I wrote this for a contest I never entered. The theme was something like, why do you write, or here's a great way to wast your time.
I don't remember. It mentions comic books though.



There's a story just waiting to be written. It's big and sprawling and its notes litter my desk at home and fill the pages - both sides- of the spiral notebooks that I have tucked here and there.

Traces of it are everywhere, and hours have been spent writing it out. But this story, this idea that will make me rich, refuses to budge. It remains in the murky gray gunk inside my head, occupying that spot were all our great, million dollar ideas get stuck.

So instead of writing that, I'm writing this. It's small. Short and sweet. But, it's what I know (and that's what they tell you, right? Write what you know?).

I’m lucky. I get to do it whenever I want, write that is. I do it weekly, monthly, whenever I get a chance, and the pieces appear in the small local newspaper I work for. And each time, I hope to set something off inside a reader, to wrestle out fondness and emotion and give them a sense that, while we are all small, our ideas and memories are as big as anyone else's.

Do you remember that comic book I bought at the 7-11 when I was young - The Flash No. 300? No, of course you don't. It cost $1, big, big money back then.

I still have it, but you probably already guessed that. The book was thick and the Flash was as heroic as ever, his bright red and yellow costume leaving speed lines in its wake as our hero streaked across the cover, knocking members of his villainous Rogues Gallery down as he made his way from the back of the book to the front.

My juvenile eyes lit up and my mind raced as I pedaled my bicycle back home in search of the few extra quarters needed to obtain this new prized possession in waiting. The book has been well read, and while far from my first foray into the costume-clad world of four-color serials, it helped launch a moderately expensive love affair with collecting and
reading them.

I don't expect everyone to be able to relate to this exact story. But, I suspect that people have stories of their own that are just like it. Stories about toys, or trinkets, or people, small things that set off big memories, big feelings, and a warm fuzzy glow.

And that’s why I write.

*(title edited by Matt Linton)

Definitely NOT another dumb story. I've half a mind to edit your thread title.

Please do so, Matt. I like the sound of "Another story that is by no means dumb", myself.

You're not going to go wrong asking the people reading this thread to recall the kind of rush that you describe in such detail, John. Plus, I like the succinct nature of the piece. Very streamlined and immediate.

Wow! That one hit home.

Really honest and revealing, and wonderful for that. You did title this incorrectly, though, John.

Matt has now added 'Not' to the title of the thread, making my previous post seem like a backhanded compliment.

He shall be dealt with accordingly, at a time of my choosing.

Matt has now added 'Not' to the title of the thread, making my previous post seem like a backhanded compliment.

He shall be dealt with accordingly, at a time of my choosing.

I was so distraught, I double posted.

Not just because I'm an ignorant boob who can't work the internet properly. No, I'd never double post because of that.

I remember when "Flash" #300 came out! And sure enough, I didn't have money to buy it.

Edited down a bit, this makes a nice anecdote. Just the sort of story comics fans like to swap!

Wow. Thanks. I always thought the writing was a bit much, but that's just they way Saccenti Rolls I guess. (Mmmm. Saccenti Rolls). Plus, it does kind of sum up what I go for with a lot of my stuff.
Glad I put it out there to be read finally.

I have nothing clever to say about the thread title except that next time you may feel free to embarrass me in a suitable manner.

John. This was a great piece. Really took me back. So much so, that I had one of those instantaneous olifactory sense memories, you know, where I could actually smell the odd mixture of newsprint, pipe tobacco and candy that used to permeate the local stationary store where I bought my comics as a kid.

Well done.

Don't forget the ice cold Air conditioning and neon colored Slurpees.