I have always been fascinated by dragons since I was a child, where myths and dragons were the order of play. Maybe there is a Welsh strain in my DNA somewhere!
I have a small stone plaque with a skeleton on it that I bought years ago when I was in Cornwall. I really should move there, I love the place so much, but there is a problem. I can’t for the life of me decide which I like best, Cornwall or Wales. Decisions, decisions!
This plaque is supposed to have the bones of a baby dragon embedded on it, but it’s probably some kind of lizard. Most of the time I prefer to believe that it is real.
As writers, fantasy is basically what we are about, so I think I more than qualify!
Enough of all this dragon whimsy, and back to the subject of this weeks post.
Is there some kind of power in believing? I must admit I have a certain amount of trouble believing most things at face value, and that probably makes me sadly lacking somehow, or just stupid?
Why can I believe there were once dragons on this planet, but have trouble believing what people swear to me is the truth?
It does depend on the person of course. There are some people I wouldn’t believe if they swore on a stack of bibles, but when my granddaughter tells me that she loves me and that I am wonderful, I tend to believe her! But honestly, I think it must boil down to our common sense. I think that if something seems logical, it is probably true. Or is that just my stupid brain?
I recognise that I have a problem in this department and I blame all the people who have lied to me in the past. Too many, I fear.
It is astonishing the things we do insist on believing. Like I choose to believe that my writing will get better if I work at it hard enough.
And maybe it will, simply because I believe it…