Thursday 6 September 2012

12 year old stories

When I was eleven or twelve and I would spend the summer at my grandparent's house, I would write a lot. I was working on a story which my grandpa told me he'd give me a sum of money for every page I was able to write.

At the time, I was very happy with the story and everyone who read it would tell me how great it was and that I really had potential and all that stuff. So, I was quite proud of myself.

Now, I never finished that story. I don't know if I got bored of it, or if I decided to spend the last few weeks of summer reading, but either way it was put under my never to be completed stories. A few years ago though, I decided to type the story and maybe try to come up with an ending.

When I read the first few pages, I found that it was really horrible. It was written horribly and it seemed to me that an eight year old could have written something better. When I asked my mum how she possibly thought the story was any good, she replied that it was good for my age at the time and that the ideas we're very good.

I still didn't think that was a good reason, but I let it slide.

Anyway, I never finished copying it and so it's still left unfinished. But today, I decided to type some more of it, and even though it was really hard for me to read, I tried to fix it up without completely removing the essence of 12 year old in me who had written it at the time.

I'll try to type all of it, but I doubt I ever will. And maybe I can make it less horrible and actually something to be proud of. 

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