In my own world

635668079090870143I think many writers tend to live on the edge of the imaginations all the time, only delving into the deep when actually writing their stories. I know I do.

I find myself lost in my own thought doing mundane things like walking my dog or washing dishes. Scenes play out like movies in my head, where sometimes I’m the character, while other times, I have a cast of characters to direct for a story.

Over the years I enjoyed alternative lives;

– An everyday housewife who plays secret agent at night. There was a twist of humor, since my made up nemesis was Kang Fang of the Nepal Mafia. Each story ended up with his defeat, often due to his poor planning, being outsmarted, or being too stupid.

– A house cat that ran the streets at night, fighting crime, only to return home to be a loveable house cat.

– A leader of a rag tag group of misfits, trying to survive an apocalypse.

– A ghost that haunts the house, struggling with her own demise, while trying to ‘help’ the family that lives in her house.

And how much have I written on this? Um…not much. Okay, not at all. The plots sit in a folder on my hard drive. <sighs> Yeah, I know. I need to get writing, not dreaming.

What sort of writer’s journey am I on if I’m not actually writing?  I need to get my inner world put to paper.

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