My Own Little World

I really do live in my own little world. For other people to tell me that is not an insult, but a compliment. It means they can see that it exists, too.

My world is one of absolute absurdity and inanity. In my world, the ocean is a living entity (and one with loose morals, at that). The things people say in jest are absolute truths ("Yeah, I can turn into a race car with a rocket launcher, but only after a three-bean burrito."). Completely conflicting and mutually exclusive things are simultaneously true ("I'm a famous ninja. Absolutely nobody knows my name, that I exist, or recognizes that I have ever had any effect whatsoever in the world.").

There is a good balance of the absurd and the plausible, the surreal and the super real, absolute silliness and dire seriousness. Whatever mood I'm in, there is a place in that world to suit me. And, best of all, it is never boring. Always something new to do, see, or discover. And when I don't want anything new, there is always something familiar I can return to.

All my creativity comes from this world. Much of my fiction comes from exploring the world or other people there. Most of my novel insights are simply reading the sign posts along the road of that world.

We are often told to leave our little worlds behind and enter the real world. I say hooey. My world is my home and my haven. I know that I need to make excursions into the real world, but it is not great enough to stay there. The longer I stay out of my world, the blander everything becomes (and the fewer interesting ideas I have).

If you like your own world, enjoy your time in it. If you meet similar-minded people, invite them in. And if they can't quite be in it, then be so comfortable in your world that other people can at least see what is inside.