Publications of the Twelve-Year-Old Mind

One weekend at Grandma Krause's, I decided to write a book. I was twelve and I certainly thought I was brilliant. The name of the book was Andy's Dream. It actually turned out quite well. As we've been packing for our upcoming move tomorrow, I caught a glimpse of a copy of this book I made so many years ago. When the proverbial and literal dust settles, I am going to scan it and post it.

There are other creative works buried in the archives that I may pull out and post. This is mostly for myself, so that I have digital copies. I'm sure my brothers and parents will enjoy looking at them. Now that I think about it, I have several little books I wrote as a preteen and a teen. Maybe I'll even scan and upload the Choose Your Own Adventure books that John and I wrote. I tried to write inventive plots based on DuckTales or other cartoons, while John penned the classics You Have a Lamborghini and The Fart Heard Round the World. Just you wait, dear readers, just you wait to read of the exploits of one Michael J. Ackson, or was it Jack Michaelson?

I was also quite the poetaster growing up. I'm sure I can dig up some horrendous and juvenile poems for our collective amusement. There is even a play somewhere, called The Princess and the Maid, that was a not-so-subtle rip-off of The Princess Bride. Oh, I can't wait to share these embarrassments with you, dear reader. Here is a poem I wrote last August about this period in my life.

Twelve to Fifteen

I’m afraid that I hit my creative zenith between the ages of
twelve and fifteen

When I was twelve I wrote, produced, and directed a play
for the younger children of the school. My friend,
Brad Abrams, composed a score on the piano.
We were creative
geniuses

That same year I participated in a conference for young writers.
I read some of my poetry.
It was published.
My first published poems.

Our class made a poetry journal.
Of course everybody was published.
But
I had the most poems in the journal.

I wrote a children’s book – Andy’s Dream, I was going to be
famous

I wrote other stories. Other poems. Other dreams.

Fifteen – I attended that same junior writer’s conference.
My poetry had matured. I met professional writers, making a living.
A box lunch, autographs, lectures, workshops…I was disenchanted.

Now
Now I study literature.
I am an embryonic academic.
I am a nascent scholar.
I am killing my Muse.

Monday, August 27, 2007 12:14 AM