Ah, irony. There is no escape from it. It makes reality look like a child's game. Here's the thing: I really don't believe in reality; at least not the way it was sold to me. I don't believe there is nothing hiding in the closet. I know, as well as I know my own name, that there IS something under the bed and I am almost 100% convinced that my last relationship was doomed because of that mirror I broke. I mean, seven years is seven years, right?
My writing reflects this belief. In my upcoming novel, Storyteller, we stroll directly into a fully formed world of people living secretly among us. Sure they look like us. They go to our schools and date your daughters and sons. They also speak their own language among themselves and live a lot longer than we do. (They have a few other secrets too, but we'll let them tell you about it after publication.) Science fiction? Urban fantasy? Not real? Prove it. How do you prove that something doesn't exist? How do you prove that something you can't see isn't really hidden? How do you stop a dizzying list of rhetorical questions from getting away from you?
Sorry. Back to my point and, yes,I have one. Irony. I don't believe in the hard squared corners of reality as such, but even a dark-corner-surfer like myself has to acknowledge that these days, blogs and websites and Facebook and Tweets are a reality, a blessedly free, mad, public hootenanny of reality and so, here I go! I hope you'll come along with me on my quest to liberate the world from the belief that staff meetings and webinars and legal sized envelopes are no more concrete than time traveling embezzlers and folks living 500 years on chocolate, blood and sex. Hey, if you had to choose your reality, which would YOU pick?