Writing is sometimes like a sudden car crash to the senses. I find myself locked into my laptop, my fingers flying over the keyboard, totally engrossed in my characters and stories only to be rudely interrupted by the reality of life. It's jarring. The impact leaves me startled and confused.
What is the reason? I'm a mom, wife, and slave to the occupation of adult who has to work for a living. Oh yes, I wish the life of a writer was glamorous. I wish I could say that wine in hand (a total given) I gaze out at the luxury beach million dollar home I own, able to stay home and conjure stories from the depth of my imagination that will lead to the next bestseller list tomorrow. Ironically, that is not the case. Go figure.
What I absolutely enjoy, what inspires me to come back repeatedly for more, are my characters. I love to dive into their imagination and immerse myself in their adventures. It's the best free vacation I could ever have. I leave the world of reality behind, suddenly whisked away to foreign lands, and engaging in conversations with new and interesting people. I find my way through alternate realities and past centuries, totally engrossed in my adventure, excited to cross the next bridge or trudge through that hidden forest, engage in a sword fight or conjure the elements in my defense.
Without books we as a society are lost. It is the ability to read and transport ourselves into other worlds that sustain and rejuvenate us. We pass along both reality and fantasy, truth and lie, stories that contain the heart of who we are as people. Without writers, in both fiction and nonfiction, we would be at the mercy of social media and contain little substance. Can you imagine?
I digress. The car crash scenario. Perhaps I need more wine. Time to write!
Until next time my friends, keep reading!