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I was sifting through some of my boxes that clutter my room just now (I've moved so many times now that I don't really ever unpack so much as move various boxes about and pick the ((mainly)) books out that I want), and I came across a few old notebooks. Apart from the dozen or so old journals, of which I'm a little scared to look back through as I was at the peak of anxiety/depression/teen angst, I found one that looks to be maybe a dozen pages or so of fic, poetry, and musings. The one entry near the end dates it back to '02, which is right when Smallville came out and I found myself in a creative burst writing on a message board and writing various small ficlets. Several of the pages in the old journal were such.
It's...odd, reading old things one has written, particularly when you don't remember ever writing it. It's equal parts cringe mixed with interest and respect for my ideas and vocabulary (the latter has sadly dwindled somewhat). Despite a few edits I would quickly make to some of the sappiness or OOC-ness of my Clark (a bit too much Mary Sue), I am quite proud of my past self. It's pleasant to realize that my past self was not as inadequate as I often felt or, as I sometimes think I was.
The only issue I find myself with, apart from suddenly wanting to improve my overall written vocabulary here, is that my past self ended several stories with the page instead of with a proper end to the vignette. I several times turned the page to find what I next written, only to discover that I had not. Curses! Ending stories has always been the hardest part for me, but I find it most vexing to discover that it plagues me not only when written, but later when read as well. At least I can be grateful that, though at times a little...lame? my writing could be, it is still intriguing and captivating. They could almost be writing prompts, come to think of it: short stories meant to spur others (or myself) into an interesting direction.
I don't often think of how much I wrote during that period around the first two seasons of Smallville. The community on the message boards was lively and crazy fun, not to mention boundless in its creativity. I only ever started my livejournal all those years ago because everyone else was hopping on. And my longest friend to date is one I met there when I asked for her aid in proofing one of my fics. But anyway, I wrote so much during those two years. It was a bit of a perfect confluence of timing, free time, budding creativity, anxious energy (an oddly effective creative source), interest, and the perfect place to so do. The explosion of message boards, an interesting new take on a favorite superhero, a major crush on both lead actresses, similarly interested people, and a limitless potential (sadly much wasted) for where it could all go -- these all lead to a most fecund soil for writing and communicating. I partly wish at times I could have a log of some of those old threads we would take part in, though only partly.
It was so much fun, the time between episodes, particularly the winter and summer breaks when things had ended on a cliffhanger and we were left with nothing but time to fuel our imaginations and creative juices. I can't tell you how many amazing stories came about during those lulls, nor how many I wish were not lost to both myself and internet. Good ol' salad days, eh? I did not write terribly many fics that I actually posted, but I still wonder how many are gone forever. I have, thankfully, been somewhat decent at keeping backups of old files, but due to a number of sudden computer failures over the years, cannot be certain of how many have not survived. Having transferred my livejournal here, I do also have all those things saved as well, which is cool.
It's a bit funny, looking back on old writings. Like I said before, there are equal parts cringe and respect. There's also that faint pall of wondering what happened since. Dang, but I could be so funny! Of course, there's a real possibility that a good deal of my drive then was depression and anxiety manifesting; if this is so, then I'm okay not being as eloquent or interesting. Still, reading the old journal made me plop a notebook on my nightstand in case I have something to write. I've known for a while now that I'm a mimic at heart: when I see someone doing something cool, I want to join in and do so as well. When I was roommate with an artist, I ended up drawing quite a bit. Amusing to find myself inspired by my very own self, but a few years removed. Thanks, me!
It's...odd, reading old things one has written, particularly when you don't remember ever writing it. It's equal parts cringe mixed with interest and respect for my ideas and vocabulary (the latter has sadly dwindled somewhat). Despite a few edits I would quickly make to some of the sappiness or OOC-ness of my Clark (a bit too much Mary Sue), I am quite proud of my past self. It's pleasant to realize that my past self was not as inadequate as I often felt or, as I sometimes think I was.
The only issue I find myself with, apart from suddenly wanting to improve my overall written vocabulary here, is that my past self ended several stories with the page instead of with a proper end to the vignette. I several times turned the page to find what I next written, only to discover that I had not. Curses! Ending stories has always been the hardest part for me, but I find it most vexing to discover that it plagues me not only when written, but later when read as well. At least I can be grateful that, though at times a little...lame? my writing could be, it is still intriguing and captivating. They could almost be writing prompts, come to think of it: short stories meant to spur others (or myself) into an interesting direction.
I don't often think of how much I wrote during that period around the first two seasons of Smallville. The community on the message boards was lively and crazy fun, not to mention boundless in its creativity. I only ever started my livejournal all those years ago because everyone else was hopping on. And my longest friend to date is one I met there when I asked for her aid in proofing one of my fics. But anyway, I wrote so much during those two years. It was a bit of a perfect confluence of timing, free time, budding creativity, anxious energy (an oddly effective creative source), interest, and the perfect place to so do. The explosion of message boards, an interesting new take on a favorite superhero, a major crush on both lead actresses, similarly interested people, and a limitless potential (sadly much wasted) for where it could all go -- these all lead to a most fecund soil for writing and communicating. I partly wish at times I could have a log of some of those old threads we would take part in, though only partly.
It was so much fun, the time between episodes, particularly the winter and summer breaks when things had ended on a cliffhanger and we were left with nothing but time to fuel our imaginations and creative juices. I can't tell you how many amazing stories came about during those lulls, nor how many I wish were not lost to both myself and internet. Good ol' salad days, eh? I did not write terribly many fics that I actually posted, but I still wonder how many are gone forever. I have, thankfully, been somewhat decent at keeping backups of old files, but due to a number of sudden computer failures over the years, cannot be certain of how many have not survived. Having transferred my livejournal here, I do also have all those things saved as well, which is cool.
It's a bit funny, looking back on old writings. Like I said before, there are equal parts cringe and respect. There's also that faint pall of wondering what happened since. Dang, but I could be so funny! Of course, there's a real possibility that a good deal of my drive then was depression and anxiety manifesting; if this is so, then I'm okay not being as eloquent or interesting. Still, reading the old journal made me plop a notebook on my nightstand in case I have something to write. I've known for a while now that I'm a mimic at heart: when I see someone doing something cool, I want to join in and do so as well. When I was roommate with an artist, I ended up drawing quite a bit. Amusing to find myself inspired by my very own self, but a few years removed. Thanks, me!
