Progression

A few days ago I got a whim to read over my old stories. Out of the 68 that I have right now, I only really write on a regular basis on probably a good ten or so (#28, #46, #52, #58, #60-64 and #66 being the main ones). However, some of these stories date back to the seventh grade and I was absolutely fascinated to go back and reread them.

First of all, they were absolutely terrible. I don't deem to call myself the next Hemingway or Hawthorne or Austen or anything but man alive, I have improved on my writing my leaps and bounds since the seventh grade. I literally cringe when I read some of the things that I've written. It's akin to looking back at old pictures and asking yourself "What the heck was I doing in that velour sweatsuit" or "Is that a ponytail coming out of the side of my head with a huge bow stuck to the rubber band?" It's literally cringe-worthy! The way that I "coincidentally" caused this to happen- it's so obvious! Part of me wants to throw these stories away because they're so terrible but part of me knows I never will because they are so precious!

And then there's what I thought was cool or popular or fun at the time. I remember reading the Baby-Sitter's Club books and listening to the author describe the outrageous clothing that the characters were wearing. Which, in the early 1990s was probably uber cool but when I was reading them in the late 90s, were horrific. Now I'm doing the same. I read what I thought I was describing as a cool outfit in 1999 and now, in 2008, I'm shocked to think that I thought that was cool. I'm doing the same thing that I always used to gripe about! I certainly hope my sense of fashion has improved so that when I reread some of my later stories in a good ten years from now, my reaction will be different.

And what about the characters in my stories. My very first story came about right after I had finished watching and adoring Wild American, starring Devon Sawa, Jonathan Taylor Thomas and Scott Bairstowe. I was smitten with them, so what do I do? Give them starring roles as the older brothers of the main character in my very first story. And how do I explain how these three actors all ended up as brothers? They changed their names when they became famous. Good grief! Where the heck did this absurd imagination of mine come from! And that's just the beginning. My favorite Concordia basketball player who I had a crush on for a good three years became the older brother of the character in Story #4. Michael Owen needed to get in there somewhere so he became the older brother in Story #8. When I later made a return to Story #8 having not written in it for years, Sean Biggerstaff, the hottest guy in the Harry Potter movie got the starring role as the boyfriend of the main character, replacing a guy who played the cello in my orchestra who, despite being beautiful, I hadn't seen in four years. Ridiculousness!

But at the same time, so much fun. It has been a real treat to see how these stories have just improved and improved over the years. I'm definitely proud of some of my later ones, despite knowing that they are incredibly silly and no one will ever read them. But in some way, I think that I have a journal of my past. I've put in events that have happened to me, to my friends, I've observed people and places and given them the opportunity to become molded into my stories. They've given me a way to get what my emotions and my desires and although nothing will ever come of them ever, I'm glad that I have them and will never delete or throw them away.