We are escape artists.
As writers, as fiction writers and as poets, we create worlds in which to live, if only for a short while.
We escape the chains of our reality and thrust ourselves into our own worlds, getting away from life as we know it into a world that we love and cherish, because it is ours.
We are escape artists. We escape through our art.
With every story that we write, fantasy or not, we create a world in which to live.
Even with poems. Each story or poem lives in its own little world that you create, and can be each as different as each human being, or so similar they could all be one and the same.
But each of these worlds is unique. It may not just be a fantasy or sci-fi world, but a version of this world in which your characters exist.
I also think that each of these universes DO exist, somehow, somewhere. We imagine them as so real, so utterly dense and so infinitely huge that I fail to see how they aren’t so.
I think that it’s a lot to do with us as creators.
As creators, we want to create. Even in art, we create and we create little worlds, housing infinite little stories and possibilities, and we are the creator.
We have an urge to create, and a world is the most infinite thing that we can create. They grow and change on their own, but in the end, we are the creator and it’s our baby.
That’s what makes our worlds so special, and so real. And that’s what makes us love each and every one of them, sometimes more than the real world. I am a creative person, we are all creative people and this means that we will create and we must create.
Therefore, we will create infinitely.
Our worlds are our mindscape. At least, that’s what I think.
I think that the worlds that we create in our art will always reflect the world inside our own minds. We wish to walk in it, or make someone else walk in it, therefore we will write about it, or paint about it, just make it more physical or more real.
We may not even be aware of this, but I think that we all do it. Especially as writers.
I was talking about escape earlier, and this is another form of that.
We can escape to our own minds, or we can escape from them.
It is our choice, and the stories and worlds that we put down on paper will always reflect the world that we walk through in our dreams, however different they may be to one another, as the mind is as infinitely huge and infinitely unlimited as the universe itself, if not a million times more so.
We are telling the stories that we want to tell.
Those ones that walk around in our heads, traversing the mindscape until they reach a spot, settle down and call it home, or just wander forever, wanting only an outlet.
We have infinite stories in our minds, infinite possibilities and infinite worlds. All we want to do is slowly seep out all of the wonderful tales and worlds onto paper.
Fantasy and Sci-Fi are obviously the two genres that are most blatantly about escaping into a completely different universe, each one so unique and different from the last. But even things set in our world, real-life problems, are different realities.
With different people, different results, different endings, new endings, new thoughts and feelings, more people creating infinitely more mindscapes creating infinitely more universes than in our reality, yet that number is still infinite.
A great example that will let me explain a lot about creating worlds is Gondal.
The Brontë sisters created the world when they were little, and it let them escape, but I also think it is about being worshipped.
When you create a world, you are its sole creator, you are the leader, the master, almost a God-like being. It’s where the concept of God games comes from, that everyone human wants to be the centre of attention and be worshipped like a God.
It was also about companionship for the sisters, I think. Not only were they closer to each other for Gondal, you are never without a friend in a world that is yours.
This is what I think about us, as writers, and poets and artists and the way in which we create worlds, and why we do so.
Have a great day, and pay no attention to the greasy badger sitting on your windowsill – he is here for your screwdrivers, he will do you no harm.