This post is another in our weekly series, "What I Know about Writing." These short writing exercises were done within a 10 to 12-minute time limit, for a Daily Write Round Robin class. They are raw writes, not revised.
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Jenny Strauss is a native San Franciscan who grew up with hippies and gurus as a die hard liberal. She was kicked out of high school at 15 for extreme truancy. Of this she is proud. She does not, however, want her two children to follow in her footsteps. She is currently working on a memoir/novel -- two books in one, weaving tales of her 1970s childhood among hippies, self-actualization junkies and wealthy suburbanites with a dystopian fantasy story about a girl, not unlike herself, who takes a stand against a society hell-bent on demonizing fat people. Jenny was most recently published in an online anthology, which you can read HERE.
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Dawn lived in a dilapidated house on the train tracks with cockroaches and an old time radio that was always turned to classic country. When the train went by, the whole place rattled. It was comforting. Just like the yellow peeling wallpaper and haze of smoke from her parents' cigarettes. Her dad looked like an old man, a wino or a train hopper. Her mom wore house dresses and hacked when she coughed.
That's one thing I know about writing.
The girl who gave me the gold unicorn necklace pretended to like me. She was rich and lived in a special development behind a gate. I felt special when I got invited over to her house on Halloween. She knew I was on a fast. She knew I hadn't eaten in months. She knew I wanted to fit in, she must've. She would have sensed it. Did she know that I'd stay home and give out candy for her while she went to a party? Did her parents know she would ask me to do that? Did the unicorn necklace, tiny as it was, make up for her abandonment? I ate all the candy. Transgression that would haunt me.
That's another thing I know about writing.
That's something I know about writing.
I like to tell stories. Like about the time I got locked into Dachau. Yes, you read right. The concentration camp. Munich. I was in college, studying ancient Greek art and architecture one summer in Europe. I was the only dyke on the trip, only I probably called myself a lesbian wombon back then. I had a horrible chop job mullet done by a friend I was in love with, and wore the most hideous fat girl tourist clothes you can imagine. This was long before all of America got fat and cute clothes were no where to be found. Imagine me in garish brightly colored elastic waisted clown shorts that puffed out at the thighs and a loose tank top. Braless of course (believe me, not pleasing considering the odd shape of my uneven boobs). Plus there was all that body hair.
It took us a long time to get out to the site. We rode the U-bahn which I was sure went over the same tracks as the cattle cars that hauled my people to their deaths. Plus it was the football championships and there were drunken Danes everywhere in bright orange work suits with fake dread locked hair. Very Nazi Youth, at least in my mind.
By the time we got to the camp, it was late and I couldn't stand to be with the girls from my group. I needed to be alone as the only one (queer, Jew). I was feeling very dramatic. I visited the barracks, the smokestack, the mass grave (a terrible place). And when I came out there was no one around. No one. Quiet. Late. My stomach started feeling funny. I walked toward the museum where they had gone, but it was closed. I edged toward the gate only to find, to my horrific surprise, that it was locked. And I was on the inside.
Writing is recollection.
Wow Jenny. You are really good. An inspiration.
Heidi
Posted by: Heidi Leupp | Tuesday, November 01, 2011 at 07:16 PM