Writer's Workshop

 

  When I was a little girl, I couldn’t sleep. Perhaps this was because I was a restless, sensitive kid constantly worried about what would happen if I fell asleep, but I would force myself to stay up for hours. After a while, I didn’t have to force myself anymore. Hours and hours without sleep, I would get extremely bored. The only thing that gave me comfort as a young insomniac was infomercials.  Young me was fascinated by these commercials. It seemed like this product—a baking pan, a carpet cleaner, or a vegetable cutter—would save my life. Like the actors in the video, young me also struggled with basic household chores. I also wanted to make a cake that you could stuff with apples or pudding. As I got older, it became a game: How many informatics would I see in one night? The answer is a lot. There were plenty of infomercials to laugh at.  Younger Lauryn failed to realize that these commercials used specific tactics to get a potential customer to buy their produ...

  Thirteen is such a strange year. You’re not exactly a child, but you aren’t an adult either. You’re in this awkward, strange phase that makes you believe everyone is looking at you. The most important thing that matters is how people see you, and well, what’s more captivating to a teenager than an app that is all about yourself?  I remember begging my parents to get me a Facebook page when I was younger. I wasn’t thirteen yet, but I was only one more month away from the most important birthday of my life. I would be thirteen—a teenager, older and wiser beyond my years. I was old enough to use multiple social media accounts, not just Facebook. These sites opened a new world for me. I was finally going to be taken seriously. I’m not a child anymore; I’m a responsible person with a Facebook account.  After making these accounts, I waited for the change. I waited to see if I was, in fact, an adult. I stood at the foot of my bed, waiting for this moment of clarity. It didn’t...