A couple days ago, as I sat at the computer with the opening paragraphs of my finished-but-not-quite novel on the screen awaiting another edit, I glanced out the window hoping for some brilliant inspiration. It was a gloomy day, nothing much to look at, and my mind drifted. Then, just above my line of focus, I saw something jump from one tree to another. My first thought was Oh … a monkey! My second thought was HUH?!?!?! 
Now, in case you don’t know, I live in central California.There are no monkeys in the wild here. I’ve never lived where there were. So, why would my mind think such a thing? What strange things our minds are … and maybe especially, the mind of a fiction writer. I make things up. I imagine people, places, and events. Why not transform an ordinary squirrel into a monkey?
Oh! Wait … is my subconscious telling me I should have a monkey in my novel’s opening?
Linda Cassidy Lewis 
I see many things, but haven’t seen a monkey, despite the eerie fog lately.
LikeLike
I would suppose a mind trained toward suspense would see some interesting things in the fog. 😉
LikeLike
The only continents that have monkeys as native inhabitants are Africa and South America. My brother believes that North America really should have it’s very own monkey. Perhaps I’ll suggest the sock monkey.
Aren’t visions of things that aren’t there the gifts to and stock-and-trade of fiction writers? The well-spring of imagination?
“All the works of man have their origin in creative fantasy. What right have we then to depreciate imagination.”
— Carl Jung
P.S. I can already see Tricia’s vision as a gloriously illustrated picture book.
LikeLike
Well, usually, my visions are confined to my mind, but of course, how could we write fiction without that capacity? Imagination is indeed the origin of the works of man.
LikeLike