There has never been a doubt in me that I would write a book. It has always been there – waiting to come out. I needed only to find the words. The surprising thing is what type of book.
Every friend I have has at some point uttered the phrase: “You must write a book.” They were however convinced that it would be about my life. To say my upbringing was unusual is – an irony.
Not that I had it bad – there is not ONE moment that I would forego. It led me here. Amongst stories mine is a blip in the global saga. Yet even I have to admit it was not normal.
But that is not the book that is pouring out of me at the moment. There are chapters stored away on my computer for some future date, but not yet.
This book came out of a dream. Dreams are one of the places I feel at home in. There are unlimited possibilities every time I close my eyes. That does not mean I find no possibilities in my real life. In my dreams though – the fantastic can become reality.
And it frequently does. A great deal of my poetry comes from my dreaming, including the darker ones. Sleepwalkers, demons, and fairies come out and play in my head, even the occasional scary plant.
In my dreams, and my imagination, I can fall in love or dive off the side of a cliff and transform into a bird. There are lakes that will boil a man alive and grey ladies who rule the places deep under the water’s surface.
A whole world is forming around my bunch of adventurers. I get to invent creatures that carry all the characteristics of some of the people I know. It is a great way to get your revenge without them knowing. My bad guys quite possibly have a real counterpart on this planet.
And the joy of it is – I can do what I could never do in real life, without ending up in prison. The feeling you get when you rip their heads open, or let the earth suck them away – well I usually sleep better on those nights.