Abigail FitzGibbon, 2016 Level 3, First Place

Dear Ms. Bach,

I had no idea, when I saw your first book pop up in my Amazon Recommended list, that your series would become so important to me. Indeed, I only bought it because I’d seen it as #1 on my list five times and the cover characters were starting to look at me imploringly. So I purchased it, read it, wondered why I hadn’t done so sooner, and immediately obtained the second one, Of Witches and Wind.

That was where the adventure really began, because I had never read another book where I identified so much with the characters. I read about Rory, bleeding and crying in the mirror maze as the reflections mock her, struggling with a million kinds of Fm nor good enough; Chase, cracking jokes beside a campfire to keep from falling apart, fighting to be everything others thought he was; Lena, sneaking through halls as poison spread through her veins, desperate to be useful, wanted, needed. In them, I saw a million of my own lonely, scared, self-loathing moments.

It’s not that I’d never read about characters with these issues; self-doubt, dual personalities, fear of rejection. But this was the first time I’d read about a character whose insecurities didn’t make her useless, but made her stronger; a character who needed his darker side to be complete; a character who fought to be needed without realizing how vital she already was. They taught me that your failings can become your strengths. Your halves can make a whole. Your most inconsequential contributions can turn out to be essential.

Your novel gave me the courage to stand up to myself; to say I could be valued and loved, flaws and all. Yes, I know it’s a cliche message, but that’s precisely why it never sunk in for me. I heard it over and over and thought, great, this again. What else is new? But then I read about your characters and thought, they are anything perfect. They have the capacity to be stupid and petty and childish and cruel and mistaken over and over, and everyone knows it. And
yet, they are still loved. They still deserve love.

That newfound clarity wasn‘t exactly a be-all and end-all. It was the beginning of something I still struggle with, remembering I don’t need to hide bits and pieces of myself away and shape what’s left into what I’m supposed to be. But when I find myself swallowing my words and saying others I don’t mean, going against my instincts in search of approval, I can remind myself that I am just as worthy as Rory and Chase and Lena, every imperfect ounce of me.

Though I still cherished your book after turning its final page, it was no longer the most significant thing in my life – for approximately six months, until my dad fell ill. That period is a bit of a hospital-colored blur in my memory, but the times I do recall are full of Rory’s quest to Atlantis. I remember staring up at the ceiling wishing that all this was a fairytale, where everything had to turn out okay if you followed the rules. I remember Dad coming home for a visit when his face was swollen and he’d lost weight. The first time I saw him, I didn’t recognize him, and when I did it was almost worse. I remember that I’d never wanted anything so much as the Water of Life from that healing spring. Wasn’t that supposed to be enough? Wasn’t the magic supposed to find you if you wished so hard that your soul was aching? When I fell asleep my dreams were full of witches and dragons, fairies and mermaids. In my dreams, I walked through the mirror vault and its mocking reflections. Sometimes my friends, sometimes the doctors from various hospitals, sometimes Mom crying and Dad coughing. Sometimes the mirrors shattered, and I woke up expecting to find glass and blood dripping from my skin. But this was still something to cling to, no matter the hurt, and I dreamed of Atlantis until the evil spell broke. The medicine’s working. Those were magic words. I heard them and I knew I’d gotten through this, I hadn’t gone insane and Dad would come home to stay. That night I could fall asleep without the dreams coming.

When normal life resumed, I soon found myself struggling with a final critical puzzle; social interaction. As far as I could tell, everyone else had been handed an instruction manual early in life, detailing how to strike up a conversation, invite someone to hang out, and detect when someone was being nice to you and when they were making fun of you. Mine had never arrived. Around the time that I stopped waiting for it, I started noticing how Rory, Chase and Lena had bonded through what they shared, despite differences and difficulties. I started to believe that maybe I could do that too. Yes, I would have to work for it, but I was beginning to wonder if everyone else had worked for it too, and I’d never noticed. Maybe, instead of receiving instruction manuals for friendship, we had to write them ourselves, chapter by chapter, crossing things out and making side notes in the margins. Because of your story, I worked to overcome my fear of others’ judgment, speaking up more and becoming bolder about my opinions and interests. Admittedly, this tactic sometimes failed spectacularly. But, even more spectacularly, sometimes it worked. Those times gained me some of my first true friends.

Gifts come in threes – every fairytale fan worth their salt knows that. Of Witches and Wind gave me a truth to learn, an escape to make, and a risk to take. All of them have altered the course of my life for the better. Even more than that, I know firsthand how many other kids your books have helped through countless situations like mine. So I thank you, not just on my behalf, but on all of theirs too. You are our savior.

Yours Always,

Abigail FitzGibbon