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.
