I have been trawling through some of the blogs on word press and to say I feel intimidated is to be kind.
I have always loved writing. I remember writing the most convoluted stories when I was child growing up on the farm. Having the basic story down on paper, I would then dress myself up in my mothers favorite flat sheet (princess dress once appropriately draped and pinned) and off I would go to rehearse the words, nuances, pauses of every moment of every character.
Not that I had any idea what a nuance was. In my child mind, I just knew that certain things needed to be said a certain way.
To say I was a child is also putting it kindly. While I may have started my play act rehearsing as a child, I clearly remember being about 15 when I finally stopped the enactments.
However, for the longest time, even now when I am deeply stressed or upset, I still rehearse the lines of the story that has run in my head forever.
A story of bravery and courage and the girl triumphant and love. Or unicorns and dragons and swords and heroes.
I keep thinking I should turn it into a book, but it is so deeply part of my childhood, my consciousness, my subconsciousness that I fear I wouldn’t do it justice. Growing up, my television favorite and hero was MacGuyver. To this day, I won’t watch the reruns because I don’t want to ruin the memory of it. The pure joy of the adventure.
To put my never ending story to paper, may just end it.
I don’t think I could bear the loss.