Editorial- Where do the stories come from?
I've been asked over and over again where the stories come from. I keep to the same reply- the stories come from people like you. If I were one to tell tales, I would not make up stories about the honest walking dead, or tall redwoods used as living ships, or cities of vampires or trolls, or seas of grass or of blood. That is not my nature, I just simply do not have the capacity for that kind of wit or imagination.
There is the matter of being sensitive. I was always sensitive as a boy. When the first electronic cash registers went into the local market, I couldn't go inside without holding my hands over my ears due to the high pitched electric whine the machines made. Throughout my life, I have been much more sensitive to things that other people never seem to hear, or are easily able to ignore. You saw a shadow, and it was nothing more than that. I see the shadow, and take a second glance to find someone wavering in the places where the light didn't quite reach, and then I see them disappear. I don't see or hear or feel anything that anybody else doesn't, I just happen to not be able to ignore them the way most people do without a thought.
That place where the lost socks go- I find them. I also find lost letters, medallions, missing journals, notes, and forgotten family photos. The problem is that I also find ones that are clearly not from places I would likely ever visit. Eventually, I learned that there were a few others like me, sending their messages in bottles and leaving them to be lost and found later by others like them. So, I post what I find, trying to make sense of some of the things that arrive on my doorstep.
