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.