In honor of reaching fifty followers (and counting!) I am going to post some of my very old, unedited work, for the world to see. The people who have signed up for this blogfest are going to do likewise, and it's going to be fun! Wheeeeee!
Okay, enough caffiene. On with my excerpt:
You know, I almost didn’t write this. I am not a journal or a diary keeper. I find them rather…what’s the word…extra? I am not really the type to want to chronicle all of the events—meaningful and meaningless—that happened to me. Also, the thought of writing about some of events in my life makes me feel tired. I lived through them once, why should I drag myself through them again? But I suppose that I dwell on them enough, I might as well write my thoughts down. I’ve actually been thinking about writing how I feel, and my thoughts and questions down for a while, but like I said, the thought always made me feel tired. This morning I woke up, the events of last night playing through my mind, over and over. I can’t make myself stop thinking about pain memories, and thought that I should write some stuff down occurred to my again. Only this time I couldn’t shake the idea I should write how I felt, and what has happened to me down.
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This is the first paragraph from a book I was writing in high school. I called it Navy, because that's what the girl's name was. She was a very sad and depressed sort, as I was working through a really rough patch in high school and my writing caught the brunt of it.
It's really interesting for me to read this now, as an adult, and see my style looking up at me. I can see how I've improved and tightened up the prose, but I can still recognize that writing as mine.
It's more honest, actually, than some of the writing I did when I was nineteen or so, and trying to "write well enough to get published". I didn't understand about letting the style and words be my own, and instead tried to be someone else.
So while this paragraph is six ways from hilarious (melodrama in the morning, anyone? Confusion much?) I also sort of love it, because it reminds me that even though I have improved over the years (thank the stars) I am still me. Does that make sense?
I think we should embrace ourselves and our writing. Look back on your old work with horror, sure, but also with love because you can see your writing self developing over time, aging like a fine...uhhh, beer (beer ages like wine right? Shush I don't drink alcohol very often!).
Enough about me! Go forth, clickity on the link and see what other people have to offer!