I’m reading Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend by Matthew Dicks.
It’s books like this that make me insanely appreciative that I’m able to read.
And it’s books like this that bring me back to Laura and Gin Gin—my pretend
friends from childhood. A witch and a ghost respectively. (I was born on
Halloween.) Even though I had three older sisters, I still delighted in and
sought out the company of Laura and Gin Gin.
Imagination was encouraged in our house growing up. I hope
to pass this love of the possible on to my girls. There’s something electric,
beautiful, and freeing when the mind is uncaged. Potential has a heartbeat of
its own. I want to hear the pulse of that beat in my house always.
The imaginary keeps finding a way to reinvent itself in my
life. To the point it often hopes to be mistaken for what’s real. I’m now
referring to my characters. They can be feisty and stubbornly present. They
interrupt during conversations, set up camp in my yard, and infiltrate my
dreams. But I admit this with a smile on my face. Because stirred up from the
dust are electric and beautiful beings my mind has figured out how to free.
So whether I’m daydreaming about shapes in the clouds with
my children, characters on a mission in my WIP, or skipping amidst questions that
begin with the infamous “what if,” I say long live it all. Long live the
imaginary.
“It's true that writing is a solitary occupation, but you
would be surprised at how much companionship a group of imaginary characters
can offer once you get to know them.” Anne Tyler
Did you have pretend
friends growing up? Do your children?
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