Cupcakes should be real, but awards are nice, too

Warning: I'm doing it again!To my great surprise I've been nominated for another award. I'm thrilled that my little dog and pony show is getting people interested enough to want to recommend my site to others. This one is called the Super Sweet Blog Award. Here are the rules:

1. Thank the person who nominated you (this is just good breeding in my opinion)
2. Answer 5 super sweet questions (now you can know more about me)
3. Include the Super Sweet Blogging Award image on the post (which is cute as well as tempting)
4. Nominate a baker's dozen of other bloggers (always happy to pass on good fortune)
5. Notify your nominees on their blog (see my aside for part 1)

Thanks to Swati Chavda from the blog A Dash of Magic, A Sip of Adventure

This award is all the sweeter for being unexpected!

Here are the questions:

1. Cookies or Cake? Not even a contest. I always think of cookies as a waste of time. Cake so much depth...and layers (my only exception are rainbow cookies that are like mini cakes called a cookie)
2. Chocolate or Vanilla? Definitely a loaded question! Well, if you're talking about ice cream then I prefer a swirl, thank you very much. If you're talking about a cake make mine chocolate. But if you're talking about a drink vanilla shakes along with Licor 43 (vanilla flavored liquor from Spain) are definitely my choice.
3. Favorite sweet treat? Anything citrus tends to be my Achilles Heel. My favorite...Lemon Chiffon cupcakes with lemon filling! My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
4. When do you crave sweet things the most? Well this is just a silly question! Wouldn't the better question be when I don't crave sweets? To try an answer this question I'll say the craving grows strongest when The Curse comes calling. Cliche, but true.
5. Sweet nickname? Now that's too much information but I will leave you with one of my favorite quotes: "Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker" - Ogden Nash (but I'll admit I learned that quote from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie) Food for thought as it were ;)

Now for the blogs I nominate for this award:

1. Simple Pleasures - photography & more
2. Charlotte Hoather - Soprano
3. Theodora Goss - personal author page
4. Coffee Stained - musings on fiction
5. Kristen Lamb's Blog - writer
6. The Lightrider Journals - Eric Nierstedt
7. Sophie Bowns - short stories
8. International Bellhop - fun armchair travel
9. Bucket List Publications - more travel ( a passion of mine)
10. One Cool Site - Wordpress blogging tips, tools and tutorials
11. Rebecca Hains - children's media culture
12. Streets of Salem - blog about Salem, MA and environs
13. AP Roberts' Stories - writings, musings and random updates

On Writing - The Tree

“Writers use words to create the tree under which readers take shelter.” - Me

I read a pretty good blog post the other day about how part of talking to others about your work is tell them how you work. I always thought of that idea as too self-indulgent - the proverbial Facebook post about buying socks – but after seeing it written out I see the sense in it. Writers like to read about how other writers “did it” for inspiration, for strength, and to feel as though we’re not alone in our craziness.

The above quote is something that came to me one morning after a productive writing session followed by a good night’s sleep. I fell asleep the night before wondering why it’s okay to want to be a writer. I’m essentially a practical person and the thought of making my life about writing sounded too ephemeral and (again) self-indulgent. There were other things I could do with my time to enrich not only myself and loved ones, but perhaps the world. Doing something that makes you happy should result in helping others…it should give back. I couldn’t think of how writing could do that. That’s when I imagined this quote.

I remembered all the times reading brought me, joy, peace, safety, and myriad other feelings of well-being. I’ve been transported, fallen in love, learned and caught a glimpse of the sacred. The written word has the power to make you feel whole, sane, connected. I’ll admit that it can also make you feel the exact opposite but the journey is usually invaluable. Priceless. Practical.

So, my moment of “why me” was answered in a cliché.

Why not?

Countless writers have given me pleasure and made me think and I can think of no better way of giving back than to return the favor. I hope to give other readers shelter where they can take a few moments to be more.

Why do you write? Why don't you?

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...

The female roadtrip - Red Riding Hood Grows Up

A reader and friend brought an article in The Atlantic to my attention. It is entitled:

It's Frustratingly Rare to Find a Novel About Women That's Not About Love

"Literary girls don't take road-trips to find themselves; they take trips to find men."

http://www.theatlantic.com/sexes/archive/2013/07/its-frustratingly-rare-to-find-a-novel-about-women-thats-not-about-love/277621/

Although the title is provocative enough to make anyone click the link, I'll summarize. The author, Kelsey McKinney, takes note that while plenty of novels center around the coming of age story, for men it involves an adventure and self-discovery. For women it centers around find herself through love and a man...or in this day and age it could be another woman.

In short, men look for themselves, women look for romance. At least in literature. And she bemoans this fact because in the real world there are plenty of women who do not think the be-all end-all of life is a husband and kids. Very few novels have women focused on finding themselves or pursuing a career without also adding a love subplot. She calls for more books like Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson, about a girl who comes of age, but doesn't search for love and acceptance. She just grows.

I could argue that writers see women as more well-rounded people who know that the search for love is just as important as the search for purpose, which could include children, a mate, and a career.

Or I could argue that I am just as frustrated by the lack of adventure-seeking girls and women who can thumb their noses at romance.

The truth is, I can see both sides. I think it's just as sad that books geared towards men have them only pursuing a promotion or a trophy and I think love can be just as great an adventure as rolling down the Mississippi. However, as a writer what I see is a challenge. How do we revive the road trip that makes it possible for women to have just as much adventure as men? The answer seems to start with them as children.

I remember reading Pipi Longstocking and her parent-free adventures with her monkey and horse foiling robbers, teachers, and the police. She was wild, carefree, athletic, but she was still happy to have friends. Her road trip would have been a high-seas adventure, but with her father and therefore defeat the purpose.

Mathilda, by Roald Dahl, is also a good candidate for the "strong girl grows up to be strong woman", but with magical powers and being so decidedly good, I imagine her adventures would be rather tame and ultimately, safe.

Perhaps we can look to a fairy tale for the answer. She went into the woods a naive girl and returned a smart young woman. All it took was being swallowed by a wolf. I think she would have grown up to be an adventurer, despite promising never to stray from the path. Did anyone actually believe she kept that promise?  This is a girl who was eaten by a wolf along with her grandmother, was cut out of its belly by a huntsman, fills the wolf's belly with stones until he dies and when she goes back to her grandmother's house on a subsequent trip meets with another wolf who she outsmarts with granny's help by enticing him with the smell of sausages and drowns him. That's a girl I would take a road trip with, wouldn't you?

With a challenge to meet and a heroine ready for anything, I've decided to write a story about a grown Red Riding Hood seeing the world--fairy tale style.

The Tale of Red Riding Hood

Part I

                Once there was a girl who grew up quite suddenly after being eaten by a wolf. It was only natural that she should learn from such an experience and become more wary of the ways of the world and admire the strong female influences in her life.

                After her grandmother passed away, Red was left the cottage in the woods. But her adventures as a child gave her a longing to know the world better and so she closed up the house, put on her red cloak, and set off on a journey.

                Her first stop was to the city. It was the largest she had ever seen. But Red knew that wolves didn’t only lurk behind trees and bushes. They also walked the paved roads and roamed the taverns. Feeling prepared for anything life could throw at her, she entered one such tavern for lunch.

                The patrons glanced her way, wondering what a young woman was doing in a tavern alone, especially one with such an attention-grabbing cloak. She ordered her food and ate alone at a table ignoring the whispers. When the barmaid returned with her food, she stood next to the table for such a long time, that Red had to speak to her.

                “Good day to you. The food is delicious, but I don’t plan to order any more just yet.”

                “Look here, what are you doing in a place like this alone?” asked the barmaid.

                “Having a meal as all the others are doing. Why do you ask?”

                “All the other patrons are men and the women are accompanied. Are you lost?”

                “Not at all. But I have no destination in mind if that is your real question,” she replied and continued to enjoy her meal.

                “Then let me give you a word of caution. There is a man in the corner who has taken a particular interest in you. Others who have caught his eye have not been seen again.”

                “I am not a stranger to wolves on the prowl,” said Red looking at the man.

                “Pardon me?”

                “It’s no matter. I thank you for your warning,” she said and went back to her meal. The barmaid hesitated, but left Red alone thereafter. She thought her a foolish country girl and knew that fate and the city would treat her cruelly. Red had no such concerns and after finishing her lunch, paid her bill and left the tavern. Shortly thereafter the man in the corner rose from his place and followed her…

To Be Continued...

Adventures in Fairy Tale Land

As a child, when I read, heard and watched fairy tales it was always with a British accent. Mostly English, but occasionally Irish or Scottish. I was convinced, and movies seemed to back me up, that when Europeans congregated they all spoke English with an accent straight from Oxford. With that in mind, I assumed that all fairy tales were from the British Isles. From the Grimm Brothers to Hans Christian Andersen, all of them were from the English countryside. It stood to reason. Castles were in Britain. The Queen was in Britain, so it had to be true. Years, schooling and research have disabused me of that belief on an intellectual level. But in my heart, fairy tales have an accent.So, it was with great joy and more than a touch of whimsy that I set off on my vacation to the Lake District and Edinburgh (also the reason that I've been so negligent with my blog. I don't believe in internet in fairy land) hoping to have a fairy tale adventure. The countryside did not disappoint. I walked fells and through pastoral scenes that would make an shepherdess feel at home. I trudged through forests and scrambled through ghylls that held perfect hiding places for the fairy folk and maybe a wolf or two lying in wait for Red Riding Hood. I even walked through the world of Beatrix Potter, who although isn't strictly a writer of fairy tales, is still a staple from my childhood reading menu.Edinburgh was more gothic and therefore more Grimm, but in the nicest way possible. I climbed castle towers and ramparts almost expecting knights to lay siege. That may have been the whiskey haze, but I could see it. Swords, spears, and a stone of destiny were mythic, yet close enough to touch. Mary, Queen of Scots was like Rapunzel in the tower at Holyrood. This was not my first trip to the UK, but since starting my blog and committing to being a writer, it felt like a new place. Every corner was a literary opportunity and I could understand why I thought Britain was Fairy Tale Land as a child. I'll admit that this post sounds like a long digression on how I spent my summer vacation, but I thought it was important to share the most important thing about fairy tales. Why we love them. Why we read them. Why they're the stuff of dreams and nightmares. Please remember, dear reader, what matters most about fairy tales...WONDER

One Lovely Blog Award

I'm interrupting my regularly scheduled discussion about fairy tales for a brief digression.When you start writing a blog, you wonder if anyone will ever read it. At least I did. I'll admit I started it because I wanted a platform for my book after being told by a certain literary agent that without an on-line presence I was dead in the water. After burning off my righteous indignation, I decided that he wasn't entirely wrong and blogging seemed the least self-indulgent. Still, I had to rack my brain to find a topic I thought would be interesting enough for me to write week after week with the possibility of sending my thoughts into the void without a response.I took pleasure in small victories. Random people checking out my thoughts was great. Having my tenth follower made me happier than was probably appropriate. Now I have another reason to cheer...I've been nominated for the One Lovely Blog Award!According to the rules, I'm supposed to list 7 things about myself and nominate 7 other blogs among other things. First, I want to thank AP Roberts of the blog AP Roberts' Stories for nominating me for the award. (See the other nominees here)Now, here are the 7 little known facts about me from the random and weird to the informative...and also random. Enjoy!

1. My blog about fairy tales is really a platform for the YA fantasy series I'm writing called Rhymes & Misdemeanors, about a teenage detective in the land of Mother Goose.
2. I'm 32 and I'm still not on Facebook. I also prefer paper to my computer (sorry Cooper), but draw I the line at stone tablets and a chisel.
3. My dog doubles as my security detail when I go to the bathroom because, I think in his mind, the toilet is dangerous.
4. I'm married to my high school sweetheart and have one daughter, and reading her fairy tales is what incensed me enough to start a blog discussing and updating fairy tales.
5. My sense of smell is almost nez caliber and I considered making perfume a career when I was in high school (but I never told anyone).
6. Despite the nose thing, I have a BA in international relations and a MA in history, both which qualify me to write in complete and coherent sentences.
7. Favorite/Least favorite words: in English my favorite word is quotidian and my least favorite word  is funky. My favorite word in Spanish is ambos (meaning both) and my least favorite is jugoso (meaning juicy). In Italian, my favorite word is nuotare (to swim) and my least favorite is boato (meaning rumble).

I also want to take the time to nominate other blogs for the One Lovely Blog Award.

1. SurLaLune Fairy Tales: A blog discussing fairy tales in popular culture which also sends out alerts for upcoming books on bargain buys in fairy tales.
2. Something to Read for the Train: Reviews of the faerie, the sinister and writing.
3. SophieBowns: Seralized fiction stories as well as flash fiction.
4. Rebecca Hains: A media studies professor and author focusing on girls and media.
5. A-faerietale-of-inspiration: Really gorgeous arts and crafts based on fairy tales, myths, and nature.
6. The Art of Polemics: An unbiased view of history in a straightforward, yet intellectual way.
7. Coffee Stained: A site with a unique voice that discusses topics ranging from  storytelling to video games

Thanks for supporting the blog!

Motherhood in Fairy Tales

There’s no greater antithesis to celebrating the role of Mother than fairy tales. In most, the biological mother is usually dead and in her place is a step-mother of dubious nurturing abilities. Fairy tales have a way of reinforcing the main female archetypes, virginal innocent or power-hungry witch. But what if the virgin was a bitch and the witch used her power for good? I’ve never had a step mother nor have I ever been one, but I feel that this much maligned position could use a modern fairy tale revamp.

The Witch (written in fairy tale style)

Once there was a woman of great power and simple needs. She lived in the woods learning the ways of the flora and fauna that surrounded her from her own senses and her wise mother. She grew past a marriageable age, but thought little of it happy in her home.

One day, a man happened upon their cottage with a heavy heart. Taking pity on the man, the woman brought him into her sanctuary. He told both women of his heartbreak brought on by the death of his wife and his motherless daughter. The woman was moved by his story and offered what comfort she could, but felt powerless to bring him any relief. He thanked them both and continued on his way.

Days passed and the woman could not stop thinking about the man and his daughter. Her mother, who had taught her compassion, cautioned her taking on other people’s problems was often a thankless task. The woman agreed, but still she mused and moped feeling helpless in the face of such bald sadness.

It came to pass that on a particularly beautiful day the woman made an important decision. Leaving a note for her mother, she searched for the home of the man and his child. What she found was a grand home far different from her own, lacking plants and wild animals. It made her uneasy, but she reminded herself that she was not here for herself. She was greeted at the door by a girl on the verge of womanhood with a face that revealed her disdain for the visitor. Looking down at her clothing, she noticed the patches and stains for the first time. In contrast, the girl at the door looked elegant and beautiful. Soon thereafter her father appeared and the look of contentment on his face told the woman she had made the right decision.

As always happens in these stories, the two had a short courtship followed by marriage and soon a child of their own. In the meantime, the man’s daughter grew more beautiful by the day, but also more vain and unpleasant. She spurned the love offered her by her step-mother and refused to learn the lessons her step-mother tried in vain to impart. The girl took to calling her step-mother a witch and word of it spread throughout the town. Because her step-mother was plain and a stranger, the townspeople believed the beautiful girl. Her father became withdrawn and was reluctant to defend his new wife, especially to his vain daughter.

There was business to be conducted in a neighboring town, and so the man left his new wife, his baby, and his elder daughter at home. The woman took this time to go into the woods and visit her mother with her new baby. It also afforded her the opportunity to collect herbs for her garden. Left to her own devices, the elder daughter spent her time weaving a web of lies and fear in the townspeople against her step-mother. Calling her a witch and claiming to have been mistreated at her hands, the townspeople vowed to drive the evil woman away. The duke’s son, beguiled by her beauty, offered to be her protector and slay her step-mother.

Upon returning to her home, the step-mother found an angry mob restlessly patrolling the manor. One caught sight of her and alerted the others, who came running at her. For her part, she clutched her baby tighter and ran back into the forest never to be seen again. The townspeople congratulated themselves on ridding the town of such an evil influence. The girl soon married the duke’s son, leaving her grieving father alone.

The woman returned to her quiet home in the forest and raised her son teaching him all she had learned from her mother and for good measure warned him against the temptation of a pretty face. “Better a witch than a bitch.”

Happy Mother’s Day!

Princess Makeovers?

I’ve mentioned before that I like Disney. Besides their wonderful parks and the uplifting mantra that dreams really do come true, I enjoy the entertainment they provide for children in a world that has fewer G rated movies. I’ve also mentioned that I like the movie Brave despite the buffoonish male archetypes. Now, Brave’s Princess Merida is to become an official Disney Princess, an honor I’m sure. However, the approach has left me baffled.

It’s being called a “Barbie-style makeover” giving Merida a tinier waist, controlling her curly locks, exposing her shoulders and taking away her trademark bow and arrow. In its place they’ve added makeup and sparkles to her dress. Why?

I’m not the only one who feels miffed at the transformation. A petition at change.org was started saying “No to the Merida Makeover”. Our modern fairy tale has opted to become a cookie-cutter princess which completely negates the character’s essence. She spunky and fights not only conventions, but also her dress and any attempt to control her hair. Yet Disney has decided that before she can wear the princess tiara she should take it easy on the dessert tray. Which image do you prefer?

Purpose or pretty?

Determined or dolled-up?

Natural or nymphet?

In honor of Mother’s Day I was originally going to write a post about the role of motherhood in fairy tales, but instead I wanted to take the time to remind us that today’s princess could be tomorrow’s President and lipstick should not be a requirement. (And on behalf of curly girls everywhere, stop trying to tame my hair!)

[polldaddy poll=7096816]

The Looney Tunes-Fairy Tale Conundrum

What do Bugs Bunny and fairy tales have in common?

There’s no punch line, although I’ll give points to anyone who can think of one.

Besides the obvious--animals and humans talking to each other without flinching--there is an answer. But first, some background.

I’ve been toying with the idea of allowing my daughter to watch Looney Tunes. I’ll admit I have some reservations about the matter. Bugs Bunny may be beloved, but he’s also disgraceful. He encourages belittling those with speech impediments, has a serious penchant for violence, and is rather found of racist humor. What do I do when she asks me about the decidedly politically incorrect material she’ll be exposed to in seemingly harmless cartoons?

Well, perhaps I can comfort myself in knowing that the Grimm Fairy Tales I read her are just as grotesque and amoral. Have we ever stopped to think about how stunningly violent most fairy tales are? Most characters die, are cursed, or are subject to years of slavery and servitude. And those are the good guys! The bad guys are certifiable, willing to risk life and limb to win against servant girls, princesses, princes and anyone standing in their way. Who tries to kill a baby because she wasn’t invited to a party? A nutcase with antisocial tendencies! Or in this case, a fairy who felt slighted. (Sleeping Beauty anyone?)

I came across this post, which wonderfully illustrates the parental dilemma of big and bad versus warm and cuddly.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2009/oct/13/adult-content-warning-fairy-stories

So, the truth is, neither fairy tales nor Looney Tunes were meant for kids. The gruesome descriptions and off-color humor were originally meant for adults, who are prepared to see gray where children see only black and white. Does the fact that we have made this material available to children make gratuitous violence acceptable in their TV and literature?

Maybe the answer isn’t so cut and dry.  As a parent, I worry that my daughter’s concrete way of looking at the world will be skewed by the things she reads and watches. As a parent who still remembers being a child, I know I watched way more TV and read books too mature for me. I turned out fine. As a matter of fact all those fairy tales, Disney cartoons, and Looney Tunes gave me more imagination than I can contain. It’s why I write.

Have you figured out the answer to my question? Fairy Tales and Looney Tunes were supposed to be for adults, but when I indulge in either I feel like a kid again. Probably because that's when I first experienced them.

That’s all folks!

The New Archetype: Stupid Males

I wonder if years from now a man will write a blog similar to mine except his goal will be to right the wrong done to boys and men in modern fairy tales? Shall I explain?

I recently watched a modern fairy tale, Disney Pixar’s Brave (2012). I really wanted my daughter to like it because I needed something to balance out her current affinity for Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. For those who don’t know, Brave is about a Scottish princess who wants to buck tradition and not get married off in some contest of strength by men she doesn’t know. It becomes a mother-daughter story of trying to understand one another and lots of magic and mayhem ensues.

That part is fine, but my concern was the father. In short he was ineffectual; never knowing what was happening in his own household and almost killing his wife because he was dead set on catching a bear. It doesn’t sound too bad, but when you think about it, the growing trend for modern fairy tale movies is to cast the male as a dolt. It makes the brilliance of the female characters all the more impressive. But does it?

I know my blog is supposed to concentrate on the empowerment of women by reworking old fairy tales into modern, fully-fleshed female heroines, but a funny thing happened on the way to empowering women. We took away power from men.

I was guilty of it myself. After writing a novel with a strong, independent teenage female lead it was pointed out to me that her love interest was not stupid, but colorless enough to make the reader wonder why she would be interested in him in the first place. Disney’s Snow White, but male. Needless to say, rewrites have fixed the problem.

I understand the push. In order to make the woman more powerful, someone has to play the foil. But does that really mean that men have to become buffoons. It’s like they have to regress in order for us to progress. I cringe every time I see a female powerhouse who constantly has to save her male love interest from one dumb debacle after another. Thank goodness this isn’t a blog that includes sitcoms, or I’d have to make a separate blog. Can’t we have partnerships? Does empowering female protagonists by weakening their male counterparts make for a better message than the weak, helpless female waiting to be rescued?

To men and boys, I’m sorry. I don’t think you should have to become incompetent in order to make us look good. To the sisterhood, I think we should seriously think about what we’re teaching this generation’s crop of kick-ass girls. Soon we’ll come full circle: powerless, ridiculed men and the sexist, overbearing women who patronize them.

For those who don’t remember, feminism was supposed to be about making us equal, about partnerships—not about casting men as the new pretty bimbo.

Here’s the Fairy Tale Partnership Challenge: Look for stories, on TV, in movies and books, where the male lead and the female lead are partners and feel free to share. Both leads should be fully realized characters that somehow complement each other without one or the other having to be a total idiot.

Happy Hunting!

Diversity Fantasy?

I remember being 4 or 5 and going to get my picture taken with Santa. My uncle took me and I didn’t want to stand in the Macy’s line, so we went elsewhere. I don’t think I was concerned with telling Santa what was on my list or even meeting the man, himself. All I knew was that I had on a cute outfit and would get my picture taken. After waiting in a line shorter than the one at Macy’s, I finally had my chance to indulge my vanity. But there was a problem. I had been lied to by my family.

We came home, my uncle and I, with a photo. In it, I was stiff and frowning. When my mother asked why I didn't smile, I promptly replied "Santa Claus no es negro. Santa Claus es blanco." My mother and other relatives who heard the story and saw the picture laughed to hear my explanation of how I didn't smile because the real Santa Claus is white. Inadvertently, I had stumbled upon an idea that led me to this post.

Later, when I was a little older, I played pretend with a friend. Snow White had just been re-released. It was as good a pretend game as any. It took a turn, however, when I said I wanted to play Snow White. My friend turned to me and without malice said “You can’t play Snow White. You’re not white.” I didn’t know what to say to that, but we moved on to some other game.

Put together, it just sounds like some funny anecdotes from my childhood, but I'm betting I wasn't the only one to have this experience. Despite myriad options to watch and read in fantasy, it has remained a rather uni-ethnic genre. Like Friends, uni-ethnic! I don't want to soapbox, but what's up with that?

Why in fantasy--where the limit is the entire spectrum of imagination--does the world look basically white?

There are exceptions--like BBC imports that practice colorblind casting—but very little to reflect all of us. Is it out of the realm of possibility for fantasy movies and TV to imagine a protagonist that isn't northern European? I know our collective consciousness is based on fairy tales and fables from Germany and England, but they were meant to reflect the public at large. Now that we embrace revisionist mythology, fractured fairy tales if you will, shouldn't we revamp the picture?

Rapunzel can be an African-American girl with super strong weave.

Jack the Giant Killer could be strong, brave, and gay.

Cinderella could be looking for the perfect pair of glass shoes to fit her size thirteen feet, supporting her plus-size frame.

Maybe Snow White could be Hispanic.

In that reality, maybe a girl would smile if she sat on Black Santa's lap.

I would love to hear from other readers and writers about diversity in fantasy. Have you seen a book, TV show or movie that reflects our new world geared towards teens or adults?

Once Upon a Blog Post

My writings have been sporadic at best. I can only blame myself for trying to be so ambitious. It was a little crazy of me to think that I could write two novels and still the time and ability have to come up with original stories for a blog every week. Funny enough, I think my scope was too small. Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I should have included other materials within the realm of fairy tales and fables. Perhaps consider the current trend of “revisionist mythology” that is sweeping books, movies, and TV.

I’ll start with Once Upon a Time… on ABC. The show takes place in a fictional town in Maine (please save your Stephen King assumptions) called Storybrooke were all the characters from fairytales and legends have been transported by a curse conjured by, you guessed it, an evil queen.

Specifically the evil queen in Snow White.

The show is now in its second season, so I won’t try and summarize the entire show thus far. Suffice it to say, good tries to trump evil and at every turn craziness ensues. I went into the show with low expectations considering how poorly fantasy shows do in the ratings on network TV (I’ll talk about Merlin in a future post). I have been more than pleasantly surprised by its popularity among other things.

The clichés are self-evident. The woman representing good is blonde and blue-eyed, while the antagonist is a dark eyed beauty with black-brown hair. I was ready for Disney-level simplicity. Good is always good and evil can’t help but be so and must lose. But a funny thing happened when they let go of the obvious. The protagonist has a checkered past complete with a prison stay. The antagonist started out as good, but through a series of unfortunate events embraced the easy way—being bad.

It’s fairytales versus pop-psychology.

“There by the grace of God” club meets Of Mice and Men.

I don’t know if it qualifies as a full-blown guilty pleasure, but it speaks to the child at heart who grew up and wondered what happened to everyone after we closed the book. The child in me gets angry when evil gets the upper hand, but the adult appreciates the realism. Good or evil, I think Once Upon a Time…is a show anyone who loves fairy tales should give a chance.

Look back for more post about this show in the future.

The Courseload and The Rewrites (based on The Stag and The Lion)

"I am saved from the power of the dogs only to fall into the clutches of a lion"  -Aesop's FablesOnce upon a time, not too long ago, I was as undergrad groaning under a ton of coursework. Too many classes, not enough hours, and too little sleep was my popular rant. I remember staring out my dorm room and seeing my classrooms. It brought my work too close to home.Vowing an idiotic 19-year-old's vow, I promised to find a profession that I could leave at the office.I would never bring work home.Now, I'm a writer, volunteering all my free time and some of my not so free time to work on my craft.My work is at home.My work continues as I dream.It follows me everywhere.However, unlike the Stag, I'm far from unhappy.Out of the frying pan into the fire...by choice! (Go figure)

The Tale of Mama's Boy

Hans Christian Andersen wrote the story of the Princess and the Pea about a prince searching for a true princess with whom to share his life. One appears on his doorstep on a stormy night asking for a bed. His mother, the Queen, decides to test her claim of royalty and makes her sleep on a bed of multiple mattresses and puts a pea under the bottom bed. The princess sleeps horribly and the next day the queen proclaims that only a true princess could have felt the pea through so many mattresses. The prince and princess marry and live happily ever after.Why would a man decide to take a woman he doesn't know as his wife on his mother's say-so? Moreover, why would his mother tell him to take her after one bad night of sleeping on a pea? I keep turning it around in my head and the only conclusion I can draw is that the prince was a Mama's Boy. This strange and unknowable male is the one of modern love tragedies. But what if the idea wasn't as modern as we suppose? Maybe Hans was on to something with his story. Here's my take: The Tale of Mama's BoyI'm sure you've met him once or twiceHelped him, loved him and paid the priceBut no matter what you doMama's Boy cannot love you. "It's not my fault," he'll often say,"But Mama does it another way."Nothing you do will ever compareTo Mama's tender loving care. His patron saint if you chance to lookCan be found in the pages of a book.In a time long ago and far awayOnce upon a time under skies of gray. A prince returned from a restless questTo find the princess he liked the best.One too thin, one too fatOne too loud, one to quiet. One was short with hair of gold.One was tall with thoughts too bold.One whose laughs were quite improper.One whose shape was like a stopper. Search he did and found he noneTo compare with his perfect one.He would say with little dramaNone are like the queen, my mama So he returned much dejectedAnd pushed away all he rejectedBack to mama who spoils and coddlesHer precious prince, her darling idol. Yet their homecoming came to a haltPausing the balm to so much salt.A rap at the door on a night so drearyStood a lass, soaked through and quite weary. "I'm a princess," she said, "let me in for I'm coldAnd a royal family lives here I'm told.I apologize for looking a frightBut perhaps I could stay for just a night?" "A princess? That's doubtful," said Mama Queen"But I have a test that will make her come clean!Of course dear, please stay and we'll find a bedA place to lay down your most delicate head." Mattresses were stacked one on the other' Til there were twenty altogether.Coverlets topped the fluffy towerAll constructed in about an hour. "And underneath a test," Mama giggled.With her hand she pushed and wriggledA pea the size of a pinky nail."A test she will most surely fail." Climb she did to the top of the bedTo rest her wet and weary head.She tossed, she turned, she curled up and stretched outBut all she could do was sit up and pout Meanwhile, Mama dear and sonhad a little one-on-one."My darling boy, never fearFor Mama knows and I am here. The test she takes, I've taken tooand will tell us if she's a princess trueHer face is fair, her shape is pleasingher manners are fine when she's not sneezing I only want the best for youit's what any mother would do."Junior crowed, "You're more than any other motherlike you there will never be another." The morning dawned, the skies were clearInto the room Queen Mama peeredAlas she found the lass a messHer hair! Her clothes! She looked quite stressed. "I hate to be a world-class bitchbut I would have slept better in a ditchI did not sleep at all last nightSomething stuck me like a stalagmite!" The queen was pleased, the prince elatedto see the princess so deflated."I found my wife, my mother's matchand of course dear Mama made the catch." They soon were wed, but princess foundthe ring did not mean that she was crownedin his affections. Despite their joyPrincey would always be Mama's Boy. So even is you're hand pickeddon't be fooled, don't be tricked,Because no matter what you doMama's Boy cannot love you.  

The Straw Maiden (aka Rumpelstiltskin) Part 4

The king has just informed the Straw Maiden that they shall be wed.Not far from the palace another man was thinking of the upcoming marriage. The matchmaker was glad that his plans had not ended in his death, but his own greed led him on a path to see the king. Although the maid had proved her skill with a loom, he well remembered her warning that she could only spin for those not of her family. He thought it only his duty to give the same warning to the king, and had in fact already secured another maiden who was sure to find royal favor. With a thought to his purse, he arrived at the doors of the palace.However, he was minutes late and the ceremony had already concluded. Tables were being brought out to begin the celebration, and all were rejoicing. All but one. The newly made queen did not look pleased at her great, good fortune. He assumed she had not told her husband, the king, her secret and it weighed heavily on her. Never one to miss an opportunity to advance his standing, the matchmaker begged an audience. Feeling magnanimous having won himself a queen literally  worth her weight in gold, the king indulged the matchmaker. Explaining in hushed, deferential tones the matchmaker told the king of the queen's "deficiency" and offered in her place another maiden at the same bride price. The king's joy receded and was replaced with utter shock."Is it true what this man says? You cannot spin for your family?" asked the king of the queen. The matchmaker tried to hide his grin, but his eyes dared the queen to lie. The queen did not try to deny the claim of the matchmaker, but saw an opportunity of her own within her predicament."My lord, the ban is to those who share my blood, but our blood has yet to mingle," she said significantly. "You may never have an heir, but our kingdom will always be prosperous." She hoped that appealing to the kings avarice would keep her from his bed. She knew him well enough to make this statement and was rewarded by being banned from the king's chamber. Unwittingly she had also earned the matchmaker's ire.Her clever mind had saved her, but even the queen was at a loss as to how to conceal the real reason for shunning the king's bed. Even now she knew the gift left to her by her night visitor would soon become difficult to conceal. As if thinking of him would bring him to her, he appeared. The look of sadness on his face confirmed her belief that he knew of the wedding that had taken place. She recounted all that had happened since and the two began to plan for her escape. Time wore on and the queen's condition eluded the notice of the king, so long as the gold continued to fill his coffers. It had not escaped the notice of the matchmaker, however, who had elected to remain at court in order to watch the queen. His patience was rewarded, one day, when is was clear the queen was in some distress and retired to her room early. Peering through a crack in the door he saw the queen bring forth a son.Amazed at his good fortune, for the downfall of the queen was his current goal, the matchmaker made haste to the king. Upon delivering the news, the king made his way to the queen's chamber. He demanded an explanation, but the queen had been prepared for this. "We have been rewarded for our sacrifice and given a son," she said still exhausted from her travail. The king did not want to question the queen further knowing that it might mean losing what he loved so dearly - gold. However, the matchmaker knew of this and he could not be sure of his discretion. Not knowing if he had already told others in the court, the king's options were few. So he left the decision up to fate."My dear, I cannot say whether you have been false to me, but I will give you test. Long ago the fairies gave me a name and said whoever could pronounce it would share kingdom, but whosoever made the attempt and failed would forfeit their life. You must learn my name and say it in three days time or you and the babe will be put to death." The king thought this was a very clever arrangement. If the queen was able to learn his name he would be no worse off because she was already his queen. If she failed, he would be rid of both she and the child and while he would miss her spinning, he had enough for ten lifetimes.The queen poured over books and sent to all the surrounding towns for unusual names. On the first day she tried names of kings of old to no avail. On the second day names of plants and animals were off little use. That night, her night visitor came and told her "I have spoken to the queen of the fairies and she has given me the king's name. As payment, I can no longer be a fairy. All of my magic is gone." As he said it all the gold spun thread turned back to straw.The next morning, the king was in a rage because he had awoken on a bed of straw. He now had no reason to spare the queen and went to her room with little thought to his previous challenge to her. Slamming the door open he found the queen with her child and a man he did not know. It dawned on him that he had been tricked and was intent on revenge. However, seeing the anger in his eyes the queen acted swiftly. "Your name is Rumpelstiltskin", she said clearly."The fairies told you, the fairies told you!" he yelled and stamped his feet like a child so hard he made a hole in the floor and was swallowed up. The queen ruled the kingdom fairly with the stranger at her side and their child. No one ever heard from the old king again and though they were a kingdom of straw, they lived happily ever after.                                                                                                                   THE END

The Straw Maiden (aka Rumpelstiltskin) Part 3

When last we saw our heroine, a small man had entered her chamber filled with straw unnoticed."Can I help?" ventured the visitor. Startled, the crying maiden failed to respond. Wiping her face and smoothing her rumpled hair she looked at the man who had just entered. He was no bigger than an adolescent, but had the eyes of an old soul. Despite her shock, she found nothing threatening about him."Unless you can spin straw into gold, I fear, I can only ask you for a handkerchief," she said with a wry smile."Lucky for you I can do both," he said as he handed her a crisp handkerchief. She looked at him and finally took in his whole appearance. He was not as small as she first thought, just slight of build. His face was kind, but guarded as though he was unsure of his welcome. But he quickly warmed when at his task. The straw became gold filigree before her eyes."What can I give you in return?" she asked fearful of his demands. She was not naive to the ways of the world and knew some men would press an advantage."Your company. Tell me about yourself and I'll tell you as much as I can about myself," he replied. They talked for hours, hesitantly at first and then as old friends, laughing and sharing. When dawn broke the work was done and, fearing they would never meet again, she pressed the small bracelet into his hand. Before either could say more, the door was being unlocked and he vanished.The king swept in and barely noticed the look of contempt on the maiden's face. He was hungry for the sight of so much gold it blinded him to all else. He finally acknowledged her with a cursory nod."Come with me," he said with a smile that was not for her. He kept her with him all day although he made no attempt at conversation. For her part, she kept her eyes downcast partly to continue her show of modesty, but also giving herself the opportunity to think about her night visitor. At the end of the day, she was exhausted and assumed the guard would return her to her room. Instead a turn down a new corridor brought her to another room with enough straw to dwarf last night's offering. The same spinning wheel stood in the middle of the straw mountain. After a sleepless night and a day of being observed yet ignored, despair gave way to sleep.She awoke to the familiar sound of the spinning wheel and her friend in quiet concentration addressing the task at hand."I brought you something to remember me by," he said over his shoulder. "Look in my satchel."Inside she found a book of herb lore and healing. She smiled her first real smile since last seeing him and its warmth reached him. She was touched that he remembered her speaking of her wish to learn more about healing to help others. The spinning took most of the night to finish this time, but they passed it as pleasantly as the night before. Before leaving he was emboldened to kiss her. She pressed her mother's ring into his hand and asked him to return for her.That day was much like the last except the king smiled at her more. Perhaps it was to put her at ease, but it had the opposite effect. On this night the king himself led her away. She didn't know whether to fear another room of straw or his bedchamber, but neither choice would have been welcomed. Nevertheless he opened the door to an unfathomable amount of straw, and with a look of pure arrogance said "If you finish this by morning, not only will I spare you and your father, but I shall make you my queen."He did not stay for her reaction, so sure was he of her gratitude and the honor she must feel. She dropped to the ground and with such incentive as marriage to this odious man started calculating how she could save herself and her father. It was at this point that her spinning friend appeared from the shadows."I have tried in vain to rescue your father, but he knows of the kings plans. He hopes to see you married to him and knows you will be well provided for," he said with a heavy heart. Her hand had found its way to him and they stood for a moment regarding each other. Then he set to work.He was like a man possessed working furiously and silently. He finished well before sunrise and in a rush of words, tears and the thought of never seeing each other again, were soon entwined on a bed of gold thread. He promised to return for her with her father to escape. He left then, but the memory of their shared gift stayed with her.The king arrived as always and was awed by the golden glow "Now we shall be wed," he said looking at the gold. For her part, she looked to the shadows and hoped her spinner would return in time. It was at that moment, she realized she never asked his name......To Be Continued...

The Straw Maiden (aka Rumpelstiltskin) Part 2

"I've come to inspect your daughter. If she proves as impressive as you claimed in the tavern I am to take her to the king," he said with severity. His tone was brought on by fear and the memory of his meeting with the king. With eyes full of avarice, he told the matchmaker to bring the girl and he would give Conall twice the bride price. If the report was false, Conall, the girl and her boastful father would pay with their lives.He dismounted and knew at once he had made a grave error. If the miller's daughter had this ability, why would they live in a mill performing back-breaking labor? He walked into the dwelling of which there was only one room. The girl he saw was indeed beautiful, but her clothes were shabby. Hardly the kind of clothes someone with such a gift for spinning would wear!"Your father claims you can spin straw into gold. My king wishes to know you and test your skills. If he is displeased, it will mean all out lives are forfeit," he said without preamble. He had no time for being kind, and this mistake would cost him more than a commission. At least her beauty would give the king pause.For her part, she was livid. She saw the truth of the rumor on her father's stricken face. Being clever, she played for time."It is not something of which I boast. Although I want to be of use to your king, can I not merely send him my efforts if he is in need of more wealth?" She kept her eyes downcast for fear he would see the anger in her eyes. He took it for modesty."Then you do claim this ability? If that is so, why do you live and toil here?" he said sweeping his gaze across the small space. He was more than incredulous, but hoped he could use being taken in by her lies as a way to save his own neck."As part of my gift, I cannot spin for myself or my family - only for others. And only under the light of the full moon." She said this to hope she would have more time. The next full moon was four days away, and just enough time for her father and her to go into hiding. The matchmaker was unsure what to think, but decided to take no chances."You will come with us to meet the king. Your father shall stay here under guard. Say your farewells quickly." Abruptly, he stepped outside, pushing his way passed the stricken miller."I'm sorry seems a small thing to offer, but I am. All I can give you is your dowry - your mother's ring and necklace. Perhaps, with your cleverness, you can pay a guard for your freedom." The hug she gave him was for the man he had been when her mother had been alive, and to keep from lashing out at him for his stupidity. With dry eyes, but a heavy heart she left with the matchmaker. Unbeknownst to her, at a discreet distance followed the fairy.At the castle, the maiden was kept in a room three times the size of her home, but it was most certainly a prison. It was a pretty dungeon, but a dungeon nonetheless. As she paced the floor, tested the door, and pushed at the windows, she plotted and rejected countless ideas. She knew more than her life was at stake if she could not impress the king. Her meeting would be soon.She was brought before the king and the court the evening of the full moon. Seeing him did nothing to ally her fears. His mouth looked as though it seldom smiled, and his eyes had a hard glint that only softened when looking at the many jewels on his hands and clothes. He looked her up and down as she approached. She sensed he preferred meekness and looked down to appear so. He was not untouched by her beauty, but his bigger concern at hand was gold."Is is true you can spin straw into gold as the matchmaker claims? Only for others and not for yourself?" She noted the impatience in his voice and the exclusion of not being able to spin for her family, but now she knew why. The man who had come for her was not a courtier, but a matchmaker! This king was looking for a bride and being told that a woman who could spin straw into gold, but would cease once they were wed would make her less desirable. It was little consolation."Yes your majesty," she said to the floor. She almost said no, but hoped one more night would give her an idea. However, her luck came to an end."Then you shall follow this guard. He will take you to a room where you will spin straw into gold. If you don't you and your father shall die for lying to the king." She was led away to a small room full of straw to the ceiling, except for a spinning wheel. Even she was hard pressed to look undaunted. Soon the guard left and the door was closed. She finally gave into despair, and indulged in something she hadn't done since her mother had died - she cried. She cried so hard in fact that she didn't hear the little man enter her straw cell......To be continued...

The Straw Maiden (aka Rumpelstiltskin) Part 1

(See intro here)Know you the story of the straw maiden? Perhaps it is known to you as a different name, but while another would say no matter, I say it does. Names hold power and this story will show you how much.Long ago, under a harvest moon, a fairy happened upon a birth. The fairy was new to the world of men and was intrigued by the baby. Her name was one with which he was unfamiliar, so he thought of her as the Bright One. As she grew, the fairy would look in on her from time to time. The fairy learned of the Bright One's love of nature and her dislike of the small, confined space of the mill. He shared in her joys and felt all her sorrows, but always at a discreet distance. Her worst sorrow was the death of her mother and consequently when all her troubles began.The miller was pained by the loss of his wife and took to late nights of drinking and bluster. It came to pass, as it usually does with those whose tongues loosen with drink, that he boasted of his daughter."Her beauty and skills are truly remarkable. She would have made her mother proud," he said on more than one occasion. And while there were those who had heard his remarks previously remained silent, there were newcomers to the tavern. Sadly these strangers became mean and abusive when fueled by drink."What talent could she possibly have that other maids don't? Go home old man - perhaps that talented daughter of yours can cure your addled mind!" laughed a stranger along with his companions. They laughed uproariously making the man feel shame. Perhaps a naughty imp was hiding in the corner of that tavern or maybe the miller did lose his wits for a moment, for none - not even he - could explain what he said next."My daughter has a wondrous gift. She can spin straw into gold. What's more her beauty and talent are fit for a king!" Now most of the patrons laughed quietly to themselves having known the miller and her daughter for years. However, there was a table with a single man who took note.Conall was a matchmaker whose circumstances had him in a desperate situation. He had promised a king in a neighboring realm an amazing bride and was nearing the end of his deadline. Not to mention he was in competition with another matchmaker for the bride price. Quickly and quietly, he settled his account and offered the tavern keeper a handsome sum for the name and location of the mill. Then with all haste, he raced off to see the king.Days passed and the miller forgot his boasts in the tavern. Therefore it was with some surprise that he found two armed riders with livery accompanied by an unarmed gentleman waiting at his mill. He was further confused when they asked after his daughter. The gentleman, who admitted to being a matchmaker, looked nervous and stole furtive glances at the riders who had their hands on their sword hilts....To Be Continued...

Story #1 Rumpelstiltskin

As written by J.L.C. & W.C. Grimm (hereafter to be called the Grimm brothers), Rumpelstiltskin is the story of a miller who brags to his king that his beautiful and clever daughter can spin straw into gold. The greedy king takes the girl and tells her she must spin a rooms full of gold, each one bigger than the last, on pain of death. Each night the maiden cries and a little man comes offering to do the task for her at a price. On the third and last night the king says he will marry her if she spins one more room full of straw into gold. Stripped of her possessions from the last two nights of work, the little man demands her first born child by the king. She agrees, the task is completed and the miller's daughter becomes queen. She soon forgets her promise, but after becoming a mother the little man returns to collect his prize. She begs for him to reconsider and offers him half the kingdom, but he refuses. Instead he gives her three days to learn his name. She searches the kingdom and on the last day a palace guard discovers an unusual little man singing to himself in the woods. He reveals his name is Rumpelstiltskin. The lady rejoices, says his name and a fuming Rumpelstiltskin leaves without his prize.Most notably the story does not end with the prerequisite "...and they lived happily ever after". Even the Grimm brothers understood that this story would be a stretch when it came to happiness. When I read this to my daughter the first time I had so many questions that I fully admit I doubt I had when I was her age.

1. Why did her father brag to the king about something she clearly couldn't do?
2. How was she able to marry a man who, the day before, was going to kill her?
3. Who goes around listening at doors for crying maidens who need their straw spun into gold?

   I already had an opinion written out about this story, but what struck me the most while I wrote out the summary was the importance of names. With only one exception, everyone in the story had a title, but not a name. The story is resolved by the power of knowing someone's name. Yet we never learn the name of the miller, queen, king, palace guard, or the prize, the royal baby (which in some versions dies). It's things like this that beg for completion. In an attempt to answer my own questions about the story, I've rewritten it, but opted to retain the feel of storytelling. Click here for my version of the story, The Straw Maiden.

BTW, I completely appreciate the observation that I'm starting my posts with a story about the importance of names and I have not included my own name in this blog. I too believe names are important and feel a Rumpelstiltskin-like desire to guard it ;)