Tattoos...are The Stories In Your Heart, Written

Often The Magical Elements In My Books Are Standing In For Elements Of The Real World, The Small And Magical-in-their-own-right Sorts Of Things That We Take For Granted And No Longer Pay Attention To, Like The Bonds Of Friendship That Entwine Our Own Lives With Those Of Other People And Places.

She Knew This Music--knew It Down To The Very Core Of Her Being--but She Had Never Heard It Before. Unfamiliar, It Had Still Always Been There Inside Her, Waiting To Be Woken. It Grew From The Core Of Mystery That Gives A Secret Its Special Delight, Religion Its Awe. It Demanded To Be Accepted By Simple Faith, Not Dissected Or Questioned, And At The Same Time, It Begged To Be Doubted And Probed.

The Magic In This World Seems To Work In Whispers And Small Kindnesses.

From The First Time He'd Met Her, He'd Sensed An Air Of Contradiction About Her. She Was Very Much A Woman, But Still Retained A Waiflike Quality. She Could Be Brash, And At Times Deliberately Suggestive, Yet She Was Painfully Shy. She Was Incredibly Easy To Get Along With, Yet She Had Few Friends. She Was A Talented Artist In Her Own Right, But So Self-conscious About Her Work That She Rarely Completed A Piece And Preferred To Work With Other People's Art And Ideas.

Like Legend And Myth, Magic Fades When It Is Unused - Hence All The Old Tales Of Elfin Kingdoms Moving Further And Further Away From Our World, Or That Magical Beings Require Our Faith, Our Belief In Their Existence, To Survive. That Is A Lie. All They Require Is Our Recognition.