I’ve been having a wonderful, overwhelming time so far at my MFA residency. Today, true to my word, at least for now, I wanted to share a little snippet of an event with you.
I attended a lecture from a graduating student about incorporating trauma into your writing. At the end she gave us a prompt and asked us to write about a difficult event from our past: what was important, what you remember, what you don’t.
We were short on time, we only had five minutes, but it was an interesting exercise. This is what I wrote:
What matters is this.
My grandma forgot who I was.
I was in 7th, maybe 8th grade.
We were watching TV, I don’t remember what.
My grandma was in a chair.
I was on the floor, pulling on the long carpet strands.
She called me a beautiful girl.
Asked who I was.
I couldn’t answer.
Someone did, my dad or my grandpa.
There was a nightmare.
She thew snakes.
My grandma forgot who I was.
My mother promised me she wouldn’t.