Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Kamikazi Snowflakes and my thirteen-year old writerly self.

I wrote a story in the seventh grade about a snowflake and gave it to my grandma for Christmas in 1990.  A friend of mine asked me about it in college, saying she'd like a copy. 

Fast forward to 2010-twenty years later.  I joined a picture book critique group and decided to adapt the same story for a picture book.  I searched everywhere for my copy of the story.  Not finding it, I wrote it again and submitted it to my group.  I'm on my third re-write of the manuscript and my mom called me last week.  "I have some great news!" she says.  While going through a box of photos she found the original story that my grandmother had saved and given back to my mom with the photos. 

I checked the mail today and to my delight I found the first copy of what my husband affectionately calls my "Kamikaze Snowflake Story". 

How fun it was to sit down and read a story from my thirteen-year old self.  I have to admit that some of it wasn't too bad, but I'd like to think that I've become a better writer.  One thing hasn't changed, though: my handwriting is still just as unreadable.