The Unhinged Ramblings of a Third Grader; or, My Journey to Becoming a Writer
Every once and a while I remember that Twitter/X exists and I show up like the drunk uncle on Christmas and unleash an onslaught of nonsense only to disappear into the abyss only to resurface at the next major holiday.
Last week was an event called QuestPit, a writer’s hype event where writers come together to share completed works, works in progress, and more with the rest of the writing community. Agents and Publishers get in on the fun and use it as almost a speed dating query session where, if they like what you pitched, it’s an invite to send a query. It was super heart-warming to see so many authors get a “like” from an agent. I wasn’t as lucky, but I still had a blast.
It was during all of the chaos of preparing and participating in QuestPit that a random memory popped into the traumatized blackhole of my mind. It was my earliest memory of wanting to be a writer. Well, I’m not sure if I knew at the time it’s what I wanted, but my earliest showing for the passion of creating unbridled chaos.
We can blame it all on my third grade teacher, Mr. McConnell. More specifically, we can blame it on whatever English Language textbooks were being used at Monterey Road Elementary School in Atascadero, CA in the early 90’s. (I’m only getting that specific because I think it’d be super funny if someone could find one).
We were assigned a writing exercise from the book and there were a handful of prompts to choose. Naturally, my twisted little mind gravitated to the most unhinged one possible, “My Talking Clock Takes Over.”
As someone who was exposed to horror movies at probably too young an age (let’s not dig too deep on that one… I’m probably fine), I just had to go with the scariest sounding prompt possible. I can’t remember but I might have been the only one in the class that chose it, either that or I was the only one that got way too into it. What was supposed to be a one-page story (and remember, this was 3rd grade so one page is like… twenty words?) turned into an epic adventure with the most evil talking clock you’d ever meet.
When I tell you this story went wild, I really mean it. From what I remember, our narrator was given a talking clock at his birthday party by the least popular member of his class who his mom forced him to invite. It was a sleepover party but the unpopular kid didn’t stay. As soon as he left our narrator destroyed the clock.. You know, like an asshole.
I really wish I still had those pages (oh yes, there were many pages complete with illustrations if I remember correctly) as I think it would be fun to cringe over and then ultimately share on the internet. Alas, they have gone the way of the dodo.
That was just the beginning of my creative escapades. Fast forward to sixth grade, and I decided that what the world really needed was a trilogy of fluffy pens from outer space that take over a school for some reason. I honestly have no idea where that one came from, I don’t recall any writing assignments to that effect but I do remember that fluff pens were all the rage thanks to Clueless.
I wasn’t done, not by a longshot. Between sixth grade and my freshmen year, I’d also had ideas for a full on book series (or two). There was one called Junior FBI about a group of teenagers that were FBI agents and Time Killers about a group of teens who accidentally invite time travel and, naturally, shenanigans ensue.
As I sit here having completed two novels with more on the way, I can’t help but think about that deranged little third grader and that evil talking clock. I hope I make them proud.
There’s likely a lot more pitching and querying and frustrations and crazy tweets to come but for now… well now I’m thinking about whether it’d be a fun idea to revisit that evil talking clock…
Let this be a lesson for all I suppose, keep dreaming, keep writing, and embrace your inner unhinged third grader.
