It has been a little while since I have written a blog post. The reason? Well, I was on vacation. And what a vacation it was! I went to Prince Edward Island. Now, as many of you probably know, P.E.I. was the birthplace of Lucy Maud Montgomery, author of Anne of Green Gables. Sooo…it’s basically the coolest island in the world.

I of course insisted that we go to the Green Gables farm on which the setting of Montgomery’s novel is based, and I have to admit that the visit had a peculiar effect on me. I felt as though I came home to myself. At first, the snippets of Montgomery’s journals and letters posted around the site seemed overwrought and emotional. I struggled to make sense of the woman I glimpsed in them, felt wearied by her romanticism. I felt that my beloved author ought to be more sensible and less…dramatic.

And then I found myself wondering: what had happened to me? What had happened to the little girl who had fallen in love with Anne of Green Gables and Emily of New Moon, and who had recognized a kindred soul in the heroines of both books? As I sat on a small bench beyond the Green Gables farm, breathing in the rich smells of earth and pine needles, I gave myself permission to be romantic and dreamy again. Because that dreaminess is part of me whether I like it or not. And besides, I believe that the world needs us to dream up a better future, to envision new ways of being in the world during these crazy times of ours.

I feel as if I have so much to say, so much to recount and think about and ponder, explore through the medium of pen and paper. I have not felt for some time just how strongly I wish to be a writer, how it is my home and natural element to create with words. Sitting down and setting down my thoughts–putting some order to the jumble in my brain–is like taking a long, hot shower after a dry and dusty day. It refreshes and soothes my soul.

Going on vacation helped me to reconnect with the reason I am writing a novel in the first place. I want to write fiction, not so much to create imaginary worlds, as to bring myself and my readers to a clearer understanding of this one. To me, that is what fiction is all about. It might be made up, but it is all true. It is true in the sense that we can recognize ourselves and our lives in a good novel or story. Fiction can provide us with fresh insights into the problems of our lives, give us the elusive answer for which we have been searching, or else give us comfort even as we come to know that there is no answer to many of the questions we will ask throughout our lives. (In case you haven’t yet read it, check out this great New York Times article on fiction’s effects on the brain.)

So. In sum: two thumbs up for vacation. And also for fiction.