The Land of Stories: Worlds Collide
Chris Colfer
To Rob, Alla, and Alvina.
The Land of Stories would never have happened without your guidance, passion, and grammar lessons.
And to readers across the world.
I’ll cherish the adventures we’ve shared for the rest of my life.
Thanks for being my happily ever after.
Let’s never grow up together.
“IF YOU WANT A HAPPY ENDING, THAT DEPENDS, OF COURSE, ON WHERE YOU STOP YOUR STORY.”
—ORSON WELLES
PROLOGUE
A BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION
Bookworm Paradise had never been so crowded. Over a thousand guests were cramped inside the bookstore’s event space, until there were no more open chairs and no standing room left. A small stage was flooded with light and set with two chairs and two microphones for the evening’s program. It was difficult to see over the row of journalists and photographers crouched in front of the stage, but the attendees were assured the press would only be there for the first few minutes of the event.
The multigenerational crowd had come to the bookstore to see their favorite author in the flesh. The guests fidgeted as they stood and squirmed in their seats as they anxiously waited for him to make his first public appearance in years. Not only were they there to celebrate the writer’s five-decades-long career, but the event was also marking a very special day in the author’s life. A colorful banner painted by students from the local elementary school hung above the stage that said HAPPY 80TH BIRTHDAY, MR. BAILEY!
Just as the bookstore promised, at eight o’clock sharp a man in a chic suit stepped onstage and the evening’s festivities began.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Bookworm Paradise,” the man said into a microphone. “I’m Gregory Quinn from the New York Times Book Review and I couldn’t be more honored to be moderating tonight’s event. We’re all here to celebrate a man who has made the world a much more magical place, thanks to over a hundred published works of children’s fiction.”
The crowd cheered at the mention of Mr. Bailey’s accomplished career. All the author’s books could be found in the audience as the guests held their favorite titles close to their hearts.
“As I look around the room, I’m very pleased to see such a diverse group of people,” Mr. Quinn continued. “Mr. Bailey has always said his greatest accomplishment isn’t the number of books he’s written or the number of copies sold, but the rich diversity of his readership. I can’t think of a better testament to his work than knowing it’s enjoyed by families all over the world.”
Many people in the audience placed a hand over their chests as they remembered the joy the author had brought them over the years. Some even became teary-eyed recalling what an impact Mr. Bailey’s stories had had on their young lives. Luckily, they’d found his work when they needed a good story the most.
“It’s hard to find someone who doesn’t smile at the mention of his name,” Mr. Quinn went on. “Mr. Bailey filled our childhoods with adventure and suspense, his characters taught us the difference between right and wrong, and his stories showed us that the imagination is the most powerful weapon in the world. You know someone is special when the whole world considers them family, so now, let’s remind him just how special he is. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please give a warm welcome to the one and only Mr. Conner Jonathan Bailey.”
The seated guests leaped to their feet and the event space filled with thunderous applause. The photographers raised their cameras and covered the stage in quick pulsating flashes.
An adorable and skinny old man slowly made his way onto the stage and waved at the excited audience. He had big eyes the color of the sky and messy white hair that sat on his head like a fluffy cloud. He wore thick glasses, bright blue suspenders, and neon-red sneakers. From the way he dressed and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, it was clear that Mr. Bailey was just as colorful as the characters in his books.
Mr. Quinn tried to help the author into his seat, but the old man waved the attempt off, insisting he didn’t need assistance. Even after Mr. Bailey sat down, the crowd continued to shower him with their affectionate applause.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Mr. Bailey said into his microphone. “You’re too kind, but it’s probably best you stop clapping so we can get on with the show. I’m eighty years old—time is of the essence.”
The crowd laughed and took their seats, each sitting a little more on edge than before.
“We can’t thank you enough for joining us, Mr. Bailey,” Mr. Quinn said.
“I’m delighted to have the opportunity,” the author said. “And thank you, Mr. Quinn, for such a lovely introduction. I didn’t realize you were talking about me until I heard my full name. After all those compliments, I was afraid the store had booked the wrong Mr. Bailey.”
“The praise was all for you, sir,” the moderator reassured him. “First things first: Happy birthday! It’s such a privilege to celebrate this milestone with you.”
“You’ve got to dig deep to find dirt older than me,” Mr. Bailey joked. “It’s funny, when I was young there was nothing I looked forward to more than my birthday. Nowadays, with every passing year, I feel more and more like an expired can of beans that God forgot to toss out.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Mr. Quinn said. “Every time I hear your name mentioned, it’s always followed with a comment about your impressive stamina. Do you have any secrets for staying in shape or how you keep your energy up?”
“As you get older, it’s important to select the shape you most identify with, and as you can see, I’ve chosen a squash,” Mr. Bailey teased. “When it comes to maintaining a good energy level, I simply make the most out of the four hours a day I’m awake.”
A cheeky grin spread across the author’s face, and the audience roared with laughter. They were pleased to hear him speak with the same trademark wit he wrote with.
“We’re also joined tonight by Mr. Bailey’s family,” Mr. Quinn said, and gestured to the people sitting in the front row. “Thank you for sharing your father and grandfather with us. Mr. Bailey, would you like to introduce your children and grandchildren?”
“I’d be happy to,” Mr. Bailey said. “That’s my older daughter, Elizabeth, her husband, Ben, and their daughter, Charlie. Next we have my son, Matthew, his husband, Henry, and their boys, Ayden and Grayson. Last but certainly not least, my daughter Carrie, her husband, Scott, and their children, Brighton, Sammy, and Levi. As you can see, they’re all adopted—a bunch that good-looking couldn’t possibly share my DNA.”