twintipteles
Active member
Heres a little writing assignment I just did for my highschool creative writing class, nothing special but I enjoyed writing it. Feel free to post corrections but realize that I am probably too lazy to change anything since I'm not particularly interested in grades.
"My first memory is invisible"
Unfortunately, our memories are far from chronological. It is nearly impossible to remember when a specific memory occurred, or if it is even a real memory. When I first began to ponder the origins of my memory bank, events that happened when I was less than a year old came to mind. However, I cannot remember any details about these events, and upon consideration, it seems certain that over the years I have heard so many stories and pictures of specific happenings, that I created a memory that isn’t truly mine. I decided that the first real memory I had was probably the first one that I remember thinking during, since my thoughts are the only things I can guarantee are original. No amount of story telling and family picture viewing could create such a bizarre internal dialogue as I can recall.
I was two or three at the time, and while I would probably have preferred to be climbing trees or jumping on the sofa, my mom had insisted that I go to the weekly arts and crafts session at the library. The details are blurry, but for some reason or another my project consisted of multiple pieces and required some sort of adhesive. My mother had a disinclination towards me using glue, since I always tried to get as much of on me as possible. For some inexplicable reason, I found peeling dried Elmers glue off of my skin a fascinating procedure. The suggested alternative to Elmers was tape. But this was not just any tape that the supervising librarian offered, this was invisible scotch tape. The idea of a tangible object being invisible seemed incomprehensible. My mind raced, trying to understand the complexities of creating invisible tape or evan using it. My imagination set no limits on the possibilities of this new tape, and I was excited beyond belief.
When the librarian handed me the invisible tape my expectations and dreams were dashed. I was dismayed to find that the “invisible tape” was simply a clearer version of the mildly opaque scotch tape that I already knew and trusted. I labored through the rest of my project with a heavy heart and a distinct lack of enthusiasm. My wild fantasies of invisible tape and the world it would open to me had seemed within reach, but the invisible tape had turned out to be nothing more than a slightly modified version of the original, which some young executive had no doubt labeled with the type of hyperbole that is all too common in today’s marketing. That year I stopped believing in Santa Claus.
"My first memory is invisible"
Unfortunately, our memories are far from chronological. It is nearly impossible to remember when a specific memory occurred, or if it is even a real memory. When I first began to ponder the origins of my memory bank, events that happened when I was less than a year old came to mind. However, I cannot remember any details about these events, and upon consideration, it seems certain that over the years I have heard so many stories and pictures of specific happenings, that I created a memory that isn’t truly mine. I decided that the first real memory I had was probably the first one that I remember thinking during, since my thoughts are the only things I can guarantee are original. No amount of story telling and family picture viewing could create such a bizarre internal dialogue as I can recall.
I was two or three at the time, and while I would probably have preferred to be climbing trees or jumping on the sofa, my mom had insisted that I go to the weekly arts and crafts session at the library. The details are blurry, but for some reason or another my project consisted of multiple pieces and required some sort of adhesive. My mother had a disinclination towards me using glue, since I always tried to get as much of on me as possible. For some inexplicable reason, I found peeling dried Elmers glue off of my skin a fascinating procedure. The suggested alternative to Elmers was tape. But this was not just any tape that the supervising librarian offered, this was invisible scotch tape. The idea of a tangible object being invisible seemed incomprehensible. My mind raced, trying to understand the complexities of creating invisible tape or evan using it. My imagination set no limits on the possibilities of this new tape, and I was excited beyond belief.
When the librarian handed me the invisible tape my expectations and dreams were dashed. I was dismayed to find that the “invisible tape” was simply a clearer version of the mildly opaque scotch tape that I already knew and trusted. I labored through the rest of my project with a heavy heart and a distinct lack of enthusiasm. My wild fantasies of invisible tape and the world it would open to me had seemed within reach, but the invisible tape had turned out to be nothing more than a slightly modified version of the original, which some young executive had no doubt labeled with the type of hyperbole that is all too common in today’s marketing. That year I stopped believing in Santa Claus.
