It is not simply the telling of the tale; it is how it unfolds in my imagination

As a small child I would sit huddled cross-legged with my friends and classmates on the wonderful magical island that was the threadbare rug in a tucked-away corner of the school library, surrounded by shelves neatly stacked with colourful books of all shapes and sizes telling stories of adventure, fantasy and discovery. Enthralled by the tale being told by our beloved teacher during story-hour, her voice rising and dipping, loud with excitement or mock-anger then whispering with secrecy and conspiracy, my eyes grow wide with each incident, my small hands clasp tightly in the folds of my skirt as I cling to the essence of the story until the final moment when she snaps the book shut to sighs of deep disappointment.

But the intrigue continues to unfold in my imagination giving life to my charismatic protagonist (usually my super-hero self, of course) in untold numbers of situations fraught with danger and adventure, secret quests and trails leading deep into forests, through deep and treacherous swollen rivers or in desolate coves and caves seeking and exploring; re-enacting scenes in the playground with my friends who fill in the gaps with their own super-hero selves resulting in fantastical sound effects and plots, sword-fights and high kicks with someone ultimately ending up tied to a post or wash line before we regroup over milk and cookies to discuss the exhilarating outcome and prepare our revenge.

The path from childhood into teens brings new adventures with higher stakes and more bravado, my protagonist developing curves and wearing skin-tight outfits brandishing weapons of mass destruction and saving the world from obliteration whilst basking in the glory of untold bravery in the face of peril; or occasionally ending up the helpless victim in a dark tunnel, faced by terrible jeopardy until the handsome hero swoops in for the rescue and sweeps her off to live happily ever after.

These enchanted moments framed the stories that I would carry in my memory throughout my life to be instantly recalled at the site of a worn rug or a small stool placed beside a bookshelf in the children's section of the library, or the sound of a story being told.

Whatever the nature and plot of the tale, whoever the characters and creatures and wherever the locations, the stories are nurtured and cultivated in my imagination waiting anxiously to be put into words, ready for the telling.