Went to the Hermitage car show. Saw a Bat Mobile.
My life is complete.
I was being a little lazy this morning. It’s my day off, so I was lounging in bed and staring at my bookshelf. I began thinking, those books contain worlds–universes, really–that I’ve explored, and retraveled, as I read them over and again. For instance, I’ve been committed to the Redwall series for a long time (I started reading the series in middle school, some fifteen years ago), and I relish every journey into Mossflower Wood, in the company of battle-hardened hares and sword-wielding squirrels. I feel like I’ve been there. I can picture the sunrise over the rose hued abbey walls as if I’m remembering a visit to a real place. I can feel the cool shadiness of the woods, and see the trees from the perspective of little woodland creatures. I know, the whole premise seems twee, but I like the stories. I absolutely love the descriptions. I love the characters.
It is stories like these which inspired me to pursue writing in the first place. I want to create worlds that other readers will enjoy, and which may even inspire future authors. I love reading because it provides a way to immerse myself in other places, places that only exist due to another human’s imagination, and yet come alive in mine. I love writing because I can create worlds of my own, providing the experience I enjoy to other readers. It does not matter if the fictional settings are inspired by real places; it is what the author does with them that is important.
In general, I do not find cemeteries frightening. As far as I’m concerned, they are the best place to have picnics. It is possible to get out of the wind behind a large headstone, or a wall if the cemetery is enclosed. Often they have lovely landscaping. There is only one thing about cemeteries that gives me the creeps, and that is the solar light. These little buggers have been cropping up in my local cemetery–in the form of a flower or lantern–and I get that they are supposed to be beautiful and represent keeping a watchful light over a departed loved one. However, they inspire thoughts of will o’ the wisps in my twisted brain. Those things are bad news. I see a light in a midnight cemetery and I immediately think of that spooky scene from Lord of the Rings where Frodo follows the lights, strays from the path, and is nearly drowned by those corpses in the marsh. Except the ghosts in my imagination are far more terrifying than the ones from the movie. Seriously, underwater those things looked like toilet paper wads circling the bowl.
I digress. I grew up near a cemetery for most of my life, and it is the best shortcut, day or night, between the church (fun fact: I’m a preacher’s kid) and my house. The scariest thing I might run into there would be a mama bear with a cub, and frankly, I like my odds with the undead better.