For some reason, I just started thinking about what I have written so far, from when I started writing as a child/teenager. The memories of these stories popped up one after the other, as I also found more depths about myself.
I vaguely remember a couple of short stories I wrote in upper school, but that's all. Except for some odd stuff I scribbled without much thought about it when I was 12 and younger. By then I didn't know much about writing or how to keep the storyline going. Or how to portray characters. Describing environments though, that I believe I was quite good at from early on. It was when I was about 12-13 that this writing business really started to kick in.
They were kind of weird, the ones I can remember from upper school. One was also fantasy, but much more focused on magic and generally weird/awesome stuff. And I did the bad mistake of setting an English title to a Swedish story. "Lover In Motion", if I recall correctly. One of the characters name was Lover, a surname I think, and the city the story took place in was called In Motion. But still.
Then there was another one that was even weirder, reality based, about a woman being stalked. I think I imagined her being in her mid- to late twenties. What was it called now again? Something about roses. The creepy thing was that I identified with the stalker, and I thought she was the weird and up-tight one. But then again, there's always been a little stalker in me. How to find information about someone you have a crush on without having to talk to them, sort of.
Oh, and yeah I remember another one! That one was more realistic, about a strange looking girl being bullied. I named her Lo, but what was it called? "Rasslande kedjor" or something like that, I think. The bullies hit her with chains, you see. Yeah, and there's the morbid side of me. Don't know if I finished it though. I wrote about 30 pages before I gave up.
I have a tendency to think up a layout, or what you wanna call it, a general idea of the storyline. But then I start writing and get so sucked in I get off track and it takes another turn. Then it takes like 10 pages before I can get back on track again, but then I get off track again... until I give up on ever being able to finish.
Why did I forget the most awesome fiction I've ever written?! A totally crazy love story based on a crush I had on a guy I didn't quite know anything about, seen as I was too shy to talk to him. Although I was in love with him for three years. I wrote 60 pages about us being a couple. We even got married and had a kid. Then we split up and I was a single mother dealing with a divorce. I went from being 15 to 38 years old! I'm still amazed how I could write that when I was 13 years old.
I still have it in a broken computer, and I can't access it. I remember the documents I saved it in always kept crashing also, even though I kept on moving it in smaller sections to new documents. Some day I just gotta get that thing out of that damn old computer! So that I can be totally embarrassed by reading a teenager's, who had never been in a relationship, idea of what a relationship could be like. Well, I sure had some imagination!
I've never really thought so much about it, but what a person is writing can say a great deal about the writer, right? And everything has a little touch of autobiography in them. As with the first story I mentioned, it was like a first try to write about Dala, and also about how torn up I felt inside, because it had a very tragic ending. As with the second mentioned, it reflected my anxiety of never getting a boyfriend. The third one, was about me getting bullied, but I exagurated it because I felt like the way I was treated wasn't bad enough to be qualified as bullying. Kinda sad. That one also had a lot of tragedy in it. People dying and such. And as for the crazy, long love story, last mentioned, I think it reflected that I felt trapped in my life and just wanted to get out and live. Even if it meant ending up in a disaster.
I suddenly realise a lot of how I felt through ages 13 to 15. Just how trapped and inadequate I felt, like no one would take me seriously if I opened up. That I would never have a relationship, never experience real love and live a real life outside of that conservative village. Maybe I've been analysing the wrong things? It wasn't what I wrote in all those diaries about myself, it was about what I was writing that wasn't about myself.
Wow. My brain never stops fascinating me.
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