half the people who audition for American Idol think the same thing. The difference between them and I is I knew when my voice left and I moved on to other things, lots of other things, until I finally discovered that I am a story teller. Yes I am an author but I am a story teller first and foremost. I have been told that anyone can write but not everyone can tell a story.
As a writer it helps to have a vivid imagination. Everything is a story to me. I eavesdrop on conversations, not to be rude but to hear the stories. You see sometimes fact is better than fiction. I think my imagination is expanding as I become more and more involved in writing but looking back, even in my younger days as an aspiring singer, I would make up songs. I guess I’ve been a writer all along and just didn’t know it.
That got me to wondering is it possible that everyone’s destiny is predetermined? Is that knowledge just laying dormant waiting for each of us to find our course? Do we really get to choose or are our paths chosen for us?
What if you are not a person at all? Picture yourself as a tree growing in the forest aspiring to be the grandest tree of them all, then someone comes and cuts you down to make you a Christmas tree. Does that make you less of a tree or are you just reaching your destiny?
One year we bought our Christmas tree early in the season. It died and we and had to get a replacement tree. Seriously, how awful to not to be good enough to be a “real” Christmas tree. That had to be hard on that poor tree. This is how my mind thinks.
Now picture you are a pumpkin growing in a pumpkin patch and have aspirations of being a scary jack-o-lantern. You grow and grow to be the best looking pumpkin you can be and someone takes you home and makes soup out of you. Seriously, that would have to suck. It is thoughts like these that plagued me as I was picking out my own pumpkin last week knowing that I only wanted him for his seeds. I bought him five days ago. He is still on my kitchen counter. I haven’t had the heart to cut him open knowing I will be ending his dream of becoming a jack-o-lantern.
I was in the pet store today buying dog food. I was at the counter, ready to pay, when a guy walks in, obviously a regular. One of the ladies behind the counter said “rat?” He shook his head and waited patiently for the lady to scoop up a random rat, shove him unceremoniously into a box, and hand him to the guy. I am sure the rat was ecstatic. He was out of that aquarium. He was going to be Stuart Little to some child, as that is what he has always dreamed of. Little does he know his dream is going to be shattered the second he discovers it is his destiny to become snake food.
I asked the girl behind the counter. “Do you think when the rat was growing up he ever thought he was going to be snake food?” She laughed and said probably not. She tried to comfort me by having me look at all of the other rats joyfully playing on the metal wheel. I then asked her “How does it feel being the one who decides who’s the next to go?” By this time the second lady, who was trying to make a phone call, hangs up the phone, obviously deciding I am someone who needs watching. The first girl does not know how to answer my question and merely stares at me. I then decided it was time to relate my pumpkin story to her telling her how long it took me to pick out a pumpkin knowing I was dashing all hopes of it becoming a jack-o-lantern. As I left the building the younger lady was laughing and the second lady was staring at me in disbelief. I beat a hasty retreat but not before I had given them something to think about and probably debating whether or not to have me banned from the store. I hear voices. I worry about the feeling of inanimate objects. I am constantly seeing movies inside my head. I keep a tape recorder beside my bed. Some of my very best friends are fictional. I am not crazy, I am following