OOO October's Outta the Drawer Originals, part II

The only thing scarier to a writer than sharing their work, is sharing work you assume is less than perfect. For this week's offering, I'm sharing some bad poetry. I'm not a poet, but sometimes the feeling hits me to write in verse. Maybe my regular muse takes a break and trades off with her rhyming replacement.My point is, don't be afraid to share and tag it OOO October's Outta the Drawer Originals, be it snappy short stories, exciting excerpts or bad poetry (or good, your choice).Here's a touch of whimsy. The Fairy BallA girl and her mother caught in a sudden storm pass the time with the fairies.

OOO October's Outta the Drawer Originals

I interrupt the regularly scheduled FTBC for a special offering. FTBC will return next month.I've been on a alliterative kick lately (for proof see my book website's newest page, Fourth Fridays for Fantasy Foodies) and today is no different. I read a blog post that recommended putting original work out in the world--a frightening prospect for any writer. But the more I thought about it I realized the timing couldn't be better. October holds eerie appeal, with Halloween looming. Nothing's scarier than revealing untested work. Perfect for doing something scary and brave.I encourage other writers to do the same with the title, OOO October Outta the Drawer Originals. Post short stories, flash fiction, and poetry with a spooky/atmospheric bent. Post as often as you can and consider it practice for NaNoWriMo in November. Here's my first offering:Bone WindA girl who loses her mother is adopted by a force of nature. She quickly learns that nature cannot be contained.

Unique To This Moment, or Telling Time the Fairy Tale Way

Here's a random fact about me. I really love clever ways of marking the passage of time. Why say, "in a year", when you can say, "when the barren trees are ready for harvest again"?I especially love it when it illustrates a character. Let me explain... Better yet, here are some examples:When a character uses the phrase, "a month of Sundays," I imagine an older, heavyset religious woman--Presbyterian specifically. To be fair, my vision is this specific because it was a phrase often uttered by Mrs. Rachel Lynde on Avonlea (a favorite series of mine when I was a kid and continues to be so).The term, a fortnight casts my mind back to my historical fiction books and I can see a woman in a long gown, sitting in a castle keep, plotting and planning political intrigue. And a British accent because, why not?Often historical fantasy characters have to account for their ages. Young people will refer to how many summers they've seen, while older characters lament how many winters are left to them.All these examples show poetic ways to explain how a person perceives time. And fairy tales has the most well-known phrase of all:Once upon a time...An occurrence that is unique to this moment gives the reader the impression that the story following that phrase has never happened before or since. When I hear those four words, I'm immediately in a fairy tale.Would it surprise you that out of fifty-eight stories, only eleven have the words, Once Upon a Time, in the story? And only two out of the eleven start with once upon a time! Yet, I still know that when I hear those words I'll conjure far away lands and magical tales in my mind.What's your favorite passage of time phrase?On a separate note, I want to thank my readers, who now number over one hundred! Now that's a way to mark time! 

Diamonds or Toads?

I'm a bit of a news junkie. I get most of my news from newspapers both at home and abroad. But, I will admit that lately I've had to take news breaks because it's become frustrating and ugly.This is not a post about the news. I won't write about politics, nor will I push any agendas. No, what I wanted to write about is how our level of discourse has coarsened. We think attacks are funny or honest. Hateful speech tries to masquerade as free speech. And we're the lesser for it. What's worse, we've become inured to it and therefore can't tell anymore if we're hearing or participating in honest debate or mean-spirited jibes.Wouldn't it be great if there was a simple way to know the difference? Or better yet, a fairy tale way?Charles Perrault was a writer of French fairy tales based on his study of early folk tales. One of my favorite stories was called Les Fées, or The Fairies. Later it was called Diamonds and Toads in the English versions. Simply, the story is about two girls and a mother who favored one over the other. Of course she preferred the nasty daughter and the nice one was treated terribly. The younger one was sent to fetch water and was met by an old beggar woman who asked for a drink. The younger, good daughter was more than happy to help and was rewarded by the beggar (who was a fairy) with the gift of jewels and flowers falling from her mouth when she spoke. The mother sent her favored daughter to do the same, but her ill-tempered responses earned her a curse--to speak and have toads and vipers fall out of her mouth.I won't ruin the ending (mostly because the happily ever after for the good daughter is questionable from a feminist POV), but I think you understand what I'm advocating. Whenever we want to reach for a ugly comment imagine a toad oozing its way out of your mouth or a viper spitting venom at the person you're addressing. And when you instead reach for a kind remark or a engage in an honestly civil debate, jewels and flowers will fall at your feet.In other words, will you choose diamonds or toads?P.S. Remember to take a chance at winning a free copy of A Smuggler's Path. Contest closes July 23, 2018 at 11:59pm ET

Fairy Tale Book Club--The Goose Girl, or how to be a princess without really trying

Welcome to the first posting of the FTBC. And today we'll start with The Goose Girl.Fairy tales are something we keep discovering. I know I am. Sometimes I’m pleasantly surprised when I read a new story. This was not one of those times.The Goose Girl, one of the many stories from the brothers Grimm, is about a much-loved princess who is sent to a far-off land to wed a prince. She’s send with a servant, who decides she doesn’t want to be a servant anymore and refuses to help the princess in any way. By the time they reach the prince’s castle, the princess is a disheveled mess. What’s more, the servant says she’s the princess. She has the real princess sent to be a servant and for good measure makes sure the real princess’ horse has his head lopped off because it can talk and will likely spill the beans.So the real princess becomes a goose girl, helping the goose boy herd geese in the fields. She never says a word even though the goose boy tries to touch her hair, the horse still speaks (it’s head it mounted over an entranceway), and she’s generally miserable. The king finally notices and long story short (I know, too late) everything is fixed ala Gilbert and Sullivan.Forgetting for a moment that the real princess is sent off to meet her new prince with just a servant and a talking horse for company, this story is truly disturbing. The moral of the story is to stay meek and silent and then good things will come to you. The servant, who wanted more for herself is obviously the villain (equicide aside) because she speaks up. I’ll admit there is a time for silence, but this story borders on martyrdom. A chilling thing to teach a girl.But this blog is about finding insight in generally arcane stories for a modern reader. I want to say, if you’re ever in a jam make sure you have a talking horse, but I imagine horses are judgmental and who needs the running commentary on a long ride? No, I think the best thing we can take away from this story is a cautionary tale. If you don’t speak up, you may end up in situations best avoided. We can’t all have kings and horses watching our backs!So what do you think?Remember, comments will automatically enter you in the Smuggler's Path contest.Here are the rules:

1.  The comment has to be about the story, The Goose Girl.
2. Fill out the form. Pick your book format preference.
3.  Each comment will add your name to my hat for a better chance to win a free copy of A Smuggler's Path. Three winner will be chosen.
4. The contest ends July 23, 2018 at midnight ET.

[contact-form][contact-field label="Name" type="name" required="1" /][contact-field label="Email" type="email" required="1" /][contact-field label="Website" type="url" /][contact-field label="Comment" type="textarea" required="1" /][contact-field label="Format" type="radio" options="paperback,mobi,epub" /][/contact-form]Next Month's FTBC reading: The Fairy by Charles Perrault

The Witch

As a young girl, I wanted to be a witch. They were mystical and wise. People came to them for help. Most importantly, witches had magic. They could conjure spells, brew potions, and divine the future. In short, they effected real change with power, knowledge and will. Who wants to be a princess when that's available?According to fairy tales, everyone.Princess-hood is usually a desired outcome for most women in fairy tales. It usually allowed them to leave a difficult or abusive situation. Cinderella abandoned being a scullery. Snow White was saved from the creepy obsessions of her step mother. Sleeping Beauty got to leave the woods and wake her entire kingdom. In the latter two cases, they were born princesses, but it didn’t mean much until they found a prince. What if they wanted different things?The Evil queen never needed a man’s permission to exert her will.But we’re taught to root for the vulnerable princess (or scullery) and despise the witch. To be fair, witches who use their power to kill little girls who might be prettier than them are despicable. However, I try and look at it from their point of view. The world in which these women lived considered magic evil, especially in a woman. Her only acceptable power was perceived power, i.e. the power she could wield through her husband or other male figure. Historically speaking, the witch represented everything a patriarchal society feared—a woman with power over men and the natural world. So, if your only acceptable power is being pretty enough to convince men to follow your orders, is it any wonder a prettier, younger woman is a threat? She shouldn’t have killed the girl, but her fear was real.I’m an adult now and I’m still fascinated with witches--their mysteries and knowledge a source of endless study. They’re my go-to paranormal/fantasy read and my preferred heroine to write about usually has some supernatural abilities (as well as other strengths). Not only does it bring a little magic to the everyday, but it always reminds me of my power. And maybe a potion or two…

Bad Choices and the Epic Adventure

A couple of days ago I was reading a post on a blog I follow, Life in the Realm of Fantasy, and it posed the question about crisis points for a character. Her example was driving down a road where the signs are missing, but the character keeps driving anyway. I think of a fork in the road—one looks peaceful but long, the other ominous yet short. A character takes the short cut. If you have a minute, you should definitely read her post, Crisis and the Point of No Return—it’ll get you thinking. It certainly did that for me. Are bad decisions necessary for a good story?Try this story: Once there was a woman who received a mysterious letter in the mail. In it she was promised adventures and a great treasure if she agrees to participate in a game fraught with peril. She tears up the letter and says, “Do you think I’m crazy?” and continues with her day.It was a sound decision. Who in their right mind responds to letters from strangers promising prizes only if the participant agrees to danger? Maybe that’s why so many fantasy novels take place in the past—our modern minds imagine scams, conspiracies, and other rational explanations. The scenario only becomes a story if the woman agrees to the terms, which the everyday person would consider a bad idea. It’s what makes books, TV shows and movies so appealing.As a child, I was very practical. I got into trouble like any other kid, but I was rarely foolish. I saved that kind of thinking for my reading. In reading I was allowed to take the forbidden path and hunt for treasure. My books were about kids who jumped on their bikes after dark and headed for the haunted house in order to free some ghost from a curse. I watched the Goonies and thought they were nuts, but I was glad someone was crazy enough to poke in dank caves for me.Writers are pushed to make situations difficult for their characters. In fantasy, it isn’t enough that the protagonist has a speech impediment—she has to be the only person who can read the magic spell that saves the kingdom and do so without a mistake. Why does she have to do it? If any of us were presented with a similar situation, we’d hide under our beds until the crisis was over.So, does it follow that bad decisions lead to good stories? Maybe yes, maybe no, but sensible decisions rarely become novels.Any thoughts?Special thanks to Connie Jasperson, blogger for Life in the Realm of Fantasy, whose great post sparked an idea for my bloggers block!

Transformations with The Little Mermaid

 Having a blog has taught me some interesting things about myself. Some things I already knew and the blog just solidified the fact (i.e. I thrive on deadlines because without them my default is lazy). Some were funny (like how ridiculously happy it makes me when someone leaves a comment). How guarded I am was a big surprise.I like meeting people in person. I strike up random conversations on mass transit, waiting for my daughter to be dismissed from school, in elevators, etc. I’ll answer questions, give advice and even share my phone number if I think we’re going to be friends (I know this is totally against what Winnie the Pooh taught me when he sang “Be too smart for strangers.”). I really like to share because invariably it leads to others sharing with you. I’m not a blabbermouth, but I’m rather open.Not so with the internet. It took me two years to put my real name on the blog. I still don’t have a Facebook account because I’m uncomfortable having people randomly find me (I know what you’re thinking—but you have a blog!) and I do as much as I can to avoid signing up for anything that requires personal information. It’s something I continually struggle with—transformation is tricky. It’s like my relationship with the Little Mermaid.I have a real problem with The Little Mermaid. The Disney version tells the story of a 16 year old who falls in love with a man she’s only seen once and proceeds to defy her father, give up her legs and voice to a sea witch, and then find a way to make the prince fall in love with her. Being Disney, she is able to persevere and win his love after which her father gives her legs and she and Prince Eric sail off into the sunset happy and married. Her age is my biggest qualm because as the mother of a headstrong daughter I shudder at how easily King Triton gave into Ariel’s hissy-fit. It’s the same reason I really dislike Romeo and Juliet (two teens throwing the ultimate hissy and make good on the threat “If I don’t get my way, I’ll just die!”). Despite writing YA I’m against hyperbole.But the original story has her trading her tail for legs, which makes her the most graceful person on land but she must experience the pain of walking on dozens of knife points with every step. What did I learn? Real transformation is painful—a constant battle. Even after all that pain the tragic Little Mermaid opted to let her true love be happy with another instead of taking his life to regain her tail. I’ve never been a fan of martyrdom, but it makes a point.Now, I’m almost ashamed to say, I finally read the original work by Hans Christian Andersen. (Imagine someone with a blog about fairy tales not having read a fairy tale!) In the real story she does lose the prince (and a chance at an immortal soul), but because of her selfless act she’s asked to join the “daughters of the air” who after three hundred years of good service earn an immortal soul. Being air she can bring breezes and “carry the scent of flowers through the air, bringing freshness and healing balm wherever we go.”What all versions have in common is sacrifice. To get what you want, you may have to give something up. For me it’s anonymity. That’s probably why I started this blog by rewriting fairy tales…it gave me a place to hide.After two years of blogging, I think I’m finally ready for my land legs even with the risk of stabbing knives (Does that count as hyperbole?). I still have issues with The Little Mermaid, but I understand what it’s like to know where you want to be and pursuing it.Welcome to the new Fairytale Feminista blog, answering life’s questions one fairy tale at a time. See my new About Me page!

Losing it

I’ve been thinking about loss and fairy tales lately. It’s the prologue to most stories, shaping the hero’s or heroine’s current misfortune. Be they motherless, fatherless, or orphans loss is the beginning of a story in fairy tales. Disney has made this fact into a cliché. It’s been joked that Frozen didn’t become a true Disney movie until (spoiler alert) the parents are lost at sea. I almost think it’s pointless to warn you of the spoiler because as I mentioned before, it’s Disney’s hallmark.So what can fairy tales tell us about loss? Is it the impetus that makes ordinary people into heroes? Do princesses (or would be princesses) jump at the chance to marry royal strangers because of “daddy issues”? Are feelings of abandonment just the push a boy needs to take on giants and consider thievery as a way of life? Maybe yes, but maybe nothing so blatant.As a historian, I’m aware that these stories were written in a time when disease, war or poverty would likely tear apart families. But fairy tales don’t care about the mundane. They focus on the fantastical, spinning tales that take us out of the everyday. Wouldn’t you want to escape a reality in which becoming orphaned probably only meant a life of impoverishment and servitude? In the real world, Cinderella would have grown old and haggard at the beck and call of those three spiteful cats. Or she would have run away to the city and been forced into prostitution to survive.But I’m not just a historian. I’m a person with whimsy who sees imprisoned souls in strangely shaped trees. All it takes is a too bright moon and I immediately start to spin a tale about a community of nightwalkers affected by its phases, collecting magical Moonshine. Not all the ideas become a full-fledged story, but more than a fair share get filed in my ideas folder. And one of the most basic things everyone wonders about is death and loss, so why isn’t it a prominent feature in fairy tales? Sleeping Beauty side-steps it with a sleeping spell meant to keep her in suspended animation for a century waiting for her “true love.” Snow White is barely cold in her glass coffin before Prince Charming comes along and dislodges the chunk of apple the dwarves were clearly too short to Heimlich. Red Riding Hood and her grandmother are swallowed whole by the Wolf only to be cut out of his belly by the Woodsman. Even the newest old story, Frozen, gives us a heroine who sacrifices her life and is rewarded by it being returned to her.In my search for loss in fairy tales, I came across a story from my childhood. It falls under folklore and legend more than fairy tale, and is a popular story in Puerto Rico. It’s called La Leyenda de la Piedra del Perro, or The Legend of Dog Rock. Not far from El Morro in Old San Juan there’s a small beach with a long natural rock wall. At its tip is a rock formation that when looked at from the right angle resembles a sitting dog.The story goes that a soldier, Enrique, from back when Puerto Rico was part of Spain, was stationed there, far from home and lonely for companionship. One day he finds an injured and emaciated puppy whom he nurses back to health with food and love. In return the dog never leaves his side and becomes his best friend. As is inevitable with all soldiers, Enrique is called to a battle which requires him to leave the dog behind. They part tearfully and as the boat carrying his human companion sails away, the dog (called Amigo) swims to the rock wall and sits there from sun up to sundown awaiting his return. There’s a brutal battle in which all hands, including Enrique, are lost. The dog overhears the news and rushes out to the wall waiting without respite. He stays so long and so still he turns to stone and remains there to this day.I’m not sure what that story teaches us. On the one hand loss is something that can’t be gotten over and you can remain stuck in a moment of despair without moving on. Or it could mean that loss forces out the very nature of a being. For the dog, it was loyalty. It could be said that for the characters of popular fairy tales, it was a desire to be more or escape their current situation. In both cases, it led to profound change. Fairy tales teach us that no matter how mundane today might seem and yesterday was, tomorrow could be extraordinary--either good or ill. They teach us that loss is not the end of the story.

Waiting as taught by Thumbelina

I hate waiting.I rank it up there with pulling teeth and stupid people. It's not that I can't deal with having a tooth pulled or muddle through interactions with the intentionally daft, but I'd rather not--thank you very much!But writing has taught me about waiting because books don't spring forth perfect and complete when you snap your fingers. I've tried and barring the sudden arrival of Samantha or Tabitha, it won't happen. (I would have used a more contemporary reference like Charmed, but they were always so worried about that personal gain thing).Currently I'm in the longest waiting period, the time before school begins and my days become mine again. I now understand all those Staples commercials where parents push carts beatifically buying school supplies for disgruntled children--it is the most wonderful time of the year! As I've seen time and again, mothers (and fathers) who are also writers have had to reconcile their lack of productivity while their kids are home. We talk about it, write about it, commiserate and tell each other it's okay. Use the time for other things, like reading or in my case note taking for book 4.But all the sympathetic noises in the world can't silence that small voice in your head saying you had a deadline, which has come and gone. That got me to thinking about Thumbelina.You remember the story? Woman can't have children (I think because she's alone and sperm banks weren't exactly the rage in Early Modern Europe), so the village witch gives her a seed to plant from which a girl "no bigger than my thumb" is born. Good thing is wasn't me--I've killed cacti.Anyway, after the idyllic stage, Thumbelina is kidnapped, lost, stolen, and myriad other things which take her from her mother. And just like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, she wants to go home. At some point, winter comes (just as it always does--thank you GoT) and she knows she can't make the trek in that kind of weather. She hibernates with a field mouse and an injured bird until the spring thaw. And then she is reunited with her mother. But during this time away she made friends, met other people her own size, and even fell in love with a fairy prince (I object to that part, but it rounds out the story).Now I can't claim that I've gone on life-changing adventures, but I've spent time with my family, written notes and learned new things about my story I wouldn't have noticed if I was furiously writing. The same thing happened when I was looking for work. While I was keeping my head in interviews, resumes, and searches, I didn't stop to ask why I was doing it. When I finally took a breath, I realized I was happiest writing. I don't know if I would have made that leap if I were still keeping my head down.So, the next time I start to get down on myself for not finishing book 4 by the end of summer I'll think of Thumbelina. The journey is worth just as much as the destination...but I still hate waiting.

The Hidden Minority Part II

I've been looking for a topic for some time now. After spending a week at Disney World, something occurred to me. Something I haven't shared with you.I have a confession to make.Like Frieda from Peanuts I have naturally curly hair. We even have the same "birthday" although mine is many years removed. According to my internet research (and we all know how reliable that is!) she made her debut on March 6th, 1961. Twenty years later, this curly girl blogger was born. I always liked Frieda because she, unlike me, was proud of her naturally curly hair and mentioned it at every opportunity. I, on the other had, tend to do everything in my power to make my hair straight, or at least no more than wavy. I know I'm not alone, but this year I decided to take a bold step. I've gone curly.To you straight-haired girls, this is hardly worth mentioning, but to those in the know it's a revelation. But the revelation also comes with a catch. No curly-haired role models, or very few on hand. The field gets even thinner when you look at the representations of classic fairy tale characters. Our only lighthouse in the sea of hair is Merida from Disney Pixar's Brave, whose hair was quickly smoothed out when she made her debut as a Disney princess. Even proud Frieda, with her bouncy locks, began to fade into obscurity in favor of helmet-haired Lucy and lanky-haired Marcie and Peppermint Patty.When did we decided that our fairy-tale heroes and heroines couldn't have naturally curly hair? After Snow White, it was quite a while before Disney even had a non-blonde princess, let alone a curly one. I watched the parades, princess meet & greets, and noticed a distinct lack of curls. Is it a silly thing to ask for corkscrews and fractals with a penchant for absorbing ambient moisture? I am officially adding curly girls to my hidden minority.I suppose there are more important issues to soapbox about like honest equality, world peace, an myriad other pressing concerns.I want world peace, and I think a great way to start is for me to make peace with my hair.

"Jack" and the Beanstalk

I think we can all agree that, on the whole, fairy tales try to teach us something about life. Usually there are warnings about the dangers of taking a dark path, talking to strangers, and not minding your elders. Others show how goodness can reap its own rewards and sometimes a castle and a title for your troubles. What about stories that do neither? I'm talking about Jack and the Beanstalk.There's some debate as to how old the story of Jack and the Beanstalk is, but the story pretty much stays the same. Jack and his mother are poor and their last asset, a milking cow, is no longer viable. Jack has to take the cow to market, but is met by a man along the way who offers him magic beans in exchange for his cow. Jack, for some reason, jumps at the chance and upon showing his prize to his mother is rebuked. She tosses them out the window in a huff, but by morning they have grown clear to the clouds. Jack climbs, finds a home and a sympathetic woman who feeds him and warns that her husband will come back hungry for the "blood of an Englishman". Jack, who is either clever or proof that God takes care of fools and babies, eludes the giant three times and steals his gold, his golden egg laying goose, and a self-playing harp. He then chops down the beanstalk killing the giant and lives with his mother happily ever after and rich.It's a great story, action-packed and complete with a happy ending, but what's the moral? If you're stupid enough to sell your cow for some magic beans you may luck into a fortune if you're willing to kill a giant? I've read and seen a few versions of this story. My favorite was the one with Matthew Modine called Jim Henson's Jack and the Beanstalk: The Real Story aired on NBC when it did mini-series before succumbing to the black hole that is cheap reality TV. It gave a plausible account as to why Jack did what he did and the repercussions of his actions. Of course I saw the Warner Bros. big screen adaptation, Jack the Giant Slayer, which was a slight disappointment. At the end when (spoiler alert!) the magical crown that controlled the evil giants was finally taken by the princess, she handed it over to Jack instead of using its power herself. This after an entire movie of her trying to prove that she could take care of herself. But it got me thinking, what if Jack had been female? Would it have turned out the same way? Is it true that women prefer diplomacy to violent confrontations? I would submit that there are few who actually like physical confrontations, but it seems more acceptable for women to take that path. Once there was a poor farmer who lived with his daughter. Her name was Jacqueline, but everyone knew her as Jack. Jack and her father only had one milking cow and very little else, but the day came when the cow no longer gave milk. Jack's father decided the best thing to do would be to sell the cow at market to a butcher and in that way have some food to eat for the winter. Jack loved the little cow, but her father was unmoved by her pleas. So with a heavy heart and a small snack for the road, Jack offered to take the cow herself so she might have a chance to bid the creature a proper goodbye.Along the way, she met with a man who looked even hungrier than her. Already feeling down about having to butcher the cow, she offered her meager lunch to the man. He gratefully sat down to eat and asked that she sit beside him. At length he finished the meal and then asked Jack why she looked so sad. Jack told the man the story of her cow and what had to be done to keep food on the table. The man considered a moment and said, "What if you didn't have to kill your cow and could still put food on your table?""I would say it's a miracle," replied Jack."Not a miracle. Magic. Magic beans to be more precise," corrected the man. He fished into his tattered pocket and pulled out four iridescent beans no bigger than a fingernail. He placed them in Jack's hand. "Now, although I am thankful you shared your meal with me, I cannot give these to you without payment. Magic unpaid costs more in the end.""But I have nothing to give you. I've told you I'm poor," reasoned Jack."Ah, but you have that nice cow. I promise she will not be killed or eaten, but to keep her alive and your stomach full you must give her to me in exchange for the beans," he replied. Jack was skeptical, but was heartsick over the thought of having to eat her friend, so she handed the lead over to the man. Looking down at the handful of beans, sparkling in the sunlight, Jack had only one question."How do they work?" But the man and the cow had disappeared. Jack saw that as proof of the man's magical claims and ran home, the beans clutched tightly in her hand...

Magic and Mayhem VII

“Are you sure this is the only way?” asked her companion.“Bronwen seems to think so and Uriel is getting suspicious. Why else would he go through this farce of trying to marry me off to someone who can learn what we do at night,” replied Mariana.“We know nothing of military tactics and have no magic. How will we take the kingdom from Father?”“It still surprises me that you can call him that, Mariano, considering what he’s done to you and our brothers,” she said with bitterness.“Be that as it may, we need help to accomplish this,” Mariano said. “It was daunting enough figuring out that we could only meet at night in the nether realms if we danced together. We’ve never tried leaving before.”“Yes, but mother was convinced that we had to wait until we were all of age and together. Anora and Lenoro are now thirteen so we need only figure out how to defeat Uriel,” she said. Both of them knew full well that getting to the surface with their brothers would be for naught if Uriel could just banish them again. “I’ll think of something, but be ready soon.”The soldier continued to listen to the pair hatch plans and then reject them as too far-fetched or requiring too much time. His training saw the flaws in each idea and began to improve upon them instinctively resolving the matters they couldn’t grasp. Soon he was intrigued by the idea of helping them, but they were leaving for the surface. With farewells and promises to return the following night, the princesses climbed the spiral staircase back to their room before dawn.On the second night, much the same happened and the soldier spent most of his time admiring the sharp mind and tenacity of the eldest princess. He wanted to reveal himself, but didn’t want to startle her and her siblings. The following night at dinner he overheard a conversation between the king and his sorcerer.“This soldier will fail as the others have, but I think I have a better idea. Perhaps I should try to figure out what the princesses are up to at night. If I do, I would gladly marry Mariana,” he said with great humility. The soldier could see the sorcerer wore humility as he wore his cloak of invisibility—as a tool. Finally he made up his mind.That night, when the Princess Mariana brought the soldier his cup of wine before bed, he stopped her.“Princess I know where you go at night, but your bigger concern should be if I fail. The king has agreed to let Uriel follow you after I’m banished and marry you when he reports your whereabouts. It’s time to execute your plan,” he said holding her hand. She was visibly startled by his revelation, but was dismayed that her time was up.“Our plans aren’t ready. We don’t even know how to overcome Uriel's magic,” she said.“Leave that to me,” he replied and quickly donned his cloak.To the others they said nothing until they reached the enchanted palace by the lake. The soldier explained what he would do and explained each of their roles in the coming ruse. When the princesses left at dawn, the soldier stayed behind with the princes.The next night the princesses came down as always, but there was some hesitancy in the youngest. She knew they were being followed and couldn’t play the part of ignorant as well as her elder sisters. However, Uriel barely noticed her agitation as he walked at a discreet distance from the party. Marveling at the surroundings he didn’t feel anything amiss until he was toppled by the darkness.The eldest prince and princess helped to drag him to the water’s edge. With the aid of the swans, Uriel was lifted then dropped in the center of the lake and the swans fluttered and squawked on the surface keeping him under. Soon the thrashing ceased and one swan plunged down into the depths and came up with the sorcerer in his beak. Lifeless, the soldier checked for signs of life and found none. Wasting no time, the princes, princesses, and the soldier hurried to the portal and up the stairs.Being rid of the sorcerer gave the siblings courage to confront their father. The king was lost without his adviser and gave up his kingdom without a fight. Prince Mariano, now king showed his gratitude to the soldier by giving him titles, honors and a generous tract of land to govern, which he did with the help of Princess Mariana. At their wedding, the soldier was introduced to the princess's confidante, Bronwen and they shared a secret smile."What is so funny?" asked Mariana."It's a rather interesting story," said Bronwen and the three continued to enjoy the celebration.The End

Magic and Mayhem Part V

A week later in the council, Uriel brought up a delicate matter before those present. He waited until he had a full audience to make sure none would miss the opportunity to hear his words.

“You Highness, an alarming report has come to my attention. I believe the princesses have been sneaking out of the castle at night. Of course my concern is only for their welfare and the reputation of the kingdom, but we should ask Princess Mariana what she knows of this,” he said with his head bowed. He took a quick glance of the princess from the corner of his vision, hoping to catch a glimpse of her reaction.

“Mariana is this true? Do you and your sisters leave the castle unescorted at night?” asked the king with a frown. His daughter, with a curtsey, moved towards the dais.

“Father, I know not to what Uriel is referring. We don’t leave the grounds and if we do it’s never unattended or after dark. Perhaps he is mistaken,” she replied with a straight back, but she wiped her hands discretely on the sides of her gown.

“You Highness, I wouldn’t want to accuse your daughters of telling falsehoods, but perhaps a disinterested third party would be a better judge. I propose that we ask someone from outside of the kingdom to discover the lies in this dangerous slander,” Uriel said and paused with a small smile as though an idea was forming.

“Allow others into my kingdom? I do not like the idea of others thinking they can better manage the goings-on of my own daughters,” said the king looking sharply at his eldest.

“Perhaps we can make it a contest of sorts. Suitable men will be given three days to discover the truth or lies to this tale and for a reward they can have the hand of one of your daughters. However, if they should fail they will be locked away so they cannot report this to anyone. To the other kingdoms it will merely look as though you are finding candidates for your daughters to wed,” he replied slowly. The king stood up still looking at his daughter. Something he saw in her face made him pause.

“Agreed. Let there be a royal proclamation that my eldest daughter is of marriageable age,” he said to Mariana. She bowed her head and swept out of the room, but caught the smile on Uriel face.

Magic and Mayhem Part IV

Magic and Mayhem Part I

Magic and Mayhem Part II

Magic and Mayhem Part III

The next morning, Princess Amara left with her father on a week’s progress. All in attendance thought that she looked every inch a princess with a new gown, satin slippers, and a regal bearing. If any noted that she also looked exhausted they ignored her sluggish steps. The circles under her eyes could only be seen by the king, who shared her coach.

Uriel was left to look over state affairs and one of his first acts was to hire girl from the village who could help Bronwen with onerous chores. She was also charged with letting Uriel know if there was anything amiss. Thankful to have employment and smitten with Uriel, she was only too eager to oblige. What she discovered was puzzling.

“Sir, I think the princesses leave the castle at night,” she reported. “Wherever they go it must be a wilderness for their slippers as well as their tempers are frayed the next morning. Do you suppose they go to the village through the old woods?” Uriel did not answer her questions and dismissed her curtly to attend his thoughts.

After the maid left, Uriel looked over his books on portents and prophesies. While many knew the king’s fate to lose his kingdom while still living, none but two knew the first part.

Twins will come to a kingdom, one to wed and another to rule

The male will use the king as his tool

But when a son is born to the pair with a daughter

His realm will he lose to the former, not the latter

The rhyme reminded him of the faithful day that he and his sister had come to the palace. His twin sister had been a blushing bride and perfect queen until she began to bear twins to the king. Uriel was able to instill fear in the king with the last couplet and convinced him to banish his sons to the nether realms. His sister remembered the rhyme and became a fierce adversary until Uriel had to banish her, too. He was lucky that magic was not one of her gifts and he assumed her children were just as powerless.

But now he began to wonder where the girls went at night and to what purpose. Mariana had always been a contrary creature, seeking out matters that were none of her concern. Perhaps the girls were trying to find their mother. It was of little consequence none but he knew where she had been sent, but perhaps it was time to get the eldest princess out of the way.

Magic and Mayhem Part III

Magic and Mayhem Part I

Magic and Mayhem Part II

The council was well under way when Mariana ambled in following Uriel. Nothing of note was to be discussed today, so she wondered why her father had insisted she attend. It was her custom to hold court at his side, but she had other matters today. Her preparations for Amara’s birthday surprise weren’t yet finished and Uriel had rudely interrupted her plans.

“Mariana, we thank you for your presence. I wanted your opinion regarding Amara’s present,” he said when she approached the dais. Her curtsey was correct to the point of rudeness. Of late she had been distant and deflective. He hoped seeking her out would warm her to him, but her feelings had yet to thaw. Since her mother’s departure he felt her feelings towards him change and not for the better.

“Father, I’m sure your choice is best,” she replied looking at him yet through him. Lately she’d been oddly deferential. Uriel had pointed it out and he had to agree. With Amara turning thirteen, he realized he had little time left. This was the birthday when they all his girls turned on him. At first he wondered if it was the change from child to woman that made them aloof from their father, but now he wasn’t so sure. At the heart of it, he feared his eldest was to blame and he meant to correct it before it was too late for Amara.

“Well, I’ve decided to take Amara away on a progress of the kingdom. She has such an adventurous spirit I feel the trip will be a welcome delight. What say you to that?” asked the king. Searching her face he found no reaction, but her cool manner reminded him of her mother, the queen. He awaited the argument that would ensue.

“I wonder that you never offered any of my sisters the same opportunity, but I would ask that you waited until tomorrow so I might give her my gift before you leave. She might have use of it on her journey,” she said with the same cool restraint. Only a momentary widening of the eyes alerted Uriel to her displeasure. The king, on the other hand, was grateful for her quiet submissiveness.

Magic and Mayhem Part II

Magic and Mayhem Part I

Thirteen Years Later...

Bronwen searched through an old trunk looking for a discarded dress of one of the older princesses. The garment still had usable fabric perfect for cannibalizing. If memory served, and little escaped her recollection, Princess Anora’s castoff gown matched Princess Amara’s perfectly. It was amazing that the youngest was now to celebrate her thirteenth year. Where had the time gone? With all the activity going on, Bronwen took it upon herself to make sure Amara’s dress was the loveliest at the ball. Her eyes began to mist thinking that this task should have been the queen’s, but she shook her head. She refused to let sadness to take root in any part of this day.

Rummaging through the trunk, she found more discards. Other dresses, faded and dried flowers, and a multitude of old dancing slippers padded the bottom. She clicked her tongue, fishing out the sought after dress and then closed the lid gently. What would she do with those girls?

“I really should tell them to be more careful. If anyone knew where they went…”

“And where do they go, Bronwen?” asked smooth and silky voice. Bronwen started and instinctively sat down on the top of the trunk. She could feel the heat from a banked fire warm her backside. Clutching the fabric to her chest, she regarded the intruder.

“Who said anyone goes anywhere? What do mean by sneaking up on old woman about their own business?” she asked with a sneer. The intruder merely raised an eyebrow and walked further into the room.  His eyes swept languidly across the scene in front of him.

“All that goes on in this kingdom is my business, or have you forgotten that I have the ear of the king?” he asked willing a confrontation.

“More like the soul of our king. And I would find that more impressive if I didn’t have the ear of the queen,” she replied looking towards the ground. The tears that had threatened earlier were coming to the surface, but she wouldn’t let them fall in front of this odious man.

“And where is she now? My sister has been gone these 10 years and most likely dead. At least I think of her as such,” he said. Her head snapped up at that remark as he knew it would. Goading her was just a perk, but her evasiveness made him curious. “What are doing?”

“None of your concern, Uriel. I’m merely making sure the Princess has her gown ready for the birthday festivities. Shouldn’t you be in council?”

“Yes I should, but I was sent to find Princess Mariana. Do you know where she’s gotten to?” asked Uriel watching Bronwen’s face very carefully. He knew the old woman was hiding something, but her face betrayed nothing. Her hands however were worrying the fabric.

“Try the rose gardens or the sword room. My lady has a penchant for all things sharp,” she replied noting his attention. Abruptly she put the fabric down, but did not rise.

“Of course. And by the way, perhaps we’ve overtaxed you with duties. You shouldn’t have to mend dresses when those lower than you could. I’ll take it upon myself to find you a useful girl to help with menial tasks,” he said over his shoulder as he went in search of the king’s eldest. Bronwen had a keen mind and knew that anyone Uriel gave her would be more spy than helper. Rising slowly from the chest, she emptied it of all the tattered and torn dancing shoes. Stoking the fire, she threw them all in and hoped Uriel hadn’t seen them.

Magic and Mayhem - A reimaging of the 12 Dancing Princesses

I've read quite a few versions of the 12 Dancing Princesses and even remember watching a TV movie or two. Basically, it revolves around a mystery. A king has 12 daughters who he locks up every night only to find that their dancing shoes are worn through every morning. He asks them where they go. The eldest tells their father that they never leave their room. How can they? He locks them in every night. So, he proclaims that the man who can figure out where they go gets the eldest as his wife. Of course plenty of eligible nobles try and fail, but a wounded soldier is able to follow them with the help of a wisewoman, who cloaks him in invisibility. He follows them to an underground kingdom where the girls dance with enchanted princes every night. After falling in love with the eldest princess, he tells the king the truth and marries the princess.

Call me crazy, but what kind of deal it that? Getting locked in your room and then when you try and have a little fun you're sold to a snitch? I'm thinking of changing the name of this blog to Happily Ever After? because when you look at these stories it's hard to see the up side. So I tried to write a story that would give these princesses their much deserved happily ever after.

Part I

An expectant hush pervaded the room. All that could be heard was the crackling of a stoked fire and the snoring of a lone drunk sleeping it off in the corner. The new arrival walked purposeful to the man who held himself slightly apart. Those around him instinctively took a step back in deference to his importance. Their visitor’s light tread faltered slightly when she reached the king, but she held her expression as blank as possible.

“What news? Is it done?” asked the king neutrally. The emissary wasn’t fooled seeing how tightly he held on the back of his chair.

“You have a fine daughter,” replied the woman and barely had the words out before the cheers and well wishes were declared in chummy unison. Movement suffused the space as men smiled and patted each other on the back. In a mass they all converged on the king, still gripping the back of the chair waiting for the woman to finish her task. She had yet to move and set his mouth in a grim line waiting for her next words. “And an equally fine son,” she continued in a whisper.

A burly man with a scarred face was about to clap his hand on the king’s shoulder, but quickly stopped his approach when he heard the words uttered. Another whispered in the corner to a confused witness, “It’s the prophesy. It’ll always have its say, it will. No matter how many children the king has it’s always twins, a girl and a boy.”

“Why should that make a difference? The queen is in good health and sons are always a blessing to a king with a large kingdom and enemies to spare,” replied the stranger.

“Not when the enemies are inside. The prophesy states that one of his son will inherit the kingdom while the king still lives,” he replied and didn’t have to add that a son inheriting a kingdom from a living king must have committed an act of treason to do so.

The happy bonhomie of a few moments ago became a stilted silence. Even the fire dimmed slightly. The king finally released his grip on the chair.

“Thank you, Bronwen. I will see the queen momentarily. Someone fetch the court sorcerer,” he said and exhaled audibly. No one met his eye as he sought another glass of wine and the solace of the hearth. It did little to save his mood.

The Tale of Red Riding Hood...Part III

The Tale of Red Riding Hood Part IThe Tale of Red Riding Hood Part IIWhen last we left our heroine, she was running from a pack of vengeful wolves in the company of her mysterious travel companion, Rummy...

On Red Riding Hood ran, feeling the same panic she felt as a little girl facing down a wolf in her grandmother’s gown. There was no woodsman to save her now, but the thought jolted her memory. Still running, she fumbled with her cape feeling the familiar heaviness of the ax. Her concentration was so focused on freeing the weapon from the billowing fabric, that she didn’t notice the exposed root of an oak in front of her. She landed with a crash, but quickly grabbed up the ax.

The wolves were now in a tight circle around her, snapping and salivating. Rummy was close behind, still laughing at the foolish girl on the ground.

“This is the family of the two wolves you killed. The fairies promised to make me one of them if I could help a creature who is reviled. Nothing is more hated than a wolf lurking in the woods. Now they shall have their revenge and I’ll have my reward.”

Red had little time to think about his words for before long she was beset by teeth and claws. Her ax was her only defense, which she used in short, hacking strokes. The wolves had not expected Red to be armed, but their blood lust and need for revenge fueled their attacks. Two of them continued to lunge even after sustaining terrible wounds and another three tried plunging under the arc of the ax.

Her arm began to feel heavy, but Red continued in fear for her life. The attacks were becoming clumsy on both sides. The two fiercest wolves were beginning to succumb to their injuries and the other three were losing the rhythm of her hacks. Soon all of them were in a heap of fur and blood and Red, bloodied and bruised herself, was the victor. An enraged Rummy stomped his feet and railed against the silence.

“I did as you asked. It’s not my fault they weren’t able to revenge themselves!” he yelled at the heavens. Red raised her ax keeping a safe distance from herself and the man shrieking in front of her. Through the trees a voice whispered on the wind.

“Helping those in need is not hurting others. This is your third such offense. You may not join us and what’s more you will become a figure of ridicule until you can find a soul to love you,” said the voice and Rummy was transformed into small wizened man with scant hair and a pointy face. He looked like an angry man child stomping his feet and then running away from the forest.

“To you Red of the Riding Hood, we give our good wishes. If there is anything you want, please name it.”

Red thought long and hard about her wish and was inspired by the events of the day. The fairies honored her request and sent her back to her cottage in the woods from which an ax shaped sign swung reading, “Red of the Riding Hood, Forest Escort”.

As for Rummy, he found another who needed his help. A miller’s daughter with a room full of straw…

 THE END?

The Tale of Red Riding Hood...Part II

When we last saw our heroine, she was leaving a tavern in search of an adventure and being followed by a mysterious man with a nefarious reputation.Red continued down the path through the middle of town. The sun wasn't warm enough to take off her namesake cloak. The chill in the air didn't seem to bother all the townsfolk walking about and stealing glances at it. But whether they were staring at her or her clothing was of little importance to Red. She was more concerned with finding a quest. What she didn't know was that adventure was coming for her.

“Are you lost little girl?” asked the man as he approached.

“I am neither little or lost, sir,” she replied making a point not to look the man in the eye. Her hand instinctively went under her cloak to assure herself the ax the woodsman had given her was still accessible. The reflex was not lost on the man and it gave him an idea.

“Ah, an adventurer. I knew from the look of you that you were no ordinary girl…young woman,” said the man warming to his theme. “I think I may be able to help you.”

“I do not need help,” she replied, but she stopped nonetheless. Something in his voice was compelling. Then again she remembered the flattering wolf who led her astray. “Who are you?”

“I am a traveler, like yourself. I was going to the capitol, but I’ve been told there is a fearsome band of outlaws living on the roadway and walking it alone has become treacherous. I had hoped to get a group of people to walk with me. Outlaws are less likely to attack a group. Sadly, none will make the journey with me for they are frightened. Perhaps the party that came with you would allow me to join them?”

“I came alone for I can take care of myself. Wolves are all the same whether on two feet or four,” she replied with a smirk. The man stifled a chuckle at her arrogance.

“Perhaps we two can share the journey together. I can see you are quite capable and it would set my mind at ease to have someone such as you as a companion. My name is Rummy,” he said with an odd smile.

“I am Red and I would happily accompany you on your journey,” she replied feeling the adventure about to being.

What could another trip through the woods hurt? She thought. They decided it would be best to waiting until first light before heading out on their trip. That night, while Red was sleeping in her bed dreaming of heroic acts, her traveling companion was making his way into the woods to make ready for their departure. A low growl carried on the wind.

The next morning, bright and early, Red and Rummy set off for the capital. Rummy said little and Red preferred it that way. They walked in silence through the green wood looking for signs of the band of thieves. On and on they trudged until they reached a section of the woods that was dark despite the midday sun.

“I believe we should stop here and have our lunch. We are nearly half-way to the capital by now,” said Rummy in a loud voice. It felt out of place in the dark of the woods and startled Red.

“It’s best to press on and save our hunger for the capital. Stopping in the woods is never a good idea,” she replied remembering smooth words from a mouth that had eaten her.

“No, no. I cannot take another step without a little rest. We have not seen or heard anyone for hours. Perhaps the outlaws have moved on to a better location,” said Rummy, sitting down and opening his pack. Red was starting to think it would have been better to walk alone, but the sight of food melted some of her resolve. She sat down and opened her pack, as well.

Rummy chewed slowly driving Red mad with impatience. As she was about to give voice to her irritation, she heard rustling in the bushes. She stood up and looked down at a smiling Rummy with teeth she could almost remember.

A pack of wolves circled their picnic area bearing their teeth and growling. Rummy looked completely at ease and Red realized that she had been tricked. One of the wolves crouched low, coiling his muscles for a high pounce. Red ran through the trees narrowly avoiding his lunge. She could hear them running on the underbrush, snapping twigs and gaining ground. The high laugh of Rummy drifted through the trees, mingling with the howls of her pursuers...