Yeah . . . I think I Plagiarized

I've read another submission to this challenge, and it was absolutely lovely; "The Little Writer" by L. C. Schafer (sorry, I don't know how to add the umlaut to your name). The author sketched a story of childhood imagination and what it truly means to write, what it feels like to have stories in your mind and to convey them to something more solid. (Go read it. It's good!)

I hope you don't mind me calling this story out, L.C. It really was great to read, and it just struck me as necessary to include it here because, when I read it, I was already planning to submit my own experience, and I realized how different my experience was from your own, along with my goals in writing about it. You wrote about the depths of childhood imagination in such a beautiful way, clearly putting time and effort into your piece, and I thought in wonder about that subject, while laughing a bit because . . . well, because of the following.

I see this challenge as a fun break from writing beautifully and instead just kinda writing. Tapping away at my keyboard because I can.

I don't really feel the need to carefully craft my words because, guys, the first piece I remember writing? It was called "Mouskin and the Three Cats." Mouskin. Not Mousekin. Please keep up.

I rewrote Goldilocks and the Three Bears. That was my amazing childhood imagination. And it didn't even make sense. Why were the cats eating cheese soup? That's what Mouskin would've wanted, sure, but why did the cats want it? I don't even remember how it ended, but I'm guessing they all ended up being friends. (I haven't changed since then- I still struggle to write real conflict.) I think the crowning achievement of that story was that I used the word "scampered" and my first grade teacher was impressed by that. (No, I didn't write this for class. I was proud of it and showed it off.)

I couldn't even tell you what possessed me to write it. I had a story to tell, so I told it in my chunky square diary with the puppy surfboarding on the front.

The whole memory is kind of fitting to me, though, because I don't know if I've ever felt like I want to be an author because I have these innate stories to tell. Rather, I love to read stories, watch them, hear them, and that enjoyment makes me desire to create something that others will enjoy just as much.

When I write, I probably should craft more carefully. I think I will learn to, someday, as I really get into re-reading and editing and all the things that turn a story into a work of art. But often, I feel that it's more honest (and, while I'm being honest, I suppose easier) to just write what comes to mind, enjoy the process, and be done.

I feel like more of my own voice comes through if I'm joking and casual than when I take the time to intentionally paint a picture of luminescent words (or something). And I guess thinking about Mouskin made me think of all of this. I don't think I'm usually too much of an artist or a wordsmith when it comes to my writing. I think I like the idea of it, I go for it, and it often comes out well enough that I can happily show it off to the people around me.

I readily recognize, though, that the best stories are carefully crafted. I certainly think L.C.'s story should place in this challenge, while this piece here is really just something quick for myself, I guess. If I truly want to win challenges, write pieces that inspire, I'll need to put in a little more effort here and there. I am excited to explore my abilities and push myself more and see what I can do. I've done some very intentional things on this platform, and I've liked them. In fact, I think I'll try to make a point of actually crafting and editing a submission to the Tales Retold challenge . . . unless I decide to find and submit "Mouskin and the Three Cats" instead.

But I still feel the most me when I wing it a lil' bit. And when I do, I can't help hoping that, secretly, this is good enough.

I hope that, when I do take the time to craft more carefully, I'll still do it with some of the simple enjoyment of a first-grader writing about cats, cheese, and scampering mice.

Gotta be honest- I'm not sure what the point of this piece is. I don't think I'll share it on Facebook or anything, but if you've stumbled across it and read this far, thanks for listening to the random ramblings of my brain. Which had something to do with Mouskin. I think.

The end.