I had these Let’s Pretend records when I was little. I’ve kept them because for the art. With tracing paper I’d try to copy pieces of the covers.
My father read me fairy tales even though he’d only recently learned to read. I recorded The Wizard of Oz from TV onto tape player and play it while I waited for sleep.
My father told me the abandoned house behind trees on our road was a witch’s house. He told me elves were the in hot air balloons over our house and Indians were across the lake sending him smoke signals.
My mother gave me Tarot cards, spent the night in a cemetery, and lived with a man who taught a class on death and dying.
For a long time I believed in all of it.
Perhaps I should be less worried about embracing the label of fairy tale writer.
What were passions and beliefs in childhood? Are they still with you today?