Paper, Part Two

I found even more random shit in one of my piles of paper today. Underneath all the files of important paper I discovered a stack of notebooks. I forgot that I had brought any of them with me. In these notebooks were some old scribblings, and a short story that I wrote in high school. I was mildly impressed by it and surprised at what I was writing about. I wrote a "fictional" story, but really it was basically a compilation of moments in my life. It was quite personal and I can't believe that I handed it in to a teacher.
One notebook that I recognized contains bits and pieces of a story that I spent at least two years attempting to write. This notebook has character outlines and back story and scenes. I remember trying to write this story, I would work for hours on this story. I'd sit in my room and write it in that blue notebook or I'd type new pieces into the computer. Reading it again after years it's not awful but it makes no sense, it's a bunch of ideas that I managed to stretch into a story. Oh and I never finished this story that was supposed to be something significant, I think I just gave up.
Oh the wierd things I keep around.
These discoveries reminded me of when I used to write almost constantly. When I wasn't paying attention in class, I was writing something. If I was sitting in my room late a night, I was writing. I find myself writing less and less, maybe it's because I'm not as depressed as I was back then, or that now writing is apparently work. I'm hoping that this silly blog will help me remember that I enjoy writing. So bear with me when I'm self indulgent, like in this post.