A day dreamer ponders a question. Looking back at how he started writing to answer it
|Why does he write?
It's a question that the day dreamer thinks about from time to time. He looks back to when his writing began.
He wished he could say that he always had a passion for writing. That he was that kid who could spend hours writing down stories or documenting their thoughts on a page. But that would be a lie. The truth was writing kind of annoyed him. His writing experience back then was a bunch of attempts at a journal and creative writing essays at school.
The journal attempts failed because he though he didn't have anything interesting going on in his life to write about ,as for the essays, it took him a while to come up with something interesting that matched the prompt that was given. Often, time would run out before he could finish, and when he did I usually got a average grade. On occasion he would get a eight out of ten or a 7 out of ten but those where few and far in between. Honestly, with the way he wrote sometimes, my friends are surprised he pasted grammar at all. He have a friend who writes poetry. Sad, depressing poetry. But they were so good. This friend has a command over words that really make you feel the emotions he wrestles with in his life. Its something the day dreamer wish he had but he didn't .It least not as well.
Now daydreams, those were always there. In a time, where the internet and cable TV were regarded, at least by him, as things only found in well off households. He and his best friend would spend their after school afternoons acting out adventurers in fantasy worlds. Daydreaming about epic adventures, facing terrifying foes, saving people. The type of stories you would expect from children that age. Sometimes based on other stories they seen, other times they were world entirely of their own creation They would act them out, though thinking about it now, maybe acting out wasn't the best way to put it .Its more like they just ran about, coming up with the story as they went along. Completely immersed in there own world. He would even have these Day dreams on his own when he was bored and had no one to play with.
As time went on and the age were these acts were socially acceptable had passed. The Day Dreams persisted. He learned not to walk around while immersed in them. not in public anyway. Staying still while having them was a challenge, however, usually he had to fidget in someway. During his break and lunch in the tail end of his school years he would just sit in his classroom. Fooling around with his pen. Muttering the story to himself as quietly as possible. No doubt this behavior caused him to be seen as strange by his peers. He couldn't blame them. It was strange even to himself.
He didn't stop though. Whether it was a matter of cant or wont he couldn't say. All he knew was that the Day dreams were a source of comfort to him. They be there to free him from the grip of loneliness. They help him past the time while he was waiting for something or someone. They'd distract him from his troubles. Sometimes it feels like they were the only things that kept him going during the day.As his teenage days transitioned to young adulthood and he discovered other things like video games and comics to keep his mind busy. He always go back to Day dreams.
Thing is, just a few months ago he had come to terms with the fact that these comforts weren't free. That they expected something back. His sweet day dreams were not longer satisfied with just being his. They wanted freedom. Freedom for the cage that was his own mind. So that others could experience them as well. He tried to resist at first. He had no business being a writer or a artist of any kind. Those things were other people, more talented people that he could hope to be. But the Day dreams wouldn't hear of it. They scratch and claw at his mind, demanding release. As crazy as that sounding that's what it feels like to him.
So why does he write?
In part to repay the debt he owes. To hopefully take these dreams and make them into something real. Something more. But also to maybe prove himself wrong. That maybe, just maybe, Writing could be for him too.