This is very funny. I was going through some old writing (and cringing) and found this little gem which is *particularly* cringe-worthy. So much so that I had to share it at the risk of completely humiliating myself. This was written when I was 14, a few months after I arrived back in Australia. I think it was supposed to be an entry for the Sydney Morning Herald young writers competition, however it never made it past the first draft and you will see why. No wonder my English teacher couldn't stand me!! Here goes>>>

First draft - 27/08/88

Ben had lived in Noumea for nine years and that's where the most important events of his life happened. When his mother left his father after he threatened to kill her, Ben was eight years old but still old enough to realize that his family was falling to pieces. Because none of his friends would understand his feelings as none of them had experienced such a thing, Ben found himself withdrawing from them. He stayed out on the beach every afternoon after school instead of going home to face his mother's constant nagging. If someone approached him he would not carry on the conversation but just answer the questions with a simple "yes" or "no". Everyone at school liked him though because they still remembered the happy boy Ben used to be. This was when Ben started biting his nails.

As time passed Ben forgot about the terrible fights that his parents had, and the separation. About a year later he got hit by a car. Not a serious accident though, enough to scare him for the rest of his life.

Then he got to high school and met David whom he considered as his best friend and treated like a brother. They were the closest of friends and everyone liked them. They did everything together. Ben was 10 years old and in year 7 at this stage. But then his mother got sick and people were fighting for independence. So Ben had to leave the country. He moved to Australia and because he missed David heaps he shot himself.

THE END

>>>> What was I on?????
You know actually I recall my teacher saying to me "I believe that a lot of what you have written in here has really happened to you and that you are Ben". DUH!! But just as i re-read that now, wouldn't that last line have raised alarm bells with a normal adult?? Shouldn't she have talked to me about counselling or something??? Anyway, I just thought of that so that kinda took away a bit of the funniness.
I don't think I've ever seen anything so poorly written in my whole life hahahaha

Words have been calling out to me lately. I’m feeling them close but not close enough and I miss them. I miss the sound and taste of them. I miss pairing them up folding them into each other to make sentences, to give voice to the heart and a home to my spirit.
People have been approaching me about my writing of late. Some because of the website I’m currently building, others … others, well I’m not sure why. Perhaps like me they feel a quickening; the wind is picking up to carry me on my way. And yet I feel as though there are things that I must do before I set off… things that I must see.
In the introduction to Postcards I muse about how I started to write. Now I find myself examining how or where I stopped, that I might see my way again through the veils around my heart. It’s not a tricky question, if I let myself go back there I know exactly when it happened. I even know why it happened, and that to me is perhaps the scariest of all. I was broken and I didn’t know how to fix myself. I didn’t know how to hold on tight to that belief that love conquers all and that it is enough to love without needing to hold it tightly in my fist. I still don’t know. I would like to believe there is a love that can stay, a love that could melt into me and be free. But I didn’t know how to love and that was my shame. I didn’t know how to BE in the face of love… and I guess neither did he.
So I know when I stopped writing. When I couldn’t bear to look into the reflection of my own eyes let alone my soul. When I had failed at the one thing I thought I would be best at. When I discovered I wasn’t as loyal as I thought and that loneliness makes us cowardly… it’s possible to be the loneliest of all with the person we love the most.
I broke apart and fell to pieces and really I had thought I’d got myself back together. I knew I was changed, but I didn’t know just how much. But I should have known, because I couldn’t write about it. That’s how I should have known. So I think this is the first tentative step.