Cut Me Open; Count the Rings

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.

Portrait of the author as a callow, blurry youth, ca. 1985. And no, I’m not holding my hair on with a fur strap. It’s a beard, dammit!

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.

About profmondo

Dad, husband, mostly free individual, medievalist, writer, and drummer. "Gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche."
This entry was posted in Culture, Education, Pixel-stained Wretchery, Why I Do What I Do. Bookmark the permalink.

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