Memory and Imagination

 I've just got back from Burgundy -- time travelling through ancient villages - where I've been checking a few details for the novel that I'm writing the moment, which is set on the Nivernais canal. There were doors to die for on every corner; here's one I saw in Noyers sur Serein, its faded yellow paint a bit like a sunset scorched into the wood...

I spent some time in Chatillon en Bazois, a little town in the Morvan where the denouement of my story takes place.  I'd been there five years ago and looked at pictures of it since, but visiting it again having written about it for my book, I was  struck by the interplay between memory (how I thought it was) and imagination (how I wanted it to be) and how fiction begins at this intersection.  Revisiting Chatillon was almost like seeing the alchemy taking place: the town was less beautiful than I remembered and I could see at once how  my imagination had been at work.  All the details were there, but the reality was like looking at a landscape that is overcast compared to one in broad sunlight.  It made me think that that is what imagination -- creativity, if you like - does: it sheds light.  

So keep writing, and shine brightly....