Tonight, as is often the case, I found my mind wandering. It started when I hung up the freshly bought suit I am to wear to a wedding this weekend, it has been a long time since I have worn a suit. I began to think of other uses for this new suit, events, ceremonies, and interviews. As I pulled out of my driveway I imagined what it might feel like to interview for a job again, to be seated across from someone, and to hope for their favor. As I pulled in to park at the gas station, I stated a hypothetical interview question, how would you define yourself?
It was short, simple, and possibly derivative, but it set my mind wandering. It was only after I had purchased a sandwich and water, after I was already sitting in my car again, a few hundred other thoughts already having passed as I ventured through the store, that I came back to it. Define yourself, how would I define myself?
I began to imagine addressing the question in front of a live audience, with a host. Then, I imagined being brutally honest with a job interviewer. No, I don’t want this job, honestly, if it were up to me, I would tell stories. That is the greatest pursuit I can think of. I would drape myself in fiction, writing books, movies, shows, music, and so much more. I would consume it all and create it all.
I want my words to find people, to seek them just as much as they are seeking something for themselves. I want the child who is alone and without a stable life to find solace in the adventure of my written pages, rather than turning to something less favorable. I want the adult who works two jobs, shows up for everyone around them, and never asks for anything for themselves to be selfish in their hopes for the protagonist I have created. I want the foreign immigrant to relate to the character I wrote for the show they watched to practice their English. I want that elderly person who is alone to be introduced to a family in my world, one they can visit whenever they want. I want the average person, the not-so-average person, and the exceptional to all share in the love and loss, the joy and sorrow, the frustration and triumph of my characters, of my worlds, of my universe.
If it were up to me, I would just write fiction. I am not opposed to writing non-fiction, but I do not live in reality I simply exist there. I live in my fiction, so I write about that. When I got home I ate my sandwich and drank my water, that is the reality. But in my mind, I thought of all the fantastical worlds and places I have yet to write, that is my fiction.
Nathaniel Writes 