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Showing posts from February, 2013

why I write the way I do

I was born under a full moon as the last year of the sixties began. As a small child, I lived the usual small child life of sun and song - although having a mysterious dark forest behind my house, and finding an eerie black-eyed doll, twin to my own doll, under the stairs of my neighbour's house, taught me very early on to love the tingle of being ever so slightly haunted.

I shed my soul's baby skin when I was about five or six and found that the forest and the understairs had seeped right through. We'd moved by then into the deep, weeping heart of the trees, and as I lay awake at night waiting for dragons, I could hear the silence of them and other magical things slipping through the manuka darkness outside my crooked bedroom window. I could feel the spirit of the manuka itself, dancing, dreaming. Although I knew off-by-heart the stories of Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson, the land itself taught me older, wordless fairy tales. The heavy hills. The white sea, crashing on…