Anniversary

It's been ten years since I've read my first explicit fictional story. Over the past five years or so, I've noticed a marked decline in my desire to write, overall.  I've penned a few ditties, here and there, but nothing substantial.

I remember when there weren't enough hours in the day to get through all the ideas I had for characters and scenarios.  But now, I seem content to keep all of this internal.  I must have blown through an entire tree during those first five years.  Luckily enough, I have most of those notebooks, and although it's somewhat painful to read over the juvenile plots and developments, the passion behind the words is unmistakable.  

I long for that passion again.  But thinking back, I believe fiction writing was more of a lifeboat I clung to in a desperate attempt to survive those tumultuous teenage years.  Ugh, what a horrible period in my life.  I can see a lot of that angst reflected in the works, the majority of which I have, boxed up.  It's painful to read over the juvenile plots and developments, but the works paralleled actual events in my life.  And with time, they grew and matured with me.

A bit like a timeline, a rather creative form of a diary....

I would like to pay homage to my 13-year old self by beginning to write again, in earnest.  I think I owe that much to the bewildered, downtrodden kid who began an interest that's spanned a decade.  

Here's to you, Little Mo.