erin

the wish granters

The faeries got tired of constantly being asked to grant wishes while they were busy with other things like practicing their tiny violins and writing novellas and drinking their faerie wine so they created a wish submission system, somewhat similar to a post office box system, but, you know, for wishing.

You write down your wish in 250 words or less and put it in an envelope (standard, not business sized) and you tape a flower to it (it doesn’t matter what kind). Then you put your wish in one of the numbered boxes to submit it to the faeries and they will answer it or they won’t.

Wishers debate about the system, they all have their theories. They suppose that wishes submitted to box number four always come true, or ones placed in box number one have a higher chance of being granted because fewer wishers put their wish in the first box.

(Some say thirteen is unlucky and others say the opposite and neither is correct.)

Or that faeries don’t care for dandelions, and they’re not a proper flower anyway.

(Untrue, faeries love dandelions, particularly in their puffy stage.)

Once in awhile someone will suggest that all the wishes get piled together regardless of which numbered box they go into and the faeries ignore them all, but that’s not true either.

The wishes go into numbered piles that the faeries ignore, until one of them is bored and pulls a wish at random to grant, just to keep things interesting.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

authorized persons only

I like to sit in the park and read in the afternoons, usually in the same round gated garden because there’s more shade but today the fence has been replaced by a tall grey wall that says Authorized Persons Only where the gate used to be.

There’s no door, as far as I can tell, but I follow the wall around to the side and find a window just about eye-level with closed shutters covered in peeling white paint.

I knock on the window and the shutters open and at first I don’t see anyone but then the top halves of two heads with leaves stuck in their messy curls pop into view, staring at me with bright brown eyes.

Guten Tag! the pair of leafy-haired moppets shouts in unison but when I ask them if I can come into the garden they reply: Only if you’re Authorized!

How do I get authorized? I ask and they duck out of sight and converse in loud yet unintelligible whispers for a moment.

When they pop back up they ask: Are you an Author? If you’re an Author then you are Authorized.

What’s the difference between an author and a writer? I ask them in return.

They look at each other and then back at me and then they vanish back down and the whisper-bickering goes on so long that I take my book and retreat to another corner of the park.

The next day the wall says Writerized or Authorized Persons Only, but they still won’t let me in.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

take a seat

Come in, come in and take a seat, but please don’t wait for the show to start.

It has already started.

You probably thought it would begin once an audience had assembled, we apologize for any confusion.

The show began before you arrived and it will continue after you leave.

(It may follow you like a puppy or a lingering dream.)

You don’t have to stay here, this is just where we keep the chairs and you can take your chair with you, if you are attached to it, or you may choose another.

The only wrong decision is choosing not to change if you are unsatisfied with your last choice.

(It is, we know, a difficult thing to choose new choices and make new changes but it is best, do please trust us on that matter.)

Whatever you choose, please don’t wait.

As we mentioned previously: the show has already begun and we need you to play your part, whatever you wish that to be.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.