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I have canned the Universal Girl story as I could not make it work for what I wanted: a third installment in my trilogy of short-stories on ball-jointed dolls. Debbie was more of a robot than an actual ball-jointed doll and the science fiction story did not fit in with the others which are clearly dark fantasy.

Since Sunday evening I have brain-stormed incessantly to think of a plot line that was not a cliche or a trope, something unique that no other story I have ever read about dolls has ever approached.

And this morning, in that weird world between sleep and wakefulness, it came to me.

The working title is The Message and it will be a perfect addition to the other stories The Dollmaker and In the Father's Image.

The Dollmaker was originally published in the March 2009 edition of Aoife's Kiss from Sam's Dot Publishing. In the Father's Image is currently being considered for a future edition of Morpheus Tales. Eventually, all three will be combined in an ebook.

After I woke up, I was reading various blogs and news articles on the Internet and I came across a comment by a secular materialist who decried the world of aesthetics and the "prison of the imagination."

My imagination a prison? The hard work of crafting tales that stretch my own limited vision of the metaphysical science of aesthetics is merely weaving the bars of a gilded cage?

Misquoting the character Tito from Disney's 1988 animated film Oliver and Company, "Hey, man, if this is prison, chain me to the wall!"

Comments

( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
eric_hinkle
Jul. 17th, 2013 06:46 pm (UTC)
Good luck with this. May you avoid the kind of nightmarish lunacy I've been dealing with this week. (Check out my latest entries here and on facebook for more; and if you can provide ANY advice I'd be amazingly grateful!)
dfhuettner
Jul. 17th, 2013 11:00 pm (UTC)
imagination
When I was a kid, my big brother and I took a wooden barrel and put it on its side, nailed boards on for fins and crawled into our rocket ship. Later, when I went to get tested for first grade, the teacher walked my mother and me to the classroom. She looked down at me and asked, "What do you like to do, Danny?" "My brother and I are building a rocket ship!" I declared. Embarrassed, my mother said, "He has a rich imagination..." Without batting an eye, the teacher replied, "Well, we'll take care of THAT here."
"Oh no you won't," I thought, and began planning my escape. It took me twelve years, but I got out of that school!
literary_equine
Jul. 18th, 2013 04:53 pm (UTC)
Re: imagination
Must have been Bendersville Elementary. It took me years to recover from that hellhole.

Agreed, my third grade teacher, Mrs. Starner was an angel, but she was the only shining star in that cesspit.

By the bye, you might think I have baggage ...
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )