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| Thanks to DL Hammons of Cruising Altitude 2.0 and everyone involved. |
I thought I had missed the deadline for Origins Blogfest. I had, but after a comment I thought I had not. Either way, I'll seize the opportunity to share the story of my first foray into fiction.
I was told that I read from four on. I would read signs, brochures, and all sorts of books. I don't remember much about those days, but I know that I hadn't written yet. I wouldn't write my first effective piece until years later, in high school.
My teacher was a man that was a good teacher, but I didn't particularly like him. He had some experimental hair surgery, and we were mean kids. We made fun of him . I pitied him, but also the psuedo-rebel in me wanted to join in and despise him for being a part of the system. I had grown to love language and form enough by then that when it came my time to present something, it had an extra effort in it that shined through.
He gave us an assignment to write a fictional story. He gave no limitations, which to me, was music to my wrists. I penned a comic book type finale to enter for the final grade. The main characters were based from people from the class. We had a student teacher at the time that everyone adored, I included him as the hero, Mr. Everybody. My villain was modeled after the teacher, called Chia Head.
The tale pretty much wrote itself once I had the plot in mind. After editing the final draft, I thought of what my teacher would think. The next day, I almost found out.
Student teach was the only one in the classroom when he told us that we would have to read them aloud.
Aloud?
I fretted and anticipated my name being called up. I knew it was a good story, but I didn't know how well received it'd be, if at all. The teacher had not shown up for class yet when my name was called.
I wiped beads of sweat from my brow, cleared my throat, and delivered the first lines of the story. From the beginning paragraph I heard giggles, snickers, and a laugh or two. My pace started to steady as I began to make eye contact with my classmates while spinning my yarn. More chuckles were had at the descriptions of the 'Chia-Head'. I had humiliated the enemy in my tale to such a point that it moved everyone in the room to laughter. I could not believe what was happening. Then it stopped.
Mr. Chia Head, himself, passed through the door to see everyone looking at him in silence. The sort of stifled, forced silence that is beyond awkward. He asked one question that bust the laughter valve:
"What?"
Even louder than before, the class roared and rolled at the convenient timing of the tale and the teachers arrival. He looked at me as did the other students for the next move. I ended the story with the conclusion, which did not name the villain again.
This is one of multiple reasons why I do what we do. The other ones are interesting and I'll wait to write them for the next Origins Blogfest.
