“The probability of separate worlds meeting is very small. The lure of it is immense. We send starships. We fall in love.”
- Jeanette Winterson
Wendy Darling becomes a pilot as soon as she comes of age,
because she was always going to find a way to fly,
and night after night sitting by the windowsill never got her anywhere
other than the ground.
When told of her curse, Sleeping Beauty goes in search of a spindle.
Instead of mounting the land with her feet full of needles, Ariel watches as her lover slides into the ocean with his legs blurring into scales.
One night, Belle finds herself growing a set of fangs and a coat of shaggy fur to match her Beast’s, and finds that she prefers jagged claws to blunt fingernails.
Susan Pevensie is not shunted from her kingdom
because she learned to use the only weapons she had at hand,
forfeiting her bow and arrow for red-lined lips and slick nylons.
After her feathers bloom like they do every night, Odette goes to find the sorcerer
and plunges her beak into each of his eyes.
True love’s kiss is sitting quietly in the middle of their priorities.
If they find themselves locked in a castle, they break down the walls.
Give me princesses in tattered chainmail or ripped dresses
Give me princesses who ride around, slaying dragons
or mounting them and claiming the sky.
When they are placed up in a tower and told to wait for their hero,
our princesses take their fate by the guts
slide their thighs around the neck of their thrashing dragon
and take to the stars.
Denna nodded a little, then pulled herself upright again and fought off another violent shiver. “I know you don’t think of me…” she trailed off.
It’s best to humor people in delirium, lest they turn violent. “I think of you all the time, Denna.”
"Don’t patronize me," she said crossly, then her tone softened again. "You don’t think of me like that. That’s fine. But if you’re cold too, you could come over here and put your arms around me. Just a little."
My heart in my mouth, I moved closer and sat behind her, wrapping my arms around her. “That’s nice,” she said, relaxing. “I feel like I’ve always been cold.”"
J. R. R. Tolkien on escapism in “The Lord of the Rings” (x)
“Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?…If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!”
There’s as many atoms in a single molecule of your DNA as there are stars in the typical galaxy. We are, each of us, a little universe."
WHO WROTE WHAT BIT?
Ah. Another tricky one. As the official Keeper of the One True Copy, Terry physically wrote more of Draft 1 than Neil. But if 2,000 words are written down after a lot of excited shouting, it’s a moot point whose words they are. And, in any case, as a matter of honor both of them rewrote and footnoted the other guy’s stuff, and both can write passably in the other guy’s style. The Agnes Nutter scenes and the kids mostly originated with Terry, the Four Horsemen and anything with maggots started with Neil. Neil had the most influence on the opening, Terry on the ending. Apart from that, they just shouted excitedly a lot.
The point they both realised the text had wandered into its own world was in the basement of the old Gollancz books, where they’d got together to proofread the final copy, and Neil congratulated Terry on a line that Terry knew he hadn’t written, and Neil was certain that he hadn’t written either. They both privately suspect that at some point the book had started to generate text on its own, but neither of them will actually admit this publicly for fear of being thought odd."
This happens a surprising amount in any good collaboration. “That’s a great line!” “You wrote it.” “No, I’m pretty sure you did.”
Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch (2006 edition) - appendix by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman (via hapfairy)
Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn’t it.
It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life.
You give them a piece of you. They don’t ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore.
Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase just like “maybe we should be friends” or “how very perceptive” turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.
It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a body-hurt. A real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.
Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love."