Anyone remember when you were a young writer… a couple of years ago…
and you thought your writing was amazing. (Agents are going to be begging for it when you submit it.)
and now you look at it and…
Let’s look at my writing two,three,six years back. Read on. If you dare.
This below was writing by nine-year old me.
Once There Was A Town Named Straw Pond. All The People In Straw Pond Where Kids. There Names Where,
Full,Hungry,Fun,Bored,Clean,Dirty,Giggles,Know,Hope,Kid,Baby,No, Music, Dancer,Happy And Yes.
“I Can’t Wait Till Baby’s Party.” Yes Said to Fun
“Me to” Fun Said “ I Wonder If He Is Going To Be A Kid Now” They Both Giggled. Yes And Fun Heard Another Giggle
“Giggles!” Fun And Yes Giggled Happily As Their Friend Walked To Them
That was when I though to had to capitalize every single word I wrote.
When I was ten
Strum Strum. A twelve-year-old girl with wavy auburn hair and green eyes, who was playing in her backyard heard the sound of a guitar. Her name was Nanci Martin,
“I wonder who that is” she wondered. Nanci walked into the front yard and saw a fourteen year old boy with curly brown hair and blue eyes.
”Garron, give me back my guitar!”
”Garron,give me back my guitar or i will tell Pa..”
”Fine” Nanci snatched her guitar back from her older brother Garron Martin. He was always teasing Nanci and taking her things.
I’m laughing at the wondering part.
When I was 11
In London England a mail lady was finishing her route.
“Well that’s the last one” the auburn haired teen said “I best be on home.” Under her blue eyes were faint eye bags. She walked home slowly. When she got home she took of her hat that was on her auburn hair and sat down the leather sofa in the living room.
I seem to like auburn hair protagonist…
And now today
When most people walk into their home after a vacation no matter how nice a holiday it was,most people are glad to be back home.
Me? Not so much. Despite living here since I was a child I never said ‘Come to my home’ It was come to my house. But I guess it’s alright living here because of Meg and Jake.
I step out of our blue Chevy with my suitcases and walk out of the garage, the sun hitting my face almost blinding me.I wobble down the driveway,with rows of sparkling clean garages on both sides. One for every single car my parents own.
I’m really glad to see I improved. I wonder if in a couple of years if my writing now will seem awful.
Do you find it fun to look at your old writing?