So, I’m home for Christmas break. And while I’m here I’ve been going through some old stuff and found a few interesting things from my school stuff box. The first is a poem-type thing I wrote in eighth grade, entitled “I Am.” What’s most interesting about this work, at least for me, is how little my sentiments have changed over the past twelve or so years. How, even at that young point in my life, all I wanted to do is write music and have a normal family. Now, pretty much all I want to do is write music and have a normal family. I’m progressing pretty well on the first part, and praying hard about the second, so my eighth grade self may have had something with that little work.
Speaking of eighth grade, here is a piece of work I’m most fond of. We had an assignment in my geography class to create our own country, complete with maps, history, flag, government, etc. Then we were to write a five-to-seven-page paper detailing this stuff. But, as often happened during my public school career, I ended up taking a mundane assignment and spinning it out of control on the creative end, and I ended up writing this story about, well, me getting stuck in the middle of this strange country. Occasionally a person enters what my choir conductor calls “flow.” This is a state of mind where all physical discomforts and other pressing concerns fade away entirely, or at least into the far background, as a person becomes intimately obsessed with the creative process. In her case, it’s when the music she’s conducting (or we’re singing) becomes so important that she’s (or we’re) completely unaware of anything else. This happened to me while writing this work. The words came faster than I could type, almost, and it ended up being a watershed creative work. While it’s still obviously written by an eighth grader and contains several glaring errors, it’s still pretty awesome. I believe.
This also provides an interesting look into my young 13-year-old psyche. I mention my made-up history that my dad died before I was born and that I had an adopted father of sorts, who took the time out to play with us kids and make us feel important and worthwhile, something I definitely needed at the time. I also ended up writing in my crush at the time, but at the last moment panicked and changed it to a male character. This version I’ve uploaded for you, however, is the original with the girl in it. There’s probably more psychological issues I could pull out of this work, and may someday, but for now, enjoy The Land of Blue Roses on its own merits.