Hi book trolls! I hope you are all having a great day! As I mentioned in my last post, today I’ll be looking at how my writing has changed. I’m not going to change anything as I write, so you’ll get to see all the mistakes I made through the years. Lets get started!
Age eight , third grade:
Maurice and Jacob looked in a dictyanry to find the name of every thing. Then Jacob was hurry so Jacob asked Maurice If he could have some leaom Maurice said yes. when Jacob was done Maurice fond the name of every thing. the boys started to repie things. when they wer done reipeing things Jacob said came we go to the term now yes said Maurice. The two boys went fishing in the sterm. then Jacob went home Maurice had a good time whe Jacob.
Honestly I don’t even know where to begin XD Does this story make sense to anyone? All I understand is that Jacob and Maurice went to a stream (or a “sterm” as I call it) to go fishing. Oh, and let’s not forget that lemon Jacob ate.
Age ten, fifth grade:
This is an excerpt from a short story I wrote for school:
Footsteps came closer and closer. Grace had to get out of the basement. Was it aliens like the book said? Were they coming for her? Or was it all nonsense? Was it just one big mess? Or was it a big dream and Grace would wake up any minute?
Earlier that day, grace took Pebbles, the family dog, for his walk. Pebbles was a small dog with a white body and black spots.
“Come on, Pebbles!”Grace said, opening the door.”I brought a toy, “She said as Pebbles circled her . It was a beautiful day the sun was shining and it wasn’t too cold or too hot. Grace thought nothing could ruin it when her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash. The noise was from the neighbor’s house. It made Grace shutter and Grace being a very curious girl walked to her neighbor’s house.”After you”, Grace said to Pebbles. The door was opened a little bit but Grace rung the door bell anyway. Nobody answered; again she rung the door bell nothing.
Compared to the story (if you could call it that) in third grade, this is really good. This story doesn’t have any spelling errors, and so far it makes sense. I think the reason for this is because I had to write multiple drafts for this, and I wrote it on the computer.
Age 11, sixth grade:
We fell down hard, and my eyes were closed through all of it. I opened my eyes and thought I was dreaming. Cake was everywere. My cat walked around and sat on a cake shaped like a cat prech. Already I had a stain on my shirt. I was about to eat some cake when Beep Beep Beep! My alarm went off so it was all a dream. But there something on my shirt, it was a cake stain.
To be countied. . . .
Considering I didn’t write this on a computer, this is pretty good in terms of spelling. The story is a little too short, and lacks some details (I even forgot the word “was” once) but it’s interesting, and it makes more sense than my stories from third grade.
Age 12, seventh grade:
Again this is going to be an excerpt, this is also something I wrote out of school:
There was another loud bang, followed with another loud body falling hard to the ground. Mom told us we were safe inside, but we all knew it wasn’t. We got the news of dad’s death the other day. There were no tears from any of us, we were all in shock. There was a cold bloodied war going on, between the citizens and the goverment. The war had been going for so long that I, at almost 16 don’t remeber a time when we were free to go outside. I don’t really know what happened next. It. . . it was like a sleeping gas got in. Then my mother fell, then my brother, and my sister, and me. I don’t remeber much after that. . . but then again, that was over 300 years ago, My name is Alexis, my friends are zero and my family. . . .my family is gone. I pretty much just woke up one day and I was over 300 years into the future. But lets rewind, and start at day 1.
Still a few spelling errors, but it’s a lot better. During this time I started reading a lot of YA science fiction books, which improved my writing greatly. It was also during this time that I started writing for fun, and actually realized I was good at it. This excerpt still lacks details, but I was on the right track.
Age 13, eighth grade
As the girl walked past the small mirror something caught in the corner in her eye. When she turned to look at the mirror she didn’t see herself, instead she saw a young women with dark brown hair, pale skin, high cheekbones, light pink lips, a straight nose, and eyes that were dark and promised death. The girl jumped back from the mirror.
“What are you afraid of Datura?” the mirror seemed to respond, saying the girls name slowly and full of hate. Datura loved her name, but when she said it Datura wanted to crawl out of her skin. It was her last name that she didn’t like.
“Or should I call you by your full name Datura Cruella?”the mirror seemed to say.
“No,no” Datura said shaking her head.”You’re dead so leave. me. ALONE!” Datura yelled. The women in the mirror started to come out of the mirror and into the room. Everything went quite, even the whisper of the wind seemed to stop. Datura’s face went pale and her dark brown eyes widened. The women shimmered like a fine mist. She wore a fitted black dress that had a low neckline, and flared out at the knees. She had sharp,filed nails and long strong legs. The women circled Datura and laughed.
“Well Its good to know that you still fear me after all these years, and please do call me by my name Datura unless you’re scared“the women said smirking.
“What do you want Fae?”Datura said starting the women straight in the eye.
“Now now Datura you know thats not my name, no matter I’ll just have to remind you of it”she said stroking Datura’s chin with a finger.
“No thank you” Datura said turning away from the women. “You can go back to the underworld now where I’m sure you have very important things to do, it is hell after all, or so I’ve heard”Datura continued
“You’re right, I do have very important things to do, and its to finish what I started all those years ago. . . join me now Datura and I might spare you, I’ll make you a slave in the underworld.” the women said.
“No”Datura said trying to be strong
“What did you say Datura?”she said
“I said no” Datura said shaking
“Oh well I see only this isn’t up for negotiation Datura” she said as she pounced on Datura.
Again, during this point I was reading constantly. Eighth grade is also when I created a wattpad account, where I wrote the story you see above (I never finished it though, I only wrote a chapter or two). Anyway, the text itself is very dialogue heavy, with little narrative. Currently I’m learning how to limit dialogue, and as you keep reading you’ll see this 😉 Also, I didn’t use a lot of commas, so when you read it it sounds unnatural, at least to a certain extent.
Age 14, ninth grade:
Short story written in English class with the prompt “mistakes have been made”:
She looked at her shoes and the tiled floor. Confessions, that was why she was here. She was worried her shame showed. She wanted to run away from this. From confessing the truth. But she pushed herself. She looked up and whispered with wide eyes, “mistakes have been made”.
And another short story also written in English class:
I often wonder if the places in works of fiction could ever exist. A pace with castles and secret passages. I know these stories are called fiction for a reason, but I might be able to find these places. I can build my own place tucked away between layers of chapters. I can create characters to share my creation with. So she I’m quiet, I’m not quiet. Inside my mind there is beauty and destruction. A destruction that in the end might tear down my work of fiction. And then I’ll rebuild the world again.
During this point I still read a lot, but I wrote less outside of school. If my English teacher didn’t have free write Fridays, I probably wouldn’t have wrote anything at all, hence why these stories are more nicely written narratives. I wasn’t trying to write any sort of story at this point. But, a dramatic change in my writing here is my writing style. Here I feel my style has developed more, and I’m. not simply repeating popular concepts I’d read in books.
Age 15, tenth grade (present day):
Dehydration, and headaches. No water to live, but forced to trek through the forest. To kill, to destroy. To die. Going to kill others, but will you die before your eyes find your prize? Lack of supplies, and little time. The sound of a drum beating in your head, keep going, keep moving, further, further, kill, kill them all. But all you can think about is the hot stuffy air, and the dense forest. Exhaustion creeping in our bones, the lack of water driving you mad. Others around you have fallen from the heat. You wish you could fall and never get up, fall like those around you. But you must keep going.
An excerpt of a story I wrote:
The world lost light when she was five, when the cancer got worse, and the only way to survive was to turn off the lights. A five year old looks a lot different than an adult, and everyone around her cared so deeply about this. They cared so deeply about the clothes she wore, and the way she walked, or talked, but she couldn’t care less. But now she couldn’t really say that. There was something about seeing it, actually seeing it that made her think differently. She did not feel beautiful, she felt broken. She realized how he felt all those years ago. She thought she knew how he felt but she didn’t, not even close. Her face was swollen and bruised, bruised from him, swollen from HIM. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked in the mirror taking in what she had became.
The above stories are definitely darker than the other examples. Now my style has developed more, and I use a lot more commas. My writing style is more conversational, but at the same time far from it. My works are perhaps better appreciated when read aloud, which explains my excessive amount of commas. Also, the subjects I write about has changed, now I find myself writing more about abuse instead of cake. I just like to write about people’s thought process, and how the villain feels/becomes the villain.
That wraps up this very long post.
Tell me in the comments: how have you changed as a writer? What do you think of my writing history?
I hope you all have a great day, bye!