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The imagery of Chanel Miller Writing

Reading time: Less than 2 minutes

I like to share interesting pieces of imagery that I encounter while reading. I'm writing today about a set of parables and metaphors by Chanel Miller.

Known for the world as Emily DoeChanel Miller became a media sensation when her letter to a sexual assailant was on the site Buzzfeed viral. More than 11 million people have seen it in four days. Her attacker – a high-profile athlete in Stanford – ultimately had to face a six-month prison sentence in the county. But before that happened, Miller faced isolation and shame and a criminal justice system that was apparently determined to humiliate her.

In her remarkable book Do you know my nameChanel Miller (picture above) tells the story of her attack, the trial and her life. In addition, she turns out to be a very good writer and a hugely creative person. (Another proof of her creativity is a five-minute film titled I'm with you, Not only can she write but also draw!)

Here are my favorite examples the imagery of Chanel Miller:

  • We want to imitate the polished sheen of our friends' homes. But after that it is As if the house can unbutton his pants, let go of his intestines.
  • Palo Alto is lined with magnolia trees full of creamy flowers, blue mailboxes and oranges like round spots on trees,
  • I crossed my arms, noticed strange shadows on my hand, bruising the exam. They had flowered under my skin, the color of the winds.
  • Apply lotion after showering, my skin prickled and pricked. I imagined bees with small teeth chewing my raw meat.
  • Tears flowed out of the corner of my eye and ran cleanly into my lips. A water system that I had perfected. I lived behind each eye with two teacups filled to the brim and now and then got used to running out of something.
  • The words were indistinguishable my voice glides like butter in a hot pan, move from one to the next.
  • Closer to the campus, the streets began to tilt upwards, the sidewalk smoothed, The trees spread their arms and provide gray shadows.
  • I raised my arms, the black sleeves of Lucas's jacket sticking out over my hands like empty sushi rolls,
  • Guards escorted my mother, Tiffany, and myself into the tiny sacrificial cupboard, which was equipped with a dirty yellow couch looked shaped from earwax.
  • Soup with matzo balls as big as fists.
  • It was warm outside, white flowers were falling and reminding me the white paper dots that would fall off when the punch is emptied.
  • Seaweed wrapped and slender around our ankles and we lifted myself up and put it over each other's shoulders like shiny scarves.

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