Monday Break: Fairytales
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Terri
Windling
As a little girl I wholeheartedly believed in the
tangible reality of fairytales. A somewhat strange and intrinsically unique
child, I would weave and spin my own tapestry of imaginings so real I believed
in their existence with absolute confidence. As soon as I was able to string
letters to words, words to sentences, sentences to paragraphs these tales were
stamped with ink on parchment. A Christmas Story was crafted each season and
delivered with a tiny thrill. I reveled in the stir of emotions derived from
transposing ideas on paper.
I have never quite gotten over my formative walks
among imaginary worlds. As I grew these tales took on deeper shades and vibrant
colors. I read the Chronicles of Narnia for the first time in my early twenties
and felt like a child again – all the wonder and excitement infused like a
heady cup of tea.
My writings convey the beautiful sufferings of
this world. I write a lot of sorrow and joy. Yet, there is a zest for adventure
in my bones – a shaping in my minds-eye of the substantive certainty of Narnia,
Middle-Earth, dragons, glass slippers, kindly lions, and quests worth
uncovering.
Last month my sister and I traveled to Louisville
to see Roger and Hammersteins Cinderella at the Kentucky Center for the Arts. I
have been to several Broadway Performances, but had never been so enraptured by
a performance such as this. As you all well know by now Cinderella, in any
form, is my absolute favorite story. I have written several posts on this story
alone. This experience (and that is exactly what it was) was palpable. Michelle
and I talked about how it was good for our souls. We dreamed of season passes
and resting our souls on a bit of magical wonder.
Fairytales speak to us. They don’t heal
brokenness. No, they cause a dormant seed to bud. They call to that child who
remembers to believe in dreams.
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“Fairytales
are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because
they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” – Neil Gaiman
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