Ensorcelled is a Really Good Word by Eloise Williams

Being a writer for the younger reader I spend a lot of time trying to imagine life from the perspective of a child.

What would I think of this mushroom if I was six-years-old?

Bleurch. Slimy. Yucky. Ach-y-fi. Fingers down throat. Slugs. 

 

What would I have said to that teacher when I was thirteen?

Probably nothing because I was the shyest person in my class and I didn’t want to show myself up in front of Erin Jackson, who had never noticed I was alive anyway.  

That sort of thing.

 

I draw on my memory bank daily and revisit the best and worst memories of my young life.

Unfortunately, I can almost put myself back to teenage times.

I’m at the ‘pop and crisps’ disco where I feel jealous of Caroline’s spotted leggings and her stupendous success in life at actually having a boyfriend. I can feel the weight of my ungainly arms as they hang in odd directions while I sway to Depeche Mode and pretend to know the lyrics whilst hiding behind the lankest fringe in the history of hair.

 

I can be back with my nose pressed to the cold wet glass of even younger, Santa-spotting years. Taste the glitter of the stars beyond the condensation. Hear the strains of harp music in the background – on an old 78 not my mother playing – I know I’m Welsh but seriously?

I can believe in magic.

 

 

I remember when I was a foetus and….

Okay, that’s taking it a bit far, but you know what I mean.

And something happened to me this week that made me wonder if I have actually changed that much at all.

 

I mean, yes, physically I’ve changed quite a bit and lots of me has gone south or grown unusual hairs. But inside. Do I still have the belief in magic? Do adults generally believe in the magical?

 

The wonderful Tamsin at Kenilworth Books designed this window display for my new book ‘Gaslight’ and it did strange things to me.

It made me think ,‘It’s magical.’ She has created magic there. Right in front of me. I can feel it. Inside me. Reaching out to me.  

I didn’t think - wow, this is going to really sell my book – although I’ll admit that did come later.

I just thought. I want to be in that story. I want to be a part of that world.

 

All the years melted away and I was back to the child who had imagined themselves escaping through the back of a wardrobe. 

The feeling was the same. The fizzle of excitement. That nervous coldy-weirdy feeling all over my skin. Possibilities opened up in front of me and I could taste the shimmer and smell the greasepaint of the story.

 

So, in these times of sadness and uncertainty, I am moved beyond anything I can express in words (come on you’ve seen the struggle already with the ‘coldy-weirdy’ description) to find that I’m still the same at heart.

I can still be ensorcelled by story-telling, the magic of an artist creating a window display, the taste of a story about to be told.

And we all need to remember to be ensorcelled by the beautiful and the magical because we all had it in us and we all still have it.

 

And, anyway, ensorcelled is a really good word. 

 

www.eloisewilliams.com