Magic takes its Toll

I believe in magic. I think every writer does to an extent. Magic is essential to the creation of a story. The ability to suspend reality and lose one's self in the depths of the imagination is essential to the creative process. Magic is what clicks each element of an epic story together, like the pieces of a complex puzzle finally start to fall into place once the picture starts to define itself. Magic exists.

From an early point in my childhood I have been subject to this whimsical power. I don't know how or when, but my life has been defined by magic. Perhaps it was growing up in a wilderness paradise that facilitated an overactive imagination. Maybe it was reading books that allowed me to catch small glimpses of the magic that ruled others, like C. S. Lewis, Terry Brooks, Margaret Weis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Louis L'Amour, and hundreds of others. I could have been born to it, like some men are born to work with their hands and others are born to work with their minds. Whatever the case, magic is a part of me; I am a part of it. While others visited theaters, shopping malls, and various other entertainments found where people are gathered, I spent my time wandering the forests with my siblings. We spent hours creating ourselves as different characters with a variety of obstacles to overcome: wizards, warriors, cowboys, guerrilla fighters, time travelers, you name it and we did it. We made wizards robes from bedsheets (my mom wasn't happy that we destroyed them) and stood on the edge of the bluff that overlooked the river below and let the wind whip the white fabric behind us, we carved staffs from willow or alder and etched them with various designs and then used them for combat, we drew maps, built hidden shelters, and created a network of paths to facilitate rapid travel through our forest. Magic was a constant in our lives, and it continues to influence me now. That's why I am a writer. That's why I spend so much time swimming in the currents of my imagination. That is why, when I read, it's more like dreaming the most vivid of dreams, and quitting feels like an abrupt awakening.

But magic takes its toll; magic demands a payment.

The payment is different for each person, but for me to facilitate a clear connection with the magic there can be no interference, no distractions, and no hesitation when the muse speaks. That means that the majority of time is spent alone, lost in thought, and then transferring those thoughts to paper. That means that most of the time is spent dreaming of magic, rather than experiencing it directly. And that is where, for me, magic takes its heavy, heavy toll. Instead of experiencing life for myself, I often live it vicariously through the experiences of my characters. Instead of experiencing courage, I dream of courage. Instead of experiencing fear, I dream of others who experience it for me. Instead of living my dreams, I write them down for others . . . Instead of finding love, I only dream of finding love. . .

At times, I am as one dead to the world of life--sitting alone, in the silent confines of my room, with only the sound of the steady tapping on my keyboard to keep me company. That is the price that I pay to dream. And I must often wonder if this is a price that is too steep, a price that buys me something precious, but costs me something priceless.