Just Rambling Again

I often played alone when I was young. Usually, this was because there wasn't anyone around to play with. But sometimes it was because I wasn't keen on doing what others were doing.

During my month of staying up at my grandmother's house there were no other kids to play with, so I learned to amuse myself with imaginative games. Played football and baseball by myself, and a lot of war games. A deck of cards could become an army of reds and blacks. And my aunt's boxes of postcards were fantastic.

Sometimes I've wondered if all of this time alone helped, or hurt, my creative abilities. I guess I would assume they helped. It wasn't like I was that bored. That imaginative play I did when I was young now expresses itself in stories. Some are quite - weird. A few are almost normal.

For some people writing is a chore. If they weren't being paid to do it they wouldn't. I'm in the opposite camp. No one is paying me to write, and yet I do. It's play time for me. But then I'm still writing only what I want to write.

I don't know the ins and outs of script writing, but all of my stories play out like movies in my mind. What's cool about them is how I can take any portion of the story and "drill into" it, learning more and more and more about background things. I like knowing more and more about a story. It makes it more real. If it's well thought out.

For people who never exercised their imaginations, I wonder what it's like to live a dull life. Not too much. I prefer the life of creativity. Even if it isn't generating any income today.