My mother had no tolerance for my crying.
“If anyone looks at Anjuelle, she cries,” was how she described me.
She wanted to instill in me a mental toughness–what she had.
I was not going for it.
And so I cried.
In that a memoir, and the structure of any narrative, consists of scenes, I must write various scenes of my life, those that most depict my suffering for which I offer forgiveness and hold compassion for my mother.
This is hard. Not simply because I am writing of my mother, and about myself. The challenge lies in my lack of certainty, the ambiguity of my mother’s actions, and thus my ambivalence.
Posted by Anjuelle Floyd | Filed under Articles and Essays
Symbols deepen what we, as readers, come to know and experience with a character. But what makes us feel with and for her, or him [the protagonist]–cry with them, scream for them, die with them? What ultimately moves and transforms us, the reader, along with the central character of a story, or novel? Certainly obstacles […]