Somewhere Between Godhood and Delusion

My existence floats somewhere between godhood and delusion. Creation, destruction, and attachments to figments of imagination are all normal occurrences in my daily life. When I stop and think about what it is I really do, it's honestly a little disturbing.

First, I become a god. I create a brand new world and give life to new beings. Over them I wield ultimate control, giving them purpose and determining their fate. I nourish them and develop their personalities. Then I dive deep into conversations, sometimes with them and at other times on their behalf. It might be over a keyboard or notebook, but just as often these conversations occur while I'm driving, cleaning, showering, or simply trying to fall asleep. I spend so much time with many of them reality blurs and I become almost as invested in the make believe world I created as I am in real life. I love the little beings I created and become engrossed in their tale, often joining them in both tears and celebrations.

And yet, like a power hungry overlord, I love to toy with their existence. I dash their hopes and smother their dreams. I create unnecessary tension and drama in their lives before impeding their way with insurmountable obstacles. For the lucky ones, I eventually allow them some appeasement and eventual resolution. But for every lucky one there's a pile of unfortunate souls that were lost in their despair.

As it turns out, most of the time I am not a benevolent, loving god for my creations. My existence is reminiscent of petty deities from ancient Greece, who treated mere mortals as nothing more than pawns to toss about in their cruel games then discard like trash. A few of my creations simply are led to devastation, their story culminates with tragedy. But so, so many more, the majority in truth, I simply abandon, left to teeter precariously on the precipice of some unknown fate. Their story does not come to an end but I close the file, toss the notebook in a drawer, and move on. Despite the initial love I felt for them, all too often I get bored or frustrated with their pathetic existence and give up on them. At times embarrassment plagues me and I hide them away so no one will ever find them. Or worse, I get distracted by the next shiny object and forget about them completely.

No, no, I am no god.

I must be delusional. I'm simply pretending to have ultimate control and power over the worlds of my own creation. But I cannot even control my own attention span. I don't have the dedication and patience to follow through with my duty as a supreme being. I leave these poor worlds frozen, waiting for my return.

Sometimes they come to me in my dreams, as if begging me to let their adventure play out. Sometimes I remember them and wonder where I thought their story might go and if it ever will get there. Sometimes I still talk to them, we discuss where I left them and where I should take them next. Some I come back to, but others have waited years, decades even, for my return with no avail.

The guilt I feel over their abandonment seems to heighten the older I get. The urgency to complete their stories becomes more pressing as the culmination of my own story looms closer on the horizon. I no longer have what seems like an eternity to determine their destiny. I only have the time left to me on this earth. This year will mark my 45th trip around the sun. I have unfinished stories I began over three decades ago. I can hope for another three decades to complete them. Truly, I hope I have another five decades, or more, left in me. But…

It is time I acknowledge my duty to follow through with promised stories. My little worlds need to be freed from the dark confines of old filing cabinets and numerous thumb drives. My little beings need to find a home where they can finally achieve resolution to their tales, a place where they will be preserved for my posterity, and a place where the world can have the opportunity to get to know and love them.

Fortunately, I know just the place.

Right here on my favorite writing platform.

This year I am issuing a personal challenge to myself to resurrect 50 of my abandoned stories and bring them to life within the Vocal community. (I hope to post one per week, but may have to adjust as my health dictates, so I'm allowing myself some grace upfront.) Some stories may be stand alone pieces that come to a quick, albeit long awaited, resolution. But others will have to be part of a series in order to give their tales time to develop properly. I'm not limiting myself to a specified word count or genre. My only rule for this personal challenge is to start with a piece I have abandoned and finally bring the story to a satisfactory resolution. I will allow myself the freedom to revise and rewrite the existing words where needed, but I will try to preserve the style and atmosphere I find them in. With some pieces, I may choose to include the tale of the tale, especially when I start digging out the old spiral bound notebooks. I’m sure to post at least one from my school years in all of its immature, rambling glory.

My challenge is not about winning accolades or garnering subscribers. This challenge is not for anyone else's benefit, just my own. I need to prove to myself that I can finish what I start. I am a habitual hoarder of half-finished creative projects. I have bins of crochet projects, in various states of partial completion. There are totes of scrapbooking supplies, jumbled with loose photos just waiting to be compiled. A dozen or more needlepoint projects will get finished, one day, maybe. Well, perhaps this challenge is for my husband's benefit also. If we're lucky, it will inspire me to complete some of the other abandoned creative pursuits and finally free up some clutter.

But ultimately, I'm just excited to create a small anthology of my own work. When I commence my 46th spin around the sun, I want to be able to look back on my pieces and see how I have grown as a writer in technique, discipline, and confidence over my lifetime. What's more, I want to feel deserving of my self appointed title as a god to these worlds of my own creation and finally be able to sit down for a long conversation with a figment of my imagination without feeling the least bit delusional.