This is my 200th post! I thought, to celebrate, I would do something a little different.
As near as I can recall, my first story was about a Gothic mansion that was painted red inside. All the rooms, the hallways, every interior surface was painted red. The twist was that the red paint wasn't paint at all, it was blood!
I'm chuckling as I type this. I was in grade two when I wrote that story -- it was for an in-class assignment -- and I know now that dried blood is brown, not red, but that wouldn't have been nearly as dramatic!
My story came back from the teacher a couple of days later covered in red; not blood of course, but red ink. Apparently my skills as a writer needed some improvement. ;)
Do you remember the first story you ever wrote? What was it about?
(Second try at posting) I wrote about a planet called Gideon, not sure now what the story actually was about beyond that. My eight/nine year old self probably thought it was awesome.
ReplyDeleteI do wish I had that story now. I feel that I must have improved at little since then.
(Congrats on your 200th and thanks for getting my memory banks running again, enough so to remember my 'first')
My first story was also in the second grade. It was called The Magic Key and it was about, you guessed it, a magic key! Do you find it funny that our writing tastes haven't changed since we were seven? I'm still fascinated with magical objects and you're still dark and creepy :)
ReplyDeleteMT, your title, Gideon, makes me think of a sci-fi story.
ReplyDeleteI was feeling the same thing when I wrote my blog post, it would be so cool to have that story now, even if it was just to look at the corrections my teacher made and evaluate it for myself as an adult.
Thanks for the comment!
I'm positive I've got mine packed away somewhere and now that you've got me wondering about it I'm going to have to go and look!
ReplyDeleteKim! Hi, your new profile pic threw me for a minute. I wonder if that story writing exercise used to be part of the curriculum for ground two.
ReplyDeletelol Dark and creepy. Like it. As I wrote today's post I remembered an old horror story I'd started but never finished. I might have to dust it off and give it a proper ending ... ;)
My first essays were written for specific people going through difficult times. It could be a teacher, a friend, a relative - didn't matter. I was about ten and I started a notebook writing about how I could improve people's lives.
ReplyDeleteThe first I remember writing was to a relative that was diagnosed with a frightening illness. I wanted them to think about adding happiness into their day in regular intervals. For example, I wrote that everyone is happy when they are eating an ice cream cone. Since it can take about twenty minutes to finish one, that means that sad person changed their life for a small stretch of their day and if they backed that up with another activity like bike riding, they could extend their happiness just a little bit further. Little by little, that relative that had trouble getting out of bed in the morning out of shear terror for what the future held, would be find life worth living. Whatever life held for them, the remaining days would be - happy, simply happy.
You could probably figure it out, so I should just admit it that relative was my mom. I just wanted to see her smile even if it was for just a couple of minutes a day eating that ice cream cone.
And I still believe in helping people that way. I still write to help lesson people's pain and improve their lives a couple of minutes at a time.
I love the idea of adding happiness to ones day at regular intervals; I'm sure that your writing and support made a world of difference to your mother. What a lovely story, thank you for sharing.
ReplyDelete