Writing up the Past

This is one of those skills that I wonder if I ever had the moxy to follow through on... maybe. Maybe not. Writing. Writing makes me feel like I'm 10 years old all over again. You know, before I knew that the world is sometimes a really crappy place full of really miserable people (It's not people's fault. People forget to look at what we have and not what we do not have).

I used to have a pen in hand constantly... writing here and doodling there. Then it stopped. It's not that it's become a chore, but I feel like the words dried up in my brain somewhere. Or they're stuck and all the fiber in the world won't release them to the paper... or keyboard. I'm not about to try to shove a banana in my ear to test that theory either.

This weighs 8,000 pounds.

Titles like Staple Gun Massacre swimming around my notebooks and ideas of clever and fantastic novels based on Dante's "The Inferno" or even "The Odyssey" were the normal part of my thinking. Thanks English class in high school, specially Mr. DiFabbio, for the awesome that you made these stories and possibilities. These pieces of what used to be, found among my mini hoarders stash of stuff, kept from when I still felt good all of the time, or didn't know that what I was feeling would interfere with everything. Notes on a mini novel or sketches for that graphic comic book I was going to self publish litter the bottom of my tiny, yellow, sticker covered filing cube. It was going to be epic, and I was going to illustrate all of my own writing too.

It's time. I need this skill sharpened. I need this skill to keep the stories behind my monsters interesting. I need this skill for myself.