Behold Some Juvenilia

A few years back, I participated at an event with Justine Larbalestier, Cassie Clare, Scott Westerfeld, David Levithan, Alaya Dawn Johnson, and Libba Bray where we all shared some of our most laugh-worthy juvenilia. Today, I have the pleasure (::snerk::) of sharing some more:

(click to embiggen)

Though the piece is not dated, I have good reason to believe I wrote it in fourth grade. I don’t know if I finished it, though I have a vague recollection that it was about the synchronized skating exploits of a group of quadruplets. At the time, I’m pretty sure “Holly” is supposed to be the hero of the piece, though now, looking back at it, I think “Mary” draws a better heart and “Patty” is totally the one I want to go out drinking with. (She thinks outside the box!) Whereas “Holly” seems a bit like a joyless conformist to me.

And no, it has not escaped me that I included a “spelling contest” in a story where I can’t even spell my own name correctly. But hey, clearly I’d just learned how to use the tab function on my mother’s typewriter.

Yes, I said typewriter. I can’t remember the last time I even SAW a typewriter.

Sadly, the rest of the story is long ago lost in the mists of time. However, looking at this now is very curious. I guess I was always drawn to unusual textual elements like drawings and lists. I’ve recently been made aware that some readers don’t like this sort of thing in their book — they want straight ahead, untricky narrative, not to be interrupted with lists, letters, text messages, footnotes, drawings, or other items that remind them they are reading.

To each their own, I suppose. Me, I love that stuff, which is why I’ve put it in 62% of my novels.

But no more drawings, because I cannot draw to save my life, as evinced by Holly’s supposedly “superior” efforts show.

I’ve gotten better at writing in the last 22 years. I have not, however, gotten better at drawing.