I used to play with dolls as a child. I gather this is What Children Do. I used to stage grand extravaganzas, big budget, all action, non-stop thrills, conscripting all manner of household items. Those aren't stairs, that's a cliff and there is a heart-stopping clifftop rescue going on. That's not a mirror, it's a portal to another dimension. The lift has broken off the Sindy house and is swinging freely: cue Towering Infernoesque disaster movie. There were sagas that went on for weeks, if not months: the tangled on-off courtship of Barbie and Ken, the backstabbing world of the pop diva, the tragic little orphans in their garret.
Recently I spoke to a friend about this. She seemed taken aback. Didn't she used to play games like that? "No," she said, "I just used to brush their hair and change their clothes."
So:
Writers are born and not made.
Discuss.
My sister and I used to call it 'acting it out'. One of my dolls spent weeks disguised as a man for one adventure.
ReplyDeleteThe offspring is made of sterner stuff. She had no interest in dolls at all.
But does the offspring write? I'm wondering whether there's a link between forcing hapless dolls into all sorts of shenanigans and forcing imaginary people into similar shenanigans.
ReplyDeleteI'm rather fond of Sims 3. Designing people is such fun. I made a facsimile Fergus who turned out as exuberant as the real thing.
I just said 'real', didn't I? Ah... [goes off to lie down in a darkened room for a while]
She's never written a dull word. No fiction yet, though. It may well come later.
ReplyDeleteWell-written non-fiction is something to be prized. Good to hear the writing gene's been passed down!
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