Imagination has its limits. Much of them are self-imposed. We fret whether an idea is “ridiculous” or “blasphemous” or “hateful” or “indecent” or whatever else. We are proud and want our thoughts to be intelligent. We are social creatures and hesitant to even imagine what is socially unacceptable.
I write fiction. My craft is all about imagination. I provide it. When people read my books, they are daydreaming what I imagined for them.
My stories are supposedly ridiculous, blasphemous, hateful and indecent.
1st EXAMPLE:
My novel Sorcerer of the Realm is “ridiculous” because it is an alternate history with magic and the names of places are unfamiliar. It is “blasphemous” because it suffers witches to live. It is “hateful” because the title character is a sympathetic though genocidal Nazi. It is “indecent” because his teenage daughter is in love with him.
2nd EXAMPLE:
My novella The Black Death of White Women is “ridiculous” because it is about black women who casually murder white women in broad daylight… and get away with it. It is “blasphemous” because the killers go to church and thank God for the endless supply of victims. It is “hateful” because the killings are racially motivated and "indecent" because they are sexually gratifying.
3rd EXAMPLE:
My novel The Wayward School for Girls is “ridiculous” because it is entirely dreamlike. It is “blasphemous” because mainstream religion in the story is satanic. It is “hateful” because the institutions of the world are vilified. It is “indecent” because the villains rape and murder children. The foot soldiers of villainy are children and they are slaughtered in droves by the protagonists.
My work is imaginative… because I bother to imagine. I do
not narrow my thoughts to keep them “sensible” or “clean” or any other such common
insincerity. I mean what I write. The stories are not to trick you into
believing anything untrue or to turn you against God or society or to vilify
anyone real or to pervert or disgust you. They are dreams to be dreamt… for
whatever mysterious reason we dream at all.
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