Childhood Stories

A young writer and his brother, note the diaper

My blog is pretty young, but I’ve already gotten over 800 hits. (If you’re reading this thank you.)   As you may or may not know I’ve been involved with the comedy group Big Dog Eat Child for almost 8 years now, as a writer and a performer.  I started writing, creatively at least, when I was 8 years old.  Writing is something I’ve always enjoyed doing as long as I can remember, provided I could write creatively.  I never liked English class, except for the one or two assignments a year where they let me write about something other than my goddamn summer vacation.  The exception was the second grade.  I had Mrs. Lynn as a teacher, and she let me write creatively for extra credit.  To this day I remember her as the best teacher I ever had. 

Stony Creek, where I spent my formative years

Unlike most kids in 1992, my dad was a network engineer and I typed my assignments.  I have most of the stories I wrote to this day, and I’m going to start posting them on this blog.  It won’t always be pretty.  Some stories are better than others, and some are downright awful, but at least they’re all short.  All stories will be presented in their original misspelled glory.  I will provide commentary into my 8 year old self’s creative process, such as it was.  I mean, I’ve gone back and read all of these stories, and even I can’t always tell what I was the fuck I was trying to say. 

The first story posted will be “The Monk Battle” from April 22^nd, 1992.  Newer stories will be added in chronological order whenever possible.  I hope you get to see how my writing process progressed over the years; that is assuming my style has progressed over the last 18 years.  Over time I may add things that were written more recently, however it is doubtful that some of the stuff I wrote in high school will ever be less than soul destroyingly embarrassing.  (As a side note: One time my wife, back when she was my girlfriend, was going through the files on my computer and some of the ones written in Junior High with names like “diary” were password protected.  I’d like to take a moment and thank my fourteen-year-old self for thinking so far ahead.)    

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