The girl, the tower, the dragon . . .

The old woman remembers. Sort of.

Andrej Lisakov for Unsplash+

I remember sitting in a stairwell on the University of Minnesota campus, ages ago, reading Agatha Christie as I waited for my next class. I have no idea which building I was in, but I remember the cool feel of the concrete steps, afternoon light slanting through the windows in a curving wall. Did the building have a tower? I can’t be sure, and I may be conflating this memory with another, years before. . .

A story of a dragon and a girl, and a castle that definitely had a tower. My older sister brought the book home from the Minneapolis Public Library and read it to me. I was perhaps five (seven decades ago now) and she was a teen. My big sister opened a world to me with that book—a world filled with faraway places and adventure—and ignited a spark in me to read, read, read, which became the dream—the fire—to write, write, write.

I have no idea the title or the author, but I’ll never forget the feeling of enchantment.

Enchanted by that story, and later captivated by the armloads of library books I carried home every couple weeks from the Sumner Branch library (Thank you, Andrew Carnegie!) And eventually, enchanted by Agatha Christie and so many others. A lifetime of enchantment.

This is the power of the story—I’m drawn to the fire of that enchanting, delicious uncertainty of “what’s going to happen next?”

This is why I write—to discover again the girl, the tower, and the dragon. To tend that spark and keep the fire burning—for myself first, and then sharing its warmth with you.

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Thank you for stopping by today. I’m grateful to you for reading, commenting and sharing my work, should you choose to do so.

With love and gratitude,
Mary ❤️

Keepin’ the fires burning . . .☺️