“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”
― Ray Bradbury
Every writer was once a storyteller. Some might even call him a liar. Some, a coward. And, before that, he was a dreamer. He found reality to be too vulgar, too harsh, too restrictive, and he allowed himself to dream into existence a life that could never be.
It is sad that all we can do with the best in us can be called fiction. The best possible version of ourselves can only exist within the confines of words and paper.
A friend of the writer once told him that we probably write about people we wish to be, but don’t have the courage to become.
But that was long after our writer decided to make it his goal to write the best thing ever written.
When he was but fourteen years old, he set out to write the kind of stories he believe would influence the world. The kind of stories that could change mankind, that could make him immortal.
Every writer was once a brave soul.
This kid wrote with the hope that his stories would someday come true. Even though he knew they could never. Yet, he hoped.
It is hope that conquers fear. It is only hope. It is never something else.
We are all made up of stories, hopes, and stardust.