As a writer, I peaked early. Very early, in fact. When I was in sixth grade, I wrote an ongoing serial of “Dark Shadows” fan fiction, long hand. Every night I would crank out 10 or 12 pages, and present them in math class the next day to my only reader, Karen Tobey, who sat in front of me. Despite never having seen “Dark Shadows,” Karen was an enthusiastic consumer of these pages, devouring them and asking for more as soon as she finished reading them. The fact of having only one fan didn’t deter me. I produced more writing in that school year than I did in the entire rest of my life. At age 13, I wrote a complete novel, based on my fantasy of joining Depeche Mode (or any other similarly effeminate, make upped and British new wave band of that era), more than 300 pages, read solely by my friends Michelle and Inez. My audience was small, but my output was impressive.
Since then, I have had hundreds of story and book ideas, and have barely put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to start one of them, never mind finish. In my 20s I wrote about 150 pages of a half-hearted attempt at teen romance based on my own limited experience in that area, and I recently started writing a vampire book with a unique twist. I wrote about half a page and stopped. Why? Writers write. Why can’t I? The answer, of course, is that I’m incredibly lazy unless I have a deadline looming, in which case I’m the proverbial busy bee. If anyone wants to give me a topic, I’ll be finished with it by the proposed submission time, with hours to spare. If I’m getting paid, whoooo-eee! Watch me produce.
Hopefully, this blog will give me the impetus I need to turn out some material. Any suggestions?
