I’ve called myself a writer since I was 10. Long before that though, I liked to make up stories and bring my sister into them. I would supply the world, setting, and general direction, while she would fill in the more human roles. She would also create characters to act as a foil for my own. Back then, they were usually princesses on journeys of great import, bound for heroic sacrifice and epic adventure. They were all hopelessly naive. My sister would usually create characters that were a bit more street smart and wary, ready to believe you but trust still had to be earned.
We had fun. Despite looking crazy and being “those twins”, we loved it. It was our thing, our personal story book that no one else could read, because it was only in our hearts. Not that we always got along while doing this. More than once or twice, we got into screaming matches because we both wanted to lead the story that day, or some other reason, very valid at the time. We fought over so many things in our lives, it was only natural to fight over this as well. So inevitably when one of us called it off ‘forever’, it would only be a few days. Then she would sneak into my room and away we’d go, to another planet or dimension.
I still cherish every one of those characters, even the ones I’ve forgotten the names of. They are a reminder of a time when I learned just how limitless my imagination could be. If it weren’t for my sister constantly playing along, I doubt I would be the person I am today. Sounds cliche, but every word of that statement is completely true.
Amber, I hope you can forgive me for rambling on this. I spilled the beans. I simply wanted to start my project where I started, whispering silly stories to my twin sister.
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