I got up this morning, poured my coffee, worked through a couple of chapters, and now I'm here on my blog. And please take the time to press the "Follow" button so I know you have found me. It only takes a minute. Thank you.
In an earlier blog, I wrote about a writer's voice and how for years I've tried to pin the rascal down and properly define it. Imagination is just as elusive. Someone once wrote that every writer has a central core to their writing. My core is women's fiction - books about women and what we universally feel as sisters in a world of diverse, yet common, communities. My imaginaton has a hard time following any other road. I love the friendships and bonding women share, be it that first best friend, immediate best friends, or friendships between sisters. Creating stories about women is as comfortable for me as sliding into a pair of worn shoes that have formed to the bones in my own feet. Imagination is a place where writers feel at home, where they feel comfortable enough to be exactly who they are on the inside wihout risk of being judged as being (nuts?). Just kidding. It's hard to believe some people say they have no imagination, whatsoever. To me, this is like saying to Peter Pan, "Hey there, you in the green tights and funny cap, there's no such thing as fairy dust." A world without imagination would indeed be a very dull world. Yes, Peter, I do believe in Tinkerbell.