When Daydreaming Becomes Something Else

At the doctor's office yesterday, I saw this cute punk rock couple come into the waiting room, She was pregnant and in leggings and what looked like one of his shirts. He had the black hair and leather jacket and high top sneakers. My mind went to Tam and Jo. Which isn't so strange because it goes to them - to all my characters - about every five minutes. Maybe more frequently.

Daydreaming is healthy and necessary for writers; I need my quiet time. I need structured, creative quiet time to plan and map things out in my head. But I do most of my story planning on the fly. In the car, in the waiting room, at the barn, at school before I graduated (oops). I'm sure I'll be daydreaming at Thanksgiving dinner.

But is it daydreaming if it's productive? When I go inside my own head, I'm never thinking about myself. I'm supremely boring. No, I'm thinking about my characters: their hopes and dreams, their futures, histories, children and legacies. I rehearse scenes down to the most minute detail and when I need them, call them up like file footage from a movie I've seen. In that respect, it's not so much dreaming as it is writing, even if the words aren't being put on paper.

When daydreaming becomes writing, I couldn't care less if people think I'm too quiet and strange.