmates were at some of the functions last night because they too have siblings in Philip's class.

This explains the champagne drinking.

I tried to avoid them at all costs and will continue doing so.
Those people mean nothing to me now, and they can gossip all they want.

Screw them. I'm an artsy person and I sometimes like to wear neon pink inappropriatly to a church service and I also like to drink..

I'll be drinking tonight too at the next party...and the next.

In question

Counting down the hours of the day, I find myself often times worrying about certain

insignificant things more than those quirky quandaries of happy thoughts and brilliant epiphanies.

I can say that I'm a generally happy person who finds solitude and happiness in an evening sunset or morning rain however lately worry seems to be my bigger half.

And not just minor worries like the countless things I need to get done before the day is over,

or how I should have gotten more sleep last night. No.

These worries are not what I am speaking of.

Worries more like where I should go in life, if everything you work toward is really for nothing, or if turning down a great opportunity in dance was really the better choice to make.

Life can't be this hard.

Life shouldn't be this questioning.

However,

filling my mind so frequently with depressing, overanalyzed thoughts could be a divine intervention from God or something who is secretly, purposefully trying to crowd my mind so that I realize a bigger picture I'm not picking up on yet.