I used to dream of a world without a sky.
I wondered what it would be like to live in a world where the light came from all angles, where the view around you was obscured by the brilliance of the view above you.
Physics is not my friend.
Sometimes I remember those dreams when I write.
Not because I write of impossible planets.
But because I think of the old Hollywood truism about children and small animals and the problems of working with them.
A good story has a few characters that dazzle and shine and obscure everyone around them when they appear on the scene.
A bad story has a thousand of them.
There are certain characters that, by their very nature, will either irritate everyone who meets them or will overwhelm the world around them so completely that all else is lost.
Because we only have the one sun, we do not always have light when we would wish it.
But with too many points of brilliance, too much heat and dazzling illumination, nothing is distinct and easy to recognize.
I think of a world with light in every corner.
As I write, I remember the power of light.
As I dream, I remember the power of darkness.