I’m cleaning house, otherwise known as getting rid of junk, and ran across some early writing.  I won’t say in which decade I wrote them, but I’m taking the stand it was before I could vote.  Grade school maybe.  I think they were written in crayon.  Yeah, they’re that bad.  They predate finding my “voice” and clearly show the influence of the authors I read at the time.  If those authors were angst-ridden masochists who were fond of including the character’s first name in EVERY LINE OF DIALOGUE.

Here’s a sample:

“How many men did you have after me, Lisa?  How well did you satisfy your hunger after you whetted your appetite with me?”

“Nick – ”

“My successors, Lisa,” he commanded.  “How many were there?  Who were they?”

****

As you can see, Nick was extremely fond of quotation marks.  He also shook Lisa a lot, yelled at her and wasn’t a very nice guy.  The anti-hero.  He had no character arc.  None of the characters did.

These tragic pieces are going in the trash.  I don’t need validation of how much my writing has matured.  I think I’ll find my humor in other areas from now on.

How bad is your early writing?  Do you still have samples tucked in a drawer?

I recently decided to edit a book I was soooo certain I’d abandoned two thirds of the way through.  I have a couple of books like that – or half books, left on the side of the road when something brighter and shinier appeared.  It’s a bad habit, letting good books die for no reason other than they’d dragged on for too long.  Or I’d been lazy and didn’t give them the attention they deserved.  I’m convinced I write better and finish more projects when I’m in a NaNo/Book of the Month frame of mind.

Which I must have been with this particular book.  You know what?  I’d finished it.  Oh, the corners were rough and there were a lot of xxxx’s that needed to be filled in, but the book was done.  “The End” was typed.  Finished.

Except -

I don’t remember writing it.  The last twenty pages are a blank in my mind.  My critique partner, Mary, says I was in the groove, and I must have been.  I’ve read it again and still have no recollection of typing those words.

This has happened before, but on a much smaller scale.  I’ve run across a phrase, a joke, a bit of brilliant dialogue and thought “That’s pretty damn good”, but I don’t remember not remembering writing a whole chapter or more.

It’s disconcerting.  I think I have writing amnesia.

Is there a cure?

Best to you,

Cheryl

Do you use an e-reader?

I’ll have to say, I was reluctant about joining the e-reader stampede.  There’s nothing like the feel of a book in your hand, is there?  And how can you trade it or loan it to a friend?  And what about the thrill of buying a great used book for pennies on the dollar?

But last May, I took the plunge and bought a Kindle. My first purchase?  “This Time Together” by Carol Burnett.  Since then, I’ve added over thirty other books, magazine subscriptions and a game (Monopoly!).

Kindle did not remove print books from my life (ask my husband).  I still buy, borrow, trade and collect as many print books as before.  But taking a Kindle along on a trip is amazing!  Books and the latest Reader’s Digest are at my fingertips.  I play long games of Monopoly while I wait for my husband to get out of work.  Co-workers want to know what I have and do I like it?

Yes, I was converted.

I never knew how much I depended on it until last Friday (reader alert – traumatic details ahead).  I carry my Kindle in a cloth carrier, hand woven by nice ladies in Guatemala.  It has a velcro fastening and a long cord for its handle.  99.5% of the time, the cord is tangled around my purse handle.  They’re inseparable.   Except Friday.  Except for that terrible .5% and that black night of loss.

Let’s put it this way – Kindles do not make good doorstops.

There was a sickening crunch sound and the screen went dead.  DOA.  Kaput!  No more.  <sniff>

The warranty only applies if you don’t mash it between the car door and seat.

What did I do?  Well, this is a family oriented blog, so I’ll spare you the details, except there was some grovelling involved.  A new order was made (we’ll worry about payments later) and -

TA! DA!

Meet Sampson, my new Kindle.  Fitter, trimmer, easier to use.  Bullet proof (claims of unusual ballistics ability are disavowed by Amazon).  The best part of the bittersweet tale?  Amazon archives my purchases.  All I had to do was connect to the internet and SHAZAM! my books were back, including the one I’d been reading at the time of the tragedy – “The Girl Who Played With Fire.”

Thank you, Amazon.  You’re scary, but you’re good.

Do you have an e-reader tale?  Have you taken the plunge yet?  If so, why not?