The girl in the short story I'm writing is currently ten years old. I got stuck, so I thought it would be fun to look back in my journals and see what I was writing/thinking around that time in my life. I had to look at age nine, as I have no record of journal entries for the following year. Lots of "I'm bored" and school gossip. And no medium in emotion - either very, very, very happy, or I HATE SO AND SO, or bored and depressed. I read a lot of books, mostly mysteries, adventures, and ghost stories. I think I read every "Choose your own Adventure" book our library and the bookmobile had. Another common series that comes up is "Encyclopedia Brown". The majority of my reading now is fantasy or romance, with the occasional mystery. I didn't really start fantasy until fifth grade, after my teacher recommended "The Blue Sword" (still an awesome YA fantasy novel by the way).
Another interesting trend back then was writing about songs and stories, then in the same entry stating I want to be an artist when I grow up. Here's a real excerpt (parts about friend rivalries removed):
April 23, 1992
... I feel like writing stories again. When I get home I’m going to ask my mom if I can make a storybook or give me a notepad (a big one). ... When I grow up I want to be an artist.
Actions speak louder than words. It wasn't until later that I decided I wanted to be an author and illustrator, then eventually just an author.
I used to have imaginary friends. Not one, but many. Not for lack of real friends. It was a small town, knew everyone, friends with just about my entire class. But sometimes I'd go off in my own imaginary world. Apparently they weren't always present:
May 19, 1992
Missie Lue Nae is sick today. She is one of my secret sisters [aka imaginary friend].
They even accompanied me much later in life. Even as late as high school, if we went on a long drive I would look out the window and picture these friends (six of them, three boys and three girls, don't remember their names anymore) riding beside us (on super speed bicycles). Maybe it was a defense mechanism against motion sickness. Maybe it was because I didn't have the same close friendships after we moved in fifth grade. Or maybe I'm just loony. ;-)
And now that I have wasted time reminiscing and revealing my weirdo self, I should get back to writing.