I found myself thinking about Gilligan’s Island this afternoon (for no sensible reason I can discern), and remembering watching the endless re-runs on television as a kid.
Being little, it honestly never occurred to me that they were somewhere on a sound stage in Hollywood. It was Gilligan’s Island; they’d film it on an island, naturally.
Because when you’re that age, whatever is presented to you just is. Just like I never noticed the Brady siblings had no toilet in their awkwardly-shared bathroom.
As a parent now, particularly of my nine-year-old son, I am re-noticing the things that he does . . . well, notice. We have talked more than once (before scary movies, in particular) that everything on screen is just pretend, and he always seemed to accept that. I don’t think he believes that there’s a real King Kong wandering about.
It’s the job of storytellers like me to make our worlds as real to you as that desert island was to me, no matter how old our readers or viewers. It’s no small task, writing and crafting stories well enough that you can get utterly lost in them, lose track of time, or even–from time to time–gloss over a few hiccups. (How did Ginger and the Howells store all their clothes on that tiny boat?)
With every new story, it’s a new challenge. “Worlds” aren’t just about fantasy or science fiction or horror; Zero’s 1990s-era Phoenix is just as much a world as Tanin’s magical, monster-infested land of Kassia. Each time I set out to tell a new story, I’m hoping to create a place and time that feel authentic to my readers. To forget the reality of that sound stage and just enjoy a new adventure.
There are so many more worlds to create. I think I’ll get started!
Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale…
