I have a miniatures collection. It consists of Star Wars Force wielders like Sith, Jedi, and the occasional independent. I also have Marvel and DC comics figures; no minions just the heroes and villains themselves. I plan to get some of the Tolkiens, too – dragons, wizards, and stuff like that. If they make miniatures for Dune, or Matrix, even Dark Angel, Buffy, or Highlander, I’ll probably grab them as well. After all I’m a writer of fiction, and though my problem with any writing is the occasional run-on sentence, my biggest flaw in creating stories is describing characters. I need them as a reminder that it’s more interesting to know what they look like.
My little universe is filled with concepts and characters no one has tried to build a book around. Of course I have to keep to archetypes, there are only so many different personalities and roles a character can play, but the world I write about is new, unexpected, and hopefully thought-provoking. When I think of all the people who created the great science fiction I envy their successes and hope to emulate their brilliance. Those tiny figurines are always in my room for that. DC invented comics, Stan Lee gave them depth, Tolkien created the first universe of extraordinary beings, with Lucas perfecting the work and Herbert, the Wachowskis, Cameron, and Widen have added their own neat tidbits.
When I write, I need to be alone. Beethoven can be good for the concentration, or a medley of fun songs can help with a few ideas or to get me in a fun mood. No people though – nobody I have to pay attention to while I’m trying to sync up characters, plot, and entertainment. Well, people are good. They can be comforting and nurturing; like little voices in my head pushing me on to something deeper or more intricate. Miniatures are good for that. They are my silent friends.
I also like them. Each character has a story, and many have a plethora of tales about them. To hold one in your hands is to somehow feel like you are a part of that story, and a part of the universe they are from. I won’t ever be an actor in any movies about them, nor will I likely meet their creators. In this small, insignificant way though I can be a part of them all.
When I sit in my study working, I have miniatures. They are at my desk, on my bookshelves, all around really. They watch me, without commenting. They allow me to look over them, without shying away. They represent something greater than themselves, without putting on airs, even though they are only made of plastic. They comfort me, they nurture me. To someone without a knowledge of the universes they come from, though, they are nothing more than little toys.
I suppose that just makes me a little kid coming up with excuses to have dolls in his room.