Reconnecting with My Imaginary Friend

A real story about overcoming writer's block

I want to start off this week with a thank you. 

The more I have settled into town and into a new routine, the more opportunities I have had to run into more people in the community — people who, it turns out, not only read this column but also, apparently, enjoy it. What’s more? Some of these people even take the extra step to tell me so!

I appreciate this more than I can properly explain. I have often daydreamed about being a writer so, thank you.

To anyone who hates this column to bits and waits by the mailbox just to set it on fire on the lawn, thank you for keeping that piece of information to yourself. 

There is, after all, a burn ban in place.

I’ll admit I get a sort of amnesia between when I write a column and when it comes out in the paper. Like so much of my participation in the world, I’m my own worst enemy and am constantly fighting a battle against being ridiculously awkward. 

Someone will comment on the most recent offering and I’ll be standing there playing a version of Password inside my head. I hope the other person will say something that will fight its way past the cobwebs and fire up the lightbulb, allowing whatever I wrote to come back to me.

I’d like to chalk all this up to something snazzy like “creative process,” but it’s more likely a holdover from my news job. There typically wasn’t time to linger on one thing too long when the next day, the next show, the next block, the next story was always fast approaching. 

Meet the deadline and that’s it. You move on.

If I’m really honest about it all, though, it’s probably just because I forget stuff, which, I’m almost positive I talked about in one of these columns, but I obviously have no idea which one.

The more time passes, the more my old work can seem new to me. I know I had something to do with it, of course, but in some ways it feels like the columns wrote themselves.

Then, there are the times I remember all too well that they don’t — my head swirling with a million thoughts as I stare at a blank page, the cursor blinking.

One of my tips for avoiding any kind of writers’ block is to simply tell the truth. Even if you’re not writing exactly what you want, you’re at least writing something and that seems to get things moving.

“Write what is happening or what’s on your mind and the rest of it will start to fall into place,” I have confidently advised over the years.

Like anything, though, I know — this doesn’t always work.

When it doesn’t, some writers might seek guidance from their muse. I consulted the Internet. 

“Writing prompts,” I typed into Google and the predictive text spat back — “Writing prompts for kids.” Immediately, I knew I was on to something.

“What makes your school special?” “What would you like to invent?” “Have you ever broken something?”

I scrolled through each of the suggestions before one stood out.

“Have you ever had an imaginary friend?”

“Yes,” I thought and then, “that’s not even the weird part.”

I absolutely had an imaginary friend when I was a little kid. Her name was Judy — but not just any Judy — Judy Collins, who is an actual person — a famous one.

Judy Collins is a folksinger who rose to fame in the 1960s and 70s. We had her albums. I remember staring into her haunting, ice blue eyes on the simply titled, “Judith,” as I listened to songs like “Send in the Clowns” and “City of New Orleans” on my little record player.

For some reason, she had a real impact on me. So much so, I apparently decided we had to be friends. Why? I have absolutely no idea but, of course, I had to find out what she’s up to these days.

Now 84 years old, it turns out the very real Judy Collins is still touring and performing — most recently in Australia. Her gaze will still go right through you.

And because life is beautifully weird, my brief Judy Collins research instantly turned up this quote from her:

“I know that there are no shortcuts, but you must keep your faith in something greater than you, and keep doing what you love. Do what you love and you will find the way to get it out to the world.” 

She continues, “There are no accidents in memory, for memory has its own reason and its own logic.” 

Carefully picking my jaw up off the keyboard, I thought, “imagine that?” 

And another column is in the books.

This column originally appeared as Reconnecting with my Imaginary Friend in the March 21, 2024 edition of The Perry Herald in Perry, NY