The world we live in is oft times a war torn, physically dangerous, politically skewed, racially charged, spinning globe of more beautiful and wondrous landscapes, marvelous feats of engineering and technology and natural beauty the eye will ever behold or the mind fathom in a life time.
So many things to see and do, so many life experiences to, well, experience. I was about to say enjoy, but some life experiences aren’t so pretty.
Which brings me, finally, to my point.
There are times as I hurtle toward my life’s finish line far too fast, enjoying some of life’s experiences, hating others, that I find myself wanting nothing more than to push reality aside for a moment. I’d rather immerse myself in another time, another world, a world that better suits my temperament de jour and my commonsensical viewpoint on how things are going for me.
For me the art of escapism is starting to become a way of life.
First I read.
As a prolific reader, and specific to my own perspective — you folks may have another perspective you’d like to share — I read to escape. I want to get away from the hustle bustle turmoil of life’s struggles and experience mystery, magic, mayhem and beauty between the pages of a book. It’s safe, except for the eye strain, and provides me a vicarious way of experiencing the world from the comfort of my couch.
Then I write.
For now, because of my poor writing habits and my bevy of excuses for not writing like I should, I am merely an apprentice at escapism. I keep telling myself I’m at least halfway there because of my reading, but I know deep in my soul that to become a master I must write, write, write, write and then yes, you guessed it, write more.
So how does writing help you gain the vaulted title of Master of Escapism you ask?
Okay maybe you didn’t ask, but I’ll offer my thoughts on the subject anyway.
Let’s face it folks, readers read to escape, and if you stop a moment and think about it, writers write to escape.
There I’ve said it. The passion we have is really a tendency to escape into another world, a world we create and nurture, a world we hold sway over and ultimately a world we can destroy with the swipe of a delete key. Some call it passion, some call it obsession. I call it escapism.
As I said earlier, I don’t practice the art as much as I should, or visit my latest stories on a daily basis. Sometimes I’ll go a week before escaping this mortal coil to spend time with my characters and more often than not it’s because of an onslaught of depression brought on by the frustrations of my other, inhumanly mundane existence on this beautiful planet of ours.
But I’m getting better, I think. I’m writing this article right?
When I grow up and hopefully before I become ashes in an urn adorning the mantle above my fireplace, I want to become a master at this art form. I’ve got a burning feeling inside, could be indigestion, maybe not, that if I keep practicing my craft, bettering my reading and writing habits, I’ll eventually be able to escape at will into the worlds of my fellow authors and those of my own.
I will eventually become a Master of Escapism.
P.S. — I have a wall in my office picked out for the plaque after I’m bestowed the coveted title.