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Saturday, August 29, 2009

The beginnings of a great author?

My family moved to a new house back in April, and we (having been quite busy since then and being a family of packrats) are still unpacking boxes. Today my mom came across a short story that I apparently wrote at the tender age of six. She read it out loud to my dad, brother and myself, and by the end we were all giggling. There was no puncuation, the handwriting is terrible, and the spelling is atrocious. Nevertheless, I found it too amusing not to share with you guys. I'm going to type it up twice--first as it was written, bad grammar and all, then with my interpritation of what my sweet, six-year-old self was trying to get across. :P Enjoy!

Once apon a time a girl got lost she crid then i came who are you im your troubl fader! What she said troubl fader i dotnot undrstand siad the girl a troublfader is someane who makes yor trobls fadaway. i like you but How can you get me home i can how she siad youl see she siad good bie and the girl was home one day poof troublfader siad the girl i came to tell you im going to die as soon as the girl hrd that she crid her hrat out thers nothing i can do she siad the girl dsidid to have a fowerl no one else new wat a troubl fader was but thay all crid and crid and crid AND CRID
the end

MY STORY...the translation
Once upon a time a girl got lost. She cried. Then I came.
"Who are you?"
"I'm your trouble fader!"
"What?" she said.
"Trouble fader!"
"I do not understand," said the girl.
"A trouble fader is someone who makes your troubles fade away."
"I like you, but how can you get me home?"
"I can."
"How?" she said.
"You'll see," she said. "Good bye!" And the girl was home.
One day, POOF!
"Trouble fader!" said the girl.
"I came to tell you I'm going to die."
As soon as the girl heard that, she cried her heart out.
"There's nothing I can do," she said.
The girl decided to have a funeral. No one else knew what a trouble fader was, but they all cried and cried and cried and cried AND CRIED.
The end!

...Right. So, first of all, let me point out that this isn't an indication of some deep psychological torment I went through as a six-year-old. I swear. :P I know I had a huge love for fairies at that age--I wanted to be a fairy child really badly--so I imagine that the mysterious "Trouble Fader" was yet another iteration of my fairy obsession. I also seem to recall that I told a lot of sad stories as a little girl...kind of ironic, considering that I write mostly happy stories now.
Maybe one of these days I should write an updated version of this. You think? :P If I do, I'll be sure to post it on here.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Enemies to creativity, part 1

For the creative, there is nothing so important, nor so frustrating, as the need to create. Personally, I don't write just because I want to--although that's certainly a major component--but also because I need to. To avoid writing when an idea for a story struck me would be almost impossible for me.
However, there are times when this urgent need is more of a handicap than a gift. For example, this need exists at all times--even when I don't have the means to act upon it. I still feel creative, even if I have no new ideas for stories at the moment. This is one of the most irritating parts of author-ism for me; there are evenings when I sit at my laptop, stare fixedly at a blank screen for awhile, try to come up with some suitable material to do away with my writer's block, and eventually decide that it's a wash and I might as well play solitaire for the rest of the night. The need to create persists, but it's thwarted by lack of inspiration.
Be that as it may, writer's block--or any other kind of creativity block, for that matter--isn't my subject for the day. My subject for the day concerns another foe to creativity, one which has thwarted me for the last week and a half.
Remember that Shakespeare in the Park event which I attended two weekends ago? (Yes, I still intend to review it--that'll be my next post--suffice it to say, it was brilliant.) Well, my determination to see BOTH performances ended up working against me. This being an outdoor event, the play-goers were exposed to the elements. The first performance was blessed with beautiful weather; the second performance was less lucky. Admittedly, it didn't pour down in buckets, but there was certainly enough rain to make it uncomfortable. By the end of the show, most of us were huddled under rain ponchos and umbrellas, cold and wet.
I suppose I can't blame the rain entirely for my subsequent illness, but I do think that it was partially responsible. I was mildly feverish for three days after that, and I'm still coughing, two weeks later.
My point in all this isn't to whine about how unfair it all is; it is merely to explain why I've been absent since then. I haven't been sick as a dog by any stretch of the imagination, but nevertheless, I've neglected my blog-writing responsibilities since then, and I felt you deserved an explanation.
Anyway. We will return to our regularly-scheduled creativity blogging tomorrow, as promised. Thank you for your patience, and I swear I'll stay on the ball better. :)