“I got nothin’,” the writer sighed, setting her bright pen down carefully on the stark white page, “I can’t even get a first sentence out tonight.”
“You know,” a voice filtered through the fog, “It’s been said that writer’s block happens when your imaginary friends refuse to talk to you.”
“Oh they’re talking to me,” she replied absentmindedly, not thinking to wonder where the voice had come from, “But unless you want me to write my Short Story Sunday piece on whose hair looks better today, they’re pretty useless right now.”
“Maybe that should be your story,” the whisper hissed helpfully, slowly fading as though the unseen person were backing away from her stone bench. “The non-story of how you don’t have any prompts…”
“Maybe…thank you,” she turned to smile at her advisor, but there was no one to be seen. Just the empty lake front and her, sitting alone in the chilly air. “Huh, a non-story,” she picked her pen up again, not giving much thought to her mysterious aid, she had learned long ago to not to. “Naw, that would never work!”
(Photos taken by me, Elizabeth S. Tyree, during the fall of 2012 at the Chickasaw National Recreation Area in Sulphur, Ok.)
Here is an interesting fact about myself that I had completely forgotten about: According to my parents, I had imaginary friends that used to get me in trouble. These friends would make huge messes and play in areas that I wasn’t allowed to play in…and then I would have to clean up and apologize because they couldn’t do it for themselves.
A little over twenty years later, my first Young Adult novel was finished, and there were my friends again! Apparently my imaginary friends when I was three or four, and the voices in my head now belong to the same family of…wait for it…DRAGONS!
I now have two published novels, one in editing, and one currently in the early first draft stages, all about this group of dragons and their incredible story. So now whenever my fifteen month old daughter hoots at me or tells me the monkey did it, I smile (usually) and tell her the same thing my parents told me, “they’re your guests in your house so you have to pick up after them,” and I dream of the day that the little monkey girl gets old enough to help me write my next children’s story or picture book. Isn’t Imagination a wonderful tool?
May your imaginary friends never desert you, may your imagination always run free, and may you be blessed today and every day.