I have been writing seriously, (meaning I wrote it and saved it permanently, rather than storing it in a box that got water damaged) for almost thirty years, and the more I do, the less I understand the process. I am fascinated to see how myths and legends and old wives tales and scripture mix together in my mind and contribute to the product that comes forth. It is fascinating also to see how some really off the wall stuff comes in, and then wonder where it originated. But most fascinating is the appearance of a new story. The more books I read, the more I see archetypes and themes and sometime whole plots lifted from one place and wittingly or unwittingly added to the pages of someone else's work, but still, sometimes new stuff comes out, a brand new creation, fresh, pristine, unsullied by the opinions of any but its creator. Its combination of familiar enough letters and words form a pattern of combinations that have never appeared before, not only in the history of the world, but the history of everything. The author is a creator, total master of the world created in the pages of the new book. What a marvelous thing! What a privilege and a wonder to be able to participate in such things. How can anyone resist doing it, once he/she has done it once and seen the look of delight, even rapture on the face of another as they read it. And when it happens to me, I wonder. Where did it come from? What in the world is an imagination? Why do some people have one and some people not? How can anyone think up things that have never happened, perhaps have never even been thought of before in the history of the universe. Is it somehow possible to have an idea that nobody, even the biggest Somebody has never thought of before?