Saturday, October 31, 2009

Just a little bit crazy...

Kids do it, and they are people, too.  So why is it when I talk about my characters to my friends and family, they look at me like I've really lost it?  What's so bad about imaginary friends?

I wasn't born a writer (although I was born into an academic household, thank you, mom), nor did I earn a degree in Literature, but I have found my passion.  When I was a young mother, having children, one, then two, then three, then four, I thought that was the greatest miracle ever imagined (still do).  How wonderful to be able to create these little people, darling, full of life and personality.  I wanted a dozen.  But in the blink of an eye they grew into teenagers ~ holy cow, I'm glad I wasn't granted the gift of twelve of those darling little miracles.  (Hello Angelina, stop now while you've still got a chance, and money!)

BUT, now I can start all over.  I can create my own people again!  Hurray.  And dogs, cats, horses.  I can live in New York City, Los Angeles, Costa Rica, Buenos Aires, anywhere I can imagine... all from the comfort of my home office, aka the guest bedroom.  How does this make me crazy?

Some would say, "Just preface your thoughts with 'my character Danny', as opposed to 'You'll never believe what Danny did today.'"  Others say, "Show me the money, then we'll just call you eccentric."  Well, sure, a paycheck would be nice, but that doesn't make me valid.

I write because I can't not write.  Call me crazy.

Off to the looney bin,

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