This post is part of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group blog hop. The first Wednesday of every month is Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. The awesome co-hosts for the August 3 posting of the IWSG will be Tamara Narayan, Tonja Drecker, Ellen @ The Cynical Sailor, Lauren @ Pensuasion, Stephen Tremp, and Julie Flanders!
AUGUST 3RD QUESTION: What was your very first piece of writing as an aspiring writer? Where is it now? Collecting dust or has it been published?
I had to really think about the answer to the first part of this question, and once it came to me, the second part of the question made me laugh. No, it’s definitely not published. But amazingly, I still have it.
I started writing my freshman year in high school. I was 14 at the time, if I remember correctly. I wanted to write horror like Stephen King, as I was a dark and morbid sort of teenager who loved horror movies and anything bleak and deep, like I imagined my soul to be. I wrote it in a spiral-bound notebook and I couldn’t tell you now what sparked the idea, or what the ‘plot,’ if there was a coherent one, was supposed to look like. I know that the characters were all thinly-veiled versions of my friends and boyfriend at the time, and that it was set in my small hometown, and there was a lot of blood and demonic possession. You always think you’re not going to grow up and shake your head at your younger self, that you’ll think you have it together throughout your entire life, but I certainly know different.
I still have the notebook, but I haven’t looked at it in years. I wrote it in pencil, so it’s probably faded to almost illegibility (I’m 41 now, the reverse numbers). Hilariously, I remember that my best friend was reading it as I wrote it (I cringe now at the idea of anyone reading my first draft) and she was eating a red popsicle at some point and got splatters on one of the pages, which I thought was cool cause, blood. She put a bit of it on her fingertip and traced red popsicle over the word ‘blood’ on one of the pages, as well.
I wish I was making any of this up.
I can laugh at my teenage self now, and at the terrible writing in that red notebook (of course it was red!) but it was the start of where I am today, all these years later. If I hadn’t been so melodramatic then, I wouldn’t be writing today, perhaps. We all have to start somewhere. Luckily at that age, I also had a lot of encouragement from my friends and peers, so I continued writing well into adulthood and sanity. Thank you, dumb teenage me.