Date I started writing: September-ish 2005. Age: Nine.
Before Go Teen Writers - Age: Fourteen.
"Well, then, bye, Rachel."
"Talk to you later."
I hung up the phone and bounded up the stairs to my room. My Spirit Sleepover Thanksgiving Celebration was official! The Spirit Club consisted of Rose, Linda, Amanda, Kirry, and me, and on holidays we had Spirit Sleepovers. This Thanksgiving was my turn, and now the only task left to do was clean my room. I turned on my radio and started cleaning vigorously, determined to finish by dinner.
I finished with time to spare, thankfully. Sighing with satisfaction, I looked around the room. My window looked out over the backyard, which was covered in a mix of dull brown leaves. The weather man predicted snow for the next night, so soon a sparkling layer of pure white would conceal the leaves. Turning back to the floor, I envisioned the fun we'd have at my sleepover. The four sleeping bags would cover my violet carpeted floor, and after mom came up and turned off the lights I would hang over the edge of my bed and we'd all whisper secrets, jokes, and ghost stories to each other until nobody was awake enough to listen.
Impatient and anxious for Friday to come, I decided to go down and check my email. The week before, I had emailed my grandparents and told them about my sleepover plans. I received messages from Linda and Rose about strange noises at night. Rose was being Rose, talking about ghosts and such, while Linda was being Linda, spouting off about science facts and statistics I could hardly read. I figured it was the wind, which had been pretty bad lately.
Date I discovered Go Teen Writers: December 12, 2010. Age: Almost fifteen.
After Go Teen Writers:
The man did not appear threatening or unusual. He wore the same suit and passed by lobby security as usual. The elevator took him to the top floor without trouble as it had every week for the past five months, and the security officers there let him pass as well.
He turned right and strode through the halls, neither hurrying nor loitering. The final door on the left opened to his knock, and the men on either side of the door ignored his presence. He slipped into the richly decorated room while two more security officers slipped out.
"Damian, good to see you again. How are you?" The men sat on the deep red chaise and the leather-upholstered wooden chair, separated by a small mahogany coffee table.
"I'm well, thank you."
Their small talk continued for a few minutes. One man shared his frustrations from the past week as the other listened patiently, just as he had for the past five months. Today, though, he glanced at his watch often - a small silver watch, never worn before today. It was the only variation from the past five months. The speaking man did not notice. He continued talking until the listener finally abandoned routine and interrupted.
"Sir, I apologize, but I haven't much time left." He stood and checked his watch once again.
His companion looked at his own large gold watch. "But it hasn't even been half an hour."
"Precisely. It's already been twenty-seven minutes, which means we've only -" he looked at his watch again "-yes, sixty-three minutes left."
"Only?" The man laughed, but his friend did not.
Date I will publish my debut: January 18, 2014. Age: Freshly eighteen.
From there - well, Lord only knows where this girl's going. But I do know one thing. It would've taken me a whole lot longer to get there without the guidance and community standing behind those three little words: Go Teen Writers!
We're #GTWers and proud of it.
To Stephanie Morril with love from Emily Rachelle
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