Bodies Recovered: 0

So I already told you all how I was cleaning my bedroom. Amazingly enough, I've kept it clean since that post. I'm so proud of myself--I think I'll get a cookie.

[...]

Anyway, now that my mouth is full, I'd like to brag a bit more. A few days ago, much to the surprise of anyone who's seen my room, I CLEANED MY CLOSET.

:O

Yes, I did it. Finally. I moved a ton of crap to the basement [childhood stuff... things I barely remember] and powercleaned the shelves. I even folded all of my sweatshirts and arranged them in a neatly fashion.

OCD? A bit. But it doesn't bother me.

The best shelf to clean [and the worst] was the one in which I've housed all of my writing for nearly eleven years. Ever since I learned how to write stories, I've kept them. I am a bit of a pack rat, but I feel it's worth it.

As I threw notebook after notebook into an ever-growing pile on the floor, I read. I found my very first story, entitled "The Old Lady and the Dog," and read it. Next came all of my stories from elementary school, followed shortly by the first novel I attempted to write, still unfinished.

So many ideas I've had--so many books and stories I've tried to write. And yet, I'd never finished one up until The Hidden. If I had unlimited time on my hands and a place where no one could bug me, I would sit down and finish them all. I'd finally complete those hundreds and hundreds of stories.

I'd finish Z's adventure on her home planet. Mindy and Stan would get their happy ending. Lyndey would find her mother and escape poverty. Anna Calvin would get out of her loathesome marriage. Shari would make the best friends she'd ever had at the lake. Abby would sacrifice herself to set her sister free.

But most importantly, and at the top of my list, the seven hidden children would get to tell their story. The characters I created in The Hidden would finally get their prequel and sequel. Every night, if I'm not too tired, I try to write, to finish The Emperor and The Heiress before I die. It's a reasonable goal, don't you think?

I don't care if I ever get published--I would love to, and it would make me very happy, but it's not why I write. I don't write to be famous one day. I write because my mind creates characters who becomes so real, so tangible to me that I have to tell their stories. THEY are my priority.

So no, Jimmy Hoffa wasn't in my closet, nor any other bodies for that matter. But I found the people I've been looking for, and I don't intend to let them slip away.