I've heard authors speaking about their
books as surprising, unlikely, almost miraculous things - their coming-into-being a mysterious process that leaves their creators like first-time parents - gob-smacked, anxious, proud, worried. Possibly appalled. (At the event, of course, not the product.)
For me, it's not so mystical. Even though my books are full of time travel, shape shifting, kelpies and talking ferrets, I try to tell people that I write documentaries, because that's the way it feels. The story is already there, waiting to be told. It's already real. And my job is to let other people know about it. Hand me a chisel and watch the chips fly, sort of thing. (Though the writer has the advantage over the sculptor - we can glue bits back on again if we chop too much.)
Okay, it's not an perfect analogy, but you catch my drift. I hope. It would be interesting to know if other fiction writers are as basically convinced, or perhaps taken-in, by their own creations as I am.
And while on the subject of delusions - do I think my books are as perfect as the statue in the picture? I wish!