Richard the Writer

"Write what should not be forgotten." - Isabel Allende

When I was in high school, I carried around a blue three-ring notebook binder filled with lined notebook paper. It was standard procedure for most students. We took notes on the notebook paper in class and then inserted the pages into the notebook to review later.

Like most kids I carried my notebook binder and textbooks from class to class. Unlike most kids I had an extra book on top of the stack. Usually a science fiction or fantasy paperback. Sometimes a hardcover from the mail order Science Fiction Book Club. I was such a nerd. Still am.

One day I became friends with a guy named Richard. The exact reasons are lost to the fog of time, but probably because of my science fiction book carrying. He carried around a three-ringed notebook binder like all the other kids. I remember it being one of the denim blue ones, which was pretty common at the time. I think I had the same one.

When Richard and I first met he told me he was a writer. I thought that this was an unusual thing for a high school student to say. Then he opened his notebook. The first page was completely filled with his tiny handwriting in blue ink. Then he turned the page. The next two pages were also covered with lines of his handwriting. Then he flipped through more and more pages. They were all filled with his handwriting. I couldn’t disagree with him. He was a writer.

We talked about books and TV shows.  He told me about his stories. I don’t remember much of it. What I do remember is that he suggested we write. He had some cool ideas. 

We were both fans of lots of science fiction TV shows, including Space: 1999. He had an idea for a series based on one of the first season episodes, Another Time, Another Place. In this episode the characters enter a parallel universe in which some of the main characters have died and the rest  have settled on a new world. Richard even came up with Another Time, Another Place logo done in the style of the Space: 1999 logo. He suggested that we write episodes set in the parallel universe. I agreed but never did write anything. I just couldn’t think of any stories. The universe was nowhere near as interesting as Star Trek’s mirror universe. Another idea he had was for an original series about a psychic private eye. He came up with a story bible and said let’s write some stories. This time I actually wrote. I started a story but I didn’t get very far and never finished it. 

We never worked together on anything after that. Time moved on. He graduated the year before me and we lost touch. I’ve thought about him once in a while as the years have passed.

A  few years ago I found a website that listed all the students from my high school. Students are listed by graduation class. It was nostalgic seeing familiar names and pictures. It brought back a lot of memories. It also made me feel quite sad. In a section labeled “In Memory,” I discovered that Richard had passed away. The year that he passed away is listed as unknown. I tried looking him up online but haven’t been able to find any information. 

I have a couple of notebooks that I use as writing journals. One is a daily journal and the others are writing study journals. I usually use a blue pen. I’ve filled up quite a few pages. Sometimes when I look at my pages I think of Richard. 

Next: What I Get Out of Writing and What I Hope to Get

My Struggles With Creating: The High School Years

"If today was not a productive day don't beat yourself to death over it. Wake up tomorrow and start from there. Try it. It works. We can't go back. We can only go forward. Let's go!" - Terry McMillan I wrote my first real short story in high school. Before that I had written some stories in grade school but they were no more than one page. This story was longer. It was for an assignment in an English class. I only remember the basics of the story. A warrior in an icy landscape enters a cave, descends into an underground complex, fights yeti like creatures, and retrieves an ancient sword. I had seen The Time Machine (1960) a few years before on TV and I had recently read the first Conan the Barbarian paperback.  

The story was written in pen on ruled notebook paper. As I wrote I made some edits by crossing out certain lines and adding in my revisions. We got our stories back with notes from the teacher in red ink. Next to one of my edits she had written something like “well done.” To this day I can still remember seeing the teacher’s note and how positive it made me feel.

You would think that would have motivated me to keep writing. Instead I wrote on and off for the rest of high school. A little of this, a little of that. Nothing consistent.The writing I did do was mostly influenced by television and movies. 

I wrote a movie review for an English class newspaper. Everyone was assigned a different task. Some students wrote articles, some students edited. I wrote a review for one of the Star Trek movies. The original series is a big childhood favorite of mine. As a huge fan I got a little carried away with my glowing praise. My student editor’s feedback was to tone it down. I saw her point and re-wrote it. I think the second version was much better. I rewatched the movie soon after. The second viewing really hit it home that I had overdone it in my first draft. It was a learning experience.

Another one of my favorite childhood television shows is Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. One of the local stations started showing it in the afternoon after school. I was also reading Starlog magazine religiously at the time. I devoured the TV show episode guides they often included. I got it into my head to plan a Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea reboot. I wrote a short series bible and came up fifteen to twenty episode ideas. I wrote a brief summary and a title for each episode. I never did write any of the episodes though. 

One time I got serious. Briefly. I joined an English club that published a school literary magazine. I went to a few meetings but never wrote anything. 

During my senior year I took a typing class. One day instead of typing out our assignment, I started a short story. I wrote about a page before I stopped and worked on the assignment. I finished it and turned it in. Soon after the teacher walked back to my desk, held out my assignment, and with a puzzled look asked, “What is this?” I had turned in my story page instead of the assignment. I grabbed the page, mumbled an apology, and handed her the actual assignment. I didn't finish the story. 

I eventually did finish another story. Some fan fiction. A Doctor Who short story. I may have been in university at this point. My memory is hazy here. 

I’ve often thought about that first short story of mine. I wish I still had it. I’d like to read it and see what I was trying to do. Well, it’s gone now. I’ll never be able to read that particular story again. But I can write a new one. So that’s what I’m going to do. 

Next: Richard the Writer 

Choices

“Something that you feel will find its own form.” - Jack Kerouac 

It’s funny how some memories can be really fuzzy, but others are as sharp as the day they happened. They stay sharp no matter how much time has passed. 

When I was in seventh grade, the other students in my class and I were handed some documents to take home to our parents. The documents explained what classes we would be taking the next year when we entered high school. English, science, history, math, etc. It also explained that we had to choose the final course, an elective. I wanted to take German but that wasn't offered until ninth grade. I scanned the list of classes and my eyes only saw one choice. I picked up my pencil and checked off art.

It was an easy choice. I was drawing all the time. I couldn’t remember a time that I hadn't been drawing. I had drawn my favorite toys, the starship Enterprise, the submarine Seaview, Christmas decorations, a bird skull, tigers, and the adventures of an alien with cheese in his name. Picking art as an elective in high school seemed like a natural progression.

When I got home I excitedly showed the papers to my parents. My father scanned the documents. He saw that I had checked art. He calmly erased it and changed it to shop class aka industrial arts. Working with wood and metal. I told him I’d rather take art. He told me that he had taken shop in high school and that’s what I would be taking. End of discussion. 

Except it really wasn’t a discussion. No one asked me what I wanted to take. No one asked me if it was okay to change my choice. It was just changed. To this day I still wonder why I didn’t speak up more or throw a tantrum or something.

So I wound up taking shop. I worked with metal but don’t remember finishing anything. I made a pretty nice spice rack out of wood. It was on the kitchen wall for a lot of years until my parents moved into a new house. Not sure what happened to it after that. 

During high school I lost interest in drawing. Instead of creating I started consuming. My interests turned to reading science fiction and fantasy, watching TV, and reading comic books. I devoured every issue of Starlog magazine. I flirted with writing a couple of times but I kept getting distracted. 

Fast forward to one day in twelfth grade, my senior year. Last class of the day. We were goofing around before the bell rang. One of my friends was drawing on the chalkboard. His drawing covered most of the board. Dragons, castles, and warriors. Suddenly I was thrown back to the day that my father changed my elective from art to shop. 

I hadn’t thought of that day in five years. I felt an overwhelming sense of regret wash over me. Regret for not speaking up. Regret for not taking art classes all through high school. But I also felt something else. I didn’t realize it at the time, but there was a tiny spark. Something that I hadn’t felt in awhile. It was back. The urge to create.

Next: A New Year

The Tiger Notebook

“Work inspires creation. Keep working. If you succeed, keep working. If you fail, keep working. If you’re interested, keep working. If you’re bored, keep working.” - Michael Crichton 

One day, years ago when I was so very young, I decided that I wanted to be a writer. So I bought a notebook. It couldn’t just be any notebook though. I chose carefully. 

In those days my parents bought all my school supplies at drug stores like Eckerds, or retail stores like Kmart and Target. I may have been with my parents or I may have walked out of our suburban housing complex and hiked up the hill to the outside world, and entered Eckerds on my own. The memories are hazy, I’m not exactly sure.

What I am sure of is walking up and down the stationery aisle checking out the notebooks. I found a spiral notebook with a photo of a tiger on the cover. It spoke to me. I knew it was the right one. 

I bought that notebook and told myself I was going to fill it with stories. So I started writing one and two page short stories. The first story was titled “A Tale of Two Planets.” Two worlds reach for the stars, meet, and chaos ensues. It was pretty simple stuff, but it was fun. 

I’m not exactly sure why I chose that notebook. Maybe it was because I love animals and I’ve always liked tigers. One of my favorite toys was a tiger figure that I had bought at the Frankfurt zoo. In hindsight though, I think it was also because the tiger represented my fierce desire to be a writer. I really, really wanted to write. 

I quit after three stories. I guess you could say life got in the way. It turned out that I wasn’t as fierce as the tiger on the cover of the notebook. But that’s a story for another time. 

In any case, here I am now. Years later. 

Writing. 

Next: Inktober Reflections 

Going Monthly

“You start by imitating others, there is lack of clarity, there are many reasons to fail. But there is a seed that slowly grows.” - Octavio Paz

When I was thirteen years old I went from drawing one page comics to making my own comic book. My stories were about the adventures of a martian named Green Cheese. I titled my comic Green Cheese Magazine. I drew a couple of one page stories and one longer story. One of the one pagers was a continuing story. I also wrote a fact page about space exploration. Finally, I added a contents page and a cover. The covers were simple affairs. I spent the least amount of time on those. I drew a rocket ship logo in the corner with the name of my imaginary comic book company, Galaxy Comics. I wrote the title and drew in a headshot and some spaceships. I did this all in pencil on notebook paper. Once I had enough for one issue, I put the pages in order and stapled them down the side. When I was done I got started on the next issue. I did this for one year and two months. I made fourteen issues. 

In hindsight I realize that I based the design of my comic book on the Scholastic magazines I was reading at the time. I have really fond memories of the Scholastic Book Club at school. I bought my first paperbacks through that book club. I also bought the Scholastic magazine, Dynamite, regularly. Each issue had a combination of articles, jokes, games, and comic strips. My favorite section was titled Superheroes Confidential which presented the origins of Marvel and DC superheroes in two pages of comics and a fact page. The covers featured characters from popular television shows. 

I still have every issue of Green Cheese Magazine. I went through them all recently and it brought back a lot of memories. The first thing I noticed was the huge influence television had on my storytelling. In the fifth issue I have a story titled “The Six Million Dollar Martian.” The sixth issue has a page of Martian ship designs all with Enterprise like nacelles from Star Trek. In the eighth issue I have a story titled “The Planet Eater” based on the Star Trek episode “The Doomsday Machine.” In another issue I have a story titled “The Space Station Z-1 Catastrophe” based on the first episode of Space: 1999.

My magazine went through some changes. My space exploration fact page became a joke page. That's right, from serious to silly. To me they were both important. I didn’t come up with my own jokes. I copied them from joke books and comic strips. I always added a credit though! When I tired of that I switched to a comic strip page. I cut out my favorite strips from the newspaper and taped or glued them on a page. I was looking for ways to keep the page count up and to make sure I got an issue completed every month. 

I’ve often looked back at this time in my life fondly. But in flipping through all fourteen issues recently something struck me, something that I hadn’t remembered before. Progression. As I put out out more and more issues I tried new things. I included a fold out poster in one issue. Another issue was a special all-color issue written and drawn in colored pencils. The biggest progression was in my art. I tried drawing new angles. I started added more details to panels. In one of the last stories I tried to put in as much detail in every single panel, including a full page battle scene. Nobody was pushing me to do this. I did it on my own.

I have yet to match this kind of creative output. Obviously I had a lot more free time as a kid but I had also had a stronger desire to create regularly. The closest I’ve come is this blog. I’ve been posting now for nine months. As I write this I realize that having some kind of schedule, some kind of deadline, even if it’s self-imposed, really goes a long way in getting creative things done.  Next: The Tiger Notebook

From Playing to Creating

“Imagine it, create it.” - Toni Morrison

When I was about ten years old, I decided to draw a comic. Up to that point I had spent my free time watching TV, reading comic books, and building model kits. I had tried my hand at making a comic book once before, two issues of my own Star Trek comic book. This time was different. It was my own creation and I wasn’t tracing panels from other comic books. Where did this come from? It started with playing outside.

Playing at the neighborhood pool one day, my friend and I pretended that we were defending Earth from an invasion from Mars. We sat on the ground and threw our beach blankets over our heads. Instant jet fighter cockpit. Then we took off and blasted flying saucers out of the sky. We were good, but not good enough. The Martian leader got away to fight another day. 

I named the Martian leader Green Cheese. That’s right, Green Cheese. As in “the moon is made of geen cheese.” But he’s from Mars. Kid logic.

Instead of fighting the Martians again ourselves, we started acting out their adventures with toys. We built airplanes, flying saucers, and a base to be destroyed. When the carnage was complete we rebuilt everything and started over. This was my first exposure to what would become one of my favorite childhood toys, Lego. 

To add to the fun I took some pieces from a board game and used them as the Martians. They fit perfectly in little spaces I made in the ships. 

  

Pretty soon the storyline changed. After a few attacks we modified things. The Martians were no longer the bad guys. They became good guys exploring strange new worlds.

While that was fun, it came to a point where I wanted to do more. I now had the desire to draw comics about Green Cheese the Martian. I found everything I needed from my school supplies. I grabbed pencils, loose leaf notebook paper, and a ruler. I drew eight panels on a page then filled them in with a title, art, and word balloons. One page, one story. It was some crude, poorly drawn, silly stuff. But it was so much fun. As soon as I finished one, I got busy on the next one. I started experimenting with panel sizes. One page stories turned into longer stories, each page ending with a cliffhanger. 

No doubts, no hesitation. Just the drive to create. That’s something I’m trying to recapture these days. 

Next: Going monthly! 

My Father and Reading

In the past, when I would think about my father, I would usually think how different we were. Now that he’s passed away I’ve been thinking about our similarities. I’m pretty sure that I got my love of reading from him. 

Up until the day he died, my father always had books around the house. He was always reading something. I have lots of books around my place now and I’m always reading something. 

When I first started reading books I started with short stories. I’m pretty sure that I checked out every collection of science fiction short stories from my high school library. 

One day my father took a look at one of the collections I was reading and recognized the authors. My father read a lot of science fiction when he was younger. He pointed out one author and told me to be sure to read that one, that I was sure to like it. This was during a phase when I was disagreeing with my father a lot so I saved the story for last. When I got to the story I was hesitant to read it. But I did. And I loved it. It was the best story in the book. 

Next: Education of a Wandering Man

Memories of Music

“It’s urgent, like literary appendicitis. In writing, you operate on yourself and save yourself.” - Ray Bradbury

I’ve never felt the need to write my own music, but I've often felt a strong desire to listen to it. Like a lot of things in life, it happened in stages. At first it was something I encountered in school, singing songs in music class. It was fun. Then I discovered my parent’s record collection. Tom Jones, Julie London, random Christmas albums. I don’t remember much of the music but I sure do remember the Julie London album cover of her in draped in furs, jewels, and nothing else. I mostly listened to the Christmas albums. When we visited my grandfather in Germany, I listened to a Herman's Hermits single that he had, over and over again. Eventually I got a small record player with a built in radio and I started buying pop music singles.

After listening to the radio and playing records, I decided that I wanted to do more. I got it into my head that I would be a DJ. We had a tape cassette recorder at home. I set up the tape recorder next to the record player. I introduced songs using the call sign of my imaginary radio station, then played the songs on my record player, all the while recording everything on the tape recorder. After filling up one side of the tape I'd stop and play the tape back as if listening to the radio. Doing things like that seemed so effortless back then. My DJ career didn’t last long though and like my other creative attempts I lost interest and moved on.

I discovered a real love of music when I was in high school. Specifically rock music. Jazz came later. One day while visiting a friend's house we were listening to record albums and tapes. We listened to a lot of stuff that day but one album really grabbed me, Heart's Dreamboat Annie. After going home I couldn't stop thinking about it. Soon after I went record shopping with friends. Up until then I had only bought a few singles. I bought my first LPs, Heart's Dreamboat Annie and Fleetwood Mac's Rumors. Eventually going to record stores became a regular thing.

The first record store I visited regularly was a place called Oz Records and Tapes. I seem to remember a yellow brick road winding through the place. They had a system where a flying monkey would deliver albums and tapes from one part of the store to the other. I'd be browsing records and a suddenly the monkey would fly overhead. No, it wasn’t a real monkey, but it was still pretty cool. Eventually I started shopping at Turtle’s Record and Tapes. Funny how animals were part of the record stores I went to back then.

When I was in high school my favorite band was Heart. One day my family and I were on vacation in Florida. Dad's driving, mom is sitting shotgun, and I’m in the back seat. We were staying in a motel by the beach and we were out getting lunch or something. The car had no a/c so the windows were rolled down. Heart started playing on the radio and my ears perked up. The song was “Barracuda.” Listening to one of my favorite songs, from one of my favorite bands, on a sunny day in Florida. Life was good. That memory is burned into my brain. Another band that I got into and became one of favorites is Led Zeppelin. One morning I was eating breakfast at the kitchen table before heading to my part time job at a supermarket. Looking out the window on sunny morning listening to Led Zeppelin’s “Going to California.” Another memory burned into my brain.

The first concert I ever went to was Fleetwood Mac. We had pretty good seats, off to the side but with a clear view of the stage. It was so interesting to hear live music for the first time. The songs were the same but the music was different somehow. Less polished but more raw. I loved it. More concerts followed over the years.  Heart, Boston, Van Halen, Aerosmith, Cheap Trick, The Police, The Go-Go's, Kitaro, Akina Nakamori, and Namie Amuro.

These days I’m into electronica. My favorites right now are a Emancipator, a DJ based in Portland Oregon, and The Glitch Mob, a band from L.A. After watching the first two John Wick movies I’m also into Le Castle Vania, a DJ based in Atlanta, GA.

I’ve been writing on the go a lot this year. I used to need complete silence to write. These days I can write in coffee shops, restaurants, and craft beer bars. If it gets too noisy I’ll put in my earphones and listen to music. Besides my short stint as a tape recorder DJ, my creative endeavours never involved music. Now music helps me tune out distractions and tune in to what I’m trying to put into words.

Next: How about some fiction?

Childish Things

“Genius is nothing more than childhood recaptured at will, childhood equipped now with man's physical means to express itself, and with the analytical mind that enables it to bring order into the sum of experience, involuntarily amassed.” - Charles Baudelaire

My memories begin in Germany. I was born there. Except for a year in California which I don’t remember, I lived in Germany until I was seven years old. My father was in the U.S. Air Force, stationed at Ramstein Air Base. He’s from New York. My mother is from Frankfurt. There was a year when my mother and I lived with my grandfather while my father was stationed in Greenland. When my father returned we moved into base housing. The kids in the neighborhood were from all over the U.S. We usually played in the wooded area behind our apartment buildings, acting out our favorite TV shows. We would run through woods shouting and having crazy adventures. We played a lot of Star Trek. It would be awhile before phaser and tricorder toys would be released. The right fallen tree branch, broken just the right way, made a pretty good type II phaser. It was all about getting the phaser grip angle just right.

The older kids had the coolest toys. The younger kids and I often watched them as they set up elaborate G.I. Joe dioramas in the playground. These were the 12-inch Joes, pre-Adventure Team. They also built awesome plastic model kits that we got to check out sometimes. One thing we all had in common though, were comic books. We all read comic books.

When a kid found out he was was about to move back to the States, he would pass on his comics to someone in the neighborhood. After awhile I had a pretty good collection going. I kept them stuffed in the bottom drawer of a dresser. A lot of them were in rough condition. They were read a lot. The drawer was full, but the only two I specifically remember are THUNDER Agents #7, with No-Man falling from a plane towards gangsters in a car, and Captain Action #1, with Captain Action holding a panther on a leash, pushing Superman out of the way. I’m pretty sure I had other issues of those titles as well. Years later I would put names to the creators. Wally Wood and Gil Kane stood out and are two of my favorite comic book artists to this day.

One day I found out that my father had gotten new orders. We were going to move to the U.S. and I was told that I couldn’t bring my comic books. It was my turn to pass on my collection. I remember sulking at the airport, complaining about having to leave my comics behind.

We moved to a small town in Georgia. I started at the new school and got settled. One summer vacation my mother and I returned to Germany to visit my grandfather. We stayed with him in his apartment, the same place we lived for a year while my father was stationed in Greenland. There was a small toy chest in the room I slept in. Inside I found an old comic book. It was an issue of Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos. Memories washed over me. The characters and the art were so familiar. It was like finding buried treasure and reconnecting with an old friend at the same time.

As a child I loved adventure shows, toys, and comics. Like most kids I ran around yards acting out adventures. I’m so much older now but those childish things have stayed with me. I don’t run around backyards anymore but do I keep thinking of stories. The difference now is that I want to organise them, write them down, and find out where they lead.

Next: A Writing Exercise