Writing Beautiful Things
Wouldn’t it be nice to write beautiful things?
Be able to make the words come alive like the spirits of the very ideas the words represented are breathing into the pages and pixels on screens?
Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to make those scenes come alive?
A vast savannah of dusty green, low-down trees clinging greedily to the landscape as an auric sunset bathed the world in its light.
Or a gigantic waterfall piercing down from the heavens amidst floating islands, its rainbow offshoots illuminating in the sunlight.
Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to watch the characters grow and feel?
A long-suffering knight that had carried headstrong through injustice finally finding peace and clearing his name through his own sacrifice for the good of his companions.
Or a young city girl experiencing wonder for the first time as she is taken on an adventure by a mystical being, showing her the starry sky without light pollution?
Wouldn’t it be nice to live in the worlds that are forged from our imaginations, created by our most idealistic thoughts and hopes of escape and wonder?
But we can – even if for just what seems like a fleeting moment. We hope and dream and yearn and stretch our hands out towards the humble worlds we are offered. We live in those worlds and feel in those worlds – they become the realities that we experience. And then we return to our own.
To some the worlds make up a fraction, a few simple hours of a life that could be, in another universe. To others, the worlds are all that they exist to know. Being able to live through another person, another being, another soul – any way to live through someone else to escape the existence that is this life.
To all, the worlds are precious, fragile beings that shape the way we live. A fairy tale heard when young will breathe the discipline of a prince into a boy. A television series watched in a time of need will instil the morals of doing right by yourself into a teenage girl that needs something to grab onto. A set of characters in a video game that a man in his twenties will forever remember as the greatest friends he’s ever had. A book an old man has read since he was little, that changes a little bit every time he reads it again. A play enacted by the theatre, that will bring tears to Grandma’s eyes as she remembers the first time she watched it from the standing seats.
Everything made of words is made for something. Some of those things are beautiful beyond words themselves and beyond belief that is human. And yet we are blessed by those who write and work and create tirelessly, to forge a piece of their souls into a world that will carry a person away to a beautiful place.
Wouldn’t it be nice to write beautiful things?
To take a soul to a world that only you know otherwise. A world shaped in your mind and your mind alone, until the words that you speak and write will anchor themselves deep inside the hearth of that world and tether other people yearning to explore to it.
Wouldn’t it be nice to write beautiful things? To create that world for someone real, who will live in it in their own way, but live in it as you did once?
It would. I hope my worlds and words are enough.
I hope I can write beautiful things.
