Look at my intro to a novel I tried to write when I was about 11….
Introduction:
It happened three years ago. Only three, no more no less. Three years is not along time, but when those years are spent with trials, suffering, and pain three years can seem like an eternity. I was twelve at the time, never dreaming what misfortune would befall me. It all began when I took a trip with my father. This is my story, the story of Shantias.
This was before I was a Monty Python fan, and yet it starts out like the Holy Hand Grenade thing. They had kidnapped by brain before I even knew they existed.![]()
And it's weird to compare that paragraph there to something I wrote now. And now I'm so flippingly paranoid that I still sound like that.![]()