When I was about six or seven years old I went to a summer camp. We played games and did arts and crafts in the morning and thirty minutes after lunch we swam in the swimming pool. There was a little girl there, a year or two older than me, who told me she was my guardian angel. She was shaped like a box and had beautiful long brown hair that her mother kept in pretty barrettes and bows. Her complexion was a bit darker than mine and she had a pretty smile. I think part of me wanted to believe her. She tried to convince me, telling me that she walked up a long set of stairs to get to Heaven to report to God, but even at that young age, logic took over and I called her out on her bullshit.
That summer, I almost drowned in the pool. If she was my guardian angel she was off to a rocky start.
I don’t think of that summer camp that often, but when I do I remember almost drowning and my so called, box-shaped guardian angel.
Where did that logic go? Now, a lot of my brain time is spent making up stories just like that shitty one she told me. Correction, mine are better! In my heart of hearts I wish I would hear the whir of the Tardis, heralding the arrival of the Doctor. I wish Sam and Dean Winchester would come tell me that I’m the only one that can do ‘something’ and that it’s time to kick butt. If a box-shaped woman approached me today and told me she was my guardian angel I might just start asking some serious questions instead of telling her she’s a freaking liar. Well, unless she looked genuinely insanicus and I knew she was a crazy person hell-bent on doing something really terrible to me or people I know. Or any one!
Don’t get me wrong, I was a dreamer growing up but as I’ve gotten older I feel more open to the possibilities that ‘the truth is out there’. But I want it to be a nice truth. Not a creepy ‘you’re gonna die’ type truth. That would just suck.
MaryJanice Davidson has something on her Facebook page that says, “I’m a professional writer. I tell lies to total strangers for money.”
During my formative years I fought to distinguish real life from fantasy. Now, my adult-self yearns for fantasy. Safe fantasy.
I’m telling you this just to give you a peek in to my writer-mind. I think of the strangest things and then I get excited about it because I want to share it with you. Sometimes, I get a little weirded out because I’m not sure if I’m the only weirdo who thinks these off the wall thoughts.
So, if you ever seem me doodling like a fool in my little blue book, just know that I saw someone do something terribly ordinary and that it has sparked an extraordinary idea in my awesome, thinking, writer brain.
And then, just wait for you. You’ll find out about it sooner or later.
River Song kept her secrets in a little blue book and it was filled with wonderful secrets.
Coincidence… I think not!