Writing on the subject of your Authentic Self.

Write a clip from your own authentic life experience. Anything is relevant so long as it involves the truth of your experience and who you really are (which BTW also happens to be where your real value lies â€' so no pretensions). The rewards being that you step into your own power when you speak a truth from your life or day to day experience.

This is not a game for those who want to hide behind a load of cock ‘n bull pretensions just because they are not brave enough to speak their truth. It's quite OK to use an occasional pretension as an accessory to yourself (if you feel utterly naked without them) so long as you do so with self-awareness. For example: if you feel the need to copy and paste somebody else's trendoid lyric's and then make out like they're your own (because you are trying to imagine what it feels like to be creative), then you need to acknowledge this, even laugh at yourself, and then make an authentic contribution from your own life.

A contribution is any short piece of writing that provides a window on your life's experience. Absolutely anything is of value so long as its authentic. One random example of this type of writing was Zyphon when he offered this authentic glimpse from his life that unwittingly contains the seeds of pure genius.

quote:

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My mom is a major GOD believer. well when she didnt have a job and she had days off she wouldnt try to get a new job or anything she would just sit by the window all day long and read her bible. She quite like seven different jobs because she was told to "stop humming" she said "I'm humming for my GOD so NO" Little things like that. And my dad was working three jobs at one time and she wasnt even trying to help. Now that she does have a job even when she gets days off all she does is read the bible. Then she yelled at me for 3 minutes in front of people then said "NOW THAT I HAVE PUBLICLY HUMILIATED YOU DID YOU LIKE THAT? HUH HUH DID YOU?" Although she doesnt realize that to my friends she just made herself look like an ass. Because of dishes. Is that religion or obsession?

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There are loads of others I've seen that I cannot find right now. But each offers a unique glimpse of life and thus is a beautiful and individual lens on human experience.

Anything great or small, so long as it is your own authentic experience.

OK, so there are no takers?

So then let me be the first to reveal a little part of my current life...

Your criticism is valid, I'll see what I can do.

But in the meantime, why dont you give us a demonstration and show us what you would do?

I thought it was good idea too and was thinking up something to write lol.

But it was taking a while, because since it was about myself I wanted to find an experience in life that was entertaining without being boring. And at the same time, by trying to make it interesting, not make it sound like I was just using the thread as an excuse to brag on about myslef.

Personally, I actually prefer the idea of writing in first person for this as I mostly write in third and I feel it would not only be good practice, the perspective itself seems more intimate, so would help me give a truer tale of what I was experiencing.

But Ill leave it up to people to decide what would be a good starting point and then adapt my ideas from there.

You go for it Chained Wings!
I know you'll be able do it right...

I personally don't see why it has to be written in the third person (although I'll admit my attempt was crap, and I thought Decius was suggesting that I take a step back and be more self-aware/objective in my sorry tale).

But sometimes all this self awareness can be this can be terribly 'constipating'. And anyway I loved the spontaneous unselfconscious way in which Zyphon wrote...

My contribution was crap, but his was really beautiful...

Me and my roomate at college are very different. He's kind of a jock (works out and plays sports and all that) and seems to like everything that's loud. As for me, I'm skinny and really value my privacy. His music, his TV, his voice all try to overcome this imaginary volume knob we've established while being roomates. I like things quiet when I'm in my room. He likes to leave the door open so he can play his loud shitty music. We're constantly battling for our own sense of what's comfortable in the room.

I dread when I hear his key turning the lock to get in the room. When I'm listening to music in my headphones and I can still hear Flavor Flav or some other shit on MTV over it, in my head I'm saying "I hate him. I hate him." Other times though, he's not so bad. Occasionally we'll both watch a show on TV or a movie and he'll always laugh whenever I laugh like he's sure I know exactly what's funny. Then I say in my head "he's not so bad."

I know that I'm the reason we have such horrible communication problems but I feel that if got to know him more then there's the chance that he'd want to hang out with me. I remember when we first started rooming together he'd always try to get me to watch movies with him. He'd coincidentally just be putting in a movie as I was walking in the room. But his taste in movies is shit and so I'd always avoid it at all costs.

I walked in my room one time at a time when I'm usually not there and you could tell it was his time. Him and his girlfriend were on the phone, the TV was blaring, and rap music was coming out of his computer. He was talking to his girlfriend about not wanting to play football at ESU (the college I go to). He talks all the time about how he wants to be a football player and stuff but does nothing to get good. Anyways, this time he was explaining to his girlfriend that he didn't want to play at ESU because it was sooo below him and that he was waiting to play for Penn State. I knew this was a load of bullshit and that he was just making an excuse for his crummy football playing. I laughed to myself.

He lifted himself out of bed, grabbing one leg and then the other. His legs draped over the edge of his ten year old futon bed. He clenched the cold metal frame with one hand and reached for his verizon cell phone with the other. The phone rested neatly on his safe next to the bed. He stretched and blinked for a moment and then flipped the phone open with his thumb.
“G...” He looked up a number and pressed send.
“Hello.” A man's voice spoke.
“Hey... is this George?” He waited.
“Yes,” the voice replied quickly.
“Hey, it's Wiley. What's up?”
“Just going around to garage sales. How about we meet at that coffee shop you mentioned, it's about fourty-five minutes from here.” George seemed rushed.
“Sounds great. See you in an hour?” He tried to confirm quickly.
“Give me an hour and a half,” George spoke calmly.
“Alright, see you then.”
“Bye.”
He closed his phone and rubbed his eyes for a moment. He thought about opening up a can of Mountain Dew from the 12-pak under his bed but after a moment he decided taking a shower was a more urgent matter. He went to the bathroom, turned on luke warm water and trasferred to the seat in the shower. When he was done he went back to his room and put on black pants and a blue shirt with a dragon motif on it.
He turned on the television only to find nothing of interest on. He checked the time on his cell phone and then placed it in his pocket. He went to the living room and logged onto a computer. Out of sheer habit he checked his email and then logged off. He glanced at the clock on the wall and then headed for the front door.
He made his way down the street sidewalk until he reached a large trash can blocking his path.
“You need some help?” Some onlookers inquired from their patio.
“I got it, thanks,” he said as he grasped the can with both hands, pushing it aside.
He continued toward his destination, the coffee shop, and contemplated how he would initiate conversation with his long lost friend.

When he arrived, he sat outside for a moment. He pulled his phone out from his pocket. He was early. He wondered when his friend would arrive. Getting anxious after a few minutes, he opted to go inside. He saw George already sitting at a table, eyes glued to a laptop.
“Oh, hey!” He spoke excitedly to George as he wheeled up to order a drink.
“Hi,” George spoke softly.
“I'll have a medium white chocolate latte, 2% milk,” he ordered and approached George's table.
They quickly built a rapport with one another and talked for several hours about school, family, relationships and other similar topics.
The store was closing so they decided to part ways but agreed to meet again soon.
He shook George's hand and said goodbye as he headed home down the sidewalk. There were no obsticles on the way back. He was greeted happily by his dog at home and felt a sense of accomplishment. He sat on his bed, turned on the television and opened a can of Mountain Dew.

Chris D, that brought back memories of first moving out of home and sharing with someone I didn't get on with. Nice job.

Wyote, I thought your piece was excellent.

It was very concise and gave a really good picture of "a day in the life of yourself."

Also goes to show, I dont think it matters if its innocent eye perspective, third person omniscient perspective, third person limited omniscient perspective, first person, or fly on the wall etc etc.

But that if people can sit down and talk about themselves in a candid and intimate way, it gives other CC members a chance to see who the members we talk to really are.

I would like to write a piece but I wanted it to be positive and right now I am anything but.

The Curtains opened onstage, lights shining on a actor in a black jacket and fedora pulled low over his eyes. A fake cigarette in one hand, a glass of apple juice in the other, substitute for a much stronger drink. He addresses the audience in a clear tone, reminiscent of the old crooners. A spice of wit and a presence that presents him forefront to the audience. He revels in their reactions, their responses, sipping his apple juice, getting drunk off euphoria.
Meanwhile, just below his feet, a grizzled man carrying a microphone cable scurries through the supporting frameworks out the stage, taking pains to be silent and efficient. The plug popped out, and it's got fifteen seconds to get back in so when the band plays, the man on the stage can send his sound to the far corners of his room. A nail scratches his shoulder; he pays no notice. A lunge, a snap, and the next second the band swells and the vibrato of the singer shakes the dust from the ceiling. Don't cough, don't cough.
All this time, from the front row, with a headset slung over his neck, the director pours over his notes, preparing for the next act. "Lights prepare for swell on my mark" he mutters, trying not to disturb the people sitting around him who are rapt with the singer. "mark." A flash of green, and the program is on. The director sits back in his chair and taps the stem on the headset. "What's the story on that mic cable beneath the stage?"
"It's in place and ready to go." breathless from the other end of the line, he had to skedaddle to get out of the stage supports.
"Excellent. Take five, this'll work itself in a moment. It's his show."
On the stage, the singer takes his microphone, stoops down low, and begins the crooning, and the audience responds in kind.

(We had to write about our Authentic selves. The Director, the Worker, the Performer. They're all the same person. There's only one part missing...)

He sat in row C, seat 34, and watched the show, and appreciated it.

(there we go.)

The train pulls into the station. The rushing air exhilarates me. I step in and take a quick look. Old white guy, Asian high schooler, bookworm worker, blue-collar worker, working mom with Filenes bag, average college guy, tired black woman. I note the spaces. Three seats there. A seat there next to edge where I can lay my tired head, but it's next to the average college guy. Choosing that sit might raise his eyebrows. But who cares, right? I still care, I guess. So where's the next best place? I want to sit across someone who is not as tired as me. I sit in one of the seats across the high school Asian.

I really like his hair. I want to stare at it more to give it a rating. Maybe it looked good from that half-second glance, but maybe it really isn't that great. Plus, there's nothing else to do on this ten-minute ride. I'm too tired to read or study. Listening to music on the train makes my head hurt. I'm not sitting near the rails, so I don't have a comfortable position to lay my head. I want to look, but he might see me looking at him. That would be bad. Can't do that. Especially not in Boston. If he saw me, I'd have to look away but it would be too late, and the fact that I looked away makes me feel like I was doing something wrong.

I wish I was invisible. I could stare as much as I want. I could go right in front of the person and stare holes into their heads. I could check how sleek his hair is, examine how it was cut around the ears, and how it fits his face and body. It looked a bit too big for his body when I first saw it. But it still looked good. "Chinatown Station, doors opening on the right." Is he getting off here? A lot of Asians get off here. I just saw him turn his head to the right. Enough time for a quick look. Not too bad in the front. Black and sleek. A bit too much towards the top, but his hair type would make it look worse if cut otherwise. He's moving out! Keep looking! You've got less than 2 seconds. Back looks ok even though it covers the neck. There he goes. Darn. There goes another one. I still think his hair is out of proportion for his body, but it works with the style. Wish my mom would let my brothers grow out their hair. I could make it look good on them with my amatuer skills.

Two more stops to go. Trains are so slooow.

This is a very short example for this post as I feel quite intimidated by some on this site. I hope that it will be taken in the spirit of Chiron's original wishes for these posts. It doesn't require a disection of either its form or content as it is a page from my personal diary.

A Walk into Eastbourne with baby Alice.

Today I walked along the promenade, my baby's buggy firmly in my hands. Her playful chatter and sweet bubbly laugh that only mummy seems to understand lit my heart with a warmth that outshone the summer's sun and as I felt the sea-blown breeze that stole my baby's hat, I felt a soothing, peacefulness, at one with my life and all that life has to give. What joy to be a parent and to be blessed, to give, to live, to be a part of some sweet innocent's life journey, soaking in the world so new. These existential moments are so few, I must soak it up and keep it in my heart and when my baby is a babe no more, my baby's laugh and I shall never be apart.

Leaning back against the stable wall she welcomed its cold surface. An antidote for a burning emotion that now moved through her body into the heart and into her head, a new awareness. Old forgotten pain stored in cells now eagerly rushed to the surface (second and third chakra issues her consciousness duly noted - personal relationships and self-esteem).

Sighing she gave way to another wave of prickling emotion now rising to paralyze the throat and overflow in childish tears that ran slowly down the contours of her face. ‘The eyes are such narrow faucets for emotion to exit' she thought distractedly trying to analyze the experience.

She bent her knees and slowly sank to the floor, pitchfork still held before her in both hands. There were mounds of horse manure and soiled bedding. ‘You are mucking-out-yourself' said the voice of consciousness. Letting go of shit…

Foolishness! She got up and energetically committed herself to the effort of mucking out stables. Pulling the skip outside to the pile she heard someone cheerfully say “Hi there”
Damnation â€' she'd been spotted!
Composing a smile she returned the question, “And how are you?”
“I'm fine” came the answer “You don't look so good though, you should get in some help - this is all too much for you. I'll send over…”

“No!” a little too forceful, she then softened her voice “Thank you, but I'm doing fine, really I am. But thank you anyway, I've just got a bit of… flu, that's all” she lied, and resenting this turned away.
“Sorry I can't stay and chat…” another lie cast over her shoulder as she beat a hasty retreat back into the stables.

Numbed now and feeling resentful she finished her work, and lifting her riding boot to rest upon the railing she held the hosepipe and watched water swirling into a bucket. A distant sound caught her attention and made her look up.

In a neighboring field before her eyes an ancient pantomime was being played out. She paid closer attention now and observed a child busily fussing her attentions upon a horse that stood tied to a railing.

The horse waited patiently every now and again swinging its great uncomprehending head around to swat a fly, and the child worked on with concentrated intensity. Brushing, combing, cleaning and tending… and slowly weaving an intricate mantle in which she would dress her hero.
Issues of power and seduction being practiced at play.

She watched as the child saddled the horse and pulled herself up onto its back. The beast stood stoically rooted to the spot.
An older woman, the teacher, appeared round the corner and called out “ Don't let him do that! Kick him and make him walk on forward!”

The child did as she was told and the horse ambled dutifully forward.
“Good girl!” the teacher crowed “Now bring him into this ring we will get him to do some work”
The horses energy level dropped as he entered.
“Come on now!” called the teacher brightly “You must show him who's boss otherwise he will never listen to you and do as he's told”.

With a small tightening recognition around the solar plexus and more tears that silently rolled down her cheeks, she turned her gaze inwards and mentally explored the intricate fabric of a cloth she had woven during the course of her life. A cumbersome mantle, heavily bejeweled in which she had from time to time tried to dress her hero's. Knights in shining armor.

“Ridiculous! Would you ever want to wear such a thing?” her consciousness admonished her,
and she smiled at this thought, through her tears somewhat surprised and a little ashamed to discover such antiquated apparel existed within her.

I love this view of your world Chiron and I can see from the picture of you on your horse that you posted in the pictures thread that you are a real horsey person. A very dear friend of mine just had to sell her horse, she's devistated because she really lived for her horse but needed the money for a deposit on her new place. Once a horsey person always a horsey person that's what I say. You write beautifully by the way.

in fact all the posts in this thread are good and give a little glimpse into a different world.