By Golly, They Really Do Have A Plan!

When I was in high school, my advanced English class got this bright idea that we should put together and sell a literary magazine. I mean, we were teenagers, and had no idea that it would actually take work to put one together, but nonetheless, we decided to go for it.

Our English teacher, John Cox, helped us out by giving us a theme for our first issue: Transitions. The high school I went to was actually a middle school combined with a high school, so there were students walking the halls who just two months before were in elementary school, now rubbing elbows with seniors. The transition wasn't very easy, and I decided that my little short story would focus on a kid transitioning from elementary school to high school. Imaginative, wasn't I?

Well, I had him dealing with a pesky sister (inspired by my own pesky sister), a bully (also inspired by my sister), and a teacher that just wouldn't leave him alone. I get to the end of this 1,200-word tome, and I'm thinking, "This is the sorriest piece of shit that I've ever put my name to." Sorry for the language, but it was really what went through my mind.

I had kind of a dangling end to the story, with the kid walking home. And I'm thinking, "Damn, I have to spice this up with something!" But the class period was almost over, and I had all of 30 seconds to finish it and turn it in to my teacher.

So, I have the kid walking home ... and for kicks, I had him trip. He was so annoying as a character, it gave me a chuckle. But then it struck me: He didn't just trip. He tripped over a body.

That, my friends, was the start of what became a four-part series that ran in this literary magazine, which sold out every issue each week this thing ran. It would be great, because once a month, after reading one of the parts, friends and people I never met came up and asked me what was going to happen next, and I said that it was a secret. But it would have an exciting ending.

The problem, however, was these people wanting to know how it ended were not alone. I, as the writer, also had no idea how it was going to end, or what the next part was going to be. I would write something new once a month, and hoped that it all would tie together some way or another in the end. I got lucky: It did.

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