The other night I had a dream in which I was finally convinced to try guacamole for the first time (not, maybe, one of my most exciting nighttime adventures). What stuck with me most after I awoke the following morning was the bite of guacamole I ate in my dream… had absolutely no flavor at all.

I realized this must be because I have no frame of reference for what avocado or guacamole tastes like. I have never tasted this thing before, so how could I know what this thing tastes like?

It got me thinking: about imagination. Specifically, about our imaginations during the writing process. Certainly when we write fiction we are creating events and settings for which we have no experience. How did Tolkien create Middle Earth if he never met elves, and orcs, and trolls?

Our imaginations are amazing, but they must have some boundaries too, right?

Most of my writing centers on human emotion and experience. Brick may be more personal than much of what I write, but I do trend toward character-driven fiction in everything I attempt. My next WIP is looking like a steampunk trilogy, but at the heart of it is still the experiences and growth of the characters.

Personally, I think that is what drives great literature. While I love reading fantasy and post-apocalyptic/dystopian genres, if it doesn’t have compelling *human* drama at the center of it, then it won’t hold my interest.

And I suppose that is where the limits of our imaginations might be.