Every beautiful story has its beast-the trick is in tangling with the monster without becoming its apprentice.
 

I have been a lover of fiction since I first stepped out of the wardrobe as a child still breathing Narnian air.  Fantasy in particular has planted visions within me that will haunt me till the day I die-nor do I wish to be free of the haunting.  People who didn't read voraciously as children may never understand how much the books we read influence who we become.  While daily life was still teaching us to do dishes and homework, books were teaching us about heroism, loyalty, courage, heartache, true love, and places so beautiful you could die for longing to see them.  The ideals I picked up as a child in Narnia and Middle-Earth, in Kipling's India and Arthur's Britain, are with me still.

A writer of fantasy myself now, I labour to paint visions of my own.  My goal?  To create something so beautiful it hurts.  In the process, I find myself tangling with the problem of evil.  The fact is, every beautiful story has its beast.  The conflict between good and evil lies at the root of most stories, though modern literature does its royal best to confuse the fact.  I love fantasy because it isn't ashamed to paint in black and white.  Maybe that's why its heroes shine so brightly.  Tolkien's elves could not be so tragically lovely without the evil of Sauron hanging over them.  Without the treachery of mankind, Aslan is little more than a talking animal.  A candle is nothing until it's in the dark.  You get the idea.

Any story that does not address evil in some form is not addressing life.  Yet I am aware that there are authors who, in describing the beast, have become its accomplices.