Gold and fire leaves blanket the ground. The crisp bite of the wind. Rosy cheeks. Scarves and sweaters and beanies. Leather boots and rain boots and gloves. Rain on rooftops with soft music in the background. Curling up in a blanket in front of a fire, book in hand, problems being washed away with the rain. The story at your fingertips, words forming a picture in your head, a movie playing in your mind.
I miss the days when I was home schooled and could just read a book by the fire all day. I miss being young and dreaming so innocently about amazing worlds. I miss believing in myself, believing that I could do what the heroes of my books did, believing that I'd be strong enough to fight the same dragons and foes they did. I miss the adventure and thrill. I miss being so excited my eyes would skim past the description and hunger for the resolution. I miss believing that people like that existed. People who had destinies to fulfill and legacies to leave.
Now I'm a college student who ignores homework that is due in the morning to stay up late and write a little bit after an exhausted, caffeine induced burst of inspiration. Which I might add, is what this is. I might be moving this week. School is overwhelming me with stress and my money is dwindling. Life might be chaotic, but when life sucks, I write some of my best work. Dialogue is raw and real and full of emotion. I am able to step into the mind of my characters easier, and can't wait to escape into that world that I control.
But soon I can't just ignore school tot get 400 words in. The grades are slipping and my responsibilities are piling higher. I have to make life decisions that I am not prepared for. Chose a University, chose a career, chose for the rest of your life before you even know who you are. Chose something that will support you. Writing can be on the side. Writing won't make you money. Writing is not the smart way to go. But my heart whispers dreams that have long since kept me awake. Dreams that I cling to. Dreams that keep be going even when I want to quit. I have worlds in my mind and other voices in my head that are not my own and they deserve to touch this world. I have words that flow from my fingertips if only I give them the tool. I have hope and wisdom beyond my years. I am more than one girl when I'm at a keyboard. I am infinite and wise. I am the healer in the forest. I am the craftsman of the sword only one can pull from the stone. I am the witch who cursed the girl in the tower. I am the savior of worlds. I am the greatest warrior to ever live. I am the street rat. I am the dragon. I am a dreamer with a million dreams and I'm going to share them with all.
Adults tell me that I can't. That I can't possibly be good enough for anyone to read them. No one would know my name. Not with writing. Not with make believe. Parents say that it's a child's dream. That I have to think like a grown up. To focus on the real world. But the real world and the imaginary fit like a jigsaw puzzle. Adult responsibilities and childlike wonder go hand in hand. Hard work and a little insanity. Dreams are not just meant to be dreamt, but perused and lived. Joy is the goal, not money. Community and compassion, not cubicles and cutthroats. If I can't make my dream, my passion, what makes me joyful a reality, and live it, then why? We have a limited amount of time on earth, and it's quickly filling the lower half of the hourglass. Dream your dreams while you can. They are yours. YOURS. Fulfill them. Chase them. Make them a reality.
Much love,
Thane