Let's Talk About Conspiracies

For as long as I can remember, which is to say, since I was about 4 or so, I've always loved to read. I read voraciously. I read like a starving man gulps water. I read with fanaticism in my heart and head.

As a law student, I'm required to read roughly 200 pages of cases and explanatory text each night. Every night, when I finish reading a funny, if antiquated, opinion by the ultra-hip Judge Learned Hand (Who names their son "Learned Hand?") I'll pick up a book and read until I fall asleep.

And I tell you true, I remember almost everything I read.

I could tell you the plots to any number of Hardy Boys Mysteries I read at age nine. I could chart Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth from memory. I can tell you exactly what happens in a comic book I read at age thirteen, if only you show me the cover art. I don't say this to brag; after all, what kind of person boasts about remembering meaningless plot developments? I merely point out you REALLY don't want to play Trivial Pursuit with me.

I won't even bring up my encyclopedic knowledge of Classic Rock.

Tagging alongside my appetite for the written word is my equally ever-present need to write. Scenes, plays, fiction, satire, high fantasy, introductions without material to be introduced, you name it. Most often, I find myself writing feverishly for about 5 pages, depicting characters I've never thought about beforehand, in situations with no backstory. I consider these to be "middle" bits, of stories I have not written.

I often wonder if I could take all those little "middle" pieces, put them together, and get an entire book out of them. If I ever try it, and it works, I have no idea what kind of book it will be.

I find myself thinking along these lines because, I really haven't tried to write anything in months. Then, on a whim, I've begun this little 'blog. I don't know where I'm going with it yet, or even if I want it to go anywhere at all.

I think I was hoping to be funnier?