"Dream lofty dreams and as you dream, so shall you become…"
In honour of our new section on the forum "Wishing and Hoping", I want to talk about dream’s. Not the mature cheddar fuelled wild dvd’s I watch in my sleep every evening, but the ones I think about when I am up to my elbows in soap suds. The dreams that keep me awake at night. The hope and ambition that drives me, kind of all around the world, towards my authentic self…
I am not talking about my hopes for Finn (May you be healthy an happy.), or my hopes for Mark and I (May we always have each other.). Or even all that I wish for world peace and harmony. I am talking about me. What I want to do. Be. Become….
I have said before that
But
I haven’t got hundreds of dreams. I don’t want or need much. I don’t dream of great riches (good job really!), big houses or flashy cars. I don’t even want to change the world. I want what I have always wanted: to write and to be published and yes I know that is wholly un-original, but it is all I really want, and if in thirty years time I find myself sitting in this house, this chair, holding a
I’m not going to tell you I have always written. I wasn’t penning literary works of art at the age of eight or stunning my teachers with my way with words. I wasn’t. I was busy wishing and hoping to be a fashion designer. I was busy drawing ladies with pointy heads wearing jackets with shoulder pads. I was busy planning a lifetime of seeing my beautiful dreams flounce down a runway. I was busy battling my way through the first year of an art course which has no comparisons in terms of sheer hard graft and disappointment. And when it was over, when I had secured my place on a revered knitwear design degree course (OH, THE IRONY!), I saw a competition in Elle magazine, for young writers, entered and found myself a runner up. So I took up a career in interior design, because I suffer from a very peculiar form of arrogance that makes winning the only thing that matters, and once I am halfway to achieving it, move on to the next challenge. Just to see how bright my star will shine in that arena.
I painted walls in the day and scribbled down my dreams in the evening and I pretended it didn’t matter. I attended and abandoned rubbishy "Learn to Write" courses, one after the other and learnt nothing, and still I wrote and wrote, until a character became so real in my head I mixed her up with who I am and nearly let her ruin my life. And then I got a letter from an open university course I had attended telling me that my coursework had recieved the highest grade they had ever offered and had I thought about seeking a publisher, and I laughed and put dear little Beatrice, and all the "Thing’s We Are Not Allowed To Feel" (the name of my novel), into the back of a drawer and entered a poetry competition, judged by the Poet Laureate Andrew Motion, and bizarrely I won, and I collected my prize money and resolved never to write another word, and then I started this blog, and before I knew it I was writing daily and the fact that I am not actually writing what I truly, authentically, should be, doesn’t matter a jot. Or does it?
You see it bothers me. My dream keeps me awake at night. Contrary to popular belief I don’t lie in bed thinking about the magical bleaching qualities of organic lemons (Ok, just occasionally!), I lie in bed muddling through my main characters turbulent relationship with her Mother. And then the next day I get up and write about lemons.
A few days ago, I was in Borders, when I spotted a notice about a writers group they are starting on a Monday night. The first assignment is to write 1500 words about a journey. And as I sat with my grand latte and a slice of victoria sponge, already the charcters were forming in my mind. But I won’t write it. And I won’t go. I want to, but I won’t. Not unless someone straps me into their car and drives me there…
Oh I know I am here to show you the way to living a life abundant with dreams. But I am human and I need a hand to hold too. So let’s do it together.
Let’s make them real together. You hold my hand and I will hold yours…
You should check out http://www.nanowrimo.com This is my 5th year doing it, it is fun.
Follow your dream, carve a space for it in daily life……….even if it is just thinking about it to keep it nourished. I have had one teeny story published. I felt like a queen and still treasure running my finger along MY name and knowing I shared that piece of my heart with the world. I have so many other stories screaming to get out, but like yourself, I allow self doubt or other things to get in my way. But, maybe one day, the words will pour out and I will feel as if I can finally breathe. In the mean time, I keep those stories and dreams alive by visiting them regularly and letting them know I have not forgotten them and never will…..
Well, never forget that a writer writes at least twice and probably many more times. She writes first with her heart as she imagines or lives through the tale or piece; she writes with her head and in it as she articulates the ideas and dreams and concepts, plots, and what not… and then many times she writes and edits little pieces that finally come together like quicksilver into the published work. In my "book" you are already published, already a writer extraordinaire, and I would wager a shiny coin you will have your dream to hold in your hand very soon… whatever you want, you will obtain… I believe that for you, Alison.
Hugs… G.
Alison, let me tell you a little story and I am a stinky writer and horrible at grammar, but this may help you and yes, it is true.
There was this lady, she had a great natural talent. Natural talent happens and follows you whether you like it or not and it will keep you up at night. She was an amazing artist. Probably, well, I know she could have been great, she can do any thing, paint, sew, design, draw, clay, you name it. People who do know her are amazed that she doesn't do something more with her talent. Yeah she does some to make a little money that will pay the bills, but if you ask her why she did take up an offer or seize the opportunity. She will say I don't know. When we talk about our dreams hers alway begins or ends with -I wish I had or I think I'd like to had, but I don't see why she can't now. Just because she is 56 doesn't mean you can't. I don't see why she didn't then, it was and still is her dream. Alison, it still keeps my mom up at nights but now with regrets. If only she had tried it & done it, didn't have to turn into a huge thing, just the joy and creative outlet she needed and dreamed of doing.
So, Alison what do you want to be dreaming about and feeling, if time last 30 years from now?