I wrote it in high school -- in 1983, folks -- where it was published in our school literary magazine. Its title:
THIS IS NOT WHAT I INTENDED TO WRITE
"I think I have to go write now," I said, excusing myself with the best -- oh the very bestest -- of intentions.
Clever notions spilled out of my favorite pen and danced across the page -- but no Swan Lake, this -- more like the Disco Duck with a sore foot. My bright idea went jump, jump, jump down the paper giggling, "Here I am! Here I am!"
"Come back here, you little rascal!" I growled, one hand swooping like a bird of prey. But it wriggled away, clambering up the bookshelves, the little son-of-a --
Dejected, beaten, a tad perturbed, I drooped my head toward the desk. There -- lo and behold -- I discovered my opening line sitting splat at the head of the paper, sticking its tongue out at me. I lunged for the vile little creature, and my pen flipped backwards over my fingers and into the air.
It couldn't have come down yet, because I haven't found it.