I’ve always really enjoyed writing, although
my planning has often over-reached my ability.
(Like that 24 book series I planned at age thirteen. None of which have been written yet…) My mother claims that I wrote my first story
in second grade. It was about dragons
and was about thirty words long. Which
means that I’ve been writing for… argh… over twenty years. Especially in the early days, I was happy any
time I put a good sentence together, regardless of whether it helped the story
or not. So I have a lot of story bits in
my junk drawer.
So can you tell how old I was when I wrote each of these? I haven’t fixed any
spelling or grammar mistakes. Comment
with what you think!
Here are your options: ages 9,
13, 15, 17, 25.
1. From Another Little Dragon:
One morning Little Dragon got up and went out on the
ledge to wait for breakfast. After a
long time (or at least it seemed long to him) he went back inside. Mother Olive was not awake. This was very strange. Little Dragon peered at Mother Olive, who was
curled around with her head on her tail.
“sleepysleepy
Mother Olive. sleepall day!” He felt very impatient. He had not eaten for a whole week, so he was
hungryhungry for breakfast. He went back
out on the ledge, to hang his tail over the edge and snap at swallows and
sulk. Silly Little Dragon!
2. From The Cry of the Wolf:
A nine year old boy lay among cushions and quilts, listening to
the night. From the peaks came a long,
heartrending cry, echoing like the toll of a brazen bell. As the sound elongated, the maker of the cry
pitched the sound into a inhuman wail.
It was the call of the hunt, the cry of the pack, the symbol of
everything wild and wonderful. It was
the cry of the wolf.
3. From The House at Fairfield:
To Officer
Edgar Dutton, Manaton Regiment, Versailles, France
Dear Edgar, May
7th, 1817
I hope that you
are well. I am very fine, except for the
usual oppression of my studies. I think
that you have made a very good escape, because if you had stayed, you might be
studying the Greeks and Romans beside me.
If I were a boy, I should run off to France just as you have done. There, has not my grammar improved? Mr. Camden does not care about it so very
much, as long as what I write is understandable, but Mrs. Manville is most
par-tic-u-lar. You are very lucky to be
a boy; boys leave the nursery much earlier and are not oppressed with
governesses.
I cannot answer
for Mother’s health, nor for Father’s; they are both in London for the
Season. Frederick is still at
Oxford. He writes once in a while, but
his letters never contain anything of interest.
It must be very hard, studying for the law, and yet by all accounts he
is doing very well. I sent your last
letter on to him; I hope you do not mind.
Laura is not so
well; she has acquired a slight cold. It
has been very damp this spring. She
insists upon practicing her piano in the early morning with the windows open. Shocking, shocking! Myself, I prefer to go for walks at that time
of day. Mrs. Manville has taken to
rising early in order to keep me inside until the sun has burned the dew
away. I do not like to walk when the sun
is high; it is too hot. It has grown
warm very early this year.
I must stop
now, and go in; it is dinner time and Mrs. Manville will be coming to look for
me any moment. I apologize for the
shortness of my letter; but as usual I have no excuse, except that very little
has happened worth writing about. But, I
almost forgot: there is one piece of news.
Mother is coming home next month, rather early for her, and she is
bringing a small party of “friends”, of whom I have never heard before. I think I can imagine what goal she has in
mind…
Now goodbye,
Edgar, and be careful. Know that I am
your ever affectionate
Beatrice
Dutton
4. From The Midknight Train:
Baeric reached back and scratched at the base of Gwyvar’s crest. The wyvern hissed with pleasure, protruding a
forked tongue from between formidable crocodilian fangs. A small tendril of smoke wisped from his
nostrils. “We’re in trouble, lad. Mickle trouble than we’ve been een
before. It’ll be a sorry time, ye
ken?” Gwyvar trilled reassuringly and
raised his crest, studying the shadows with mock suspicion. Baeric chuckled.
Suddenly there
was a muted roar like the sound of a forest fire, if a forest fire were a beast
that could be unchained. Baeric rose to
his feet, grasping for his ever-present claymore. Who would dare invade Castle Edinborough
itself? Gwyvar straightened, smoke
billowing from his mouth, his throat vibrating with a shrill cry that pierced
through the noise. The King’s hands were
white-knuckled as he grasped the window lintel, striving to see through the
dancing shadows to what was happening below.
There came the sound of men in pain and the brutal clash of arms.
5. From Tales
from the World of Firstlight
“Ah, I see thy servants have turned out to greet me,”
the Duke said in a loud, cheerful voice.
“Do introduce me, sudhi
Sahathen.”
Sahathen did not seem to relish the idea of
interrupting their conference for such niceties. “My master forester, Hidhelabanh,” he said
coolly, his voice clipped. “His
wife. My cook. Su’Ithreorh
Atan-eri, my master of elk and tax collector.”
“And who’s this?” the duke smiled, ruffling Arimond’s
hair. “A nephew, perhaps, by his coat?”
“My son, lord Duke.”
“Your son? Did
I know thou had a son? I can’t believe I
would have forgotten!” the duke exclaimed.
“How old are thou, Sahathen-eri, and what do they call thee?”
Arimond gulped. No one had told him he would have to speak to
the Duke. Still, the Duke did not seem
to be very frightening; he reminded Arimond of a younger Hidhelabanh, with a
finer tunic on. “Arimond, sir, seven
summers, sir. Lord Duke. Sir.”
“Ah! Thou are not many years younger than my
son. Thy father must send thee up to
visit us some winter. My son will not
have many liegemen so close to his own age.”
Go up to the duke’s
house? That was a rather frightening
idea. But perhaps the duke would forget
about it if Arimond said something else.
“I didn’t know thou had a son, sir.
I would have thought thee too young,” he said, craning his neck to look
up at the duke.
The duke’s mouth
twitched in amusement at the same moment Arimond heard a gasp from
Bheda-cook. “Thou had better watch this
one, Sahathen,” he rumbled wryly. “We’ll
be seeing him in the high court one of these days.”
[because the reason for their shock isn't obvious: this language has both a formal and informal second-person pronoun, the same way Spanish does. thee/thou is the informal form.]
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