I once read a book called My Name Is Asher Lev. I thought I loved the book because the main character was brave enough to be an artist. Several years later I realized that I loved the book because HE GOT OUT. All those years he didn't fit in, and then finally he got out of "their" reality. He created his own way.
I went to a Katy Perry concert once. As I sat there in the very back row of the nose-bleed seats, surrounded by drunk middle-aged women, a young married couple, and a woman with her adult son, it dawned on me that Katy had created her own world. SHE GOT OUT. She made a place where she, as an adult woman, gets to play dress-up in gaudy costumes and innocently and strategically lead a club of Katy Kats.
There are other artists I love. Shel Silverstein, Edward Gorey, Maurice Sendak, Tim Burton, Quentin Blake, Ray Bradbury, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Joe Gould, Roald Dahl to name but a few. But really, how well do I know them? What I know is the worlds they created. Portal worlds in an attempt to get out. Worlds I don't want to count as "just" fiction. Worlds I want to climb into for real. So somehow, I'm gonna find a way. I'm going to find my own way to GET OUT.