Building My Tree House

“Rock bottom became a solid foundation on which to rebuild my life." J.K. Rowling

I find myself newly encouraged to delve into my imagination more, to never give up, to keep writing books; to dig my way out of poverty and obscurity with the persistence of good ideas. Here's to rebuilding. Making beauty from chaos. Bringing my stories to life and unveiling the secrets of worlds within for the enjoyment of the wider world without. Here's to reinventing myself and not being "too old to make it."

Back to dreaming big, from the mindset of an Essentialist, making no bargains with the margins. If something doesn't fit inside the red lines, I simply cannot afford to do it, or even give it more than five minutes of thought. Second glances are reserved for pieces that fit into the unique puzzle being put together that I can only envision with narrowed focus.

Anyone can do a lot of things with a half heart. I want to do the main thing well.

I want to do my best work, not just a lot of work. I want to make masterful art, not mediocre, forgettable pieces; words that go nowhere except my own shelves and boxes. I want my songs heard, my books read, loved, and yes, adapted into films! Why not? Who died and made anyone the "age limit" king? Who gets to tell me when or why I should give up? Who gets to decide what a "real job" or "important work" is? This is not a game. My dreams don't need a referee.

All the great thinkers, business minds, doctors, inventors, teachers, composers, are first readers. Of course, authors have to...get to, write the books they read, no?

Writers lay the foundation for everything else learned. Pretty important work, I would say.

And If you ask me, it's a lot more fun on this side of the story!

The thrill, the risk and reward of making up a world that didn't exist before, then inviting strangers in to see it! So vulnerable. It's like inviting a brand new neighbor to your most sacred, secret tree house spot, off-property, where you hide, tell ghost stories with best friends, carve initials into bark and keep secrets. It's the place you get to pretend to be all the things most people would laugh about. It's where the wind is a voice and the clouds have faces. The animals recognize you and become fixed as a sort of cartoon landscape in your tall tale. Something of a Beatrix Potter nature.

Who would ever understand the layers upon layers of narrative and plot and fictional friendships crafted since childhood? What if no one does? A worthy gamble, still.

This world, this place so dear to your heart is too good not to be shared. You must at least try.

I must at least try.

If you love the idea, the poem, the song, the book-if you can't get it out of your mind, surely others would form similar bonds in their minds. Even if two or three become attached to this "heart world," it was a secret worth telling; a world worth sharing. Heaven knows our days-these days we live in-are starved for fresh, wholesome, creative escapes from the depraved society we are surrounded by. Everyone is looking for a tree house to hide in. A story to get lost in. A song that brings peace. A character that is interesting. A book to read that reminds them of when literature was really good, living books that make for classics and film favorites.

What if Anne of Green Gables, or Little Women had never gone to press? What if Winnie the Pooh or Peter Pan were still hiding in journals somewhere? What if your favorite song had never been written?

What if my greatest stories never get told?

Better question: What if they do?

I fully intend on seeing the last question answered in my lifetime, starting now.