I wrote a lot of fanfiction and original fiction in my head before I learned to type, which is where Jack and Harvey come from. I made the first of several attempts to write a novel at the age of ten or eleven, all of which failed because I didn't know anything about writing. Typical edgy, melodramatic, look-how-deep-and-thoughtful-I-am stuff. My fanfiction wasn't much better. I eventually deleted or recycled all of it. I won't even get into my poetry. The least embarrassing examples of that remain on FictionPress as a cautionary tale to my present-day self.

My most recent badfic is a Phantom of the Opera pirate AU from two years ago. As a pirate story, it might not be too terrible; as a fanfic, it's in-name-only. If someone wants to mission it, I won't be offended. I can only hope I've improved since then.

I wrote it at age 9 in a simple school notebook and it was a grand total of 35 pages, but boy, what a 35 pages that was. It was about, quote, the three most beautiful girls in school, and an expy of the boy who was my crush at the time, but of course it all took place in American high school. It had jealousy, melodrama, a Big Dramatic Second Act Breakup, the phrase "big beautiful eyes", two separate murder attempts, a jealous ex who commits one of those, her ending up with the other creepy admirer/almost murderer, shoe theft as a way to invite someone on a date (don't even ask), my heroine being all tough by slapping a guy harassing a woman in a cafe (just a reminder: high schooler - actually, more like middle schooler), a soccer match that somehow ended with a 13:9 final score, clocks drawn on the margins to signify the passage of time, the third-person omniscient narrator admitting at the end that she's actually the heroine talking about herself for some reason, and such delightful lines as "They betrayed me! They know that ruining someone's day qualifies as betrayal!"

Thirty-five. Pages.

I recall finding it behind an old wardrobe when I was about 17 and cringe-laughing my way through the entire masterpiece, then immediately copying it all to my laptop. A good friend of mine in high school once brought over his own incredibly embarrassing childhood attempt at a novel, and a third guy made a dramatic reading of both of our stories - we were both in tears by the end. I'd love to do that again, but... Hungarian. Perhaps if anyone wants to see it, I can try to translate?

Somebody stop me that joke was terrible.

As we all know, everyone has Warrior Cats fanfic in their closets, no exceptions. (Well, the location may differ - some banished to the farthest reaches of the attic, others swept under old rugs, the usual suspects.)

Fortunately for me, most of mine were written down in a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf paper, mostly lost to time. Yes, I'm most certainly still an organizational disaster - I just hide it better.

Unfortunately for me, badfic about cats is not the worst thing I have keeping the skeletons company. For several years, I worked on an original fiction world that, well... the best thing was the half-baked magic system. Most YA clichés were hit upon despite the fact that, at the time, I didn't even really know what YA was. One of the main characteristics of the first OC I made was "likes trench coats," and that's not touching on how one branch of magic spiraled out of control and became a loose copy of something from Fairy Tail.

It was a hot mess, and only a fraction of what I wrote ended up transcribed online. If I find any particularly amusing bits I'll share, but looking over it again it's mostly beige prose and flat characters.

(edits for clarity - because, as we all know, mistakes don't exist until you post, look it over again, and realize nothing makes sense)

For personal reasons, I will not be quoting the badfic here, but the general consensus: I shipped Sauron/Morgoth, and was somehow convinced by that part of Tumblr that they could somehow be redeemed. Not saying it can't be done, but I was stupid and wrote a reincarnation AU.

And it was bad. Absolutely horrifying prose, improbable situations, just all-around dreadfulness. I still reach for the bleach when I remember it.

If you're a glutton for suffering, ask and ye shall receive (through Discord). It is so atrocious that I do not want to inflict it upon a bunch of curious but innocent writers.

So... the below is the entirety of a document entitled "Descriptions". (Edit: with formatting messed up. There were originally paragraph breaks, not that that's much of a mercy.)

The sky was a deep, dark, beautiful shade of blue. Clouds stretched across, twisted into feathery, light shapes, from pure white to dark grey with almost a hint of pink. The sun was beginning to set, the deep blue fading to orange-pink-red of the ebbing light and the pink in the grey clouds becoming ever more apparent. The sun sank ever deeper and darkness began to fall over the beautiful landscape. Shadows lengthened and became grey dark pools of nothingness. The clouds scattered, driven away by the howling pack of sheep-dogs that raced through the sky as wind. The moon rose, full and bright and glimmering. One by one, the stars began to sparkle in that magical way. Here there were no lights, no artificial suns to break the spell. The darkness was pure and absolute. Nothing could be seen save the glittering moon and stars in the black ceiling above. An owl called, spooky and loud in the moonlight. The wind-dogs howled once more, now sounding like wolves preparing for the hunt. The silence resumed its reign over the place which was filled with noise in daylight. That was how it worked – daylight meant noise; darkness, silence. So the night continued slowly on towards the dawn and the return of daylight and noise.

...I have Bleeprin, if anyone needs it after that monstrosity?