I am entering this blog entry into a contest by Positive Writer called “You are a Writer.” Check out his blog for links to many other inspiring stories!
I’ve always loved stories—the more fantastical, the better. Alien planets, magical worlds, the supernatural living among us—I like it all.
I would wish, sometimes, that I could live in one of those stories. It’s not that I hated my life—I had a wonderful childhood, loving parents, all my basic needs met and a few luxuries on the side. A great environment to grow up in, but nothing special, or so I thought at the time.
I wanted to be special. To be the one who opened the wardrobe door and discovered Narnia. Or woke up in Oz and saved the day.
I wanted to fly with the hidden angel wings on my back. Or wield the magic sword. Or be the holder of the key to the secret land of the unicorns. I played games, and wrote stories, and read stories, and wished I was something special.
Why couldn’t I have a cool superpower like one of the X-Men? How come all the hidden trails in the woods always dead-ended at the edge of the highway instead of taking me to a magical fairy realm? No hole in the ground ever led to Wonderland, no ring I put on ever made me invisible. Nothing special.
Then suddenly one day, not so very long ago, I realized that I was wrong. All these years, daydreaming about things that didn’t exist, were not futile fancies or a waste of time. All this time, I’d been honing my magical talent, my special power.
I could tell stories. I could think of worlds and people that had never existed before, and never ever would if I didn’t think of them and give them life. I could create the places I longed to visit, the amazing creatures I longed to see, and share them with other people.
I’m a writer. That’s my superpower.
I have a mind, and a voice, and a pen. And I can use them to create magic or save the day.
You have a mind, and a voice, and a pen. What’s your superpower?