Oh, to be seventeen again... - Writers Forum

daniela · 12-16-2004, 04:56 PM

I was cleaning out my closet and found some of my old high school English papers. Looking at them brought back many memories. I used to sit in the library during study hall and do my homework (essays, stories, etc.) right before the class they were due. Of course, I usually got the highest marks on them but looking back at those papers makes me cringe sometimes. For example, below is the third in a series of four assignments called "Creating a Detective." I believe that the objective of this one was to show some behavior that your detective always does. This bit of writing was completed in twenty to thirty minutes with almost no editing before I gave it to my teacher. I would be embarrassed to turn something like it in today.

Enjoy the plot holes and the bad writing. I hope you are laughing as you read the story and spot my "newbie" mistakes.

--DM--

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was so dark in the hallway. It was like a long tunnel full of unseen horrors to Alex. Every few feet there was a door that who knows what could pop out of. Alex could have kicked herself. She should not have left her satchel in the car. Among other things, there were two flashlights, a penlight and those long-handled black ones that the local police department favored. The one night she desperately needed her satchel, she left it behind for fear that someone would hear here even though she knew that the whole forth floor would be empty for a few hours.

Instinctively, Alex put her hand in her right jacket pocket. In there Alex felt a deck of her cards. Not knowing what else to do, Alex started quietly manipulating the cards, shuffling them from hand to hand and performing a few of the fancy moves that her father had taught her. After a minute or so of this she felt a lot better. She still had at least an hour before the guard checked the building again. Alex went out to get her satchel. Something rattled in the alley as she headed back towards Tanner Incorporated's office building. Alex got nervous again. She stuck her hand in her right pocket again as she began to turn around and go back. Alex felt a surge of confidence and jogged around the corner to finish the job that she had started.

The information that Alex found was devastating. Her best friend since the first grade, Judy Benchwright, was involved in the operation. As if that wasn't enough, Alex also found out that Judy was planning on doing the hit on her client herself that night. Alex ran outside, not caring if anyone saw or heard her. She had to tell Jimmy right away. Alex left Mr. Stritch, her client, at his house because she thought no one would think to look for him there. Jimmy hated for her to get involved with his police cases, and now she knew why. The only person that Alex had told the location of Mr. Stritch's whereabouts was Judy, and now she was probably on her way there.

Alex got into her car and started dialing Jimmy's number on her cell phone. As she was doing this, Alex pulled out her deck of cards and held them in her hand to calm herself down. After the forth ring, someone picked up. Alex was about to say hello when her phone started beeping. The battery was almost totally drained! She threw the phone into the backseat with disgust.

Alex got out of the car and frantically looked for a payphone. The only one she could find was the one she had used earlier that day to check up on her client. Alex never used the same payphone twice in one day, but she was desperate. The nearest working phone was ten blocks away at her brother's apartment, and she didn't think she had that long before Judy arrived at Jimmy's. After a few agonizing moments, Alex decided to risk it and went over to the payphone. She dialed the number and huddled in the booth with her right hand in her jacket pocket. Alex only hoped that she hadn't wasted too much time earlier and could get in touch with Jimmy before it was too late.

The phone started ringing...

Selorian · 12-17-2004, 02:30 AM

Isn't it a blast taking trips down memory lane.

I found one of my old pieces a few months back too. It was a piece that all my friends in scholl thought was great, and I hate to admit, I thought so to back then. Now I look at it and do the same as you said, cringe at it. The thing it did for me when I found it though was it reminded me how much I have always loved to write.

Thanks for sharing this with us Daniela.

daniela · 12-17-2004, 02:56 AM

Post your story! Everyone should embarrass himself or herself occasionally by showing something terrible from their pasts.

I actually kept this and a few other pieces to remind myself that when I was younger I could write without feeling so self-conscious. Back then, if I was given a piece of paper I could write (in very tiny handwriting, of course--my hand hurts just thinking about it) on the spot a story that took up both sides of the page. Now I "know" too much and I have not been able to create like that for a long time. Task 3 and it's awful counterparts give me hope that if I was able to do it once, one day I may write freely again.

--DM--

Dooga Aetrus Blackrazor · 12-17-2004, 09:32 PM

This is unfinished, extremely old, and contains horrible grammer - and those are probably the positive points. I didn't even bother to read this over; it is just that bad. Here it is:

The Black Assailant walked casually with his head raised high above all the other pathetic citizens of the plains. He stopped when and listened to a conversation in the distant between too scruffy merchants. “Did you hear about the rumor of what is going on in Stormstar’s temple? There are clerics controlling him and he is slaughtering many people including the High Templar.”
The mid-aged merchant who was shaking his head at these rumors was horrified to see his friend being held by the throat by a mysterious cloaked individual. The face was hidden within the darkness of the cloak and the clearly male voice began to speak “Where is this temple you speak of? Tell me immediately or you shall die!” His friend spoke up quickly. “Leave him alone or ill stab thrash you good!” he said quivering holding a small dagger. The cloaked individual who refered to himself as The Black Assailant laughed and it echoed throughout the street. As he drew his sword and held it to the neck of the brave spoken merchant defending his friend he quickly received this direction he was seeking. He released his grip on the merchant by throwing him into a pile of wood. His friend with clearly weak strength through himself at the Assailant with dagger forward only to have his arm twisted and fall to the ground in pain.
The Assailant looked up at the sky to see how much of the day would remain, he still had to track the Drow headed for what he though would be the Neverealm. He grinned … a small vampire hunt wouldn’t hurt anyone what a joy he would have killing the former … vampire Praetor of Blackrazor. He flew through the air as he ran towards the temple but to his surprise over the edge of a cliff on the outskirts of the plains he saw it.
The Drow encampment he though perhaps if this High Templar was dead he could prove useful reborn. Remembering magical lore he wondered if they carried any herbs with the power to resurrect people into the Drow. As he drew his long sword he waited for the right moment … to attack.
He saw it the perfect opportunity as some petty thieves entered the encampment he would make his strike. He jumped and slide down the hill allowing rocks and sounds to alert the hordes of Drow below. To his surprise only one guard has saw him as the rest were searching for the thieves hidden amongst the encampment.
As the guard drew his blade the Assailant had his ready and as he reached the bottom of the hill and immense speed their swords clashed and the force of the Assailant coming from such great height accompanied by his great strength snapped the guards sword In half. He then spun around and slashed the guard quietly in the chest and the drove his blade through it. As blood poured to the ground the Assailant pressed his foot to the chest of the deceased warrior he withdrew his blade with ease.
He recognized the elvish symbol for magical essence on one of the guards of a nearby tent. He quietly back to the side of the nearest tent listening for upcoming guards made his way to where he thought they would be keeping the magic. He sliced the back of the neck of the guard and he fell forward into a pool of his own dripping blood. Then there was a noise..
The tent flap opened as the Assailant had his back to the side of the tent and got a quick glance at the one responsible for hearing the death of the guard. He had symbols or royalty and rank and carried a staff. It was Darius Moonstorm and as he exited the tent the Assailant went to the back of the tent and hide preferring not to alert the entire encampment. Three guards spotted him in the distance. His cover was blown.
Releasing his life was in danger the Assailant flew towards the three guards with as much rage as he could summon for they had discovered him. He flew towards the first one and plunged his sword within his chest then rolled and picked up his sword so he could wield two blades. As he did one of the guards slashed his arm making a large cut drawing blood from his huge bulging muscles that were now revealed under his cloak. He swung around quickly and slash the side of who had just attacked him then as the other guard gripping his blade with both hands attacked he blocked it with his other free blade. The immense force and sweat on his hand caused his other blade to go flying. As he ducked a swing from the other guard with fell forward with his blade and destroyed the heart of his enemy. As the last guard was about to strike him he brought out his claws and slashed his head off with one strike. Claws out in both hands and gripping his sword he saw Darius approach.
Darius was about to raise his staff to get ready for battle and summon a spell but the Assailant grinned. He turned around and walked away entering the nearest tent. He knew these were the right herbs and grabbed them quickly. As Darius yelled for him to show himself he chuckled within the tent as he ripped a hole with his claws and exited through the other side. He then went forth to find what adventure would lie ahead for him within the temple.
As he approached the blackened temple he wiped his arm with his now clawless hands to brush off some of the blood that was dripping from it. He was ready and tramped in his head high ready for another battle and pushed both sides of the door furiously and they slammed against both sides of the wall with a bang. He hand entered the temple in style and now traveled the halls in search of Tempest Souforge’s corpse.
He saw it a bloody boneless crippled mess on the floor in the hall. What a warrior he thought as he poured the entire pouch of herbs onto the corpse. With his hand lowered towards the corpse tried to think of the elven word for reincarnation. He said the words after a deep long period of thinking and watched a cloud of blue and white mist covered the corpse and grew until it slowly faded revealing a newly created Drow.
Slammed against a wall with a sword towards his neck the Drow was spoken to harshly by the Assailant “You will help me slay those in this temple immediately or you shall perish by my doing!”. The Drow with a slight grin that caused him to be pressed harder against the wall gladly agreed. Then as the Assailant heard noises he pushed Tempest towards them almost causing him to fall. Tempest to avoid getting pushed and starting a fight with his temporary strange ally picked up speed and charged into the room followed by the Assailant who seemed to hover on air as he ran.

lisajane · 01-03-2005, 05:19 AM

I don't think I actually have any creative writing left from high school. Which is a pity, because one story I do remember and it grossed out the rest of the class (I'd say the writing was pretty bad) and there was a story I wrote for English Literature which I loved... and unfortunately I never found it after I handed it in.

I do, however, have stories that I wrote when I was about 9 years old. Pictures and all. I'll just go see if I can find one...

... okay, found some stuff. This is when I was about grade 2 or so. With mistakes and all:

The Butter House

A family had no butter and the dad says "Where is the butter?" And the Mum says "We have got no butter" So the mum gets some the next day. Then the house as full of butter.

Palm Sunday (non-fiction, what happens when you go to Catholic schools)

A long time ago it was Holy Thursday. On Holy Thursday Jesus had his Last Supper. On Good Friday Jesus died on the cross. On Palm Sunday Jesus came into Jerusalem but the Jewish rulers didn't because they didn't believe in God. They didn't know that he was the Son of God and they said all the time "we must stop this". The End.

There's a picture of a cross and what looks like a person and a frowning sun and everything.

Some exercusion I went on

Yesterday the 4/5's and the 2/3's went to Healesville Santuary. We went for a long trip on the bus. I felt ready to go when I got out of the bus. When we got inside the two doors, we had out playlunch. I had to eat Tisies, Coke, Sandwich, Jam-tart. We saw a lot of aminrlims (animals). We had a lessin. Then we had lunch and it was timeto go.

Scratches · 01-03-2005, 05:33 AM

Yikes, I've got a year just to get UP to that level, daniela. God, writing is turmoil. I've still got a great chunk of the so-called “million words of garbage” to get through before I become good at this.

I'm glad to know you've "grown", though, this gives me some hope!

daniela · 01-03-2005, 12:45 PM

Dooga Aetrus Blackrazor and lisajane: Thanks for reminiscing with me.

Scratches: Do not sell yourself short. I read part of your story, "Raising the Dead", and I think it is very good. Later this week when I have the time (and if no one else has mentioned what I plan on saying) I will try to comment on it. At first glance, it seems a lot better than the stuff that I was writing at your age.

When I was in high school, I did not really focus on improving my writing so much as exploiting what skills I did have to get away with as little work as possible. So there you have a big advantage over the younger me; you want to polish your writing and make it the best it can be. Also, I did not have WF when I finished high school and decided to work on my writing, so that is another advantage you have. Stick with the forums and work on your writing; I am sure that in no time you will surpass my pathetic stories and write something truly excellent.

--DM--

DarkElenaTwilight · 01-08-2005, 11:53 AM

I'm 17 and I used to write like this (no offense, of course!) when I was around 14. Gods, when I happen to stumble upon my old stories I want to burn them, then decide to keep them for future reminders of the Way We Were...
...which was totally pathetic, as far as I'm concerned. I used to write cheap Harlequin-like romances. Gah. Now I write angsty romances that are still cheap, but at least they're worth more than a dime.

I wish I get good enough to be able to look back and say "aaaah, the days when I was 17... What a silly writer I used to be!"

DarkElenaTwilight

lisajane · 01-09-2005, 08:10 PM

Apparently people are paid a fair bit to write those Harlequin and Mills & Boon romances because they always need people to wrie them.

Novicewriter · 01-09-2005, 08:15 PM

Daniela..

I remember when I was young

I read your story and found it very intriguing.

I liked it a great deal.

Novicewriter