Okay, so I was just sorta bored, and I decided to take a break from writing and read some of my work from 6th and 7th grade. I hate to admit that I laughed... a lot. It was pathetic... I misspelled so many words, the font was so big that my grandmother wouldn't have trouble reading it and the plot continued to change.
That was only two years ago. Maybe even one.
But something that I realized about my writing now: my vocabulary has expanded. My characters have their own personalities. My font's a lot smaller and more clean. And the plot is a lot (a lot!) more along the lines of the road map.
I guess what I'm trying to say is... practice really does make perfect. Sure, the moment you walk out on a basketball court, you can easily put the ball in the basket, or maybe the first time you have a song and a list of moves, you may be able to snap right into it and dance. But that doesn't mean it's good. Trust me, I speak from experience. But after you practice... it gets a lot better, believe me.
Here's a few paragraphs of my hopeless work:
The next morning, I opened my eyes. I must’ve fallen asleep, as well as Tiffany.
Tiffany was standing up, looking down at me. “Good morning, sleepy head.”
“Did I fall asleep last night?” I asked.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” She said, placing her hand over her cell phone, well, it wasn’t really a cell phone. It was her sword, disguised as a cell phone.
“Come on, Maria and Chris are probably wondering what’s taking us so long.” Tiffany said, grabbing the rope. She swung herself over it and made her way down the oak tree.
Last night, we were the lookouts, and that didn’t go too well. My worse enemy dropped in for a visit, and, bottom line, he tried to kill me and Tiffany.
I climbed down from the tree house without using the rope. I guess that was my monkey instinct working there, since I was the god of nature.
As soon as I landed on the ground next to Tiffany, she grunted and mused, “Ape.”
“Hey, apes don’t climb!” I exclaimed.
Tiffany chuckled and glared at me. “Race you to the Athena home?”
“You’re on.” I said. “No flying.” I reminded her. She grunted, but promised not to fly. Tiffany was the goddess of flight, but to me, she was still a daughter of Apollo.
Tiffany got ready and said, “Go!”
We sprinted to the bricked houses in the far distance. From the air, Tree House Island looked like a mere speck, but if you’re on the island, it’s huge. Or at least big enough to train the children of the gods.
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So yeah... compared with the other pieces of what I have written... this isn't good.
Right now, I'm listening to Celtic Women singing "You Raise Me Up" on YouTube. It's what I'm going to start doing every Christmas. They have such beautiful voices- something you don't see anymore. If you've never heard them, then go and look them up.
Well, that's pretty much it!
Peace, Love, Write
~Shelby Becker
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