I've been writing things for most of my life. I remember my first stories, they were all dialouge and had pictures of people in them having things I wanted. In about 8th grade it finally made it though my thick head that a story is more than simply dialouge that isn't identified at all in the course of the story. So, I wrote narration and dialouge and built a story. My mother was impressed.
None of the kids at school were. When I'd be writing during breaks in teaching or when I was done with my homework, most kids would ask, "What are ya doing?" I would tell them I was writing a story. "Why are you writing when its not an assignment?" They refused to believe me it was "fun." So, my first few actual stories went unnoticed. I spent my summer writing short stories about various things, longer ones that had no plots. I entered high school and stopped writing for a few months. Until one day in study hall I was 1) angst filled and 2) bored out of my mind. I had finished what little homework I had, and had nothing to do with the whole study hall. So I took out a piece of loose leaf and just began writing.
And a beast was born. I wrote between between periods, during lunch, and at any point I wasn't supposed to be "learning." Which, it turned out was quite often. I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote. I went though loose leaf like there was no tomorrow. I had about three "novels" going during 9th grade. One was an on going account, dramatized a bit, of my life. The others were all based off this really odd dream I kept having, which featured people from my daily life. I wrote and wrote and wrote. Now, when people would ask me what I was doing and I'd tell them, they'd either stare at me or ask me (which was the most common) "Can I read it?" And usually, I'd had them either a page I was done with or whatever I was doing. They then would ask if they could read it upon my completion. I always said yes.
None of them read anything upon completion because by the time I was done with it, they were gone, more than likely having forgotten about me and my huge assignment notebook filled with loose leaf.
I did not think I really had much talent for writing. I usually got Bs on essays and papers, usually only due to the fact my mom edited the shit out of everything I wrote. Creative stuff I'd write, I usually would get some comment about how it was a great idea, but needed to be fleshed out or something like that. Teachers never really singled me out as a "great writer."
Except one. My sophomore year my English teacher also ran the yearbook. I was minding my own business, about maybe a month after school started, when he walked into my 8th hour study hall (I know, why was I in an 8th hour study hall?) I had just really finished up fighting with my consular about my Spanish teacher and class and she thought I was nuts for keeping the 8th hour study hall when I could go home. She didn't walk home, I did. I did not want to carry my heavy text books home when I could sit in a room and do my homework. I was doing my geometry homework when my English teacher walked in and asked to see me. He beckoned me with his finger to come and I guess I looked freaked out because he said loudly, "You're not in trouble."
Which was what I thought and couldn't figure out what I had done, as I was a very well behaved kid and was always on time and turned in homework in a very, very timely manner. He took me out in the hall and told me he wanted me to be on the yearbook staff.
This confused me beyond all known belief because you had to "try out" and "apply" to be on yearbook. One could not just join. There were forms and writing samples and a bunch of stuff I was too lazy to care about. But here he was, asking ME to be on yearbook. I think I just stood there staring at him, so he told me he liked my writing style and saw I had great potential to be a great writer. He got this all from a paragraph I had written on the first day of school about...I think what I did over the summer, or something like that.
It took me about three seconds to say yes after this, because I knew 1) I could claim yearbook on my college applications for at least one year and 2) my parents would be thrilled as I had JOINED something.
I ended up hating yearbook with ever fiber of my being. I was bored a lot, because I hardly had anything to do and I was never sure how to do "work" during 8th hour on my story (other than writing it.) Getting quotes caused me panic attacks because I had to talk to people I did not know. I got creative with getting quotes about half way through the first semester. I would assign my friends who knew people I needed quotes from to get them for me, or I would take quotes from people I knew and would anonymously quote them. I know that is terrible, but I did what I had to in order to remain calm and alive.
I realized rather quickly what I hated about yearbook writing was the editors tended to edit out all my creative stuff and made the story as boring as hell. I asked my dad, a journalism major, about this after the first story I wrote and he asked, "Why did they edit out all that? Why do all these quotes have 'said' after them? What happened to the character of this article?" The editors sucks the life out of it, that was what. Thus, writing my stories for yearbook become a chore and a bore. I couldn't do anything fun at all with them. One was even re-written (and not by me) to favor the view of the school administration, not the students. I did not realize it until I read the story in the year book and said, "I did not write that, why is my name on that?"
Much to my English teacher's dismay, I did not reapply for yearbook the following year. I had thought about it for about two seconds, as they were moving to "alternative" copy, but I still had to get quotes for stuff and that was the part of yearbook I hated the most. Either I couldn't get anyone to talk to me once I told them what I was doing, or they didn't want their name in the story and later the editors wanted the names. I refused to give them up, because they had asked not to be named. I got into a few fights with my mentor about this. I gave up by the end and just would glare at her when she would ask me for the actual names. Then, I would just go ask my best friend at the time to find people who were willing to be named. She was usually very successful at this, as she knew quite a few people.
While I was on yearbook staff, I kept writing on my own. I was always writing, usually not what I should have been writing, but still writing. I was a very angsty teen and over dramatic, and it was a great relief to write. I wasn't really into typing my stuff up, but I did at times and when I got into fan fiction, I started my own website. (Which much to my embarrassment I was asked to show to my English class at one point and I think I almost died until a girl I had known since 6th grade got really excited about the fact a few of the stories were about the Backstreet Boys.)
At the end of my sophomore year, I began a story about a girl named Greta. I had written a play about Greta that never was to be preformed, but I had fallen in love with each of the characters and for some odd reason I could not allow them to die. So I began her story. I finished it and started another story from a different character's point of view. And thus, my "novel" began. It became my pet project, something I always, always go back to. I put it away for awhile, but I always come back. I've re-written it a few times, started a new section and re-wrote that. A friend of mine (who had suffered through a few drafts of stories) seems rather...I'm not sure the world for it is, but he seems to think I should stop writing about high school stuff, as these characters are still in high school. He thinks my writing needs to become more serious and less...fluffy. However, while this hurt my feelings because I have spent so much time and energy on these stories, I don't do serious. I have tried a few times to write a "grown up" book. It just does work because that is not what I enjoy writing. I've written a few serious things, one got published in my high school's lit magazine.
I've read it a few times since I got out of high school and I still to this day cannot believe I wrote it. It is dark, serious, and real. And it was born out of this crazy day dream I had when I was on vacation for two weeks and removed from my crazy, drama filled existence. I seem to change when I am removed from my life for points of time, which is usually when turning points happen and I realize I hate myself. This was one of those times and I just got to thinking about what would happen if my parents died. Where would I go? What would happen to me and this crazy life I had? Would I be able to escape from it?
I was looking for escape. I was, thought out high school, looking for away to escape life and find a way to like myself. So, I wrote a story about how this might happen. And it got published and I once again became the focus of how great a writer I was.
I did not become a writer like everyone thought in high school. I had a speech teacher who actually got upset with me when I did my career speech on becoming a marking associate or something in business. He wanted me to become a writer. I never wanted to be a writer because they don't make any money and even at the age of 16 I knew I was expensive and would need a high paying job to get by. He seemed to be lost to this and upset I wasn't going to be a writer. When I declared my major in college, I wondered what he would have thought about me choosing political science and economics over creative writing (which was what I went to Beloit to do, but realized everyone was there to do that.)
As I went through college, I realized that I was not the best writer out there and almost everyone wanted to be a writer, or they wanted to write. There were good writers at Beloit, creative writers, ones that could write that adult, serious stuff. I tried a few times to get people to read my "novel" but no one read it all the way through. No one ever wanted to, no one had the time. It was like in high school. People would say they wanted to read it, but they would vanish and never read it. Only, this time I was hurt because I wanted someone to read it other than myself. I have had two friend who had read it. They liked it. But, what I wanted was all these wonderful writers at Beloit to aid me in making the story better. I have NEVER sat down to talk about the novel and making it better and publishing worthy with anyone. And I won't ever, so it will always sit where it is and I will continuously go back to it and entertain the idea of getting it up to snuff to publish.
It will not be published.
I will still finish the unfinished stories in it, I will still re-write it a few more times in my life. I will still reprint copies and edit them and rework the stories to get them to flow better.
It will never be published.
It is not exciting enough, it does not have a great love affair, there is no actual sex in the book. The book is not the typical sort of book once finds in the Junior Reader section, the Tween section or whatever it is called. I believe the characters are all strong. There is some "romance" in the stories, but they are more about figuring yourself out. Not hooking up and finding a date.
Thus, it will never be published.
But, I will still write.
None of the kids at school were. When I'd be writing during breaks in teaching or when I was done with my homework, most kids would ask, "What are ya doing?" I would tell them I was writing a story. "Why are you writing when its not an assignment?" They refused to believe me it was "fun." So, my first few actual stories went unnoticed. I spent my summer writing short stories about various things, longer ones that had no plots. I entered high school and stopped writing for a few months. Until one day in study hall I was 1) angst filled and 2) bored out of my mind. I had finished what little homework I had, and had nothing to do with the whole study hall. So I took out a piece of loose leaf and just began writing.
And a beast was born. I wrote between between periods, during lunch, and at any point I wasn't supposed to be "learning." Which, it turned out was quite often. I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote. I went though loose leaf like there was no tomorrow. I had about three "novels" going during 9th grade. One was an on going account, dramatized a bit, of my life. The others were all based off this really odd dream I kept having, which featured people from my daily life. I wrote and wrote and wrote. Now, when people would ask me what I was doing and I'd tell them, they'd either stare at me or ask me (which was the most common) "Can I read it?" And usually, I'd had them either a page I was done with or whatever I was doing. They then would ask if they could read it upon my completion. I always said yes.
None of them read anything upon completion because by the time I was done with it, they were gone, more than likely having forgotten about me and my huge assignment notebook filled with loose leaf.
I did not think I really had much talent for writing. I usually got Bs on essays and papers, usually only due to the fact my mom edited the shit out of everything I wrote. Creative stuff I'd write, I usually would get some comment about how it was a great idea, but needed to be fleshed out or something like that. Teachers never really singled me out as a "great writer."
Except one. My sophomore year my English teacher also ran the yearbook. I was minding my own business, about maybe a month after school started, when he walked into my 8th hour study hall (I know, why was I in an 8th hour study hall?) I had just really finished up fighting with my consular about my Spanish teacher and class and she thought I was nuts for keeping the 8th hour study hall when I could go home. She didn't walk home, I did. I did not want to carry my heavy text books home when I could sit in a room and do my homework. I was doing my geometry homework when my English teacher walked in and asked to see me. He beckoned me with his finger to come and I guess I looked freaked out because he said loudly, "You're not in trouble."
Which was what I thought and couldn't figure out what I had done, as I was a very well behaved kid and was always on time and turned in homework in a very, very timely manner. He took me out in the hall and told me he wanted me to be on the yearbook staff.
This confused me beyond all known belief because you had to "try out" and "apply" to be on yearbook. One could not just join. There were forms and writing samples and a bunch of stuff I was too lazy to care about. But here he was, asking ME to be on yearbook. I think I just stood there staring at him, so he told me he liked my writing style and saw I had great potential to be a great writer. He got this all from a paragraph I had written on the first day of school about...I think what I did over the summer, or something like that.
It took me about three seconds to say yes after this, because I knew 1) I could claim yearbook on my college applications for at least one year and 2) my parents would be thrilled as I had JOINED something.
I ended up hating yearbook with ever fiber of my being. I was bored a lot, because I hardly had anything to do and I was never sure how to do "work" during 8th hour on my story (other than writing it.) Getting quotes caused me panic attacks because I had to talk to people I did not know. I got creative with getting quotes about half way through the first semester. I would assign my friends who knew people I needed quotes from to get them for me, or I would take quotes from people I knew and would anonymously quote them. I know that is terrible, but I did what I had to in order to remain calm and alive.
I realized rather quickly what I hated about yearbook writing was the editors tended to edit out all my creative stuff and made the story as boring as hell. I asked my dad, a journalism major, about this after the first story I wrote and he asked, "Why did they edit out all that? Why do all these quotes have 'said' after them? What happened to the character of this article?" The editors sucks the life out of it, that was what. Thus, writing my stories for yearbook become a chore and a bore. I couldn't do anything fun at all with them. One was even re-written (and not by me) to favor the view of the school administration, not the students. I did not realize it until I read the story in the year book and said, "I did not write that, why is my name on that?"
Much to my English teacher's dismay, I did not reapply for yearbook the following year. I had thought about it for about two seconds, as they were moving to "alternative" copy, but I still had to get quotes for stuff and that was the part of yearbook I hated the most. Either I couldn't get anyone to talk to me once I told them what I was doing, or they didn't want their name in the story and later the editors wanted the names. I refused to give them up, because they had asked not to be named. I got into a few fights with my mentor about this. I gave up by the end and just would glare at her when she would ask me for the actual names. Then, I would just go ask my best friend at the time to find people who were willing to be named. She was usually very successful at this, as she knew quite a few people.
While I was on yearbook staff, I kept writing on my own. I was always writing, usually not what I should have been writing, but still writing. I was a very angsty teen and over dramatic, and it was a great relief to write. I wasn't really into typing my stuff up, but I did at times and when I got into fan fiction, I started my own website. (Which much to my embarrassment I was asked to show to my English class at one point and I think I almost died until a girl I had known since 6th grade got really excited about the fact a few of the stories were about the Backstreet Boys.)
At the end of my sophomore year, I began a story about a girl named Greta. I had written a play about Greta that never was to be preformed, but I had fallen in love with each of the characters and for some odd reason I could not allow them to die. So I began her story. I finished it and started another story from a different character's point of view. And thus, my "novel" began. It became my pet project, something I always, always go back to. I put it away for awhile, but I always come back. I've re-written it a few times, started a new section and re-wrote that. A friend of mine (who had suffered through a few drafts of stories) seems rather...I'm not sure the world for it is, but he seems to think I should stop writing about high school stuff, as these characters are still in high school. He thinks my writing needs to become more serious and less...fluffy. However, while this hurt my feelings because I have spent so much time and energy on these stories, I don't do serious. I have tried a few times to write a "grown up" book. It just does work because that is not what I enjoy writing. I've written a few serious things, one got published in my high school's lit magazine.
I've read it a few times since I got out of high school and I still to this day cannot believe I wrote it. It is dark, serious, and real. And it was born out of this crazy day dream I had when I was on vacation for two weeks and removed from my crazy, drama filled existence. I seem to change when I am removed from my life for points of time, which is usually when turning points happen and I realize I hate myself. This was one of those times and I just got to thinking about what would happen if my parents died. Where would I go? What would happen to me and this crazy life I had? Would I be able to escape from it?
I was looking for escape. I was, thought out high school, looking for away to escape life and find a way to like myself. So, I wrote a story about how this might happen. And it got published and I once again became the focus of how great a writer I was.
I did not become a writer like everyone thought in high school. I had a speech teacher who actually got upset with me when I did my career speech on becoming a marking associate or something in business. He wanted me to become a writer. I never wanted to be a writer because they don't make any money and even at the age of 16 I knew I was expensive and would need a high paying job to get by. He seemed to be lost to this and upset I wasn't going to be a writer. When I declared my major in college, I wondered what he would have thought about me choosing political science and economics over creative writing (which was what I went to Beloit to do, but realized everyone was there to do that.)
As I went through college, I realized that I was not the best writer out there and almost everyone wanted to be a writer, or they wanted to write. There were good writers at Beloit, creative writers, ones that could write that adult, serious stuff. I tried a few times to get people to read my "novel" but no one read it all the way through. No one ever wanted to, no one had the time. It was like in high school. People would say they wanted to read it, but they would vanish and never read it. Only, this time I was hurt because I wanted someone to read it other than myself. I have had two friend who had read it. They liked it. But, what I wanted was all these wonderful writers at Beloit to aid me in making the story better. I have NEVER sat down to talk about the novel and making it better and publishing worthy with anyone. And I won't ever, so it will always sit where it is and I will continuously go back to it and entertain the idea of getting it up to snuff to publish.
It will not be published.
I will still finish the unfinished stories in it, I will still re-write it a few more times in my life. I will still reprint copies and edit them and rework the stories to get them to flow better.
It will never be published.
It is not exciting enough, it does not have a great love affair, there is no actual sex in the book. The book is not the typical sort of book once finds in the Junior Reader section, the Tween section or whatever it is called. I believe the characters are all strong. There is some "romance" in the stories, but they are more about figuring yourself out. Not hooking up and finding a date.
Thus, it will never be published.
But, I will still write.
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