Fourth grade is full of creative writing assignments, just about one everyday. The artist loves being able to express herself and to see her dreams on paper. When she writes, there are no limitations to where the story will go. Last week she wrote a story about Trick or Treating while flying!
I loved creative writing in school too. I thought when I became an adult I would have the opportunity to live out those dreams. It took me a summer to realize that is a LIE! How dare we raise children to believe that they can be anybody, that they can see dreams come true, and that they will do anything they want? Play is not an option. This is real life and it is not going to be a glittery as you dreamed it would be.
Or is it?
While as an adult, the story may have a few different factors thrown in but can we still write it to be as wonderful as we dreamed? Do we spend more time drowning in doubt than flying from house to house to Trick or Treat? Are we our own ball and chain? Do we ever stop to realize that there are dreams far greater than we could have written ourselves, but that there is a co-author next to us with pen in hand? If everything in life was perfect and fell into place just as we wrote it out to be -- wouldn't that be a really boring book?
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