The Adventure of Old Stories

I have been writing pretty much ever since I learned the alphabet. So you can imagine just how many stories have piled up over the years. I have two large plastic bags filled to the max with random and scattered papers, stuffed hidden away in my closet.

This is sad to admit, but if there ever was a fire, I would probably grab those bags first, then think about hightailing it out of there. There's too many memories and pieces of me that I wouldn't be able to replace.

Late last night I got the urge to read some of my old stories. After sitting in my closet, rummaging through what was sure to be about a billion papers, I finally found a novel I had written when I was just thirteen years old.

Excitement raced over me when I held that story I hadn't seen in seven years. I scrambled out of my messy, paper covered closet and feverishly began to read. What I thought would be an entertaining stroll down Memory Lane, turned out to be a cringing hike up Bad Writing Mountain.

After reading the first paragraph I found myself shaking my head at my own writing. I was very thirteen. And to make matters worse, I was a thirteen year old who apparently thought she knew the ways of the world like the back of her hand.

The story line jumped around from here to there, the characters didn't have much depth to them, and my facts were all way off. I found myself looking over my shoulder, making sure no one was around to get a peek at this little story. If anyone had gotten a glimpse of this rushed novel I would have been so embarrassed that my face would have permanently remained red.

But the thing is...even with all the rushed story lines, boring characters and bad grammar, I still found that I was enjoying myself. Even though my writing wasn't the best it could be, it undeniably had a lot of heart in it. It had a charming simplicity to it, reminding me of the young girl who looked at the world through rose colored glasses, never allowing the negativity of life to settle into my little world.

Suddenly I felt like I was thirteen again, and was back in my cozy little computer room, typing happily away with the summer sun streaming in through my window. The sounds of 1940's Big Bands serenading me in the background, filling my heart with inspiration and a love for writing.

It doesn't matter that this story didn't turn out to be a classic like The Great Gatsby. It made my heart soar when I was writing it, and that's what is the most important thing.

I realized that I have almost lost that simple charm that used to paint itself across the pages of my stories, giving it a depth I wasn't even aware of. Sometimes I get too caught up in writing a well written story that I forget about that young girl who had the key to writing a beautiful story. Put every last inch of your heart into it.

Funny how the title of that old novel of mine is All My Heart. It's like I knew :)

Enough rambling for now!