Thanks to Tawna Fenske for making me think of today’s blog post. (If you haven’t read her post about writers not being allowed in public…well, you should.)
As writers, is it any wonder that sometimes our imaginations get away from us? I don’t know about y’all, but it’s been like that all my life. I’m not talking the usual play pretend kids do. Sure, I played cops and robbers, pedaling after my sister (I was the cop…on the boring tricycle while she was the bad guy on the big wheels *sniff*), or played teacher (even going so far as to bring my class to lunch where my grandfather would pretend to be a cafeteria worker).
I had a great childhood in terms of creativity. My family was always willing to play whatever pretend game I’d come up with. But what happens as that creative kid grows older? Well…the imagination doesn’t stop there.
I remember being about 12 years old. I’d just started reading romance (historical young adult romance…a book called Danielle comes to mind). My brother was 7 at the time and I was the protective older sister. One night we heard something outside and we decided to investigate. We lived in the country and we had no knowledge of anything actually “bad” happening, so we headed outside in the pitch black.
I remember peering around corners, pushing my brother behind me (even though he was nearly as big as I was…he was a twelve pound baby folks, he was never small). I pushed him behind me and whispered, “You stay behind me. You’re the family jewels.” (Okay, so I didn’t know what the family jewels were at the time. I was young.) But in my mind, I was a heroine protecting my brother (and the heir) from possible harm. Yeah. Okay.
That was 12. So why is it that I’m now 33 years old and if I’m driving home on the interstate late at night and start thinking about possible escape routes if the cops come after me? I don’t do anything illegal, don’t plan on doing anything illegal, and like a respectable citizen, I would stop for the police, but my mind goes tripping off in different directions. Should I speed up? Slow down? Turn off the interstate, turn my headlights off, and park in someone’s driveway? What should I DO?
This is my mind. You’re sorry you intruded here, aren’t you? I really can’t help it. I try to think normal…(I’m not entirely sure what “normal” is anyway) thoughts, but this brain God gifted me with just won’t stop churning out scenario after scenario. Like the morning I was driving to work (just 2 years ago)…I thought “How would I react if I had a dead body in my trunk?” No, I’m not planning to kill anyone, but these are the thoughts that pop in my mind when I’m just chilling.
So…someone has to make me feel better about this. Speak up. Do you have really peculiar thoughts that if you shared them with a person in authority, they’d arrest you, or send you in for a psychiatric evaluation? Tell Tante Danica all about it.