We've talked a little about my fiction writing habit before. As long as I've been a reader, I've tried my hand at writing. I think you remember some of those early stories and journals. I brought you my trip journal from the move out East before I met you (Honestly, I wish I knew where that was now. I remember putting some hilarious things in there about Thunder Bay, ON and the sleeping giant. And then there was the hotel fire. Ahh, the adventures of my youth.) But, it was in the days I haunted your library that I really started working on fiction. My mom had an extra typewriter she'd brought home from the office that I would painstakingly henpeck out stories on: ghosts stories, strange doings on far away beaches, tales of lost memories and remembered friends, spy stories, mysteries. Fantasies.
There was the earthquake story from Freshman English with Mrs. R.. The spy short I wrote for Mr. D. in Computer class when he wanted us to write paragraphs.
