I’m really craving a story to tell. I’m sitting in my room with my feet up on a Sunday morning, sipping my coffee, listening to the sounds of the city. I just finished writing in my daily journal, and for some reason that always gets me fired up for some hard core story telling. Maybe it’s because when I write there I’m storytelling my life, and the writer in me craves spicy bits of fiction to sprinkle in.
That was what I always did in college with my stories, sprinkle in cool bits of untruths to spice things up. In fact I do it even when I’m not writing a story, I’ll picture some cool untruth happening to me in the middle of my drive home from visiting my mom. Sometimes on my way to a stop light I’ll imagine someone jumping out in front of my car, waving at me to stop because they’ve seen the future and I need to let them in my car right now so we can drive off to change the direction of the future and hopefully have some crazy adventure in the sky.
J.K. Rowling must have craved a similar sorcery.
Just now I gave a very detailed version of my day yesterday in my journal, and I so felt the need to sprinkle in something that didn’t actually happen. Sitting here in bed right now I wish I was working on some juicy story. And today is so wonderfully mine. I’m going to be on my laptop for most if not all of it, spewing spicy untruths.
It makes me really appreciate the mundane things that happen in my life, because those are the things that ignite fantasy. If life weren’t so boring sometimes, there wouldn’t be room for imagination.
And today there’s plenty of room for it in my apartment. I do wish every day was like this.