Three Minutes with Your Older Self

Normanday #44: I always knew I’d own a llama one day.

You receive an unexpected email—a note from yourself twenty years from now. What does it say?

Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by the end of the day September 9 (put “Norman Never Wears White Shoes After Labor Day” in the subject line). I’ll post as many of my favorite entries as I want next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published children’s or young adult writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.

Here are the entries from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes…

…using a random word as a free-writing starting point.

Tren Rewy Steb

Day is here. The night was long. There were screeches and calls through the forest. The thin barrier of nylon was little comfort. A low-hanging branch scratched at the roof. I knew it was a branch. I did. But somehow, the sound made me think of a tall thin man with yellow teeth and long fingernails hovering just outside the tent. Grinning. Knowing I was afraid. I fell asleep thinking about that man and I dreamt of running.

Ralph

Everyone was laughing. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. I had walked onto the stage to get my perfect attendance certificate, and I tripped. It wasn’t that I fell that made people laugh. I actually heard a collective gasp. When I stood, I held onto the podium. It was when the podium tipped over that the first giggles started. Then when the podium fell on the principal, there were a few guffaws. When the principal fell, there were more gasps. I went to help him get up. That’s when I tripped again—on the podium—and I fell on the principal. Everyone was laughing then. Getting perfect attendance used to seem so important. It doesn’t any more. In fact, I feel a cold coming on. I’d better stay home tomorrow.