The back story: When I was very little, I liked to write--well, I still like to write, obviously, but you know what I mean. I wrote stories and poems and product ideas and the rules for games in a succession of random notebooks.
Nearly all of it is utterly atrocious.
Imagine an overweight, unsocialized, extremely precocious, verbally abused, really well-behaved four-eyed girl with an infinite amount of free time on her hands because she was enrolled in no after-school activities (my mother still talks about the ONE Girl Scouts meeting we went to--she was forced to socialize with other mothers (gasp!) while I was forced to clean up after snack time and play a series of intricate games whose rules I was not taught. We did not return) except for Weight Watchers when I was in the sixth grade. My sixth grade teacher also went there, and sometimes I'd see her at weigh-ins.
Now imagine what that child would write:
["If I had a wish," thought Jason as he stared out of the view-screen in his bedroom, "I would be captain of a starship just like Daddy. I would be brave and strong and lead my crew into battles with the enemy. I'd travel the universe and be rich and famous."Jason Robert Daniels was a small pale 12-year-old with long, softly curling blonde hair and big green eyes. His father, Michael Daniels, was a tall, rough-looking man who captained the U.S.S Empire. He was perfect for an exploratory vessel such as the Empire. The Empire was also one of the first ships to allow the families of crewmembers to live on board. This was hard on both Jason and Michael, since Jason had lived with an ancient-looking aunt for the last 10 years and until last week, had seen his father a total of 14 times. But now that was all to change. Jason and his dad were together, and hopes could run wild.
"Jace," said Michael as he interrupted his son's daydreams, "If you want a tour of the war deck you had better come now." ]
It goes on from there with a LOOOOOOT of description, some father-figure idealizing (Did I mention that I don't actually happen to know my own father? Hmmm...), etc., until...
[Suddenly, the lighting of the rooms turned red and sirens wailed loudly. Jason, now cowering unnoticed in his corner, watched the proceedings too panicked to move. The crew ran hurriedly but orderly to their stations.]
And you don't even want to know where it goes from there. One hint: there is a very wordy, quite melodramatic funeral scene about four pages later.
If you're good to me, maybe sometime I'll show you the story I wrote in which the main character (who is totally me), is a professional racing-diver and finds some caves underneath her house which turns out to be a handy clubhouse for her dozens of super-smart pets.
I taught myself to quilt a long time before I learned that it's a passion I shared with my great-grandmother. I just hope that ten years after I've died an old, old lady, all the quilts that I've ever made will still be danced upon by little girls in dress-up clothes:
from the library (finally!) to think about, and a DanceDanceRevolution resolution to conquer.
