Have you ever been surprised...?

[Vermilion]

... by your own work I mean.

Ever gone back and read an old piece of prose or poetry and been surprised by how good (or bad) it is.

I just came across a poem I wrote ages ago and I felt really proud to have written it - surprised by its tight structure, interesting rhyme, tender twist in the tale - it just made me smile and feel a little better about my poetry in general.

I have quoted it below to make myself feel good and I would like it if you could all share poems or snippets of your prose that you are proud of. We should all be proud of ourselves for creating new things from old words.
x
V

My Body

My body trembles.
Is this passion just lust?
Or could it be the love
It so resembles?
My body trembles.

My body quivers.
I wait, tensed, for the touch,
For the kiss that sends
Cascading ripples of little shivers.
My body quivers.

My body aches.
The sweet release, so long in coming
Pulls my body taut;
Shattering in the time it takes.
My body aches.

My body: prone.
Relief has come and gone
I’m left, naked and alone
The release was all my own.
My body. Prone.

 

[rgraham666]

How bad? Yes, many times.

How good? Very occasionally. I'm my own worst critic.

 

[galaxygoddess]

I hate to admit this, but sometimes when I start writting and/or typing I laspe off. My brain is no longer controlling my hands. I wake up and look and think "where'd that come from?" Some times it sucks, some times it's good.

Some times it's good but it doesn't flow right and I have to do a tiny bit of editing.

Some times I think "wtf is wrong with me?" and I trash it.

That being said I have some older work still sitting on paper I have discovered recently and just laughed and laughed.


Let me tell you...

The story of toes.


A long time ago, when the world was still new, we did not have toes.
People had round feet with no toes. People saw how useful fingers were and they wanted to have more. They thought they could grow fingers on their feet, so they put gloves on their feet. They waited and waited and eventually fingers grew on their rounded feet. Sadly, the feet fingers did not get big enough. The new fingers did not work enough. So they decided to forget that idea. So they made socks and shoes to try to make their feet go back round, but they couldn't make it work. So we are stuck with toes.



This was a third grade creative writing assignment where we had to tell how we thought something was "invented". Keep in mind some of this is actually mispelled on my paper I got an A+ for creativity but a B for spelling

 

[Vermilion]

I hate to admit this, but sometimes when I start writting and/or typing I laspe off. My brain is no longer controlling my hands. I wake up and look and think "where'd that come from?" Some times it sucks, some times it's good.

Some times it's good but it doesn't flow right and I have to do a tiny bit of editing.

Some times I think "wtf is wrong with me?" and I trash it.

That being said I have some older work still sitting on paper I have discovered recently and just laughed and laughed.


Let me tell you...

The story of toes.


A long time ago, when the world was still new, we did not have toes.
People had round feet with no toes. People saw how useful fingers were and they wanted to have more. They thought they could grow fingers on their feet, so they put gloves on their feet. They waited and waited and eventually fingers grew on their rounded feet. Sadly, the feet fingers did not get big enough. The new fingers did not work enough. So they decided to forget that idea. So they made socks and shoes to try to make their feet go back round, but they couldn't make it work. So we are stuck with toes.



This was a third grade creative writing assignment where we had to tell how we thought something was "invented". Keep in mind some of this is actually mispelled on my paper I got an A+ for creativity but a B for spelling

I think that's *BRILLIANT*. In fact, I reckon you should try and work it up into a sci-fi/fantasy category entry.
That's a challenge Missie!

x
V

 

[Trombonus]

Yes, and on both sides of the spectrum. I go back and read some of my old stuff and wonder what I was thinking at times. Other times I surprise myself.

 

[Recidiva]

Yes.

Every few years I go back and read my journals. Some of it is excruciatingly naive. But touching if I can sit still for it. I think I intended for it to be that way. I forget that I have moments of openness where I'm not entirely shielded.

Then again I occasionally assume I know better now than I did then, except I've forgotten some of the things that I didn't think I knew then.

I habitually do not give my past self enough credit. I'm learning, though. I'm about to read all my stuff again, I think. I'm not as nervous about it as I usually am.

 

[The_Fool]

I forget what I wrote fifteen minutes after I write it. I am always surprised.

 

[oggbashan]

Yes.

Sometimes I'm embarrassed by how bad it is, but I leave it posted to remind me that I have progressed (to writing even worse stories).

Og

 

[TxRad]

Good, bad, or indifferent, at least its out of my head and will now leave me alone. I apologize to any and all that it is now bothering though.....

I haven't been writing long enough to have any old stuff.....

 

[Jenny_Jackson]

On two occasions. I wrote a story in 2000 under another nic. I read it a year or so ago and loved it. That's where the whole Harry Dick series came from.

The other time was at my mother's funeral. The old battle axe and I fought for years and rarely spoke for the last 10 years of her life. After the funeral, the minister came up to me and introduced herself (yes, HER), then proceeded to tell me how my mother talked about me and how proud of me she was. I was totally speechless.

 

[only_more_so]

Yep. I've found stuff on my computer that I can't remember writing and say to myself, "This is pretty good, where'd that come from."

 

[Vermilion]

anyone else going to post any examples - I'd love to see what makes you proud or makes you cringe...

 

[oggbashan]

anyone else going to post any examples - I'd love to see what makes you proud or makes you cringe...

Bad: Trapped. Written for pantyhose fetishists.

Good: Brigit

Deliberately Bad on purpose:The Worst Chain Story Ever Ch.01 and The Giant Squid - A Satire on Tentacle Porn

Og

 

[Boota]

I get surprised by my writing sometimes when I find a gem. I recognize a turd immediately. I usually find more gems in music, though. I've been in the studio and haven't realized I really kicked ass until the playback with the full mix. Same basic thing, though. It's a nice surprise from time to time.

 

[MagicaPractica]

I do remember once coming across a particular piece of writing and not remembering writing it at all and thinking it was quite good. I wouldn't have realized it was mine if it hadn't been in my handwriting and I hadn't signed it.

 

[Lee Chambers]

I'll offer some examples of my work.

I've been writing fiction since I was young and most of it was quite bad. One of the worst pieces I wrote was a fan fiction of this kids show that came on PBS called Ghostwriter, a really cool mystery show that promoted reading and literacy.

I recall almost verbatim two lines from my piece.

The gang all gathered up at Alex's house to try figure out the mystery.

"Alright gang, let's try to figure out this mystery."

So shameful.

I was surprised when I wrote my first chapter of C'est La Vie, which was posted last year. I hadn't written anything since the Halloween contest of '05 and that had not been all that great. But something inspired me that summer and C'est La Vie was the result. It's still on the first page of the Non-Erotic Toplist, which is something I'm especially proud of.

 

[HisLady]

A few, on both sides of the scale.
Hopefully people will forgive me for not putting the bad stuff up - it's old, and I'd like to think I won't do it again.

As for things I'm proud of, I have a few original, non-erotic pieces that I reread and wish I still wrote as much as I used to. Won't put them here, because they're too long.
As far as poetry goes...

(People are, of course, fully entitled to disagree with my opinion that these are any good. Just please remember that I am a delicate poet with a fragile ego )

Eternity
When acorns
Boys scuffed along the street
Have flung wide their canopies
And born ten hundred acorns more
To nestle in their ancient roots
Whispers of long past summer skies
Will still sing praises of your eyes

When rock
That towers high, unchanging
Is sand scattered to the wind
Dancing as fancy takes it
Shifting serpentine in rippled rills
Memories faded out of sight
Will still, in your beauty, take delight

When the Earth
Its ceaseless spinning stills
And the sun burns cold
When stars no longer twinkle bright
And all is lost to empty space
You will still always be
All there is, and ever was, for me


Was I everything you wanted?
Was I everything you wanted?
Did I take your dreams
And make them burn
With nights secret passion?
When you screamed
Was it the agony
Of denied delight
Broken free
Away from prying eyes
And society’s decencies
I gave everything you asked
I let sin and blood
And mindless fire
Consume us both
We let desire command
And I obeyed

We don’t speak of it now
Let make believe deny we ever fell
But
When you dare to dream again
When you forget the expectations
That bind you
And give into wicked joy
And dark fantasy
Will it be my face you see?
My touch, my voice
That burns your flesh
And tears whimpers from your throat
Will it be me you crave
And call for in midnights fever?
Will you be able to forget
The blaze between us?

 

[TheEarl]

I've written a few chapters of a sci-fi novel that I really wish I had the inspiration to continue with. It involves some of my favourite bits of characterisation and some of the best writing that I've done (in my opinion), despite it being written a good while ago, and I'm very proud of it.

Maris Van Niekerk regarded the error message on his computer with no little alarm. It was informing him that he no longer had access to the file he wanted to retrieve and to contact his superior as soon as possible.

Maris didn’t have a superior. It was a perk of being one of the few people able to understand exactly how the computer system worked. He had a skill that only two other people from the ten million on board the Infinity even understood and therefore answered only to himself.

Unfortunately, that meant that something was wrong. There should have been no files that Maris had no access to, especially not key system files like this one. There was either a corrupted file or…problems. Maris’ skin prickled as the realisation of what was happening came over him. He’d been blocked from the one file that he needed to continue. They knew. How they knew, he didn’t know, but they knew. Suddenly his study seemed a very oppressive place, only one exit, nowhere to hide. He half expected Infinity Police Officers to jump out from the walls to arrest him. Or worse.

He grabbed a bag and started shoving things into it, anything and everything that he thought he might need. It probably looked suspicious to the ceiling cameras, but if he was right, then looking suspicious was the least of his problems. There was no time for him to carry out what he’d prepared for. Plan B was now in effect and Maris was only a hair’s breadth away from surrendering to the panic which had seized him.

The bag was full all too soon. Maris swore and started repacking, trying to fit in everything that he needed. He cast an eye over the meagre collection that he was taking with him and sighed at all the stuff he was leaving behind. He had loved all his toys, everything electric and automated. If you weren’t going to enjoy the pleasures, then why aspire to A-class at all? Everything seemed tainted now, cheap bribes for treachery.

Part of him wished they’d never told him. It had been a lot easier to enjoy himself when he didn’t know what the alternatives were. He could have quite happily lived the playboy lifestyle if he hadn’t known. His room contained all of the luxuries that the Infinity could provide, but he could find no joy in his possessions anymore. Compared to what the ILA had offered him, it seemed like nothing.

Emma stared at the floor and walked as fast as she could through the maelstrom of desks that she had to pass before reaching the safety of her office. All around her conversations stopped and work halted as people stopped to watch her. You’d think they’d never seen a woman before, she thought to herself, trying to work some humour into the situation. It didn’t work.

It had been the same ever since she’d started working in the very misogynistic anti-terrorism section of the Council Police. It wasn’t that women were actively discouraged from joining anti-terrorism, it was just expected that they wouldn’t want to join. How could any woman, let alone an attractive woman, expect to cope in the violent and harsh world of anti-terrorism? It was a man’s job.

Blonde hair, large breasts and a pretty face: not a good combination for being taken seriously as a police officer. Everybody seemed to be under the impression that anyone with that much cleavage must be deficient in brains. Even Commander Boone could rarely get through a conversation without addressing her breasts.

She concentrated on the floor, unable to look up for fear of seeing their eyes. Eyes everywhere lusting after her, yet despising her at the same time. Lewd jokes were cracked and sniggered innuendoes passed behind her back. At the same time every morning she ran this gauntlet, knowing the eyes were watching her, knowing that she would never be accepted. And at the same time every morning the same thought ran through her head: I hate this fucking job.

She seized the handle of her office door like it could somehow rescue her and stalked into her office, now in a thoroughly bad mood. The papers that filled her desk did nothing to alleviate her temper. Despite being the most junior member of staff, she was also the most highly qualified. This combination resulted in all the other officers ‘delegating’ all of their paperwork onto her desk. She couldn’t tell them to shove it because they were technically her superiors and she had to put full effort into it, because if it got cocked up, then the blame would be swiftly passed to her. Bureaucracy at its finest.

The Earl