I want to write a story.
It will be fiction, of course, and probably not very good because I’m not a fiction writer.
But I still want to write it.
It would be about a little girl who grew up being driven by curiosity to explore everything she came into contact with. She would do things like read the encyclopedia and collect maps and be excited to visit the Library of Congress. She would have a life that, if viewed from space, would look like a maze with lots of lovely dead ends that were really cull-de-sacks with fabulous treasures and knowledge and experience.
There would be tragedies, of course. There are always tragedies in any good story. But they would be tragedies that would make our heroine stronger, multi-faceted. Mysterious. Maybe a few scars, too, because they are cool. She would have her heart broken several times and struggle against those who believed she was too independent and too strong. Sometimes those heartbreakers and those she would struggle against would be the same people.
Then there would be this point in the story when she thought she’d discovered all there was in the maze and we would think so, too. Then, suddenly, she’d open another door and there would be a whole new part she’d never seen before! It would be a turning point. She’d meet lots of people who’d also been heart broken, torn apart, scarred. We would all discover, right along with our heroine, that her super power was really only possible because of all the parts that had come before—especially the hard parts.
And then she’d make a friend who liked her not because she would be just perfect if she were less independent and strong and less mysterious but because she was independent and strong and a little mysterious. But not because she was a heroine. Just because she was herself.
Then, there would be this moment when she would see the entire maze of her life to that point as a whole. Just like she was seeing it from space. She would realize it wasn’t a maze at all. It was a labyrinth and all along, she’d been right where she was supposed to be.
And then, just as we think she’s come to the end of the labyrinth, she opens a door and finds a whole new part she’s never seen before.
It would be good. And it would be fiction.