Don't Judge a Cat by its Cover.

Just because I'm a Cat doesn't mean you're smarter than me!
Or perhaps you thought I was actually human? Well yes.... okay, you got me. But the reason cats do not type is because their supposed "Owners" won't let them on the computer.
A measure of intelligence is not whether you know what something is but what it knows itself to be.
A smart cat.... or a human for that matter might just decide not to tell you.
When the world is about to end then, and only then will we know who was really wise....
There will be some surprizes, I think.

In Memory of Imagination.

I remember being a child. I remember the bright white clouds and the sky arc above me. I believed in angels because noone had told me to doubt.
Where does it end? Why do we regret? The things that make us who we are are not the things of the world....they are the things that slip with somehow believed shame through the cracks and gaps of life. If we call it that.... where is your faith on what is possible? Where is your faith? Not a cold stone place full of stiff adults....No. But that bright dancing glowing iridescent feeling that makes you fly while you stand still.
There is always time to throw off the "grown-up", that sensible, cold, worldly logical being that strangulates your soul.
So when I find my time, at the end of my time: I remember Angels, I laughed and cried and lived and embraced life....
The story lives in the telling.
The little child is you and me, is all of us. If we want it to be.

Will the real person please stand out.

I used to think that identity as a person is easily defined. Now I believe that it is an indeterminate art; perhaps a science for fools; or a hobby for the wise.
In a novel, well it gets worse. Here are people you really cannot control, whose extremes and eccentricies are beyond the scope of the most determined psychoanalysis. I often conclude that writers live out their inner selves in their characters; but here is the but to that: as much depth as we possess, I believe we express. Or, to put it another way: people are only as deep as the person who created them. The imagined world that convinces me of its reality is the one that has deeply satisfying expressions of those people who habitually invade a writer's dreams...sleeping or awake. They are the ones that others love and remember for the rest of their lives. I always think of a little girl called Lucy. She refused to stop believing in what she knew she saw and forgave her brother for a terrible betrayal.
You know who I mean don't you?
In falling through doorways to other worlds we should take out the best of those people and let them speak, and breathe, and become real in our hearts.

Pioneers

I am going to get there!
Not Without My Cat
Anne Russell (@PeachyPinkCloud) tweeted at 10:19 AM on Wed, Jun 05, 2013: To be first... first in space. First to climb a mountain. First to write a book: your book. You are pioneers with pencils. #writing (https://twitter.com/PeachyPinkCloud/status/342209051058372608) Get the official Twitter app at https://twitter.com/download

Belief is Everything.

Why write? Why be an author? Why make it up?
You want an easy answer....there is one: Because that is what we do. But look deeper into it and find many shades of the answer to the question: Why write? I suppose some justification is needed... I write because it is a compulsion, an obsession that took hold and hasn't let go. Even when not actually hammering the keys I am often in that alongside world in my head; dreaming of the scenes in the story arc of that universe.
I remember the moment I wanted to be a writer. I sat in rapt fascination as my teacher at junior school read "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." by C S Lewis. Nothing could compare to that first taste of the glimmering glittering world wrapped in snow beyond the wardrobe door. I was certain from that moment that I wanted to create a world that was strange and wonderful and both teasing the edge of science and magic at once. I avidly read all C S Lewis' works including the planetary science fiction series (Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra and That Hideous Strength.) I had found my muse, I read alot of the Christian Apologetics too; and in it I found a voice.... and so that is how I knew I needed to find my own. The sound of the author telling the story.
My next book is set in a snowy place, as I knew that in the pristine snow of a devilish presence a story could begin... I began with that moment. And so....what is your story? The story you tell yourself; or the story you tell others?
Why do you write? For Love; For Money; For Ambition; For Social Prestige?
Your reasons....well I believe that a writer reveals their sources. What I mean, is that if you love what you do it shines through.
Conversely, if you are in it for the personal glory? Well.... I think wanting things is good. Let's not practice any false humility here. But let your love for writing the story never be soured by a desire to gain leverage in the world.
Thankyou to all those who write stories, and write them well; whatever you believe the reason to be. The world is better with us in it than without.
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