What is your craziest wish? Define crazy as you’d like. Spell out this crazy wish in detail. Let us see and experience it as you envision it. Why is this your wish? What do you hope to gain if this wish is realized? What about it makes you think it’s crazy? What is standing in your way of making it a reality? Write about your craziest wish.
Probably, my craziest wish is to live in a treehouse on a lake in the thick woods or jungle. I have my treehouse all planned out. It has three stories and lots of windows and skylights. The first level is a comfortable, open area where I teach classes, have retreats, and invite people to write surrounded by the beauty of nature. Don’t worry. I have a lift if those stairs are too much to tackle.
The second story is where Bob and I live when we are at the treehouse; this is a second home for us because I really like the city too. It’s open, has a kitchen, living area, bathroom, and loft bedroom.
The smaller top story is my writing studio where I am eye level with the trees and birds. The space is filled with books and drenched in inspiration, and I write wonderful stories in my cozy hideaway. Oh, and Pete Nelson of
Oh, and Pete Nelson of Treehouse Masters and his crew are going to build my dream treehouse for me.
Crazy? Probably, but it doesn’t stop me from dreaming it. Someday, I may be rich and famous and have my treehouse in the woods. I’ll invite you over for a visit.
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Brenda O'Connor
Crazy Wish
Perhaps I am not crazy enough to have a “crazy wish”. I’ve walked the Great Wall, leaned on the Tower of Pisa, heard Big Ben chime, glanced at Venice from Bridge of Sighs, marveled at the Temple of Athena on the Acropolis. All of these paled in comparison to having a great love, holding our babies seconds after they were born, seeing a child understand something I’ve taught, or watching the ocean ebb and flow from my cottage deck. Yes, from the fabulous to the mundane I have done much with few “must do’s” remaining. But, crazy????
I have many unfulfilled wishes, most don’t really matter, but some gnaw at me demanding attention. One is the book telling my grandmother’s story. I have wanted to write that book for close to sixty years. In the beginning, it was to be an epic not unlike Roots telling the family history through many generations. Its scope and size have slowly lessened (I don’t want to say diminished), until it has become a children’s picture book focused on Ma her travails as an immigrant and the legacy her grandchildren and great-grandchildren enjoy.
This doesn’t sound like a project beyond the bounds of normality, so why do I think it is crazy? Because I know myself. I can write short essays of three to five paragraphs reasonably well. I can write teacher related materials from lesson plans to curriculum units, to grant proposals, to brochures. I’ve helped in writing/editing scholarly materials and more.
But, I am not a writer. Writers write. Real writers write every day. Writing comes before trivial pursuits and recreation. I’ve tried, but I don’t write every day other than during the occasional writing challenge week. Writing is not in the front of my brain. I am not compelled to write. I don’t “need” to write. I enjoy writing, and would love to write ma’s story. I can do it, I know. Maybe I’ll try again, but the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different outcome. So maybe this is crazy – maybe hoping for a book is crazy, maybe the crazy thing is I do it.