My childhood wasn’t exactly rough nor was it a cake walk. I still have a small portions of my memories from when I was three years old. I was a very happy and precocious girl. I remember we (my family) would go to the library all the time. I got to pick out whatever I wanted, that included VHS tapes! I had my favorites and their names escape me now but I somewhat remember the cover of one. There was also this home movie called Rappin’ N Rhymin’. ’twas the best thing since sliced bread! It had over the top nineties’ dances and catchy songs. My older brother and I recently found it on youtube. It’s thirty minutes so unless you have an ethernet cable or reliable wifi, I’d suggest you skip it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9INlnESVnCQ
My mom is like the black version of a tiger mom. We had this little school desk in our house, I have no idea how we obtained it but it was there. It seems like every day my mom would pull me out of whatever fun activity I had occupied myself with and would have me sit in that desk and practice writing ABCs. Needless to say I had no trouble remembering any of the alphabet or writing my name.
Then when I had started kindergarten two wonderful things happened. My teachers gave me this little cheap print outs of books easy enough for a five year old. I remember hating those too but once I read them all, I got a very sparkly purple pencil. The second was learning the alphabet all over again, however, they had personified each and every letter! Annie Apple. Munchy M. Etc.
I was what everyone would call a “crybaby”. I cried over everything. When things got too hard, I gave up and cried about it. I’ve also been told I was a very noisy baby. There was one time in particular. I had to miss school for about two weeks to go to Georgia so my mom could take care of my grandma. So my mom was my teacher and it was one of the most terrible experiences of my life. Every day with this woman. Ugh.
[Skipping a few years as nothing of actual importance happens]
This was the beginning of the end of my general out going-ness and not having a general skepticism about everyone new I meet. I had a truly terrible teacher in a truly terrible class. I had only about five friends and three of them were books. The depression that stems from that is a totally different post. My seclusion that year gave me more than enough time to read. So a hat’s off to all terrible teachers out there, though I hope you get hit by a bus is traffic.
- Seventh grade through tenth grade
I started my first story in the seventh grade though I had seriously hated my English teacher and thus the class itself. The class was a complete joke so writing got me out of taking notes, not like he truly checked what I was writing; just the fact that I was writing was good enough.
My story was terribly written and ,for the most part, the plot and jokes were stolen from movies that were popular at the time. The title of it was “The Story” and it had an even worse part 2. I guess it was like the renaissance of my menial existence. Not to down myself, I just know that I’m not the best writer that ever lived or the master that caught the original 151 original Pokémon. [Honestly, I’m neither of those.] Yet, all that crap writing that I had my friends read, and they admittedly enjoyed, just made me a better writer in the long run.
My second story was called “This F@cking Place I call Home”. My then magnum opus. Centered around a girl who was forced to leave the city and live in a small town.Still unfinished but if you care to read what I have so far, be my guest. Just know it’s really offensive in terms of language and all…
- Eleventh and Twelfth grade
I had been reading and writing for a while. Pinterest had become popular so I had begun to peruse it all the time. Fifty Shades of Gray was all over the place. My teacher was talking about it. Old women at this girl’s church were talking about it. Finally when I read it, which I couldn’t as it is so terribly written, I was deeply disappointed. Stemming from a Twilight -which is also expertly written- fanfiction, I should have known better. Even for smut it was bad. That just gave me the antithesis of what every writer, fiction or not, should do. And I know it’s really sad that my minor pivotal moment is Fifty Shades [of Shit]. It just made me really sad that anyone with a computer and a search engine can become number one, two, and three on the best seller list; the trilogy itself was at the top three spots.
This made me look at my writing and go through and change things again, also my reading preferences. Truly terrible that author is.
I’ve been known to go to second hand shops and buy books since they’re usually less than a dollar. Currently I have “Blood Thirsty” and “The Naked Roommate and Other Things You’ll Run into at College”. The first is about some white kid who became a vampire but is still super lame. The latter is something like a self help book that I haven’t cracked open more than twice.
I really want to go back to my stories and rewrite them if I had the time. ideas for new stories are always popping up and that’s also a deterrent to going back, but one day I will!
My school novels, “Out of this Furnace” and “Secrets of Mariko” are so unbelievably boring that I can’t look at them more than half an hour at a time, and that’s being generous. I’m really depressed I have to write a paper about them later on… Sigh…