avatarLawson Wallace

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g to beg or go pussy on them, they turned and sat back down.</p><p id="3c18">I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I was losing interest in living. I was walking to the library one morning. Homeless people love libraries.</p><h2 id="5aad">It would have only hurt for a minute</h2><p id="d8e5">I was crossing the light-rail tracks. The train was coming, and the crossing barriers were coming down. I ignored the arms as they came down and continued walking across the tracks. The driver of the train honked the horn repeatedly, but I didn’t change my pace. I made it across, not caring either way.</p><h2 id="2a07">I was lost in my own head</h2><p id="65f5">I have read so much about mindfulness and paying attention in order to be a good writer. I know that if I had kept a journal during that time in Minneapolis, it would have helped me with my writing today.</p><h2 id="957f">Not thinking was a defence mechanism</h2><p id="5eba">Being mindful and paying attention were the last things I wanted to do. I wanted out of that life, but I had no clue how to get out of it. My self-esteem was gone. I had some clothes in my truck, but most of my possessions were in an overnight bag and a student’s backpack.</p><h2 id="122c">Flashbacks are real</h2><p id="9e8b">I blotted out the me

Options

mories, or I tried to. They come back at weird times. I will be fine, but then something triggers a memory and I have to talk about it or write about it.</p><p id="3c17">I have to pay attention when my subconscious wants me to write something. But that isn’t easy to do.</p><h2 id="9eb3">I have learned to pay attention and keep notes.</h2><p id="4f00">I learned a lesson. I have a notetaking APP on my phone. When I see or hear anything interesting. I make a note of it and add it to my notebook when I get home. I am learning to pay attention. There are sources and inspiration for story ideas everywhere, and I am teaching myself to look for them.</p><h2 id="43d4">Covid-19 has made things difficult</h2><p id="b8a5">The Lockdowns and not having a car, make getting out and finding story ideas difficult, but I do the best I can. I have learned to not be afraid to write painful stories.</p><h2 id="45b3">Where will my memories take me?</h2><p id="7e3b">I wonder where my memories will take me.</p><p id="5dac">Writing about them is therapeutic, and I take comfort that I can hit the delete button and not share my memories at all.</p><p id="cff1"><b>My advice:</b></p><ul><li>Pay attention</li><li>Record your memories</li><li>Share them, or don’t share them</li></ul></article></body>

Bad Memories Make Great Stories

At least they are worth something

Lawson Wallace

Photo by Jonathan Rados on Unsplash

I sat in the waiting area of the homeless shelter. I sat staring at nothing. I know that if I had been more mindful, I would have more to write about, but at the time being aware of my surroundings was the last thing I wanted.

Such nice people, you meet in homeless shelters

One of the guys sitting across from me thought I was staring at him. He and the guy next to him jumped up and stood over me. “ What the fuck are you staring at?” One guy demanded as his buddy pulled out a knife.

I didn’t answer, I just stared at him. My heart didn’t beat faster, I didn’t feel anything at all. When they saw that I wasn’t going to beg or go pussy on them, they turned and sat back down.

I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I was losing interest in living. I was walking to the library one morning. Homeless people love libraries.

It would have only hurt for a minute

I was crossing the light-rail tracks. The train was coming, and the crossing barriers were coming down. I ignored the arms as they came down and continued walking across the tracks. The driver of the train honked the horn repeatedly, but I didn’t change my pace. I made it across, not caring either way.

I was lost in my own head

I have read so much about mindfulness and paying attention in order to be a good writer. I know that if I had kept a journal during that time in Minneapolis, it would have helped me with my writing today.

Not thinking was a defence mechanism

Being mindful and paying attention were the last things I wanted to do. I wanted out of that life, but I had no clue how to get out of it. My self-esteem was gone. I had some clothes in my truck, but most of my possessions were in an overnight bag and a student’s backpack.

Flashbacks are real

I blotted out the memories, or I tried to. They come back at weird times. I will be fine, but then something triggers a memory and I have to talk about it or write about it.

I have to pay attention when my subconscious wants me to write something. But that isn’t easy to do.

I have learned to pay attention and keep notes.

I learned a lesson. I have a notetaking APP on my phone. When I see or hear anything interesting. I make a note of it and add it to my notebook when I get home. I am learning to pay attention. There are sources and inspiration for story ideas everywhere, and I am teaching myself to look for them.

Covid-19 has made things difficult

The Lockdowns and not having a car, make getting out and finding story ideas difficult, but I do the best I can. I have learned to not be afraid to write painful stories.

Where will my memories take me?

I wonder where my memories will take me.

Writing about them is therapeutic, and I take comfort that I can hit the delete button and not share my memories at all.

My advice:

  • Pay attention
  • Record your memories
  • Share them, or don’t share them
Memories Bad Memories
Homelessness
Life
Writing
Writing Ideas
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