Sympathy for the Devil?

There's a new school of thought roaming the halls for fiction. I've referred to it in the past as revisionist fairy tale history. The stories handed down through the generations are very clearly morality tales all with the same basic message--being good is better than being bad. There are myriad ways to put that, but the easier to digest the better. Wolves, vain queens, little men who can spin straw into gold are best avoided and it's easy because they so obviously look evil. It's Black Hat Syndrome or the Disney-fication of character as I like to call it. But a new tendency, a revisionist modern view, is starting to take root in fairy tales.I say modern because it's our modern sensibilities, our post-Freudian minds, that asks the question, "Why does evil exist?" It begs the question, what happened in the evil queen's life to make her hate the step-daughter so much? Can we really blame a wolf for wanting a meal--a lot of us eat meat? Is it wrong to expect payment for doing all the work while the maiden gets a new life? My question is, do you think our fairy tale reading ancestors would have asked these questions?It's a topic I've been wrestling with lately regarding the new crop of fairy tales. I'm sure everyone knows about Maleficent, Disney's new live action take on Sleeping Beauty from the villain's perspective. I will admit, when it first heard about it I was a little miffed because I was in the middle of writing a novel called The 13th Fairy based on the original story and I set it in Reconstruction America. It was told from the point of view of the overlooked fairy who didn't make the party list because of a lack of golden dishware. A ridiculous reason to exclude a guest who has the potential to give some great gifts or (as they found out) a truly horrific curse. I started to wonder what happened to the fairy after she dropped the party-killing bomb. I thought her story would be much more interesting than a girl who falls asleep and waits for a prince she's never met to wake her with a kiss. I always thought it was a little presumptuous of the other fairy to put the rest of the castle to sleep while they waited for the big rescue. Talk about royal prerogatives! Nowadays the castle folk would have sued.But I digress. I think it's a sign of maturity when you start wondering more about the bad guys in a story than the heroes. When we're kids we ask why about everything, but I don't remember questioning the stories that ended "....And they lived happily ever after." I figured it went without saying it included pretty dresses and lots of cake, the only happily ever after a seven year old can imagine. Now I wonder about the other characters. Were the castle folk paid for their time in stasis? Were the king and queen relieved to have some new clothes? Most importantly, did Maleficent (the best name for a villain, by the way) regret her impetuous act or did she have a real axe to grind? I still haven't seen Maleficent, but I can't wait to find out what happens.Are there any fairy tale villains you wish you knew more about?

Old Mother Goose

Old Mother Goose,When she wanted to wander,Would ride through the airOn a very fine gander.

Mother Goose had a house,’Twas built in a wood,Where an owl at the doorFor sentinel stood.

This is her son Jack,A smart looking lad.He is not very good,Nor yet very bad.

She sent him to market,A live goose he bought.“Here, mother,” says he,“It will not go for nought.”

Jack’s goose and her ganderGrew very fond,They’d both eat together,And swim in one pond.

Jack found one morning,As I have been told,His goose had laid himAn egg of pure gold.

Jack rode to his mother,The news for to tell;She called him a good boy,And said it was well.

Jack sold his gold eggTo a rogue that he knew,Who cheated him out ofThe half of his due.

Then Jack went a courtingA lady so gay,As fair as the Lily,And sweet as the May.

The Rogue and the SquireCame close at his back,And began to belaborThe sides of poor Jack.

And then the gold eggWas thrown into the sea,But Jack he jumped in,And got it back presently.

The Rogue got the goose,Which he vowed he’d kill,Resolving at onceHis pockets to fill.

Jack’s mother came in,And caught the goose soon,And, mounting its back,Flew up to the moon.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

"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...

Will Multicultural become a new genre?

When I was an undergrad, I had a work-study in the school career center. My main role was internet research, a sweet gig for a sophomore which came with an office and unfettered access to a computer. One day I was called into a planning meeting for a networking event. What made it different from the other networking events was its focus on multiculturalism. The office hoped to attract multicultural alumni and connect them with multicultural students. It was an excellent idea until I pointed out what I thought was an obvious glitch. Multicultural included the GLBT community and would attending our networking reception as say a white male, automatically out that student as gay? Here I was, a 19 year old intern and I'd stumped the professionals. Then I asked, perhaps naively, why the event had to be labeled as multicultural since anyone answering to that label should feel free to come to all networking receptions?I bring up this odd memory because I've been looking at literary agents "what I'm looking for" blurbs and noticed an odd trend. Some list within their interests "multicultural". Is that a genre? I always assumed that when they listed categories like YA, sci-fi/fantasy, thriller, and such they weren't specifically asking for white. For that matter, if they could, would an agent say they were interested in white lit? I think the backlash would be tremendous. I thought the publishing community was in the business of supporting those who create engaging stories with protagonists we can connect with and antagonists we love to hate. Does that have a color? A gender? An age?I'm well aware of the current hue and cry being sent up to make literature more inclusive and I agree that it should. I just wonder if trying to get more diverse will create a sort of literary segregation where multicultural will become its own genre. I'm sure there are those who would applaud the shift, but I think it would miss the point. In an age when the world is getting smaller while at the same time we're becoming more cosmopolitan shouldn't we embrace the idea of multiculturalism as a foregone conclusion? Not doing so sounds as antiquated as referring to female medical professionals as "lady doctors".Then again, I remember going to a writer's conference and having a pitch session with an agent who felt my YA fantasy wasn't edgy enough because the protagonist was too optimistic and attached to her mother. She explained that YA audiences expected more angst and snark. I wanted to explain that snarkiness doesn't fly in all homes, and particularly not in a Hispanic home, but I was too crushed to say anything after my protagonist was labeled middle grade. Would a separate category give my protagonist better opportunities?I don't know what the answer to this question--it's becoming a trend. But my research into NA and my adventures in publishing (or pre-publishing I should say) has given me more perspective. I'll take my cue from those NA writers who said the best way to change the market is to be a part of the market. Labels are a marketing tool, not a definition as to how I should write my stories.In the end, the career center decided to have a networking reception open to all and attracted students from all walks of life, but they still opted to call it a multicultural event. I still think it was just an event.

At the Crossroads of Fairy Tale and Folklore

According to my outdated (read: paper copy!) Webster's Dictionary the definition of fairy tale is a story about fairies, magic deeds, etc., while folklore is defined as the traditional beliefs, legends, etc. of a culture. So does that mean all fairy tales and folklore have in common is etc.? What's etcetera anyway in this case? I like to think that the etc. in a fairy tale are the traditional beliefs and legends and the etc. in folklore are the fairies and magical deeds. Which means they're the same, right? Well, now I suppose I have to address the 800-pound gorilla. That gorilla is called culture.Does culture determine whether a story is a fairy tale or folklore? Does that imply that anything that doesn't originate from Northern Europe (from where most popular fairy tales come) is folklore? Moreover does that imply that Northern Europe doesn't have a culture? Neither should be the case. Fairy tales started out as folklore which became so popular that they transcended culture. That means that all folklore, despite culture, can grow to fairy tale status. All they need is a little push in the direction of popularity.One of the barriers to wider appeal for many folk tales is language. Would we love Grimm's Fairy Tales or the stories of Hans Christian Andersen so much if someone hadn't decided to translate them? We should invite more cultures to the party. Right now the subject of diversity is really hot with writers, especially YA/MG writers of which I am one. It's kind of a minefield of emotions, political correctness, and common sense that everyone has to wade through. As a parent, I want to make sure that my daughter sees herself reflected in the books she reads and the shows and movies she watches. As a writer, I want to insert my reality into my writing (even though I write mostly YA fantasy). But as a bona-fide member of the person of color club, not to mention being part of the largest minority--womankind--I feel as though I shouldn't have to bang the drum too loudly because it's worse than preaching to the choir. Instead of asking for change, I'm going to make change (I know there's some funny cashier joke that I should make, but I can't think of one--any suggestions?). For my own edification and hopefully for your enjoyment, I want to explore folklore that begs to be more popular, starting with my own.  

What's in an age appropriate label?

As some of you already know, I'm a writer. As to the titles of my works that can be found on a shelf or e-book, let's just call me pre-published. I'm working on the third book in my series called Rhymes & Misdemeanors, a YA fantasy. But as my series progresses, following the adventures of a 17 year old girl on the brink of adulthood and magical chaos, it's getting darker. The themes are becoming more mature as she matures, which is what you hope for in a character arc. However, it's bringing up all these questions.For one, can it still be called YA if the dark turns in my series include murder, betrayal, and sex? Yes, I said it. My book now has sex. And not illusions to sex, a whole chapter dedicated to my protagonist losing her virginity. The series didn't start that way, but now I have to think about labels when trying to market a YA book with a less than YA element.For another thing, why do I have to give my book an age label? As a parent, I know it's important to let your child read age appropriate stories, but when I was 12 I read The Godfather! How much credibility do I have there?So I went in search of the elusive label called New Adult or NA. I find it oddly poignant that NA also means not applicable because that's how my series is starting to feel. It starts very YA and then becomes something more nebulous--adult yet pre-adult. That used to be Young Adult. Now we have New Adult, the 18-25ish set. It's HBO's Girls in book form for which I have little patience. But I didn't want to dismiss it outright, so I started by looking at book covers. With precious few exceptions, NA books have an entwined couple with a slightly suggestive title hanging overhead, or it's a woman-child with a determined look in her eye and a bare-chested man in the background and a single word title capturing the moment. This is not what I wanted. I have nothing against romance, or even erotica, but would I be lying to my readers if I slapped NA on the spine and they hoped to find YA's sexier older sister? My book is about a girl who is trying to find her place in a world that says her desire to be more should be tempered by her sex and her station. Would NA audiences accept that as a viable topic?Not wanting to be swayed by marketing tricks, I sought out the source of some of the less risqué titles of NA. I found a wonderful community of writers who think NA can be more than just a one-trick pony and prove it with their work. However, their optimism was tempered by the reality and some came out and said that NA audiences would feel tricked if romance wasn't the main plot. But I'm heartened by a recent blog series written by one of those supportive authors, Jill Archer, whose blog is asking that very question. The authors she interviews also seem equally as optimistic and it gives me hope. (Read about it here, here, and here)But my questions still stand. What do you do with a story of a young woman who is working her way to and through adulthood who actually manages to mature? Do you give her a new label or stick with the old one and hope her readers grow with her? The idealistic answer is "write your story and to hell with the labels", but what's the real answer? Maybe like my protagonist, it lies somewhere in between. I'll make my own niche in both. In the meantime, I'm going to write my story and worry about marketing later.

April Fool

I think of April first as a time for the topsy-turvy to take over. I think the weather has a lot to do with it.I've never been one for tricks because I really do believe in the golden rule. If I drop a balloon full of pudding on someone's head can I really avoid a prank call about my car being totaled?Instead I want to write about the role of The Fool in fairy tales, one of the chief archetypes. What they all seem to have in common is that they are good for no reason. Their families go out of their way to give them the worst of everything and ridicule them for any kindness they show. So does that mean that a fool in the times of the Grimm Brothers was kind despite the wretchedness of his life?One of my favorite stories is The Golden Goose. The youngest of three sons (they're always the youngest of three) has to chop wood for his family because the elder two have had terrible axing accidents after denying a old man some of their lunch (talk about fools!). The Simpleton, who is given vinegar instead of cider and hard bread offers to share the meal and is rewarded with a Golden Goose. After parading around town with the treasure, and having townspeople stick to it and each other trying to pull off a feather, he arrives in a town that offers the hand of a princess if they can make her laugh. Being simple and not having noticed the train of buffoons behind him, he shows her the goose, everyone falls and she laughs thus proving that girls like guys who can make them laugh.Another story, The Queen Bee, runs along the same lines except he helped animals and insects who helped him in return. He and his smarter, older brothers are given impossible tasks to complete and the young idiot gets it done with the help of some ants, some ducks, and a bee. For his trouble he wins himself a castle and a princess to marry. These are called serendipitous fools, very popular in fairy tales. Couldn't we all take a lesson from that?I recommend that for today, instead of giving your best friend a fake winning lottery ticket or calling your parents and telling them you just got married, try being a fairy tale fool. Be nice for no reason and here's the kicker...people will think you're up to something thus playing the biggest trick of all. Happy April Fools!

The Danger

All endeavors have their pitfalls. Lawyers can become too jaded. Doctors--to robotic. Policymakers--to self-interested. And it doesn't stop at professions. A mountain climber will tackle an even taller mountain because she hasn't found one that has beaten her--yet. Surfers are always searching for that big wave and there's a moment between doubt and sheer terror where invincibility washes all questions away. For every creative person the next work, the next piece, the next manuscript digs a little deeper (you hope) until you reach a core where only you live. That's the danger. Living inside your head so much that no one can get in. That's what all these risks have in common--standing in your own way.Now that I've made this post sound so esoteric, let me bring you back to earth. I'm a writer and one of the things I write (obviously) is this blog. I concentrate on fairy tales, myths, and such and how they speak to us now. Not on an academic level, although it can sneak in there sometimes, but on a everyday human level. What does that mean? It means that I tend to spend a lot of time in my head figuring out what I think, feel, and believe regarding entertaining fiction. But living in my head I have a tendency, as many of us do, to overanalyze--to reach for something that maybe no one else sees. Nothing's more jarring to an analyst than someone who reads your thoughts and comes back with, "Really? You went there?" "Yeah, I went there! And what?" Okay that's defensive, but you get the point. But when you can't find something in your bag of tricks, you tend to reach for snark.This idea has been swirling around in my head for a while now and it started with Frozen, the new Disney movie sensation. I won't pretend that I didn't love it--because I did both as a parent and as a life-long lover of all (well, almost all) things Disney--but it's gotten a little over the top. People want to dress up like Ana and Elsa, they record themselves singing, Let it Go, for public consumption, and they overanalyze the message. Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate the fact that (spoiler alert!) the main idea is true love which doesn't involve a prince. I'm writing a series trying to debunk the myth that all girl-power adventure stories have to have a romantic focus. I just think that the cult-like following it's attracting is...I'm searching for a word that isn't too judge-y...unbelievable. It's middle-aged women obsessing over Twilight unbelievable. Okay that was judge-y. Then I go back to my defensive analyst and hear others saying, "Yeah, I went there! And what?" To which I have no response.We all have our own obsessions. Mine just happen to be quiet and solitary, while others can be loud and in your face. I came to blogging kicking and screaming and still haven't joined Facebook or Twitter. I'm not secretive or shy, but I find I'm intimate. I'd rather have drinks at a bar than shots at the club. So, to end this long digression here's the danger of blogging--living in your head and then being too judgmental of other people's headspace. While it can be constructive, sometimes is can be cruel (like my Twilight remark). And though I don't promise that I'll always be big enough to take the high road, I like to think that I'm conscious of the danger.

The Hidden Minority

I have to say that I am encouraged by the current push of contemporary fairy tales. They give women a voice and often make them front and center as heroes in their own stories. The LGBT community finally has a glimmer of hope in seeing protagonists that have the same thoughts and feelings as they do. Latinos, African-Americans, Asians, and myriad cultures are being discovered within the pages of novels which before had almost ignored their existence. I don't think we've reached the goal of true diversity in stories, but I can see light at the end of the tunnel.Except for one slice of the underrepresented pie...Now, I'm willing to be proven wrong on this front, but I think stories have failed to acknowledge a particular segment of society. It's one that exists across all borders, within every culture and comes from every socio-economic background. I speak, of course, of the Plus-Sized protagonist. In an age where we worry that the population is overweight and health issues like diabetes, high cholesterol and heart disease are of serious concern, I understand why we are reluctant to glorify a state which could bring about all of these things. Then again, we glorify the bad boy who after years of being a dick can find his heart because of the love of a nice girl.Here's the deal. I don't hate skinny girls. I will admit to the occasional bouts of "big girl rage" when I skip dessert but want to chow down on some cake. But I can't be angry at someone who can eat anything they want while I have to exercise in order to stay in my favorite jeans. Everyone has something! I just don't understand why every heroine (and hero for that matter) has to be willowy thin with athletic abilities. How is it that the bookishly smart hero, who spends all his time in the library also manages to have a perfect BMI? Is the chubby sister any less deserving of a prince than her wasp-waisted sibling?I suppose I can imagine anyone as Sleeping Beauty or the miller's daughter in Rumpelstiltskin. That's the power of an immersive story. But then I see the story come to life on screen. Yes, I'm one of those annoying people who whispers "The book was so much better", but we live in a visual age. Even if I don't want to see the movie version of The Great Gatsby, I can't help but think of Leonardo DiCaprio whenever I read F. Scott Fitzgerald's book. So unless I want to live under a rock, the actors cast as my favorite characters tend to stick in my imagination. Would it be so wrong to hope for The Zaftig Mermaid (something to keep her warm in the big ocean) or a pleasantly plump set of sisters in Frozen (for the cold winter nights)? Red Riding Hood and Cinderella were work horse, traipsing through the woods with heavy packages and cleaning house for an exacting step-mother, respectively, so I understand their thinness. Couldn't Belle have been just as...belle...if her voracious reading came with a chocolate and croissant habit? Rapunzel was looked up in a tower, for goodness sakes, and you're telling me she couldn't have been cute if she were full-figured? Yes, I'm fixating on Disney, but it has given us the most popular versions of these heroines.This doesn't only have to apply to fairy tales. I would love to hear about a popular YA series featuring a sassy and shapely girl or a handsome yet husky guy. They would have to be just as capable as their lean counterparts and most importantly not apologize for their size. Just a thought.

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 VI

Sorry for the delay. Computers really do run our lives!

The proclamation was read in kingdoms throughout the land and many sought out king. Dukes, earls, viscounts, and other noble personages came to the castle looking for a bride, but were instead handed a mystery. Try as they might, none could prove or disprove the sorcerer’s story. And after three days each suitor was sent to the nether realms, never to be heard from again. Soon nobles were few and far between and the mystery had yet to be solved.

One day a humble soldier was making his way to the kingdom. He had recently retired from years of service and sought his fortune in the capitol. Along the way, he was stopped by an old woman sitting at the side of the road.

“Kind sir, will you share your meal with me? I am but an old woman who is tired and hungry,” she said.

“I don’t have much, but I will share what I have with you,” he replied and reached into his sack for the bread and cheese he had there. They sat in a companionable silence until the food was gone. The old woman smiled and pointed at his leg.

“What has happened to you?”

“I was a soldier and was wounded in battle. I’m retired now and am heading to the capitol to earn a living. Perhaps I’ll find some luck as my duke did wedding the king’s eldest daughter,” he said with a laugh.

“The Princess Mariana is not married,” she replied with a wink.

“But that is impossible. He left 6 months ago to marry her and never returned. What a puzzle!”

“It’s true sir and there is a puzzle to solve. Perhaps you might find it well worth your trouble to solve it. If you do, listen to an old woman’s advice. Drink nothing that the princesses give you and take this cloak so none can see you when you follow them,” she said and with that she thanked him and walked away belying her years. The soldier found this all most peculiar, but had no other plans.

He presented himself at the castle and despite some misgivings from the king and Uriel was allowed to stay and try his hand at the riddle. When he went to his chamber, which looked over the princesses, he saw the old woman carrying a bundle of fabric. A passing servant confirmed that she was Mistress Bronwen, a fixture of the castle for years out of memory.

That night the eldest princess herself brought the soldier a glass of wine before retiring. Remembering the words of the old woman, he pretended to drink the beverage and then feigned exhaustion. The princess was sorry to trick such a nice man, but she could not have him interfering in her plans. Making her way back to the princesses’ room, she never looked behind her sure that her potion had done its work.

Following only steps behind her was the soldier cloaked in invisibility. Not wanting to be detected he nearly missed his chance to slip in the door behind Mariana. The cloak snagged and a sliver of boot was visible. It would have gone unnoticed, but the youngest, Amara screamed and pointed at the spot. The soldier was able to move quickly and cover his mistake before the other sisters investigated.

“You’re just excitable because it’s time to go. Get your shoes on so we can depart,” said Mariana slipping on her dancing slippers.

Tapping the floor three times a portal opened in the middle of their bedroom. A spiral staircase descended into the dark hole with twinkling lights at the base. The soldier could see only the first stair while the other princesses crowded around the entrance awaiting their turn to descend. After the youngest started to make her way down, the soldier followed and saw the pinks and purples of dusk surrounding them. He was so overwhelmed by the stars and the exotic smells that he accidentally tread on the hem of the youngest princess. Again she yelped.

“Amara, what is it this time?” asked her elder sister, Anora.

“I have a strange feeling. Like someone is following us. Maybe we should head back,” replied Amara looking over her shoulder again and again. The soldier cursed himself for his clumsiness and waited until the princesses were three steps ahead before continuing.

“You’re just being silly. I’ve done this countless times before you and our sisters have been doing it before we were born without a problem. That soldier is fast asleep like the rest of them,” Anora reassured her. But Amara still stole glances behind her back to be sure.

Soon they arrived at a glowing lake with swans the size of horses gliding to the edge. On each sat a man or boy that looked to be about the same ages as the princesses. Each rider took the hand of a princess and helped her onto the back of a swan. Lucky for the soldier, Princess Amara was small as was her companion. He eased himself behind her and fit nicely on the saddle. Lifting his cape to avoid the water, his toe stuck out again for only a moment. The princess blinked and then her companion gave the command for the swan to move.

The soldier was amazed by the sights in from of him. Trees shimmered in silver and gold. Where there should have been fruit growing, only gemstones hung in abundance. When they docked, the pathway was strewn with glittering sand which shone like diamonds. Up ahead stood a grand palace from which music wafted out of windows.

Once inside, the princesses danced with richly clad gentlemen who looked oddly similar to the royal highnesses. The way they danced looked friendly, but not amorous—the way one might dance with a family member. Standing in the middle of the dance floor and swaying along to the music, the soldier listened to the conversations being had. Some were of little consequence, commenting on the weather or the merits of the song being played. The youngest princesses told her companion of her fear that they had been followed. The eldest, however was in rapt conversation with the man turning her about the floor.

“Now that we have a full complement, I think it time to strike,” she said with a serious face completely at odds with her graceful and carefree movements.

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.

Early Inspiration

The first stories I told as a kid were ghost stories. You know the ones I'm taking about. The mysterious drip that came from nowhere. The woman with a ribbon around her neck. The hook in the car door. The Lady in White. The list goes on and on, but they were stories we told each other at slumber parties, at recess, and especially at Halloween.As an adult, I look back at those stories with a hint of longing. Longing for the time when Halloween was atmospheric and eerie. Now it feels more repulsive and gory. Scary yes, gruesome no. Whatever happened to The Wolves of Willoughby Chase or The Watcher in the Woods? If you don't know what I'm talking about, please look them up as examples of stories with real atmosphere.Being a writer has made me more proactive. If I feel there's an absence of something I want to read, instead of complaining I write it. So, despite being a rather mediocre poet for some reason Halloween puts me in mind to rhyme.All Hallows Evening

Quiet creaking

Gentle shivers

Paces seeking

Lighted slivers

         *

Moonlit pools

Carry secrets

Hungry ghouls

Hide in thickets

          *

Unsuspecting

Wander through

Anticipating

Only you

          *

Finding barely

What was sought

Knowing faintly

You’ve been caught

           *

Night of Hallows

Veils thin

Until the morrows

Stay in!

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.

NaNoWriMo---Training Lean, Mean, Writing Machines

The kind of post that will keep me sane when I participate in NaNoWriMo this year.

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.

No Excuses...On with the Show

When I made the decision to become a writer, I made an interesting discovery. Lots of people in my life and some new acquaintances voiced the same desire. However, they didn’t have anything written down. Or they had an idea which they haven’t resolved. Or…the list goes on and on. This really bugged me--like people who use the elevator to go up one flight at the gym. Nothing brought this home to me more like the one and only episode of “Girls” I watched. (To my contemporaries, I apologize for having no interest in this series to which I’m supposed to watch like the Gospels.)

It was the pilot episode. To sum it up the lead Girl wants to be a writer and lives in New York City, which is beyond expensive, but she makes no money. She’s still an intern and when her parents tell her she’s cut off so they can actually enjoy themselves she throws a hissy-fit. Being on this side of thirty I no longer commiserate with Girl and now root for the parents. And no, I don’t feel old--just really peeved that my mother’s “wait and see” was more prophesy than idle rant. Anyway, at some point she shows up at her parents’ hotel to show them the book she’s working on. And it’s a mess! Jots and doodles on 10 pages about who knows what and the parents are thoroughly underwhelmed. I was, too. Maybe it’s harsh, but come on? That makes you a writer? No wonder you can’t get respect for calling yourself one unless you’re published.

Now, I’ve been a blogger for almost a year and I’ll admit it’s gotten away from me a times. As the title of the post says, no excuses, so I won’t bore you with details that will make you sympathetic to my plight. I have been working on a novel (two in fact), but this blog is my exercise. It’s like having a thriving business, but not being bothered to work on the accounts. It catches up to you. I refuse to let this blog become a New Year’s resolution that only makes it to March. Go to the gym, eat better, oh and use your blog to actually blog! So to that end, next week I will publish a short story about my take on the 12 Dancing Princesses (It also proves I have been writing, just not blogging).

I still don’t like “Girls” and I think people are too quick to say they want to write, too. But instead of griping about it, I’ll just get on with my blogging.

National Book Lovers' Day

Today is a day to think about how books affect us.

I’m a writer so I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I’m also a reader. Avid is the word I would use and sometimes obsessive is another phrase I’d tack on to my literary addiction. If you’re reading this, I assume you’re a reader, too. As such I’m sure you can relate to what I’m going to share with you.

Working on rewrites with book 2 in my series has brought about ideas for books 3, 4, and 5. At first I was over the moon that I now know the beginning middle and end of this series that has lived in my mind for so long. It’s become a very real place, this world I’ve created with characters I’ve come to see as old friends. I have glimpses of this world in my mind’s eye when I’m not writing and I’m struck by such a powerful urge to get back to my notebook and keep writing. However, I’ve also started feeling anxious about what happens next.

When I read a really good book, I invest not just time but emotions in the story. The characters become part of my day to day life and I wonder what they’re doing and what will happen to them. The phrase THE END becomes bittersweet and I miss those people I invited in to my consciousness. The same will happen, one day, when I finish this series. Years from now I will write that same phrase on a page and mean it. For the longest time I didn’t understand this sensation when I read, but now as a writer I know exactly what to call it. It’s loss and for a period of time, sometimes a few days sometimes a week or two, I grieve. I grieve by not picking up a new story and think about the events over and over again. I remember the sad bits, the parts when I couldn’t put the book down because I needed to know where I was leaving these friends before going to sleep, and I smile privately at some inside joke or moment of tenderness that I was allowed to witness.

I almost fear this with my own books. I know what will happen in book 5, but it hasn’t been written yet. So I can tell myself I have time. But the story continues to tell itself to me in quick snatches and long dreams insisting on being finished.

Just with the books I read, one day I’ll start to feel restless and unaccountable uncomfortable with my surroundings. I’ll tell myself it’s the weather or that the day to day hectic rush is getting to me. But I’ll realize I’m just missing my outlet—I’ll need a story. Only this time I’ll itch for a pen and I’ll meet a whole new batch of friends that I create despite knowing I’ll miss them terribly at some future date when I type the words…

THE END

That’s being a book lover. Enjoy the holiday!