My sister Crista was horse crazy. When I was four years old, Crista was knee deep in horse models and riding lessons. She owned all the Marguerite Henry books, and others about horsemanship and horse care. By the time she had her first horse, four years later when she was twelve, she had exhausted the library’s supply of horse books. One day she brought home The Horse And His Boy because of the title, which led to her to read the rest of the Chronicles of Narnia, and then The Hobbit, followed by The Lord of The Rings. I read these and the other fantasy books that Crista recommended to me over the years of my childhood. Crista was hooked on fantasy, and so was I.

One can only read so many fantasy novels before one thinks of writing one’s own. At the age of seventeen, I sat down to release the great story that I knew was within me. I happily rolled up my sleeves to type, but nothing made it to the paper. Every idea I had, and there were many, involved Tolkien’s elves, George MacDonald’s goblins, or a plot from The Dark Is Rising Sequence. I could not come up with an original concept.

This bothered me very much, so I made a vow not to read any more fantasy until I had written my own. This goes against the standard advice for writers, the Number One Rule: If you wish to write, you must read, read, read. Of course, by this time in my life, I had read an enormous amount of fiction, mostly in the fantasy genre. And so I kept my promise, with a caveat. I allowed myself to read fantasy books to my children when I read aloud each night for many years, but only stories I’d read growing up. The exceptions were the early Harry Potter books, which my sons had already read, because they insisted I read them. Yes, aside from the Potter books I kept my vow, even though several decades passed before I began Aru’s Realm.

I wrote a couple of chapters of Aru’s Realm in the same year that Y2K was a big worry. Those short chapters of the early draft were quite different from the eventual story, of course, but did contain the same basic ideas. This is why I sat down and cried when the Prisoner of Azkaban came out. (Spoilers here if that one is on your TBR list.) I cried because one of the unique aspects of Aru’s Realm was that the characters transform between human and animal. My story is written with hints beginning on the first page to spur the reader to slowly figure out that these people are animal people. (It doesn’t spoil the story to know this.) Each passing character on Aru’s journey is described in order to give a chance to guess the type of animal. When J K Rowling wrote about shapeshifters, she was the first popular author to focus on that ancient magical tradition beyond the werewolf or the vampire, at least that I can think of. Tolkein had Beorn, other stories had skin-changers, but it was not a “thing.” After Azkaban, and later, unfortunately, Twilight, “shifter” became a sub-genre. Of paranormal romance, no less.

After those first few chapters made their way into the world, I had to pause my writing for a while. I had another project involving my children which required a great deal of writing, and our family moved to a different state. My story wasn’t a priority. So Aru waited. Fifteen years later, as I drove an eighteen-wheeler among the magnificent red rock formations of Moab, Utah, those rocks spoke to me. Those colorful ancients told me, clearly, that it was time. I’d been gathering notes for my story for decades, since I was seventeen. But now it was Time.

I began by organizing words and ideas by color. I wanted each chapter to give the reader the impression of a different color. This is more difficult than it may at first sound, and is largely why the story took so long to write. The story flowed. I felt as if I were a sculptor, chipping away to reveal an art object which already existed. Never once did I have a moment of writer's block. Even so, although I took jobs which allowed me to write for much of the time, such as home health care, and spent most of each day writing, it was four solid years before the editing began.

If you think about it, not all nouns which bring a certain color to mind will cause people to think of that specific color. For instance, a dandelion is yellow, but only before it has gone to seed. It becomes a white globe. This is how it will come to mind for many people. The sun, however, is consistently pictured as yellow. If you’d like a bit of fun, try this: Think of five items which are more than likely to bring up an image of yellow. Foods are easy, so don’t include those. If this isn’t enough of a challenge, use the color green instead, and exclude plant life. Come up with some green animals! Maybe try some other colors! Words which contain the color name, or refer to a place in our world (cologne, Lipazzan stallions) are not allowed. For a word to have been included in this story, it would have had to exist in the nineteenth century and couldn’t be associated with war. Probably almost anyone would have let the idea of this book about color fade away soon after the thought came to them. I’m not exactly sure what that says about me. I’m happy that I spent the time, though, because through the use of color association in the portrayal of events and emotions, and also through calculated, carefully honed description, each chapter fully surrounds the reader with the feeling of a particular color. This unique approach is one of the reasons I’m proud of my story Aru’s Realm.

I have a pattern of creating hurdles for myself both in my journey through life and in my writing. The difference is, the hurdles I create as creative challenges are much more fun.

Gazing up at bare maple branches on a cool November day, I’m reminded of the tributaries of a river, with little streams merging into larger and larger ones on their way to the sea. The same pattern is hidden inside of each of us, as the branches of our circulatory system deliver the heartbeat blood flow which gives us life.

We don’t tend to think about our blood vessels much, not unless our heart is pounding or maybe the nurse is trying to find a vein. I started paying more attention a while ago, after surgery caused damage to the arteries of my leg. Over time, amazing healing powers of the human body brought relief. I’m happy to say that discomfort is no longer an issue. But life events can direct our journey. It’s because at one point I had trouble standing or sitting for any amount of time that I became a dog walker.

I love walking dogs. I named my business Frolicsome Dog Walks because what I do is take dogs out to play. This is the best business in the world. My furry clients wiggle and dance with joy when I arrive! We pick a direction and head out. The dogs will stop and sniff at a huckleberry bush or the corner of a fence, and I’ll pick up a fallen leaf and admire the red veins in the golden yellow. Each day is a new adventure. And what better activity than walking could complement the lovely but sedentary art of writing? The happenstance of life has pointed me in a fortunate direction.

Most people enjoy a nice walk, but it can be tough to find the time. One reason some folks get a dog is in order to force themselves to go outside regularly. Ha, as I write this, my Pippa is staring at me. Okay, Pippa.

I'll be right back.

Hello again.

After all this time, I have yet to dread a dog walk, but there are days I would have stayed snug indoors if I didn't have the professional commitment. Once out, I am happy to walk. My neighborhood sits at the confluence of the branches of a river and has some great places to explore. Even better, though, the weekends allow walking along the seashore or in the mountains with Pippa. The Northwest Coast has astounding beauty.

My ancestors walked the forests of Denmark and England, yet for me a hike through these Pacific Northwest woods is like stepping back through time. When I look around, I can almost remember, somehow, the old growth forest of a hundred years ago. Among the trees the river tumbled in the same way over boulders, and the woodpeckers went after the snags with just as much gusto. When I’m out in the wilderness I can imagine what it must have been like for those who came up these rivers and streams to hunt or forage in those times long past.

I love a nice hot shower, a massage, or a session of yoga, and these or a good stroll reduce levels of the body's stress hormones. Walking also produces endorphins that both make me feel better and help me concentrate and feel mentally sharp. Exercise gets the blood flowing, which feeds more oxygen to my muscles and brain. A walk out in the fresh air opens the way for inspiration.

They say what goes around, comes around. This is true within one’s own personal sphere, too. I’ve found that when I do something nice for my health, it comes back to reward me. On a day filled with all sorts of maintenance and housekeeping, I may struggle to squeeze in some time to write, but I’ve found a way to consistently include taking a break and getting some exercise. Dog walking is fun in its own right, but it has also helped me build up strength for hiking in the mountains.

I love to go outside. In nature we see differently, away from mental patterns which can sometimes hold us back.

When we look at a beautiful scene, what reaches our eyes are patterns of light. And that’s what we are, ultimately. Patterns of light.

When I get too tired I spend more of my time daydreaming. As I walk along, minding my own business, the simplest random thought or some sight along my way will trigger a long and involved scenario about something I might have done better at some point in my life. Or maybe it will be about some action, full of righteousness, which I will never actually take. Lost in thought, all due to fatigue. I guess the back of my mind figures I’m not watching and takes the reins, churning over something—anything—which has caused me stress, ever, in my life. I’ll find that I’ve gone for a quarter mile without particularly noticing my surroundings.

I don’t want to focus on these sorts of thoughts and become that person. I don’t want to get worked up about things all the time or spend my hours in crabby attitudes. And in our world today there are so many issues to get upset about! So, lately I’ve been paying more attention to the ways I find peace. I want my daydreams to be about beauty, not potential catastrophes or that shit of a girl who wronged me in middle school.

One of the recent and lovely additions to my daily routine is that my son has got me started drinking tea in the afternoons. The new habit of afternoon tea involves sampling multiple infusions of Chinese fermented varieties or Tiawanese oolongs. This simple repetition of waiting, smelling, and tasting draws me back into the moment and allows a break from my busy day and all the oh-so-important things I have to do. What wisdom there is in this time honored worldwide ritual of afternoon tea!

Reading books is something most people don’t seem to do so much of anymore. We do a lot of reading, but it’s the skimming and scrolling type of reading. I, for one, don’t spend enough time with my feet up, sitting in front of the fire, a cat curled in my lap and my nose in a book. I’ve been trying to keep a habit of dipping into a fantasy novel at bedtime.

I live in a place where I can enjoy the smell of the woods, the crashing of the waves, the pleasure of a broad vista. There’s mountains and islands, forest and wetlands to explore. Yet if I’m not careful, the weeks can fly by and I waste these opportunities. I’ve never regretted dropping everything and heading for the beach. My life is more productive if I take time to feed my spirit with the beauty of nature and take deep breaths of the open air. Relaxing in this way helps me to have a quiet joy in just being fully myself.

But you know, for me, it always comes back to the sense of wonder. On those hikes through the woods, it’s important to pause and view that fabulous rock formation from several angles or feel the bark of the astonishingly tall fir. I especially love to stumble upon a fairy ring. Out in the woods, things become clear: I can choose to use my imagination for worrying and absent-mindedly cycling through unnecessary stress. Or, I can use it for speculating about what kind of creature might live inside that hollow tree.

There are reasons the story Aru’s Realm begins with a horse drawn vehicle traveling through the woods.

When I was a kid there were only a few TV channels. It was normal to watch for an hour or so after school and then go outside. We also read comics, and books, some of us, and played board games. I drew a lot, mostly horses. My specialty was horses of unusual length. These guys had cylindrical bodies which stretched all the way across the page. It made sense, though. Legs are tough to sketch, and what I most enjoyed drawing was the tack. I made saddles and bridles in detail, and the martingales, breeching, saddlebags. Those long, long horses could fit quite a few western saddles, or seat several knights in colorful regalia.

In what might seem like contrariness to my own thinking, I created a slew of carts and wagons pulled by normal-length horses. With a child’s obsession for power, I produced elegant eight or ten horse teams of draft animals for every cargo wagon. I went to great effort to make all those legs because each pair of horses would require a set of collars and harness. Not only was it fun to draw the harness, some primal superstition told me that if I drew these beasts and their rigs I possessed them, somehow. And for some funny reason, having animals as transportation has always given me a sense of security.

When I was eleven or twelve I constructed harnesses out of baling twine and made my pony drag a ladder around our field. I love working with animals. Over the years I’ve ridden horses, mules, ponies, donkeys, a cow, and (accidently) a reindeer. I’ve driven both a dog sled and reindeer sleighs. Once I sat by a tinker’s fire in Ireland and talked with him about wagons until his wife in the caravan noticed me and came out to drive me off. Years ago in Seattle, I was invited to go inside a semi trailer and see the Budweiser Clydesdales wagon up close, because I was building my own wagon. But I don’t ever recall having ridden in a horse drawn wagon.

After high school, I headed off to college (in the days before widespread awareness about cultural appropriation) with plans to construct a full-sized replica of an English Romany caravan (a vardo) as an academic project. I then would traveI in it across the US. I’d always loved Toad’s canary yellow caravan from The Wind in the Willows. Also, I’d seen a funky version of one during my childhood years in Canada, it drove by on rubber tires with a goat bleating from the back porch. I wanted traditional wooden wheels on mine, though. In the university library I found a treasure.

The English Gypsy Caravan by C. H. Ward-Jackson & Dennis E Harvey was my manual. We no longer use the term Gypsy, but that is the title of the book. I still treasure the letters from Mr. Harvey, who kindly encouraged me. I managed to obtain a beautiful set of wooden wheels, just the right sizes. I spent hours sanding the old paint off and applying wood preservatives. A friend (underpaid) lengthened the axles for me and cut the fifth wheel ring-plates from a sheet of steel. I laminated strips of ash into beautiful curved members for the fore-carriage. My boyfriend made me a stained glass window for the front door, my parents gave me a gimbaled kerosene lantern for my birthday. My old cowboy friend found some gorgeous draft harness for me to buy, with so many shiny brass fittings. My parents wondered, later, where I came up with the money to buy all these things. I told them. I’d saved virtually all the money they sent me to live on that first year of college, subsisting on chili and fresh-ground corn, and cabbage from the garden spread with peanut butter. My father was flabbergasted, but I felt it was in my right. After all, I could have gone to town and eaten pizza but chose to sacrifice. Kids have different ideas about their parents’ income than parents do!

Eventually, my dream of traveling in the wagon was traded for a three hundred mile hike over the Cascade Mountains, starting from my doorstep in Bellingham. I owned with my partner at the time, dear Karl, a beautiful white llama named Oly. I had a large white long-haired donkey named Wilbur. They packed our load, although we ended up carrying Oly’s share most of the way on our own backs due to our poor design of his panniers.

The living wagon in which Aru travels during the first chapter of the story is plain and grey and not a vardo or showman’s wagon. Aru and her family are not based in any way on Romany travelers. I avoided direct allusions to use of these caravans in our world outside of the pages. But those old wagons, products of pride and spirit, were a part of my youth. It’s the same with Sami sleighs, I spent some of the favorite hours of my life traveling alone through snowy woods or on the frozen lake, listening to nothing but the swish of the snow and the little noises of the reindeer. I include these vehicles respectfully in Aru’s Realm because they are part of who I am.

What defines the fantasy genre? Does this label mean that the story involves magic? By definition, the fantasy genre consists of fiction not bound by the natural laws of reality or by human history. Fantasy does, however, explore human nature. Today’s imaginative writing is often inspired by mythologies and folklore, and although magic is usually involved, it's not a requirement.

I’d say that virtually all ancient writings could now be considered fantasy because the understanding of our world has changed enormously, including what people know as real. This fact in no way diminishes the importance of these works. Great minds of the past have much to teach us about ourselves and even about modern life. The difference, of course, between traditional works and what we now consider to be the fantasy genre is that in our times the authors are known and the writing is understood to be fictitious.

But what is fiction, really? Here in reality, I find it absolutely astounding that life forms are possible. What is weirder, stranger, more fantastic than the fact that our universe exists? That we live? How unlikely the fact of our existence is! We define fiction as what is invented, imaginative, or not based on fact. But if you think about it too much, you’ll see it’s not clear where the boundaries are between fiction and truth. There is a thin line between what is invented or imagined and what exists somewhere already. Science gives us powerful tools for understanding our world, based on demonstration and proof. But there are more etheric elements of reality that science can’t demonstrate. This is where the difference between fantasy and reality can become blurry.

Anyhoo, fantasy is an exciting subject of academic study because of the historical, cultural, linguistic, psychological and philosophical aspects of stories. One aspect of this type of literature is the chance to see how thinking has changed or stayed the same over the years. Nothing is more wonderful than when someone from long ago eloquently puts into words a personal realization you’ve had but perhaps hadn’t brought to the surface of your mind. I delight in reading fantasy which paints my inner vision with possibilities that stretch the imagination.

What we think of as fantasy fiction developed out of the chivalric romances of aristocratic post-medieval Europe. Cervantes wrote Don Quixote during the birth of modern fantasy. George MacDonald, a Scottish minister of the nineteenth century, wrote fantasy stories for adults and children which are credited as the first clearly fictional tales. He was a mentor of Lewis Carroll and a major influence to many of the greats who came after him. William Morris followed by inventing a fantastic world to exist outside our known world. These men were Tolkien’s foundation as he created the first high fantasy story.

Modern authors continue on with the development of the fantasy genre. I stand in awe of how fantasy storytellers have built upon the work of their forebears for thousands of years. Those ancient mythologies have never left us.

Remember the stories from your childhood? The books read to you, and then the ones you read yourself? Maybe you remember movies, oral stories, or theater. Most people remember only a fraction of the stories they grew up on, but nonetheless these stories did much to shape us into who we are. This process continues in adulthood.

The way I see it, we become what we expose ourselves to in life. What we surround ourselves with becomes our world. In these times we have an extraordinary amount of choices to make, and a historically unprecedented amount of control over our lives. I choose beauty in my life whenever possible. There must be some sort of balance, yes. Nature is cruel at times, and the world is not well-run by humankind. We must learn from the darkness, only fools ignore it. But, that said, I want my life to be filled with love and beauty as much as possible.

People are tired of syrupy love stories and magical thinking. The thing is, when we dive deep, we find that the foundations of the world have quite a bit of magic lurking in the cracks. Magic is used by the ignorant to explain life. Does this mean there is no such thing? Of course not! Most of us experience some level of magic as we make our way through our days. For instance, it is a basic principle of magic that what you focus on will become your reality. It’s wise to spend time on what you enjoy. In my case, that’s reading beautiful prose and uplifting, meaningful, or humorous fantasy stories.

The line between fantasy and reality can narrow to almost nothing. A peek into the unreal may free the mind, allowing inspiration and revelations. Through the imaginings of others we can learn so much about our own perspectives.

It really doesn’t make sense that we exist at all. Nothing is more crazy than the fact that there is something more than a dark, empty void. How even can a void exist? Why shouldn’t magic be a part of all this fantastic reality? I have lived my life in such a way that I’ve experienced some bizarre things. And that is why I love this image of Dorothy and Alice so much. I’ve framed it and placed it on the bureau in my bedroom. I laugh when I notice it.

The titular character in Aru’s Realm walks this fine line between magic and madness. Those who study cultural anthropology know that often, in indiginous cultures the world over, it was the ones with the funny look in their eyes who were trained as shamans. It’s a fact that mental illness can open doors to worlds most don’t see. And although the seemingly obvious answer is that these people are delusional, life is more complicated than this. Certainly delusion exists, but magic does also. The ability to tell the difference is what makes someone a shaman rather than a madman.

Is there anyone, though, who doesn't have some form of a mental condition? Our entire society is made up of the characters from Winnie the Pooh, as far as I can tell. Like everything in our lives, it’s a matter of degree.

Each of us is capable of seeing the magic in life. Those who, for whatever reason, find their mind less inclined to censor itself, are the ones who tend to dream, explore with their imagination, and to need a creative outlet. Ultimately, “we’re all mad here.” That may not be a bad thing.

When Grandma Moses said “life is what we make it,” this referred to making the best of what life brings. But my own life has taught me, again and again, the more literal meanings of this phrase.

Certainly attitude affects our experience. A close friend once told me that she admired my fortitude. She said I’d been through so much in my life and yet I managed to remain positive. These words shocked me. Had I been through an unusual amount of adversity? I had to think about this for a while. I then realized that many people wouldn’t want my life, with all the shifting around I’ve been compelled to do. My family and I have lived in many regions of the United States. We've learned about small towns, the city, and about dirt poverty versus the daily lives of the ultra rich. We’ve had some outrageous times. I’m thankful for it all. I’m an adventurer. I love my life.

Yes, attitude shapes our reality, but so does perception. Here is one of many of Monet’s paintings of the pond in his garden. If you squint it looks like a photograph. If you don’t squint you can see how each brush stroke represents a play of light. The painting demonstrates a human interpretation of nature’s beauty. Writings of fiction also describe life as perceived by humans. I love to read the many ways authors have created something special with what we were given. This is why I especially love literary fantasy. Creativity, to my mind, is what gives humanity value. When I see on Facebook that someone has dressed up a cat in a pirate costume, and the effect is striking, I think “Yes! This is why humans exist! To do things like this!”

It’s important to remember, too, that we each think differently. Not only do we come from different backgrounds, our physiological makeup determines how we experience life. Some people see smells. Many people think their thoughts without seeing any sort of image in their mind. Others have memories in technicolor video and surround sound. In addition, memories are selective and often mistaken. No wonder we have different perspectives! It’s amazing that we can understand each other at all, really. Yet we do deeply relate to one another. We recognize ourselves in each other. And it’s just that humanity that we see within others that we share as art.

Life is what you make it, and to me life is art.

Why does he march
Through that dream that he's in,
Covered with glory and rusty old tin?

In distant times, we heard songs and stories around the fire or the stove. Until relatively recently in human history this was the case worldwide, and some few cultures have retained this tradition. I have a great interest in stories and their importance in our world. Oral stories were for everyone, often incorporating simple lessons but also comedy for adults to enjoy. Traditionally, stories were told repeatedly and understood in different ways depending on a person’s mood and at different times of life. Many stories open doors to other realities for the purpose of learning how to live in this one.

It was when we started writing down stories that we segregated them into children’s literature or content for adults. In the early days of printing, old oral stories were published as children’s stories. It seems to me that the evolution of the western concept of childhood coincides very much with the evolution of the printed word. As printed material became more easily obtainable, and children’s literature became more accessible, the modern notion of childhood developed.

Our notion of childhood is useful. Children need protection and to be treated differently than adults. But do we go too far? Our society has a tragic divide between generations, causing all sorts of disconnection. One of the issues is that far too many people believe play and fantastic ideas are generally for children or the childish. How absurd! Imagination and romanticism feed the creativity that improves our lives.

So, here’s my advice to everyone on the planet: Be curious about life. Have interest in the world around you, the small things and the large. Consider smiling at strangers. Indulge your imagination. Be yourself! And maybe read a good, thought-provoking fantasy now and then.

Youth has no age.

Has the unicorn lost its relevance?

In modern society, the status of unicorns has shifted.

An image search for “unicorn” in one’s browser, with 1970s, 1980s, 1990s respectively, will reveal a dramatic change in the general perception of unicorns.

As a more conservative attitude took over in the western world, people began to tire of the particular romantic idealism of the 1960s and ‘70s. For this reason, although dragons remained interesting, unicorns, along with rainbows, found themselves shoved into the realm of glittery saccharine toys for little girls. How tremendous an insult to a creature so sublime! However, because unicorns love damsels so much, I don’t suppose they hold this ironic degradation against us.

Nowadays, the magical creatures have attracted some new meanings. As a slang term, the word “unicorn” denotes a rare find. Most commonly, a rare person: either a job applicant who perfectly fits a long list of requirements or a woman suitable to complete a polyamorous relationship. About five years ago, a fun millennial nostalgia about the pastel pony franchise of their own 1980s childhoods found unicorns to be associated with purple and pink tinted sweets, kicking off a huge unicorn fad. Around this time the LGBT community adopted the unicorn due to these colors and its current relationship with rainbows and glitter. This certainly gives the word relevance, but has little to do with the traditions of the mythological beast.

The legendary unicorn, of course, has been with us for thousands of years, appearing in Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. Persian unicorn stories date to the ninth century BCE. In early Europe, unicorns were known to protect water supplies. Their horns became valued in detection of, and as an antidote for, poison. Thus, the creature served as a symbol of purity.

Many aspects of our world have experienced accelerated change during the past few decades. Yet the unicorn has undergone great transformation before this. Introduction into Greek culture, and later Christianity, had dramatic influences. Now that we have less interest in purity and there’s less of a market for magical horns perhaps the unicorn will endure as a symbol of grace. And, perhaps, acceptance.

An Old Norse saga describes a Viking longship:

“On the bow was a serpent’s head and on the stern a hook shaped like the tail of a fish, and the tail, neck and stem were gilded. The king called the ship Serpent, for when the sails were unfurled they became the wings of a dragon.”

Imagine the horror this dragon caused as it appeared through the fog.

Dragons come to us from nearly everywhere in the world, from Great Britain and Asia to Africa, Australia, and the Americas. Depictions of dragons date from the neolithic period throughout China. Dragon-slaying stories from Sumerian mythology survive from the fourth millennium B.C. In world mythology and literature this spectacular creature is prominent among the monsters.

Traditionally, dragons represent untameable power and terrible grandeur. In European culture dragons are malicious and full of trickery, and need to be slain, but they are also admired for their strength and are used to represent nobility in heraldry. In early times they were hunted by gods, and after Christianity appeared they became symbols of pure evil to be brought down by heros.

In Asia, dragons are spirits of nature, benevolent, lucky and wise. Often they are creatures of the air, associated with rain and water, and although usually airborne they lack wings. In Chinese folklore, dragons are related to horses and the gods use them for transportation through the heavens. Deities are shown in Buddhist imagery standing upright upon dragons, mastering them in their flight.

But modern author Anne McCaffrey gentled the dragons. She gave us dragon riders who have telepathic communication with their charges. The bond between the pairs is so strong that the dragon commits suicide upon the rider's death. McCaffrey’s dragons of Pern are full of human morality and virtue. Just a year later, in 1968, Ursula Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea introduced us to a world where dragonlords can communicate with dragons. As in Pern, Earthsea dragons are not evil. Demonstrating Le Guin’s familiarity with Taoism, her dragons are forces of nature: unknowable, fearsome, and destructive, and yet they possess ancient wisdom.

Following the Pern convention of modern fantasy, dragons have become amiable, even domesticated. The Earthsea stories have given rise to a separate literary legacy of dragons who are neither good nor evil, who are both feared and beloved. Dragons continue to represent power, but they are more human, involved with promises such as truces and subject to mastery. What does all this mean for us? Has our relationship to nature’s volatility changed so much?

Those who bond with animals develop a strange estimation of their transcendent abilities. And who can blame us? I’m certain that my old grey tabby understands every word of English. Last night at ten-thirty he demonstrated this once again.

“Catfish,” I whispered to him as he was curled and sleeping, “You’ve neglected your nine o’clock duties.”

He looked up at me bleary-eyed, shook his head, and stood up. Still glancing at me he hopped over to his usual position on the ottoman, where he sits at nine and stares until I eventually rise to serve the canned catfood.

We ascribe human qualities to animals because of our clouded view of them. Since they can’t communicate in human speech we tend to forget that they think very differently. And that mysterious nonverbal part of them is connected with the spirit of nature in a way that we lose after our own infancy.

Our humanization of animals has a powerful place in stories. And nobody makes more fun of this than Cervantes.

Has there ever been a horse more fabulous than Rocinante? I’ve learned through years and travels that work animals are not pets, and this was certainly the case in early 17th century Spain. But due to reading far too many knightly romances, Don Quixote's obsession with chivalry causes him to elevate his nag and rename him Rocinante. The horse of a knight-errant commands respect. And the spirit of Rocinante, the horse who is more than he actually is, lives on through the centuries.

The squire Sancho, along with his donkey Dapple, represent humility and realism. Together, they take the brunt of much of the results of Don Quixote’s idealism. Sancho uses Dapple as a metaphor for himself and thus avoids confronting his master.

Don Quixote and Sancho share an exalted view of Rocinante. After the four suffer a beating, this time due to a farmer’s rage after the horse attempts to mate with his herd of mares, Sancho implores his master, “See if your worship can make shift to rise, and then we will give some assistance to Rocinante, tho’ it be more than he deserves; for, he was the principal cause of all this nasty rib-roasting: never could I believe such a thing of Rocinante, who, I always thought, was as chaste and sober a person as myself: but, this verifies the common remark, that you must keep company a long time with a man, before you know him thoroughly.”

Don Quixote and his squire humanize their animals. Yet there is balance in all things. Idealism and realism are both important in our lives. While not the same as us, the creatures of our world experience life in many of the same ways that we do. We relate to them on a very deep level.

The first of China Miéville’s Bas-Lag trilogy of New Weird Fiction, this is well-written horror/fantasy in a steampunk atmosphere.

New Crobuzon is a bleak city where humans and other sentient races live in fear of an oppressive militia. The authorities here punish criminals by cruelly reshaping their bodies, making them into monsters.

Isaac, a brilliant scientist, in his obsessive efforts to help restore flight to one of the desert bird-men, inadvertently turns a nightmare loose upon the world when one of his lab specimens escapes.

The story is visceral, with shocking plot twists as Isaac struggles to overcome the dream-killing creature. Through extreme darkness and sometimes gruesome morbidity, the author conveys, among other themes, the value of diversity and how inspiration and consciousness transform our world.

Miéville populates this world with various races, many of which are humanoid but with attributes of a wide range of animals, insects, or, in one case, cacti. In what is otherwise magical realism, these creatures are bizarre. This is how, in the first few pages, he introduces the fact that Isaac’s girlfriend has a scarab head: “Light glinted in Lin’s compound eyes. Her headlegs quivered.“

And that’s the thing. It works. Even for those with no interest in nauseating macabre, the timing and style of this man’s writing is a joy.

So why does he include the misshapen “Remakes” and all sorts of species partially human? I think it is to ask: What is a monster? And once a monster, can someone be forgiven?

Literary. We all know what this word means. Sadly, it has connotations which cause confusion when applied as a label. Literary Fiction, a term common since the seventies, is controversial to the point that some people throw up their hands and declare all labels detrimental. But genre labels help readers and books find one another. They are important.

General understanding of the label Literary Fiction splits into two prominent views:

The first perspective holds that the term describes works of literary merit (basically, having won prestigious awards or academic acclaim.) I find this meaning less useful, and I wish a different identifier was used. “Celebrated,” maybe. Celebrated Fiction.

The other definition is one of genre. In this view, celebrated achievement is one of several common factors which may combine to define a work as Literary Fiction. Plot is often overshadowed by these distinguishing characteristics. The parameters are subjective, but a work of Literary Fiction includes one or more of these:

Particularly Deep Themes

All novels have a theme. The theme is the train of thought which runs beneath the surface and I suppose you could say that it answers the question “What’s the novel about?” rather than “What happens?”

In Literary Fiction this theme is deeper and often less obvious. Sometimes we can’t even put our finger on what it is, exactly, but even so it will affect our experience.

Many expect a work in this genre to be an insightful study of contemporary issues or the general human condition. It is often referred to as “serious” fiction. These stories spend time in places it’s not nice to be. Happy endings are rare, satisfying ones not guaranteed.

In my experience, Literary Fantasy approaches these same subjects in a less direct way and is more likely to be inspiring or give us a laugh at ourselves. Of course there are plenty of dark stories, too. Fantasy presents an alternate world which is relatable but is an escape from the immediate concerns of ordinary reality, and this world can be a great place to engage readers in ethical or philosophical subjects, because the unique perspective of a new world encourages critical thinking. Literary Fantasy both frees the reader from our world and escorts them further into it.

Aesthetic Writing Style

Rather than a goal of entertainment, literary style writing is mostly concerned with developing the above mentioned themes. There is a plot, but it may be subtle and it may take some time for us to figure out what’s going on. The emphasis is on ideas and impressions, versus a plot that must move forward with every detail. The writer devotes greater time to features such as character development and description.

Literary fiction puts the reader to work, through advanced vocabulary, allusions, and typically a lot of subtext, and often the book gets better with each reading. The reader might not be as deeply immersed in the story at all times, pausing once in a while to think, Ah, what a beautiful turn of phrase! Or maybe, I see what you did there!

This writing is aimed at readers who enjoy a more artful look at things. There are parts of the story which will be considered slow by those who prefer plenty of action or a straightforward plot. The reader may not perch on the edge of their seat but it’s likely they’ll find themself thinking about the book for days after finishing.

Freedom From Conventions

Literary Fiction isn’t concerned with storytelling norms. There are no rules specific to the genre. Because their work is not usually intended for the broader market, authors are free to take risks, experimenting with any facet of writing they choose. There is less dependence on the tried-and-true, on formulas, hooks, or on catering to trends.

All this means a read that’s likely to be innovative, challenging, and possibly inspire a new outlook on life.

Do you agree with my definition of Literary Fiction? Feel free to comment by way of my Facebook group Literary Fantasy Book Discussion or email [email protected]

In future times
they will refer to us as primitives
and our sorrows, the mourning of our dead
will seem sad to them
in the way that injustice in our ancient world,
the cruel modes of entertainment,
the needless bloody wars
(for aren’t all wars needless?)
seem sad, but distant, to us.
We are better than that now.
Our depravity of thinking that one color, one type
resides above or below another on the scales of entitlement
or enlightenment
will seem odd.
And they will wonder how anyone could
embrace that narrative.
Will gullible rabble
ever be a thing of the past?
I hope so.
In future times may they look back on
our society of manipulators and followers
with a romantic tone, the stuff of stories,
fairytales.
Today, because of fools,
I watched a second son graduate through online ceremony from his college.
A beautiful ritual,
this triumphant multimedia project
gave the grads the best experience possible.
Honored and wise people of differing
backgrounds, genders, races, ages, and abilities
suggested that we recognize the power of
our losses
through the understanding of grief as the advancement of love for life and for their school.
They told the students to carry forward what has been learned during this time of hardship
and use their special knowledge,
gained in these traumatic years,
to help find real justice for all and healing for our world.
It was a memorable ceremony
and as a mother I am filled with joy and pride
but also sorrow for what my son and his fellows have been through
and because
I can’t hug him.

“The opposite of poverty is justice.”

The human brain is remarkable. As you read these words, your brain will translate them into a personal summary of what you see. In an instant, you’ll judge the information, compare it to thoughts you already store, and decide what you will commit to memory.

These thought processes feed a mind that already serves a particular reality. We each live in a world of our own, shaped both by our experience and the physiology of our brains. Tiredness or a passing mood can further shape our interpretation. Your favorite author is detested by some people because those readers understand our world differently.

Have you ever been to New York City? You probably have your own ideas about the city. Andrew thinks it is dirty, and overcrowded. Stagnant. But Andrew broke up with Anna on their trip to New York City.

Our outlook on life is who we are. It’s interesting, sometimes even overwhelming, to think about how different our minds are from one another and how we perceive reality in individual ways. I write about this a lot. And I’m so thankful to have a little group of talkative writer friends who enjoy bouncing thoughts around with one another.

Last week, one of our group members posted an image online as a writing prompt. The photo, which Lisa took herself, shows a view along a paved local footpath as it disappears between tall trees. Each of us responded with an entertaining piece of writing. I love this group! What intrigued us all, though, is the completely different way in which we each responded to the image.

The three writers who were unfamiliar with the pathway each focused on the yellow line which suddenly ends, but they wrote strikingly different stories. Those who knew the trail well shared ideas triggered by the image but based upon memories of the area.

Back when the book was in the editing process, I asked our group to respond to a paragraph of Aru’s Realm. I shared the description of a timber lodge because I wanted to see if I had described it sufficiently. Did the others see the image in their minds that I wished to place there? I hoped they’d picture a beaver lodge on a pond, but as built up into an elegant Victorian-style resort.

For the most part, the lodges my friends described back to me were nothing like the one I felt I had portrayed! The writers related memories of whatever the word “lodge” had brought to mind. For the most part they brought up vacation spots, not made of logs at all, not from the era of my story, but beautiful places that these listeners were happy to recall. This was an eye-opening experience for me. I realized that I would have done the same thing.

Life is fluid. We see things differently from others, and even from ourselves over time. It does no good to grasp onto particular ideas too hard. So, take from your experience what enlightens and strengthens you at the moment. Six months ago, the same information may not have been as useful to you. We grow, we change, that’s nature.

Every listener hears a different story.

Every reader has their own experience.

We look out of our eyes into a world which has been created both by us and for us. We often believe what we have been told to believe. To make sense of it all, we must remember our history—the origins of our thoughts and opinions, on both a personal and cultural level.

It’s been said for centuries, “We do not see things as they are. We see things as we are.”

I dislike mysteries. I always have. Whodunit novels and films are fun, and many of my favorite stories are puzzles in some form, but in real life I can’t stand the unexplained. This is tough. Plenty of things in life are unexplained. The big existential questions have always driven me nuts. Who needs that kind of stress? But those little day-to-day enigmas, those too are maddening. I’m certain I left that paperwork right there on the dinner table. Yet it’s nowhere to be found.

My father grew up on 25th Ave in San Francisco. A while ago, for fun, I searched for the house on Google Street View. Not knowing the house number, I easily found the house on 25th Ave. I hadn’t seen my grandmother’s house since I was a young girl, but could picture it in detail: the stepped gables, the archway over the front steps, the position of the garage on such a steep hill.

I remember when I was five, playing with the family photographs from Grandma’s end table drawer and looking down to the street from her beautiful bay windows—this is where I learned the name of those projecting arcs of windows. She had them hung with Venetian blinds.

I sent the URL for the street view to my older sister. She emailed back, saying this wasn’t Grandma’s house, and sent me a photo showing the actual address. The house I remember is the house two doors uphill! Grandma’s had no bay windows. There is no answer for this.

Another time, the checkbook was missing. My husband Kevin and I had searched all the logical places, and the ridiculous ones too. Days passed. We searched. Finally, partly through desperation but mostly in fun, I found a forked stick and decided to water-witch the thing. Blindfolded, I turned around several times, and followed the quivering stick straight to the lost item. The checkbook had fallen through the back of a drawer and was stuck midway down behind a cabinet. Was finding it pure chance? My subconscious guiding me? Spirits? There’s much in this world which defies logic. I dislike mysteries.

There is always a gap that science can’t quite reach. The unexplained. Fantasy stories include this misty realm because it opens up possibilities. And in doing this, these stories sometimes touch a part of our mind that understands things which we don’t understand that we understand.

Some people miss the point of fantasy writing entirely:

“At least contemporary and historical fiction have roots in their circumstances. Even science fiction holds some possibilities of the future. Fantasy doesn’t have the slightest bit of chance of ever being realized.”--Cristina Hartmann, in the HuffPost

This woman's words have been out there floating around the internet for several years. I run across this article once in a while and it absolutely yanks my chain. It's true that fantasy isn't for everyone, which is the point of her article, but good fantasy writing is always quite real.

More than one thing can be true at the same time. Fantasy stories demonstrate this. Many fantasies aren’t about the world we live in. But they are, you see. All speculative fiction has roots in our reality. Otherwise, we would have no way to comprehend it.

Not only do fantasy stories spring from our day-to-day world, they inform us about how to live our lives. Human beings have been handing down knowledge through fantastic stories since time out of mind. Sometimes we can more willingly see the shortcomings of our society if it is viewed through the lens of make-believe. Stories, songs, and poetry all reach deeply into the complex consciousness. They have much to teach us.

Fantasy does indeed stand a chance of being realized. An army of elves might not show up at the last minute to save everyone, but a team of valiant software engineers might. Or a crowd of peaceful protesters. Stories translate to reality in many ways.

The magic of fantasy and the futuristic science of sci fi share tales that explore human nature. I have always loved Star Trek because the stories take place in a society which has evolved beyond our socio-economic disgraces. Stacey Abrams, the hero from Georgia, USA, is a big Star Trek fan. Stacey is interested in the fact that the franchise points out that those social issues can be addressed, yet conflict remains. In a 11/20 video on Nerdist.com she says. “How willing are we to find solutions when we think we have the answers?. . . .Even after Earth has become a utopia, humanity finds multiple reasons to disagree.” What interests her is how they integrate the diverse outlooks of the various federations and still “tackle those challenges.”

A fiction book is like a bonus lifetime in which to learn life lessons. The reader sees the world through someone else's eyes. Through the eyes of the narrator or protagonist, and of course the author. A person who reads a lot has a soul like a cut gemstone, many facets, many lifetimes of experience.

Fantasy is almost always about courage and honor or the spirit of adventure. Useful qualities for anyone. Magical elements of fiction tie in with our cultural memories of the monsters of yore, often the same monsters we face today. Self-absorption and greed, what nastier beast can there be! These power-hungry demons often steer the plot of a good story.

Fun and dreaming, creative thinking, joy de vive, these aren’t only for children. A life worth living is full of the fantastic! I think most people view the unknown as a vital element of what keeps life interesting. I love mysteries, I always have.