On being playful

A couple of years ago I was in a store with my mom, we walked between the rows searching for something when a song came on.

I loved the song so I walked through the aisles with a big smile on my face, singing like mad. My mom blushed. I asked her what the problem was, and she expressed shame. “Adults don’t act like that,” was her comment, or something quite similar.

Back at that time, I didn’t have a response to that, I just walked on singing along, dancing a little less flamboyant than I did before.

Adults should act like that, happy and carefree. It is something the world needs, living soulfully like that. And yes, I bet that when some others looked they might have seen a woman acting crazy. So what? Why should anyone be ashamed to express themselves in that way?


Don’t get me wrong, I do have my worries and I do have my issues, but that doesn’t keep me from playing. When I am with my nephews I am crazy auntie Sylvia and they all love it.

So I will go on giggling like an idiot, and playing games and acting like a kid. I believe it makes me a better writer and a better person.

And when I die, I hope I die with a smile on my face, one that has been there so much these past years.

When I need to be responsible and an adult, I am, and I am very serious when I need to be. But any other time, I rather play than be grumpy. Rather enjoy life than sitting in a corner and feel sad about things going on in my life.


Being playful makes me a better writer. I am creative, get lots of random plot ideas I either jot down or work on straight away, depending if I am ready to work on it or not. And when I submit, I gleefully work on another story, and then when I get a rejection, I rewrite and submit again. That’s what writing is about.
Play on!

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