Writing Again

Blogging is changing my life. I feel like a maple tree with the sap running, as the "creative juices" flow like they haven't in a long time. I wake up at 3 AM, my mind racing as an entry is practically writing itself in my head. I have to get up and write it down in case it is forgotten (very likely!) by morning. I carry a pen and little notepad when I walk the dogs to jot down ideas as they strike me. Several drafts have flowed with few corrections, while others have required extensive rewriting and even a little research. I've had one in progress for over a month, and still haven't fine-tuned it to my satisfaction.
I have loved writing since I was a kid. I composed a song for our Barbie doll rock group that my sisters still torture me with. "There's a strange, strange world comin' round the bend. It's so cool I hope it never ends..." In grade school I took a long epic poem that my class read and set it to music. The teacher thought it was wonderful and had me sing it, along with my pitiful guitar accompaniment, in front of the class. "The moon was an ivory saber (TWANG) snared on an ebony gown" (TWANG TWANG) Ten or more verses of this, all to the same tune. It's a wonder my classmates didn't stone me at recess.
Junior high was my most prolific period, when I churned out 40 or more stories of mystery, romance, and intrigue. My characters had hip names like Mux Pendretti and Scooter Avery. The guys had cleft chins, and the girls had dialogue like "Janet, I love your new hip-huggers!" I typed these masterpieces on a dysfunctional manual typewriter, and my sisters were my first audience. They loved to recite my typos in dramatic voices: "Her heart was in her thrat." (My daughters have read them now, too, so I've endured a second generation of gleeful ridicule.)
Poetry has always come easily to me--not the image-filled, profound meaning stuff that I taught to bored high school freshmen--but rhymed and rhythmic verses. I wrote a corny poem about friendship for my high school graduation speech, then tried to pass it off in an assignment for my college creative writing class at UW-Eau Claire. "D!!! Too cliched!" the professor wrote on it. I'd never before gotten a D on anything! He later gave me an A on a short story I wrote, and it was published in the campus fine arts magazine. I sent a poem on homesickness to my mom: "The ache begins in tiny swells, then rises to a peak. You want to leave, but know that you must face another week." Etc... Mother, #1 literary agent, sent it to the Melrose Chronicle for publication. In recent years I've specialized in stuff written for friends' birthdays, retirements, and other irreverent occasions.
In the '90s, I sold a few greeting card ideas. I got no attribution on the finished cards--the artist got that--but the biggest thrill of my writing life was seeing one of my cards in a Wausau gift shop!! I ran screaming out into the mall to drag Fred in and show him. My plan is to get a new Writer's Market and try my hand at that again.
In the meantime, blogging is a blast. I feel like Dave Barry or Erma Bombeck--with an audience of a dozen! But that's ok, I'm having fun--and I hope my readers are, too.