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Restored and recycled – Day 28

One of the more interesting things that happened to me during NaNoWriMo was that I found my old poetry books that I wrote as a disturbed teenager. They are most likely older than some of my readers today and was the last time I wrote creatively. It was during a point in writing the novel, that I needed an extra burst of inspiration.

They are dark and tormented lines and to read them with years of adult experience behind me was a curious insight into what I once was, and what is still important to me today. I actually used some of the poems in the novel – converted to prose – for a dream (delirium) scene when my MC has battled two demons and as a result contracted the virus that is rampantly sweeping through Zetoec. As much as they were written in a different context and time, the meaning of those words have been restored and revived.

Technically, I am not sure whether I have cheated on my word count by recycling old ideas, but the personal journey of connecting with a forgotten past is something that I will treasure from NaNoWriMo 2008.

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4 Responses

  1. I always think it’s neat to go back and find things you’ve written. My grandmom holds onto this short story I wrote when I was 9 and it’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever read! But, it’s funny to look back and see some insight on who you were (At that age, my parents were going through a tough divorce) and to reflect on it…or possibly even use it in the future!

  2. Hey again!

    Thanks for the comment on reading my stuff! The things on my blog aren’t exactly my best work, but Never Coming Home seems to be a favorite 🙂 My grandmom told me my dad cried when he read it; I think that one hit too close to home for him. Anyway, thank you!

  3. Wow, I love this post. My own teenage angst writing period isn’t all that long ago, but I love going back to read it, to remind myself of what I used to be… I’m always surprised by how I seem so familiar and simultaneously different from the person I am today.
    I recently found a huge box of my old notebooks… my mother kept them all, some almost full, some with only a page or two written in. Some, I remembered writing, others, I’d forgotten about completely. It was really enlightening to me to go back through them all, and I’m grateful my mother kept them for me.

  4. Thanks Claire. I know what you mean about being familiar but simultaneously different. I guess that there are some things no matter how old we get, that are core to our essence. I appreciate you dropping by and leaving a comment.

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