As a teen, fun was to be found in telling my younger brother and sister stories. Everything dealing with creativity straight from the mind was so easy for me. They gave me a sentence or a title, and I would weave a web of fun and enchantment around them. The two of them would listen wide-eyed in wonder.
I remember the first time I told my mom I was going to write a book. She always encouraged me to do so. This was going to be a short story about a woman who came from England to marry a man in the states, the catalog order bride.
Shortly after I started it, I grew bored with it. I finished up two pages of it, and never touched it again. I found my brain went so much faster than the pen. I enjoyed telling the stories. At one point, though, I did write a story that both my sister and brother loved. It was about Dixie and her little brother. They had no parents and walked down a lonely road in search of a family.
As I worked on this one, I could tell it made sense to me. I completed it. Unfortunately, I lost the dream at some point through the years.
I slowly stopped telling stories as I grew older. After marriage and children, I quit reading most books except what helped me to become better at what I did. I honestly didn’t care since what I learned helped keep my mind focused more often than not.
I still wrote, but it dealt with the Bible. I enjoy reading it and writing what I learn. This filled a void that excited me and made me want to write more.
When my daughters came along, my oldest begged for stories. I just reworded ones that I already knew who made them happy. It also made me happy because I could embellish what I wanted in the stories. They begged for more. I eventually got to a point where I read books to them. It was so much easier.
Last year, I began college and realized the creativity was still in me. I know… kind of funny, isn’t it? It seems like I’ve come full circle.
It’s important to remember that creativity can come from daydreams. As I read books and daydreamed in my teen years. I could keep my siblings happy with made-up stories. I hadn’t learned to write down what I wanted as a child. Impatience with putting it down on paper overcame any progress I could have made at that point.
As I look at my life, though, I don’t feel the time was wasted. The adult years were spent in learning to write. I had to learn to write emails as well as articles dealing with specific subjects in the Bible.
This, of course, does not mean I understood how to write a book. My husband, Mark Escalera, gave me direction on tightening up a sentence. Before that, I’d never heard of it. Now, I realize how important everything is that we do.
Is writing better than dreaming? In the end, the answer would have to be no. It takes both writing and dreaming. These two things make the story come alive in a book.