Thursday, 20 September 2012

Models, playing god and storytelling

Recently,  I went to the Hornby Visitor Centre near Margate.  Apart from the sheer nostalgia of seeing all the historic toys, what really struck me when I gazed at the vast model railway was not so much the trains, but the miniature village with its houses, people, farm animals and buildings. A microcosm of what it means to be part of a community.

When I was a child I loved my model farm, which comprised of a host of plastic farm animals, which were arranged as I wanted them, which did as I wanted.  It provided me with hours of fun. The horses were my favourites, of course, and I made my own stable block out of balsa wood and glue. I created my own world and controlled it in a way that isn't possible in reality.  Playing god in a small way.  Deciding, making choices about where things went and what happened to them. Becoming a storyteller.  And I thought of what it had in common with writing and reasons for writing.  I was controlling my own imaginary world.  Creating stories.

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