For the past few years, I’ve been composing stories, essays, and articles in my head. Especially when I go to readings or poetry slams, or when Ashley finishes a new writing project, I always start thinking “yeah, I should write too”. But all that came out on paper has been of academic nature (see links). My narrative voice has been limited to facebook updates. It feels like those dreams where you are screaming, but no sound comes out.
The last time I publicly shared a piece I wrote was about 10 years ago. I took a creative writing course in college. My prof praised my play as “the triumph of the English Department over the College of Communication”. As in, he liked my minimalism, my character development and my use of symbols. He liked that I wrote a play, not a screenplay. Why didn’t I take that further?
I started an autobiographical essay two years ago about a trip to Poland and Lithuania. I wanted to go to see the town where my grandfather was born. I ended up doing a lot of thinking about my Jewish heritage and about universal themes like hospitality, integration and religion in general.
I also started a blog in 2009 when I was interning for the European Parliament. It was an interesting concept – I was the American who snuck into an EU institution. Everyone was “exotic” there. Having a double name was common, as was dating someone from a different country. Most people spoke three or more languages fluently. And yet I still managed to be different – non European. Could have been some good writing, but I didn’t want to take time away from experience in order to reflect through writing.
In 2010, I joined an English language writers’ group in Hamburg. It was a great way to meet some like-minded people, yet I never read any of my works. I didn’t have anything. Maybe I wasn’t “ripe” yet. Maybe I’m “ripe” now.