Thursday, 16 January 2014

From The Dusty Archives

The other day I was talking with my best internet friend, Amber Forbes about writing from ages ago. She lost most of hers in a computer crash, which is a crying shame. We have all lost writing from time to time. I've lost a few pieces myself. But I still have much of my writing from 10 years ago. Anything before that is likely lost forever. I thought it would be fun to share a bit of my old writing with you.

The following is from the last page of a 70k+ book I was writing. I have little idea as to what it was about, and the first half seems to be missing somewhere. I remember that it was a fantasy novel, and that it was horridly cliche. Forgive any errors, I'm posting it as is.

Tired, haggard, and chilled to the bone they finally reached land. Solid ground felt strange beneath his feet. Everything about this place was strange. Trees were more bountiful here, the land was moist, even the air was moist. It was a far cry from his desert-like homeland. If he could ever go back to farming it would be here, away from Angardia.

Leaving his homeland had been strange, at first, but he'd left so many things and lost so much that he quickly grew accustomed to the thought. 

"What is this land called?"

"I thought I told you." Dek huffed.

"All you said was that we were going through the shards, you never said to where."

"Ervenhorst."

"How far from here to the obelisk?"

"Boy, you don't want to know."

There you have it. Ten years ago I was so completely proud of this. I had no idea just how cliche it really was. It was bad. Horrible. It was a haphazard unplanned mess, but I had a LOT of fun writing it.

It's rather strange, because I fully planned on sharing an old poem with you, just to show how far I've come. I was looking through my archives...and I really can't even stomach much of my work from years ago. I was so proud of those little poems, they were brilliant. Now I can barely look at them. I grimace as I read them in my head and I shudder at just how BAD they are. They're not slightly bad, they're awful. 100% terrible. After much internal debate, I have found one that I will share, though I am extremely hesitant to do so. It's untitled and it's at LEAST ten to twelve years old.

There's no stars left in the sky tonight
No love left in my soul
The sun no longer shines as bright
And I no longer feel whole.

My heart lays dead and broken
Now it's just an empty token
Of love's come and gone
Just like the fleeting dawn.

The only thing as lonely as me
is the solitary moon
But it is up so high
And I'll be dead so soon.

No, this was not some sort of dramatic suicide note...I was in my late teens, early twenties, when this was written. I was a very emotional person and I wrote out everything. Every slight, every heart ache, every wound, no matter how small, became a poem. It was a terrible time for my poetry. But I am thrilled over the improvements I've made in my craft these past ten years. The difference is night and day really. It makes me excited to see where my work is in ten years.

And think, that was one of the better poems from back then. Oy.

I'm going to go hide now. Probably die of embarrassment.

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