Stories in my Head

My grandmother used to chide me for daydreaming. She said I was always in my head, listening to the wind, and staring at the clouds way too much. I couldn't help it. I’d sit on my favorite perch (at the top of a long staircase that looks out to my grandmother’s garden) and listen to the stories that the trees, birds, the sunset, and the moon whisper. I created imaginary friends who listened to me as I relate these stories because most of them beg to be told; others just want to linger and hang out in my thoughts like a soul desperate for a friend. 

When I learned how to write, I found that pens bleed conversations, paper have characters wedged between their fibers, and my fingers have the power to kill them, marry them off, or let them lead mundane lives. A photo, a song, a book, a ride around the park on my bike, or a walk in the woods might trigger the beginnings of a paragraph. And looking into someone’s eyes and hearing their laughter could bring snippets of scenes into focus. But it’s not till I put pen to paper, or recently fingers to keypad, does every detail come together. When a story wants to be written, it comes like a lover begging to be noticed. 

A friend asked how much of my fictional stories are rooted in experience, products of expectations or merely flights of fancy. The truth is, my stories are as far removed from my reality as water and oil are and anything in them that have a semblance to my life are there to give it some grounding. But I should say that even though the characters and situations are made up, all the emotions are authentic. That’s probably why love stories are my favorite to write. I find it hard to lend a character an emotion that I have not felt. 

But why do I write these stories in the first place? More often than not, no one ever gets to read them. Is it a form of escape? An expression of a longing for something other than my already charmed existence? Or a desire to live a thousand lives all at once? It’s hard to tell. Only one thing's sure, I'm not done writing.

Dreaming.