The Truth in Our Make-Believe

Be careful of your thoughts; they may become words at any moment. 

~Ira Gassen, Author

Do you remember when you were little and you used to play pretend?  You had a chariot pulled by a team of dinosaurs wearing purple capes, and a flying monkey friend named Monkeechy…

No?

Oh… um… never mind.

Well you still played in the Land of Make-Believe, right?  Did you have fun?  Of course you did.  Nonsense is the best.

That, at its core, is writing.  Of course, it’s a really long, drawn out game of pretend, where you have to keep changing the rules and deciding which imaginary characters aren’t allowed to play with you anymore, but the train pulls into the imagination station just the same.

And not just fiction.  This works for non-fiction as well.  

Some of the best posts I read are those where you can feel the author stepping slightly outside his skin, toying with the medium.

In fiction, this is currency.  Fantastic worlds, populated by impossible beings, or suburbs bursting with friends and neighbors; both are born in the brain, no different than Monkeechy.

Last year, while driving, a line popped inside my head, followed by a second to match.  

They were funny.  

Laughing, I pulled to the side of the road and searched through the mini-van for something to write on.  This was in the dark ages of last Winter, when the thought of being a writer was almost abstract.

A napkin… too crumply.  

A wrapper from an old cheeseburger (gross, Writer Dad) …. too waxy.  

A receipt… too small.

My hand!  

No, too sweaty.

I pulled back into traffic and started repeating lines.  By the time I was on the freeway, I was singing a four stanza song to myself.  

Seven and a half minutes later, I exited the freeway, struggling to remember a pile of lines, quickly evaporating from my mind.

I raced passed a wide eyed Daisy.  ”I need a minute,” I mumbled.

I scribbled.  

Stopped.  

Then stared at my paper with a smile the size a banana.  

But we had work to do, and if I wanted rave reviews for my ditty, then the worst possible time to present it would be during any one of the six-hundred and twenty-four minutes left before bedtime.  

Six-hundred and twenty-four minutes later…

“This is really good.”

“Really?”  I don’t say this as much as squeal it in a voice at least three octaves above the baseline needed to sire children.

“It sounds like you.”

That story was different than the few that had come before.  It was playful and confident, with a more natural voice.  

About a week later, I took the story and shifted it to the perspective of a ten year old boy.

The ten year old I was, voiced by the man (and dad) of many more years I am today.

That story is not the one I have for you today.  But it is related.

The boy is named Lucas Bright.  His stories are short, with something to say.  Today’s ditty is his introduction.  

Last Friday’s tale was written with purpose, this Friday’s with mirth.

There’s a teaser below.  If you decide to download, you may do whatever you’d like with the wee-Book; copy and pass as much as you want.  It’s yours.  It’s two dollars (a Venti black coffee).  

If you bought The Eighth Wonder of the World, it’s in your inbox already.

Last Friday was awesome; let’s make this Friday awesome and one.

Writer Dad

My name is Lucas Bright.  Grown-ups say I’m smart.  They taught me to ask questions.  

I’m gonna go ahead and start…

Last Week’s Story: The Eighth Wonder of the World

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