And this morning the girls got up bright and early at 4am to carry out their quests. Their father got up bright and early at 4:02am to shoo them back to bed, where they lay wide-eyed, wide awake and staring into the night until 5:30am when they got up once more, and knocked on their parent’s bedroom door to ask permission to finally carry out the Easter Bunny’s quests.

Voila, this year’s Easter Bunny Quest. Some of the clues are pretty silly, but you have to keep in mind that all sorts of children all over the world expect this sort of thing from the Easter Bunny. That poor Bunny’s creative well must get pretty dry after a few million households:

E Clue #1
Hello my friend E, it’s another Easter Year
Full of Easter Chocolate, and full of Easter Cheer
The cheer you can find easily, it should be part of life
For the chocolate look inside the shoes of Joseph’s wife

E Clue #2
Thank you for your note, my dear, I’m glad you think I’m cute
Flattery will get you lots of things, including Easter loot
But you still have to work for it, nothing is for free
Your next clue may cost you one hot cup of Pekoe Tea

E Clue #3
You don’t have to go too far to find the next big Easter clue
I promise not make you look inside another smelly shoe
You might get kind of frosty though, if chocolate is your dream
Because you’ll have to check out something kind of like ice cream

E Clue #4
I know a rabbit tall and furry, who once was short and sleek
He has ears that stick up straight with mannerisms meek
This poor old rabbit’s fraught with worry, he likes to whine and grouch
He likes nothing better than to hide beneath the couch

E Clue #5
Easter Bunny’s secret power is to fly quite fast
And when beneath the moonlight, no shadow doth he cast
The Easter Bunny’s breath is sweet because he likes his grapes
And he’s been known to nibble on the plants behind the drapes

E Clue #6
Have you ever had a dream you felt you could not share?
Have you ever danced a jig with Ferdinand the Bear?
Have you ever kissed a cat? Or pet a purple dog?
Have you ever found a clue beneath a smiling frog?

E Clue #7
Some houses can be dangerous because of all the cats
Cat’s do not like rabbits and we sometimes have our spats
Like the time two cats chased me out the door and then they locked it
A story that has nothing to do with the clue inside your pocket

E Clue #8
Are you getting tired of all this running around the house?
I hope you liked this game and that you don’t think I’m a louse
Take care my friend, and if by chance you go for a drive this Sunday
I hope you like what you discover inside your parent’s Hyundai

K Clue #1
Hello my friend K; thanks for your kind note
You should know I will not freeze because I have a coat
My coat is warm and fuzzy; it’s actually my fur
Now go and find a clue downstairs where kitty cats do purr

K Clue #2

The clues are getting harder because you my girl are smart
I cannot make them easy lest you get a big head start
If the next clue you can find beneath something that heats
One step closer you will be to yummy Easter treats

K Clue #3
I’ve heard that you’re a fan of music sung in many keys
Like Lady Gaga, Owl City and the Black Eyed Peas
I think a clue to do with music we can well afford
You might find just such a clue on a black keyboard

K Clue #4
Once I knew a rabbit who was friendly but not wise
This rabbit he ate nothing except hamburgers and fries
He grew so roly-poly I could roll him down the street
And there’s a clue inside a shoe that couldn’t fit upon his feet

K Clue #5
They say that nothing’s free in life; I suppose that this is true
Some things cost so much that it can make you kind of blue
But Easter treats are great because they’re almost free you see
If, that is, you figure out the clue beside the Wii

K Clue #6
Have you ever loved someone that made your heart go all a-flutter?
Have you ever sailed upon a sea of peanut butter?
Have you ever climbed upon an angry whomping willow?
Have you ever found a clue beneath a sofa pillow?

K Clue #7
Easter Bunny’s secret power is a fuzzy smile
Easter Bunny’s second cousin is a guy named Lyle
Easter Bunnies rarely give out any kind of jewels
But they’ve been known to hide their clues right next to father’s tools

K Clue #8
I hope you’ve liked this game my friend, and that you’ve found it fun
And that you’re not too sad my friend to find it almost done
Here’s a thought to cheer you up; the treats are not too far
You have but to look inside a certain silver car!

A while back I finished reading the first Harry Potter book to my kids.  Afterwards I thought, wow, that was some really solid plotting on Rowling’s part.  In my opinion she really set up the ending nicely. 

A couple of months later I sat down and rewatched the end of the movie with the girls.  And I thought, okay wait a minute.  How did Quirrel get through the chess match?  It was completely intact when Hermione, Ron and Harry came across it.

The movie doesn’t say how, and neither (I believe) does  the book (I haven’t gone back to check yet). 

This, of course, makes me a Plausible.

But Rowling produced sufficient narrative momentum that I didn’t notice this logical gap until well after I read the book and saw the film.  And I must confess that it wasn’t until after I’d read the book for a second time, and seen the film for a third time that I gave this omission any thought (perhaps I’m not a Plausible after all).

I know that some people probably don’t care.  They assume that Voldemort must have helped Quirrel somehow, or because Quirrel was a professor he must have known some secret backdoor or the like.  But I find it interesting that Rowling doesn’t make any attempt whatsoever to cross this particular T.  (I will have to reread that portion of the book to confirm this, but the movie certainly doesn’t make any attempt.)  And this omission on her part (or the filmmaker’s part) has done nothing to dampen audience enjoyment or diminish sales.

What does this mean?  It means a few things.  It means Hitchcock was right, for one thing.  Absolute narrative logic is beside the point.  Entertainment value, suspense and narrative momentum trump narrative logic hands down.  It means storytellers don’t have to dot every i and cross every t.

It also means I’ve spent way too much time sorting out the intricacies of the labyrinthine plot of my work in progress…

Plus he seems like a nice guy.

I didn’t get to meet him one on one, but I did attend a panel which, although called a panel, consisted only of him facing an audience of perhaps twenty-five interested souls. I would call them aspiring writers, but the questions they asked did not indicate that writing or editing was of any particular interest to them. Because those subjects are my chief interest, I don’t really remember any of the questions or answers not related to writing or editing.

That’s what the panel consisted of: people lobbing questions at Hartwell, all of which he answered gamely and at some length. I got two questions in. The first was something along the lines of: “I’m interested in your work as an editor. Specifically, you edit the manuscripts of highly accomplished writers. What do you typically find wrong with such manuscripts, and how do you fix them?”

He said (and I am of course paraphrasing): “That question is just specific enough that I can answer it in something less than half an hour.” (Which got a chuckle.) “Most of the manuscripts that we receive have too many things wrong with them, so they don’t get published. Of the ones that we do publish, the single most common problem of professional writers is setting. The writers don’t spend enough time on setting.”

I found this really interesting. Naturally you might think that professional writers get most things right, maybe they might screw up continuity or make the odd grammatical error, but setting? I’ve spent a lot of time on setting in my (darned near completed) novel, so this response gave me hope, though that doesn’t mean that I’ve necessarily gotten it right.

Hartwell provided this example of a writer getting it right. There’s a sentence in a Heinlein novel (Fergus Heywood later told me which novel, but I forget) that goes like this: The door dilated. That sentence (according to Hartwell, and I agree) packs quite a punch as far as setting goes. Instantly you know you’re in the future (doors don’t typically dilate in this day and age).

Later I got to ask Hartwell another question. That morning, I told him, listening to Neil Gaiman speak, Neil had spoken of his quest to learn how to write a compelling story, one that keeps you engaged. One day events conspired to teach him this. It was after watching a Peter Greenaway movie, I believe, which lacked a compelling plot, yet that nevertheless kept his eyes riveted to the screen. I apologize to Gaiman if I have this wrong. But the point is the plot itself didn’t keep Gaiman engaged, it was other factors in the movie. Gaiman decided all that was necessary to write an effective story was to write a sentence that compelled the reader to move on to the next sentence, which compelled the reader onto the next sentence, and so on.

I related a portion of the above to Hartwell and asked for his opinion on writing a compelling story. He said, more or less, that it was up to each individual writer to find the secret of telling a compelling story for themselves. And it was different for each writer. Some writers use the interesting sentence after interesting sentence method, others painstakingly plot things out, others make it up as they go along, others use a sketchy outline, and so on.

I prefaced this last question with the remark that I had a thousand questions for Hartwell, but I would limit it to one this time.

He replied, “One for now.”

Here’s hoping I get to ask him many more in the not-too-distant future.

BEST NOVELLA: “All Seated on the Ground” by Connie Willis (Asimov’s Dec. 2007, Subterranean Press) [See SF Signal review]

BEST NOVELETTE: “The Merchant and the Alchemist’s Gate” by Ted Chiang (F&SF Sept. 2007) [See SF Signal review]

BEST SHORT STORY: “Tideline” by Elizabeth Bear (Asimov’s June 2007) [See SF Signal review]

BEST RELATED BOOK: Brave New Words: The Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction by Jeff Prucher (Oxford University Press) [See SF Signal review]

BEST DRAMATIC PRESENTATION, LONG FORM: Stardust Written by Jane Goldman & Matthew Vaughn Based on the novel by Neil Gaiman Directed by Matthew Vaughn (Paramount Pictures)

BEST DRAMATIC PRESENTATION, SHORT FORM: Doctor Who “Blink” Written by Stephen Moffat Directed by Hettie Macdonald (BBC)

BEST PROFESSIONAL EDITOR, SHORT FORM: Gordon Van Gelder

BEST PROFESSIONAL EDITOR, LONG FORM: David G. Hartwell

BEST PROFESSIONAL ARTIST: Stephan Martiniere

BEST SEMIPROZINE: Locus

BEST FANZINE: File 770 edited by Mike Glyer

BEST FAN WRITER: John Scalzi

BEST FAN ARTIST: Brad Foster

JOHN W. CAMPBELL AWARD FOR BEST NEW WRITER: Mary Robinette Kowal

There’s lots of things I oughta be doing.

I oughta be flossing more.  Eating less.  Exercising more.  Sitting around less.  I oughta be putting on more sunscreen, driving slower, working harder, writing more, watching TV less.  If I had any brains at all I’d be reading better books, writing better fiction.  Getting my kids outside to play more, taking them to more fun things.  I should call my folks more, and my sisters, and my friends.  I should be making more money, wearing better clothes, cracking more jokes, thinking more, cleaning up after myself better.  I should pet my cats more often, donate more to charity, volunteer more.  I should be making more music.  Complimenting my wife more, taking her out more, holding her more. 

Yeah I should do all that stuff.  But I don’t and probably never will.  Probably there are lots of guys out there who do manage to do all that stuff; who look great, make a lot of money, and are tons of fun to be with.  But let’s face it: they’re all assholes, and I’d never want to be like them.  

Of all the things I ought to be doing that I’m not, there are really only a handful of things I’d really like to be doing, if only I could muster the damned will.

One of them is sporting a set of six pack abs.

Oh yeah baby.

Now, I’m not a complete loser, and I’ve been doing a lot of push-ups this past year.  Sometimes I manage two or three a day.  I was at the beach this summer, and I was looking forward to it.  I thought, I’ve been doing a lot of push-ups and damned if I don’t look pretty good for my age; I have never been more ready for the dunes. 

Sadly, what I think I look like and the hideous reality of my actual bod are not quite the same thing.   So there I was at the beach and I take off my shirt and some damned fool snaps a picture.  These days of course with new-fangled digital camera jobbies you can see the results right away and I made the awful, ego-crushing mistake of looking at the picture. 

Let’s just say my transverse abdominal could use some work. 

Not a problem.  The heck with everything else.  Kids, wife and teeth can wait, but six pack abs?  Here we come!  Hey, if Dara Torres can do it, so can I (he wrote, conveniently ignoring the vast gulf between a human with actual strength of character and one without…) 

I bet she doesn’t floss.

Dearest K,

You asked me if your bunny

was my very own cute honey

I do hope you are not frustrated,

but we’re not at all related

You’ll probably notice that I took

your gift, it’s such a nice phone book

To business now: if for a treat

you’d like to eat something that’s sweet

You should hop on your hind feet

to a place that sees the street

***  

K’s Clue Number Two:

Did you think to find treats here?

Then you’ll be disappointed dear

I’m sorry to be teasy

but finding treats is not that easy!

Careful: don’t become a grouch

Instead, go down and look beneath a couch!

*** 

K’s Clue Number Three:

Of course the treats won’t fit down here

There’s far too much of it I fear

Now to read the next sweet clue

You have but to find a shoe

*** 

K’s Clue Number Four:

Are you getting tired now?

Perhaps you’d like to ride a cow

But I don’t have a cow to ride

Instead I have a place to hide

Yet another Easter Clue

Inside the sometimes stinky loo

Where you go to have a poo!

*** 

K’s Clue Number Five:

This is the last clue my friend

after this will be the end

But if I may just kindly posit:

tooth decay: chocolate can cause it

when you eat your treats don’t rush

Afterwards be sure to brush

Now to find some real sweet deals

Go to where you cook your meals!

*** 

Dearest E:

Such a pretty, friendly girl

Like your sister, quite a pearl

Because you’re both so nice and sweet

I have brought for you a treat

But first a clue you understand

Underneath a great big can

*** 

E’s Clue Number Two:

With the treats a furry friend

If you make it to the end

To find the next clue go downstairs

And look beneath a great big bear

*** 

E’s Clue Number Three:

Congratulations!  You are now

One step closer to a cow

I beg your pardon! That’s not true

I meant to say that if you moo…

Wait a sec!  That’s not it either

Just find a cow and look beside ‘er

*** 

E’s Clue Number Four:

Now you’re getting really near

And if you listen you might hear

Something chocolate calling dear

Don’t go shedding any tears,

One more clue awaits, I fear

If you want your special stash

Go and look beside the trash!

*** 

E’s Clue Number Five:

Because you’re like a shining star,

and you’ve found your way this far,

I shall make you wait no more

Look behind a closet door!

Thank you both for playing this game

Next year we shall do the same!

*** 

You’ve got to like a rabbit not afraid of including the odd scatalogical clue.  It took the girls all of fifteen minutes to find every clue and baskets full of chocolate and fuzzy animals at the end of the trail.  Did they go back to bed after that?  Of course not.  Am I ready to go back to bed?  You bet.  And I’ll get to go back to bed, too… in another fourteen hours.

Ah, to have the energy of an eight year old again…

Happy Easter Everyone!

Courtesy of XKCD…

“I would like the world to remember me as the guy who really enjoyed playing games and sharing his knowledge and his fun pastimes with everybody else.”

That’s how I’ll remember you, Gary.

Anyway, if Kimberly liked it, perhaps others will as well, so here it is again. Permanently, this time:

Dear K,

Congratulations on your second tooth falling out, K! I heard it come out down in Fairyland (I have tiny but excellent ears) and I was awfully worried that you would lose the tooth down the drain but you didn’t. I’m so glad! I want you to know, though, that even if you had lost your precious tooth down the drain, I still would have found it and given you something for it.

I must say that your teeth (and those of your sister, E) look really clean. I think you must be brushing them well, and going to the dentist regularly. In fact, the tooth you lost today looks so clean that I would not be at all surprised to learn that you went to the dentist today, and had your teeth cleaned! I’m so happy when I see such nice teeth! It makes me very sad when children do not look after their teeth. How would they eat corn on the cob if they had no teeth?

You girls sure ask a lot of great questions. I think that’s wonderful! It tells me that you are both curious and smart. I hope I can answer them okay:

Q. Did you ever have any loose teeth?

A. Oh yes, I lost all my baby teeth over four hundred years ago.

Q. When you lost them, did you take them?

A. That’s funny! I wasn’t the Tooth Fairy when I was just a little baby fairy. My mommy was the Tooth Fairy then! So she took my teeth.

Q. Do you live in the forest behind our house?

A. No, I live in Fairy Land, which is far away. The fairies in the forest behind your house are my second cousins. They are the fairies of the forest, and we always have lots of fun whenever we visit one another.

Q. What do you do with your wand?

A. My wand helps me fly super fast from Fairy Land to childrens’ houses. I also use it to stir my coffee, and to protect me from bad dogs and cats.

Q. Do you use the toothbrush I gave you?

A. Oh yes! It’s too big for my mouth, of course, so I use it to brush my pet unicorn’s teeth. She absolutely adores it, especially coming from you! She knows you girls love unicorns.

Q. Did you like the candy canes?

A. Yes, but I’m taking my time eating them, because candy canes have a LOT of sugar in them, which isn’t really great for teeth. But you have to have a treat now and then.

Q. What did you get for Christmas?

A. Mr. And Mrs. Santa Claus are good friends of mine, and they know that I don’t really need much for Christmas, but Santa is such a kind soul that he got me a special, tiny pair of mittens to keep my fingers warm whenever I have to fly to Canada in the winter. They’re my favourite colour, yellow, and they match the hat he gave me last year, which is also yellow.

It sure is nice visiting you and E. I look forward to seeing more of your baby teeth in the days to come.

Love,

Your Friend,

The Tooth Fairy

When the boy caught sight of what he had come to see half way up the mountain, he gasped at the wonder of it all.

He saw among other things turrets and spires and slim, cylindrical towers, and when he got closer there was a drawbridge spanning a moat of an enchanting silvery liquid, and finally, a modest faerie mist clothing grey stone walls near where they met the earth. The wizard’s castle was everything his imagination had said it would be.

When he stepped upon the drawbridge, though, he saw that the moat beneath him contained only water. Considering it had appeared infinitely more magical only moments before — perhaps the reflection of the sun had fooled him — he was slightly disappointed. Even so, he could not help but wonder what peculiar manner of creature lay in wait beneath the water’s silvery sheen. Aside from sea serpents and sharks he could think of no names, but his mind drew terrible pictures, and he was careful to stay well to the centre of the drawbridge as he daringly traversed its length.

The boy paused at the far end of the drawbridge, dwarfed there by the enormous wooden door. He lifted his hand to knock but found that he could not. Instead, butterflies invaded his stomach and his mind whirled with fears. What if he had come all this way for nothing? Suppose the wizard did not receive visitors after all? Would he send the boy away? Or worse, in a fit of pique at having been disturbed, might the wizard wave his hands in the air and utter angry words that would transform his unwelcome visitor into a toad or a goblin?

Such a fate seemed entirely possible to the boy now that he had thought of it. Unnerved, he turned to flee, and he would have done so except that just then, accompanied by the sound of grinding gears and rattling chains, the huge wooden door slowly began to creak open, and the chance to flee was past.

A shock of unruly white hair surrounded a cherubic cheeked face. Eyes the reflection of a winter sky focused on the boy as the entire combination poked out from behind the door. A frown and a “breathe, boy, it doesn’t do to hold one’s breath,” acknowledged the petrified lad. “Come for a visit, have you?”

The boy could only nod.

“Well, come in, come in. Have you a name? Perhaps when you find your tongue you can tell me what it is. Myself, I am the caretaker of this keep, and as such I must ask you to wipe your feet, please, this isn’t a hovel, you know, it is a castle, and we must abide by certain rules. Rules are unfortunate, restricting things, but they do possess a certain merit, they keep the floors clean you’ll notice, and if that is not a sufficient reason to abide by rules then I am unaware of what is,” and accompanied by a great deal more rambling of a similar nature the boy was led inside.

Enormous tapestries lined walls of corridors guarded by uninhabited suits of shining armour. The footsteps of the caretaker and the boy could have been those of giants, rattling back and forth between the distant walls the way they did.

The boy began to relax as the words of the old man encircled and reassured him. It was good of him to come, very few did these days, wasn’t the weather mild and nice and was the climb up the mountain very difficult? Would he like a warm cup of mead?

He was taken on a whirlwind tour of the castle, which was splendid. Up to the top of the tallest spire, a view from the ramparts, a glimpse of every room, chamber and den, it seemed.

Could I see the dungeons? Most certainly. Are they occupied? He would have to wait and see. Sinister words, preceding an equally sinister descent into the deepest and darkest portion of the castle. Sparsely placed torches barely lit the way, and innumerable times the boy almost fled back up the spiralling staircase, especially at the thought that perhaps the old man’s plans were of a nefarious sort. He trod boldly on, however, one eye warily on his guide, and was relieved when no attempts were made to incarcerate him. Instead, his host proved most informative.

“To your right, at one time the cell of a sorcerer imprisoned for transforming chickens into gophers. A distressing habit, very unsettling economically.

“Look closely at the next, lad, and see the bloodstains of a great ruffian, murdered by his cell mate, a woman, incensed at his manner of ogling the siren in the cell beyond.” On and on the narrative went, a tale for every cold and empty dungeon.

Then, because he had come this far, the boy said, “The wizard,” and the old man turned an inquiring eye his way.

“The wizard,” the boy repeated, half expecting that with a flourish and a self-deprecating laugh his guide would reveal himself as the famed necromancer, and cast a modest spell or two.

“Eh? What?”

“I would like to meet the wizard who lives here, if I may,” the boy said hopefully.

“Oh,” the old man said. “Well.” He shook his white haired head. “No wizards here.”

“But he lives here,” the boy insisted.

“No, he doesn’t,” the old man said. “Used to, once upon a time.”

“Where did he go?”

“Away. Where wizards go. Left with a gaggle of geese one day.”

It was not beyond the realm of reason for the boy. He nodded politely and turned away.

The old man was an empathic soul and he felt keenly the boy’s disappointment. “A moment,” he said, “wait a moment. There is magic about yet, I think, for the wizard could not take it all with him,” and he led the boy back up through the convoluted castle corridors to a place they had yet to be.

They entered first a room of odd creatures. Cats and dogs as one, a creature with an extraordinarily long nose, horses with wings, multicoloured rabbits, and other magical animal fare. The boy murmured all the right things in all the right places, but he could not help but think that animals were animals, magical or not.

Next came a room of whistles and bells, of baffling machines that could perform every conceivable task, some that could potentially release mankind from its bondage of labour forever, others that could give it something to do then.

“Thank you,” the boy said. “They are very nice. I believe my mother would have liked that one,” and he pointed to a whirring contraption that diced carrots into a neat little orange pile. But the old man could tell that he was still disappointed.

In the spacious corridor he confronted the youngster. “Does the magic I have shown you fail to bedazzle? Does it not boggle your eyes, mystify your brain, make your nose runny? Do your knees not shake, your lips tremble, and your ears go all a quiver as you contemplate the magical prowess required to even imagine, let alone create, all that you have seen?”

The boy replied, “I have seen many wondrous things, I agree,” and in truth he was impressed, at times it was all he could do to keep his ears from quivering and his nose from running. “It is just that I would have liked to have seen the wizard, is all,” he said.

“Yes, the wizard,” the elderly caretaker repeated. “A very great and popular wizard, he was, it is understandable that you should so wish to see him. He has, however, flown with the geese, he shall not be back for a while, a century or so, I should imagine, so put it out of your mind. You shall not be able to see the wizard today. May I suggest some grapefruit juice in lieu?”

The kitchen had seven ovens and the pleasant scent of baking bread and basting turkeys was as permanent as the squared stone floor. Grapefruit juice was one of an abundant store of refreshments to choose from, so with his host’s hearty recommendation, the boy bravely chose a green elixir instead, and they retired to the dining room.

It was there beneath an elaborately jewelled chandelier of enormous breadth, a gift from the gods, the old man claimed, that the boy humbly asked, “How did you come to be caretaker of this castle? Was your father a caretaker too? Or did the wizard make you, like he made the magical machines and animals, maybe out of a fly or a garden gnome?”

The caretaker replied, “I was neither born for the position nor created for it. Nay, either did I covet it. I was chosen by the great wizard himself one day as I toiled in my father’s field, and the wizard passed by and took note of my diligence and discipline and extraordinarily intelligent demeanour. Forthwith I was snatched away and a doppleganger placed in my stead. I have been here since, happily so, I might add.”

“I had thought you might be the wizard, hiding your true nature,” the boy confessed.

“A common misconception,” the caretaker reassured him. “It happens all the time. Perhaps it is my eyes, which are veritable pools of wisdom, and my kindly disposition, and my overall bearing of benevolence and tranquillity. Why, I would have made a fine wizard looking the way I do. I look more like a wizard than the wizard himself, if the truth be known. However, I have never had an inclination to be one. Too much time with your nose in a book, studying spells. Hard on your eyes, hard on your nose.” The old man shook his head. “Not for me.”

Another round of green elixir and grapefruit juice. A chill invaded the room and prompted a fire in the hearth. Comfortable surroundings and pleasant company gave rise to prolonged conversation, though the caretaker spoke mostly, responding to the many inquiries of the boy.

“He calls it an elephant,” he responded to one such question, concerning one of the magical animals they had seen. “Named for a distant relation, I’m told. The elongated nose concept arose from the wizard’s fondness for noses, or perhaps more precisely, his fondness for the sense of smell. Smells are very important to the wizard. They alert your mind to many memories, you know, and the wizard is old and has many memories, many of which he cannot remember. He would like to recall more, and he believes that if he could smell better, he could remember better. It seems to have worked in the case of the elephant. However, it would be unseemly for a man to have a nose as long.”

“Why did the wizard leave?” the boy wanted to know.

“I do not know for certain.” The caretaker reflected on the question. “To see the world through the eyes of a goose, perhaps. It is a pastime he cherishes, seeing the world through different eyes, one day a goose, the next a dog. The world is a wondrous place, he says, but more than that, it is a trillion worlds, each unique and worth seeing. And each separate world may only be seen by looking through a fresh pair of eyes. So this time, I think, the wizard has chosen to live for awhile in the world of a goose.”

The boy smiled at this charming but unlikely hypothesis, considering that the wizard in question had to be a worldly, busy individual, with far better things to do than spend a hundred years as a goose.

A window revealed the sky outside to be of a beckoning hue, so with great reluctance but commendable discipline the boy stood and thanked his host for allowing him to stay for as long as he had. The tour had been magnificent, the magic unforgettable, and the refreshments most refreshing. The elderly caretaker in turn remarked that his guest was too gracious, and wouldn’t he come again sometime?

They parted on the drawbridge. A shake of hands and a wave or two and then the heavy wooden portal clanked shut. Soon it was concealed behind a raised drawbridge. The boy stood gazing at the fairy tale castle for some time, prolonging the visit, which had been perfect in every way except for the absence of the wizard. He would visit again, if he could, and maybe by then the wizard would have returned. Surely he wouldn’t really be gone for a hundred years.

Only when he had climbed all the way back down the mountain and caught the scent of the foliage there did the wizard remember. He smiled and sat and spent many hours recalling the visit to his home, through the eyes of a boy. How the familiar and mundane had been transformed! How it had appeared so fresh and wonderful! Then he arose, touched his earlobe the requisite way, and borrowed new eyes for a walk in yet another world.

The End

September 26^th, 1987

Slightly revised July 21^st, 1998

This story has been published in Horizons SF, Kidzair (Air Canada), and SDO Fantasy.