Here’s an idea. Why don’t we talk about/cringe over the stories we wrote when we were kids? This should be pretty fun.
I’ll start off. I wrote my first story in first grade. It was about a woman who was terrified of spiders and got trapped in a creepy abandoned house with a huge, talking spider. The spider said he would help her get out if he got to come live in her house instead. I don’t remember how it ended.
Then there was the weird story I made up to tell on the school bus in middle school. It was about a girl who found a strange creature in the woods that later turned out to be an ancient cult’s eldritch deity. It was hella bizarre.