I’ve dubbed myself a “writer from birth.” It’s a lofty title to carry and probably comes off as rather self-important.
Well, those-who-think-I’m-full-of-myself: this weekend, I found PROOF. And my 10-year-old self would be pissed if she knew I was broadcasting it on the Worldwide Web (or just in awe that I can publish things to the Internet now without Mom and Dad’s permission):
They say never judge a book by its cover, but there is SO much you can draw from just based on what I thought was a spectacular way to keep unwanted eyes out.
First off, I clearly knew I would continue writing, hence the “Volume 1” at the top. Also (and sadly my flash camera blinded it), I called this originally — meaning before I got my hands on a Sharpie marker — “Part 1 of My Life.”
My sense of irony was intact, too, even in fifth grade. Amid the forbidding warnings of “After reading this, you will be cursed!” (note the correct punctuation) and “Beware!” are two stickers, one that says “Love” and one of Jasmine, my favorite Disney Princess.
If you think the cover is good, just wait until you open it up. On the inside cover I wrote,
Do not, I say do NOT open this journal!! It belongs to Kate Elizabeth Everson
Clearly, you had to open it to find out that you shouldn’t open it. That’s only if you didn’t read the cover, since I think it gave plenty of fair warning.
But here’s the meat of the journal (and this post). I’m always documenting things, on this blog, in my creative writing book, through my journalism, etc. And as it turns out, that’s not exactly a new thing for me.
1-1-02: As I, Kate Everson, write in this notebook, I solemnly swear to write at least every 3 days.
By the cover of this beautiful book, you can tell I’m not the “pretty” type. Hearts and flowers aren’t my style. I like basic colors. (And moons and stars.)
See? Even as a kid I was a sarcastic self-depricator. I must have written this before putting the flower-power “Love” sticker on the cover. That probably came from the dentists’ office (I wrote about my appointment on January 27, 2002).
Skip forward to the next day.
1-2-02: Yesterday I left you hanging in my world. I will start where I left of. (sic)
I was a precocious little ten-year-old, wasn’t I?
Of course, like any diary, I couldn’t hold off on spouting out about crushes at school, things my family did that made me mad and what I was doing with friends. And, because I’m me, I didn’t hesitate to use some great vocabulary and a tad of melodrama.
1-3-02: Today was the worst day of my life. When I went to McDonalds, Bridget was fighting mom when mom tried to wipe her musturd (sic) face. she made a spectical (sic) out of us.
4-20-02: A long day has passed. I babysitted (sic), cooked, cleaned, practiced piano, and now will retire to a hamburger, (sic) and salad (I made).
I also did a lot of apologizing to my trusty green 70-page notebook. In five January entries, I started by saying things like “Sorry I skipped 4 days” and “Okay, okay, so I forgot to write to you.” Again, addressing inanimate writing forums isn’t new for me.
1-7-02: I think I forgot to tell you a talent of mine. I can knit. I knitted my sister a scarf. I also knited (sic) one for myself.
But perhaps some of the best entries in here are ones with few transitions and very rushed storytelling. Again, some things never change.
4-9-02: This week are ISATS. I am writing a story on a haunted trolley station and a play script called “Among the Dead.”
There is a show called “Baby Bob”. (sic) It is about a talking baby.
My crush has changed to Joe. I am sitting right next to him. I heard Rishi say, “Joe, everyone knows you have … (I don’t know what he said) on Kate.” Boy am I in suspense to find out what else Rishi said! I think he said that Joe has a crush on me!
I don’t even remember what “Among the Dead” was about, or if I even wrote much of it. But again, so little changes; of the novels I’ve written each one has a major character who dies tragically.
I’ll end with one of the last entries, written that spring. The journal spanned from January 2002 to June 2002. If one thing has changed, it’s my resoluteness in my goals.
4-20-02: I’m in my new room (and am in deep suspence (sic) over Rishi’s comment.) My room is savanah (sic) blue. My bedspread is green and blue with yellow daisies. There had to be a traise (sic) of my old room in my new room, so I kept my old furniture. Every thing (sic) is in a different place, including me. I have grown older, somehow.
“I have grown older, somehow.” I wrote those words probably after reading them in a book or something, but little did 10-year-old me realize how true they would be when 20-year-old me was reading them. I can still picture myself, rushing to write the warnings on the cover before Mom could smell the Sharpie, angrily scribbling away after Bridget and Mom had made a “spectical” at McDonalds, coyly pouring heart and soul out about how much I like Joe at school.
Even my 10-year-old imagination couldn’t fathom what was coming and or how different a place I would find myself and how much older I would have grown.