Well.
As a matter of fact.
*beaming*
I have a book. Well, more like a novella if you really want specifics. I wrote it when I was 12. Uh huh, and at the time I was just sure it was a stroke of genius. Actually, I wrote "books" voraciously as a child. I knew that I'd grow up to be an author and figured it'd be good to get a head start...or something like that.
...ironic plot twist...
But alas. I went to college. I submerged myself in bazillions of English, literature and journalism classes and became disillusioned by all the really talented people out there. Plus, it seemed to me that in order to gain any sort of real fame as an author, one would have to become utterly mad, adulterous, or drunk. And then the real kicker, I guess I just read one-too-many pieces by William Faulkner.
Okay, yes, I'm exaggerating. In truth I sort of like "As I Lay Dying." In a hating sort of way. But before I fall off the deep end in a world of Faulkner talk, let me get to my original point: In recent years I've done very little with writing. Well, other than this blog. Which I enjoy immensely, p.s. Overall though, my childhood notions of authorhood seem like—and are—a very long time ago.
However! I've still got my masterpiece from the wee age of 12. And it's quite fitting for this time of year—it's a never-been-told account of one of Santa's elves. A firsthand account at that. I composed it and proudly presented it to my mom one year as a Christmas gift. She's hung on to it for over a decade, either because she's a devoted fan of its literary value, or a devoted mother. Hardly a difference, I'm sure.
...dramatic pause...
Why—of course I'll share it with you.
If anything, I can at least promise that it's action-packed. I cannot, however, promise a hole-free story line. To my 12-year-old, overzealously imaginative mind, the plot flowed quite logically and it all made perfect sense to me. (Still does, who am I kidding?) So I'll say this (to any over-analyzing book critics like myself): feel free to fill in any gaps with your own creative thoughts.
And—as an extra treat for those of you willing to stick around to read it, I even got Tom to whip up a couple of illustrations. And they're darling. I gushed over them. Seriously.
5 comments:
Ahhh - dreams of authorhood. (I'm sure I just created that word...but when one dreams of writing - making up words seems a natural course to follow.) I believe our sweet mother might still have a copy of my award-winning, "Fiddle the Mouse," or perhaps, "Bud Luscher is Missing." She is a devoted fan and mother.
Seriously though - I would buy your book - and many many copies of it. You always make me laugh - -OUT LOUD no less. I look forward to your Christmas letters like none other.
Elves...gnomes...where is all this taking us?
ohhh man. we were so meant to be friends. i dreamt of being a writer forever and i too have many unpublished manuscripts. haha!
however i was too embarassed to share them, so i'm pretty sure mine don't exist anymore. and good riddance. i think more than a few plotlines were heavily influenced by the babysitters club.
Yippee! When can I pick it up at Borders?! I used to write stories as a child, too. Although I'm quite certain I would enjoy one of your childhood stories much more. I don't even think I kept a single one. I'm excited to read it! But seriously, please consider writing a book one day! I promise I'll buy the first copy AND be your biggest fan!!!
faulkner is the best, Seaz. I cannot wait to read your bestseller so let me know when it is released. (I, too, have a book that i started writing when i was 12 and stopped writing when i was a freshman in college...is that what college is supposed to do? kill people;s dreams? sad.) please do not correct my potentially bad usage of commas :) im in advertising now. :)
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