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I Don't Think The World Is The Way We Like To Think It Is. I Don't Think It's One Solid World, But Many, Thousands Upon Thousands Of Them--as Many As There Are People--because Each Person Perceives The World In His Or Her Own Way; Each Lives In His Or Her Own World. Sometimes They Connect, For A Moment, Or More Rarely, For A Lifetime, But Mostly We Are Alone, Each Living In Our Own World, Suffering Our Small Deaths.

-Charles De Lint

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I Don't Think The

Charles De Lint

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I Don't Think The World Is The Way We Like To Think It Is. I Don't Think It's One Solid World, But Many, Thousands Upon Thousands Of Them--as Many As There Are People--because Each Person Perceives The World In His Or Her Own Way; Each Lives In His Or Her Own World. Sometimes They Connect, For A Moment, Or More Rarely, For A Lifetime, But Mostly We Are Alone, Each Living In Our Own World, Suffering Our Small Deaths.

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World Suffering

More From Charles De Lint

Even, She Thought, Even Without The Gift Of Witchsight, There Was More Beauty To Be Found In The World Than Could Ever Be Snared In Language Or Music. And With The Sight.

The Best Artists Know What To Leave Out. They Know How Much Of The Support Should Show Through As The Pigment Is Applied, What Details Aren't Necessary.

I Was A Misfit, But I Think Most Teenagers Feel That Way. I Don't Care If You Were A Popular Jock Or The Kid Who Spent His Lunch Hours In A Stairwell Reading A Book, We All Seem To Have Dealt With Insecurities Of One Kind Or Another Throughout Our High School Years.

I'm Not Chinese. I Thrive In Interesting Times.

There's Never An Easy Route To The Things That Matter.

But That's What We All Are-just Stories. We Only Exist By How People Remember Us, By The Stories We Make Of Our Lives. Without The Stories, We'd Just Fade Away.

Often The Magical Elements In My Books Are Standing In For Elements Of The Real World, The Small And Magical-in-their-own-right Sorts Of Things That We Take For Granted And No Longer Pay Attention To, Like The Bonds Of Friendship That Entwine Our Own Lives With Those Of Other People And Places.

The Past Scampers Like An Alley Cat Through The Present, Leaving The Paw Prints Of Memories Scattered Helter-skelter.

I Believe A Good Writer Can Write A Good Book With Any Sort Of Character, In Any Sort Of Setting, But I Prefer To Write About The Outsider. It Might Just Be Because I've Been One (or Perceived Myself To Be One) For So Much Of My Life. But The Simple Fact Of Being Marginalized Immediately Brings Conflict To A Story Before The Narrative Even Begins, And That's Gold For A Writer Because It Means That Your Character Already Has Depth Before Events Begin To Unfold.

The Road Leading To A Goal Does Not Separate You From The Destination; It Is Essentially A Part Of It.

As The New Work Fills My Notebooks, I've Come To Realize That The Characters In My Stories Were So Real Because I Really Did Want To Get Close To People, I Really Did Want To Know Them. It Was Just Easier To Do It On Paper, One Step Removed.

An Now The Silences Come In A Single Lifetime, In A Single Year... When Species Die, Leaving A Silent Space In The World Song That Can Never Be Filled.

Living On The Street As A Kid Changed The Way I Looked At Everything. It Was A Different Time And While It Had Its Dangers, It Was Nothing Like It Would Be Today. It Was The Summer Of Love And There Was A Real Sense Of Community Among Us. We Were Hippies Who Looked Out For Each Other Instead Of Trying To Rip Each Other Off. We Only Had To Watch Out For The Police Who Liked To Roust Us Just On General Principles, And The Kids Who Came In From The Suburbs To Do A Little Hippie-bashing.

I've Always Believed The Lies We Use To Make Our Fictions Reveal The Truth With Far More Honesty Than Any History Or Herstory Or Life Story.

... We Chase After Ghosts And Spirits And Are Left Holding Only Memories And Dreams. It's Not That We Want What We Can't Have; It's That We've Held All We Could Want And Then Had To Watch It Slip Away.

There Was Too Much Going On Here -- Too Much That Strayed From Odd All The Way Over Into Seriously Weird.

I Think A Good Writer Is A Mix Of Confidence (sure That What They're Writing Is Going To Appeal To Their Readers) And Uncertainty (what If All These Words Are Crap?). If You're Too Confident, You Get An Attitude That Seeps Through Into Your Writing, Affecting The Characters And The Story. If You're Too Uncertain, You'll Never Finish Anything.

I Don't Want To Live In The Kind Of World Where We Don't Look Out For Each Other. Not Just The People That Are Close To Us, But Anybody Who Needs A Helping Hand. I Cant Change The Way Anybody Else Thinks, Or What They Choose To Do, But I Can Do My Bit.

When You're Invisible, No One Can See That You're Different.

When One Of My Characters Becomes Aware Of A Magical Element, It Might Be Because The World Is Wider Than We Assume It To Be, But It Might Also Be A Reminder To Pay Attention To What Is Here Already, Hidden Only Because It's Been Forgotten.

Inside Us Lies Every Possibility That Is Available To A Sentient Being. Every Darkness, Every Light. It Is The Choices We Make That Decide Who Or What We Will Be.

One Expected Growth, Change; Without It, The World Was Less, The Well Of Inspiration Dried Up, The Muses Fled.

Witchery Is Merely A Word For What We Are All Capable Of - Heightened Nightsight, An Empathy Shared With The Beasts, A Utilization Of The More Obscure Abilities Of Our Minds. Nothing That Science Can't Explain Away. Wizardry Is Spells And Enchantments. Fairy Tales.

The Trouble With Advice Is That It's Usually Something You Don't Want To Hear.

You Can Take The Woman Outta The Trash, But You Can't Take The Trash Out A The Woman.

Like Legend And Myth, Magic Fades When It Is Unused.

The Best Change You Can Make Is To Hold Up A Mirror So That People Can Look Into It And Change Themselves. That's The Only Way A Person Can Be Changed." By Looking Into Yourself," Zia Said. "even If You Have To Look Into A Mirror That's Outside Yourself To Do It." "and You Know," Maida Added. "that Mirror Can Be A Story You Hear, Or Just Someone Else's Eyes. Anything That Reflects Back So You Can See Yourself In It.

I'm Not As Trusting As People Think I Am. Sure, I See The Best In People, But That Doesn't Mean It's Really There.

My Theory About Writing Is That One Should Write Books You'd Like To Read, But No One Else Has Written Yet. So, As Long As I Stick With That, I'm Entertaining Myself, And Then Hopefully My Readers As Well. I Hope To God I Realize That I'm Repeating Myself, If I Ever Do. But If I Don't, I'm Sure My Readers Will Let Me Know.

Well, You Know This World Isn't Perfect.' 'no, You're Wrong. This World Is Perfect, People Just Come Along And Mess It Up Sometimes.

The Magic In This World Seems To Work In Whispers And Small Kindnesses.

Magic Lies In Between Things, Between The Day And The Night, Between Yellow And Blue, Between Any Two Things.

Let Me Give You Some Advice: Try To Approach Things Without Preconceived Ideas, Without Supposing You Already Know Everything There Is To Know About Them. Get That Trick Down And You'll Be Surprised At What's Really All Around You.

I Think You're All Mad. But That's Part And Parcel Of Being An Artistic Genius, Isn't It?

Every Time We Fix Something That Broken, Whether It's A Car Engine Or A Broken Heart, That An Act Of Magic. And What Makes It Magic Is That We Choose To Create Or Help, Just As We Can Choose To Harm.

In The Dark Attics Of Our Minds, All Times Mingle.

Stone Walls Confine A Tinker; Cold Iron Binds A Witch; But A Musician's Music Can Never Be Fettered, For It Lives First In Her Heart And Mind.

Gina Always Believed There Was Magic In The World. "but It Doesn't Work In The Way It Does In Fairy Tales," She Told Me. "it Doesn't Save Us. We Have To Save Ourselves.

Magic In The World

You Don't Have To Be Michelangelo To Teach Basic Art, Just As You Don't Have To Be Shakespeare To Be Able To Teach The Correct Use Of Language.

Everything Is The Way It Is Because We've All Agreed That's The Way It Is.

As Far As I'm Concerned, The Only Difference Between Fact And What Most People Call Fiction Is About Fifteen Pages In The Dictionary.

The Thing With Pretending You're In A Good Mood Is That Sometimes You Can Actually Trick Yourself Into Feeling Better.

There Are No Happy Endings... There Are No Endings, Happy Or Otherwise. We All Have Our Own Stories Which Are Just Part Of The One Story That Binds Both This World And Faerie. Sometimes We Step Into Each Others Stories - Perhaps Just For A Few Minutes, Perhaps For Years - And Then We Step Out Of Them Again. But All The While, The Story Just Goes On.

Without Mysteries, Life Would Be Very Dull Indeed. What Would Be Left To Strive For If Everything Were Known?

That's The Thing With Magic. You've Got To Know It's Still Here, All Around Us, Or It Just Stays Invisible For You.

I'd Say That Any Character Or Setting Can Be Given A Bit Of An Otherworldly Sheen And Be The Better For It. The One Thing I Insist On With My Own Writing Is That I Won't Let Magic Solve My Characters' Real World Problems. The Solutions Have To Come From The Characters Themselves.

There Are As Many Stories To Be Told As There Are People To Tell Them About; Only The Mean-spirited Would Consider There To Be A Competition At All.

The Thing To Remember When You're Writing," He Said, " Is, It's Not Whether Or Not What You Put On Paper Is True. It's Whether It Wakes A Truth In Your Reader. I Don't Care What Literary Device You Might Use, Or Belief Systems You Tap Into--if You Can Make A Story True For The Reader, If You Can Give Them A Glimpse Into Another Way Of Seeing The World, Or Another Way That They Can Cope With Their Problems, Then That Story Is A Succes.

I Hate The Thought Of Her Being Forced Into A Box That Doesn't Fit Her. Of Having Her Wings Cut Off, Her Sight Blinded, Her Hearing Muted, Her Voice Stilled.

I Was Going Through The Motions Of Life, Instead Of Really Living, And There's No Excuse For That. It's Not Something I'll Let Happen To Me Again.

I Don't Think The World Is The Way We Like To Think It Is. I Don't Think It's One Solid World, But Many, Thousands Upon Thousands Of Them--as Many As There Are People--because Each Person Perceives The World In His Or Her Own Way; Each Lives In His Or Her Own World. Sometimes They Connect, For A Moment, Or More Rarely, For A Lifetime, But Mostly We Are Alone, Each Living In Our Own World, Suffering Our Small Deaths.

World Suffering

If You're Not Ready To Die, Then How Can You Live?

There's Stories And Then There's Stories. The Ones With Any Worth Change Your Life Forever, Perhaps Only In A Small Way, But Once You've Heard Them, They Are Forever A Part Of You. You Nurture Them And Pass Them On, And The Giving Only Makes You Feel Better. The Others Are Just Words On A Page.

I Write On A Computer, But I've Run The Complete Gambit. When I Was Very Young, I Wrote With A Ballpoint Pen In School Notebooks. Then I Got Pretentious And Started Writing With A Dip Pen On Parchment (i Wrote At Least A Novel-length Poem That Way). Moved On To A Fountain Pen. Then A Typewriter, Then An Electric Self-correct. Then Someone Gave Me A Word Processor And I Was Amazed At Being Able To Fit Ten Pages On One Of Those Floppy Discs.

Look Inside Yourself For The Answers - You're The Only One Who Knows What's Best For You. Everybody Else Is Only Guessing.

There's More To Life Than Just Surviving . . . But . . . Sometimes Just Surviving Is All You Get

It Seems Like I Always Wrote, I Just Didn't Think Of It As A Career Choice. I Just Liked To Tell Stories ... To Myself, To Pen Pals (i Had A Lot Of Them, All Over The World). Of Course This Was In The Days Before Computers Were Everywhere, And Anyone Could Access The Web. You Had To Make An Effort Keeping Up A Correspondence, And The Arrival Of The Mail Once A Day Was A Big Deal. I Think If Modern Technology Had Been Around When I Was A Kid, I Would Never Have Left My Bedroom Except To Take The Dogs Out For Their Run Three Times A Day.

Children Are The Brightest Treasures We Bring Forth Into This World, But Too Large A Percentage Of The Population Continues To Treat Them As Inconveniences And Nuisances, When They're Not Treating Them As Possessions Or Toys.

She Hoped He Was Running To His Red Deer Woman, And That When He Tapped On The Door Of Her Heart, She'd Open It Wide And Let Him In.

There Are People Who Take The Heart Out Of You, And There Are People Who Put It Back.

I've Always Known And Been Interested In People Who Are A Little Bit Off The Norm. I Like To Call Attention To The Idea That They Are There, That They Are Real People, Not Invisible.

Only Fools Think They're Wise; The Rest Of Us Just Muddle Through As We Can.

I Don't Actually Talk About My Books Much, Because I Find If I Talk About Them I Don't Want To Write Them Anymore. I Write To Find Out What Happens. You Know How You Read A Book? That's What I'm Doing Except I'm Just Doing It A Lot Slower Because It Takes A Lot Longer To Do.

Magic's Never What You Expect It To Be, But It's Often What You Need.

There's Bad Apples In Whatever Way You Want To Group People - Doesn't Matter If It's Religious, Political Or Social. The Big Mistake Is Generalizing.

Every Time You Do A Good Deed You Shine The Light A Little Farther Into The Dark. And The Thing Is, When You're Gone That Light Is Going To Keep Shining On, Pushing The Shadows Back.

When You're Touched By Magic, Nothing's Ever Quite The Same Again. What Really Makes Me Sad Is All Those People Who Never Have The Chance To Know That Touch. They're Too Busy, Or They Just Don't Hold With Make-believe, So They Shut The Door Without Really Knowing It Was There To Be Opened In The First Place.

I Don't Think The World Works On Merit.

Everything Has A Spirit And It's All Connected. If You Think About That, If You Live Your Life By It, Then You're Less Likely To Cause Any Hurt. It's Like How Our Bodies Go Back Into The Ground When We Die, So That Connects Us To The Earth. If You Dump Trash, You're Dumping It On Your And My Ancestors. Or To Bring It Down To Its Simplest Level: Treat Everything And Everybody The Way You Want To Be Treated, Because When You Hurt Someone, You're Only Hurting Yourself.

We Call Them Faerie. We Don't Believe In Them. Our Loss.

There Isn't A Single Day I Don't Do Some Writing -- If You Don't, You Won't Have A Book. When You're Self-employed It Is Very Easy To Burn Away Your Time Instead -- Answering E-mails, Surfing The Internet, Or Hanging Out With Friends. You Really Must Have The Discipline To Sit Down And Write Every Day. Most Of What I Am Writing Is Living In The Back Of My Head Or In My Subconscious. I Find If I Write Every Day, My Subconscious Will Do The Job For Me.

You Know How We'd Get Along Better? If Everybody'd Just Remember How We're All Related. White, Black, Asian, Skin. No Difference. All The Bloodlines Go Back To That One Old Mama In Africa.

I've Always Been Aware Of The Otherworld, Of Spirits That Exist In That Twilight Place That Lies In The Corner Of Our Eyes, Of Fairie And Stranger Things Still That We Spy Only When We're Not Really Paying Attention To Them, Whispers And Flickering Shadows, Here One Moment, Gone The Instant We Turn Our Heads For A Closer Look. But I Couldn't Always Find Them. And When I Did, For A Long Time I Thought They Were Only This Excess Of Imagination That I Carry Around Inside Me, That Somehow It Was Leaking Out Of Me Into The World.

Once Upon A Time There Was What There Was, And If Nothing Had Happened There Would Be Nothing To Tell.

Once Upon A Time

The Problem With Children Is That You Have To Put Up With Their Parents.

You Can't Stand Up To The Night Until You Understand What's Hiding In Its Shadows.

I Want To Touch The Heart Of The World And Make It Smile.

I Can’t Imagine It Now, But I Must’ve Been Innocent At Some Time In My Life. A Baby Don’t Just Get Itself Born Bad, Do It?

I Do Believe In An Everyday Sort Of Magic -- The Inexplicable Connectedness We Sometimes Experience With Places, People, Works Of Art And The Like; The Eerie Appropriateness Of Moments Of Synchronicity; The Whispered Voice, The Hidden Presence, When We Think We're Alone.

It's All A Matter Of Paying Attention, Being Awake In The Present Moment, And Not Expecting A Huge Payoff. The Magic In This World Seems To Work In Whispers And Small Kindnesses.

The Best Artists Know What To Leave Out.

I'm Pretty Much Fixated On Certain Themes. Family, But It's Family Of Choice As Much As Family Of Blood. Individuality, Yes, But Not At The Cost Of Others' Happiness. Be True To Your Friends. Remembering To Find Some Wonder And Hope In The World. Basically It Boils Down To: Treat People Like You'd Like Them To Treat You, Leave The World A Little Better Than It Was When You Got Here, Respect Others And Stand Up For Those Who Can't Stand Up For Themselves.

Others Happiness

It's Good To Have Mysteries. It Reminds Us That There's More To The World Than Just Making Do And Having A Bit Of Fun.

But What The Evil People Do, That's Their Responsibility. The Burden They Have To Carry. Sure, When We See 'em Starting On Causing Some Hurt, We've Got To Try And Stop 'em, But Mostly What The Rest Of Us Should Be Concerning Ourselves With Is Doing Right By Others. Every Time You Do A Good Turn, You Shine The Light A Little Further Into The Dark. And The Thing Is, Even When We're Gone, That Light's Going To Keep Shining On, Pushing The Shadows Back.

Books And Music Saved Me As A Teenager Because It Was Through Them That I Realized That I Wasn't Alone In My Obsessive Love For Words And Music.

The Thing To Remember When You're Writing Is, It's Not Whether Or Not What You Put On Paper Is True. It's Whether It Wakes A Truth In Your Reader.

[she] Had Felt Straight Away That She Wasn’t Meeting A New Friend, But Recognizing An Old One.

By Enlarging Your Knowledge Of Things, You Will Find Your Knowledge Of Self Is Enlarged.

Compromise Is Necessary So Long As You Never Give Up Who You Are. That Isn't Compromise; That's Spiritual Death. You Have To Remain True To Yourself.

I Wouldn't Like To Live In A World Where Everything's As Cut-and-dried As Most People Think It Is

Labels Don't Mean Much To Me One Way Or Another -- Except When They Close The Minds Of Potential Readers. I'd Much Rather We Do Away With Genres And Simply File Everything Under Fiction. I Know It Can Work -- One Of My Favourite Record Stores (waterloo Music In Austin) Simply Files Everything Alphabetically And No One Seems To Have Much Problem Finding What They're Looking For.

The Fey Wonders Of The World Only Exist While There Are Those With The Sight To See Them.

Don't Start Brooding About That, Too," She Says. "everybody's Got A Piece Of Stranger Inside Them. It's What Lets Us Surprise Ourselves And Keeps Things Interesting." -lupita

There Are Few Joys To Compare With The Telling Of A Well-told Tale.

It Is So Easy For Your People To Forget That Everything Has A Spirit, That All Are Equal. That Magic And Mystery Are A Part Of Your Lives, Not Something To Store Away In A Child's Bedroom, Or To Use As An Escape From Your Lives.

Fortune-telling Doesn't Reveal The Future; It Mirrors The Present. It Resonates Against What Your Subconscious Already Knows And Hauls It Up Out Of The Darkness So You Can Get A Good Look At It.

I've Always Been Interested In The Outsider.

Under The Skin, Intense Fires Burn.

You've Got To Spread Out As Far As You Can, Cut Down A Whole Forest, Irrigate A Whole Desert, Just To Make Sure That You Won't Accidentally Stumble Upon A Place That's Still In Its Natural State.

Remember The Quiet Wonders. The World Has More Need Of Them Than It Has For Warriors.

Tattoos...are The Stories In Your Heart, Written On Your Skin.

You Wouldn't Want Any Creative Process To Lose Its Sense Of Fun And Adventure, But That Doesn't Mean You Can't Take It Seriously As Well.

Life's An Act Of Magic, Too. Claire Hamill Sings A Line In One Of Her Songs That Really Sums It Up For Me: 'if There's No Magic, There's No Meaning.' Without Magic- Or Call It Wonder, Mystery, Natural Wisdom- Nothing Has Any Depth. It's All Just Surface. You Know: What You See Is What You Get. I Honestly Believe There's More To Everything Than That, Whether It's A Monet Hanging In A Gallery Or Some Old Vagrant Sleeping In An Alley.

It's All Those Stories And How They Braid Together That Tells Us Who And What And Where We Are

A Name Can't Begin To Encompass The Sum Of All Her Parts. But That's The Magic Of Names, Isn't It? That The Complex, Contradictory Individuals We Are Can Be Called Up Complete And Whole In Another Mind Through The Simple Sorcery Of A Name.

The Beginning Of A Friendship, The Fact That Two People Out Of The Thousands Around Them Can Meet And Connect And Become Friends, Seems Like A Kind Of Magic To Me. But Maintaining A Friendship Requires Work. I Don't Mean That As A Bad Thing. Good Art Requires Work As Well.

Music’s The Soundtrack Of My Life And Has Been Since I Was A Teenager. There’s Always Music. If I’m Not Playing It, I’m Listening To It. With My Writing... Sometimes It Inspires A Story, Sometimes It Highlights Something I’m Working On, Sometimes It Simply Helps Me Stay In The Narrative Mood.

Wisdom Never Comes To Those Who Believe They Have Nothing Left To Learn.

It Reminded Me Of That Tongue-in-cheek Quick History Of Art I'd Overheard...used To Be People Couldn't Draw Very Well, Then They Could, And Now They Can't Again.

The Excitement I Get From Writing Is Finding Out Each Day What Happens Next.

Our Lives Are Stories, And The Stories We Have To Give To Each Other Are The Most Important. No One Has A Story Too Small And All Are Of Equal Stature. We Each Tell Them In Different Ways, Through Different Mediums—and If We Care About Each Other, We'll Take The Time To Listen.

I Always Feel That There Is A Curtain, You Know, That If I Could Just Peek Behind The Curtain I'd See How The World Really Works. And Since I Haven't Had It I Have To Write About It Instead.

The Real Problem Is, People Think Life Is A Ladder, And It's Really A Wheel.

Ghosts Were Just A Way That Some Stupid People Dealt With Their Dull Lives.

Lies Were Like Having A Pregnant Rabbit. One Day You Had One, But Before You Knew It, There Were Rabbits All Over The Place.

It's The Questions We Ask, The Journey We Take To Get To Where We Are Going That Is More Important Than The Actual Answer.

Life Is Like Art. You Have To Work Hard To Keep It Simple And Still Have Meaning.

I'm Not...' Angharad Began, But Then She Thought. Not What? Not A Bad Person? Perhaps. But Had She Never Known Anger? Never Held Unkind Thoughts? The Stranger's Observation Was Valid. No One Was Innocent Of Darkness.

To Me There's No Difference Between Writing Ya And Adult Except That In Ya I Make The Book A Little Shorter And The Protagonists Are Teens. The Difference Is In The Readers.

I Finally Figured Out That I’m Solitary By Nature, But At The Same Time I Know So Many People; So Many People Think They Own A Piece Of Me. They Shift And Move Under My Skin, Like A Parade Of Memories That Simply Won’t Go Away. It Doesn’t Matter Where I Am, Or How Alone--i Always Have Such A Crowded Head.

People Want To Know Those Details. They Think It Gives Them Greater Insight Into A Piece Of Art, But When They Approach A Painting In Such A Manner, They Are Belittling Both The Artist’s Work And Their Own Ability To Experience It. Each Painting I Do Says Everything I Want To Say On Its Subject And In Terms Of That Painting, And Not All The Trivia In The World Concerning My Private Life Will Give The Viewer More Insight Into It Than What Hangs There Before Their Eyes. Frankly, As Far As I’m Concerned, Even Titling A Work Is An Unnecessary Concession.

What I Want To Do Is Travel Deep And Deeper Into The Dreamlands, To Find That Place That I Know Is Waiting For Me Here. My Home.

I Envy The Music Lovers Hear. I See Them Walking Hand In Hand, Standing Close To Each Other In A Queue At A Theater Or Subway Station, Heads Touching While They Sit On A Park Bench, And I Ache To Hear The Song That Plays Between Them: The Stirring Chords Of Romance's First Bloom, The Stately Airs That Whisper Between A Couple Long In Love. You Can See It In The Way They Look At Each Other... You Can Almost Hear It. Almost, But Not Quite, Because The Music Belongs To Them And All You Can Have Of It Is A Vague Echo That Rises Up From The Bittersweet Murmur And Shuffle Of Your Own Memories.

Sculptors, Poets, Painters, Musicians-they're The Traditional Purveyors Of Beauty. But It Can As Easily Be Created By A Gardener, A Farmer, A Plumber, A Careworker.

A Body Of Work May Be Reviled - Mostly By Those Who Have No Knowledge Of Its Workings - And Yet Still Carry Elements Of What Can Only Be Considered Eternal Truths.

There Were Two Forests For Every One You Entered. There Was The One You Walked In, The Physical Echo, And Then There Was The One That Was Connected To All The Other Forests, With No Consideration Of Distance, Or Time. The Forest Primeval, Remembered Through The Collective Memory Of Every Tree In The Same Way That People Remembered Myth- Through The Collective Subconscious That Jung Mapped, The Shared Mythic Resonance That Lay Buried In Every Human Mind. Legend And Myth, All Tangled In An Alphabet Of Trees Remembered, Not Always With Understanding, But With Wonder. With Awe.

Collective Memory

When All's Said And Done, All Roads Lead To The Same End. So It's Not So Much Which Road You Take, As How You Take It.

We're All Made Of Stories. When They Finally Put Us Underground, The Stories Are What Will Go On.

You Walk Around With A Negative Attitude And You're Just Naturally Going To Bring Trouble And Hard Times Down On Yourself.

Music's Always Part Of My Writing. I Think All Art Is Interconnected. You Can't Create Or Experience One Without Its Influences Bleeding Into Another. In My Writing, Music's Mostly Something That Feeds My Inspiration And Mood While I'm Writing, But It's Also Taught Me How To Score Scenes And Even Novels. The Rise And Fall Of The Storyline Echoes The Flow Of A Good Piece Of Music.

One Cannot Seek To Uphold Honor In A Being That Has None.

She Knew This Music--knew It Down To The Very Core Of Her Being--but She Had Never Heard It Before. Unfamiliar, It Had Still Always Been There Inside Her, Waiting To Be Woken. It Grew From The Core Of Mystery That Gives A Secret Its Special Delight, Religion Its Awe. It Demanded To Be Accepted By Simple Faith, Not Dissected Or Questioned, And At The Same Time, It Begged To Be Doubted And Probed.

Growing Up, I'd Already Decided I Wanted To Be A Beatnik. A Bohemian Poet, I Thought. Or A Musician. Maybe An Artist. I'd Dress In Black Turtlenecks And Smoke Gitanes. I'd Listen To Cool Jazz In Clubs, Getting Up To Read Devastating Truths From My Notebook, Leaning Against The Microphone, Cigarette Dangling From My Hand.

A Long Time Ago A Bunch Of People Reached A General Consensus As To What's Real And What's Not And Most Of Us Have Been Going Along With It Ever Since.

There Is No Plan, No Future Laid Out For Any Of Us Beyond What We Make For Ourselves.

Like Legend And Myth, Magic Fades When It Is Unused - Hence All The Old Tales Of Elfin Kingdoms Moving Further And Further Away From Our World, Or That Magical Beings Require Our Faith, Our Belief In Their Existence, To Survive. That Is A Lie. All They Require Is Our Recognition.

The Trouble With Magic Is That There's Too Much It Just Can't Fix. When Things Go Wrong, Glimpsing Junkyard Faerie And Crows That Can Turn Into Girls And Back Again Doesn't Help Much. The Useful Magic's Never At Hand. The Three Wishes And The Genies In Bottles, Seven-league Boots, Invisible Cloaks And All. They Stay In The Stories, While Out Here In The Wide World We Have To Muddle Through As Best We Can On Our Own.

Well, While I Didn't Have The More Extreme Experiences Of Some Of My Characters, I Didn't Exactly Come From The Most Normal Of Households. Or Rather, It Was Normal, In That Dysfunctional Families Appear To Be The Norm.

Dysfunctional Family

It's Not The Work Or The Personality Of The Founder Of A Religion That's Important, But What Its Followers Do With What They Learn.

We're So Quick To Cut Away Pieces Of Ourselves To Suit A Particular Relationship, A Job, A Circle Of Friends, Incessantly Editing Who We Are Until We Fit In.

Not Everything Has To Mean Something. Some Things Just Are.

We End Up Stumbling Our Way Through The Forest, Never Seeing All The Unexpected And Wonderful Possibilities And Potentials Because We're Looking For The Idea Of A Tree, Instead Of Appreciating The Actual Trees In Front Of Us.

Fairy Tales And Mythology Have Always Been An Exaggerated Distillation Of The Real World. Think Of Them As Blueprints For How To Deal With A Multitude Of Situations That Can Arise In A Person's Life. The Beauty Of Them Is That Their Analogies Resonate So Deeply And They Also Entertain While They Teach.

All My Life I've Wanted To Be The Kid Who Gets To Cross Over Into The Magical Kingdom.

Witchery Is Merely A Word For What We Are All Capable Of.

I Never Even Considered Writing A Career Option. I Just Liked The Play Of Words. I Was Certainly Interested In Story, But The Stories I Was Telling Then Were In Narrative Verse And Prose Poems, Short And Succinct, Except For One Novel-length Poem Written In Narrative Couplets.

Beauty Isn't What You See On Tv Or In Magazine Ads Or Even Necessarily In Art Galleries. It's A Lot Deeper And A Lot Simpler Than That. It's Realizing The Goodness Of Things, It's Leaving The World A Little Better Than It Was Before You Got Here. It's Appreciating The Inspiration Of The World Around You And Trying To Inspire Others.

From The First Time He'd Met Her, He'd Sensed An Air Of Contradiction About Her. She Was Very Much A Woman, But Still Retained A Waiflike Quality. She Could Be Brash, And At Times Deliberately Suggestive, Yet She Was Painfully Shy. She Was Incredibly Easy To Get Along With, Yet She Had Few Friends. She Was A Talented Artist In Her Own Right, But So Self-conscious About Her Work That She Rarely Completed A Piece And Preferred To Work With Other People's Art And Ideas.

It's Not Something You Can Prove....i Know You Hate To Hear This, But You Either Have It, Or You Don't.

I Suppose The Other Thing Too Many Forget Is That We Were All Stories Once, Each And Every One Of Us. And We Remain Stories. But Too Often We Allow Those Stories To Grow Banal, Or Cruel Or Unconnected To Each Other.we Allow The Stories To Continue, But They No Longer Have A Heart. They No Longer Sustain Us.

All Forests Have Their Own Personality. I Don't Just Mean The Obvious Differences, Like How An English Woodland Is Different From A Central American Rain Forest, Or Comparing Tracts Of West Coast Redwoods To The Saguaro Forests Of The American Southwest... They Each Have Their Own Gossip, Their Own Sound, Their Own Rustling Whispers And Smells. A Voice Speaks Up When You Enter Their Acres That Can't Be Mistaken For One You'd Hear Anyplace Else, A Voice True To Those Particular Tress, Individual Rather Than Of Their Species.

The Old Gods And Their Magics Did Not Dwindle Away Into Murky Memories Of Brownies And Little Fairies More At Home In A Disney Cartoon; Rather, They Changed. The Coming Of Christ And Christians Actually Freed Them. They Were No Longer Bound To People's Expectations But Could Now Become Anything That They Could Imagine Themselves To Be. They Are Still Here, Walking Among Us. We Just Don't Recognize Them Anymore.

It's Not All About Getting Your Own Way. Sometimes There's A Bigger Picture.

It May Sound Trite, But Using The Weapons Of The Enemy, No Matter How Good One's Intentions, Makes One The Enemy.

The Only Real Reason For Self-referencing Is The Fun Factor. It's Fun For The Writer, Getting Little Peeks At What Old Characters Might Be Up To. And It's Fun For Readers To Spot A Familiar Face, Or Pick Up On A Made-up Book Title Or Something From An Earlier Story. I Don't Know That It Does -- Or Even Should -- Contribute To The Story In Hand Being Any Better Than It Would Have Been Without It.

I Like Living In The City Where I Have All My Books And Music And Can Go Out To Buy That Night's Dinner Or Easily See A Band. But I Also Like The Wild Places, Especially Hiking In The Desert And The Eastern Woodlands. Do I Have To Choose?

It's Easy To Believe In Magic When You're Young. Anything You Couldn't Explain Was Magic Then. It Didn't Matter If It Was Science Or A Fairy Tale. Electricity And Elves Were Both Infinitely Mysterious And Equally Possible - Elves Probably More So.

Why Did Men Worship In Churches, Locking Themselves Away In The Dark, When The World Lay Beyond Its Doors In All Its Real Glory?

Thing Is, While I Know Better, I Like Sounding Ignorant. Talk Like This And People Figure You're About As Dumb As A Fencepost, Which Suits Me Fine. Makes It All That Much Easier To Take Advantage Of 'em.

Write From The Heart, What Has Meaning To You Personally; Have The Patience And Discipline To Sit Down And Do It Every Day Whether You're Feeling Inspired Or Not; Never Be Afraid To Take Chances, In Fact, Make Sure You Take Chances. As Soon As You Become Complacent, You Become Boring ... . Read As Much As Possible, Not Simply In The Genre, Or What You Think You're Interested In, But Other Things As Well.

I'm A Writer And This Is What I Do No Matter What Name We Put To It. Year By Year, The World Is Turning Into A Darker And Stranger Place Than Any Of Us Could Want. This Is The Only Thing I Do That Has Potential To Shine A Little Further Than My Immediate Surroundings. For Me, Each Story Is A Little Candle Held Up To The Dark Of Night, Trying To Illuminate The Hope For A Better World Where We All Respect And Care For Each Other.

The Faerie Represent The Beauty We Don't See, Or Even Choose To Ignore. That's Why I'll Paint Them In Junkyards, Or Fluttering Around A Sleeping Wino. No Place Or Person Is Immune To Spirit. Look Hard Enough, And Everything Has A Story. Everybody Is Important."- Jilly Coppercorn

Everybody's Got The Potential For Great Good And Great Wrong In Them, But It's The Choices We Make That Define Who We Really Are.

I Love This World ... That Is What Rules My Life. When I Die, I Want To Have Done All In My Power To Leave It In A Better State Than It Was In When I Found It. At The Same Time I Know That This Can Never Be. The World Has Grown So Complex That One Voice Can Do Little To Alter It Any Longer. That Doesn't Stop Me From Doing What I Can But It Makes The Task Hard. The Successes Are So Small, The Failures So Large And Many. It's Like Trying To Stem A Storm With One's Bare Hands.

Wondering’s Healthy. Broadens The Mind. Opens You Up To All Sorts Of Stray Thoughts And Possibilities.

Most Times We Only See Things For The Way We Are. But We're Good At Lying To Ourselves. Sometimes We Need Somebody Who's Not Living In Our Skin To Point Out How Things Really Are.

It Is Important To Know What A Person Was. But It's More Important To Know What They Are Now.

"... He Had Understood, Better Than Anyone ... The Beauty That Grew Out Of The Simple Knowledge That Everything, No Matter How Small Or Large It Might Be, Was A Perfect Example Of What It Was."

Don't Forget - No One Else Sees The World The Way You Do, So No One Else Can Tell The Stories That You Have To Tell.

The Thing I Like So Much About Short Stories Is That There Isn't As Much Of An Investment Of Time So I'm Free To Experiment More. If It Doesn't Work Out, I've Only Lost A Week Or Two Of Work. If I Screw Up A Novel I've Lost At Least A Year's Worth Of Work. But The Nice Thing Is That Those Experiments With Short Stories Can Be Carried Over To Novels When The Experiments Do Work.

The Family We Choose For Ourselves Is More Important Than The One We Were Born Into; That People Have To Earn Our Respect And Trust, Not Have It Handed To Them Simply Because Of Genetics.

Let It Go On Record That Any Confusion Arose Simply Because We Lacked Certain Commonalities Of Reference.

The Moon Likes Secrets," Meran Said. "and Secret Things. She Lets Mysteries Bleed Into Her Shadows And Leaves Us To Ask Whether They Originated From Otherworlds, Or From Our Own Imaginations.

Dying Doesn't End Anything - It Just Changes Where You Are

The Stronger A Woman Gets, The More Insecure The Men In Her Life Feel. It Doesn’t Work That Way For A Woman. We Celebrate Strength--in Our Partners As Well As In Ourselves.

I Don't Know What's Waiting For Us When We Die--something Better, Something Worse. I Only Know I'm Not Ready To Find Out Yet.

What We Take From The Spirit World Is Only A Reflection Of What Lies Inside Ourselves.

You've Got To Find Yourself First. Everything Else'll Follow.

Finding Yourself

Can You Remember How You Felt When You Were Communicating Through Your Artwork? Not Just The Sense Of Completion, But The Sense Of Rightness- The Sense That You Had Brought To Life Something That Could Live Beyond Your Sphere Of Being, That Held In It Far More Potential Than You Ever Realized You Were Imbuing In The Work?

It Was All Cheese And Applause.

I Believe In A Different Kind Of Magic. The Kind We Make Between Each Other.

I Find The Characters In My Head And The More I Write About Them, The Better I Get To Know Them.

The Puppet Thinks: It's Not So Much What They Make Me Do As Their Hands Inside Me.

How Hard Would It Be To Ask Children What They See In Their Heads? How Big Should The House Be In Comparison To The Family Standing In Front Of It? What Is It About The Anatomy Of The People That Doesn't Look Right? Then Let Them Try It Again. Teach Them To Learn How To See And Ask Questions.

We're All Made Of Stories. When They Finally Put Us Underground, The Stories Are What Will Go On. Not Forever, Perhaps, But For A Time. It's A Kind Of Immortality, I Suppose, Bounded By Limits, It's True, But Then So's Everything.

Writing Music Uses A Whole Different Process That Involves A Lot Of Noodling And Just Seeing What Comes.

If You Don't Believe That The World Has A Heart, Then You Won't Hear It Beating, You Won't Think It's Alive And You Won't Consider What You're Doing To It.

What Do They Say About Meeting A Bear In The Woods? Oh Right, You Shouldn't. And To Make Sure You Don't, You Should Make A Lot Of Noise So That They'll Will Know Where You Are And Keep Their Distance Because, Supposedly, They're As Nervous Of Us As We Are Of Them. Which Is All Goo, Except This Bear Doesn't Seem The Least Bit Nervous. He's Giving Me A Look Like I'm Goldilocks, Ate His Porridge, Broke His Chair, Slept In His Bed, And Now It's Payback Time."- Widdershins

I'm Really Bad At Describing My Books. Journalists Like To Have Things Like "it's The Terminator Meets The Seven Dwarfs." And I Can't Do That With My Books. If I Could, I Probably Wouldn't Write Them.

I Want To Be Magic. I Want To Touch The Heart Of The World And Make It Smile. I Want To Be A Friend Of Elves And Live In A Tree. Or Under A Hill. I Want To Marry A Moonbeam And Hear The Stars Sing. I Don't Want To Pretend At Magic Anymore. I Want To Be Magic.

The Real Trouble Comes From Not Knowing What We Really Want In The First Place.

As Children, We Come Into The World With A Natural Desire To Both Speak And Draw. Society Makes Sure That We Learn Language Properly, Right From The Beginning, But Art Is Treated As A Gift Of Innate Genius, Something We Either Have Or Don't.

My Characters Seem Real Because They Are Drawn From The Realities Of My Life. I Didn't Have To Research Their Pain; I Just Tapped Into My Own.

Most Children Are Given Far Too Much Praise For Their Early Drawings, So Much So That They Rarely Learn The Ability To Refine Their First Crude Efforts The Way Their Early Attempts At Language Are Corrected.

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Charles Durning

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