I was sifting through some old files a few weeks ago and came across some papers I wrote in high school. Oh. My. Word. After skimming through a few of them, my first thought was bonfire. Or, at the very least, shredder. Then I thought, "No. You know what? I could use these puppies as a community service project of sorts. To show aspiring writers that even if their writing is crappy, if they keep plugging along, 15 years later they might be good enough to get a book published." Comforting, eh?

So, here's a little sample of my writing from 1991 (sophomore year in H.S.). I'll read it and weep. You read it and be encouraged that there is HOPE for you, friend!

Marla R. Yoder--An Autobiography (in case you don't pick up on this, which you can't be expected to, it's supposed to be satire)

My name is Marla Rachelle Yoder. I was born on October 31, 1975 in Dayton, Ohio. I am tall and blond and have blue eyes. I live with my parents, my brother, my two sisters, and a few stray cats. We have moved many a time and currently reside in the well-known town of Cable, Ohio. Now that you know my "vital statistics," I would like to fill you in on my personality.

I must tell you that I am an extremely shy person. I only talk when I am forced to, and sometimes not even then. I get really nervous when I'm around people, especially guys. I never laugh--well, I have a couple of times, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. I spend the entire day avoiding people, because if there is one thing I hate, it's drawing attention to myself. I never voice my opinion, partly because I am so timid, and partly because I don't have one.

I have no friends. No one really knows I exist. I'm so quiet and shy that it's extremely easy to forget I'm even there. One day, I was sitting in Biology, and Mr. Steider told one of his better jokes. It was sooo funny. I tried to stifle my laugh and ended up snorting instead. Everyone just stared at me. I burst into tears and ran out of the room. I was so humiliated. I stayed in the bathroom and cried for the rest of the day.

My teachers are always trying to draw me out of my shell. They tell me that I could get so much more out of life if I was more outgoing and talkative. They all encourage me to laugh more, to talk more, and just to generally be louder. I try. I really do, but it's so hard for me.

I never get in trouble like the other kids do. I've never even been yelled at by a teacher. While everyone else is disrupting class in some way or another, I'm sitting at my desk, behaving like an angel. I would give anything to be told to shut up just once.

Well, that's it. That's my life story. I know it's not much, but there's nothing else to tell. Now all I can do is pray that I don't have to get up in front of the class and read this.

Come back next week for Why I Don't Write Poetry.