Riddle Me Ink

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real... for a moment at least-... that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormeghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find colours again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something within us, to the child that dreamt one day that they would hunt the forest of the night, and feast below the hollow hills, and one day find love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle Earth. - George R.R Martin

My name is Marina (she/her) and I write fantasy. I'm a half-blood and a muggleborn and a Blue like Liam or Chubs. I support and love the LGBTQ+ community. Most books on this profile will have some LGBT aspects so beware anyone not accepting of the LGBT community!