I'm home at my parents' for the holiday. My mom had a box of stuff from the grade school days, and in the box was one issue of a science fiction magazine I'd written for a sixth grade project. The feature article of the magazine was a fiction piece called Captain Volehead and the black hole. I remember writing Captain Volehead stories as a kid. I particularly remember never correctly spelling "captain."
My wife is reading the Captain Volehead stories to my four year-old. It's heart-warming to see you child listen raptly to things you wrote as a child. My attention span at eleven wasn't much more than his is now, so I suppose the pacing and diction is perfect for him.
I'm surprised at the quality of the writing. I mean, its no Jane Austin, but for an eleven year-old, it shows some promise. But I never continued. I took a creative writing class in high school. I've started a few screenplays. But I've never pursued writing like I should have---cause I enjoy it.
I never finish anything. I like playing music, but I'm not proficient in any instrument. I can play the drums, the guitar, the piano, the mouth harp. But I'm not any good at any of them. I like to work on cars, but I've never been good at keeping a car in good shape. I had a Jeep Grand Wagoneer. That poor thing; I beat the crap out of it. I rebuilt the engine and did a half-assed job of it. I ran horrible, and I ended up selling it for scrap for about $400. I originally paid $4000 for the car.
So, I going to finish something. I'm going to finish this. I'm going to write this blog, and I'm going to do a good job of it. I will report on each decision of the Utah Supreme Court. Why? I don't know. Cause I want to finish something.