The pleasures of being a novelist are many. ? But the greatest by far is the manner in which I live through my characters; experiencing every detail of their story as it unfolds gradually and personally within my own creative psyche. ? I'm like a cat with untold lives, because each new book is my rebirth.
Time and again the sun sets like a bedimming curtain before my eyes, taking with it all illumination, warmth, and color. ? I am overwhelmed by night and the monsters that lurk in shadows of despair. ? But alas, stars twinkle from afar, shedding the tiniest rays of lighted hope. ? I am reminded that the sun also rises, and that morning's glory shall restore beauty to my world. ? The realization of this dream is only a matter of waiting out the dreary night. ? So, I shall persevere.
You can capture this body of mine, take away my freedom and enslave me. You may even have the power to capture my soul and sentence me to the realm of eternal darkness. But my dreams you cannot touch. They are my will; the very essence of who I am. In them I laugh. In them I cry. In them I love. And in them.I live.My dreams are untouchable and unceasing.
I don't so much mind looking back on having lost the election, or having been denied a role in the play, or having had my novel repeatedly rejected, or having been turned down for a date, or recalling laughter at my expense when I attempted some silly challenge. ? Those things simply prove that I? lived life. ? What I do mind, however, is looking back on the lost opportunities where imagined concerns kept me from even trying, lose or win. ? I've learned that there is no regret in a brave attempt. Only in cowering to fear.