Affirmation and presumption.

I’m writing a memoir. I know, it sounds presumptuous that I have anything to remember in my 21 years of life. Really, it’s presumptuous to write a memoir at any age because it assumes that someone will find your story valuable.or interesting. Or both.
I suppose that reasoning also makes blogging presumptuous.
I’ll have to claim it.
I met with my creative writing advisor tonight at Starbucks. We get 15 minutes with her every month. You’d be surprised what you can do in 15 minutes.
I came to the meeting with trepidation about finishing, wondering if the story about family and loss I have to tell is even interesting. When you spend enough time with your own work, it starts to feel old and dull, like you’re pouring out mothballs instead of fresh new work.
She likes it. She had ideas and constructive feedback and thought I was doing well.
Sure, I don’t only write for people to like it and tell me they do, but gosh was that affirming. I left the meeting and looked through her comments as I walked to the train.
You see what I’m reading? I wanted to tell the people I walked by. This is my manuscript. My heart swelled a bit, thinking that maybe I was holding paper with some value. Better not let the wind blow it away.

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