He tried to picture the ocean. The great blue expanse that linked him to his parents. He saw the waves, smooth as silk, slip and slither, saw them break up and roil in great spurts of foam. He pictured his parents standing out on another shore, thinking of him.Mulrox and the Malcognitos by Kerelyn Smith
In Henry’s mind, magic was something wrong, something bent, dangerous.
“Magic!” she muttered. “Learning the ingredients for potions by heart, magic spells, magic symbols; no, thanks, not for me.”
Igraine the Brave
Rose knew that the rumors were true: The baked goods from Follow Your Bliss Bakery actually were magical. And her mother and father, despite living in a small town, owning a minivan, and sometimes wearing fanny packs, were kitchen magicians.
“The two-story shop’s walls were covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves and autographed black-and-white photographs of famous magicians. Every surface was cluttered with magical items of every sort: crystal balls, decks of cards, top hats, wands, capes, and even a human skull.”
The Magic Misfits
Neil Patrick Harris
I sat hidden on the wide windowsill behind the drapes in my room and thought about Ma. Best were Ma’s sweet smiles and her enchanting pretends, like collecting magical wishes in our aprons at dewtime and searching for fairy houses where the deep purple violets grew and the wind shushed in the hemlocks. Like leaving gifts for the fairies—tiny star and half-moon cookies, loaves the size of thumbnails, cloaks smaller than our little fingers. Ma loved all the invisible and gentle beings.
Hattie on Her Way
Clara Gillow Clark
These early collections, centuries ago, were stored in pieces of furniture called Cabinets of Wonders. The cabinets were ornately carved, with dozens of tiny doors and drawers and hidden spaces filled with a nearly infinite variety of amazing items. Here, one could find everything from precious gems to unicorn horns, intricately carved ivory, and magical cups that could cure all poisons. Great and glorious works of art resided in these collections, side by side with the wonders of nature.
My parents have come and gone. Teachers have come and gone. Kids have come and gone. But Bobo’s been here with me the whole time. She’s run through the woods with me and slept on the floor of my room. She’s a tear licker, a heel nipper, a pillow, and a friend.
This is Not a Werewolf Story
I don’t have any pets
so I can’t write about one
I can’t write
Love That Dog
Our geriatric dachshund, Flub, jumps onto my lap while I’m working. This is yet another downside to being in a wheelchair—I’m like an elevated dog bed.