I’ve been meaning to post these for a while. To spare Tash from having to see cake any longer, I shall give you these images instead. I was a very talented author at a very young age. I liberated these early works from my mom’s house. And now, you may enjoy them. If you know an agent, have him/her call me.
First up, dated March 14, 1975 (I was 7 1/2 years old. So that’s second grade…Mrs. Pochas?):
Once upon a time a leprechaun changed me into a one inch girl. Boy! Was I angry! (I was using really thick triangles and circles for exclamation points. Seems extra emphatic) I stopped my haf inch foot and SCREMED! Oh I could have killed him if I wasn’t small! I sqeked for help. No one heard me but a mouse. So now I live with a mouse. He is so kind and good. One day I married him. (I am untroubled by tense. Roll with it)We had a baby boy! BOY! was he ugly! He had mouse ears, a person face, a mouse tail, person feet, mouse hands, a person body, and was furry like a mouse! We ate him. In later days, my love dide. I went to seach for food and I was steppet on.
Screen rights are up for bid. I think this story has everything: magic, love, horror, and a moral comeuppance with an ending that isn’t all blockbuster feel-good. I smell a Palm d’Or.
Here’s a close up of my storyboard:
The dialogue says: “If you were small I would kill you!” “Oh no you don’t!” I see Reese Witherspoon and Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Prefer non-fiction? How about a memoir?
Dated May 7, 1975 and written in cursive:
My mother has brown eyes and hair. She is middle sized. She love to eat, here is what she eats: Everything that is food! She is also pregnet. Half of the fat on her is food the other haf is baby. She is a house wife. She hates are dog. That is all I can think of.
close ups of the panels:
I wonder if she really ate pickles or if I just knew that was what pregnant ladies were supposed to eat. Was Brent really made of diet 7-up, pizza, hot dogs, pickles, and dog hate?
What mother wouldn’t be flattered by that portrait? She probably cried from happiness. Or something.
Is it sad that this is recognizable as my work even then?