On Using Your Imagination

I was out walking the dog this morning, all wrapped up in coat and gloves. It was misty, as it often is near me, and there’s something about mist that feels inherently magical, isn’t there? As if stories might come alive within it. You can imagine the Victorian horse-drawn carriage in some gothic horror coming out between the old buildings, or little imps scampering along the floor where you can’t quite see them.

So I was walking the dog in the mist, weaving between the trees and stopping at each one for a good ol’ sniff (the dog, that is, not me), when I saw a tree that was a peculiar shape. While Titi read the morning canine newspaper (aka yesterday’s pee deposits), I found myself staring at said tree and allowing my mind to wander.

It looks like some kind of weird slide for fairies, I thought, imagining them sliding down the big, curved branch and flying off the end, then opening their wings and floating to the floor with delighted majesty. I could almost hear their happy giggles and see the little mittened fairy children with woolly hats pulled down over their ears. The image made me smile, but then Titi turned the page, and we moved on to the next tree.

The next tree had a big knot—you know the ones. You often see owls sitting it them in cartoons and storybooks.

That’s the haunted house, I thought immediately, picturing the fairies lining up to enter, then running through the tree trunk, laughing and screaming with delight before pouring back out into the cool air at the tree’s roots.

And as I walked around the square, Titi sniffing and me admiring the uniqueness of every tree, I found myself creating an entire fairy theme park, all based on the unique shape and features of the trees. I even found the entrance (two big flagpoles around the war monument at the corner of the square—a grand entrance for the park if ever I saw one) and the ticket office (the electricity box thingy… whatever it’s called).

I’ve named it FaePark.

Have I gone crazy? Well… maybe, but if I have, I kind of like it, and I’m going to roll with it.

You see, being a writer, a storyteller, doesn’t mean you have to stick strictly to what’s on your page—your pre-plotted novel or the characters fully profiled. It means that you can create magic wherever you are. It means that you can see the world differently and in that, you can bring a little extra joy to the world.

And in being observant, in noticing the peculiarities of everyday things, you become a better writer. You exercise that imagination muscle, you get those creative juices flowing. And in being observant, you can pass that through your books, through your writing. It’s those quirky little details that readers love. You can take that joy and spread it far and wide.

After all, that’s why we do what we do, isn’t it? To experience the world and share it with others. To entertain. To make people feel.

So next time you’re out and about, even if it’s somewhere you go every day, be observant. Look around you and notice those small things you usually overlook. Let your imagination run wild. It might be something you forget as soon as you leave, a mere amusement for a moment. It might spark some great idea that you take home and run with. Either way, you’ve strengthened your imagination, taken a step towards being a better writer, and brought a little extra joy to the world.

For me? I can’t unsee FaePark now. It’s become part of my world, and each time I walk around that square, it’ll become bigger and more real. All I need to do now is make sure Titi doesn’t accidentally eat one of the fairies.