We’re getting ready to start looking at each other’s work in my creative writing class, and for a run-through, I decided to let them practice on something I wrote around 1985 or ’86, at about the age of 20. (I still have a great deal of my juvenilia; my high school English and Latin teacher told me to hang onto it, probably in the vain hope that it might serve a future reader/critic/scholar/biographer.) None of that’s going to happen, but it lit my packrat signal, so there’s a ton of it in a folder in my office.
Anyway, since I had the original, I scanned the story into a PDF, which I sent to the kids. At least one of them was fascinated by the fact that it was a typescript (done on my old Smith-Corona portable, complete with a handwritten correction in the first paragraph. They looked at my original as if it were an incunabulum.
Clearly, I’m ancient.