I found a stash of old writing notebooks of mine. Some were binders, some spiral-bound notebooks, all with varying colors and sizes. In the past couple of days, I’ve managed to flip through them all, looking for half-formed ideas that I might’ve jotted down. See, I tend to accumulate ideas until they manage to weave themselves into a respectable story. Sometimes, perfectly good ideas get left out and then forgotten by my highly distractible mind.

Some of them turn out to be amusing, such as this one:

“My fondest memories are always of my brother. The problem is, I’ve never had a brother. But my memories are fond.”

Some, macabre.

“As a child, death never crosses your mind as a viable option.”

Some, not quite entirely formed. The idea is there, but not quite what it’s meant be.

“The warm embrace of the sea can change to a suffocating madness in the breath of a moment. No one knows this better than the fishermen who watch her every move. Inevitably, someone blinks, and the sea rushes in to cover everything.”

Some are a jotted word from an old language that has an interesting definition and causes tiny sparks of ideas. For instance:

“wærloga: ‘oath-breaker’ (Anglo-Saxon)”

However, the best part of this little trip through the slanted, cramped writing of the inner workings of my mind was finding the first attempt I ever made at original fiction.

I was twelve.

And I was not brilliant.

Here are some of the gems, complete with my current-day commentary.

First paragraph:

Nothing special happened the first time Adar went to his secret cavern. Nor the second or the third times. In fact, the only thing that was magical was his own imagination. That is, until he found the sword.

Okay, if nothing special happened, why are we bothering to tell the story? Oh, wait, a sword. Apparently swords have held my fascination from an early age.

Detailed paintings of knights in shining armor, dragons breathing their fiery flames, depicting the legendary battles between the two, starships racing across star systems, and engaging others in a frozen dogfight, all so lifelike, Adar felt he could reach out and touch time.

Apparently, I’ve also been obsessed with run-on sentences from a tender age as well.

Then he discovered the sword.

what really held him mesmerized, was the sword.

That’s three times. I get the feeling that this sword is very, very important.

Made of a forged silver-iron-titanium combination metal

Shut up. I KNOW NOW that this isn’t possible.

forged of the same metal as the sword, adjusted the red feather plume atop it,

We’re up to what, four on the sword-count? And how big is this cave anyway, that the protagonist had failed to notice a helmet with a red feather plume!?

Staring in disbelief, he clambered to his feet.

stared at…what?

In the middle of the sea was a castle. It did not hover, float, fly, hang or sit on, over or under the sea. It was just there. It just was.

Okay, fair enough. I’d stare at that too and wonder how the fuck it was just there. How the hell it just… was.

A city that was not magical or mystical, and only mysterious because Adar did not know where he was.

That line nearly killed me with laughter.

“Where the heck am I?” Adar asked himself, still mystified.

Heck. Hahahahahahaha. *deep breath* Hahahahahahaha.

Now, being two inches away from the man’s tunic, Adar had a chance to study the intricate design of the knight’s symbol. A white isosceles triangle with a block upside down triangle inside of it, which formed three other white triangles,

Adar has run into Link and he has no idea!

The man became stealthy and his voice took a conspiratorial tone. “Come with me, boy.”

Don’t do it, boy! He didn’t even offer you candy!

Okay, so if the rest of you want to join in the fun, here’s the entirety of what I found.

Categories: writing