This world, that is, the real world, is not the only world to exist.
Other worlds, separate from our own, exist. Other worlds, realms, kingdoms, and alternate realities… they all exist.
They rest inside the heads of the young children on the playground; they rest in our dreams; they rest in the imaginings of authors.
Words become portals. Written, spoken, signed, translated, and any other form of words… they’re all portals.
As the story unfolds, we step into the words. We allow the language to wrap around us and fill us up, transporting us across time, space, and the limits of reality.
As I leaf through the pages of a book, I find my way to realities completely different, and yet so similar, to my own. The author picks up a quill, or a pen, or a keyboard, and does the same.
You call my imaginings play-acting.
I call it discovery. I call it exploring this world that is far bigger, much stranger, more mystical, and more wonderful than you can imagine.