Old Stories

This afternoon I was trying to catch up lost sleep, thanks to late late night company, and I suddenly remembered stories I had written ages ago and had not even THOUGHT of in years. I’d written what I thought were heart breakeningly lovely stories back in my early 20s about messed up (sub in the appropriate term) teens, going through unbelievable odds. These teens lived the life I lived, with drugs and alcohol, sex and profanity, truancy and petty larceny. Not that I did ALL of that, just some, and I was still a straight A student and most people thought I was a pretty good girl - friends included. I put these characters in compromising situation - tough as an adult, but worse as a teen - and mixed up stories of people I knew and stories that horrified me on the news. It was some good stuff, not all of it truly complete, but I hadn’t conjured up these stories in years, and I wondered if I should collect them. I wonder if it’s corruptive to write this type of stuff. It’s real, that’s for sure.

On my site, if you read the TINY excerpt from Burnt, Part 1, you’ll see the beginnings of the tale of a misfigured boy from a broken home, who befriends and ultimately becomes romantic with a very badly damaged girl.

I don’t know. These stories have a really special place in my heart, but they are hard stories, real and uncompromising. I don’t know if they are the best things I’ve ever written - or the worst.

Been on a break from editiing due to illness and overnight guests, so I guess it’s back to work now.