What is Fantasy?

   The answer to that seems simple, right? Depends on who you ask.
   According to the dictionary: Fantasy = hallucination, a creation of the imaginative faculty whether expressed or merely conceived, or the power or process of creating expressly unrealistic or improbable mental images in response to psychological need.
   Wow, makes me sound like a hallucinating psycho. If that isn't bad enough, wait till you get in the middle of a discussion as part of a fantasy writers group. There are just as many opinions on what constitutes true fantasy as there are people participating.
   I'm amazed at how adamant some folks are over whether or not dragons, elves, orcs, etc. belong in fantasy. Of course, fantasy has to have magic, doesn't it? Not according to certain members. Others felt that a fantasy had to be set on another world besides our own. What if your story has none of these things? Is it still considered a fantasy?
   As far as I'm concerned, the sky's the limit when it comes to fantasy. Like the dictionary says, whatever you can create in your imagination is fantasy. It could include all of the things listed above, or none. I once had a judge for a short story contest mark me down because he couldn't place which country or time period my story occurred in. I was tempted to write him back and tell him I didn't know either. It only existed somewhere in the depths of my mind.
   If you can imagine it, write it. Who knows what fantasy worlds are lurking in the infinite universe of our imagination.
   Gotta go! I feel a hallucination coming on.

   Thanks for reading.

My Memories

   First of all, I'd like to apologize for not posting yesterday as I normally try to do. Life and family got in the way, and I didn't have the time or energy to write.
   Foremost among all the ideas floating around in my head that I mentioned last week is the idea telling me I need to write down what memories are still there before I forget them all. While I'm not that old in the overall scheme of things, I will hit seventy in a couple years. Childhood memories seem to be the most pressing since I'm the only one left alive who remembers them.
   I've lost a large number of memories already because of medical reasons, and it feels like I lose more every day. Chronicling the ones I still have left will be a daunting task. I've been all over the U.S., and visited many parts of Europe and Asia. Some of those places were experienced through the eyes of a tourist, and some as a young military man.
   Will these memories make it into print? I don't know yet. If it would do any good to dispel some of the misconceptions of life back in the fifties and sixties, I would consider it. Unfortunately, most of the young folks I try to talk to don't believe me. Many are convinced baby-boomers are the cause of all their problems. I've even had a few tell me everyone over 65 should be denied medical care so we'll die and no longer be a burden on society. This scares me.
   I also know that some of my memories would not be well received by some. Oh well, they are what they are, good or bad. Every one of them have a special meaning for me, and I don't need the approval of others to write them down or share if I want.
   I will continue to work on my fantasy stories, but memories will take precedence when they show up.
   As always, thanks for reading.

Picture is me, either first or second grade. I don't remember for sure.

I'm Drowning In A Flood Of Story Ideas

   Normally, I would think of a multitude of ideas as a good thing, but right now, they're preventing me from focusing on the story I need to finish. There are too many stories floating around in my head right now, and every one of them wants to be written now. It's like a bunch of kids all shouting, "Me... Me... Me!"
   I tried starting a couple of them hoping to appease the voices, but that just made the others yell louder. I want to concentrate on the next story in the series I've already started, and they are driving me nuts! Every time I try to visualize the next scene in my WIP, scenes from other stories muscle in and take me down roads I don't want to travel right now.
   This is what I get for ignoring my muse for over six months. All that time she was trying to be helpful and coming up with new ideas I could work on in the little time I had. I know you don't have time for the main story, but how about this short story, or a children's book, or maybe a western. All great ideas, but if I don't put out book two pretty soon, folks will have forgotten there was ever a book one.
   I've probably been driving my critique group crazy as they never knew what kind of a story I'd be submitting month to month. Now I'm hearing the questions, "What happened to the last story? When are you going to finish the story from two months ago? I really want to know what happens next." It helps that most of them enjoy my writing and give me the encouragement I need to continue.
   Well, gotta go, my muse is calling. "What? You've got an idea for a Christmas Romance. Nooo!"
   Thanks for reading.

P.S. Apparently my attempt at satire didn't go over very well last week, so I won't be doing that again.

Picture is first book. It's been so long, even I need to re-read it.

Is Writing A Mental Illness?

   This is the question that plagues me every time I sit down to write. Who in their right mind would follow a path that leads to constant rejection, unending criticism, and mountains of self-doubt? Why do I continue to gallop through the vastness of my imagination attempting to save the world from evil windmills? I don't know.
   It certainly isn't about the money. I would earn more flipping burgers. Is it about gaining fame? I'd have a better chance at that by auditioning for the lead in a block-buster movie. Is it a desire to be unique and accomplish what others can't? Considering the thousands of people who self publish a book every day. It's no longer unique to be a writer in this day and age.
   Maybe it's about making friends and influencing enemies. I must admit I've made a number of friends online and in real life that I never would have otherwise as we have nothing else in common. I don't talk to my enemies and they don't talk to me, so nothing has changed there.
   Only a mentally deranged people pleaser like myself would write in the hopes of engaging readers who are the hardest group of people to connect with I've ever met. That's not healthy you say. No it isn't, anymore than being bi-polar, but that's the way I've always been and I'm too old to change now.
   Writing is all I have left, so I must continue. Someone has to venture forth and defeat the windmills of our illusions. I raise my pen in salute to all the other crazies out there!

Thanks for reading.