For moments in my life, I forget who I am. I have never had a strong grasp on reality, on the here and now. Time and distance elude me. But in those moments when I am not me, at least not the real me, all of space and time are within my grasp.
Within my mind, I find I am many things. I child full of wonderment, excited to see the world for the first time. A father, grandfather, husband, provider, caretaker. A man of influence and renown. I forget who I am and live who I want to be. I find myself doing this many times a day. Imagining what could have been, what would be, mayhap even what should be. And then reality invades again, and I forget these other things, only to dream them back into existence later.
Many times I lose the world of reality to that of fantasy. I have always been a fan of the fantastic, a great lover of fantasy and science-fiction prose. And in mine mind, I have an infinite number of worlds, each teeming with life and swirling to life out of the general haze of consciousness. These are not my worlds, my lives, my would-be realities. These are the stories of others, men, women, beings, begging to be told, whispering unto me the secrets they hold in their hearts and minds. And I see it all, as though some mythological god, omniscient to their realities.
Despite my penchant for making up such wonderments, I am unable to put them to paper. Call it short attention span, call it inability to write prolonged works effectively, the truth is, I am unable. Were I able, I like to think I could be published, eventually having my works displayed alongside such idols as Stephen King, George R.R. Martin, Robert Jordan, etc., etc. But there I go again, forgetting who I am and thinking on what I could be.
But then again, who doesn't dream of such things now and then?
You are a writer. Writer means who who writes. And in the age of the internet, this counts as being a published writer. You could check out CreatSpace.com for a place to get your writing published without the usual hoops (and at minimal cost to you). You can also blog for a whole year or so, and then use the website blogger recommends to turn your blog into a book instantly (costs money, of course). Or you could write sparsely and at whim. The point is, you are a writer. J. K. Rowling started out taking her baby to a pub or coffeeshop (can never remember which) and writing regularly sitting at a table rocking the baby.
ReplyDeleteAs far as the main content of your post, more of that please. I love reading about self-exploration and metaphysics. :)