But when I described this place in a story which never got finished, I knew it needed its own full story, because it exists somewhere, somewhen, and I longed to really visit there. That to me is one of the best things about writing. You can explore all the dream worlds.
I believe in dream worlds. I believe they are places, and they are also languages - strange, feral languages we have never documented, of salted sea or forest shadow, or misty river valley. They can flow, hum, sing beneath the words of a story. They are visual languages, or languages of feeling, and they belong to the wild people, the selkies, the wind children, the riversouls.
You may know some of those people, you may have met them at the edges of the world, or in strange lonely places where they have gone to hide from a civilisation which speaks and sees so differently from themselves. If you say hello to them, they will probably be silent beneath their careful response. Or else, if you are blessed, they will speak to you with the voice of the tide.
Then again, you may be such a person yourself, and understand about the secrets within stories, the language of metaphor and poetry and places that don't really exist but we can describe them as a way of expressing a state of being. You may have spent your life feeling muted or unheard. You may have wandered lost in a world of shopping malls, tv shows, fashion, rules, money, grammar, when all your instincts were singing wild and weird with water, stone, flashes of gold, rather than words.
A language of body and soul as well as speaking.
And you may have spent years looking for others who hear your language, only to give up and escape to the sea, to the mountains, inside yourself, or sadly all the way out of life. But if you are lucky you have learned that going home will bring you to your people, because they have the same home. And they can't talk to you until you talk your own truth.
This is the other best thing about writing. It allows a writer to shape human words into wild language. To make valleys or rainstorms into soul expressions. For the selkies and forest-boned women lost in the world.