I've come a long way
Typically I don't make a habit of looking at my writing past. You know the virtual closets of Word documents that line the hard drive of my computer. THAT past. And today I am reminded why. My writing was bad. Not a little bad, but horrifyingly bad. Wrought with tense shifting, cruddy topics, and just plain old redundant stories. I'm tempted to delete them forever.
But, right at that last moment, finger hovering over the fateful Delete Key, I stop. This is what I came from. Those files have made me the writer I am today. The better writer of today. I'm learning by writing. And who can beat that?
So, to keep you entertained, as well as prove my point. Let me share a few book "openers" here. Not necessarily the worst of the bunch, or the best, just writing that reminds me that the books I write now are better. Oh and for more entertainment, take a look at the various pseudonyms I "tried on for size."
For a long time I blamed my flirtation with these fake names on the non-pronounceability of my real name: Hiitola (phonetically, you say my name as Hee-tola, emphasis on the first syllable). But today, I know I was just afraid to put myself out there. Funny aside is that the minute I started using my real name, my writing became more my own. And miraculously more accepted. If there is a lesson in there... well, read between the lines.
Anyway, for your amusement, the works that will likely never see the light of day (or the ones that I just won't pull from the virtual void to rewrite in full)
Ahhh, the pregnancy dilemma. Not that this can be overdone, this topic, but I didn't move the story very well did I? And that little girl? I hope she made it.
Oh boy. Grieving and a mother with a few screws loose. Actually, this one got better sorta once you got a bit into the family dynamics. But then again, the crazy mom and crazier grandma? A bit overdone.
Are you laughing hysterically yet? I was. Am. Will be. Trips down memory lane can be cathartic and sometimes painful. I think this one was both. At least this might have given me a bit of motivation to continue my CURRENT work in progress tonight after the kids go to bed. At least I know what a shitty first draft really is. And this time around, it likely won't be as bad as writing's past.
Maybe we could play a little game, sharing past writing projects and see who wrote the WORST possible first 100 worst. Anyone game? Post, comment, and let's compare...
But, right at that last moment, finger hovering over the fateful Delete Key, I stop. This is what I came from. Those files have made me the writer I am today. The better writer of today. I'm learning by writing. And who can beat that?
So, to keep you entertained, as well as prove my point. Let me share a few book "openers" here. Not necessarily the worst of the bunch, or the best, just writing that reminds me that the books I write now are better. Oh and for more entertainment, take a look at the various pseudonyms I "tried on for size."
For a long time I blamed my flirtation with these fake names on the non-pronounceability of my real name: Hiitola (phonetically, you say my name as Hee-tola, emphasis on the first syllable). But today, I know I was just afraid to put myself out there. Funny aside is that the minute I started using my real name, my writing became more my own. And miraculously more accepted. If there is a lesson in there... well, read between the lines.
Anyway, for your amusement, the works that will likely never see the light of day (or the ones that I just won't pull from the virtual void to rewrite in full)
WORKING TITLE: Life In Rhinelander, 7/24/2005, written as Bethany ReedThen we promptly cut to the moment those two people met. At a party nonetheless. Yack. Tell me about it.
Jan sat at the kitchen table, draped in a bedroom sheet, head in her hands. It was midnight and the windows were open. The September wind was slowly rising into the air, and the dampness of the cool Northern Michigan air was brushing her bare shoulders.
“How could this happen?” Jan whispered to herself as she rocked in herself on the kitchen chair brushing her auburn highlighted hair from her tear soaked cheeks.
The plain note on the college ruled paper lay on the floor by her feet. The tears blurred her eyesight as to not read the writing on the page again. She knew it had been her fault. From the moment she had allowed John to lie to her about the phone number of the kitchen table 5 short years ago. She knew she would end up alone with their three children then, but she chose to ignore the signs. The secretive kisses, the hidden phone numbers, missed kid’s performances. The time he out-right lied to her about the woman he was with at lunch. And the affair Jan caught him in after the Halloween party about 5 years ago. The stolen kiss in the cobwebbed stairway. The moment of passion she mistook for a drunken stupor… the kiss she blatantly ignored. Jan had prayed that John would return to the marriage they had once shared alone in Utah. Jan had wished he would know what he was doing was tearing her apart. Ruining her life.
WORKING TITLE: My Life As You, 3/9/2002, written as Bethany Harden
It was pink. Sitting on a toilet in a Walgreens’ bathroom on my lunch break, a positive pregnancy test stares at me from the wall mounted disposal unit. A girl screams outside the bathroom door.
“Honey, hold on… there is someone in there,” the mother croons. I can see her holding a little blonde girls hand and pulling her from the narrow door handle. “I’m sure she’ll be out in a minute.” The handle of the door returns back to its original position. I reach for the test and place it within inches of my face- verifying that it is indeed pink- not purple, not blue, and not my imagination. It was definitely pink.
Sighing I placed the test stick, empty box, and receipt in the plastic bag. Stuff it into my purse and stand up in front of the standard bathroom sink. I turn on the water and cup my hands filling them with cold water and splash my face. Running my hands through my hair, I look deep into the eyes of the woman staring back at me. Shaking, I turn to the door and hold my breath. Absently, buttoning my blue vest, feeling for my name tag, and push the door handle.
In the doorway, the blonde girl stares up at me, “Finally!” she said exasperated. Her mother touched her shoulder and glanced at me apologetically, “I had to pee.” She ran past my left side into the bathroom and dragged her mother beside her. I forced a smile.
Ahhh, the pregnancy dilemma. Not that this can be overdone, this topic, but I didn't move the story very well did I? And that little girl? I hope she made it.
WORKING TITLE: Untitled, 8/21/2001, written as Bethany Hayden
Mom told me once that life is shit. I refused to believe her ‘cause she tells me crazy stuff all the time. When I was 6 she told me we should always pee in the water park pool so no one knows how much beer we've drank and that farts smell prettier in water. I started dating and her motherly advice was to stay away from men with hair on their backs because they are lousy in bed. The day I started my period, she insisted that we tell the grocery store clerk of my new private hell- then she proceeded to grab the microphone to lead the entire store in an “I Am Woman” rendition that needed polishing. I left the house when I was 17. I graduated from high school and headed off to college- searching for normalcy and running from chaos. But without fail, it didn’t arrive. Grandpa died, I almost got married and my father committed suicide, all within my first year at college. It’s a shame that it all seems normal now.
If I had known when I was driving home from Chicago for Thanksgiving 2 year ago, that I would lose Grandpa the very next day- I wouldn’t have gone. It is difficult to lose someone close to you when you almost made it in time to see them, to talk to them and to say your last words. However, when you are miles away- you remove yourself from all the what ifs and could have beens.
Oh boy. Grieving and a mother with a few screws loose. Actually, this one got better sorta once you got a bit into the family dynamics. But then again, the crazy mom and crazier grandma? A bit overdone.
Are you laughing hysterically yet? I was. Am. Will be. Trips down memory lane can be cathartic and sometimes painful. I think this one was both. At least this might have given me a bit of motivation to continue my CURRENT work in progress tonight after the kids go to bed. At least I know what a shitty first draft really is. And this time around, it likely won't be as bad as writing's past.
Maybe we could play a little game, sharing past writing projects and see who wrote the WORST possible first 100 worst. Anyone game? Post, comment, and let's compare...
