On Wings of Trust
As a little girl, I read the classic folk tale, Cinderella, the story of a beautiful young woman of
unparalleled goodness and sweet temper. I was suitably impressed with the magical appearance of a
fairy godmother and the mysterious workings of a special wand in her hand, but my tender young
heart loved the way the handsome prince fell in love with Cinderella, returning her to the palace
where they married and lived happily-ever-after.
The moral of the story is that beauty is a treasure, but graciousness is priceless. Without it, nothing
is possible; with it, one can do anything.
I see myself as the fairy godmother of my characters. I don’t wave around a magic wand like
Cinderella’s fairy godmother did—I don’t own one, neither do I know where to find one, if one
exists—but I do brandish nimble fingers and I know where to find them: they’re flashing and flying
over the keyboard, recording into immortality my characters’ goals, setbacks, fledgling romance,
more setbacks, more romance, the dark moment when it looks like all is lost, and finally, finally, the
last dramatic moments when they confront their own worst fears and risk all to get all, including
the fulfillment of their inner needs.
Izabella isn’t beautiful. Roman isn’t a prince. But I am their fairy godmother. Without love, nothing
is possible; with it, one can do anything, even soar on wings.