Sixteen years ago I started a folder that ended up expanding to several others. As time went on, the folder got buried and the thoughts inside became redundant. I was flipping through that old folder the other day. I found old drafts and musings, drawings and captions, and ideas I once obsessed over. It was all the start of my novel. The baby pages and cringy grammar. The very first map was paired with the first colors of characters. There’s a list of Latin I never actually used. Symbols of a culture are made out on a page. There’s even a note from a family member suggesting a more durable substance for a weapon I drew.
So much I didn’t remember and so much I see grew. There’s the first draft of victory, written in pencil. With each page I turn, I’m grateful the growth I’ve endured. Yet, I miss the days that this folder is from. Such an obsessive writer that little girl was. She wasn’t plagued by the story measuring up. She wasn’t afraid to get it out there, of all the rejections. She just wrote because wanted to. She wanted a story that grew.
I will say there are some things that shouldn’t come out of this folder. I dropped my jaw at a note that I read. Apparently, one of my characters had a hidden crush. That’s not going to happen, and that’s enough said.
I wonder what other gems are hidden in my folders? What notes can I use? What other pictures did I forget I drew? Maybe there’s something to reignite the passion anew?
nikki diekemper 