What I Have Been Doing All Summer Cooped Up in my House...

Writing. A lot.

When I was younger, i played make-believe a lot. I think all of us girls did, but I'm pretty sure i played make-believe the longest. I was nearly fifteen when i packed away my Grand Champions for the last time, and it was probably around then that I stopped running around my grandparents yard pretending I was a dragon. Or a nymph. Or the daughter of the king of the world. I make-believed amazing things, especially with my cousin Midori, whose imagination rivaled even mine. Our world of dragons was elaborate. The first we came up with were Silver Dragons: roughly the size of a horse, silver scales, and incredible speed. When dragons got old, which it did on and off, we'd switch to something else, like being normal kids but with the power to control the elements. When acting out our stories became temporarily boring, we moved inside and pulled out my extensive collection of plastic animals. Or my extensive collection of Grand Champions (which, for those who don't know, are lifelike horse miniatures). Or my extensive collection of dinosaurs. Or my little ponies. Or stuffed animals. Or plastic foods and dishes to play restaurant with. Or costumes! The wonderful costumes. The coveted gold skirt...

There were so many layers to my world. I'd tuck three or four stuffed animals in with me at night as if they were my children, or my guardians against bad dreams--which they proved to be on several occasions. Even when I got ready for bed at night, i'd pretend I was a princess in hiding, dressed like a commoner, staying at a remote inn for the night.... I'm smiling right now, because I realize that some things never die.

What happens, though, instead of stories and people and make-believe dying is that the creator gets tired. Physically, I got tired. I grew up, and I no longer had the energy nor felt the need to play out what was in my head. And at fifteen, with no one to play with--and no energy to play, anyway--my creative energies began to wane. And then there was silence.

When I was sixteen, I lay on the couch one day, doing absolutely nothing, languishing in boredom, and I unconsciously to let my mind wander back into my make-believe world. It welcomed me with open arms. New stories were waiting there for me to discover them--stories that would never be games, but that would not cease to exist in spite. Stories richer in complexity and literary potential. Worlds and peoples and relationships that I alone could create and mould. And I found my outlet for this creativity through a more, shall we say, sedentary vehicle: writing. I could create while sitting in a chair. I could take myself anywhere still sitting in my chair! (What wonderful economy!) And thus was born my passion for creative writing. The fact that I had found a new outlet was like fodder on the fire of my imagination.

And now, this summer, I have begun serious work on that very story that I imagined one scene of while lying on the couch on a boring afternoon. This is my second or third attempt at it. But now, with a little more of life's experiences under my belt, I feel better equipped to house the people I've created--who seem so real to me now--in a better story.

So that's what i've been doing all summer cooped up in my house: Writing--and imagining--a lot.