Magic, in one way of thinking, is the energy of creation. And so a Wizard (being a creature formulated from a human mind with no real existence) creates that which isn’t, out of that which will never be.
The true wizard is the one who sits at his or her desk in front of a blank screen, and formulates something out of nothing and does it so well that all those who read the nothing, also see the unimaginable.
All the fluff and pleasantries of idle conversation are merely dust gathered on a field ready for plowing. Beneath this smile of congeniality is a pulsating passion to create. A life worth living, castles worth building, and a vast river of thought meandering through my mind.
I love a fairy tale, a story of old, or one that imagines the future. I frolic through three dimensions to get to the fourth. In that realm, magic takes me to worlds I wouldn’t know had I not sharpened a pencil.
“He does not despise real woods because he has read of enchanted woods; the reading makes all real woods a little enchanted.” ― C.S. Lewis, On Stories: And Other Essays on Literature
How precious are the countries that have their folklore. The elf, the leprechaun, the silky. How alive are the tribes of people who join forces with these magical beings to win wars, woo lovers, and punish evil! How very drab the nations whose streets are blackened with unbelief and lack of foresight, for without a vision…without seeing beyond the clouds or over the rainbows, where do they find their hope?
In the stories that I tell, I meet people that exist and yet have no physical presence. I know them better than I know myself and, in our introduction, I discover who I am. Their weaknesses are a mirror of what haunts my soul. Their strengths in time become my strengths. Should they falter it is my desire, nay my duty, to encourage them. I rescue them from the dark alley ways, the tunnels, the dungeons, the dragons, and bring them safely out of peril. I give them friends, lovers. I set obstacles in their paths that will make them stronger. I play Devil and Creator both.
When their story is told I gently close the cover of my book. I invite you to come with me, and others like me, to explore the inconceivable; explore the More of our dreams. Open your heart to a fantasy tale, ones like your mother told you when you were still small.
“The value of the myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by ‘the veil of familiarity.’ The child enjoys his cold meat, otherwise dull to him, by pretending it is buffalo, just killed with his own bow and arrow. And the child is wise. The real meat comes back to him more savory for having been dipped in a story…by putting bread, gold, horse, apple, or the very roads into a myth, we do not retreat from reality: we rediscover it.” ― C.S. Lewis, On Stories: And Other Essays on Literature