For the last several weeks I’ve been in research mode, doing my homework for something new I’m working on. Part of the plot is based on a series of stories I wrote–believe it or not–almost 20 years ago. There’s some decent plot in there, actually, but the prose …
Ouch. It’s painful to read.
Bad. Just so bad.
Ah, but what can I say? It’s filled with all the vague angst a teenager can muster, with calls about what "life" ought to be, without having the slightest clFor the last several weeks I’ve been in research mode, doing my homework for something new I’m working on. Part of the plot is based on a series of stories I wrote–believe it or not–almost 20 years ago. There’s some decent plot in there, actually, but the prose …
Ouch. It’s painful to read.
Bad. Just so bad.
Ah, but what can I say? It’s filled with all the vague angst a teenager can muster, with calls about what "life" ought to be, without having the slightest clue about what that really meant. And I say all this with laughter in my heart, because I can look back at my younger self–and my younger writer self–and see the passion even back then. I had very little technique to speak of, but there’s a story there. And a story worth telling.
The dialogue is awful. The descriptions are sloppy. And yet the overarching story–which I’m not going to share now–really works. There’s genuine conflict. There’s adventure. Intrigue. In fact, I’m kind of impressed with my younger self, all the truly horrible writing aside. (LOL!)
I’ll be sharing a bit more about this over the next few months, but I’m getting my first glimpse in a long, long time at my writerly beginnings, and it’s both amusing and cringe-inducing. The key, now, is take the best of what’s in there and turn those old ideas–which have been percolating in my mind all these years–and spin them into new gold.
As always, I’ll keep you posted.
