A Writer's Treasure

I have always been a collector of quotes. I find myself in them, lose myself, get reaffirmed, encouraged, comforted, and sometimes, assured that I'm not crazy, like this one from F. Scott Fitzgerald: "Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person." If the fabulous Mr. F. felt that way, then maybe I'm not so weird. If you've ever lived with a writer, then you know what I'm talking about. We're a unique breed. I find comfort in the knowledge that I'm not the only one who struggles with focusing on one project, sticking to a deadline, finishing that manuscript before seeing another shiny project just waiting to pull me off task and write it, instead, and of course--the piles of paper. Back in the day, I kept file folders and spiral notebooks and would fill them with my story ideas, observations, catchy dialogues, and character notes. Now I use a cool app on my phone when I remember I have it. Going back and looking at them months or years later is hilarious-and puzzling. What in the world did I mean by, "Antique tractor. Whiskey. Labrador"? Is there some blockbuster lurking in those cryptic notes? Did F. Scott look back on his "idea journals" later in life and wonder what he meant by some chicken scratch note he made? I'd like to think so. 

The other day, my students became so intrigued with the idea that I have a black belt in taekwondo. That always sparks conversation. Suddenly I'm a ninja to them, and they afford me a new level of respect I didn't have before. This crew took it to a new creative level and came up with a story line for a movie about me, the English teacher by day who moonlights as a contract hit man; it stars them in various roles. It was actually quite good--good enough that I've tucked it away in my cool phone app for later. I may even get to it this summer if I don't finish the project I'm on and get distracted, that is. At my request, they even gave me a love interest, the father of one of the boys, our student body president, who is intent on playing himself in the movie as soon as he gets buff. Hey, I might as well have at least a fictional love life, right? One brilliant student suggested Gerard Butler's name for the role. How did he know? That student is getting an "A" this semester. Priorities. 

When I die, my children inherit at least six large boxes of spiral and composition notebooks, torn napkins, loose papers, and a cool phone app full of my weird story ideas, poems, diaries, character sketches, dialogues, and observations on life. I've thought of compiling them more neatly into something cohesive, but I fear losing the context in which they were created. That scrawled poem from the forlorn fourteen-year-old whose crush went unrequited takes me back every time; all I have to do is see those words and I am transported to junior high, and I wonder what the hell I was thinking. Laughing at or having compassion on my younger self is good therapy. To throw them away or digitize them might reduce their value, somehow, either sentimentally or perhaps realistically in some Christie's auction after one of my novels becomes the next Hunger Games or Twilight. I wouldn't want to deprive my children of that inheritance, now would I?