Imaginary Buddies

Tommy and Tammy lived through the door in the sign post. It was a door they could freely exit and enter, but it didn't work for me. I could get glimpses of their world, but I could never enter it. They could come through at will, and were great playmates.

I'm not sure where Suzy lived, but she was my friend too. She was much more adventurous than I was and I loved hearing her tales. Her friends were forest creatures and faeries.

Of course looking back, I know my three friends were imaginary. I think I knew it even then. But my older sister, who also happened to be my best friend, had gone to school and I was lonely. I was shy and spent a lot of time with these buddies. I can still picture them today, even the sign post world.

I also realized about then that those picture books and chapter books contained even more worlds for me to explore, more places I could visit. They had more friends who would keep me company while my sister was at school. Of course, the books were easy for a long time, but the seeds were planted.

I think these early friends opened a lot of doors for me. My sister never had them. She also doesn't read fiction. Is there a connection? Was I more receptive to the worlds of imagination because of my loneliness? Or would I have been a reader and writer regardless?

So, I want to know. Do people who invent/discover imaginary friends go on to be readers and writers? What's your experience? Any imaginary/invisible buddies in your life?

The Gypsy in Me

It’s been a long time since I was an elementary school student. Back then we were rarely allowed to write. When we did write, we were always given a writing prompt. Not many other instructions, just, “remember to use paragraphs and proper spelling.” Thankfully, times have changed a lot since then!

Anyway, one prompt was something along the lines of, “I was walking in a forest...”

My little brain decided I could hear gypsy music in my story. Now, I was a blonde, blue-eyed, middle class, naive little ten-year-old. This story was all of a page long (handwritten - way before computers). In it, I followed the gypsy music and soon saw fire glowing. As I crept closer, the music intensified in both volume and emotion. It was sad, so sad. As I neared the clearing, I saw the old man playing his violin while his caravan burned. I knew his wife had died, and he was burning the physical objects so he could keep the memories.

Sappy, overwritten, overly-dramatic drivel. And all in one page :)

But, it was a powerful enough attempt for me to remember all these years later. In fact, I can still see the scene perefectly in my mind's eye. Probably one of the first signs I’d need to write. Which of your childhood stories have stayed with you?