Numerous worlds, some as a refuge, some to help me think (the Council, headed by a woman who looks and sounds a lot like Judi Dench, not sure why), some as a distraction to help me relax (or fall asleep: the faerie tree realm), some from shows I've seen or books I've read, and I'm afraid World of Warcraft has a section all about a blood elf hunter and what has befallen her since her husband fell to the Scourge and was made into one of their death knights (an idea I had when she met Koltira Deathweaver while I was playing in Northrend).
Also, I have my fictional worlds which I am crafting for my writing. I have various vistas and some steadily developing characters, ghosts who communicate very poorly, villages tormented by swarms of spirits, time machines, dream realms, magic, girls in armor and guys in dinner jackets, boys who look like Tom Sawyer but wield swords, villains with glass globes designed to entrap and drain the life away, simple romance and very complicated romance and altogether muddled romance, and sometimes forgotten and remembered romance, guys who eat too much jalapeno pizza and dream fantastic things that turn out to be real, and their daughters who walk in the company of dragons who weren't dragons two days ago, kings who rise from poverty and bring their shattered worlds together, men with chips implanted in their skulls...
Crud, it sounds like Piers Anthony stuff. Well, it's still mine.
And then there's Raven. She's a lot like Wednesday Addams. She keeps the Gate. Where Raven stands, from the outside looking through the Gate, everything inside looks dark and withered, like a Tim Burton drawing. Entering through the Gate, which few do now, the light begins to grow and the colors emerge.
The way I figure it, the people who think this sort of thing sounds crazy just don't spend a lot of time with their own brains. I also figure that as long as I understand it's not real in the way flesh and blood are, I'm technically sane.
But in my noodle, it's as real as it gets. I've heard that memory cannot distinguish between real and imagined memories. If that's the case, and I someday in the distant future develop senile dementia or Alzheimer's, I expect those caring for me would hear some fantastic tales.
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"Pack up my head, I'm goin' to Paris!" - P.W.
The world loves diversity... as long as it's pretty, makes them look smart and doesn't put them out in any way.
There's the road, and the road less traveled, and then there's MY road.