Playtime.

I like to think of writing as an extension of my childhood games by myself. I would come up with the craziest ideas using plastic horses, Barbie dolls, dinosaurs, and action figures. Whole, complex plots would unravel while my sister and I sat cross-legged on the carpet. Romantic affairs between Barbie and Godzilla. The unfolding of the evil action figure empire on the bed, with a purple-suited Dracula in charge. The pretentious world of the horses, who peered down at the world from their perch on the bookshelves.

Imagination. Pure, unedited imagination. If I succeed at this career, it'll be a lot of work. But it'll also be perpetual playtime. Me cross-legged on the carpet with a t-rex in one hand and a winged unicorn in the other.

Long live imagination.