In my imaginary life, I am a full time writer, sitting at my pretty white desk, tapping away at my top of the range MacBook. Day after day I craft beautiful, moving stories that change the world, all while drinking first flush Darjeeling tea from a collection of vintage teacups, and eating cucumber finger sandwiches.
In real life, I’m a stay at home mum who got pushed out of her study when it had to be turned into a nursery. I’m writing this on my Dad’s hand-me-down laptop, sitting on the sofa, in between tickling my daughter, searching for the softest soft toy, and mopping up milk. The stories I love to write and create aren’t the ones that change the world, but I like to think that someday they might affect even one reader’s life. I’m drinking Tesco own brand tea from a chipped mug, and I’m eating my daughter’s left over toast.
Imaginary me doesn’t have to cram her writing into rapidly decreasing nap time, or late in the evening after cooking and cleaning up, while trying to block out the noise of the TV in the lounge. But then, imaginary me lives in a cocoon of peaceful existance and, I have to wonder, what on earth does she have to write about? If nothing but beautiful things happen to her, if she never worries about the budget, or taking the bins out, or a sick child or a husband facing redundancy (again), where does she find the emotion, the fear, the feeling for her stories? My life experience is what allows me to create characters that can engage with a reader, to move them, to affect their life rather than change the world.
On the other hand, there are some aspects of imaginary me’s life I would like to cultivate. I’ve got my eye on a beautiful duck egg blue 50s tea cup and saucer set at The Oxford Tea Party. And I’m saving for the MacBook…
What about you? How does your imaginary writing life reflect your real one?