Jamie Broker

The first story I remember writing came into being decades ago, and I’m pretty sure it was due to a steady stream of Disney movies and and kids’ television. It may or may not have been the first one I actually wrote; I mostly remember it because I went out of my way to create a little booklet out of what I assume was either stationery (yes, I know this dates me) or printer paper (less common, but still possible).

It was, I suppose, technically comic of some sort, though I’d never read or even seen a comic book at that point. I’m pretty sure I called it “The Tough Luck” and it involved the protagonist accidentally ingesting some sort of magical… trash? Leftovers? Refuse? It didn’t hurt her at all, but it did involve her being transformed into a pig or a mermaid or something. I believe there was a happy ending.

It’s funny that I remember that at all. I couldn’t have been more than seven when I wrote it. I do remember enjoying being read to and reading voraciously once I could do it on my own, so it must have been an outgrowth of that enjoyment.

A few years back, I dug through my memory and drafted an outline of a story based on all of the dull snippets I could remember. It’s not much of anything and it probably won’t ever see the light of day, but I still kind of enjoy it. It’s kind of like grown-up-me playing make-believe with small-me.

Not much of a point to this one, except maybe to praise and cherish the efforts of our younger selves. They did some pretty cool things.