A mess of writing

Okay, so I have decided what I will blog. And YES I know my last blog was months ago. I am a world class procrastinator. If you think you can out do me let me know and we can have a challange when I get around to it.

So... About that blogging. I am going to share with the world some of the little experiences I have had in my life that have made me unique. Or, that I have just experienced. Some will be funny, some sad, some embarassing(don't count on too many of those) and some of them will just simply be me bragging. I don't have too many bragging moments, so I don't feel bad sharing the few I do have.

My first experience is about writing itself. My first real writing memory. It all happened some ungodly number of years ago, way back in 3rd grade. I was attending Mary Beck Elementary in Elkhart Indiana. I don't know how many of you are familiar with the layout of that school, and it is not important to the story, but all of the classes had no walls. They were devided by shelves, and cubbies, and other little things, but it was all open. I like that design.

Okay, getting back to the writing. I very vividly remember being given a writing assignment in 3rd grade. I was sitting on these carpeted platforms in between the 3rd and 4th grade classes. I vividly remember having a very large piece of that off colored paper. The one with the solid lines an inch apart, and the dotted line in between. After a moment of thinking I came up with what I thought was the coolest story(don't remember what it was). My brain went into a frenzy (as it often does) and I wrote as fast as I could, trying to keep up. After some time I was done, and I was proud and excited. I had written the best story ever. I hurried to tell the teacher that I was done, and to have him read it. (it was the 4th grade teacher, my teacher was a she) He looked at the page a bit, furrowed his brow, and asked me, "What is this?". I told him, this is my story. He told me, "It does not make any sense." I was perplexed. It was a GREAT story. So, I took the page from him and tried to read my story to see what he ment. There was no story on the page. The words there were scribbled in haste. All meaning garbled and intelligible. I could not understand ANY of what was written. I was dumbfounded. It was the first time this had ever happened to me. I really did not know what went wrong, it was like being in a Twilight Zone episode. I was crushed. And to this day, writing for me is more a burden than anything else.

Over the years I learned to organize my racing thoughts. To outline, to draft, to review, to SLOW DOWN. It is a lot of work. I don't enjoy it. But I am happy that I can at least put something on paper now(or in a blog) that makes some sense. (after edititng) This is the source of my hesitation and discomfort with writing. The reason I don't blog enough. The reason I don't write old friends often enough. I can think of what I want to say, the whole letter in a few seconds. Then, I have to painstakenly write it out. Review it. Edit it. Correct it.

Despite all that, I will enjoy this blog. I will share some of the same stories I like to tell friends and family. My son Noah's favorite stories will be here, and I won't have to tell him them over and over again. :)

The End(for now)