I notice a white cement alligator in a wood chip garden path in midwest Ohio.
I confess. The alligator is in my backyard. I didn’t buy it, but I didn’t talk the buyer out of purchasing it either. So there it lurks between the black-eyed susans and the honeysuckle, scaring no one. But it serves a purpose. It represents someone’s fantasy or daydream.
Not mine. But I can relate.
You know when you daydream while listening to a lecture? or staring out the window of a car? or after reading a good passage from a book? They are fantasies.
When I was a kid, I daydreamed about being a horse or an eagle like a lot of children. As I grew up, the horse and eagle fantasies passed on but not the mermaid. She aged with me from young adult to adult. She didn’t occur too often, but when she did, it was usually before falling asleep.
My first desire in producing fiction was to capture my mermaid daydream. I honed my writing skills by creating a variety of short stories. After eight months, I was ready to pen my fantasy.
The story took maybe three hundred words on less than two pages. That was it. The fantasy, which had been with me for almost my whole lifetime, contained one scene: a mermaid swimming to shore and a man finding her.
Three years later, the narration fills more than 200 pages and over 60,000 words.
That’s quite a daydream for a writer from Ohio about a mermaid from the Caribbean.