So I went digging last weekend, in a trunk, in my basement. This trunk was full of magical treasure--from pictures to diplomas to old letters from old loves to lots and lots and lots of writing. So I took a smattering of it and brought it upstairs to lose myself in my silly old self.
Just to give you an idea--this smattering included a "book" I had written in the 2nd grade, about my favorite pony. In my story, Misty the pony wasn't just a pony that I took lessons on, but was a famous racehorse, of course. And the story was a mixture of two of my favorite Little House on the Prairie Episodes and a Ramona Quimby book...with Horses. I laughed out loud at points--especially at the "illustrations" I added, in magic marker.
It was funny to read the pieces from my early college years, too--not only to see where my brain and heart and soul were at that time, but also to see how much they changed over four years. It really is amazing how much you learn in college: about your past, about yourself, about how those things affect each other, and about how they affect your path.
As a whole, the essays and stories painted a picture of a girl trying to learn to like herself and deal with the cards she had been dealt. And they're melodramatic and girly and nostalgic. But at least they're not recycled episodes of Little House (I learned SOMETHING!).
And one of the pieces, only one, I actually was really impressed with. It was my final story in a creative writing/short story class I took my sophomore year in college. It's complete, and it's creepy, and I love the ending. But here's my big question--is it OK to go back to something that old and resurrect it? I think I can improve it even further...but is that...allowed? It feels like the new me cheating off the old me!
In any case, I'm going to keep digging in that trunk. I think there are a few years I missed. And I miss them.