Writing and Escapism

 I’m a daydreamer. I often retreat into my own stories, crafting worlds and creating new narratives. It’s one of my favourite things—like having a brand-new movie on demand, only one that plays out entirely in my head.

It’s probably why I write. Some of these stories seem interesting, at least to me, and I hope that by sharing them I can pass along even a fraction of the joy they bring me.

Sometimes the ideas arrive fully formed and feel unique, as if they’ve come from nowhere at all. My mind latches onto them and starts filling out their reality with details and characters.

Other times they’re sparked by games. I’ve always been drawn to open-world sandboxes where you start as a blank slate—no obligations, no backstory, just freedom to define who you are within that world. That sense of possibility is intoxicating, and it often bleeds into the stories I write.

Books inspire me too. When I’m reading, I sometimes put the story down and imagine what else could happen. I’ve written before about my favourite characters, and occasionally I rewrite their fates—saving them, adding someone new to balance the group, or better yet, disrupting it completely.

Films do the same. I’ll drift off and change the ending in my head. Some films invite this more than others—I’ll let you decide which.

Imagination is a powerful, wonderful thing. I’m not suggesting anyone should live there all the time. Reality is tough, but it’s also necessary—and honestly, there’s no finer source of inspiration than the world around us. The trick, I think, is learning to carry that spark of daydreaming into the everyday, where it can make both fiction and life feel a little richer.

Making Your Own Story

I love to read, but my favourite stories are the ones I can’t wait to put down.

Sounds counterintuitive, I know. Let me explain.

I don’t think there are bad books, just ones that aren’t right for me at that moment. Some books I’ll persist with, carrying them around in my bag or leaving them on the arm of the sofa, picking away at them slowly. Others I let go of, quietly admitting that I’m not the reader they need. There’s a kind of freedom in that, in letting stories find their right moment.

The good books, though—those are the ones that pull you in so deeply you lose track of time. You tell yourself, “just one more chapter,” and suddenly it’s midnight and your drink has gone cold beside you. They’re the books that let you live in someone else’s shoes for a while, where the world feels bigger and softer because of what you’ve read.

But the really good books? They’re different. Those are the stories that reach out and shake something awake in you. You start to see what’s coming next for the characters, and you can’t help but hope for a different path. You want to step in and save that character from heartbreak, or give them the courage to speak up, or even take the villain aside for a cup of coffee to ask, “Is this really what you want?”

They’re the books that make you pause mid-chapter, staring at the ceiling, imagining how the scene might go if you were the one telling it. They’re the ones that make you close the cover gently and pick up your notebook, or open a blank document, just to capture the spark they’ve left behind.

The really good stories make you want to stop reading—and start writing. They remind you that you have your own stories to tell, in your own voice, in your own messy and beautiful way. They inspire you to take that feeling of adventure, fear, love, or hope, and pour it into something new.

Those are the stories that matter most. The ones that remind us we’re allowed to build our own worlds too—and that sometimes, the best way to honour a story you love is to start creating one of your own.