Writing
The writing bug first hit back in grammar school. I vaguely remember writing a 'ghost' story in 8th grade that bore a distinct resemblance to one of the Three Stooges' movies. Other than school assignments, my first pen to paper for myself had to date back to junior year of high school. We were 'treated' to a 'multi-media' presentation by Chris DePino where he wrote 4 poems and put them to music. I liked the idea and volunteered when the instructor asked for volunteers to do likewise. However that was not to be as I was without transportation and couldn't work with another student. But that didn't stop me from attempting to write poetry and use music and sound effects to back it up. The poems got written but never recorded, but that did lead me to produce some electronic music.
Below is one of the poems from that period, which was eventually published in one of those vanity compilations:
Through the streets of towns,
we walked alone.
Down country roads,
we walked alone.
Through fields and forests,
we walked alone.
The towns and cities are gone,
where we walked alone.
The fields and forests are gone,
where we walked alone.
Now you walk alone....
....don't make our mistakes.
(Copyright Steve Tomporowski 1969)
You'll notice two things here: My sci-fi bent and the normal, what I see now in my son too, teenage tendency to see things always in 'black'.
The last poem I had ever written and published was in 1982. You'll notice the similarity of subject. I guess I quit with poetry because the 'depression' of early youth was gone (whatever!).
The sun rises itself over the city of my birth.
I see it in the twilight of its life,
without shape, color or mirth.
I sit here lonesome and play my pipe.
The long shrill notes hang over the earth
caressing each other in a vision of solitude,
making the sight darken without cause.
I shall play forever without pause.
It fades from my mind in the reddened sky.
the flames roar up, the city dies.
I silently curse the pang of memory,
knowing full well the sweet melancholy it brings.
The rays of the old one light the corners of my mind
and the feeling flows out like the river to the sea.
I remember the cobblestones and the woodpath no more,
the enlightened meadow darkens the mind.
I catch a fleeting glimpse of that which once was mine.
And wonder why they had done it.
The world is still for me and the glade.
I must bright the sheep back together.
I don't like the looks of the weather,
black clouds rolling.
I wish they hadn't done it;
I wish to God they hadn't done it.
Majestic towers fade in the sunrise of my mind.
Till the next night I will dream again.
Of glories won and riches found and people beyond count
and a life of freedom and spirit; a life of lives.
The dream evades me now as peace evaded them.
God, I wish they hadn't done it.
(Copyright 1982 Steve Tomporowski)
From this point on, I went to prose. Still the in the sci-fi theme,
however I was always an extensive reader and some of the stuff I read really got
me into character development. You can't be a writer and not be affected
by Gene Wolfe's Book of the New Sun....More Writing