My first memory of writing is from when I was in eleven years old and in grade six. My friend Danny and I came up with the idea for a story series “Gate to Hell” where we were both characters. I can’t quite remember all of the details, and I’m sad that I’ve lost these stories since then.
The gist of the story was that one of our characters died and went to hell, and the other character then killed himself in order to go find and rescue his friend. I remember how it felt as Danny and I brainstormed the story and as we wrote it. It was invigorating. It was the first time that I felt like I was connected to something. I remember just loving the process of creating a world and a story.
After the first story, we decided to make it into a series. I think there were around six parts to the series. The climax of the series saw our characters finally fight their way back to the living, but once they returned they were disillusioned with it. They wanted to die again. I’m pretty sure they wound up in heaven the next time they died, but I have no idea. Again, I wish I had never lost those stories. I have a list (in one of my “books” that tells me the titles from the series: The Beginning, The Murder, The Truth, The Truth # 2, Back! and Last!).
After that series, I continued writing a ton of very short stories. I still have the rest of them. They’re in DuoTang folders with silly drawings on the front. Some are only four pages long. And a very short four pages. The series was a horror-based collection taking place at the Opiongo High School that I made up in my head.
Hilariously, shortly after finishing the last addition to the Opiongo High Series, I moved to a town where one of my school options was the Opiongo High School. You can guarantee that after all the scary scenarios that I’d written, I opted not to go there. Plus: it was basically IN a corn field. No thank you. Children of the Corn has forever scarred me.
One of the stories from that series has seen several revisions over the years, getting longer each time. The last iteration is from when I was seventeen or eighteen and wrote it as a novel. It’s one that I may dust off again and see what kind of novel I can create out of it and maybe see if it could get published. Time will tell.
Writing, for me, was addictive at first, prolific. I couldn’t get enough. It was like reading. I just wanted to do it all the time. I’ve started back into that again. I just can’t stop seeing ideas everywhere I go. It’s exciting. And I can’t wait to see what the next burst of creative energy holds.