Living in a creative mind is a dangerous, risky business.
It starts out innocently enough. As a parent, you might imagine what a magic dish scrubbing brush could do for your time and sanity.
As a partner, you might wonder at the idea of an elaborate date night tablescape appearing with the snap of a finger.
As a social creature, you might entertain the fantasy of a fairy godmother tailoring the perfect outfit to your exact measurements in the blink of an eye.
They’re all wishful thinking, even if some toe the line closer to reality than we might realize (the dishwasher is my sanity saver these days).
But if you’re already an imaginative person, creativity in adulthood is the gateway drug to full-blown delusion—jury’s still out on the impacts it has to your health and reputation. Suddenly you start to imagine yourself accomplishing the impossible and taking steps to get there anyway.
You can construct a whole new reality and see it realized, in one form or another.
That’s a dangerous power.
When I was a little person lacking basic control over my faculties, daydreams would spur me to action. Physically, I might be at school, sitting quietly at my desk and trying to complete the storytelling exercise we’d just been given.
But beneath my desk, my fists were clenched.
Beneath my skin, my heart was racing.
My breath would come fast.
I’d struggle not to shout in exhilaration as the imaginations of my mind convinced me I was Elsewhere running alongside big cats or stepping through portals into alternate dimensions or pulling mythical artifacts from their hiding places deep in the earth.
Eventually, without my noticing, my hands would begin to move back and forth as if I were conducting an orchestra. It was a tell betraying me at the moment I left the room, and oh how my family teased me.
I’m older now, and have a toddler who’s busy developing his own little tells. He reminds me of how vivid and colorful and exhilarating our world is to the innocent, how easily I could once slip between this body and another world entirely.
But there’s hope for me and my daydreaming yet. I still catch myself clenching my fists—and desperately try to shake them out before my husband notices. (He likes to tease me, too.) I still harbor that delusion that seems to whisper,
You can be anything you set your mind to.
You can construct a future and see it realized, even if you’ve never seen anyone do it before.
You can change the world with your own two hands.
This is my confession—that I want it. I want to achieve great things alongside raising my kids. I want to carve out a corner of this world that is mine, and fill it with all the beautiful images I see each time I close my eyes.
I want to form my future brick by brick, as sloppy and erroneous and human as it might be. It might not be efficient, might not be automated, but it is joyful work.
Eleven-year-old Hannah would be popping her headphones in right about now, sitting in the back of the smelly bus on the way to middle school, scrolling through the songs downloaded on her iPod Shuffle until she landed on the Glee cast’s cover of “Imagine” by John Lennon.
Then she’d turn to look out the window at the farm fields rolling past, and she’d imagine herself running alongside wild cats through the grass as the lyrics filled her head:
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
My daydreams look a little different these days, but the delusion telling me I can be the architect of my future continues to linger. My mind does not require me to have lived through an experience before believing it might be the best thing I ever do.
Case in point: writing a novel, then revising it, then having the audacity to query it.
Signing with a literary agent.
Submitting the manuscript to publishers for consideration.
Dreams made real.
I’m sitting at my desk, a grown adult woman who tries to tell herself she’s got more control over her faculties now—yet my hands are still clenched and my heart still races. I can see my future in my mind’s eye, and I don’t care how long it takes to get there. The delusion, the optimism, remains.
My imperfect human hands will shape my future to see my dreams made real—one day at a time.
I’m officially drafting my next novel, Project Storm, with the goal to write 90,000 words in 30 weeks. Just like last summer, I’m aiming to finish the story and gift it to myself as a birthday present.
My current draft is at 7,203 / 90,000 words (roughly 8% complete), and this week I’ll be writing the inciting incident. Weekly word count updates are posted over on my Instagram if you’d like to follow along a little more closely—join me in the challenge and share your summer writing updates in the comments!
In a previous life (aka my college years, before I had my son), I ran a small photography business to help pay my way through college. Though I haven’t been actively advertising for some time, my network of friends and family have had me out to shoot a handful of weddings and graduations this spring season. I’m hoping to deliver three galleries this week!
Otherwise, I’m trying to find time to fit in a short YouTube video as we are once more reaching the end of the month. I’m thinking this next upload will be a Q&A to answer some of the many questions I’ve received since signing with my agent.
While you wait for that upload, here’s my most recent video—the full querying vlog that covers my experience seeking and finding representation:
Of course, my newsletter wouldn’t be a newsletter without a little plug for my writer’s workbook. Clean, elegant, straightforward—it’s received multiple 5-star reviews, boasts over 120+ pages of simplified writing prompts and trainings to make progress easier, and if you use the code WRITE25 at checkout you can save 25% while supporting my small business. Win win!
(It’s also delivered as a digital file so you can start using it right away, no matter where in the world you’re located. I love how this little system makes writing feel so much more approachable, and it keeps me way more organized than I used to be.)
A quick, curated list of materials I’ve been studying to keep my mind sharp as I scrub the high chair for the 49,643rd time . . .
Fiction: The Dragon Wakes with Thunder by K.X. Song (hardcover), The Everlasting by Alix E. Harrow (audio). I’ve just finished Wild Dark Shores by Charlotte McConaghy and spent a solid 20 minutes crying my eyes out.
Nonfiction: 101 Essays that Will Change the Way You Think by Brianna West, Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes
Listening: a heap of podcasts lately—Plot Twist by Soman Chainani and Victoria Aveyard, The Prose Pros with Tali Shammas and Lauren Khan, The Sh*t No One Tells You About Writing with Bianca Marais, Carly Watters and CeCe Lyra, and How I Write with David Perell.
Practicing: Scottish Gaelic. This week’s topics discuss pets and where I’m from.
Exploring: Currently compiling this newsletter at 1AM on a Tuesday and wondering if I just stay awake long enough, perhaps my body will forget it needs sleep altogether? Might never discover the secret to balancing time within reasonable daytime hours.
Thanks for reading my words On Paper & Light this week! Your support means the world. Drop any questions in the comments and I’ll pop by your inbox again soon.
Tìoraidh!
Keep reading:
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.