Humiliating Throwback Thursday #2: Cariadnae's Story

Hello again, and welcome to another edition of My Adolescent Nonsense, with Emily Pryor!

Today, I have something very special to share with you: the very first work I ever did, besides school assignments and one short story about a ghost castle. It was 2001, and I was an optimistic 12 year old. I woke up one morning, high on some especially glowing praise from my seventh grade teacher, and decided: I want to be a writer!

So I wrote a "book." I say "book" because it was 70 pages of the most cringe-inducingly pretentious fantasy crap you'll ever hope to witness, mixed in with some really embarrassing theology. I wrote it for my sister Cassi, who was a big fan of fairies.

Halfway through, though, I started feeling really guilty about writing fantasy--the Devil's genre--so I went back and made all the characters pray. 


The end result, while moderately respectable for a 13-year-old (I was 13 by the time I finished it) is thoroughly and utterly humiliating to adult Emily.

For your reading pleasure, today I bring you Chapter One of Cariadnae's Story, reproduced in authentic, 14-point Palatino font (which I was convinced was the typing choice of the real professionals), with no error fixed and no humiliation removed. I have included in-text comments from 12 years later, in red.

Cariadnae’s Story

Chapter One

         In the seconds before dawn she waited. Even as all eternity seemed to pass, she waited. Who would come over the mountain today? Who's dawn of fate was this? Oh, off to a great start already. A dawn of fate, huh? That's not at all pretentious. Wrong "whose," btw.

         Cariadnae knew, by the sun streaming in her sky-hole, that today would not favor her. Nikli and Varnae had told her to be up by dawn, and here she was, still drowsy, and the sun well into her sky-hole! I remember knowing what a "sky-hole" was supposed to be, but now it just sounds dirty, and definitely not something you want the sun "well into."  She got up quickly and dressed.        

         When Varnae saw Cariadnae step into the weavers circle, she was infuriated. But, as always, she was careful to hide her emotions. Ah, so these are Lutheran fairies. Everyone knew that anger in a weaving circle could result in bad craftsmanship. Because nothing screams "bad craftsmanship" like a blanket knitted by an angry fairy. For Cariadnae's part, she felt Varnae's anger like a knife. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, she could never please her guardian. Uncomfortable and distracted, Cariadnae sat down to weave and think. Weave and think were all she could do, for talking was forbidden in  a weaving circle. Naturally. The only thing worse than emotions? Communication of any kind. I was wrong, these fairies are clearly WASPs. Talk might cause someone to become distracted, resulting in a poorly-made garment. For once, Cariadnae was glad for this rule- it meant that Varnae would have to yell at her in private.

         As soon as the sun reached the tip of Tell Tree, ? So... 3:17pm? the weaver's circle dispersed. Cariadnae knew that she was about to be scolded, so she just stood and waited. In less than a minute, Varnae stood over her. "Cariadnae, WHERE in HJONUNI Is that in the Middle East? were you this morning? Didn't I tell you, just last night, to be up by dawn? You KNOW the weaver's circle meets but once a month! BUT ONCE A MONTH, Cariadnae. SHEESH. And now they've been deprived of a perfectly good worker! Thanks to you, some poor child may go cold this winter! Did you think of THAT, in all your dozing?" Cariadnae answered, carefully,

"Yes, last night, you did say to be up at dawn. Alas, at dawn I was in my bed. A thousand curses upon my sloth." Awww. A thousand curses on your sloth? Really? Just one curse would probably be enough to ruin that slow bastard's day. A thousand? Poor guy's never gonna get any eucalyptus leaves now. Varnae seemed satisfied with the traditional apology for laziness, and replied with the traditional reply, "You may go, and end your slothful ways. And, Cari? Don't be late for picking tomorrow!" 

         Cari was much relieved by her aunt's use of her informal, more comfortable name. It was a token show of familiarity and forgiveness. She returned to her sleeping place Already? It's only a quarter past Tell Tree! and rolled up her bed. Cari knew that she had much to learn about controlling her sleep. She also knew that the reason for her late awakening was the dream she had dreamt. A girl, clearly waiting for something-but what, what? Probably a dawn of fate. Oh, now the dream was slipping. Maybe she would have it again.

And there you have it! Possibly the very worst thing I have ever written, and DEFINITELY the thing I was the most proud of, ever, of anything I've ever done.

I hope you've enjoyed this week's edition of Tripe I've Written! Tune in again this time next week, for some embarrassingly auto-biographical work from high school!