Confession (Sydney Salter)
I never had a summer romance.
Not for lack of wanting, wishing, hoping and, you know, stalking.
My high school diaries are full of detailed accounts of my well-researched, well-timed "chance" encounters with The Boy.
During school visits I share what I wrote on August 24, 1985. My friends and I woke up at 4:30AM and decorated our favorite boys' cars with mustard and whipped cream. Next I read the car-decorating scene from My Big Nose And Other Natural Disasters. I like to show students that writing doesn't have to be perfect, or even good. It's full of misspellings, grammatical weirdness, and inside jokes that I can no longer explain. But that hastily-written passage gave me great material to mine decades later.
I rarely reread my diary entries. And I hadn't looked at my high school diaries until I started writing YA a few years ago. Oh, all that desperate boy craziness. All that wanting, wishing, hoping, and, yes, stalking.
Yikes!
But here's the surprise. Much older me saw a pattern in all that earning for the perfect summer romance: I wasn't ready. I liked boys who didn't like me. Boys liked me but I didn't like them. So much delicious drama. But little risk. I simply wasn't ready for a boyfriend.
I am enjoying a great romance, 27 years and counting, but it started in the cold, sweater-y month of November. But, hey, no complaints. I can always write about summer love!
Not for lack of wanting, wishing, hoping and, you know, stalking.
My high school diaries are full of detailed accounts of my well-researched, well-timed "chance" encounters with The Boy.
During school visits I share what I wrote on August 24, 1985. My friends and I woke up at 4:30AM and decorated our favorite boys' cars with mustard and whipped cream. Next I read the car-decorating scene from My Big Nose And Other Natural Disasters. I like to show students that writing doesn't have to be perfect, or even good. It's full of misspellings, grammatical weirdness, and inside jokes that I can no longer explain. But that hastily-written passage gave me great material to mine decades later.
I rarely reread my diary entries. And I hadn't looked at my high school diaries until I started writing YA a few years ago. Oh, all that desperate boy craziness. All that wanting, wishing, hoping, and, yes, stalking.
Yikes!
But here's the surprise. Much older me saw a pattern in all that earning for the perfect summer romance: I wasn't ready. I liked boys who didn't like me. Boys liked me but I didn't like them. So much delicious drama. But little risk. I simply wasn't ready for a boyfriend.
I am enjoying a great romance, 27 years and counting, but it started in the cold, sweater-y month of November. But, hey, no complaints. I can always write about summer love!
I love how you used that car-decorating experience in your book! I've tried to reread my old journals but they make me cringe!!
ReplyDeleteOh, trust me, my journals make me cringe!
DeleteI love how you can look back and know it didn't happen because you weren't ready. I realized I was a slow mover for the very same reasons. :o)
ReplyDeleteDitto on the slow-moving...
ReplyDeleteSlow moving to the third power here. :-) Gotta love old diary entries.
ReplyDelete