I’ve always wanted to tell stories for a living.
Of course I’ve wanted to other things as well (breed riding cows, build robot dragons, rule a computer kingdom as a Sysadmin, write computer games, etc.)
But wanting is not doing.
I feel like inscribing that in giant letters over my desks at home and at work so that I have to stare at it day in and day out.
Some childhood dreams are meant to die when reality and adulthood start gnawing away at life –I’ll miss you giant robot dragons!– but not all of them. I’ve spent my quasi-adulthood in nothing more than regretful daydreams about how much fun it would be to be the person I thought I would grow into.
For every grand scheme and master plan I whip up to make those dreams into reality, I can think of a thousand good reasons not to try. All of my objections are perfectly logical and rationally sound, but in the end, what are these negative ‘but if’s’ but stories?
It’s time to change my verb.