Monday, April 7, 2014


Most of the time, the world of fiction can be freeing, liberating, desired.  Sometimes it can call out to you, provide you with an escape from reality, give you a much needed distraction.  Then...

there are days like today.

When fiction can be so overwhelming you can't withdraw from it, you can't or don't want to return to what's right in front of you.  I read, a lot. I write, I watch shows and movies. I have a fantastic life, so I'm not trying to escape a world I don't enjoy... but I do have a very active imagination.  And when I can't contain that energy anymore, I do whatever I need to do to drain it from inside me - whether that be create my own or revel in someone else's.  But there comes a point when your heart hurts for fictional beings more than real ones or you get so immersed in a pretend world you find it occupies every extraneous thought.

It hurts.  It's an affliction.  It's all-consuming.

I wonder if there's a word for it... book coma, fiction overdose?  Word depression? Who knows...

All I do know is: when a book becomes too close to reality, when real-world problems and outcomes litter the pages, it's even worse. I think it's brave of the writer, something I don't know if I'm capable of doing to my own fantasy world and made-up characters.  But as a reader it is heartbreaking and sad and hard and brings me to tears.

That's where I'm at. I'll give myself a few days to process and recuperate, but then I'll move on... on to the next. Because I'm a lover of reading, of fantasy, of imagination, of fiction.

Until next time...

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