Excerpt
PROLOGUE: WELCOMING COMMITTEE
Are you okay?
I'm down here. Yeah, the sunflower-yellow stuffed triceratops. I know. It's okay. I know you're overwhelmed, I was too. We all were.
Do you need anything? Food? Water? To talk about whatever just
happened to you? No is fine. No is always fine here.
You've got questions. Of course you've got questions. And I'm happy
to answer them. But why don't we start at the start, and I'll tell you why you're talking to a plush dinosaur.
Here are the two things you absolutely need to know. First: In case you didn't know, you're an idea. I'm not sure if you're an imaginary friend or a novel's protagonist or a mascot or what. But if you're here, you're an idea.
Second: You were loved. You were loved enduringly and unequivocally, and that made you capital-R Real. Not an idea; an Idea. A Friend.
But then – whatever just happened to your person, your creator – it happened, and it was horrible, and it affected you. I won't pretend to know what, and I won't ask, but whatever it was, your person couldn't keep you around. For most ideas, that's it, lights out. But not you. You're Real. So... what happens to you?
Well, what happens is that you end up here. The Stillreal. The underside of the Imagination that nobody remembers to clean. It can be a rough place, but it can also be beautiful. Fortunately, you have me to help you find the latter instead of waltzing face-first into the former.
The name's Tippy: ex-imaginary friend and once-and-current detective. It's nice to meet you.