The other night I was sitting with a friend and talking to
her about all the stories I have dancing around in my head and as I was talking,
I actually heard myself and wondered if I was really as crazy as I sounded. If
I’m certifiable than the people around me are my enablers.
Who would have thought at my age I would be so prolific with
stories waiting in line to be told? Isn’t it the twenty-something’s that have
the steam engine ability to stay up nights and plow through their creative
processes? And isn’t it the thirty-something’s that are in their prime, they’re
not too young and inexperienced, and yet not old enough to be dragging their
past with them?
Well, let me just say…Tah-Dah…it is me, Gretchen, who, in my
forties sat at my computer, and began tapping away at the keyboard until I finally
discovered what I want to do when I grow up.
Isn’t that funny…we spend most of our childhood being told
or taught what we are supposed to be, how we are supposed to relate, and what
we are not supposed to be. It isn’t until we break away from other people’s definitions
do we finally find who we were supposed to be all along.
Fabulous forties…the age where you still think you’re young
enough to ride that electric bull and party until the wee hours. You’re still
at the age were you are figuring out what it’s supposed to feel like to be an
adult and you’ve got everyone believing you know what you are doing.
Shhh, don’t tell anyone the truth of becoming older in the
eyes of the youth. If we can keep them believing we are totally grounded in the
world, we still may have a chance to be invited to the party. Hey, is the wool
over their eyes beginning to fray?
Okay, so let me go back to the stories that cling to the
corners of my mind. I think I’m able to talk about stories and characters that
touch my life because I am at an age where I’m not devastated by other people’s
judgments. My need to be accepted when I was in my twenties and my
pontificating moments of my thirties kept me from understanding my purpose.
Let’s face it if I had listened to people’s limited beliefs and fears, the
world wouldn’t have Wilson. I would have plopped her in a drawer and walked
away from writing forever. But I didn’t, instead I followed my gut and listened
to the people who believed in what I was doing. I listened to people who were
honest with me; the same people who took me by my ears and dragged me
over to
my keyboard and told me to keep going.
Wilson and Max, Cindy and Nick, Calvin and Joanie, Nancy and
Frank, all of those characters hold a special corner of my heart. Even when I
am upset by their actions or shocked by their choices, it doesn’t change the
way I feel about them. I am still touched by their triumphs and devastated by
their tragedies. And just like any other breathing, living person, I can get a
pretty tired of spending so much time with them.
But I have to say, when everything is said and done, I can
never look back at the time I’ve spent with them and regret it or wish it was
something different. I am extremely fortunate to be given the opportunity to be
the vehicle in which my characters are brought to life. Every moment their life
run through my head and out to the screen, is a moment I am so grateful for.
If what I have is a gift, then the characters in my head are
the ones throwing the party!
 |
| Just another visual for readers! |
|
