Quite literally, ever since I’ve gone on this writing
journey, I’ve been hearing voices in my head. My main character’s voice. My antagonist’s.  The side characters’. The cat. When I lie in
bed at night, they come alive and long after I’ve dozed off, it feels like they
continue on. Having their conversations, falling in love, fighting, plotting.
When I wake up, I get a sense that something has transpired, but when I try to
get pen to paper, the thoughts escape even before I get out of bed.

Medical professionals would define escapism as the habitual
diversion of the mind to purely imaginative activity or entertainment as an
escape from reality or routine. Could all writers, then, in some form, be
escapists? When an author creates a world so magical and unique that it
warrants its own elfin language, could this not be considered escapism at its
most splendid and truest form?

Perhaps I have gone a little loony. While writing, I’ve
often caught myself thinking – “Well, character A would never stand for that,
she’s better than that” – like she and I somehow share an intimacy wherein I know
how she’ll react to any given situation. Or – “Character B won’t appreciate me
writing this scene in” – like somehow my creative impulses have the ability to
hurt imaginary feelings.  Could I then
be, by definition, harboring and cultivating imaginary relationships?

I once saw a shirt that read Writing is not for the Faint
of Heart. Personally, I think that writing is not for the sane of mind. The
highs and lows of one’s writing journey is enough to give anybody whiplash. One
minute you’re typing away, oozing with ideas and positivity, the next you’re
staring at a blank screen typing “All work and no play makes Nikki a dull girl”
over and over and over again. Don’t even get me started on the querying
process. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt more elated than when I received my
first full manuscript request from an agent. On the other hand, I’ve never felt
more deflated than when I got that first bad rejection.

I suppose what I’m getting at is this: Since I’ve started
writing my novel, I’ve been more unhinged, erratic, ecstatic, worried, giddy,
anxious, fretful, excited and plain batshit crazy than I’ve ever been in my
entire life.  I sleep less soundly, I
multi-task with less efficiency and I fret with increased voracity.

But here’s the thing. I have never felt more alive.  I don’t know much, but I do know this: If you
have a dream, whatever it may be, however difficult the path, YOU HAVE TO GO
FOR IT.  Even though you’ve stepped
so far out of your comfort zone that you feel you might fall off the edge. Even
though there is no way of knowing what lies ahead. Even if you might fail. The
key is that you went for it.

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams”, says
the voice in my head.

Why, thank you. I do believe I will.