Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Imaginary Friends ( A day late)

I speak to the walls.  There are people there I swear to you.  They range from sadistic vampires in search of their own identities, to Camille a spoiled brat with some serious issues.  Do you think I'm crazy yet?  What if I told you that currently I have over 100 friends that I converse with everyday, but only a select few people other than me can see them?   Do you have a straight jacket ready for me?  Rationalizing my sanity is futile, signing me up with a psychiatrist for weekly sessions until my brain is so shrinked it feels dissected into a jumbled mess of goo, will not work.   Why is this you ask?  It's because I am a writer. 

The reality is, in order to be a good writer you have to be willing to accept some mental  hiccups.  You could come down with a small case of Dissociative identity disorder ,where you are suddenly split into different personalities that change as your mood changes. Maybe occasionally you feel a little under the weather with schizophrenia, To the point that you are speaking in tongues, and talking gibberish.   Dementia can consume your brain until you're only focusing on the task at hand  . . . playing with your imaginary friends, in their imaginary world, that you were responsible for creating.  It can be a little overwhelming at times, but over time you get use to the voices that speak to you. They become your security blanket, as long as they are speaking to you, you know you haven't lost your creative touch and can continue creating stories for other people.

As you build your story from scratch, your characters develop a relationship with you.   You have conversations with them, you interact with them to the point that even when you go to bed at night they are still talking to you.   The voices in my head can be scary, if that is what they want to be, they can also be hyperactive and attacking me until I give them the attention they deserve.   The voices in my head tell me to do things . . .  so I do them, my fingers fly until the voice in my head is a distant memory completely typed out and ready to be edited.

Yes I have imaginary friends . . .  But at least once I am done, and my story is finished, my imaginary friends will become your friends too.   MAN YOU'RE SCREWED!

WHAT'S FOR DINNER:    Golden Corral (Yesterday, since this should have been yesterday's post)


Unwell - Matchbox Twenty

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