creamygoodness

So on Friday night I was round at ex-member Secretary's place and, as is pretty much par for the course when it's just us hanging out, we were talking an awful lot of bollocks. I think we over-intellectualised everything from the Tumblr social activism circus to philosophy to My Little Pony. At one point we were talking a walk through Peckham at about midnight and I finally managed to find a way to articulate a thought that's been bubbling away at the back of my mind for a while now. Peckham's an odd little area of East London, an interesting fact Secretary brought up was that it was one of the most heavily devastated areas of London during the Blitz, which is why there are so many council estates and newer buildings around that area, because everything was levelled and had to be rebuilt.

It started when we passed an intersection through some side streets. Everything was still and quiet, the roads were empty and the loudest noise (temporarily, at any rate, in London you're never far from some kind of oppressive background hum) was the electric drone of the traffic lights we stopped at. Andi mentioned that she loved the sound of traffic lights and I agreed. The thing I love about them is, strange as it might seem, being in a position to hear them. If you can hear the traffic lights, you're in that momentary little bubble of quiet and peace that you only ever find in passing in big cities like London and it makes me feel an incredible sense of intimacy, like the city knows I'm here and is choosing to share this moment with me.

Later on we walked past a bus stop where a family was all waiting together. Mum and Dad with the young sun slung casually over the dad's shoulder, asleep andsighing contentedly into his father's shoulder. It made us wonder, what kind of business do they have being out and about at midnight on a Friday night, toddler in tow? We began to talk about how living in a big city means living amongst a whole galaxy of little secrets and mysteries, quiet little worlds of their own we will never be privy to, a hundred little secret covens and tribes operating just out of that hairdressers that always seems to be open and jumping at 1am.

And that's why I've loved Urban Fantasy, stories about the magic and wonder hiding just under the skin of the city. Because obviously the man living next door is a wizard. Naturally a secret society of witches holds regular meetings on Clapham Common where they conjure up the spirit of ancient Romans. I don't read these books because I want to imagine a world where strange magic and symbols lurk around every corner, I read them because they already do.

I want my fiction to see the world the same way I do.