I have heard famous actors say in interviews that they have the best job in the world. That they never had to grow up, spending their days playing make-believe and dressing up. That’s sort of the way I feel about writing… like it has kept me well and truly in touch with my inner child. Hopefully, in turn, that will help me to understand my own future children better.
I have mentioned before that one of my most vivid childhood memories is from the day, 6-year-old Frannie asked to be excused from class to go to the bathroom and instead found herself wandering down to the playground singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow to my adoring, albeit invisible, munchkin fans. More recently, I found my Grade 1 journals that further supported the idea that I was born to lie, i.e. write fiction. When I asked my Mum if she was ever concerned about how much I lied as a child, she said that she didn’t believe I lied, just that I stretched the truth to create a more magical reality.
There were stories of fairies, of animals I befriended and recounts that my adult brain knows are ridiculous exaggerations but my child brain would have believed wholeheartedly. So I’m glad my parents hoarded all of my ‘stuff’ while I was younger. Now my journals, as embarrassing as they are, take pride of place on my desk serving to inspire and stir my imagination. They’re also a reminder that I picked the correct creative path by choosing words over art… the illustrations leave quite a bit to be desired.