I had a day… I dropped down into the Lounge Puddle — Yes. Lounge Puddle. That is what I have decided to call it — and breathed a long sigh of relief. I don’t know why I felt different. I did, actually,

Everything felt different. This morning, my daughter had picked up her first Money Book, and she was hooked. And then… everything shifted. I had two emails in my inbox — box from different people –rt One a Book Publisher wanting my books. The other, a Book Marketer wanting Zombies From Space… And Vampires.

And ten minutes later my daughter read to me a line from The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel. “I got two phone calls for orders for designing websites. I wasn’t even advertising for website design.”

And there I was. Two emails for my Books. I wasn’t even advertising for my Books.

Like Housel’s websites, my books were mindless for me to produce. And then I saw it. This is what I was meant to do. Write. Just Write.

After a 2 hour meeting, I had my Marketing Plan and Team in place and at a fraction — From $15,000 down to $1,700 — of a cost and with substantially more for the Value.

And… I had a way into the United States. Zombies From Space… And Vampires. That’s right! We would deliver The Radical Global Healing Plan to the world carried on the back of Zombies From Space… And Vampires.

“That… is SUCH… and Anna Imagination thing to do,” Bergen said.

I looked up from the lighting of my 3 Foot Bon and grinned like an anime character.

“I KNOW, RIGHT!?”

“So what are you going to do?” he asked.

My bon bubbled.

I held my breath. Gave him a look and then exhaled.

“Get high,” I said, holding it in my lungs. “With what?”

He sat down and took the bon from me for his turn. It bubbled and he released it. He held his breath and exhaled.

“With your game plan,” he said.

I took another draw from the bon that bubbled and exhaled as I sat back into the pillows, enjoying the high.

“I think… I’m supposed to be focusing on my Writing Career and my Books,” I said. “I think that is why I’ve been stuck. I haven’t been thinking about my Author Career. Just my Philanthropy.”

“You don’t think you can have a Career selling books, do you?” he asked releasing his breath of smoke and relaxing into the puddle with me.

“I didn’t, no,” I said. “I thought… I did. I thought my writing wasn’t…”

I remembered.

I had spent five years among fellow authors. Seeing me not get anywhere. I struggled. They loved my Energy, but not my books. I mean… they did… But… They weren’t readers. They were writers. I didn’t really attract Readers. I couldn’t find them back then. I could only find Authors.

But that was 10 years ago. I had changed. The Book World had changed. People had changed.

I wasn’t even thinking about that anymore. I thought about my Golden Stone waiting for me in the Abstract. I thought about My World. I thought about The Storyteller. I hadn’t talked about that yet. The Storyteller. How my Public Stage Name was The Storyteller.

And then…

My Philanthropy.

I felt the world slide from my shoulders.

I was a living Storybook Character. Goddess Imagination of The Abstract. The Sentient Story and Storyteller.

Everything clicked. Everything was perfect. Everything was real.

It all felt so right.

I leaned back and just relaxed.

So this is what it was like being an Ashavana?

I turned to Bergen. “This is really happening now, isn’t it?” I asked him. He looked at me. High.

I laughed, my knees pulled up to my chest as I snorted and fell over.

My laughing suddenly stopped and I was somber. I was looking at Bergen…

“Why couldn’t you be real?” I whispered. I suddenly had tears in my eyes.

“Are you crying, Pygmalion?”

I snorted-sobbed and squeaked out, “Naricissus?”

“Oh, lass,” he said and pulled my legs into his lap.

I was cuddled up to him in a heartbeat, resting my head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around me, his cheek resting on my head.

He knew it. We both did. I was in love with him. And he was a figment of Imagination.