The Start

I believe...this had a right to be here. Its the first real self reflective piece I wrote, one of the best things I've ever written...and its me, though my goals have since changed.


The first time I spun a story with words all my own, it was a breezy, sunny afternoon, not remarkable to anyone other than me. I remember sitting underneath a large willow tree, listening to the murmuring of the wind through the gracefully dancing leaves and feeling the need to capture the thoughts, the sensations that one moment inspired. The end result wasn’t great, must less above average; it was not even really eloquent, but it freed my mind to think in its own context, outside the classroom, to create and edit thoughts, day dreams and nightmares that would eventually turn into either poems or short stories that let out everything I could not. My love of reading had already led me to a wide array of interests and my imagination never ran out of things to describe when my pen touched paper or my fingers a keyboard. I began to write everything down, every silly little random thought, every dream and wish, recording my life in snippets of information that would have been meaningless to anyone other then myself. As my reading and my writing progressed, as I noticed more about the things around me over the years, I became driven by one particular dream, afflicted with the undeniable need to share the things in this life that so often go ignored, the stories so similar to mine and yet so utterly different. With this I slipped off the easy path that had been before me, stepping into a wilderness where I had to walk slowly and listen carefully to all that was around me, for it was people that I focused on, and about whom I wrote. This is where the uncomfortable part of my writing appears, for my life has been difficult to say the least, and, though I find it near impossible to write about my own past, I still experience the impulse, an inexplicable urge, to write about those I see around me.

I wish to share with the world the stories of what I have termed the ‘silent slaughter’, that condition both mental and physical that is nearly impossible to escape from, that changes from victim to victim but is purely the degradation of the soul and spirit, most simply put. I should know; I have lived through part of it. Otherwise I doubt I would have the tenacity or the arrogance to refer to it by a nickname, although there is no affection inside me for it. Most simply put, for the meaning of it changes with each story, it is being imprisoned by abuse of any kind, most especially when the abuser is one who society views with approval and believes can do no wrong.

This I know for truth, for I am an abuse victim and my freedom came at a very bitter price: my younger siblings. It was not merely the relationship of sister that was taken from me for I was their mother because our mother could parent no one nor had the will to do anything other then substance abuse and abuse to us. They, Alyssia, Brianna, Pilar, and Jacob, were my world but in exchange for my freedom I lost them five years ago and have not seen them since. I made the choice to leave my mother and stepfather and to be placed in foster care; I knew that it was the right thing to do even though my escape was bitter and guilty. There are many things I still do not remember because my own mind shelters me from those harsh realities, but I can say honestly that if I was still in the same position I doubt I would be alive today. I could not speak of them, of the nightmares that haunt me still to this day, but in my writing, I found a release, a freedom that I had never known before and it became everything to me as I began my first year of high school and struggled with depression. That, more then anything else, was the reason why I joined my high school’s newspaper; even four years ago I had a vague idea of what I wished to do. I could not write about myself for that required something I was not able to give, but I could and would write about everything and anything I saw around me, as I still do, in poems, short stories and other forms, although the majority of such writing are private, since they are often harsh, brutal and shied away from.

I am no mover or shaker, I am not out to radically change the world, or to rebel against it; but I will be heard, I hope some will really listen for I do not speak only for myself. I wish to write, to share the lives of people who on the outside seem ordinary but in truth are remarkable, incredible, heroes in their own way. I fear that I may not quite be able to do this yet; for me it has always been either complete silence or painfully unvarnished truth, and I have yet to learn the boundaries in this search for truth in the human story.

My ideas and aspirations center around the silent ones of my generation, of the older generations and of the generations yet to come. I wish to speak, to interpret in a way, for those who can not or do not have the strength to speak for themselves. I am no bottom feeder to take their stories and build a name for myself on the pity they might invoke, this is not my wish, for I have been in their place, but I do want to be a muckraker in a unique way. I want to learn of their stories and expose them to a world that needs to hear them. In Broken For You, Stephanie Kallos thread through the whole novel the idea that people are chipped, cracked, broken, and that it is not a horrible thing to be so, for by being what and who we are, we fit together and make a mosaic of humanity, of family and of love. This book stirred inside me a compulsion to note the frailties of humans, of myself and those around me and to examine how we fit together. Now I cherish that knowledge and in my joy in this discovery I dream of being an author of understanding, to spread outward from myself this awareness of others. I wish to become a journalist, to speak with written words, to write what some can not say for themselves, to share with the world what it needs to know with candor, wit and truth.

I have always worked toward my goals, most of the time with a single minded intensity that leaves no room for failure; I am a passionate person by nature and once I commit myself to anything it is complete and whole hearted. I have committed myself to becoming a truth seeker and an author of stories of those whose souls are older than their years, to be a translator of lives and to be eventually, hopefully, a nurturer of understanding.