Last week during one of my never-ending road-trips to shuttle my kids around I decided to let my imagination run wild. I became my character Lolly from my novel-in-progress, Junebug.
As my car sped down the winding country road through tree tunnels and past cornfields, I left my windows open to the summer air, that wasn't as hot or as humid as usual for July. Lolly didn't care if her dark, curls frizzed out in the wind. She luxuriated in the wild freedom of the air blowing through the windows. Lolly laughed as the small mini-cooper her dad let her barrow for the day whipped up and down hills and around curves. Past the small stone bridge by the old grist mill it sailed up and into the air.
|Image courtesy of scificincinnati.com|
Lolly felt like she was flying. There was nobody with her to tell her to stop, nobody there to warn her not to use her powers frivolously. As she continued on she realized the car actually was flying. The realization caused her to bounce back on the pavement with a jolt that would have her father shaking his head over the damage to his suspension. Lolly knew she should be sorry, but a smile tugged at her lips and she couldn't regret a moment of it.
I was Lolly in my mind. Don't worry, I didn't break any speed limits. ;) Unfortunately, my car didn't really fly over the dips and curves in the road either.
But it broke up the monotony of a everyday task for a moment and gave me more insight into my character and her motivations. Most of all, for that moment I had fun in my own headspace and enjoyed the fun of creating without it feeling like actual work. Lolly, or Junebug, as her dad calls her, was really alive for that brief span of time. She was there with me laughing at her momentary freedom, and wild excitement of just being. It was glorious.