Hey. I couldn’t sleep last night.
Being up in the dawn,
My mind started thinking about what is going on.
Up and playing with words. Nothing’s wrong, I’m just being thoughtful I guess. Maybe I’m catching a little cold.
#Porcupine, I’m ashamed to admit this but I met with one of the Inspire set of the Heart’s twins the other day and couldn’t tell him apart. Maybe it doesn’t matter because we spent the entire time talking about our endeavours and ambitions. His, a tale he compels to write.
We sat and he showed me a large piece of paper, and in the middle of that white page was seven topics written in pencil and neatly organized horizontally. Each categorised as fiction and nonfiction, but before starting what he had seemingly been preparing for, he pointed to the one in the middle with a promise to keep for last. I smiled with anticipation. Isn’t a little suspense fun?
Set in fantasy, he painted a world meshed with magic and heroic splendour. His characters were intriguing, had purpose and quests brimming with denouement. There wasn’t one waisted breath as he carried me from one side of the brainstorm he had prepared to the other, until he briefly paused, placed a finger on the part in the middle of that page telling me that we had made it to the last topic.
Visibly enthusiastic, he talked about the last dragons waiting on Earth for a hero to come. One almost eternal life left for each of their kinds, held in the hands of humanity he foretold as I imagined them impatient and getting on each other's nerves. One particular dragon seemed to stand out “as you see,” he began with the depiction of this majestic dragon that was unlike the others, “his skin shimmers like glitter.” Isn’t that absolutely beautiful? Should I have asked him if he saw himself as the son of prophecy he described or the ShimeringDragon I saw in his eyes, as they had been sparkling since the moment he had stepped inside their cavernous shelter.
Amazed by the world he roused in me, it’s surprising to hear that he’s never told anyone, and he mentioned why. If you have ever felt like you couldn’t speak your mind or your heart, then perhaps you understand him too.
Here sat a Heart whose only fantastic adventures he’s seen on paper were from the minds of the authors of the novels he reads while his own fell asleep with him every night. He recognised his struggle to put his thoughts in writing as I looked down to an outline with empty space as uniform and enticing as freshly fallen snow.
There’s an advice authors give to each other. Write everyday even if you feel silly and the text pointless.
“I see a little girl playing with a red ball. The ball is red because it isn’t blue. It will never be green and it shouldn’t be purple. I am yellow and I don’t have a ball at all. And every day, I see the little girl playing and I wonder why her ball is red.”
The verbal exercise was short and simple, but I didn’t tell him that the story of the little girl with the red ball had actually been my very first storytelling exercise I had come up with to entertain his sister, Wonder Heart. The moment struct with me and I thought that my start is where he could take off. Thinking about it, seems like he could use more Wonder in his life. He sent me a nine versed poem that night.
My dear #Porcupine, out of the twins, I don’t think he was Liberated which would make him Aspire. How different the twins are from one another, I realise now. Hopefully Aspire won't ever try to be exactly like his twin brother because yesterday he sent a picture of the six huge wooden planters he spent the whole day building, and today, he advised me that four of them he donated to his college. Isn’t that amazing?
Oh, and I hope he will forgive me for the scribbles I left across his outline. I found colouring pencils.