Michael P. Fuller

Chronicles of a Nappi Head Michael P. Fuller

Sometime in the early 1990?s, I started writing on a ?typewriter?, that?s what I said, a ?typewriter?. I don?t know why I began writing, nobody asked me to write and I never considered writing as something I?d just do, but there I was clumsily, slowly but creatively pecking away. Writing down thoughts, ideas, streets, characters, chatter, dialogue and actions that actually made me laugh and or reflect. After some months had passed, I had finished my first complete story, which I never read again. But instead I threw it in a drawer unedited and unread by anyone. I began to write another story, which I eventually finished and again tossed it into another drawer, unedited and unread. Almost right away I wrote a play and again tossed it into another drawer. Talking about your closet writer! I continued to write short stories about events and relationships unplanned or outlined, letting the characters, times and places drive my way through each chronicle while piling story on top of story in my desk drawer. So what was it? Why did I continue to write? Hell, because I got off on it. I wasn?t trying to make a name for myself as an ?author? or try to become rich, but it was just for the time I spend alone in my writer?s closet with not a soul around to tell me what to do or where to go, how things should be done, or the heartache of the world we live in. I have determined that if nobody reads a word, writing is just something I like to do. Now, we?ve finally come to this, Chronicles of a Nappi Head. ENJOY