A few weeks ago I found a couple treasures I hadn’t seen in over twenty years. Two of my childhood manuscripts.
Yowza, people. This is no joking matter.
When I reflect on my past, I have fond memories of a passion for stories that began even before I can remember… well… writing. I seriously can’t think of a time when I wasn’t creating some sort of story. For my seventh birthday I got Fashion Plates and created pictures to go along with the super exciting story: Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. No lie. And no, I have no clue where that idea came from. Maybe I’d just watched The Blob or something like that. All I know is my seven-year-old-self just had to write a story about pretty young girls that got squashed by gigantic fruits that are often mistaken for vegetables. (*wink*)
But these stories I found were different. They were from a time long before I’d learned to plot or write down a brief outline of the story. They were also from a time where I started writing at the beginning and wrote straight to the end. So, sadly, each of them contain only a few short pages before they abruptly end, most likely because I just couldn’t think of what came next or because something else seemed more important in my preteen/teenage life.
That won’t stop me from sharing these little nuggets of fun with you all. Yippee! Sorry I can’t quote each of them word for word – it would take up way too much space and would certainly bore you straight to sleep. But I’m willing to write a bit from each, so you can get an idea of how warped my brain was already, even by junior high. Hope I can provide a small chuckle for your day – I know you’ll be laughing , so no worries about hurting my feelings. (Tee-hee!)
Happy reading, friends!
Mommy, Don’t Leave Me. No joke, this is what I titled my book. Ok, I was in seventh grade. From the extremely vague memory I have of this, it was a story set in the future, about a society that is under complete government control, including the ability to procreate. There was a colony of people that hid pregnant women, so the children could live free. Weird for a twelve-year-old, yes, but I’m fairly certain I’d just watched the original Terminator or something. You’ll notice this baby was typed on a good old-fashioned typewriter complete with White Out (along the bottom portion). Please appreciate how I have a person with an English accent in this. Also the crazy paragraphs and the fact that I call a ‘purse’ a ‘pocket book’. (My mid-west upbringing coming out there. *smile emoji*)
“Oh shoot! What’s happening?” Kathy Lenox asked. She had been wakened from a sound sleep by the blaring siren. She sat up in her small bed just as the doors burst open. It was Max. “Hurry! Get dressed! We’ve got to get you out of here!” Max yelled in his English accent. Kathy panicked, “But what’s happening?” Max motioned to hurry, “No time for questions. Hurry!”
With that Kathy jumped out of bed and slipped her shoes on. She bent down and grabbed her pocket book, just as Max gripped her arm. “Wait! My coat!” Kathy screamed. Max continued to pull her, “There’s no time.”
Kathy found herself being yanked down the hall, that was all too familiar to her. She tried to run, but it was too difficult being seven months pregnant.
Suddenly, she found herself being placed on a stretcher. She turned to find Max gone. There were people rushing all around her, he must have gotten lost in the crowd. Then she saw a familiar face, “Sara! Where’s Max?” But it was too late. Sara was being rushed down the hall, the same as Kathy, but in a different direction.
Oh gosh, it just gets worse. I’ll spare you that one.
The second story I wrote as a junior in high school. I remember this specifically because of a description I gave one of the characters that had been something shared between a friend of mine. Long story, don’t ask. But I will say this one had my oldest daughter laughing hysterically. I progressed to a Word processor for this, which was pretty cutting edge for that time in my life. I’ve got a total of 24 pages, and oh how I wish I could copy all 24 for you. But I can’t. Enjoy.
“Let’s go, Starr! We’ll miss the carnival!”, Brooke yelled. standing at the bottom of the stairs. Presently, Scott Williams and Getty Clark sat on the Monroe’s sofa discussing a game of soccer.
“You’d never guess we were twins if we didn’t have the same face,” Brooke Monroe commented. striding into the living room. “Do y’all want any drinks? It looks like it’s going to be a while.”
“Yeah, I’d like one,” Getty replied.
“Sure thing. Do you want anything, sweetie?” Brooke asked Scott.
“No thanks. I’ll wait ’till we get there.”
“Back in a sec!” Brooke said, bouncing out of the room. Brooke had so much energy, it often drove Scott in circles when they were on a date. Getty sometimes made fun but Scott just ignored him. Getty was Scott’s best friend. They had known each other since what seemed like the beginning of time. Actually they had – they were born in the same hospital together.
Just then Starr Monroe appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking more beautiful than ever. She was wearing a halter top, cut off jeans that hung from her hips, black boots, and a black leather jacket. Her long, black, curly hair lay tossed to her behind.
Quite the opposite, her twin sister, Brooke, wore a cute flowered shirt with overall shorts, white sneakers and hair as long and as curly as her sister’s, back in a ponytail.
“Let’s party!”, Starr exclaimed as Brooke returned with Getty’s drink.
Ok. Let’s not. You can imagine how the rest of this baby went. I’ll give you a hint: this story takes a fantastical turn when Getty sees ‘the most beautiful girl ever’ – way to cheat on Starr – and becomes obsessed with her. Only to find out she’s really Scott’s long lost mother who abandoned him as a baby. She’s still sixteen because she’s a witch that travels with the carnival. I think my idea was that Getty was going to fall under her spell and Scott was going to have to try to break him away from her. I have no clue where else this plot was going, but there you have it. Great bedtime story for the kiddos! (Exits with a sardonic laugh.)