the well written - gregory maguire

What’s the first thing you know in life?  Even before you know words?
Sun in the sky.  Heart of gold in a field of blue, and the world cracks open.
You are knowing something.  There you are.

As with all of us, the Scarecrow awoke knowing he had been for some
time already, though unwoken.  There was a sense of vanishing splendor in
the world about him, an echo of a lost sound even before he knew what
sound or echo meant.  The backward crush of time and, also, time’s forward
rush.  The knife of light between his eyes.  The wound of hollowness behind
his forehead.  There was motion, sound, color; there was scent, death, hope. 

- Gregory Maguire, Scarecrow

By Felix Girard

the well written - gregory maguire

Ranuccio waited until the sound of the girl’s progress had become swallowed 
up in the back-and-forth of wind through leaves.  Now there was the creak of 
an oak limb, now a silence through which a distant stream could be heard to 
murmur.  Now a rush of wind again—and, and—the world had sealed over, 
had healed itself of the girl’s presence, as if she had never lived.  Had even 
forgotten her absence.  Even he, used to hearing a beetle pause and inspect 
itself under a fallen log, was dizzy with the mystery of how fully she had been 
taken away.  What was her name, even?

- Gregory Maguire, Mirror Mirror

By Benjamin Lacombe.

the well written - gregory maguire

The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say.

- Gregory Maguire, Mirror Mirror

By Aaron Ebersole