Living each day much muchier
Last night, in my dream, I sat in front of a monitor with fingers flying over the keyboard. The characters and scenes from my novel flowed through me just as they used to. It felt so good.
“I’m writing again!” I thought to myself. Then I woke up.
This year, I set a goal to write the first full draft of a novel that’s been in my head since I was a teenager. Half the year has gone and all I’ve got is an outline and scene notes.
I feel desperately called to write again and yet, I’m not.
When I was a teenager, writing was my life. When the real world seemed empty, I could explore and live and feel through my imagination. Characters were my friends and I spent time with them.
As I got older, I craved the real world and real adventures with real people.
So, I went cold turkey and threw away all my most addictive stories. I couldn’t hide behind them anymore. Slowly, I learned how to live in the real world.
Now I have great adventures with plenty of people by my side but I haven’t written anything of consequence (besides the blog) since that date.
I have a deep yearning to write. I feel it. I keep coming back to it, but it’s losing the battle against the real world.
The tables have turned. I’m hiding from writing.
It must still mean something to me, but what?
If I could just figure that out, would I turn into the person from my dream?
Would I be a writer again?
You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.