Storytelling

I feel like sometime near the end of high school or maybe early in my first attempt at college, I allowed my creative storytelling muscles atrophy.  I feel confident that when properly motivated I can craft a descriptive enough sentence, or properly employ simile and metaphor, bring to bear a diverse vocabulary... but I rarely create from nothing a scene of the fantastic.  I was once a worldbuilder. In 3rd grade I purchased the rights to a concept around which I constructed a nearly rules-free role-playing game that literally entertained me and dozens of my acquaintances for about a decade.  In my mind was the universe in which they trounced about on hundreds of ad libed adventues. The price I paid for this potent seed of inspiration was a green Hotwheels car.

This one on Ebay may actually be THE car I traded him.

Gone are the days of anthropomorphic animals with comic-book super-powers, evil geniuses, pocket universes, Diamond-wing Starfighters, Spell tomes in esoteric languages, and marathons of mental chess with my friends and frienamies.

I feel like I need to be a worldbuilder again.  I need to make up flavorful characters experiencing wild scenarios in funky places.  I need some of my youthful mental energy back.

The world does not need the drivel I will spew, any more than it needs the images I capture and create, but I have a need to freeze and manipulate light, and I have a need to craft word...  I make for me.