My twin brother and I used to write stories–mostly about knights, kings, and the occasional dragon– and reading the Lord of the Rings in third grade was definitely a contributor to the fact. We only had one set of the series books, though, so we always had to trade off reading. The exchange was always accompanied by a, “what page are you on?” and a secret, deep hope that my page count still stood in first place. It’s the little things in life that matter most sometimes.
But our first book, “King Sting,” was published that year too. And by published I mean we printed out our story and glued the pages into a blank hardcover book. We even got our artistic friend to trace pictures from a Beauty and the Beast coloring book. Once it was all done, we raffled it off in our homeroom and one lucky classmate got to take it home. One of my first memories of fulfilling success.
But this blog isn’t about elves or dragons (although a Gandalf reference is inevitable).
It’s about that big imagination I used to have. The stream of vibrant consciousness that came freely and without a deliberate summoning. Recently, I’ve started to write again and have found that the ideas don’t come as easily. Instead of standing under the running water from the shower’s head, I’m wrestling with its annoying handle that’s rusted shut.
The blog name, “Into a New and Different Sun” is inspired by a quote from Christopher McCandless, the 20-something year old who ventured into the Alaskan wilderness you probably know from Into the Wild:
“The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.”
A lessened imagination has allowed me to look past the indifference that we commonly apply to the little things in life and to want to find their ‘new and different’ meaning.
So here’s my plan. It’s simple and straightforward. Record different thoughts that pass through my mind, but think a little bit more about them than I would have the day before. Maybe I’ll come to realize that even ‘greater joy’ that McCandless hoped to find.
I hope you’ll check up on me every once in a while.
Stefano Montali 
