Cinderella and Ivy Thorn: How my favorite characters came to be

Coming up with a character is a different experience every time. If you've been following this blog for a long time, you know that Ivy was actually born here, in blog form.

I've told this story before, but basically, Ivy was born when I realized my writing voice was boring, but the way I talk in a casual environment is a lot more fun. So I wanted to bring that out. Ivy Thorn is spunky and sarcastic and basically, she says all those things I'd normally be afraid to say myself (plus the things that just pop out of my mouth before I can stop myself). Ivy is the mouthy side of my personality, with a few tweaks.

Ivy and I are both military brats, but moving around didn't bother me as much as it bothers her. I drew on my  teenage girl-experiences to try to create her relationship with her mom (which, I know, is shameful at times). I tried to draw out all that inexplicable frustration I had at her age.

Ivy hates being told what to do. I probably drew more on my own six-year-old experiences for that. :) I was that kid that did the opposite of what I was told, just to show that I could. (Yes, I was a holy terror.)

But Ivy and I don't make the same decisions, given the same situation. She's more impulsive, where I'm more curious. I'd want to understand the ins and outs of a new situation, but Ivy is more interested in getting out of it (and/or sticking it to the guy making things difficult for her).

One thing I love about Ivy is that she learns and adjusts.If something doesn't work, she tries something else. We'll see a lot of that in book 2, where she's a lot more cautious (seeing as being forward and impulsive made things so difficult for her in book 1). But we can't change who you are. Ivy is still Ivy. She'll manage to get herself in trouble, so no worries.

Then there's Cinderella. Obviously, she came pre-made to some extent. But I made one major change. I've always hated this character for being so spineless. I mean, who just rolls over and accepts servitude? So I made sure MY Cinderella had a higher calling. She was going to be a kick-butt heroine, though just as hard-working, just as lonely, and just as clueless about what was really going on in the palace. She's still lower-middle class, she's still working herself to the bone, but she can throw knives really well.

As I wrote her character, her toughness started to bring out a new weakness--she was distant. She was judgy. And that worked well with Prince Kent's character because he wants to be tough but can't. I seriously love this atch-up because it came so unexpectedly. I mean, I always knew Cinderella would need to wind up with the prince. How could she not? But the WAY they came together was a surprise and just as fun to write as it would be to read (or so I hope).

Chapter 10 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

I've probably (hopefully) had the baby by now, but I went ahead and scheduled this chapter to go up. I thought it would be a good place to end the sample. Hope you've enjoyed the first ten chapters of The Fairy Tale Twist! 

My shoes click against the stone floor while my imagination runs full-speed. Where does this cave lead? Is there something at the end of the tunnel? Are there nasty monsters that can pop out of nowhere and eat unsuspecting girls?

No. There are five other girls ahead of me, still having a good time, from the sound of it. But maybe the monsters are turned-off by the chatter. (I know I am.) I force myself to laugh, warding off anything scary that might be nearby. I sound more like a weeping goat that’s being tickled. Hopefully, the monsters don’t like goats.

I follow the turns of the cave, grateful there aren’t any forks in the path. I can always follow the sounds of the princesses, but I wouldn’t put it past the pixie to mess with my senses. The last fairy tale had an enchanted forest that would keep you lost forever instead of letting you find a way out. I shiver against the warmth of hundreds of candles. This cave isn’t like the forest. It’s not. Just think of something else.

The echoes of voices die down. Are they getting too far ahead? Have they split from the main tunnel? Are they out of the tunnel? Panic rises from my belly. I break into a run, wishing I’d followed them sooner.

My shoes aren’t ideal for an evening jog, but thank goodness I didn’t pick spike heels. I snort a laugh. As if I’d ever be caught wearing spike heels.

I strain to hear anything over my shoes striking the stone below. But I’m not about to slow down. The heat from the candles warms my lungs from the inside. I start to sweat.

Then, suddenly, I’m out in the open. Not out of the cave, but in a vast, open area surrounded by the same stone and the same candles. Like a room within the cave, only the room is bigger than my house and it has a massive lake in it. No, not a lake. A river. It’s about ten feet across and other side are lights, music, and brightly-dressed people. Five colorful dresses and some guys dressed in black. It’s hard to tell, but I think there are—horses? What kind of fairy tale is this?

I look around for a way across the river. A stone bridge is my first choice. Swimming in this dress seems a little impractical. I cross the bridge slowly, trying to take in the scene in front of me without looking like a gaping idiot. The couples all dance to the waltz-like music being played by a quintet of strings. They spin around on an open dance floor surrounded by trees. Except these trees aren’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. They shine and sparkle like they’re made of glowing gems and polished gold. Even the bushes shimmer. But that’s nothing compared to the servers. They hold trays of food and offer them to the dancers between songs. But they’re not your typical bowtie-wearing caterers. What I’d thought were horses are actually centaurs. Bare-chested, shiny-coated centaurs with silver platters of finger food!

I stop at the end of the bridge, the river swirling behind me. This isn’t like anything I expected. I guess fairy tale princesses really know how to throw a party.

While I stand there, slack-jawed and mesmerized by the shiny objects, someone nearby clears their throat. “Princess Ivy?”

I’m not used to being called princess-anything, so unfortunately, I don’t snap out of my stupor right away. I say “unfortunately” because the guy standing in front of me is completely gorgeous. He offers me his hand. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Chapter 9 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

I may not be the most observant person in the world, but I know there was a wall there earlier. Now the garden opens up into a cave, lit with tiny candles that run along a narrow ledge. Like runway lights just above my head. I mean, it’s a cave! Who keeps a cave in their garden?

The stone wall forms a tunnel and the candles snake around the gradual curve of the cave. The girls must be pretty far ahead, but they make enough noise that I’m not worried about getting lost. I just need to follow the giggles.

But is this a smart thing to do? If I knew what fairy tale I’m in, this would be a lot easier. This all seems a little familiar, but something about the scenario feels off. I guess the easiest way to decide what to do is to ask: What would the pixie want me to do?

And then do the opposite.

The pixie wants me to follow my “sisters”. He’s practically dangling a carrot in front of me, just inside the mouth of the cave. He knows I’m curious. And what’s more exciting than a tunnel in a fairy tale?

But I’m not the same girl he trapped over the summer. I can’t afford to be that girl. I’ve changed and this time I’m going to smart about this.

I tug impatiently at my cap sleeves. This would be so much easier if I knew what fairy tale this was! Then I’d know how to stick to the story.

Okay, Ivy. Think this through. The princesses are eloping, so there must be some guys involved. Guys that are nothing like Ferguson, I’m guessing. No girl gets twitterpated over a guy like Ferguson, even if he does have dashing, classic good looks. And we’re all dressed-up like we’re going to a ball, but I’m sure this isn’t Cinderella. No one’s asked me to scrub any chamber pots, thank goodness.

But there must be dancing involved. There were ballet shoes in my closet. Or there’s a party at the very least. Some place for the girls to meet boys. No, there’s no doubt—the fairy tale is happening somewhere in the cave.

My thoughts go back to Ferguson. Poor, stupid, innocent Ferguson. There’s nothing I can do for him from this side. The twins drugged him enough to keep him out for the whole night. My best chance of helping him will probably be in a few hours, once the drug has had some time to wear off. Maybe I can come back here a little early, wake him up, and get him out of here before anyone notices. I’m not sure what the king will do if the prince runs, but it has to be better than the contractually agreed-upon execution he has planned. A particularly loud snort comes from the common room. What an idiot.

I turn back to the cave and take a deep breath. Okay, then. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to a cave party.

Chapter 8 of The Fairy Tale Twist (Draft 2)

All of us stare at Ferguson.

“Um… is he okay?” I look to Faith and expect her to be as shocked as I am. But her face is pink behind her freckles. She’s smiling! A laugh jumps from her, loud and abrupt. The other girl join her. Did I miss something?

Mercy lifts one of Prince Ferguson’s hands and lets it drop back onto the satiny couch. The prince snorts once and rolls to his side, his jaw slack and his breathing deep.

“Is he sleeping?”

My question only makes the princesses laugh harder. Then I notice the goblet. It must have fallen from his hand when he passed out. The tiny bit of remaining liquid slips onto the couch, darkening the pink fabric. I look up at Faith in horror. “You drugged him?”

Faith’s smile widens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gives us all a wink. “He just couldn’t keep his eyes open.”

Felicity shifts from one foot to the other. Her fist clenches a bunch of yellow fabric from her dress. “Should one of us stay behind?” He voice is small and barely rises above the talking from the other girls. “I don’t mind keeping an eye on him.”

The twins both roll their eyes. “We gave him more than enough,” says Chastity. “Trust me; he’ll be out all night.”

Faith runs back to the garden door and waves for us to follow her. “Let’s not waste any more time!”

Charity, Chastity, and Mercy hurry after Faith while Felicity follows a bit more slowly. Meanwhile, I’m left with an unconscious guy I don’t like, who’s snoring because he’s been drugged. And now they want to play more dress-up?

My brain tingles like I’ve forgotten something. The king had said something important at dinner. That if the prince couldn’t deliver, he’d be executed! I stare at the now-drooling Ferguson. As much as I dislike this guy, I can’t let the poor idiot die.

I shake Ferguson by the shoulder. His snores get louder.

“Hey! Ferguson! Your Highness…or whatever. You need to wake up.”

The girls’ laughter still bounces around in the garden. How long will they stay in there?

I tap the prince’s hand. Then I slap his hand. Nothing. I consider going out and getting help, but then someone might tell the king that Ferguson’s sleeping on the job.

I see only one more option. Throwing my shoulders back, I take a deep breath and remind myself not to enjoy this. I slap Ferguson across the face. Hard.

He grunts, wrinkles his brow, and turns onto his other side so I can’t reach his face again. Well, I’m out of ideas. Then I see the goblet. I grab the jewel-encrusted cup and run into the garden. There’s an entire pond pull of water to dump on the poor sap. Who can sleep through that?

But I don’t make it to the pond. I don’t make it because I’m too shocked to move. The far wall—the entire wall—of the garden room is gone.