Quite literally, ever since I’ve gone on this writing journey, I’ve been hearing voices in my head. My main character’s voice. My antagonist’s. The side characters’. The cat. When I lie in bed at night, they come alive and long after I’ve dozed off, it feels like they continue on. Having their conversations, falling in love, fighting, plotting. When I wake up, I get a sense that something has transpired, but when I try to get pen to paper, the thoughts escape even before I get out of bed.
Medical professionals would define escapism as the habitual diversion of the mind to purely imaginative activity or entertainment as an escape from reality or routine. Could all writers, then, in some form, be escapists? When an author creates a world so magical and unique that it warrants its own elfin language, could this not be considered escapism at its most splendid and truest form?
Perhaps I have gone a little loony. While writing, I’ve often caught myself thinking – “Well, character A would never stand for that, she’s better than that” – like she and I somehow share an intimacy wherein I know how she’ll react to any given situation. Or – “Character B won’t appreciate me writing this scene in” – like somehow my creative impulses have the ability to hurt imaginary feelings. Could I then be, by definition, harboring and cultivating imaginary relationships?
I once saw a shirt that read Writing is not for the Faint of Heart. Personally, I think that writing is not for the sane of mind. The highs and lows of one’s writing journey is enough to give anybody whiplash. One minute you’re typing away, oozing with ideas and positivity, the next you’re staring at a blank screen typing “All work and no play makes Nikki a dull girl” over and over and over again. Don’t even get me started on the querying process. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt more elated than when I received my first full manuscript request from an agent. On the other hand, I’ve never felt more deflated than when I got that first bad rejection.
I suppose what I’m getting at is this: Since I’ve started writing my novel, I’ve been more unhinged, erratic, ecstatic, worried, giddy, anxious, fretful, excited and plain batshit crazy than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I sleep less soundly, I multi-task with less efficiency and I fret with increased voracity.
But here’s the thing. I have never felt more alive. I don’t know much, but I do know this: If you have a dream, whatever it may be, however difficult the path, YOU HAVE TO GO FOR IT. Even though you’ve stepped so far out of your comfort zone that you feel you might fall off the edge. Even though there is no way of knowing what lies ahead. Even if you might fail. The key is that you went for it.
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams”, says the voice in my head.
Why, thank you. I do believe I will.