And every place and time an author writes about is imaginary, from Oz to Raymond Chandler's L.A. to Dickens's London.
Writers are too neurotic to ever be happy.
Actually, writers have no business writing about their own works. They either wax conceited, saying things like: 'My brilliance is possibly most apparent in my dazzling short story, "The Cookiepants Hypotenuse."' Or else they get unbearably cutesy: 'My cat Ootsywootums has given me all my best ideas, hasn't oo, squeezums?