Fairy Tales and Wishful Thinking

i've decided that the best thing in the world is to be a children's writer. i don't mean like madonna, who, if i remember right, actually put her name on the children's book that wasn't really written by her. and i don't mean those government-approved books that are politically correct provided they have multi-racial, morally correct stories and names. I mean like the fairy tales we used to read - Hans Christian Anderson, Grimm Brothers, AA Milne (winnie the pooh.. *sigh*), Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl, CS Lewis, etc.
My short brush with the working "real" world as people are saying, has left me pondering many things. (Plus the fact that i'm at a hormonal age, i think i'm going through mood swings)
What happened to the time when we still believed in fairytales? I distinctly remember there being a point in my life when I truly believed that my toys would come alive at night, that there were fairies in the garden, that if you listened long and hard enough, the animals would talk to you.
And then I grew up.
Do you remember how when you were younger, you always wanted to be an adult? Noone let you do anything because you were 'just a kid' and you'd try anything, celebrate when you were just that little bit taller (it's been a while for me, that one), or dress up in your parents' clothes and pretend to go to work and get married, or be super proud when anyone said "Oh, you did that just like a grown up person would."
Well, ScReW YoU PeOpLe FoR MaKiNg Me So MaTuRe!!
*sigh* sometimes i feel the child in me has died. yes, amidst the squealing in toy shops, staring at rainbows and dressing up in too bright colours... if the child in me hasn't died, then the world has become less forgiving of her existence. She doesn't want to know that the world is all about money. She doesn't want to know that people go to work to get tired and frustrated and do the same things day in and day out. She doesn't want to know that adventures are confined to your imagination, and people content themselves by watching pictures on a screen, laughing them off as mere fiction but secretly wishing those lives were their own.
I am very disillusioned with life at the moment.
So how does this relate to childrens' writers? I wish i could still dream up those vivid worlds, and live in them, and breathe life into them with every sacred word on paper. And then maybe, just maybe, that little child in me will have a place to roam happily because she certainly doesn't seem to fit into the 'real' world.



this is one of the best books in the world. if you haven't read it, you should.


p.s: don't ever believe that myth that children's books are only for children - it's something grown ups made up to make you feel smaller!