Short story written by yours truly, possibly around age 9 or 10. The only alterations that I made to this text were spelling mistakes and adding in quotation marks to make it more readable. I also added some of my own commentary in bold. Enjoy! Or be super creeped out.
One day Christy M. invited Jenny her best friend over to play. When Jenny came they decided to play dolls. They were having a lot of fun when Christy’s mom said she had to go to the store so they should clean up. Christy said, “Could we please stay alone mom?”
“Well alright Christy, but just this once.”
“OK thanks Mom!”
“Thank you Mrs. M,” said Jenny.
“You’re welcome girls. Now I’ll be back pretty soon.”
“Bye Mrs. M,” said Jenny.
When she left Jenny and Christy started to play. And then the doorbell rang. Christy went to answer it. Jenny came along. When they got to the door Christy looked out the window. “It’s somebody I don’t know,” said Christy.
“We better not answer it.”
“Alright Chris. But what should we do? “
“Just make sure they don’t see you OK?”
“OK,” said Jenny.
The door bell rang again. Christy and Jenny ran to hide. They ran up to Christy’s room. They hid in her closet. Then the person tried to get in and succeeded. Christy and Jenny flew under the bed but came out again. They could hear the person downstairs and were very scared. Christy and Jenny quickly were going down the stairs when they heard the person coming toward them. Christy was about to run back up the stairs and they heard someone say, “What are you two doing?”
OK, I have to interject here: First they flew under the bed, then immediately came back out?! What? Also, they heard the person downstairs, so they quickly went TOWARDS the sound? It’s like a bad horror movie.
Christy and Jenny were so scared they fell back down the stairs. And the person caught them and put them in a bag! And carried them out! They were soooooo scared! And then the person ran out of the house! Jenny and Christy were screaming in the bag “help, help!” Then Christy’s mom came running up the walk! She was trying to stop the person! But, she couldn’t so she ran in the house to call the police! Meanwhile the person had jumped in Christy’s mom’s car (because he had took the keys in the house) and drove away with it! Christy’s mom was waiting for the police to come. They came pretty quickly! They all ran in the house! Meanwhile the robber was driving down the street. Then he stopped at his hut. He jumped out! When they got inside he took off a mask and said, “Hi Jen and Chris.”
OMG, so much happening here. The first part is all terrible dialogue and suddenly ALL of the action happens at once. With a lot of exclamation marks. Also, I love the aside explaining how the robber came to have the keys to Christy’s mom’s car. As if THAT is the part that needs explaining, out of everything else in this mess of a paragraph.
Christy and Jenny were so surprised! It was Christy’s uncle! Christy said, “Why did you pretend to rob us Uncle John?”
“I don’t know? I guess it would be fun!”
“Well I don’t think so,” said Christy.
“Well I guess I better take you two home.”
“Well of course!” said Jenny.
“Well get in the car!”
So they got in and got home safely!
TL;DR: Creepy uncle pretends to be a robber and kidnaps his niece and her friend, then immediately takes them back home.
I was recently going through a box of old things in preparation for a move. It was filled with photos, journals, and various folders and notebooks containing all kinds of writing. I want to share with you something that I wrote when I was in college that I think was put in front of me again for a reason. Here it is:
I want to be a writer. Picture this- a desk covered with notes, open books, magazine clippings, a computer open to a word document with a blinking curser just waiting for brilliant words to fill its blankness. There I sit, my talented self, with a messy half pony tail, still in my pajamas and a half drank up of herbal tea waiting. Waiting- not writing- waiting. It’s almost like some how I feel like the words will just write themselves into brilliant sentences and make something worth reading. Talent? I’d like to think so. I think it’s more like “dreams of grandeur.”
I wrote a novel when I was 10 or 12, I can’t really remember now. It was written on an old DOS computer, the kind with a bright blue screen and huge white cursor. I made my parents put it in my room just so I could write. And write I did. Day after day I would sit in my room, sun shining through the open window and type away in my fantasy world. I created characters, drew a map of my setting, made a family tree, the whole bit. But I never finished. I wrote 26 chapters and gave up when I killed off the leading male by having him fall off the back of a train. Honestly.
I never found that novel. The computer is, of course, long gone. Something I wish I could read it, maybe be inspired by my younger self. Maybe not. Maybe it would take more than a poorly written, half-finished abandoned piece of work to motivate me. I think I’ll look into something more promising, perhaps my journals or poetry.
Of course, finding inspiration for my work within my own work may not be the best course of action. No, maybe I’ll read more. Hey, I know! I could read about writing. I remember once I read this book by Stephen King about the craft of writing. I could go from there. Develop fabulous characters and intricate plot lines that would for sure land me a plot on the best seller list.
Maybe in a few years. For now, I think I’ll stick to my slow progress through reading the classics, write my journals and notebooks, and reveal in my small time success of being published in the campus literary magazine. I think I’ll start small. I wouldn’t want to throw away another 26 chapters of brilliance.
Here’s the thing that makes me feel like this was put in front of me for a reason. I have spent the last decade or so of my life unsure of what I want to “do” in terms of a career. I have a B.S. and M.S. in Education, and I was a teacher for a number of years, but I never liked it. Not really. When my husband and I were ready to have kids, I knew that I wanted to “be a mom” full time. Four years into that and I am still struggling with finding my purpose, that one thing that I was put on this earth to do. I have had a lot of inner struggle about this, and I am currently in two Facebook groups with women who are making changes in their lives, getting clear on their visions, and making shit happen. I’ve read along as women have chased their dreams, all the while thinking to myself “but what is my dream?” Even though I always knew. I want to be a writer. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I don’t know what I want to write, or who I want to share it with, or how I want it to change the world, but writing is what I must do. I must.
In this box of various writings, I found a piece that I wrote when I was maybe 9? And it is horrifying in a comical way. I plan to share that, along with much of my other writings, with you on this blog. I have no idea what will come of it, but you have to start somewhere.