book four of Dragon City is well under way by this point, working title: Happy Slumbers.
ain’t nothin’ too happy about it, though. the former trilogy is begging for resolution, as such a high percentage of its readers have been left without an appropriate orgasmic response. by itself that’s not enough motivation for me, but i did find an angle in the whole thing which i had previously left unexplored, only hinting at obliquely now and then – most explicitly in the ‘dream’ chapter of Snapdragon Alley. tantalizing hint hereby dropped.
fiction is an invitation to leave the real world behind and live in make-believe for a period of time – the question is, how much time would you be willing to give in exchange for how much make-believe pleasure? an hour or two, sure. a day or a week, perhaps. how about fifty years? would you go that far? fifty solid years, too, in which time you are not present in this world, on this planet. you are gone and no one knows what happened to you. what would it take to be worth it? we’re not talking immortality here, just a period of time.
answers most welcome in comments.
in exchange, your dreams are fed upon like candy and your whole life, your existence, your soul (if you will) is slowly sucked dry, as if you were a lollipop. fifty years. an all-day sucker in a slower dimension.
i also have one question to ask you about reincarnation. the question is, cuanto? how many?