I've been "writing" pretty much since I learned how to read. Some of my writing is really bad. In fact, many of my early attempts at writing are downright horrible. But practice makes perfect, right? (You can be the judge of that.)
Here is a short story I wrote at some point between 1996 and 1998, which would have made me anywhere from seven to nine years old. Alas, I did not put a date on the book, so I cannot know for certain when the idea for The Enchanting Rainbow came to me. But here it is, in its entirety. I probably thought it was a fantasy story. Now I just think it is a work of pure horror. Why, you may ask?
Because after writing it, I developed a fear of rainbows.
I don't care that it was only a dream. Anthropomorphic rainbows that stalk poor little girls are scarier than anything Hollywood can cook up these days. [shudders]