Imaginary worlds

And how they can boost creativity

I have a new word!

As a non-native German speaker living in a very German world (Vielen Dank, Switzerland!), I come across new German words every single day.

But I’m convinced I only have room in my head for a finite number of them at a time, so when I discover a new word, out another one goes.

This new English word, though? It’s rather beaut, as my father used to say.

A Paracosm is an imaginary world, one that’s usually very detailed, can last a long time, and often begins in childhood. Unlike brief daydreams or fantasies, paracosms are typically elaborate universes, with their own geography, characters, rules, languages, and histories.

There are lots of literary examples of paracosms, such as Tolkien’s Middle Earth from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. He started creating this world when he was a kid and kept on developing until it became an incredibly detailed and rich world, one that I love and know very well.

The world of Pandora in the Avatar movies is one of many examples of movie-based paracosms, and the entire Disneyland universe is another kind of paracosm.

But what really intrigues me is how the non-Tolkiens amongst us (that’s you and me) create our own smaller worlds, and what this means for how we think and create.

Imaginary worlds and creativity

We tend to think that imaginative play belongs to children, and that most of us grow out of it. But I don’t think that’s true.

We don’t stop imagining as we grow older. It’s just that we learn to call it something else: design, storytelling, art, dance, coding, music, even strategy and problem-solving.

And let’s not forget that every time we lose ourselves in a good book we might be entering a world created by someone else but we still build our own unique version of it in our minds.

We take this for granted but surely it has to be one of the most common examples of imaginative thinking and world-building.

What about music?

And then there’s music.

Have you ever noticed how a certain piece of music can transport you to a place that doesn’t quite exist in the real world? Not just a memory, but perhaps a landscape that feels real but exists only in your imagination? So much music does this without words, too, creating space for our own imagination to fill in the details.

I think of this as a form of imaginary or emotional architecture that’s not just recalling something or relying on something already there, but creating. And it can feel very real.

Paracosm? Doesn’t matter

None of these are paracosms in the sense of how they’re usually defined. But that doesn’t matter.

Creating an imaginary world, no matter how small or temporary it might be and no matter if it’s prompted by music or a book, and giving it shape, even if just for a moment?

Now that’s a real superpower. And with nary an elf and hobbit or bright blue person in sight.

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