My daughter was looking into a glass sphere and forming her own dreams about a perfect life (which not surprisingly included tons of free American Girl stuff). The air was already thick with dreams, but hers were so
vivid I am sure they overwhelmed all the rest.
Most of my overhears yesterday were in fact daydreams… “Why couldn’t we build new doors into the kitchen to make a little eating area outside?” “What if we carpeted part of the attic to make a hide-away like this?” “I would have my book club meet in the little cottage like our own little space.”
This is the joy of the Street of Dreams. In it disbelief is suspended and we can pretend that we will someday be able to have a library…. or a waterfall… or even a mudroom. We can experience how the 1% live, and dream about perhaps joining their ranks.
However I was there not only as a dreamer, but also as a writer…. And my brain was taking in the details that created these perfect environments. The heavy wood plank flooring that felt rough under my feet; the ocean sounds
coming from the speakers in the garden, or the way the shiny grille blinded me for a moment when the sun hit it.
I don’t tend to write characters that live as the 1%... but I do write dreamers who might pay
attention to such details… long for these little things and in that longing
show what my readers what is most important to them. Just as American Girl
dolls are critical to my daughter at this stage in her