There are two worlds authors inhabit – the one inside their heads, and the one that is all around them. I spend so much time inside my imagination I wonder if will take me over one day. Which reminds me of Jean-Dominique Bauby’s tragic memoir, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. As Stephen Fry said while talking about Oscar Wilde, “…art is the product, not of intellect, wit or superior faculties of understanding, but of imagination.”
This imaginary world is just as real, even more real sometimes. I am master of that little universe.
I don’t watch, read or listen to the news any more in order to leave the imagination free to wander like a dawn bird about to take flight.