Out with the Old, In with the New

I started seriously writing in the tenth grade.  Fast forward six years and I have a ton of stories - unfinished, abandoned, and even completed - lying around.  Every time I go back and read something from my beginnings as a writer, I cringe.  I'm horrified by my grammar, my punctuation, my repetition.  Everything.  It can be disheartening.

Then I take a closer look.

What I wrote when I was fifteen might come off as garbage to my twenty-one year old self.  It might be utterly, entirely, obviously worth my while to just abandon it.  Toss it right into a bonfire.  Or, it could worth salvaging.  On the surface it may seem like the rotting carcass of a sunken ship, but that doesn't mean there isn't lost treasure inside just waiting to be found.

I came across one of these kind of stories today cleaning out my documents folder.  I remember writing it my senior year of high school, thinking it was hilarious and fantastic.  I read it today and thought, "Ugh.  Why did I keep putting so many tags after people have spoken?  That was completely unnecessary.  There were only two characters ever talking.  Did I really love this short story that much?"

But once I got past the sheer horror that was my grammar and punctuation, I saw that the pieces I needed to make the story better were all there.  I just needed to edit, clean it up, and check it again.  Now that I have, I do love the piece again.  I'm proud of it again.

So while sometimes it seems like what you write is better off forgotten, that doesn't always have to be the case.  Taking another look, taking a new perspective on the story might be just what it needs.

And for your eyes, here's the story I wrote in high school and have now cleaned up:

Dressed for the Occasion

            “You’re going to wear that?” Sarah sarcastically asked, sitting on top of my bed.  Her blond fair flounced around her face as she shook her head.  “What am I going to do with you?”

            My best friend had always been blunt and to the point.  Not much had changed in ten years. 

            I looked down at my outfit.  I really didn’t see what was so awful about it.  The simple black skirt and tasteful blue blouse fit me just right.  “What’s wrong with it?” I questioned, holding up the end of my skirt, trying to see what Sarah clearly saw.

            “Leah,” she chided, standing up, “you look like you’re about to go to a business meeting.  You’re picking up your brother from the airport after his year abroad, and he’s bringing home his new Italian amigo.”

            “That’s Spanish, not Italian.” 

            “Ugh!  Same difference, Leah.  Spanish guys, Italian guys; they’re both hot.”

            Glaring at her, I sighed.  I glanced around my room hoping something less ‘business’ would appear before my eyes.  Seeing nothing, I turned back to Sarah.  “Okay, what do you suggest?”

            She jumped into action, leaping to my closet in one fluid movement.  She threw some clothes out while making gagging noises.  Others she dropped on the floor, acting like she had touched chemical waste.  “Where do you shop?” she asked in disgust. 

            My hair fell off my shoulders as I shrugged.  “Wherever there’s a sale.”

            I wasn’t poor, but I didn’t see the point in wasting money on expensive clothes when I could get something similar for a whole lot less. 

            “Well, you’re not going to attract this new Italian with these abominations.”  She shuddered, then stepped over the pile of clothes she had discarded in horror.  “Do we have time to stop by my house and find something that wasn’t on a clearance rack?”

            I plopped down on my bed in dismay.  “No.  I have to leave in a few minutes to pick up Ben and Marcello.”

            Sarah flung herself beside me.  “Oh, Marcello just sounds so Italian,” she smiled.

            I rolled my eyes.  “Well, he is Italian, Sarah.” 

            We both silently gazed about my bedroom.  Feeling hopeless, I leaned back against the headboard. 

            “What’s that?” Sarah suddenly questioned, spotting part of a dark purple camisole poking out from a dresser drawer parallel to where she sat.  Rolling off the bed, she carefully approached the dresser, almost as if she was worried the camisole would disappear if she moved too quickly.  She pounced on it a moment later.  “Leah, this could work.” 

            I stood up and walked to her.  Taking the camisole out of her hands, I unfolded it.  “It’s a cami.  What am I supposed to do with just a cami?”

            Her eyes lit up.  “What about those dark jeans with the rips in them?  Where are they?”

            I bent down and opened a different drawer, taking the jeans in question out.  “Right here.  Why?”

            She picked up her cute leather jacket from underneath all the rejected clothes strewn about my now messy room.  “Put the jeans and cami on, then borrow my jacket.  I’m telling you, this Marcello,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “will drop dead.”

            I did as I was told.  Sarah’s approval shined in her eyes as I shoved her out the door.  I arrived at the airport’s gate for my older brother Ben and his friend Marcello forty-five minutes later. 

            I noticed Ben as soon as he entered the receiving area.  He and I shared our mom’s dark black hair and our dad’s blue eyes.  Ben was by far taller than most of the people surrounding him, except for the man walking with him.  His height only dwarfed Ben’s by an inch at the most.  He smiled and laughed at something Ben said to him. 

            “Ben!” I called out to my older brother, frantically waving my arms, hoping to get a closer look at Marcello. 

            My brother locked eyes with me and nudged the handsome man next to him.  His brown eyes hit me like a ton of bricks.  He grinned at Ben and murmured something in Italian. 

            Ben and the man finally reached me.  Ben tugged me into a bear hug and squeezed.  “Hey, baby sister,” he greeted.  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”  He motioned to the unbelievably hot man next to him.  “Marcello, this is my sister, Leah.  Leah, this is my boyfriend, Marcello,” he introduced.  “Isn’t he fabulous?”

            “Boyfriend?” I gasped.