Maybe I Should Write a Book

I’ve had the idea of writing a book floating around in my head for a long time.

Sometimes the story seems like it’s there. I can see pieces of it, I have ideas, I can imagine where it might go… and then I start trying to actually plan it out and realize I have no idea where the story goes.

My latest thought was to somehow tie fiction and non-fiction together. Take my life, my experiences, the things I’ve done, the places I’ve lived, the people I’ve met, the happy stuff, the sad stuff, the weird stuff, and exaggerate it into a fictional story.

Sounds easy, right?

Except for one little problem.

What’s the plot?

Am I in over my head thinking about writing a book?

I watch a lot of movies and TV shows while I work, and in the evenings my family and I have burned through quite a few series: The X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who, Angel, Suits, and many more.

When I watch these shows, I’m always—well, mostly—impressed with the stories they come up with.

And that’s where I’m struggling.

The plot.

Sure, I could go to some AI program and type in everything I’ve told you here and say, “Give me some ideas.”

But I don’t really want to do that.

If someone else gives me the idea, is it really my idea anymore?

Maybe that’s silly, but I think I’d rather figure this one out myself.

As I get older and think back, there are a lot of things I have to say. I’m not sure everyone wants to hear them, but it would be nice to leave my family something. Something they could read, think about, laugh about, maybe even learn something from.

But at the same time, that’s not necessarily the end goal.

For the last couple of decades, I’ve gone back and forth between the idea of writing a fiction book and writing an autobiography—probably just for my family.

Which is kind of odd.

I’m not a writer.

I’ve never really been a writer.

My dad edited my papers in college. My wife edited them when I was getting my Master’s degree. These days, I have AI reread my emails—although not all of them, just the important ones!

I’m a computer programmer. I like math. I like programming.

I don’t particularly like writing.

I don’t even particularly like reading.

So why the hell do I have this urge to write a book?

I play a lot of word games—Scrabble, Wordle, Boggle, whatever—and I’m somehow pretty good at them. I don’t speak particularly well, I don’t use big words, and when I do use them, there’s a pretty good chance I’m using them incorrectly.

I make up words all the time.

Yet here I am.

I want to write a book.

So what interests me?

What could be the idea I could actually run with?

I’ve been in the computer field for about 30 years. I’ve had computers in my life since the ’80s, when my first computer was a Commodore 64. I’ve played video games basically my whole life, starting with my Intellivision.

I’ve lived in multiple states: Oklahoma, Texas, Delaware, Georgia, Kansas, and Pennsylvania.

I’ve traveled quite a bit.

I played baseball through college.

I’ve held a bunch of different jobs—from working at a traveling carnival to being an official scorekeeper for a minor league baseball team to eventually becoming a Director of IT.

I’ve experienced a lot.

The story is there.

I just don’t know where.

And I think that’s what is driving me crazy.

I feel like once I figure out the right idea, I could put something together.

Maybe that’s overly optimistic.

Maybe writing a book is a lot harder than I think it is.

Maybe I’ll write 20 pages and decide this was a terrible idea.

But I like to think I have a good imagination. I have stories in my head. I’ve experienced a lot of things. There has to be something in there.

I think it would be fun.

A fun challenge.

So maybe that’s where I start.

First, come up with the idea.

Then an outline.

Then some words.

And maybe, eventually, a book.

And as I get older, maybe it becomes something else too.

A way to connect with my history.

A way to preserve some of my family’s stories.

A way for my kids—or maybe someday their kids—to know a little more about the person I was before they knew me as “Dad.”

I don’t know what the book is yet.

I don’t know what the plot is.

I don’t even know if it will be fiction or non-fiction.

But I’ve been thinking about writing it for a couple of decades.

Maybe it’s time I actually try.

Now I just need to figure out what the hell I’m going to write about.