Fan Fiction before it was cool.

When I was in First Grade, I got a book in my Easter basket called "Mumpsy goes to Kindergarten".  It was written in 1945 and by my time had been reprinted into a tiny paperback book that cost like 29 cents at check out. 

I loved Mumpsy.  So I wrote a story about how she went to First Grade.  I told it to my mother and she typed it as I told it. 

The only things I can remember from my story was Mumpsy was shy and liked to show off her new mittens on her paws at the first snow of the year.

The Man From Lubeck

In 2002, I won a contest from Jane Magazine where I was able to take a trip anywhere in the world with a price limit of $2,500.  I decided to create my own tour of Europe -- one of those "It's Tuesday, so we must be in Malmo Sweden" kind of trips.

As I was leaving Germany, the Danish customs official was there checking us into Denmark while we were still in Germany.

There was a kid about 18 years old who they asked to empty his pack.  The customs official held up a strip of condoms that was as tall as the kid, and then the official confiscated enough alcohol to allow the entire country of Denmark to party hard all weekend.

My friend and I ended up staying in an empty train station with this kid for over six hours. (More on that later.)  By the time we had waited that long on the next train to arrive, I wished customs would have allowed it through and we could have had ourselves a party. 

The Duct Taped Bathroom Door

Israel.  My friends and I had gone to the Dead Sea that day, and they had the bright idea of hiking up Masada the next morning during sunrise.  So we spent the night in that area.  We headed to a bar which was about the only place open at two in the morning.

I really, really needed to use the bathroom.  Found out there was only one bathroom -- the women's was shut down and we were to use the men's.  Evidently the door had been torn off in a brawl or something because it was attached to the frame with ONLY duct tape.

I'm short, and there was no way to latch it, so I had to use the toilet and just hope no one came in.

While I was sitting there, the door to the bathroom opened, and a man was looking right at me while I was using the toilet.  I just smiled, said, "Hi" and went about my business. 

Youth Group Caroling 1988

Pretty much each year, leaders of a youth group arrange caroling to a local nursing home.  This one year, we were split into smaller groups of about four or five.  Most of us had a rather uneventful evening except for one group of girls.

When we met to take the vans back to the church, these four girls were talking a mile a minute in high pitched voices.

"He had nothing on."
"Nothing!"
"We saw everything!"
"We ran out of the room!"
"Totally naked!"

My youth leader looked at them and calmly said, "We came for a learning experience and you should accept it as such."

Mike drop.

I'm Tired. I'm a Writer But I'm Not.

I'm middle aged.  Probably even more so because who all lives until age 80?  I know my parents didn't.

I loved telling stories when I was growing up.  I had notebooks filled with "novels".   I had short stories.  I could turn pretty much whatever into a story.

Then I became driven.

First to graduate high school at age 15.  Which I did.

Then to start college at age 16.  Which I did.

Then to save the world for the Lord Jesus Christ.  Which I tried.  I made the worst missionary.

Then to figure out what live was about.   I'm still doing.

To become financially secure.  Which I failed at.

I'm just tired.  I'm in my twentieth year of selling on eBay.  I took care of my mother for years.  I don't regret it.  But I lost myself.

I have stories.  There was the time I was in an argument at the Peace and Love Bar.  The time a koala used me as a potty.  The time I crossed the Baltic Sea with a Ben Stein look alike.  Drank a beer with a former teacher.  How many people know what that feels like?  Slept on a picnic table in a foreign country.  Got so lost I ended up at China.  Really.

I have stories.  I've been trying to write for years.  Aside from a piece published in a Chicken Soup book, I've been letting others tell me how to write.  What makes money.

I tried blogging.  I had to write focusing on money.  And it never came to me.   I wouldn't recommend the big courses or hosting or whatever that brought most bloggers so much money.

But I have a voice.  I have stories.  Stories that entertain, teach, and just are funny.

So I had this thought. . . What if I started a blog about what I want to write about, just to tell my stories.  No SEO optimization.  No hearing I have to have an e-mail list, no nothing.  Just a place for me.

What if I just added a tip jar to my blog instead of trying to hock all sorts of stuff so I get a small kick back?  If a blog post speaks to some, they could tip me.  Or a regular reader.  But not make money the main reason of my blog.

A place where I can share fun findings from family history, be real, be honest, and let my voice be heard.

Let's try this.