by Jessica Kraker
I can’t write fast enough sometimes, but I sure do write hard enough. I remember learning cursive and getting scolded because my letter bled through to the other side of the page, sharp indentations that made the entire paper brittle. I was told it would cramp my hand, I would never write fast, I would get tired easily. They didn’t account for my stubbornness.
Each word has weight. I’ve learned that too well. Jokes are not always jokes and compliments are not always compliments. Every word, every inflection, every message in between has the power to make or break someone. Especially me. I write because I read. I write because I think of the classics that made me cry or the children’s stories I read with a flashlight under my blankets at night. I write because I think the greatest compliment is for someone to be inspired by your work.
How else can I pay them back than by writing what they’ve pushed me to write? They were my childhood protectors, my safety blankets. They’re dead authors who I try to keep alive with discourse and shoddy stories that mimic their forms. I take to it like it’s the only thing that’s right with the world. Sometimes I’m sure that’s true.
I write hard. Because I mean every word. If you get offended, I apologize, but I will never take back any one of them. I may be no one, but neither were all those authors we were forced to read in school. They were once nobodies. But now their words have weight. The truth is their words always had weight, even when they were just kids writing on scraps in cafes or in the back of math class.
I write hard because if my words are the only thing I have that hold any meaning in the world, then I want them to last. I want them to be so deeply ingrained that one cannot even hope to remove them from the page. Maybe even from their memory.
It’s funny that I even write at all. But if I didn’t, no one would know about me at all. It’s the one form of communication I always allow. People get tired of it, that’s true. I don’t write fast enough, clear enough, or even grammatically. It’s a turn off. It’s not worth it to some people. But I do write hard enough and one day that may be enough for you. Your words have weight and they bear down on me unrelentingly. This is how I fight back.
