Oh where or where did my writing go?

I pick obscure times to do obscure things.

The scene: Tuesday evening. Halftime of the Heat game. I don't know what time that was. Whatever time the Heat were in the lockeroom. I couldn't ask my dad what time that was. My dad is too nervous to watch the Heat play. He's too nervous to watch any team from Chicago or Miami play any "big" game. One time he IM'med me right in the middle of the World Series.

"Dad," I said, "The White Sox are in the World Series!"

"I know," he said. "I'm too nervous to watch. Wanna play some spades?"

Of course I didn't want to play spades. The White Sox were in the World Series.

But I digress.

The scene was halftime of the Heat game in the NBA finals. Instead of doing things that normal people due during halftime of the NBA finals (i.e., drink a beer, eat some chips, use the restroom, heck, pick anything), I could be found underneath my bed, on a desperate search for ... well, I was on a desperate search for a story I wrote way back in my junior year of college! A story I hadn't seen in years. I thought I knew right where it was. But I couldn't find it. So not only did I pull out one, but I pulled out all three of the high school and college trunks I have under our bed.

Now don't ask why I picked that moment to look for that piece of writing. Don't ask why I thought of that story, all of a sudden. I don't have the answer to either of those questions. I also don't have the answer to why I would pick late on a Tuesday night to climb under the bed.

Anyways, I say all this to say that this ticked me off. I pride myself on my de-cluttered life. I pride myself on organization. WHERE is that story?! No matter what I wanted to do with it (I'm not really sure). The bottom line is, I want to know where it is.

It also ticked me off that I got all dusty and all hot and sweaty for a wild goose chase. However, this wild goose chase was for a reason.

I really want to start writing again.

Now I know I write everyday, but it's been years since I have really sat down and written fiction. Why? Well, I've been so busy teaching writing and then getting a job writing, that I just haven't done it. Then I started this blog. I have heard that "blogging" can kill a writer's juices because they take all their little thoughts and put them on the blog instead of combining those little thoughts into great big mombo thoughts.

Don't worry oh my thousands (okay, not thousands) of faithful blog readers. I don't plan to squash the Polar North Blog. However, I do want to get myself writing for the fun of it again. Okay, not that this blog isn't fun, but I want to write something for the fun of it that I can go buy at Barnes & Noble some day. Well, even if Barnes & Noble didn't pick it up, I would still want to write it.

I have wanted to write a book since I was a kid. Will I do it? I don't know. What will it be about? I don't know. When will I do it? Well I don't know that either. All I know is that I have gotten the itch again to write. And I don't want to write someone else's book. I don't want to edit someone's book (although both the options are good ones). I want to write my own book.

I have some ideas bopping around in my now very tired brain. But if I told them to you, I'd have to kill you, and since I am not even exactly sure who reads my blog, that would take quite some time.

Speaking of the blog, it would be nice if I could get some comments from some different people.
I have my loyal blog commenters (you know who you are, but if you aren't even sure where the comment button is, assume you aren't one of them). However, those of you who pop in and don't ever post a comment need to broaden your horizons. Don't be afraid. Journey into the comment room! You can do it. I believe in you.

If I can write a book, you can surely leave a comment.

Okay, so I haven't actually written the book, but I am thinking of it, and I think that alone is worthy of a comment sometime.

Okay, off to write the next great novel. I'll keep you posted on its progress or lack thereof.