oh dear, little Rochelle…
So tell me the truth – how smart are you supposed to be when you’re 9 years-old? What grade is that? I always prided myself on being pretty “with it,” if not in the hip sort of way at least in the mentally capable sort of way. Then, this past Christmas, I found all my old journals. Reading through them has been a time warped emotional-roller-coaster-type experience. It’s been a little entertaining, a little enlightening, and a little embarrassing, I’m not going to lie. I thought I’d invite you along for the ride and periodically share some of the gems here.
The earliest one I found was from 1992, when I was 9. It looks like it started out as a work of fiction in the form of an epistolary novel that I promptly abandoned after three pages and then embarked on some of the worst poetry ever to be imagined by a sentient being. This explains why I haven’t willingly written any poetry since.
Today I will share the introduction (or “introdocktion” as little Rochelle calls it) of my ill-fated book:
“In this book you will be able to read other people’s letters. You will know what is going on in the story by just reading the letters. The friends in this book are real people and very nice. I wrot this book because I love reading letters. The exitment in this book is very fun to read. that is my opinion. What is yours? Start reading now and tell me what you think of it. Thank you for reading myintrodocktion and enjoy the book. Only tell me if you like this book if your going to say you liked it. and now start reading. Thanks.”
I will be merciful and leave you in suspense of the rest. There, there little Rochelle. We can’t all be the brightest crayon in the box…
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