Since fantasy isn't about technology, the accelleration has no

Hear the voice of Terri Windling, a shaper of stories, who declared: “Since fantasy isn’t about technology, the acceleration has no impact at all. But it’s changed the lives of fantasy writers and editors. I get to live in England and work for a New York publisher!” In these words lies a paradox most profound: that the art of weaving dreams remains untouched by machines, yet the weavers themselves are carried across oceans by the winds of technology. Thus we see that while the substance of myth remains eternal, the tools that carry it into the world are ever-changing.

For what is fantasy, if not the eternal river of human imagination? It flows from the heart, not from the gears of machines. It springs from ancient fires, from the tales told by ancestors beneath the stars. No matter how fast the wheels of acceleration spin, they cannot alter the beating of the human soul that gives birth to dragons, kingdoms, and gods. The stories remain as they ever were: rooted in longing, wonder, and the hunger for meaning.

Yet while the essence of fantasy endures unchanged, the fate of its keepers is transformed. In ancient days, the storyteller was bound to the hearth, to the market square, to the courts of kings. Their audience was limited by distance, their reach confined by geography. But with the coming of new technology, a writer may live in one land and serve readers in another. Windling herself proclaims this miracle: to dwell in England, yet labor for a New York house of publishing. What once demanded arduous journeys is now made simple, carried by wires, satellites, and unseen waves of communication.

Think of the monks of the Middle Ages, cloistered in stone abbeys, their fingers ink-stained from copying manuscripts by hand. Their world of books was slow, costly, fragile. Then came Gutenberg’s press, and suddenly the words of poets, theologians, and philosophers leapt across borders, igniting reformations and revolutions. Did the essence of storytelling change? No. But the storytellers’ lives were transformed, given new reach, new power, new burdens. So too with the writers of our day: fantasy remains rooted in timeless truths, but the means of sharing it have become swift as lightning.

Here is the lesson: technology does not always shape what we create, but it always reshapes how we live and how far our voices can travel. The flame of imagination is eternal, but its light now shines across continents in moments. This is both a blessing and a test. For with such reach comes responsibility—to honor the craft, to maintain depth amidst speed, to resist the temptation of haste and shallowness that acceleration often brings.

For those who listen, take this wisdom into your own lives: let not the tools of the age consume the heart of your work. If you are an artist, remember that the soul of your art is not in the device but in the vision. If you are a worker, remember that the machine may hasten your task but cannot give it meaning. If you are a dreamer, know that fantasy springs from within, even while technology carries your voice to the ends of the earth. Balance the eternal with the fleeting, and you will master both.

Thus Windling’s words remind us of the harmony between permanence and change. Fantasy remains a sacred echo of ancient myth, unbent by the pace of progress. But the lives of its keepers—writers and editors—are lifted by acceleration, freed from borders, empowered to serve the world while rooted in their chosen homes. And so the teaching is clear: let the heart cling to what is eternal, while the hand makes wise use of what is new. In this balance lies not only the future of storytelling, but the path of every soul who walks between the worlds of tradition and innovation.