Fairy Tales Gone Wrong: Riker's Fractured Fairy Tale

by Ivy Thorn

The last post I made on this blog, someone asked me for an example of something that can go wrong in a fairy tale if you don't follow my three rules. (Why is it always three?)

Well, I'm not the only one who gets trapped in fairy tales. Every now and then, I'll meet someone like me, someone who's been captured by one of those obnoxious pixies. I got sucked into the Twelve Dancing Princesses once, where I met this guy named Riker. I got his permission to tell you about one of his adventures. I think I mentioned him once. Riker survived The Clever Little Tailor.

Riker's a pretty awesome guy. Like me, he enjoys messing with people. I warned him about that. It can get you into trouble. He knew exactly what I meant.We were dancing at the time, so we had some time to talk.

"I had a little too much fun with that fairy tale," he said.

I stepped on his toe, but didn't apologize. He was used to it by that point. "What do you mean?"

He flashed a wicked grin. “I broke into the cheese shop.”


“You what? Why?”

“The tailor was supposed to trick the giant by squeezing some cheese. Says he’s squeezing moisture out of a rock.” He spun me around, slow enough that I didn't trip.

“So you stole all the cheese? That’s crazy.”

“Crazy delicious.” He grinned and patted his stomach. “But then the tailor had to scramble for a new plan. In the meantime, the giant tore up the entire village. Not pretty, when the whole community uses outhouses.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m kidding.” He dipped me really low, totally hamming it up. “But not really.”

When he pulled me back up, I tried giving him a look that said, “Oh, please.” but on the inside, I was cracking up. I just had this mental image of busted outhouses, all because this guy stole some cheese.

There you go. That's what can happen. So please, if you ever wake up in a fairy tale, follow the rules!

Fairy Tale Survival 101

by Ivy Thorn

Fairy Tales are so predictable. But they're not. You think you know what happens next. You think you know all the patterns and archetypes. But the thing about fairy tales is: you never know when some fairy is going to change things up because he's bored. Or you might change the story without meaning to. There's no rule that says Snow White has to take a bite from a poisoned apple. You can pick all the apples in kingdom, but that's not going to stop the queen from going after Snow White.

Believe me. I've tried.

I had a friend who got stuck in The Clever Little Tailor. And things went horribly wrong because he broke into the town's cheese shop. But that's another post.

The point is: anything you change can come back and bite you.

So the first rule of fairy tale survival is: Don't touch a thing. I don't care if it's pretty or sparkly or if it looks delicious. It's probably cursed anyway and you don't want it.

The second rule completely contradicts the first one. You have to change something. If you're being trapped in a fairy tale, it's most likely because a fairy is bored and wants to watch something entertaining. So you have to change something or the fairy will change things for you. And believe me, you don't want that.

So start small. Start by talking to characters. Get them to think about their situation differently. You want the character to make the big changes, not you. For example, one of my better ideas was when I jumped into Snow White this latest time. (Yes, I get trapped in the same tale more than once occasionally.) I told the queen she'd be better off leaving Snow White alive. Of course, she didn't listen to me. Until I suggested that she make Snow White ugly. Not dead, just ugly.

My third and best tip for surviving a fairy tale is to make friends. I know it sounds cheesy, but it works. You'll get past all those witches and enchantresses trying to test you. Friends are allies and can help you be in more than one place at the same time. One of the best friends you can make? The kitchen staff. Everything revolves around food, just like in our world, and if you can make friends with the cook, you've got a leg up on all the big parties, balls, royal dinners, family suppers, even that basket of poisoned apples...

So there you go. You're ready for a fairy invasion. If you ever wake up in front of a castle, you know what to do.

Wow, it's been a while. I've been busy elsewhere, trying to get out of a sticky situation that's more... long term. But more on that later. At the moment, I'm stuck in The Gingerbread Man. Fortunately, I think this is a quick one, but I'm a little rusty on this particular tale.

I'm standing outside a little cottage where a gingerbread man just burst out the door screaming, "I'm the gingerbread man!" So it was pretty easy to pinpoint the title of this story.

A little old woman hobbles out the front door after the little cookie. She's holding a rolling pin. She doesn't look happy. I take a step back, but then I realize she's really slow. So I take off after the little dude too, trying to pass the old woman as fast as I possible can.

As soon as I'm clear of that rolling pin, I look over my shoulder. The old woman seems a little put-out that I caught up so quickly, but that's nothing compared to her husband. He's just now clearing the threshold of the front door with his cane. Poor guy.

I'm gaining on the cookie, enough that I hear him yell at a cow in the field, "Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me. I'm the gingerbread man!"

I need to head him off. Think, Ivy. How does this story end?

Then I see a fox dart across my path. It sparks a memory--the river! That's where he gets caught, I think. I head straight for the river, bypassing a farm and a school. That should save me enough time to catch up.

The gingerbread man taunts some more animal and rounds the school play yard. He's getting closer. The speedy little pastry looks over his shoulder and starts to yell at the kids on the playground when SPLAT! he runs right into my leg.

I bend over and peel him off my pajama pants and hold him as tight as I can without crushing him. He's still warm from the oven. It takes me a minute to catch my breath before I can say anything. Just as the gingerbread man's ... uh... mother? catches up, I manage to say, "Run, run, as fast as you can, buddy. I just saved you from getting eaten!"

I hand him back to the little old woman. "I think he needs more sugar. And maybe some molasses."

The girl blushes when I ask her if I look like a beast. Man, she's gorgeous. I feel bad. "Sorry," I say. "I've had a rough ... um..." I look out the window and onto the brightly-lit lawn. "A rough morning. I'm here to meet the beast, but he isn't expecting me."

I back up and lean against the Greek-style column that makes up half the door frame. "Don't mind me."

The girl relaxes and nods. She sidesteps over to the flowers, and shoots a glance at me before looking at them more closely. She smiles and smells the roses, then touches one, just barely, with the tip of her pinky. Wow. She really gets a kick out of flowers I guess.

I slide down to sit on the warm marble and think. How can I speed things up?

I hear a bunch of clicks coming in from the opposite side of the room. I have no idea what I'm hearing until I see a huge dog walk into the room. Except the dog has horns and a snout that looks more like a wild pig. And really, really big  claws. The ones that click against the marble floors. I round the pillar to get out of sight and listen to the conversation.

"Beauty," said the beast, "will you give me leave to see you sup?"


"That is as you please." Her hands were shaking. Poor thing.

"No, you alone are mistress here; you need only bid me gone, if my presence is troublesome, and I will immediately withdraw."

So... yeah... skip ahead. The conversation went on like this for a while. Basically, it all ended in a marriage proposal (I'm not kidding.) and Beauty turning him down. Figures.

The beast leaves, kinda sulky, and Beauty (who's sitting in a gold-framed chair now) puts her hands in her lap. She jumps a little when she sees me. Honestly. How bad is her memory?

"You just turned him down?"

Beauty frowns. "I did. He cannot possibly expect me to comply."

"Comply?" I pull another chair away from the table and sit in front of her. "I know you may not believe this, but that beast," I point at the empty doorway, "is under a spell. And he'll die if you don't change your mind."

Beauty's face wrinkles. She's still beautiful, though. "He'll die? But he's so..."

"Good-natured? Well-educated? Disgustingly wealthy? Totally into you?" I laugh. Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want to marry him." I stand up. "Look, if you can just get past what he looks like, you'll see that you two belong together. He's perfect for you." I turn to leave the room, but stop. "I mean that as a compliment."

Beauty's face is pale, but she nods. I wait for the room to change, but it doesn't. Crap. I'm still here.

Woke up in a palace today. Not like the usual grey-stone castles that feel like crypts. This is an elegant room with marble floors and wide fireplaces. Everything is spotless, but inviting. I wander from room to room and find one dedicated to a million different musical instruments. Does someone really play them all?

There's a room with a long couch (like twice as long as the one in my living room) in front of an equally long hearth and crackling fire. As I get closer, my toes can feel the heat even through my sneakers. The end table has a vase of the most beautiful red and white roses I've ever seen.

"Who are you? What do you want?" asks someone behind me. I turn.

Pretty doesn't begin to describe this girl. I mean, think super model. Only, she doesn't know it. She looks like the nicest girl in the world. Her chestnut hair is in a twist that rests on one shoulder and her cheekbones practically glow. Who is this girl?

"What do you want with me?" she asks.

"Um." I know. Profound. But I honestly can't think of anything to say.

The girl relaxes in the shoulders a takes a steady step toward me. "Are you the one who spoke with my father?" She lifts her eyebrows, looking hopeful. "The one who asked him to bring me here?"

As I realize which fairy tale I'm in, I'm pretty insulted. "Do I look like a beast to you?"

I wander the forest, trying to keep the old woman's house close, but also trying not to freeze to death. Yes, I'd rather freeze than go into a disease-ridden room. Can you blame me? That poor woman was so sick she barely looked human. Don't judge me. You didn't see her.

I look over my shoulder and spot the somking chimney. I should probably head back soon. When I turn back around, a wolf is standing right directly in front of me. Yes, he's standing. On two legs. Just like one of those funniest videos. I try not to laugh.

The wolf nods at me. The fur around the scruff of his neck looks so warm. When he talks, it's like silk. "Who are you?"

I smile. He seems nice. "I'm Ivy," I say. I feel like I should be a little smarter about what information I offer to this guy. I mean, he is a wolf. Wolves aren't exactly the heroes of fairy tales.

"What do you want?" the wolf asks. What a strange question. What does anyone want?

Focus, Ivy. "I just got back from that old lady's house," I say, pointing behind me. Think. Please think. This wolf is bad. There's an old woman and ... a little girl. "She's dead." I try to say it as convincingly as possible, but I'm working on the fly here and I don't think he buys it.

Still, the wolf's face wrinkles in concern. Have you ever seen a concerned wolf? It's hilarious. "I think I'll pay my respects." The words slip over his tongue like maple syrup.

My heart drops into my belly, but I manage to smile and nod. "I was just going to look for Little Red Riding Hood and let her know so she doesn't come all this way for nothing." Please please go away.

The wolf's face scrunches up again. "Hmmm." He turns around and walks (still on two legs) out of sight.

The forest fades away.

Even though I'm back in my own bed, I have a hard time falling back asleep. I hope the wolf gave up. I hope the little girl is safe now.

At first, I think I'm dreaming. I JUST got back from Sleeping Beauty last night! How come I can't one night of just warm blanket and pillow? This forest is freezing!

I wrap my hands around my arms and jump up and down a few times. I'm not sure if it helps or not. It looks like it's early morning. The birds are going nuts all around me.

A muffled sound makes me turn around. A small brick house is buried in the woods, a small overgrown garden next to it. The flowers look like they haven't been watered in weeks. Still, it's cute. And I bet it's warm.

Before I get to the door, I hear the muffled sound again. Someone's coughing. I peek in through the window and see the most wrinkled old lady I've ever seen. She looks nice--lots of laugh lines--but her eyes are droopy and her coloring is off. She has the blanket up to her chin. Her huge, whiskey, cone-shaped chin.

To be honest, I don't really want to go in there. She looks really sick. I can practically see the germs settling on the tea kettle on the big black stove. But I can also see the heat rising from the top of the stove.

The old lady hacks a few more times and that decides it. I'll at least take a short walk before braving that death-trap. I take an overgrown path, trying to keep the cottage in sight, in case I change my mind.

Hundreds of people in the room, and no one thinks to jump on the evil fairy before she lifts her hands over the baby. A flash of orange light fills the room. I barely see it, just the blue-greenish afterimage it leaves behind.

When I can see again, I expect the fairy to be gone, but she has one hip leaning on the crib. “The little princess is cursed to prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel before her—“

I tackle the fairy. We fly backward and smack into the mosaic pattern on the floor with an “oof”. I lift my fist, but before it lands, the fairy is gone and I’m kneeling on the floor with the whole room staring at me.

No one says anything. For a really long time. Seriously, it’s starting to feel weird. So I stand up and brush myself off to stall for time. Then someone behind me wails. She sounds like an ambulance. I turn around. The queen is hunched over, surrounded by her ladies in waiting. “The princess is cursed.” The queen lifts her head and glares at me through puffy eyes. “And you let that witch go!”

Woah. What?

The king lifts a finger. “Take her away,” he booms. “She will rot in the dungeon.”

“No!” I back up until the wall presses into my back. “I can fix this. I know how to break the curse.”

The king hesitates. Fortunately, so do the guards. The queen goes back to squealing and crying.

“Is everyone here?” I ask. “I mean, all the nearby kingdoms?”

The king nods slowly.

I press my hands together. I banking on the prince being older than the princess. “Gather all the princes together and have them line up.”

The queen stops making that unbearable noise long enough to glare at me (again) and whine, “Shouldn’t we try and prevent this curse?” Sniff. “We should destroy all the spinning wheels.”

I shake me head as politely as I can. “That won’t work. The witch probably has one. The spell can be broken by a prince.”

It takes more back-and-forth arguing before the king decides to give my plan a try. “We can always throw her in the dungeons later.”

The queen pouts and trudges out of the room. Her ladies skitter behind. I fight to keep from rolling my eyes. They’ve probably never heard the term ‘drama queen’ and it’s a bad pun anyway.

The princes eventually get in a line. Some are toddlers, some are like forty. I really hope it’s not one of them. A few of the adults protest. Maybe they’re afraid the curse is contagious. The king puts guards at all the exits. “This is for the little princess. We’re going to try everything.”

After several threats and political moves, we finally get the princes to line up. The king turns to me.

“Okay. Now, have each prince kiss the princess. One of them will break the spell.” I hope.

The line of boys and grown men inches forward as one by one they kiss the princess. Most just give her a peck on the cheek. I hope that’s good enough.

A little boy, about four or five years old, looks like he’s about to pee in his pantaloons. Before the lady next to him can stop him, he scales the side of the crib and climbs in next to the baby princess. He whips of the puffy little hat on his head and leans over to give the gentlest kiss on top of the little girl’s head.

A blue-green flash lights up everything in the room. By the time the orange afterimage fades, I’m back in my bedroom.

I collapse on my bed. Thank goodness that worked.

I go through a fortnight (Sorry--fourteen days. I’ve been here way too long.) of wandering the castle and pretending I know what I’m doing. It’s not too hard. There are probably hundreds of rooms in this place. As the party/birthday thing gets closer, it gets harder to find an empty room. Eventually, I find a quiet corner in the kitchen next to barrels of apples and sacks of grain. It smells like goose poop, but the sacks are nice to sleep on. And there’s food.

Why am I still here? I got the witch invited. Isn’t that what she was so upset about? I go over the fairy tale in my head again: Baby princess is born. Witch doesn’t get invited. Witch comes anyway and punishes everyone by cursing baby. After that, it gets a little hazy. I’ve seen the movie so many times, I’m not sure how much of it is accurate. I know the princess pricks her finger on a spinning wheel and falls asleep. She has to be kissed to wake up.

That’s all I have to work with? Doesn’t it take sixteen or eighteen years for that to happen? I bury my face into a sack of flour and choke on the dust. What did I do wrong? Why am I not home? The story should be changed. No, the story should be non-existent at this point. No angry witch means no spell.

The day of the celebration finally gets here. I borrow a dress from one of the rooms. I have to make sure to get all the details I can about this story.

I don’t think I need to describe this feast. Just know there’s a lot of food (Home grown. I mean, the turkey’s feathers are still in the kitchen.) and a lot of people dressed up. (So. Much. Lace.) I stand against the wall where I can see the royal thrones and the royal baby crib trimmed in velvet and lace. Everyone comes up to give their gifts. Some of the presents are kind of dumb. What baby would want a million rolls of cloth?

Some of the fairies (the ones with wings and pointy hats) give some interesting gifts. One youngish-looking girl puts her hand on the baby’s forehead and blesses her with strong bones. No one blesses her to be a light sleeper. Another fairy goes up to the baby and things… change. It’s like walking in on people talking about you and they suddenly shut up. Everyone stares at this fairy in her emerald-green dress and hundreds of twisty knots all over her blonde head. The woman smiles at the baby the whole time except for one glance at the queen. The fairy’s smile widens before she goes back to looking at the little princess.

“A gift,” she says. Her voice doesn’t fit her. It’s deep and almost masculine. Definitely not a soprano. “A gift for the princess.”

The king stands. He looks like he swallowed a hot pepper. “Don’t you touch her. You’re not welcome here.” He sounds like he swallowed a hot pepper.

The fairy waves a rolled up piece of parchment and my heart drops like a rock into my stomach. “I’ve been invited,” she purrs.

Oops.

I dream that an owl is scratching at the wall over my head. It’s really annoying. I fight to wake up and when I open my eyes, I’m staring at the underside of a wooden table. I smell books… and feet. I’m surrounded by feet.


I crawl out from under the table. I’m in a cramped little room with stone walls. (No doubt—I’m in a castle of some sort.) Ninety percent of the floor space is taken up by the aforementioned table. The other ten percent is occupied by a few small women in small chairs. The women are wearing floor-length dresses just short enough that their bare toes poke out from under their skirts. I guess this fairy tale doesn’t mention much about footwear. Guess I’m not in Cinderella.

The women ignore me. They’re too busy scratching their quills against parchment. I lean over a shoulder and read the old-fashioned writing. It’s an invitation. To a celebration for the princess. Actually, it’s more like a birth announcement and it mentions a time and place. Maybe a baby shower?

Two little men shove stacks and stacks of finished letters into large Santa-esque sacks. Since I’m still being totally ignored, I use this time to think. A fairy tale with a party… Not a ball, but a birthday for a princess.

Sleeping Beauty, of course. I smack myself in the head with my palm, making a slapping sound loud enough to finally get some attention. A nearby woman turns to look at me in shock. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Another woman looks up from her work. “Did the queen send you?”

"Um… yeah.” I clear my throat and throw my shoulders back like I know what I doing. “Yes. Her majesty has changed her mind. Be sure to invite everyone. Do not leave out one single person.”

The first woman’s mouth parts in surprise. “Even the witch.”

I nod smugly. “Even the witch. Invite her. We don’t want to upset or offend anyone.”

The two women nod in agreement and return to their work. I fold my arms in satisfaction and congratulate myself on job well done. Crisis averted.

So why am I still here?

Hansel and Grettle, Meet Ivy Thorn: Part 2

I set off following the trail of rocks, very pleased with myself. I never would have seen these stupid rocks if I hadn’t taken a nap. See—naps are awesome.


Again, I won’t boor you with the lack of details. This forest is huge. And monotonous. Eventually, I come up to a house.

Sorry, not a house. A shack. And it’s not made of gingerbread. Bummer. It’s really just a bunch of boards, barely held together. I realize this must be Hansel and Gretel’s home. And their parents, the ones that decided it would be a good idea to abandon their kids in the woods, probably still live here.

I take a deep breath to help me relax. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to punch the dad in the stomach at this point. Probably. Then I march right into the front door. Well, I march into the big gap between the boards that make up the front of the house. I assume they use it for a door.

A woman in rags pauses when I walk in. Her hand, full of grass or something, suspended over a small pot hanging over the fire. “Who are you?” she asks. “What do you want?”

Seeing her hollow cheeks and dry, thin lips makes me relax a little. There isn’t any furniture in the house. There isn’t even a floor. The grass is gone, leaving only dirt to walk on. There’s a tree stump near the fire that the woman was probably sitting on. I realize the pile of rags near my feet is probably their bed. Not taking my eyes off of it, I say, “Your kids are with a witch. There’s food there. And probably money.” I seem to remember some sort of happily-ever-after ending and the children wind up with the parents again, so I assume that means an end to their poverty. Fairy tales usually end like that. At the very least, they’ll get to eat the witch’s house.

I look up. The woman’s hand still hovers over the steaming pot. “My children?”

I nod. “Yeah. They left a trail of stones through the forest. If you follow it, you should find the witch’s house.”

Behind me, a man’s voice says, “Who are you and what do you want?”

I turn and see a man, too tall for the rags he’s wearing. I can see his narrow torso through the gaps in his clothing. He’s scowling at me. But as he takes a step toward me, he goes blurry. I close my eyes.

Everything goes quiet. I hadn’t noticed all the forest sounds or the noises of the fire, until they disappear. I open my eyes and I’m standing next to my bed. I relax, lowering my shoulders. Time for breakfast.

Hansel and Grettle, Meet Ivy Thorn: Part 1

This time, I wake up in the forest. It’s been a while since I wake up in a fairy tale, so at first I think it’s a dream. Most of the time, when you think about the forest, you think about chirping birds and filtered sunlight through the canopy, but when you have no idea where you are or how to get out, it’s feakin’ scary.

I push my hands into the dirt and get up on my feet. Before I let myself panic, I start walking. The forest looks the same in every direction, so it’s not like I can make the wrong choice. I can kind of tell that the sun is high up in sky, but it’s still dark down here.

I wander for a long time. I mean a really long time. I won’t boor you with the details of my fruitless journey; just know that by this point I’m tired, hungry and thirsty. Mostly, I’m tired. (I think that totally goes against Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs or something. Just take my word for it. I’m bushed.) Maybe this is a really short fairy tale and it’ll end soon all on its own. A girl can hope. So I kneel down and scoop up a big pile of pine needles to sleep in.

Can I just say: there’s a reason they’re called needles. I fold my arms under my face, but the rest of me is still being pricked to death. It’s like I’m not even wearing any clothes; they just poke right through.

I roll off the pile of death-mulch into the dirt. I guess I’m tired enough that I can sleep on the hard ground.

When I wake up, I wonder what the heck kind of fairy tale I’m in. I know there are a lot that involve wolves. As soon as I realize that, I sit upright and look over each shoulder. I have a healthy respect for big dogs. Big dogs have big teeth. But wolves have fangs. Do you hear wolves before they attack? Are talking wolves different from regular wild wolves?

That’s when I notice a line of small rocks on the ground. A trail! I stand up and brush myself off. I’m smiling pretty big. If I’m right, not only is this trail going to lead me to a house made of food, but I get to shove a nasty witch into an oven. Not bad for a day’s work.

Part 2/2 of Hansel and Grettle, Meet Ivy Thorn

Ivy's Taking Requests

Ivy needs some inspiration. I can't settle on a fairy tale. What are some of your favorites and what are your least favorites?

And thank you all for the comments! Baby is doing great. I have to type with one hand now, so that's why I don't update. (When will things get back to normal?!)

Classic Fairy Tale: Part 2

Rachelle is sitting on her bed, facing the window. I clear my throat to get her attention. She whirls around. Her eyes a puffy, but I pretend not to notice. She eyes my clothes. "Who are you? What do you want?"

I give my best curtsy. "Your mother has asked that I go on this quest with you... my lady."

She buys it.

It's not long before Rachelle (who, I learned is one of three princesses in the royal family. No princes.) and I are on our way. I tell her that my clothes are "special traveling clothes" so I don't get caught in one of those thick brown dresses with long skirts. I'd break my neck in that. "So... what are we looking for exactly... my lady?"

Rachelle scoffs and shakes her head, starting down the dusty path leading away from the castle. "I don't even know. No one does."

"Ah." How helpful.

Rachelle raises an eyebrow in my direction. "Did no one tell you anything?" She doesn't say it in a mean way. All I do is shrug and try not to look like a total idiot. Rachelle flings her braids behind her so they bounce against her lower back. "My father believes we haven't had rain this year because of some magic. A quest is the only way to fix that problem, in his mind."

Great. We need to make it rain. This could take a while.

Rachelle sighs. "I have half a mind to just disappear. You're welcome to leave me at any time, but I'm afraid you won't be able to go back to the castle. They'd hang you for leaving me alone."

I try to laugh. "Is that all?"

I don't think she got my joke.

I clear my throat and try to stand up straighter. "So you're just going to give up?"

She shrugs, which I realize doesn't look very princess-like, once you see a real princess do it. "Let my sisters handle it. They're more excited about the quest than I am."

I can't wait around here for everyone to realize Rachelle isn't coming back and THEN send the second princess. If my knowledge of fairy tales is any good at all, the second princess will fail, too. The third is the one who'll figure out something useful. We're talking several years of me being stuck in this lame fairy tale.

I throw my shoulders back and look at Rachelle. I give her the look my mom gives when she's trying to get me pumped up before a game. "Princess, you're better than that."

She lifts her chin and eyes me warily. I don't think she was expecting to hear any complaints from the girl in funny clothes. She's probably not used to being questioned, either. Bummer.

"You deserve to solve this. It's your right."

Apparently, this is the same argument her mother or someone made earlier, because Rachelle just rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

I exhale, biting my lower lip. Maybe I need a less direct approach.

Before I can think of a better argument, we see an old lady on the side of the road. Her frail body leans to one side and the hollows of her cheeks are deep enough to store plums. When we get closer, she wriggles her long fingernails at us. Well, at the princess. “Come here, young lady."

Rachelle wrinkles her nose and crosses to the opposite side of the street. But I know what this is. I grab her arm and whisper in her ear. "My lady, if you're going to live outside the walls of your father's house, you need to learn to behave differently."

She lifts her head slightly, listening to my every word.

"Outside the palace, young ladies are expected to be kind to old ladies." Old, creepy, leering hags, too.

The princess pauses and glances at the old woman's tattered clothes and bare feet. But she nods her head once and approaches. "Yes, can I help you with something?"

The old woman looks at Rachelle's feet. "My old feet are so tired and I have no shoes."

I nudge Rachelle, hoping she won't think too much about it. "You can have mine," I whisper.

Rachelle glances at my sneakers and her lower lip trembles, but she takes off her shoes.

The old lady snatches the shoes from the princess and grins so wide, we can see several gaps in her rotting mouth. "Thank you, my dear." She hobbles off.

That's when the rain starts. As the images around me start to fade, I take off my shoes. I'd feel awful if I left Rachelle out here alone, in the rain, without shoes. I manage to kick off my sneakers before my bedroom appears around me.

It's not until later, when I'm getting ready for school, that I realize my sneakers are missing from the closet.

Classic Fairy Tale: Part 1

I wake up on silk sheets. I’m sunk deep into a bed that feels more like a down pillow than a mattress. As tempted as I am to roll over and go back to sleep, experience has taught me to always be aware of my surroundings in these fairy tales. You never know when a guard or witch will round the corner.


I roll out of the bed onto all fours. My knees clunk against a thin rug over stone floors. Ouch. I fall back on my butt and rub my knees until they stop throbbing.

There’s shouting just outside the room. A group of people walk past the heavy wooden door. I catch the word “quest” and fall back on my hands. Quests take forever.

I trudge to the door and open it in time to see some flowing trains round the corner of a hallway. I follow, staying just around the corner so they can’t hear me, but close enough that I can hear most of the conversation.

“Mother, I should go first. I have been waiting for an opportunity to venture out for so long.”

The next voice, I assume, is the mother. “We will do things in the proper order. You will wait your turn and take the quest only after your sisters have their chance.”
A quiet voice murmurs something. I can’t understand. Hope it wasn’t important.

The mother pshaws. I’ve never actually heard anyone do that before. “I’ll not have my daughters dictate the affairs of my husband’s kingdom. Rachelle, your father has decided that you will go first. I suggest you prepare yourself for a long journey.”

A door bumps shut and the sound of footsteps echo down the hallway. I let them fade away. I’m assuming Rachelle is in her room. And I’m assuming I should probably talk to her.

Part 2/2 of Ivy in "Classic Fairy Tale"

Snow White and Ivy Thorn: Part 3

Unfortunately for Miss Queen, Snow White is the fairest one of all. This is a big shocker because Snow White is supposed to be dead. After she gets told by the mirror, Miss Queen storms out of the room, muttering about some wuss of a huntsman. I tiptoe after her.

She hurries down the hallway, down a flight of stairs, and into a bedroom. Sorry. Bed chamber. There's a bed with all this fabric draped over it, a desk, a bookshelf, and a huge oak table with some knick knacks on it.

Miss Queen rips books from the shelves and throws them on the bed. I lean against the doorway until she turns around. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

I push myself off the wall and stroll over to her. "You know, there are better ways of handling Snow White than just killing her," I say. "Not that that plan would work anyway."

What can I say? I got dropped near the castle, I'm going to help the queen. If the powers that be had put me at Snow White's doorstep, maybe I would've just told her not to eat the apple.

Miss Queen puts her hand on her heart, like suggesting she wants to kill Snow White is appalling. The books on her bed tell a different story: Death by Hexes; Curses for that Special Someone; How to Destroy Your Enemies in a Fortnight or Less.

"Look," I say. "Why don't you take that potion you're about to make for yourself--you know, the one that's going to turn you into some old ugly hag--and put it to better use?" Her plan isn't a bad one, it just lacks focus.

The queen stares at me, her mouth parted, which is very un-queenly.

I roll my eyes. She apparently needs a little more help. "Why not give it to Snow White instead? That way, she'll be ugly and you don't have to go ALL the way down to the dwarf's cottage."

Miss Queen's eyes widen and then move to look at the pile of deranged reading material on the bed. Then she puts a delicate finger to her lips and smiles.

Then she disappears. The bedchamber disintegrates, everything.

And I'm back in my room. The clock reads 4:21 AM, so I go back to sleep.

Snow White and Ivy Thorn: Part 2

I can't think of any fairy tales that take place in a field, but I'm not always dropped right in the middle of things. There's a castle not too far off. That's always a good place to start. There's always something cookin' up in castles, so I make my way over there.

The great thing about fairy tales is that they're vague. Apparently, this fairy tale doesn't mention any guards around the castle.

It's a pretty depressing place. Empty stone hallways, the occasional gargoyle, and it smells like my Uncle Harry's storage unit. Seriously, who designed this place?

I finally find a room with something of interest in it. (Unless you're into tapestries and closets full of ball gowns. If that's the case, you'd probably never leave this place.) This room isn't quite as bare as the others. It has some fancy red curtains and a huge mirror on the wall.

I'm pretty sure I know where this is going, so I hide behind a curtains. They're long enough to hide my shoes, but they smell like my grandma's sheets.

I may not get dropped into a fairy tale in the right place, but I seem to have a knack for getting dropped in the right time. A woman in a long velvet gown comes in. Her hair is the usual--it glitters like gold or sunshine or whatever and her skin's the color of milk. Her lips... you get the idea. She's a good-looking woman, maybe late twenties. The important thing is she's wearing a crown, so I'm assuming this is the queen.

She walks right up to the mirror, and what do you think she says? "Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?"

Bingo.

Part 3/3 of Snow White and Ivy Thorn

Snow White and Ivy Thorn: Part 1

So I wake up, but I'm not in my bed. It should be morning, but it's not. I mean, it's light outside and everything (I would know. I'm in the middle of some field somewhere.) But it's not like most mornings.

Usually, people wake up in their beds with light streaming through their windows. They get up, use the bathroom, get dressed, eat breakfast. You know, the usual. But today I wake up covered in dew. In the grass. Outside. And I'm not much for camping.

I get up and stretch. No, I'm not freaked out.

Oh, did I mention that every now and then I sometimes wake up in a fairy tale? Yeah.

If I want to get home, I have to either wait until the story is over (which can take a long time. Some of these things last years.) or I can go home if the story is irreversibly changed.
That's my little trick. Sometimes, I have to get my hands dirty. You'll see what I mean if I can just figure out what fairy tale I'm in.

Part 2/3 of Snow White and Ivy Thorn

A Fictional Character is Taking Over My Blog!

Okay, so I'm kind of between projects right now.

I've been giving some thought to posting some fiction on this blog for a while now. It wasn't until my friend Ryan Rhoads challenged me that I actually committed to doing something. (So you can thank him for this.)

My first instinct was to write short stories. It's simple, I don't have to think about or plan short stories for an extended period of time, and once it's done, it's done.

The problem is, I've done short stories before. They kinda suck. I don't know what happens to me, but my plot falls flat and it's so full of holes, I don't even want to go back and fill them in because I'm afraid I'll make it worse.

Then there's the whole time thing. I'm not sure I have time to write short stories, be a mommy and a writer pursuing a career and all those other roles that I have. Seriously, who has time for one more thing?

So, I've been putting off this thing for a while.

Well, it's late at night and I can't sleep. I can't sleep because I was thinking about this fiction thing. I still want some sort of creative outlet where I can post fiction that's available to the public domain. Something where I'm not so darned focused on getting it published, because that's not why I'm a writer. (Really.)

And then an idea came to me. (I love my muse. She's awesome, even if she only sings late at night.) Why not do blog posts? I already take the time to do them. I enjoy them. What if I wrote fiction in the form of a blog post every so often? Maybe once a week, a fictional character can take over my blog and we'll see what she has to say.

I thought it was perfect, so I'm gonna go with it.

Meet Ivy. She's going to take over my blog on Thursdays. I'll label her posts with the tag: Ivy's blog.