I have a dream. And I know how stupid it sounds when I talk about it and then give all the millions of excuses for not pursuing it for real.
I have a dream. I want to write a book or two or maybe even more. Not just any books, but books about my grandmother’s journey from Carelia, from Vyborg, to Helsinki as a refugee of the second World War. Books about the carefree childhood, the teen years in Vyborg, the summers at the country home in Huumola, the voyage from Vyborg to Vaasa to Helsinki. Not the usual memoirs, but novels. With a storyline that brings the whole life there alive to the reader.
I have a dream. I want to write abook about my husband’s adventures in the States some years ago. In the same manner. I already started that one while he was gone there, but never continued when he came back home. Then again, I don’t even know if I’d like to publish that one while he’s still alive.
I have a dream. I want to write a book about my own teen years of growing up, struggling in my relationship with my dad. And mom, in retrospect, in ways I didn’t understand back then. I didn’t really understand much back then. It has all started to dawn on me after my mother’s death. I want to write a story about the girl who’s me, but not me. I don’t want to write faithful-to-the truth narratives. I want to write stories based on the true stories.
I want to write. I want to write something that matters. I want to write something that is more than just a blog post that has 10 readers. More than just a novella or short story lost and forgotten in the masses of stories in the Internet. I want to write books that people will want to read. Books that they might benefit from in a way or another. Books that have the potential to change, if not the world, the world of a reader or few.
I have a dream and my fever is rising. I want to pursue it.
I need time. I need time to write, I need time to do the research I suck at. I want to get my facts right in the books, even if they are fiction. I suck at research. It’s a wonder I ever managed to finish my Master’s Thesis. I have no patience for research. Still, I need to do it. I need time. I need the feeling that I’m not in a hurry, that there’s no rush, that I have all the time in my life. That I can use up hours for research and then write another day.
I have a dream I cannot realize while working all days and taking care of kids and dogs in the evening, being with my husband. I love my family. They are my inspiration, my meaning for living.They keep my feet on the ground and my emotions roiling and my self strongly attached to *life*.
I have a dream of having a little house by the seaside, with a little veranda overlooking the sea. I would sit there on the veranda, with my research books, with my laptop. I would read, I would write. I would gaze at the sea for inspiration. At times it would be stormy, at other times still and glistening in the bright sun.
I have a dream and I want to try my wings. I wish I could. I hope I live to see the day when I can. I hope I live to be able to fulfill my dream. To dream is good, right?