I’m scared to call it reporting, I say blinking back at my professor through a Zoom window. But then again, I am scared of a lot of things. I am scared that maybe I was wrong. Maybe I will be wrong again. Scared that what I write won’t be beautiful, that I am not what I long to be. I am scared of the criticism that comes with saying something, saying anything. What do you want to say Cappy? What do you have to say? The truth is, sometimes I don’t know. 

“There is only one way to avoid criticism: do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing.” 

I often think of this quote when I feel tightness in my breast, constricted by the bows I wrap around my words. This is Aristotle and I don’t use him with the goal of being pretentious. I heard this first senior year of high school, or first year of college, I can’t remember when. All I remember are his words. I will repeat them to myself because I know that is what my mother would want. I hold on to them because if I don’t, I am not the person I long to be. I haven’t written in a while and it shows. I’m struggling to find my stride this fall. I am struggling to find my words.

A writer is a strange creature—a living contradiction. I will show you how.

A writer is at once selfish and selfless. They give themselves to the reader. They bare what most would not be brave enough to show— lay themselves out on the page. This is me and these are my words. Read them at my own risk.

But they need to write. The act of writing supposes they have something to say and they know how they want to say it. It is in this practice that they show themselves. With every sentence constructed, every word chosen, they give a piece of who they are. They share.

In giving of themselves they believe, somewhere, that they have something worth giving. But doesn’t everyone?

After hours placing type in composition sticks in the basement of Baker Berry Library, I notice a poster laying on the drying rack beside my station: “TOUCH YOUR WORDS, Dartmouth Book Arts Studio,” and I looked and thought, how do I touch mine? 

I want to write but am often scared to share myself. This is a problem. I cannot write in the shadows. Note that I have used the plural third because I don’t dare use the possessive. Even as I write this I am not ready. I am still creating distance between myself and my words in grammar, I do not take full possession. Are they mine?

 

Marie-Capucine is a masters student in art history at the University of Chicago. Prior to joining the Masters of Arts Program in the Humanities, Marie-Capucine graduated in 2019 from Dartmouth College with a degree in English and history. There, she served as editor of The Dartmouth’s weekly magazine, Mirror.