My imagination can be a bit of a challenge to manage, but I really do like being the imaginative type. It beats the daylights out of being dull and predictable and status quo.

I haven’t written fiction in quite some time, but it isn’t for lack of loving to do so and I’m not even sure why I don’t do more of it. An active imagination makes for a fabulous foundation for fiction. All alliteration aside, I don’t possess the ability to check my creative brain at the car door. I can pass an old man on a bicycle and before I’ve driven two blocks I’ve assigned him a life, a history, a family, likes and dislikes, fears and dreams. Fortunately for him, he is blissfully unaware of this world I have figuratively plopped him into and is free to continue his bike ride unhindered. What I do with his “story”, fabricated as it may be, is up to me.

I think it all started when I was a little girl who loved to pretend. I clearly remember playing with my friends and starting nearly every sentence with something like, “Let’s ‘tend like I’m the big sister and you’re the mom, and…” We loved piling up fallen pine needles in the trailer park of our little south Georgia town, lining them into houses and offices and creating our own special decor complete with (very prickly) beds and chairs and couches. Whatever the weather, we found ways to “tend like” we lived in a world purely of our imagination (I can’t remember what mine was called, but I never got to call it Narnia because Big Robin always called it first).

In imaginary worlds where boards become bridges (sometimes not very good ones, as the scar on my lower back bears witness) and pine needles become blueprints, anything can happen. I love living in that kind of place.

 

This “What I Like About Me” challenge hasn’t been the easiest, but I have to say here on Day 31 that I’m starting to think I’m kind of a cool lady.

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