Writing

The first stories I remember recording were about my stuffed animals and a short series about a guppy that my mom would read. I don't have copies of either, but I do have a copy hidden away of my first novel ever, The Planet of the Mist. Terrible, terrible, terrible. I haven't glanced through it in a while, but if I ever want to feel nauseous, I'll give it a look through. The best thing about keeping old writing is reading it when you feel low about your current writing and realizing, Wow! I'm actually improving! 

Here's a little idea of what my first novel consisted of. A girl named Ashlynn, chosen by prophecy to be queen of the Planet of the Mist, a bad guy named Lutherick who had control of fire-breathing 50 foot snakes I called Caralsties (not even sure where I came up with that? I invented my own language, had a spell book and everything), and sappy dialogue especially between Ashlynn and her love interest, Dakota. Even worse, I didn't know how to go about paragraphs, so I'd just keep typing in the same paragraph until I felt like it was too big, then I'd change to another one. Which meant it looked something like:

"I'm saying something important," Ashlynn announced. "This is just an example paragraph," Dakota pointed out. They stared at each other and decided that their passion was building, so they might as well start making out. "Why, this isn't realistic at all," Ashlynn said. "No kidding, right?" Dakota said. And it's a good thing I learned a thing or two about writing since because this is definitely not a good way to do this. Actually it's paining me to write like this right now.

I was so proud to print this book. Every page that spit out was a testament to how awesome I was, because look at how big it was! I feel bad for my poor father, who I gave a copy to and wanted him to read it. I don't know how far he got, but even two pages in would have been too much. It was bad. Truly. 

My parents have always supported me, and they're my driving force. I appreciate them going through all the sappy stories, the boring stories, the ones that didn't make sense. They've been honest with me, they've encouraged me, they've been excited for me. Words cannot express how much I love them for all they do for this dream of mine. Here's to my parents! And here's to the hope that my writing continues to improve, and that The Planet of the Mist may never see the light of day.