Creative writing, c. 1997, part 1.

I’ve got to a point where I have no idea what anyone actually wants to read. I have about 15 or so unpublished posts sitting in my drafts, which all need some polishing, but are mostly there because I read them through and wonder if anyone would care. The post I’m going to put up on Sunday is a good example, I wrote it as a list for the Sunday just gone but it’s stupidly long, but equally I worked stupidly hard on it. I think I just have to work out whether this is a blog for me or a blog for you, or at least be happy with the medium that I reach. My sister says I should just shut up and split the post in two.

So, while I wonder whether anybody has the stamina to stick with the post I’ve just finished, I thought I’d write about something that I really enjoy reading. At this point, it’s important to note that I don’t have any syndromes or serious problems that I’m aware about, and I was actually quite a normal child. My mother is a doctor, which I think is in part the reason I don’t get squeamish about anything other than the thought of injuring my head (having broken my nose twice and the lower half of my face rather seriously I feel this is justified) and my dark sense of humour is definitely shared with my family.

When I was clearing out my room a few years ago, I found two books that have brought me great joy since their discovery. Year 3 and 4 Creative Writing books, aka the weird stories what I wrote between the ages of 6 and 8. I’m missing the sequel to the Year 4 book and one of the stories is cut off as I must have completed it in a new book. I’ll update more if I find it, don’t sweat. I have written such a vast quantity of things, that I’m going to split this post over today and tomorrow, so come back soon for my Year 4 book.

All spellings, grammar and phrases are exactly as they read in the book. I’m just sorry you can’t see my horrible handwriting.

Wednesday 1st October 1997

The strange spell

Ned and Deb were two adventurous children who loved to read they liked other subjects but reading was their favourite. Ned was 6 and Deb was 12. Deb had blonde hair and Ned had brown.

It was Saturday and Deb and Ned were going to the junk store. They looked at other stores like the painting store and the wood store and lots more then they saw the book store. When they got there they looked at useless books, [Ed: the comma is on a separate line to “books”] old books, true books, ancient books, cheap books and lots more.

Then Ned found a very old fashioned book first he thought it was a strange dictionary but it was a spell book! Ned saw that the book was called Ye Magic Spelle.

Ned showed Deb the book of spells. She said “Lets take it home” so they did and decided to make the spell fortunatly they had evrything so they started the spell.

First nothing happened then Ned and Deb started too fade then they appered again in another dimenshon! When their Mum came home she saw the mixture and she new straight away that they had been fooling with magic.

This is a good warm up for the other stories. It’s got stupidity and smug children in it, as well as unnecessary lists about book types and an omniscient mother.

26th November 1997

The little Fir tree: My story

My earliest memory was when I lived in the forest with all the big pine trees towering over me when I had animal freinds like birds who nested in my branches and animals playing underneath me. Then one day it started to snow!

And all my animal friends went to hibernate but I wasn’t lonerly because I soon heard children tobbogening down slopes but three small children came up to me and shouted “Dad can you come and chop this tree down” I was chopped down and put on a sledge then I was taken to a house and I was put in a large tub. Then I had some beautiful decirations put on me like a huge star with a mirror in the middle and lots of beautiful boubles. Soon the lights went out and everyone left the room then father Christmas came through the chimney and put presents under the tree. I was amazed I had atchually seen father Christmas! And then he went up the chimney. I think in my futer I will be planted again and again so there are lots of little fir trees all over England.

Again, this foreshadows stories to come. Note the positive end to this tree’s life as a point of comparison against the end of the lives of plants in future books.

Wednesday 10th December

The night before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas when my dad had fled,

I think its because my mums finger had bled,

We were all in bed and snuggled up tight,

All except two who were having a pillow fight,

I came in to the room and saw,

They were finding it a bit of abore,

Everything went quiet and then there were some bumps,

I thought that I had caught the mumps,

Suddenly it started to rain

And then we heard the bumps again.

POEMS ARE MY FAVOURITE. I continue to be no good at poetry writing, but this is just great and rubbish. But it gets worse. Clearly we had just learnt the story of Icarus flying into the sun. FYI, the title is written in MASSIVE letters, taking up a few lines to give emphasis.

Wednesday 6th May

Oh No!!

When Daedalus finished his maze,

At last he had done it,

He’d been on it for days!

He wanted to go back,

But he was stopped

“Tell us your secret or else!”

One day Daedalus had an idea,

To fly away,

“But” he said “We’ve got to get things first”

First they caught about 20 chickens!

Plucked off all the feathers,

Then the chickens were very bald.

Then they collected lots of wax,

Got stung,

Then felt funny

Stuck it together,

Made a big mess!

But it worked

Then off they go,

“Icarus come back!”

He flew too high

“OH-NO! Dad I’m falling”

Icarus was very quickly


Poor Icarus fell more and more

Then plunged into the sea,

“You wouldn’t listen to me”


I like to think it’s a bit ee cummings.

The above is a drawing I did in my creative writing book of some people stealing a robot dinosaur. I was 6 and clearly my imagination hasn’t developed much in the meantime.

The next story features a list of character names on the left hand side – I actually remember writing this, we were taught the word hogging and to write a story about this subject, probably to teach us how selfishness is WRONG. We were also taught about planning stories, told to make notes on the character names and a synopsis of our story so that we could stick to the plan. I wrote and misspelt the character names in the margin then got right into it. I think the fact that I knew my subject really well and had planned out the subtexts and story arcs really well comes out.

Hogging the ball

One day Henrietta, Mary, Thomas, Benjman and Harry wanted to play in the mud with Tom’s new ball. He came with them but wouldn’t let them touch the ball because it had gone through the window when it was closed. So he was told off. So he hoged the ball. The rest of them moaned and whined, especually Henrietta and Mary. They kept saying “Hey it’s not fair.” So they went home to mother and said he was being naughty. So mother came out and smacked him and sent him to bed. The others cheered exept Harry. They went to bed with a smack and Harry got some chips for supper. The End.

M. Night Shyamalan would be proud of that twist at the end.

For the next one, it should  be noted that my school house was called “Ducat” and I went to an all girls school at this point, so I’m not sure why my poem looking back on the day involves boys.

Sports Day

Today Jennifer seemed to be in a talking race,

But at least she ran at a good pace,

Ducat won again in first place,

Well we did run at our fastest pace.

I thought I’d win the sack race,

But I fell over Tom, the fat face,

People watching with their cameras

“Oh bother!” I said, “That one’s Pamela’s” [Ed: Who?]

I also thought I’d win the relays,

But if I fell over there would be replays.

Yellows and whites had the blues

Lucky Tim had the flu

I’m going to win the Runnig Race

I’m sure, I am very fast

I ran through the finish line

“Hip Hip Horay, you’ve Won!”

The picture at the end of that story was very much my style when I was 6. Please note the attention to detail with the teacher, including cable knit jumper and pleated skirt.

The next story is my personal favourite. One of the things it shows is that Tim and Tom are recurring character names because I wasn’t that good at names, but I definitely was imaginative.

The above photograph was badly stuck in next to the story. I’m still using my webcam, so apologies that the quality is lacking. It’s basically an old photograph of a boy in a mini go-kart going round a corner with lots of kids watching and having a jolly good time. It’s a happy, old fashioned photograph of better times. Please bear in mind that tone when you read the following:

Round the Bend

One day four-year-old Tim was bored, so h went to see his brother Tom who said, “Why don’t you play on your go-cart?” “OK.” said Tim, Tom pushed Tim all the way to the festival then went rushing round the bend. Woosh. Tom went wooshing over the go-cart and WAM head first on to the stones, had to go to casualty, And lived unhappily ever after. The End.

Story got a tick.


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