Dear Journal,

I was talking to a friend of mine on Facebook yesterday, who happens to be another writer. The conversation was just a simple one about organizing our story plots, and how it is we achieve this. It’s something a lot of us talk endlessly about.

Like all other authors, I’ve tried so many different ways to keep track of plot points and characters. Thinking back on my first attempt at writing, I remember that I did nothing to plot the book out. I didn’t even have an idea as to how it would end.

It’s something that’s called pantsing, meaning I was simply writing by the seat of my pants. And being such a writer at that time, I would be referred to as a pantser, which sounds like a harmless tank that imagine would be operated by kittens wearing helmets.

Anyways, my attempt at writing this book occurred back in my early twenties. At the time, I was obsessed with writers like Kerouac, who was able to do copious amounts of drugs, live a fascinating life, and pound a typewriter for two weeks to produce a book. I could have done the drugs part, but the rest would have been a huge failure.

I did, on one strange night, get drunk on red wine and try my chance at writing whatever fanciful thing came into my head. When I woke up the next morning and looked at what I wrote, I saw that while it was very lovely writing, it made absolutely zero sense.

So this was the time period that I attempted to write my first novel; which, as I’m unable to find it, I will refer to it as The Lost Book. After speaking with my friend, Matthew, I went looking for the manuscript, which I know is somewhere. I asked my wife, and she said it’s in a box somewhere, confirming my original deduction that actually does exist somewhere.

And the most annoying thing about somewhere is that it is a limitless thing. If I said it was here, it would be a very definable place, one that I could easily describe to you. Saying somewhere just means that it exists… that’s the only discernable fact regarding The Lost Book.

For all I know, it could actually be in a trash bag at the bottom of a landfill in Columbus, Ohio, buried under a decade’s worth of garbage. I don’t remember it as being a really good book, but it had some little gems in there, and some funny parts. If anything, it would be nice to see how far I’ve come as a writer.

Until next time; I will keep you updated on my search for The Lost Book. My next stop is our storage cage in our communal basement. Wish me luck!

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