I peaked as a writer at 12 years old

Hi everyone!

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.

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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.