I wound up with a bit of unexpected writing time this morning. I work from home, and it turned out there was a scheduled power outage for a couple hours, so instead of working then, I spent the time listening to my iPod and writing (then rewriting) a bit of flash as a prompt response. It was actually the first time I’ve written anything new in… well, we’ll just say “several days” and leave it at that. (It was a possibly melodramatic fantasy piece, but the product wasn’t the point.)
I was reminded today of something I felt about a month or so ago, after I saw Toy Story 3. I absolutely loved it–I continue to admire Pixar’s superb characters and story skills–and on the drive home, I found myself thinking about how much those characters meant to me, and how wonderful it was that there was a point where characters, rather like the Velveteen Rabbit, could become Real. And I felt a kind of gratitude I hadn’t felt before–that I can do this, in my own small way, myself. That I’m part of this tribe of storytellers, that I have this gift to be somewhere other, and to bring something back to share. My ambition, my perfectionism, my insecurities–all of these can feel like a curse sometimes, but the writing… the writing is always a gift.