As writers, imagination is our god, our heaven, our hell, our life and death. Without it, we are little more than glorified record-keepers.

But what if imagination isn’t what we think it is?

What if “imagining” is really the ability of the mind to dive within a vast well of infinite memories from every corner of reality, and what you thought you, as a writer, invented, is actually a living memory of someone real, from any corner of space and time?

How would the world react to that? What would change about you as a writer if you discovered this? Would you want to know that truth?

Show us what treasures you can dig up in the Well of Memories.