Introduction
I have decided to pursue an essay that would be most meaningful to me. I wrote an immersive memoir piece last semester for a creative nonfiction writing class, and I absolutely adored the style. The origin piece would be the piece that I wrote for that class which follows me throughout a car ride and Denny’s stop as I reflect on certain things about my childhood and my relationship with my mother. Throughout this piece, I make it clear how my family affected how I have become however the next most important thing that affected who I have become is Chicago and I did not do that city enough justice. I want to do that now. I love my city and there are so many aspects that I can talk about. I have questions on how it affected me, what were the most memorable moments living in the city, and what are my current thoughts about my city. For my first experiment it will be an immersive memoir piece. In that piece, it will center around a relatively recent event of me biking around the southside taking pictures. Once I am in the past, I will go into detail explaining those stories and the lesson gotten from them.
Genre Research
My research on the immersive memoir genre comes from two essays that I have read in my previous classes that I believe some up why I love the genre so much. The first is Toward a Definition of Creative Nonfiction by Brett Lott, and the second is Writing Personal Essays: On the Necessity of Turning Oneself Into a Character by Phillip Lopate. The former essay is the author trying to do exactly what the title says, coming up with a definition for creative nonfiction. The main takeaway I want to point out is that creative nonfiction is a sort of responsibility we have as human beings in understanding who we are as individuals and as humans. That responsibility is why we all need to write creative nonfiction, and at the end of it “we will understand. To understand, and nothing more, that is everything.” In the latter essay, the main takeaway is that turning oneself into a character in various forms of writing is important because once you are truly honest with yourself, you see yourself with all your flaws and quirks. The opposite of narcissism. The argument continues that this is a valuable first into “transcending the ego,” thus, providing one the ability to touch other people in their writing.
Essay Sketch
Introduction paragraph where I will set the present for the reader which would be about the morning of the bike ride I am about to go on and having to fix the bike before I go out.
Next section of the essay is the beginning of the ride and the first destination:
I will bike around my neighborhood and just describe it and how I feel about it.
Next, I will arrive at my first destination which was my elementary school in an old neighborhood I used to live in and talk about what it was like going to school there.
Flash back to a memorable memory there don’t know what it is yet but whatever comes to me in the moment
And then flashback to the present of me riding to the next place reflecting
Repeat two two more times with two locations being the following:
The old apartment building in which I grew up and where I survived a house fire, and the flashback would be that moment but more of the aftermath and how much my community came together to give my family so many things.
The next part is going to be downtown and how I loved it there. I would always go there after school in high school and it was my domain and just so liberating.
The next part is me downtown taking the train with my bike just reflecting on the day and how far I have come.
Sample
Jesus Christ. This stupid bike is broken. Quarantine has been taking a serious toll on me this summer as I am relegated to spending most of my day in my house. I hate the feeling of being trapped. I can’t stand it, and working virtually as a marketing intern makes me feel even more trapped as I am stuck behind a screen stretching out 10 hours of work to 40 hours a week. So, when I got that Friday off and had gotten my newly acquired film camera -- a Canon AE-1 -- off of Ebay, I wanted an adventure, and so I pulled out my fixie bike only to see that it was broken, two flats and an off center back tire. Nevertheless, skipping an hour later that morning and returning from the local Dollar Store, I had patched up the tires and centered the tire. I was on my way.
*Skipped to me arriving at my second location*
There’s nothing here. It is just an empty lot right now full of rubble, broken beer bottles, and used needles. The number 26 -- said as two six -- spray painted on the wall of the closest building indicating whose neighborhood I am in. It’s weird to think how different my life probably would’ve been if I did not move out of this neighborhood. Would I have still been the nerdy and goofy kid that I am right now? Probably not. This is Back of The Yards neighborhood, and yes the one from Shameless. Though, while the story takes place in this neighborhood, it is completely different from what is portrayed on screen. For one, there aren’t that many white people here. I remember exactly three white families and one of them my brothers and I did not get along well with to say the least. But, I grew up on this street, 48th and Winchester. In fact I grew up in three different apartments on this exact block. While the whole street and neighborhood are places that I hold near my heart, this specific house is something that stands out for me. It holds a special place in my heart because this is the house that I survived a house fire and saw a level of compassion I have yet to witness. With these thoughts in my bed as I lift up my camera to take the picture of the lot, I am transported to my five year old self dressed in a gown and with the smell of fire forever singed in my nostrils.
Click.
I’m in the hospital, and it’s the middle of the night. The last thing I remember is the sight of blood running down my chest, hand, and leg, as I run through the gangway into what it seems like an army of firefights. My mind goes blank. Then, I’m on a stretcher with a neck brace on as my mom comes in screaming. My mind goes blank. Next, I am being wheeled in into the emergency, and as I try to look around me I look down at my sheets and see nothing but red. My mind goes blank. This is the point where I wake up alone that night in the hospital confused out of mind. The last thing I remember is the doctor coming in shining a bright light in my eyes, and then I’m asleep.
I’ll save you details of what happened at the hospital, but the damage was simple. The day of the house fire my mother went out to the laundromat early in the morning and she took my older brother while my oldest brother and I were left home with my dad who just came home from work after his night shift. My brother and I slept in my parents’ room that night for some odd reason, but the room that my three brothers and I shared was the room where the fire started That said, if I had slept in that room, I would not be writing this which is a scary thought that have, but as the fire started in that room, it began to grow very quickly. In fact, an entire house can become entirely engulfed in flames in as little as five minutes. By the time, we woke up most of the house was engulfed in flames. My dad woke up first and he straight up broke a window with his hand giving him lasting scars. Once he did that, he looked all over the bed for my brother and I and found us at which time he pushed out the window. When I went out, I actually landed awkwardly on the window pain and crawled a bit out to a five foot drop into the gangway. That said, I was left with a piece of glass on the lower port of my chest, cut on my thumb, and a deep cut on my leg. So, I got some really cool scars.
Leaving the hospital in those god awful grey sweats they gave us, I had no idea what was going on, but it became clear that we were moving into our new apartment just a block down from where we were originally. It was a bit of a drive, and so I fell asleep. The next time I woke up I was surrounded by a group of what seemed to be hundreds of people outside of the car waving hello at me. They were giving my mom clothes and money as she stood outside of the driver side door, and I was so happy as someone told me to open my door and passed me my dog who had miraculously survived the house fire. He was found by the firefighters and my neighbors had kept him for a couple of days. I was incredibly grateful to have seen so many people welcoming me and my family into the neighborhood and giving us so much even though we were all struggling financially. It was such a beautiful site to see. Later on, I learned that the landlord had reduced our prices a bit for the next couple of months to help us get back on our feet. Even the school had organized a drive for us in which people donated clothes, a fridge, TV, stove, and so much more to us. The community that had so little was giving us so much more.
It breaks my heart to see the neighborhood as an adult. One in which gang violence was so prevalent and poverty so entrenched. While these same problems were there when I was a kid, I only remember this neighborhood fondly. Despite the issues, it will always be the neighborhood I call my original home.
Click.
Reflection
It was weird really diving into this topic. I found myself with a huge sense of nostalgia and got lost in all the writing I did. I decided to include the first paragraph to set the tone and what the basic gist of what was going on, and I decided to go with the fire story because it is the most heartfelt story of the Southside I have. I am glad I wrote this because I really understood what I was trying to achieve. I wanted to show the reader the real Southside, not the kinda Southside they see on Shameless or CNN. I think I accomplished that and I am excited to write more related to this story in the future.