Years ago I used to make "books" several of which I made when I was still in kindergarten, sometime in May of 1993, at least that's when my father dated the published products. They include such classics as "The Man Going Fishing", "The Kick the Man In the Water", "The Aliens Shoot", "The Boy Gone to the Moon" and my personal favorite, "Throw the Pizza". All of them are only a few pages in length with no text other than the title, just crude stick figures drawn with markers. "Throw the Pizza" opens on a scene of two young boys sitting at a pink table with five legs. The boy to the right end of the table holds what appears to be an entire pizza in his right hand. The next page, we see that the pizza has been released and soars across the pink table towards the other boy. On the following page, the pizza has completed its journey across the table and an explosion of red marinara sauce covers the opposing boy's face. The fourth and final page depicts a mother wiping the boy's face off with a smile on her face. Simple, and brilliant. The other little books have roughly the same amount of plot, and unfortunately the titles of the others kind of give away most the story, the exception being "The Man Going Fishing" which opens with a man on a chair fishing by a pond and ends (Spoiler alert) with a large fish jumping out and swallowing the man, only to splash right back into the pond.
Among these little books, which are kept in a manila envelope, are also some old drawings of things I was into at the time, all of which were dated by my dad with the month and year. I have also a short story I wrote dated October of 1993 (I was in first grade at that point). I'll copy that short story for you here now, complete with grammatical and spelling errors.
one night a little boy wnt to a graveyard. a ghost popped up and scared him. the little boy ran away and jack-o-lanterns popped up while he ran. he fell down and he got up and ran some more. he looks back and he sees the ghost behind him. boo, says the ghost. the little boy ran to his house an he went under his bed. he never heard from the ghosts again. the end.
Chilling. Now, aside from my vignette "slice of life" work I had accomplished only five months earlier, I think this was my first short story. I typed it up on my mom's old electric typewriter. I recall my mother sitting right beside me and, given that I was only six, I had to ask her how to spell pretty much every word. I will say, it's not my best work. Little to no character development, unless we think that maybe the boy went out there on a dare or just happened to be into the occult. There's some suspense in the middle. Not sure on the resolution, but maybe the ghosts just wanted to scare him enough to run back home and leave their graves in peace. Difficult to say.
I bring all this up because, looking back on these creations as well as all the drawings and comics and stories I made in the following years, I realized I had no fear of being imaginative. I had no fear of sitting down and making something. I just did it. I did it because it was fun. Sure it passed the time, but it wasn't work, it was something pleasant. Now I try to think of something, and I can't. I can't because I just don't have the tenacity to just sit down and CREATE something. I corner myself by thinking, "That sounds like this", "That's too simple", "No one would be interested in that."
College did a lot of great things. I learned how to workshop as a writer and receive honest feedback as well as give it. I read a lot, and I read a lot of things I probably would never read on my own, or think to read. I learned different styles of writing, such as fiction, poetry, playwriting and screenwriting. My worldview and cultural awareness grew. But, I think it stymied my imaginative vision. This could also speak to my character, that I didn't exactly accept critiquing well and thus questioned if I would ever have the ability to produce something of worth. That's what I'm trying to overcome right here, right now in front of you. I look back at this blog and, man, there's a lot of nothing. It is not really good. At all. I seriously don't know what my goal was other than just writing consistently online. But God Bless 23 - 31 year old Mike. He still tried.
One quote I'm pretty sure I've seen before in my life but it had a stronger impact on me recently is "Give yourself permission to write crap". I've done that from time to time, but not consistently. My goal now is to commit to writing even if it's just good for nothing dribble. I'm jogging here. I'm fat and pasty and sweaty, but I'm jogging down the block on a hot summer afternoon. And one day, I'll run a 5K, or a 10K, or half-marathon. Who knows, maybe I'll slim down and go for that marathon. Right now, I just have to jog down the block in all my disgustingness.
Ultimately, I need to be a kid again and create for fun. Write a story, draw a comic or cartoon, play music. I did all of these things but as I got older I slowly did them less. For those of you who know me, Kurt Vonnegut is one of my favorite writers. Writing this I am reminded of a quote of his from "A Man Without a Country":
Practicing an art, no matter how badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.
I'll keep striving to post on here, whether or not anyone is reading. If nothing else, it'll be an opportunity to make my soul grow.
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