We’ve always credited great stories to the imagination. Whimsical accounts of glorious feats and miraculous characters that sprang from the ink of writers. We have been enticed by their words and by their unnatural charm to bring summer into our hearts.
I’m a big fan of fairy-tales. Growing up I read them by the shelves before going to sleep. I applaud in the victory of my favorite heroes and I cry at the loss of their greatest defeat.
I got lost in those adventurous pages of someone’s thought. Someone’s thoughts, those pages were pieces and puzzles of someone’s thoughts. I guess sometimes, most times, the story has overshadowed the writer.
I watched Saving Mr. Banks just a while ago and its story just struck my heart. It’s about, P.L. Travers, the writer of Mary Poppins, how she conceived the heart of her story and how she let it go to forgive herself and save the ending.
The film was an enlightening account of how a wonderful story is conceived. At most times we give ode to the power of imagination to rid ourselves of an unwanted reality but after I watched the film I realized that we should credit the gift of imagination to the strength of our present tale outside the pages.
Dreams always have a tinge of reality. A sparkle that shines offset the glimmering words of hope and happiness. It is reality that gave us the venue to dream, to take flight. A writer’s reality is her joy and pain, her inspiration to go beyond the boundaries of great heights.
The heart of every story is always anchored to the realness of emotions, the plight of moments that have driven sweetest and bitterest heartbeats. Behind every good story is always a reality that hushes its way to the ending.