Long ago, I used to tell the best little kid stories. They'd be mash-ups of whatever I could think of. 101 Dalmations and Goldilocks? I could spin it! Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast? Ok, give me a minute to think.
Somewhere, I lost the child-like wonder that I had and replaced it with cynicism. And while it serves me well, and I'm rarely surprised, I miss that innocence and imagination. That not knowing where the story was going to turn back on itself, loop around, and careen off into the distance.
As an adult I rarely get to tell stories. I don't often use my imagination. I'm not sure if I could tell a little kid story at all anymore. I miss that. I remember telling my younger brother stories on the way home from long trips - and my parents turning down the radio so they could listen too. I wrote a story in 6th grade that my teacher read aloud, and then asked if he could keep it.
I love to read stories that take me unexpected places, and can't always find them. There's a lovely mix of fantasy and romance, and fairy tale, in Robin McKinley's books. Jim Hines writes interesting twists. Mercedes Lackey has some beautiful elements in her Elementals and 500 Kingdom series. I've read lots of others, and there's a few that are on my must-read-author list. But there aren't enough.
Maybe I should try again. Beware!
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