The Deferred Dream

So, kids, this is how my creative writing workshop, well, works. We are given a choice of writing "prompts" for our homework assignments. Rarely does one "jump out at me", so to speak, and before this weekend, I didn't have a fucking clue which one I would write about.  But, as per usual, I waited all week until the day of class, to do my homework and surprisingly, after the event's of this weekend (Monster-Mania Con, something I look forward to with all my heart), the choice was obvious. This is a completely true story and John, if by some miracle you find your way to this blog, it's for you.  Thank you for everything, truly!  The prompt is "the deferred dream".

How could I have known that the simple act of saying “hello” could lead to so much more? He was kind of low-key, quiet, as if waiting for us to approach. Within moments, we three were chatting it up like old friends. It didn't matter that he was an actor or “famous”. It only mattered that we were three honest, genuine people, speaking from our hearts about things of substance. I tend to be that way, probing from the word “go”. I can't help it. I like knowing people. Not simply meeting but really knowing and I guess he felt the same way. Before I knew it, we were talking about my writing, the fact that I had been doing it for as long as I could remember but doing nothing with it. He was shocked. “Why not?” he asked. Such a simple question, really, but a powerful one. I answered as I usually do, “fear, mostly.” He shook his head as if to say, “that's no excuse.” He might have actually used those words. I told him I do write a blog and he immediately asked for the link, said he would be checking it out. I hope I said it correctly, I was so shocked and surprised. He officially challenged me to submit and when “Tommy Jarvis” tells you to do something, I'd suggest you do it. He survived “Jason”, for fuck's sake. But the best part was, in that moment, in all of our moments, he was never once “Tommy Jarvis”. He was a man named John, simply a human being who happens to act for a living. An honest man, a kind man, a man not unlike myself in that he, too, wears his heart on his sleeve, despite having chosen a career rife with the potential for gut-punches and heartbreak. Or, maybe it chose him? Maybe writing chose me? Maybe that's the reason I have never been satisfied doing anything else? The fact of the matter is this, I truly have nothing to lose by attempting to pursue the deferred dream. Life is too short not to. And really, how much clearer could that be?