Hopeless Mediocrity: Why I Write

J.R. Lennon at the blog Ward Six asked today: What book made you who you are? In the interest of not hijacking the comments thread, I'm posting my thoughts here.

Peter Pan.

I loved "Hook" and begged for the fancy, twenty-dollar Peter Pan edition. Guess that edition was so fancy as to be unabridged. It was full of spilling blood and real danger, something I'd never read about before.

I loved it! I forced my friends to play "Peter Pan" with me every day, in a kind of live-action fan-fic. (I was always Peter, of course). That period was the first time I dove into a fully-formed fantasy land--not just playing pretend, but forming whole narratives.

The magic died for me on Halloween when, all dressed up as Peter Pan though I was, my parents followed (chatting!) while my friends and I trick or treated. There wasn't any real danger at all.

Still, reading Peter Pan was the first time a story really opened up for me, when fiction became a place to experiment and create and to learn things I couldn't while trapped in real life.

I haven't re-read it since--haven't had the heart to.

To which, J.R. Lennon asked, "So when, in your present day life, do you most feel you're channeling Pan?"

I said:

Peter Pan doesn't belong in a broke grown-up's world, I guess.

When I was younger, I tried all the usual things a curious child/teen/college kid does...but what is there for an adventurous adult? I'd do anything to escape my skin and really learn something... How could all the freshness be rubbed off of life so soon?

I've lost the thrill. Drug highs are limited, and drinking stupefies. Sex may be intense, but it's still always got the same old orgasm at the end. I've traveled more than my budget allows, and found the same shit in all those different places. Half my family live like vagabonds, but they're fundamentally the same as the half that are middle class; i.e., just as bored. The nine-to-five/responsible boyfriend thing nearly killed me. But what else is there? F*ing extreme sports?!

My only answer to the ennui is reading and writing--it's my (quasi) socially acceptable version of playing pretend, I guess. But I wish there were more.

Suggestions welcome! How do people find adventure in real life?