I was reminded of something last night when I was handing out Halloween candy. I saw it in the kids’ eyes, but it inspired a feeling in me. It was a mixture of nostalgia and pride, and it was because these kids still understood the power of make-believe. They hadn’t had their rose colored glasses ripped away, and they truly believed that they were whatever character they had chosen for the night.
I don’t think I’d want to go back to being as innocent as a child, but that utter conviction they had that they had while coming up to get candy and show off their costumes thrilled me.
Still, there is one part I don’t like about Halloween.
It’s when the magic ends. When the makeup comes off. When the fangs get tucked in a drawer to wait out the year. I want to be fully embedded in the story that surrounds the chosen character, and I hate that I have to tuck them away until the season returns.
I genuinely feel cheated and upset when the illusion is broken.
It’s another reason I love writing, and I’ve been thinking about writing and illusion quite frequently lately.
I had wanted to be an actress, and I did quite a bit of acting throughout my younger years, but something always nagged me about it.
I think I enjoyed acting because it allowed me to get into a character. To analyze them. To understand their inner workings, and I think that played into my decision to become a writer.
I simply love the magic. I love the exploration. I get to discover new characters every day; whether I’m working on something of my own, or reading another author’s series.
It’s 2 AM as I write this, so technically it’s the day after Halloween, but I can still feel a little bit of the magic in the air. I’m going to hold onto it. I think I’ll capture that power of storytelling, place in a little bottle, and store it next to my fake vampire fangs to give me yet another reminder that the magic of make-believe doesn’t have to end when the ghosts and ghouls say goodnight.