Dear writing

“Until the lion writes his own story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.”

The Soy Autor writing process was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017, this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible high quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of young people who have long been underserved and underestimated.Through the process of drafting, revising, illustrating and publishing memoirs, the Author’s Circle members develop reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie, conflict resolution and positive self-projection.

This North Lawndale Author’s Circle has been based at the Firehouse Community Arts Center, as part of Chicago CRED program.

In collaboration with:

Dear Writing Tavoris Williams

Dear Wriing,

I hate you.

Ever since I first met you, you weren’t shit. And now you ssll ain’t shit.

I ssll remember when I first met you. I was in 1st grade. We were supposed to write a few sentences about something every day, and draw a picture.

I remember not wannng to write, but I would always draw the picture.

One day my mom came to my school for a parent teacher conference and my teacher showed her my notebook with pictures on every page and words only on some of them.

So she asked me why are there all these pictures and my teacher said they are supposed to draw a picture aaer they write. Then my mom asked me why didn’t I write on most of the pages. I didn’t know what to say. I remember geeng a whooping and being on punishment for long me.

This experience didn’t help me want to write. If anything it made me despise you even more, Wriing.

In fact I learned that the best way of doing it is not doing it.

Another thing I don’t like about you, Wriing, is you expect me to tell you all my business. I don’t even know you like that. You have been here for so long, but I ssll don’t know you. I learned not to trust anyone, especially strangers.

When I was in 2nd grade, I used to walk home from school with my grandma’s husband’s son who was in 5th grade at the me. And one day aaer school he wasn’t there. So I walked home by myself, but I knew how to get there. And it was the middle of winter, on a snowy day in Chicago. On my way home there were three boys and a girl walking behind me. They yelled out something and I turned around to see who it was. I didn’t know them, so I kept walking. They kept following me.

Next thing I knew it was a wrestling match on ice.

They took my coat o then took my boots from me and they were throwing them back and forth like monkey in the middle. All of them were older than me. I tried to ďŹ ght back as much as I could, but there were just too many of them. I felt so overwhelmed that I just gave up.

I ended walking home with one boot, no socks, and a ripped up coat. When I got home I was freezing and I didn’t even know what to tell my grandma. I don’t remember what I told her, but she put me in front of the heater where I was trying to warm my numb hands and feet. She made me some hot chocolate. The main part I remember was being so cold and feeling like I would never be warm again. I was crying a lot.

This situaaon showed me at a young age, that you can’t trust people. You have to be careful around people and never show your hand. Even the people that you think are your friends will get down on you.

Wriing, you remind me of people I know, but ssll can’t trust.

I remember when I was in 7th grade and I got a PSP for Christmas. My mom told me not to take it to school which I did anyway.

I let someone use it who I thought was my friend in my class. He sat right by the door and as soon as the bell rang he was gone. I ran out the class to look for him, but there were students and teachers everywhere. He disappeared, I think he ran to the bus. I was feeling mad as hell that he stole it from me, sad to lose my game and scared to get in trouble with my Mom.

When I went home and told my Mom, she yelled at me, because she had told me not to take it to school. She told me I had to go get it back. While I ended up geeng the game back from him, I didn’t regain a sense of trust.

In fact, I learned you can’t trust nobody.

Which brings me back to you, Wriing. How many mes do I have to tell you I don’t want to talk to you?

How many mes do I have to tell you I don’t like you?

I don’t want to tell people all my business. I can never think of anything to write about. Wriing for too long even hurts my hand.

Wriing, I never trusted you before, but now I’m here giving you a chance.

I am dealing with you because I am in Soy Autor. It is a program that’s within a program at the Firehouse. We read, talk and write. Now we’re wriing books, publishing our memoirs. We’ve been wriing these books for over four months.

Going in I told them I don’t like wriing. Yet, I’m ssll wriing.

I’ve learned that I do have a story. I do have meaningful things to share, but I ssll don’t like you, Wriing. I’ve learned I have perseverance. I’m more responsible than I thought. I’m ssll here puung effort into it every day. I’ve realized even more I don’t like to write. I learned that if I try I can deal with you, I can do anything!!!

When I’m siing here, my brain wants to leave. I have to make myself sit here. It’s hard for me to find something to write about. I’m not a good speller and don’t want to spell words wrong. I don’t like telling people my business. The less they know the beeer, because when people know stuff about you, they try to take advantage of you.

And wriing, you can’t...no, let me rephrase that...you will NOT take advantage of me! I’m not a kid anymore.

I’ve learned to trust myself. Now when I feel overwhelmed, I don’t give up. I take a deep breath and deal with it. I know what I am capable of. I can achieve anything. I can even write a book.

I am a young misguided man.

I have felt pain.

I have felt pleasure.

I have been through, a and overcame, Different challenges in my life.

From the bottom to the top.

This is me giving you A small drop of the huge ocean Of my life story.