I love writing.
I always have.
When I was in fifth grade, I found a manilla file folder in my brother’s closet with Top Secret handwritten on the tab.
Thinking I had discovered some ill-gotten government documents, I opened the file with the full and complete understanding that I might be risking my life by doing so.
Inside, on ruled looseleaf, I found a story that borrowed heavily from “Red Dawn.” With middle-school logic, the story explained that the Russians were invading Sacred Heart, an elementary Catholic school in the North County of St. Louis.
In response, my brother and his friends somehow rallied against the heavily-armed Commies with apples and lunch trays.
My mind reeled. Having not seen “Red Dawn,” I was immediately fixated upon the ability to create a world out of whole cloth. Even better, this world would be entirely under my control.
This was preferable the world I found myself in, which is to say friendless and alone. From third grade to my sophomore year. It affected me deeply.
And one thing that gave me an edge, a momentary tipping of the social scales in my favor, was writing.
I remember that I asked my teacher if I could read a story in class and that the reaction of the audience, my peers, was so intoxicating that I knew I had to do it again.
In sixth grade, I wrote my own version of “Top Secret,” which I titled “Top Secret.” Guess what it’s about.
Russians attacking Sacred Heart. Me and my friends rally against the heavily-armed Russians with apples and lunch trays to save America from Communism!
I read this story chapter by chapter to my sixth grade class, eliciting responses of enthusiasm from people who generally regarded me as a pesterbug.
Obviously, I added in members of The Great Ones to hopefully improve my standing with the coolest kids in class. And then came the requests.
“Put me in your story!” pleaded Matt Sisul, the guy I suckerpunched after he was goaded into attacking me.
“Gimme fifty cents,” I said, not realizing that in 2022 I would sound like Pappy Russell tellin’ tales out of school.
But, yeah, I got the fifty cents. And yeah, I put Matt Sisul in the next chapter. And yeah, I killed him off at the end of the chapter. And yeah, he paid me another fifty cents to resuscitate him
So I’ve known since at least the age of 11 that people might be willing to pay me to write.
But since then? I’ve just been on ADHD disaster after another.
I wrote for “The Maneater” at Mizzou in college. Loved it. The fucking best. Then I got my girlfriend pregnant and I became a surveyor’s assistant.
Boooooooooooo… (to the surveyor’s assistant, not being a Dad … I was born to Dad).
About a year later, I got the chance to be the Sports and Leisure Editor for the newspaper on a military base. And it went great until I got fired for something to that could be chalked up to ADHD deficits. I should sue the Army.
After that, I just wrote because I loved it. I just love writing, both fiction and nonfiction. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do for my livelihood. But I have ADHD and I am incredibly intimidated by the traditional process that most people become professional writers.
That is, you either write a thing or propose writing a thing and persuade people to give you money for it. I’ve written many, MANY things, but getting people to pay me is a totally different animal altogether.
But now, I’m in a pinch. My wife and I separated in April after 15 years (18 total) and I need to move out very soon. I have two girls (and a boy, but he’s grown and thriving) and my income will maybe, just support us. Not sure. I’ve never done this before. None of this.
I’m still interested in doing the side business previously mentioned, but until I have that $150, I know I can write. And at some point, I will ask those of you who are able to contribute.
I’m not sure how this all will work. For now, I’m just writing again, motivated by the desire to make things work for us in the near term. But I’m also writing for me in the long term. Because I just enjoy writing, whether it’s digesting research or just recalling something that happened to me as a child, which I’m only now realizing is not normal in the least.
I commit to writing at least once a night (even if it’s just “Hey, I’m too drunk to write!”) and eventually will have a paywall for the more substantial pieces I write (because reading research requires significant time).
Consider a paid subscription a tip jar. If you just like my writing and have the disposable income, I appreciate the support. If you don’t, I will still share much of my thoughts through this forum. I will also share on Twitter.
Alright, I’m gonna wrap this completely unpersuasive first post. I didn’t even explain how RS ties into this. Just consider this a test run. I’m not proofing it or anything. This is Raw Shannon. This is what you’re here for. Right? I hope so.