An Author's Offering

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...

A carpet is a remarkably versatile piece of a house. It’s a comfort to tired feet coming home after a long day. It’s another task for the homeowner, stuck with the work of vacuuming. It’s a cushion for the tumbling children, as they roughhouse their way through childhood. It’s a bed for the pet curled up by the fire. It can have many personalities: a solid color or a patterned design, light or dark, soft or coarse. It may be so familiar that you can pass over it easily in the night, or so new it may surprise your feet as you walk across it. For me, an old carpet is an old friend, and can play an even stranger role: a place for me to position my laptop and my body, and write. But for most, a carpet is so innocuous; they don’t even know it’s there.