Writing... | 31 Days of Growing Up

I have always loved to write. And, gratefully, I was taught to write well.

Writing has taken many forms over the years, from school assignments to personal journals, and it has always been one of the best ways personally to process information, ideas, experiences, and reflection. I write to learn, to comprehend, to grapple, to decide, to explain, to remember. Writing helps me think, and think through what's in my head and my heart.

Writing has also always been fun for me. In grade school growing up, I loved English and grammar; I diagrammed sentences, took dictation, studied vocabulary, wrote essays and descriptions and poetry, and even made up my own extra writing assignments (yes, I was that student).

And I loved writing stories, or starting them. I have notebooks of various introductions and first glimpses of main characters; there were many brilliant plots, but I always got bored after penning the first few chapters. Maybe I wanted to write a novel, but that was never particularly an aspiration. I was content with writing as it was, simply an interest that was enjoyable and something I could do well. So I stuck with short stories.

~

I wrote my first story when I was seven. I typed it in all caps on my grandma's Mac computer. I still chuckle when I read it now. It is such an amusing jumble of budding skill and elementary mistakes (I had not yet conquered run-ons!), and childish simplicity and optimism.

LOST!
IN SILVER WREATH CANYON

CHAPTER 1

THE WIND STRUCK MY FACE AS I RUSTLED THROUGH THE LEAVES. IT WAS COLD AND SEEMED TO BE WINTER. I WAS LOOKING FOR MY DOG. I THOUGHT HE MIGHT BE IN GET-OUT SNAKE CANYON. BUT DID NOT WANT TO GO.

IT WAS 6:30 A.M. WHEN I LEFT HOME. NOW IT WAS 8:00 A.M. IT WAS NOT YET LIGHT OUT IN THE MINNESOTA HILLS. I THOUGHT OF GOING HOME, "NO, I WON'T GO HOME". I WILL KEEP GOING FARTHER UNTIL 9:00, THEN I WILL. AN HOUR WENT BY. I STARTED TO GO HOME, ANOTHER HOUR WENT BY. I GOT HOME.

WHAT A HUB BUB THERE WAS WHEN I GOT HOME.

CHAPTER 2

MY FATHER WENT THIS TIME. SUDDENLY FROM BEHIND A BUSH CAME A DEEP GROWL. I SHIVERED, MY FATHER DID NOT. HE WAS KNOWN FOR A GREAT HUNTER. HE KILLED IT, IT WAS A LION. I THOUGHT ABOUT IT. 

CHAPTER 3

WE ARE STILL LOOKING FOR THE DOG. WE LISTENED, I HEART SOMETHING!! I THINK IT IS THE DOG, WE FOLLOWED THE SOUND. WE CAME TO SILVER WREATH CANYON AND LOOKED DOWN. THERE HE WAS. WOUNDED A LITTLE, BUT NOT BAD. WE THREW A LASSO. "HE CAUGHT IT!", I SAID. WE HAD CAUGHT HIM. "WHAT A RELIEF", I SAID.

CHAPTER 4

THERE WAS MORE HUB BUB WHEN HE CAME HOME THAN WHEN I CAME HOME.

EPILOGUE.

WE WERE SNUGGLING ON THE COUCH. "ISN'T IT FUN HAVING REX BACK"? SAID SUSAN, MY SISTER. "ISN'T IT THOUGH"? SAID TIMMY, MY YOUNGEST BROTHER. "IT IS SO FUN HAVING REX BACK," SAID MY OLDEST SISTER, MARY, AND MY MOTHER AT THE SAME TIME.

THAT IS THE END.

BY KELLY E... C...

1 comment :

  1. I so remember this story!! A couple of my MANY favorite lines: "It was cold and seemed to be winter." and "I thought about it." And I have no idea how to punctuate that (though I could look it up in the punctuation book I brought home from the library this week - yes, I am that mom!). You always were (and are) an excellent writer. I still love to read your thoughts and writings. You definitely should consider a novel.

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