Wednesday, January 3, 2007
I was in fourth grade. The first story I can recall writing was about a cute, white bunny who hopped along innocently and then went on psychopathic homicidal rampages, killing innocent humans.
I remember the Teacher's Aide, who'd been working with students on these writing projects, sitting down with me to discuss my story's plot. As I read the story aloud to her, I distinctly remember how her smile faltered, her face blanched as the horror of what I'd written unfolded before her. Though she probably discussed the mechanics of my writing at length, I only remember her asking, "Why did you write this?" My answer? Because it was fun to write. Anyone can write a dumb old story about a cute, white fluffy bunny hopping happily in a meadow of wildflowers. I wanted to write something exciting, vivid and . . . different.
Being only 9, I didn't know that Monty Python had already snatched up the white, fluffy, man-eating bunny idea in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
And so, years later I've learned there are very few original ideas remaining, only original execution and voice.