Abigail Wilkins
Writing E-Portfolio
{'WHY I WRITE'}
People always say that a picture is worth 1,000 words, so does this mean that 1,000 words are worth a picture? Although pictures and words go hand-in-hand in my mind, I would have to argue that the logic doesn’t work the other way around. Take the sentence ‘She dances’ for example. A mere two words, and open is the door to an endless supply of images in one’s mind. Who is the girl, or woman? What type of dance is she performing? Where and why is she dancing? Not only is one’s own mind instantly flooded with images after hearing this phrase, but each person will also view it with a unique perspective and be met with a different visual. As little as two words can act as the catalyst to a web of images, connecting people across generations and boundaries. In this way, words rely on pictures, but also outgrow them in a way that a photo never can.
Writing is the creative outlet that marries these two together; it draws from the black and white letters on a page to create storybook worlds and imaginary adventures. It gives words the possibility to change lives, and bundles all of this responsibility into the author’s mind and anticipatory hands. The tangibility that photos and images give to the act is part of the reason I love to write. Writing creates, it gives, and it flourishes.
Since I was young, I have always been obsessed with taking pictures and capturing memories. I was the little girl who consistently snatched up the video camera in the middle of a recording and then created my own (rather shaky) narration of whatever was going on. I would pan the camera from side to side, introducing the people and making them say hello, announce the time and the date, and give a humorous interpretation of what was taking place. Looking back and watching these videos, I realize that my young self was far wiser than I ever credited. While many of our home videos simply record life, mine turned a strictly visual recording into a script that served as an interactive and informative life account.
My tendency to associate words with images did not stop when I outgrew my juvenile kleptomaniac ways, though. Up to this day, I keep a journal that houses small bits of information about some of my favorite memories in my life. These memories range from things like the time my family and I accidentally attended a traditional Native American mass (complete with drums and full-congregation chanting, to which we knew a total of zero words), to the countless nights spent with my college roommates taking ridiculous Photo Booth pictures of each other. Beneath the description of all of these recollections, I try to also attach a picture of the event so as to spark and enhance the memory. It is not that the words are incapable of standing on their own, but that the pictures sharpen the memory and give it a face (oftentimes causing a smile to itch at my lips simultaneously). The idea behind this journal is that it will eventually act as a jumping-off point for my future writing. I write my memories in the very journal that I jot down notes about books I would love to someday complete. When I get stuck, a quick look at a picture as absurd as my friend feeding a squirrel a peanut oftentimes provides just the inspiration I need.
I write to connect with my past, to engage in my present, and to influence my future. I am a total hopeless romantic, and a chronic forward-thinker. The idea that the people I meet in the future or even my future children could have the opportunity to get to know the ‘me’ before they knew me through my writing makes me want to write my days away. I would love to be able to preserve my current self in words to share with important people in days to come: although they might not have known me at the time, my writing could act as this ticket into my mysterious past. In this way, I write for others; and I am proud of it. I call writing my preservation tool, and treat it as a personal scrapbook to hold memories of myself. I do not have to worry about the words fading, for writing endures the test of time and my pages will be invested with memories.
Many wonder, but I am in no way ashamed of the 6,000 pictures that live on my phone, and the additional 12,000 that reside on my computer hard drive. Although people laugh when they hear these numbers and my phone software tells me I can’t upgrade because my photos occupy 8 GB of storage, there is no way I am letting go. Without my pictures, my writing would not be; for it is in these memories that I can continue to write, and I must continue to write for myself, for my future, and for my world. Although I do not always know what causes me to write, as long as life keeps happening around me, I find it my duty, and my privilege, to preserve it.