Halloween is one of my favorite holidays and it always has been. From the time I was young, Halloween captured my imagination, inspiring all sorts of dreams, stories, and even the occasional nightmare. It is a holiday of pure magic, of dreams and illusions, of shadows slipping quietly from our minds and stopping our hearts for a brief moment of time.
Now, as I pursue my dream of becoming a writer I find Halloween even more fascinating. The plethora of stories that spill forth from this holiday, from the bone chilling to the mildly spooky, are works of art all their own, even the goofy, cheesy ones. They all reflect a bit of the story teller, each person putting their own spin on things, each person choosing their medium of communication, be it movies and tv, or books, or a tale retold verbally, the voice rising and falling with each suspenseful moment. Each story offering a glimpse of creativity and a flash of personality and brilliance, and an opportunity to see how it has changed over the course of time with each retelling.
Writers are, for all intents and purposes, story tellers. It is this that draws me most fervently to Halloween. As a story teller, the ebb and flow, the details, the feelings of each story I partake in this, and every Halloween leaves an impression on me that lasts through out the year, shaping my perception not just of the holiday itself, but of my own stories, of my own life. Lending itself to the fertilizing of my imagination and the growth of myths that stir within my soul.