The announcement of an upcoming poetry project prompted me to dig out some of my old work. And by old work I mean OLD — as in the disturbing ramblings of a teenager and very young adult from 1991-1997.
A few initial observations:
1) Okay, I now get why everyone was so worried about me. I mean, this stuff was DARK. Lots of blood and death, which — although mostly metaphorical — must have been pretty upsetting to others.
2) Someone should have TAKEN THE THESAURUS from the younger me. Good lord, I don’t even know what half those words mean. Thank god I went on to learn that stringing together 10 big adjectives doesn’t a good writer make!
3) Some of this stuff — if polished — could be really good.
Let me expand on #3. I have spent the last decade+ telling people I’m not a creative writer. I can write facts or opinions, but not poetry or fiction. That the younger me had this spark of creative flair is a kind-of reality check. I mean, that doesn’t go away, right? I’m still creative in other ways, so maybe I should revisit my former passion.
Perhaps I could start small — rework some of my old stuff — make it better, and see what happens…