And you thought you’d escaped this! As I’ve been trying to get organized (ha) and attempting to clean (bwaha), I’ve unearthed some fabulous artifacts from my early writing life
So of course the only option for this is to use it to humiliate myself, obviously. For those who aren’t familiar, every once in a while when I’m cleaning (or bored), I resurrect a little written snippet from my early years to torture the masses with.
In the spirit of Thanksgiving, here’s a little gem that must be from elementary school. I’ll spare you and type up the text, because my handwriting has never been fabulous, even less so when I was learning to use it. It’s untitled, but it’s got my flair all over it
Plus, unlike the others….this one is illustrated. Run while you can, folks, I’ve got a whole folder of this stuff.
I have a turkey. My turkey’s name is Tom. He is fat and he will be eaten, but he will run away.
I’d forgotten about this obvious stage of my writing career that bordered on nonfiction (except I’ve never had a live turkey in my possession that I’m aware of. Stranger things have happened, though).This is also obviously the start of my modern art career, because it took me the longest time to realize that that was a person standing beside the turkey. I’d forgotten how involved I got in my illustrations, just like I’d forgotten how I used to run all my words and letters together without any spaces. (Thank God this thing wasn’t longer – it took a decent amount of time to decode it).
Nevertheless, you can see the beginnings of my weird Lovecraft/creature streak here by the fact that I obviously own a monster turkey that has been zapped by radiation, judging from the feathers. And judging by the strange top hat and monochromatic dress, obviously I have facilitated the turkey overlord’s passage into this world.
Heh, that’s right, innocents. You can try to eat this turkey, but he will run away. He will run where no mortal shall seek save those who are loyal to him. He will run away and lurk until the time is right and the stars are aligned…then we shall see who shall eat the monstrous gobbler, Then we shall see the cranberry sauce flow crimson as the Truly Thankful scream for their blessings. We shall see who shall reserve the right to mention the Feathered One. He of the Giblet, that whom you commonly refer to as “Tom.”
Obviously, I’ve eaten way too much, if my new Sunday night hobby is to re-interpret my kindergarten scribblings as horror stories, but hey, new hobby?