The Writing of a Faerie Tale

I awoke from a dream in which a fine, portly gentleman was chuckling— “So you write fantasy, eh? Well, welcome to your own little world.”

Erica down at the vegetable stand asked what made me think about writing fantasy. What made me want to write fantasy was walking in the woods, thinking about reality.

I am unwilling to live in a world where “Once upon a time” has ceased to be relevant. We do not live in a world wherein there is no hope. We still live in a world where Goodness is genuine and tangible, where the Meek shall inherit the earth, and where Virtue wins out in the end. I am an old man—I believe most assuredly that Evil shall one day be done away with forever; and I fully expect to live happily ever after.

The Prince of Brim-Loch Tum is not a modern story. The undergirding principle of this narrative is the oldest and greatest in all literature—a world in mortal peril, rescued by a gallant and selfless hero. If there is any magic at all, let it be the love of friends, the charm of landscape, a variety of cultures and the mystique of revelation.

There is no effort here at deep unveilings, no didactic undertone, no particular point to which I am trying to bring the reader. I am telling a tale, an adventure which has lived in my heart for well over thirty-five years. It is a vast tale and a simple, as broad as the scope as one man's intellect, as deep as the Love which fires my heart to tell it.