Growing up in the rural South, you either spend your days exploring and creating magical lands or you retreat into the wonderful world of words. I would love to say that I was born a lover of books, but I wasn't. I spent my days running through the woods in hunt for the mythical beasts both my Grandfather and Uncle spoke of during my bedtime stories. Legends and myths were real and the battles mesmerized me. I feel blessed to have been born into such a rich heritage of story telling.
I think my Grandfather wasn't trying to do anything more than to con me into the Land of Nod, so he could have a moments peace from my endless litany of "why". Why can't we see fairies? Why does the Green Man hide from me? If I find the foxes hole, will he invite me for tea? If I climb to the top of a pine tree will the eagle show me how to fly? Yes, in my childhood, animals were my main focus. I loved the idea of shifters. The thought that we could become a fox or wolf consumed me. I would pester my Grandfather and Uncle to tell me story after story where the hero would spread their arms and take flight or shift to wolf in mid leap.
Years later, I have learned that for the most part my Grandfather and Uncle only loosely based their stories on the legends of the Cherokee and stories of Irish lore. They deftly wove them together and created a world in which I flourished. I look back at those stories as a springboard for my own tales of wonder.
Now I spend my days creating worlds full of misadventure. I let my imagination run rampant and sit back and smile. I can only hope that I do them justice in carrying the torch of storytelling. I too weave multi legends and myths into the background of my stories. I can only hope to find others who enjoy my worlds.
