Oh, geez. You’re really going to make me talk about this, aren’t you?
Okay. Well, it was in middle school (~ages 11-13 for those not familiar with US public school in the 90s) that I really started writing, and it was in maybe 7th or 8th grade when I wrote my first novel.
It was a weird parody/homage to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I was trying to emulate farce movies I was fond of as a kid, movies like Hot Shots! and Robin Hood: Men In Tights. But it was a TMNT homage in that the main characters were four guys who knew martial arts.
The Kung-Fu Cockroaches.
I honestly don’t remember a whole ton of the plot. None of it, actually. I don’t even remember the Cockroaches’ names, even though I know I finished one book about them and started the sequel. Then again, this was all handwritten, and I have no idea what the word count was.
I do vaguely remember one of their weapons. At the time, since I was obviously finding my voice, learning techniques and storytelling and all, I was very hell-bent on the “subvert expectations at the end” lists of things. So I want to say the first three had somewhat expected weapons. Maybe not actual nunchucks, more like… a single throwing star. But I very strongly remember the last Kung-Fu Cockroach’s weapon was “a seed wrapped in a band-aid.”
It’s pretty obvious I was a weird kid.
The only other thing I really recall about it was that I was changing narrative POV every chapter, cycling through the four protagonists.
As for where the book is now, I’m sure it’s long been incinerated. I can’t say I’m upset about it. There’s probably a great case to be made that reading it will show the roots and foundation of the writer I’ve become now, around 30 years later, but… no. I honestly don’t want to be cringing at that mess. It feels embarrassing enough admitting to that silly-ass weapon.
I had a lot to learn about humor.
But, while on the topic, I’ll briefly discuss a few other projects I recall from around that time:
My Best Friend Exploded Last Week - This was a “book” I wrote that was probably around novelette length, and it was definitely all about the title. I did the narrative technique of starting the book with the KABOOM of the friend exploding, then explaining the whole store until it repeated the explosion with all context at the end. Again, I don’t remember much of plot, characters, or anything, but I do remember there was a whole thing with a mad scientist who was making human-animal hybrids, a la Dr. Moreau (I saw that movie way too young). And I do recall one of the characters being told their DNA would be merged with that of an amoeba.
Weird kid.
The Dough That Ate New York City - This was a short narrative poem, and I actually do wish I still had this one. It was maybe 15-20 stanzas long, simple rhyming quatrains, talking about a lump of dough— like bread or pizza dough— that grew so out of control it… well, it ate New York City.
In those days, I was fairly prolific, but it’s very true you need to get a good million words under your belt before you really start getting a good feel for the craft. I’m glad I started that young, but holy crap does it make me cringe!
Okay. Well, it was in middle school (~ages 11-13 for those not familiar with US public school in the 90s) that I really started writing, and it was in maybe 7th or 8th grade when I wrote my first novel.
It was a weird parody/homage to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I was trying to emulate farce movies I was fond of as a kid, movies like Hot Shots! and Robin Hood: Men In Tights. But it was a TMNT homage in that the main characters were four guys who knew martial arts.
The Kung-Fu Cockroaches.
I honestly don’t remember a whole ton of the plot. None of it, actually. I don’t even remember the Cockroaches’ names, even though I know I finished one book about them and started the sequel. Then again, this was all handwritten, and I have no idea what the word count was.
I do vaguely remember one of their weapons. At the time, since I was obviously finding my voice, learning techniques and storytelling and all, I was very hell-bent on the “subvert expectations at the end” lists of things. So I want to say the first three had somewhat expected weapons. Maybe not actual nunchucks, more like… a single throwing star. But I very strongly remember the last Kung-Fu Cockroach’s weapon was “a seed wrapped in a band-aid.”
It’s pretty obvious I was a weird kid.
The only other thing I really recall about it was that I was changing narrative POV every chapter, cycling through the four protagonists.
As for where the book is now, I’m sure it’s long been incinerated. I can’t say I’m upset about it. There’s probably a great case to be made that reading it will show the roots and foundation of the writer I’ve become now, around 30 years later, but… no. I honestly don’t want to be cringing at that mess. It feels embarrassing enough admitting to that silly-ass weapon.
I had a lot to learn about humor.
But, while on the topic, I’ll briefly discuss a few other projects I recall from around that time:
My Best Friend Exploded Last Week - This was a “book” I wrote that was probably around novelette length, and it was definitely all about the title. I did the narrative technique of starting the book with the KABOOM of the friend exploding, then explaining the whole store until it repeated the explosion with all context at the end. Again, I don’t remember much of plot, characters, or anything, but I do remember there was a whole thing with a mad scientist who was making human-animal hybrids, a la Dr. Moreau (I saw that movie way too young). And I do recall one of the characters being told their DNA would be merged with that of an amoeba.
Weird kid.
The Dough That Ate New York City - This was a short narrative poem, and I actually do wish I still had this one. It was maybe 15-20 stanzas long, simple rhyming quatrains, talking about a lump of dough— like bread or pizza dough— that grew so out of control it… well, it ate New York City.
In those days, I was fairly prolific, but it’s very true you need to get a good million words under your belt before you really start getting a good feel for the craft. I’m glad I started that young, but holy crap does it make me cringe!
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