I peaked as a writer at 12 years old
No, sorry. It’s not Friday yet, when The Mix Tape usually arrives. But I have mid-week post I want to share with you.
It was early in March of 1986. Spring lapped at the winter’s edges, but lacked the force to break through the frozen stronghold over Mid-Michigan.
As a twelve-year old, I dreamed of summer. Baseball and bike rides.
In alternate universes named Florida and Arizona, Major League Baseball players practiced under sunshine and temps I could only dream of. I read about the games in newspapers and absorbed prognostications in magazines.
I decided to make a foray into sportswriting by creating a baseball predictions magazine. I analyzed. I wrote. I illustrated. I even served as printing press and distributor, sharing my creation with a limited and exclusive readership.
To my delight, my dad liked it. He even showed it to a couple of his friends.
My creation could have made the New York Times Bestseller List and I wouldn’t have felt more accomplished.
That was the most fun I ever had writing. It was the proudest my writing ever made me.
I never did anything like it again.
But twelve-year-old me is still waiting, tapping his foot, arms crossed. He wants to have fun again.
So I’m indulging him with an experiment in note taking and writing.
It’s a baseball newsletter called Notes on Baseball. It’s free, short, and will be published daily.
Notes On Baseball is a separate newsletter from The Mix Tape, and I won’t auto-subscribe you. So please consider joining us.
Your twelve-year-old self might like it.
You can subscribe to Notes on Baseball here.