Mom brought down a big-ass box (must take after me) of art and projects and reports cards from my youth. I have to say, I haven't changed a bit. Here is a story that I wrote about a week after I turned seven:
Snow Red and the Nine Monkeys
Once there was a little girl that had nine monkeys. She liked her monkeys. But there was a problem. They ripped things, and she didn't like it at all. She wanted to buy new furniture but she did not have enough money.
There was also a "book" of poetry I'd made, it was called "Pumped up on Poetry!" and I even drew some barbells on the cover. I have chosen this selection for you, since I was discussing Haiku a couple of weeks ago:
Okay, maybe I have changed. My haiku skills were way better in the sixth grade, when I crafted those four beautiful poems.
Going through all that stuff (we actually didn't finish because I got tired and decided to go home, but I'll look through the rest of it sometime soon) reminded me that the things about me that I consider my real self were always there. In a description of myself, also written in the sixth grade when I was 10 or 11, I wrote "Weird, Imaginative, Artistic, Funny". Still me, to a T. The only thing I'd do different now is make other odd phrases out of the first letters of those words like "Wicked Ingrained Afros Flew".
I am funny and artistic and even when I feel as uninspired as I did last week, I know it's still there somewhere. Hey, maybe it's at the beach, waiting for me to catch it!