Everyone tells me I need a blog. So here I am trying to “blog.” I don’t have a clue. I guess you just spill your guts about whatever pops into your mind. So I have this blank sheet of paper in front of me—and a blank mind. Yes. I said “blank sheet of paper” because that’s the way I write: with lined composition paper and a No. 2 pencil.
That’s the way I started when I was in 6th grade back in the dark ages. Mapril Easton and I filled pages and pages of Big Chief tablets with rambling tales of horses and cowboys and Indians and pioneer settlers. Mapril’s mom was our teacher in a one-room school complete with a wood stove and a three-hole outhouse. Straight out of Little House on the Prairie, only in rural Oregon. While Mrs. Easton worked with younger kids, Mapril and I would ignore that list of math problems she had given us and lose ourselves in making up adventures for Dangerous Dan and his wonderful horse Rusty or some such.
So that’s how it started: Lined paper and a No. 2 pencil. Today, of course, there is another step—one involving a computer with which I have what can only be described as a love-hate relationship!