More in reverse

The stroll down memory lane continues. Today, I heard from the first person who identified me as a writer, Krista Baker.

In 7th grade English, the entire class was told to keep a journal. I don't recall if we had writing assignments every day, but they were frequent and we had to read them aloud. Mostly, if memory serves, they were minor essays about stories we read in class or book reports. As a kid with a pretty inconvenient stammer and quickly diminishing sense of self-worth, I looked forward to reading my work then about as much as I look forward to a prostate exam now. I liked to write, but never considered I might be any good at it.

Around Halloween, however, we were asked to try our hand at a ghost story. As might be expected, I was already into Stephen King books and slasher movies. I dove into it.

I don't remember what the story was about except it was disturbingly violent. Friends of mine told me they thought it was cool, but we all moved on. Some time later, Krista (a girl, even) wrote in something she had to read to the whole class that I wrote really scary stories. She sounded impressed and other people agreed with her.

I was stunned. I did something right. So, I kept doing it. I sent her an email telling her I finished the rough draft of a novel. I wonder if she remembers.

So, anyway, I heard from her today. On my time line, I'm back to middle school. I'm going to be really disappointed if it turns out at the end of the week, I get hit by a bus or something.

Strange days, indeed...