Creative Writing Class

I think I've mentioned before how interesting it is when I write something, usually a memory, for a paper in class and then have my best friend look it over. She is almost always included in these memories (our trip to Europe, our trip to New Orleans, our trips to the cities. . . ect.), so when I ask her for comments, it's usually along the lines of, "No, that's wrong. This is what happened."

Usually, she's right. My memory is terrible. Though, for the record, I still believe the Mercedes CLK 65 Black we saw in New Orleans was gray. No one would destroy that beautiful power-fiend by painting it baby blue.

The latest example is of a paper I just finished writing tonight. I shot her an email and asked her to edit before I hit print. It was about our trip to Valley Fair this last summer with my dad. My assignment for my Writing Creative Nonfiction class was to write out an 'explodable' memory. Draw it out, take it step by step. This was hard for me, because most memories I treasure aren't terribly exciting. Most involve staring out over an Italian landscape or the first time my niece found out how to make me laugh. But then I remembered the rip cord.

I should explain. I am afraid of heights. I mean, heights above those which I can't jump down from safely. This is probably why I never climbed any of the awesome evergreen trees in our yard (probably too, because I hated having sappy fingers). But I've always wanted to skydive. Call it taking on my fears, but I've always wanted to experience the feeling of falling. But, you know, not the whole dying part. Parachute. Problem solved. Anyway, we were at Valley Fair, and I think we were pretty tired by this point (we got there early and spent the day on water rides and walking around). I saw the rip cord. There was a lot of joking about going on about doing it, until my dad told us he would pay, but only if my friend went with me. The long and short of it is what I drafted into this paper.

Form and Technique 2

My friend text me and said I was wrong. I had pulled the release cable. I refused to believe this. I have no memory of pulling the cord, just hanging on to her for dear life. I was scared witless. I wanted to throw up. I also remember the sun almost piercing my skin. Then she reminded me that my dad had caught it all on camera. I went to look at the video, and sure enough, I pulled the cord, and it was cloudy (borderline raining). Again, I do have a terrible memory. But what gets me is that I can still feel the sun on my skin. I wrote the paper to what is true to my memory. Maybe it was tainted by the absolute fear gripping my heart and lungs. But I think this is what I love most about creative nonfiction. It doesn't matter that my friend was too scared to pull the cord so I was forced to volunteer, or that it was about to rain. I wrote this how I remember, and the best part is arguing the details with my friends and family. Because we all have different views of what really happened.