April is flying by, although it may seem that way to me because I'm focused on drafting and nothing else. I've been writing and writing, trying to get down as many words as possible this month. I'm working on a fantasy novel, some more short stories, and, if you can believe it, have decided to explore the possibility of another series in the Szornyek world. No promises, though.
In other news, I cleaned the garage yesterday and found a bin of papers and old notebooks my dad gave me last time I was home. One of the things I discovered in the bin was a folder full of awards I received as kid. Most of them were what you might expect from a kid with good grades—Academic Excellence, "High Achiever In Art," "Outstanding Performance in Music," "D.A.R.E. Certificate" (Drug Abuse Resistance Education, for those of you who didn't go to elementary school in the 90s lol). There were some Dean's List certificates from when I was in high school, a couple awards for winning poetry & writing contests, as well.
But this is the award that jumped out at me the most:
A piano award!
But not for "outstanding performance" or "exceeding expectations."
Nope.
"Award for participation in piano lessons." You showed up! Congratulations.
I laughed quite hard when I read it. Quite the "achievement."
Truth was, I hated my piano lessons, even though I actually love playing piano now. I didn't like scales, and horror of all horrors, my piano teacher made me work out of a piano book for kindergarteners, even though I was not in kindergarten.
Also in the bin, I found a journal I wrote when I was around 12 years old. I promise not to regale you with tales of my childhood, but there was one entry that jumped out at me, specifically because of my current life as an author.
As you know, reviews are important for authors (this is a convenient place to say that if you have read any of my work, please consider leaving a review on whatever platform you purchased it from!) but the thing is, one person's opinion of a thing is hardly objective.
Proof is in this journal entry from February 2001, in which 12-year-old me reviewed three TV shows I watched while I was at my grandmother's house:
"There are 3 shows that we saw:
- Pokemon: Stupid. In the supposedly "scariest" part I wanted to laugh! It was sooooo dumb!!!
- 1st Art Programme: Ok. Sloppy artist. Fish didn't look like fish.
- 2nd Art Programme: THE BEST!!! (It was a guy with a weird haircut)."
Yes, the "2nd Art Programme" was Bob Ross, if you were wondering. I have no idea what the first one was, but I apparently wasn't impressed: "Fish didn't look like fish." 😂
12-year-old me didn't care that Pokemon was a multi-billion dollar industry. "Stupid." Or that some random adults decided that "Sloppy Artist" was good enough to have a TV show. Reviews on my work are much the same: they say as much about the reviewer as they do about my work.
It's interesting to look back on the past in such a personal way. I can see so much of myself in the journal entries written by little me, and how the way I was growing and thinking eventually became the person I am now. I'm older, obviously. Smarter. Have had a lot more life experience. But it's clear that the core version of me I can see in the old journal entries isn't actually all that different from the current version of me.