That being said, before we were the writers we are today, we were...well, let's just say that we didn't start off as great writers. Don't worry though, no one starts out great at anything. That's a given in any aspect in life.
Writing well takes time and patience. Even the greatest writers still have things to learn. It doesn't matter if you are published or not, we all have a chance to grow as writers everyday.
This week, a few AWers shared their writing from when they were younger. I was scared to post any of my old work on the internet, because every time I look over it, I cringe.
But I've learned to look over my old work with pride. I am proud that I have grown as a writer. I am proud that I didn't give up and though I have never been able to finish a novel again, I can honestly say that if it wasn't for my writing from yesterday, I wouldn't be the aspiring novelist I am today.
As I said, not everyone starts out great. There are many steps to achieve greatness. Some may be big, some small, either way you have to climb them if you want to succeed, if you want to get better.
When you look over your work from when you were younger, don't cringe. Instead, look over your work with pride. Know that when you wrote that story or poem or book you took another step and another and another, and now you are where you are.
Embrace those stories from long ago. Love them, cherish them, thank them, for without them you would not be the writer you are today.
On my other blog, I posted an excerpt from a novel I wrote I was eleven. I loved that story at the time because it was my second novel and I had dreams of finishing it and getting it published. In one summer, I wrote about 50,000 words and the story is still not even finished. Mainly because I realized that I needed to improve my writing skills. I took time off, paid more attention in my English classes, read more, wrote more and now I am a better writer than I was four years ago.
The said novel was called Hazel. It's a Victorian-esque fantasy-romance about a girl named Katherin Hartley who lost her parents at a very young age. Her mother, who hated her, fell ill and her father supposedly committed suicide. With her family gone, she was sent to go live in an orphanage with people who she later finds out are her family on her mother's side. As time progresses, she finds out that she might be a princess of a magical world.
Hazel
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The air was dry as Erin dug through the wet snow to pick flowers for her mother. She could feel the tiny sharp pains piercing her skin as she touched the snow. Later that day, guests from the city were coming to visit them for two days. Even though they were her mother's guest, Erin wished they would get there before the frost got worse. She would hate for anyone to get hurt.
It was going to rain soon, but Erin didn´t care because she liked the rain. As the grey clouds blanketed the sky, she soon forgot about the lilies and climbed up the steep hill to her house. The first drop of rain fell onto her face like a soft caress. If only Miss Hilda hadn't been calling her, Erin would have let the rain embrace her. When Erin stepped into the house she took off her wet boots and threw them to the side. All day, Erin's father, Michael, had sat in his office in his big red chair reading a book. His face was long and cold for he looked tired. Dried up tears rested on his face to show he was stressed. Erin put down her pale of flowers and walked towards her father. He looked glad to see her and immediately hugged her.
" You did your morning exercise I see." Michael exclaimed
" Miss Hilda wanted these flowers picked for her guests. She wanted perfect ones but they've been wilted by the snow." Erin explained sighing
" They're beautiful. All they need is a little light and warm water." Michael suggested
" Well father, I'm going to show Miss Hilda before she has a cow waiting for me." Erin said, running upstairs to her mother's room
" What took you so long?" Hilda asked angrily
" It was very cold outside and........." Erin started
" Did poor Erin freeze her hands while picking flowers outside in the snow?" Hilda asked sarcastically
" I try not to complain about it but you took my gloves. So of course my hands were cold." Erin replied softly
As she talked, she felt a hard sting hit the side of her face. A tear welled up in Erin's eyes but it never fell. She would not show Miss Hilda she was afraid of her even though she feared her piercing, eyes.
" Erin, you are useless! I told you to pick flowers that or not wilted but you pick everything but that. My friends are coming and they'll be very disappointed to see my house isn't complete. Leave me to rest. I don't want to see your hideous face any longer." Hilda shouted angrily
" But Miss Hilda it's snowing outside and all the flowers are buried under snow so of course they're going to be wilted." Erin explained kindly
" I said leave!" Hilda shouted
Feeling like she once again failed her mother, Erin ran off to finish her chores. She tried to hold back her tears but they wouldn't stay in. Her father had seen her crying and ran to hug her.
" Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Michael asked sadly
" Miss Hilda is never going to approve of anything I do." Erin replied through her tears
" She just wants everything to be right for her friends." Michael explained sighing
" But the way she treats us is horrible Father! We should just leave her here to do things for herself." Erin said angrily
" Now dear, don't talk like that. Your mother loves you." Michael said closing his eyes
" Father, you know I'm right! That's why you close your eyes! I don't understand why you just don't make things right. She should be kind to you because you were kind enough to marry her! " Erin exclaimed, pouting
" Bless your heart Erin! You have shown nothing but kindness to your mother for these past thirteen years you've been on this earth. There's only one more thing I ask of you, darling." Michael said softly
" What? Anything!" Erin asked frowning
" When you have neither one of us with you, I want you to live a respectable life. I pray it will only get better for you." Michael replied, crying.
Okay, I've been rambling on and on about my stories. What about you? Do you have any stories from your childhood or from whenever you started writing, that you're proud of?
Come on, don't be shy, post them up on your blog!





