ohh sweet livejournal, i turn once more into your welcoming bosom in my time of need
school punched me in the face without any warning at all. i thought you were my friend, school. i thought i'd won you over; now it looks like all that work, all that self-abasement, all the time spent pretending to like the crappy CDs you played for me was in vain. you punched me in the face without any warning at all
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I don't remember the really early ones cause I self-deleted most of my memories pre-age-8. Theoretically I taught my little sister to read when I was five and she was three? "it was so cute" ...
but I do remember being in Jamaica and being absolutely hooked on TIME MAGAZINE MOVIE REVIEWS, by Richard Corliss etc., every week the thing I looked most forward to reading. These were the written descriptions of the movies in America that I would never be able to see. (( I showed them! )) Also, a backlog pile of older SCIENTIFIC AMERICANS was fun to go through the MATHEMATICAL GAMES sections by Martin Gardner.
that made me a writer?
Shit, son, nobody cares what I write. But I had a semi-sweet phase of doing "clackety clack" typewrtier writings and lots of them, playing the keys like a word piano, mid-twenties. PAGES! I understood what was meant by writers who worry about how many "pages" they produce in a day, cause indeed I would spend a day working at it, and at the end of that day, lo and behold there were PAGES of output. I remember the story of Ray Bradbury paying dimes at the library typewriters and banging out his sci-fi short stories as fast as he could.
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