I like to type in Times New Roman although it looks like an old school typewriter. Not as much as Courier font though, but it has this old secretary look to it. The font seems to invoke a time when women wore buns, sexy cat glasses, pencil skirts and were chased around the desk more often than not.

I've been writing since I can remember. I have stacks of journals. Most of them are really idiotic. Things like:

I can't believe Tommy said that to Jane and she laughed! I'm SO mad at her. Who does she think she is? I will never speak to her again. I wonder if I told Sam about what she said about Jen whether it would make her mad. I'd better not. Maybe I will. I hate her!

That's from age 11 or 12. But there were some philosophical moments among the drivel. I knew, for example, even back then that my mother's "bad days" were not normal. Taking to the bed and not showing interest in anything. I understand it a lot more now but when you're young and life seems hopeful and full of possibilities it's hard to fathom what power a mind can have over a body.

I wrote and wrote. I used to write on little scraps of paper. Stuff that didn't even make any sense. I have a whole box of them. Some day I think I might sit and put them together into some cohesive story, or at least put them in some sort of order, but I probably never will. It would be interesting to know where I was when I wrote those things down though.

The first "Story" I ever had "published" was when I was in 8th grade. My English teacher, Mrs. Platz, really liked to read and write and actually made it interesting for us. It was from her that I started to really think about writing as a potential for more than just a hobby.

The publication was our school newsletter that went out in the two semesters. Fall and Spring editions. The Story was about a girl who liked to bake pies and would hide things from her family by baking them in pies. She would bake shoes, keys, glasses, you name it, the family would find them baked into her pie. 

The denouement came when she entered a baking contest at the fair and knew she had some formidable competition. So to win, she snuck the recipe from the other girl, who was there with her Mother (my mother being conspicuously absent),  and baked it in her pie. The other girl and her Mother had to improvise and come up with a pie using memory and creativeness. Of course they came up with the best award winning pie in all history and the judges bit into the recipe card my main character had baked into her pie and got into trouble.

At the end the other little girl and the mother came and forgave her and they were friends.

You have to wonder, what is going on in a 13 year old kid's mind.

I don't have any brothers or sisters so it's unclear to me where I was coming up with ideas about tormenting siblings. Maybe from my friends who were always complaining about their brothers and sisters. I thought they were really lucky.

The Story got published and everyone wrote in my yearbook that year that I was going to be a famous writer and make billions and billions of dollars from writing and not to "forget them" when I was famous. Those are so funny to read now, looking back.

This will be where I can lay out some of these ridiculous stories and see how they fly. Feel free to criticize my writing - I can take it :)

Au revoir.