Dear Fiction

Dear Fiction,

Consider this a continuation of my "Dear Escapism Pure and True" letter. Because, obviously, Fiction - you are quite instrumental to the very existence of Escapism Pure and True. Because you gave me just such an experience this evening.

Now, if you recall that particular letter, I made a reference to the fact that I had recently reverted to my dorky adolescence by purchasing and reading various comic books from my youth. The particular collection I was referring to was the "X-Men: Age of Apocalypse" epic series. I'm not going to go into detail on this one (I'll save the dorking out for myself and myself alone), but just know that this ain't your movie-version X-Men. This is a whole other ballgame that involves a lot of heroes dying, genocide, and a bunch of other "epic" things.

Anyway, I just finished up the series today, and I just can't get over how thrilling it is to enjoy Fiction like this. There's just something about heroes fighting against almost unlimited physical and mental odds to win out in the end. ESPECIALLY when it involves heroes sacrificing themselves and "dying for the cause." I can't really explain it. Maybe it's just my inner-youth speaking, but it's things like that that turn you into Escapism. The joys of reading stories where good guys consistently win. Where terrible things happen, but justice is always - eventually - served. Where no good person's death occurs without it ACHIEVING something.

And that's why we call it you. It's made up. Because the world isn't really like that. And so it feels so very good to immerse yourself in a world that IS. And there are those out there who would scoff at that claim - call it naive or hiding or even "Escapism" (said with an air of distaste). People who would look down on it for avoiding the "cold realities of life." I call it positive dreaming.

Those who know me would never claim me to be unaware of the "cold realities of life," and yet I absolutely LOVE stories like this. The epic kind where you know Good from Evil just by looking or sniffing. Maybe it's BECAUSE I'm so aware of how it actually is. Thing is, though - these kinds of ridiculous, fantastic stories give me hope. They actually inspire me to a certain degree. Because if there are people out there capable of imagining such things, then who's to say we can't make it happen to some degree?

I know people who derive much more pleasure from reading about "Real-Life Heroes" and look down upon those who might look to made-up stories for similar pleasure or inspiration. But why? Is there any difference? When I read about a "real-life hero" in a book, am I any more connected to that person simply because I know they actually existed? Or do I wonder what the author might be hiding to paint such a perfect picture of a real, flawed human? On the other hand, does it make any difference whether the flawed heroes of my escapist literatures ever actually existed or not? They COULD. Just as much as the real person might not be quite as good as we say.

In the end, it's all made up. Even memoirs are touched-up renditions of reality. Were I to try to write my own memoirs with the goal of adhering to absolute truths, I would fail miserably simply because our minds are too warped and malleable by the limits of memory and opinion. And as so many like to say about you, Fiction - any good story should be inherently true no matter the fantastic situations wrought around it.

When I was a kid, I used to daydream all the time. I'm pretty sure that my parents (and brother, likely) believe that I used to sleep in all the time as a kid. In truth, I was up and at 'em relatively early in the morning, but my most favourite activity was to remain in bed with my eyes closed, imagining myself as a character in the books I was reading. And I wouldn't just ride along as the story remained the same - oh no - my presence in that world would change everything around it. I would spend hours at a time just lying in bed, letting my mind roam free through all the worlds that my body would never be able to enjoy. I got excited for long car trips simply because it allowed me the opportunity to get some good daydreaming in.

And, of course, I stopped doing that as much as I got older. I got distracted by the "real" outside world and left my daydreaming (and fantasy you) behind.

However, in recent years, I have found myself returning to those ways. Not putting myself IN the story so much - but writing new stories in my head as I ride the bus, or fly, or just space out at home. That's why I have such a hard time actually WRITING my stories - because the limits of writing make them so much less than they start out as in my head.

People often refer to growing up as a time in which one's capital "D" Dreams fade and become more realistic. Where "real life" sets in, and one must maturely put them aside for more practical, capital "G" Goals.

Well, I say, "F- THAT!" As I grow older, I return ever more to the big Dreams of my youth. And, some day, I will actually write a full story to pass on to the younger mes out there - my daydreams become tangible and able to be shared. And when that happens, I will thank YOU, Fiction, for making that possible.

And then I will concentrate my forces inward and see if I just can't figure out how to fly.

Ready to Go Out with a Bang,
CVT