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September 11 - September 21, 2024
“A lie. A dream. Good stories are both,” Claire dismissed. “Is it so bad? He’ll remember the story, turn it over carefully in the back of his mind, feel the edges of it like he would a lucky coin. A story will change him if he lets it. The shape and the spirit of it. Change how he acts, what dreams he chooses to believe in. We all need our stories; I just fed him a good one.”
“You think everything is secrets and conspiracy, Andy.” “That’s because everything is, pup.
Whenever she read a book in a binge, cover to cover in a day with little break, she always found it stuck in her brain like a haze. The narrative voice stuck with her, and for a bit after, it was always like a waking dream, living someone else’s thoughts. The book haunted like a ghost in her head, coloring moods until she shook herself from it.
She held my leash, as I was her apprentice, and she made decisions that seemed so effortless—thoughtless—to me. I judged her for it. But I understand now. The leash gave me something to pull against. To argue. To form my own opinions, but never bear any of the risk of the choice.
No story is insignificant. That’s what the existence of the Unwritten Wing teaches us. No escapist fantasy, no far-off dream, no remembered suffering. Every story has meaning, has power. Every story has the power to sustain, the power to destroy, the power to create. Stories shape time, for Pete’s sake. Once upon a time. Long, long ago. Someday. And then what happened? Living author or dead, written or not, your story shakes the world. That’s common sense to a muse, and the idea librarians are supposed to honor. That every story, every human, matters. The hard part is convincing ourselves
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