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Thread: short scattered rough first draft of an excerpt for my memoir to-be.

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  1. #1
    New Fish; Learning About Thick Skin
    Join Date
    Aug 2017
    Posts
    5

    Question short scattered rough first draft of an excerpt for my memoir to-be.

    I haven't gotten to the point where I build a timeline and organize everything, but is this writing style compelling? do you feel the urge to read more? should I write my memoir reverse chronologically, or should I start from the beginning?


    the mind has a way of attempting to explain trauma that has never had any actual resolve. how can a child rationalize understand (or whatever) a grown man being both a predator and a protector. that you ultimately are attached to the one who is dining on your innocence the same as everyone else in your family, just in the most disgusting way imaginable?

    I was 8-9 years old. ***** was my hero. my family locked me in bedrooms and refused to feed me, never gave me baths, I constantly had head lice because their was no effort to keep me tidy and taken care of. here is this big guy that my mom trusts enough to send us across the country on a greyhound with.....and he must be my protector, right?

    we were in the trailer park swimming pool area, and I was standing next to the deep end, with my bare feet hugging the hot concrete. before I knew it, *****, a local blonde kid in the neighborhood, pushes me into the deep end. I panic. over and over, I struggle to gasp for even the slightest bit of air, and it happens. someone grabs me and carries me out of the pool. George. I could have died. yet this half blind, Jim Beam and Pepsi loving, scruffy faced tall guy who my mom has married, or moved in with, or whatever....he saved my life.

    standing over a huge anthill in front of our trailer, my eyes cross from staring at the ants for too long. I'm mesmerized by the mass of tiny moving creatures, but suddenly...from out of nowhere, ***** pushes me, and I fall onto the anthill. my hero scolds him for being so mean to me. and before I knew it, the ants were brushed off and the rest were washed off in a bath.

    Is this what story-time is always like? (side note...before Alabama, we had Paterson New Jersey. this place was, in essence, a glorified shack. my two brothers and I slept in the same room, in the back. I was stuck with the cot. one night I woke up to what could best be described as a pillow being aggressively pressed against my face by my brothers, but they always claimed to have been "butt smashing", a game everyone plays where someone jumps on the head of an unexpected person. as a naive young kid, I hold onto that explanation.....for years. back to story-time)

    as I lay on the left side of *****, on a water bed in the dark Paterson bedroom next to ours, I intently listen to his improvised stories. on the opposite side, he claims one of my brothers is listening to stories as well. he keeps on putting his hand down my pants, though, and I can't bring myself to ask him to stop because then he won't protect me anymore. one night, he even got on top of me. it hurt, so he quickly got back off. it was a strange moment, and there was no explanation. I don't recall ever being told by George to not tell anyone. hell, for all I know, everyone knew. why else would the door be off the hinges in that Paterson home? but I was afraid, afraid that he would somehow get mad and leave me with the people who don't even have the slightest advantage of keeping me around.



    and also - this is the first time that I've really started to outline a plan as to how I'm going to go about describing the events of being abused as a child and how it has affected me as an adult. take it easy on me hahhaha
    Last edited by femwynn; 03-24-2019 at 07:38 PM.

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