You Speak Of Destiny As

When You Choose One Way Out Of Many, All The Ways You Don't Take Are Snuffed Out Like Candles, As If They'd Never Existed. At That Moment All Will's Choices Existed At Once. But To Keep Them All In Existence Meant Doing Nothing. He Had To Choose, After All.

And Then Serafina Understood Something For Which The Witches Had No Word: It Was The Idea Of Pilgrimage. She Understood Why These Beings Would Wait For Thousands Of Years And Travel Vast Distances In Order To Be Close To Something Important, And How They Would Feel Differently For The Rest Of Time, Having Been Briefly In Its Presence. That Was How These Creatures Looked Now, These Beautiful Pilgrims Of Rarefied Light, Standing Around The Girl With The Dirty-face And The Tartan Skirt And The Boy With The Wounded Hand Who Was Frowning In His Sleep.

And Barely Ten Minutes Later The Soft Sound Of Wingbeats Came To Their Ears, And Balthamos Stood Up Eagerly. The Next Moment, The Two Angels Were Embracing, And Will, Gazing Into The Flames, Saw Their Mutual Affection. More Than Affection: They Loved Each Other With A Passion.

If You Want To Write Anything That Works, You Have To Go With The Grain Of Your Talent, Not Against It. If Your Talent Is Inert And Sullen In The Face Of Business Or Politics...but Takes Fire At The Thought Of Ghosts And Vampires And Witches And Demons Then Feed The Flames, Feed The Flames.

I Wanted The Chance To Look Again At Very Famous Stories And See What Made Them Work Well, Whether There Were Any Ways In Which They Could Be Improved. Because The Great Thing About Fairy Tales And Folk Tales Is That There Is No Authentic Text.