I’ve spent this Sunday cleaning. In an effort to de-clutter my house, I finally decided to tackle the pile of boxes I brought home from my parents’ house.

This is one awful pile. It contains relics of my childhood that I don’t know if I can part with. There’s a box of My Little Ponies, an apparently later version of PetSter (read that article- the writer is actually pretty funny), some horribly dismantled Transformers and knock off ‘Bots, and two large totes of writing.

Those two large totes are in addition to the two bookshelves filled with journals and sketch books, plus all the other paper floating around here. What’s that thing they say? Something about the first million words? Yeah, I’m sure I hit my first million words, technically, by eighth grade and another million words by the time I was in college. I should be a lot better than I am right now, but at the same time it is very clear exactly what I’m meant to do.

I’m meant to tell stories. It seems like that gets taken for granted. Like writing and telling stories is the exact same thing, and it isn’t always. There are lots of ways to tell stories, writing happens to be one of them. There are also plenty of writers who write well but can’t  tell a good story. We all have our weaknesses.

And so I thought it would be interesting, especially after the last post about setting things on fire, to see some of the crazy things I’ve attempted. I’d love it if others would share some of their own crazy story attempts either in the comments or on blogs. If you have pictures, even better.

Sadly, my handwriting still looks like this.

This is a page from my first writing binder. I think I was nine or ten when I started it, but I remember using it when I was 13 or 14 sitting on the grass in the backyard listening to the 10,000 Maniacs unplugged album. Of course this stuff was written in pencil. Up until 6th grade, I’d never written in pen before. (Grade school they always wanted us writing in pencil in case we made a mistake. Was every school like that?)

Side shot of the binder. What a mess. I found all sorts of weird things in there. Stickers, clipped articles, doodles, loose papers, home-made book marks. I am leaving this one as it is!

This is embarrassing.

I decided at some point to write a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book. On the typewriter. Because we didn’t have a computer until I was in ninth grade. This page here is actually draft two! That means there was a draft one. There might even have been a rough draft written in pencil somewhere.

I was wrong. This is more embarrassing.

I got really into drawing and decided that I’d try and become a comic artist. I think this phase only lasted six months. There are only a few pages and no completed comics, so phew! It could have been worse. Much worse.

Just to show there is some hope and not everything I do is complete crap– a drawing I found in one of my much later sketch books. This was in college. I took an art appreciation class and learned about pastels for the first time ever.

What about you? Please share other crazy writing/art mis-adventures.

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