As children, the world is full of wonder. You can stare at certain things pondering how they work, watch fireflies in the grass and think they're magic, and so on. Do you ever think about how old you were when your sense of the mystical went away? Hopefully, for some of you, it hasn't left.
Writers (all artists really) have an obligation to their fellow humans. Since wonder and magic is lost to everyday toil, we are charged with bringing it back to people who have lost it. If done properly, our words can create worlds never imagined, loves never experienced, trials never faced, and dreams never dared to come to being.
We can call to the sleeping child and tell him/her it is time to come out and play, dream, imagine, hope... it's OK. There is still time to find wonder in a life that is ruled by the demands of work. Maybe, when he/she steps away from what we have created, the world will seem a bit different whether it be bigger, brighter, happier, or a bit more magical.