Magic's Never What You Expect It To

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

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.

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.

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

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.