I don't remember what my first tools were. Crayons and pens, I suppose. I still have a few stories I wrote before I ever learned the word "plot." I remember using BASIC to program interactive fiction like the old Zork series. That was in the short time between my buying a Commodore 64 and it folding. Lousy toolbox ruined my tools, right? There were computers at school, but there were only so many minutes a day I was allowed in the computer labs in fifth grade. I remember petitioning the principal with another student, because we wanted to be allowed to skip recess to write.

There was a school spirit contest at Richfield Elementary School. Justin Engasser and I designed and made a flag which one first place. The cheerleaders from the high school came to what I guess could be called a pep rally, so Justin and I got most of them to sign them. We tried to get phone numbers, too, but it wasn't like we could see that far past puberty.

I was in a program called AEP (to this day I have no idea what it stands for) where we made our own books from scratch, starting with the story, continuing with pictures, and ending with spiral-bound books that we entered into a regional contest. We studied Greek mythology and I wrote a song called "Sorry I caved in your chest" as sung by Hercules to the brother he killed when he was a baby. My tool for that song was my hand punching the bed as a beat as I sang my song into a tape recorder.

In high school, of which my memory is more vivid, my toolbox had in it any number of generic pads, pens (rollerball or felt tip preferred), and a guitar. Writing songs in high school was a great creative outlet, when that outlet had to be squeezed between classes (during the day), work (at night and weekends), and courting the woman I married last year (whenever possible). I've never had the discipline or dedication to take my guitar playing seriously, and, though I still enjoy it, I've always known I lack the passion it would take to succeed as a performer or composer.

I still have my first guitar, a cheap Yamaha acoustic purchased from Chuck Schreiner in eighth grade. This workhorse served me well as my only instrument for over three years. At one point in college I used duct tape to keep it together. I had a friend in the music ministry, so I lent him this duct-taped piece of work and he disappeared. A year later, he reappeared and returned the guitar. Though it's not something I remember well, I did give the guitar a name when I first got it. I was into blues and maybe my imagination wasn't working so well at the time, because I named it after B.B. King's guitar. Kind of ironic for a creative tool. Last year, I bought a stand for it.

I had a cheap Charvel electric for a while. I rarely played it, though, and ended up giving it to my brother Sean. My other Charvel, though--an acoustic/electric 625c (where the c stands for "cutaway") that I got my senior year of high school--was a great instrument. Rosewood sides, beautiful pegs that had to be replaced the first time I strung the instrument, and a built-in pickup with an equalizer that actually sounded pretty bad. I maintain it was a great instrument, though. It still breaks my heart what happened to her. I needed the money in college, so I put her up for consignment at Musician's Bargain Basement in Kenmore.

That was just before the fire. I received an insurance check for the sale price of the instrument six months later.

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