on February 25th, 2006 at 05:28 am
Unfortunately, my own disorganzation, the number of times I've moved, the number of dead hard-drives I've buried, and several other factors mean that I can't even put my hands on the things I wrote five years ago and think might not have been too bad, let alone my early, crapiest crap.
My teen writings were done on a gen-yew-whine IBM PC (512K) on 5.25" floppies, in a wordprocessor called Volkswriter. They're so very, very lost.
And, not very surprisingly, I find that the things I wrote before puberty sometimes stand up better (though NOT ALL) than the things I wrote in adolescences or my early 20s.
I do wish I had it all, though, the bad as well as the vaguely salvageable. I feel very rootless without my horrible early efforts.
I once wrote a short free verse poem called "Come and Hear the Sunset" filled with what I was sure was earth-shakingly original and moving visual/aural imagery. (I was fifteen.) My teacher mocked it - or at least, said things which I, being a thin-skinned fifteen-year-old, interpretted as mocking. I thereupon wrote a parody of my own poem called "Come and Taste the Sunset," which made references to such things as whipped cream clouds and the merischino cherry of the sun, and contained the immortal lines, "Far in the distance, gulls wheel and soar / Like chocolate shot on a cosmic cupcake." My teacher roused me to incandescent fury by telling me this was better than the original. I very nearly didn't speak to her again. Unfortunately, that isn't very possible in the middle of the school year, with your sophomore English teacher. But if I could have, I would have.
Looking back on it, I'm afraid I must conclude that in a really warped kind of way she may have been right.