Thoughts On My Amateur Writing
When I was a kid, I used to write stories of love, YA Romance Novelettes, if you will. Since then, I’ve still written a lot. I have several rough drafts, or starts to books that I want to finish. I always get a bunch of it down on paper, and then filling in the cracks to create a full-length book seems to be difficult. Then, I get another small start down, and the process continues. Start, stop, pause, switch gears, start, stop, pause, and so on and so on.
This is an excerpt from a recent one I started writing. I won’t tell you what it’s about, the working title, or where I plan for it to go, because well… I am not that far yet. Enjoy, and let me know what you all think!
“What’s the real issue here? I mean really, why are you so upset tonight?” She asked me.
I plopped down on the carpet floor of my bedroom and wrapped my arms around my knees. I’ve always felt that serious chats were best held on the floor and this was going to be a serious chat after the stunt I’d just pulled upstairs. Perhaps it made me feel more grounded to talk from the floor. I don’t know. As an anxious person, I always do whatever I can to feel the steadiness of the proverbial floor when it feels like it’s falling from under me.
“Mom, I hate it. I HATE IT. I just feel ugly. Nobody likes me. NO ONE. I don’t understand why those girls get all the attention. When I look at them, I don’t see how I’m any different, but then they get all the dates, and all the notoriety. I’m smarter than them. I am funnier too. I just want someone to like me. To REALLY like me, not just for a week or a couple weeks, but for… ever.“
“I promise one day you’ll have that.” She kneeled down facing me on the floor. My tears started dropping like a cloudburst of rain. Why did I always have to cry so much? You’d think at 17 I could be tougher than this. That was probably it. People could see I was a train wreck. It didn’t surprise me that boys didn’t like me. I was a train wreck who needed her mommy to cheer her up when she was crying. Who could like one of those?
“You just have to say that because you’re my mom.” I buried my head into my knees forming big wet tear stains on the knees of my faded blue jeans.
“I say that because I’m your mom, yes. But I also say that because I know you. I was you once. You’ve seen my high school photos. I was taller than everyone, the boys called me ‘pine tree’. I was skinny, had cat-eye glasses and had big teeth. I still had friends, and so do you, but I rarely had the boys after me. I promise when you leave this tiny world of high school and get to college there will be people just like you. You’ll have lots of friends and boys who are looking for a girl just like you. You’ll have more dates than you know what to do with, and you’ll get to choose who you like best. You don’t really want one of these guys to be THE guy anyway. Do you?”
I smiled at her through my tears. She was right. I didn’t want to marry one of these boys from my school. I was too young for all of that. I had always dreamed of being a city girl. I didn’t want to be here forever, but I just wanted to be wanted. Because I couldn’t see the future, and couldn’t see past my frustration, I only halfway believed her. The smart part of me knew what she said had merit. The melodramatic, angsty teen version of myself shrugged it off. Either way, it made me feel better for the night.
“I love you, daughter. I promise. You’ll see.” She hugged me and I wiped my face dry with my tee shirt and went back upstairs to apologize to my dad.