December 1, 2009

A Month of Stories, Ghosts, and Christmas



Hi friends!

A lot of things come to mind when you think about Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol: redemption, bah humbug, Ebenezer Scrooge, etc. My favorite part of the tale has always been the Christmas Ghosts (Ghost of Christmas Past, Ghost of Christmas Present, and Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come). I thought it would be a fun challenge to take the ghosts out of the original story and use them as inspiration for three completely different stories.

I will be posting the first of these stories, The Gift—my short story inspired by Ghost of Christmas Past—on Dec. 8th. Two fellow Humble Fiction CafĂ© members took on the challenge of writing the other two short stories. The Ghost of Christmas Present: Gary Denton and The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come: Sharolyn Gales.

I hope you will join us this month and let us know how we did in capturing the spirit of Scrooges’ ghosts and making them our own.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas,

Dorlana :)

November 27, 2009

Fairy Tale Poem by Guest Writer Chrissa Sandlin

The Land of Never Tell
Don’t open a door, don’t look at a man
(Inspired by the fairy tale, East of the Sun West of the Moon)
I live in the land of Never Tell
Where the richest of secrets
Is the depth of a soul, a man
And to see his full measure
Will soon break the spell.

East of the sun in a Lapland fur
On the borders of the land
I dig my fingers deep
In the snow beyond the snow
West of the moon and his curse.

Witches hide curses in rude boys
Who grown them silent within.
Never Tell is their secret place
In a sacred unfastening, skins,
And girls with golden toys.

Sister wives would know me,
Telling me their shall-nots
Like half-welcome guests,
Lifting the sun to the morn
With patience, wearily.

On our circumscribed quest
We girdle the entire globe
In a fairy tale of kindness
Borrowing our way on
To being kindly kept.

Give me my husband! Bid
My tongue to silent lie
Like my body beside him.
Bear me up, bear me up!
In Never Tell I live.

November 20, 2009

Fairy Tale Poem


The Wind
by Dorlana Vann

(Inspired by the fairy tale “East of the Sun and West of the Moon

My breath spreads sheets of white snow and dry sand
Robust, invisible wings carry me.
I wave from Summerland to Winterland.

I have whisked every grain and every tree
Helping the heroine, hardly a chore.
Robust, invisible wings carry me.

She told of the witch and of the horror,
“Go east of the sun and west of the moon.”
Helping the heroine, hardly a chore.

She brought golden trinkets to save her groom;
Their love true and worth her dangerous quest.
"Go east of the sun and west of the moon.”

She kept going strong when I stopped to rest;
I learned strength from the heart is stronger than me.
Their love true and worth her dangerous quest.

Gently I glide over the land and sea.
My breath spreads sheets of white snow and dry sand.
I learned strength from the heart is stronger than me.
I wave from Summerland to Winterland.


November 14, 2009

Review of Sarah Beth Durst's "Ice"

As the fairy tale glides into the modern era, one finds it spun to show different facets of familiar stories. This is true in Sarah Beth Durst’s Ice, which limns the ideas of “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” across the narrative of Cassie, the daughter of a lead researcher in the arctic, as she tries to restore various families, including, perhaps, the animal families within the ecosystems of the planet. Cassie’s dedication to polar bears is a brilliant fire beneath the story and Ms. Durst’s depiction of the rigors and hazards of research was a fascinating component of the story.

While some plot twists seem telegraphed from the beginning, others will take your breath away with their unexpected threats and beauty. Ms. Durst’s underwater scenes and her ice scenes are both beautiful and interesting (especially to this reader, who spends her entire time in a climate where ice comes from the freezer, not the sky). The idea of an ecological balance that extends further than the physical and into the metaphysical creates a framework delicate enough to support Cassie’s changing priorities without making them feel heavy-handed. One aspect that I didn’t expect was the way that Ms. Durst didn’t have Cassie earn her way through her eventual quest to save her husband through the typical favor system of older fairy tales. Instead, Cassie’s own will to keep going and her knowledge of the world through which she moved provided her with the strength and ingenuity to move forward.

The ideas of love and sacrifice between generations were moving, which helped to balance out the minefield of the idea of a forced marriage. This part of the story did keep me a little on edge, with the idea that the princely husband would have to act always out of a devotional love that kept the character at a slight remove and made Cassie’s eventual warming up to him something that happened more behind the scenes that otherwise. In keeping with the author’s nimbleness in this situation, the transposition of villains and allies kept me on my toes. I’m glad to have had the chance to read this version of one of my favorite fairy tales.

Merry reading,
Chrissa

The book for this month's review was purchased by SFT.

November 10, 2009

Fairy Tale Movie Review: The Polar Bear King



If you can get past the cheesiness, The Polar Bear King (1991), based on the Norwegian folk tale, “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” has a lot to offer. The fairy tale is often compared to “Beauty and the Beast,” so I thought I would use Beauty and Beast for my review of the movie.

Beauty:
Filmed in Scandanavia, the Winterland scenery was a wonderful land complete with gorgeous wolves and white snow. The costumes were spectacular; I especially loved the evil witch’s tall two-coned head piece. It was a perfect fairy tale: a princess, true-love, jealous sisters, an evil witch, a cool castle, magic potions and a curse. And I loved that the princess actually recued the prince.

Beast:
I didn’t like nor did I have any sympathy for the polar bear/king. He sounded awful (as the bear) and was not very handsome (as the bear or as a human) and even a bit violent. At times, the dialogue, the acting, and the narrator’s lines were "Oh please..." cheesy and made me laugh (and not in a good way). Even though the leisure pace added to the mood, it was a bit too slow for me. However, it was worth waiting for witch's castle scene, because of the cool castle and the witch's potion tower. One of the things that bothered me the most was what the queen/mother-in-law did to save the children; it seemed a bit cruel.

Overall, I did like it because of the costumes, scenery, sets, and especially the wicked witch.

November 3, 2009

What's Up for Supernatural Fairy Tales Nov. 2009

Hi Friends,

This month I’m going to use the Norwegian fairy tale, “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” as our theme. Supernatural Fairy Tales Reviewer, Chrissa Sandlin will be reviewing Ice by Sarah Beth Durst. This young adult novel was inspired by the fairy tale.

I also have a fun writing challenge for everyone. Read the story, “East of the Sun and West of the Moon and then use it as inspiration to write a poem or prose (under 250 words). Send it to this email address: dorlanasfairytales at gmail.com,and I’ll post them as they come in. Make sure to also include any links you would like posted with your work.

I’m looking forward to reading them. I’m off to work on my poem. I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving Holiday.

Dorlana

October 30, 2009

TORN by guest writer: Gypsy Thornton




(inspired by the “The Marsh King’s Daughter” by Hans Christian Andersen)

In the growing shadows of a nearly empty room a man sat motionless, holding his head in his hands. He’d placed the one chair opposite a thin mat on the floor where he could see the one upon it, yet not once had he been able to glance in its direction. It was always worse when the moon was new.

Sensing a stirring for the first time in many hours his head jerked upward, bloodshot eyes snapping into focus as they took in the subtle signs he’d been waiting for.

It won’t be long now, he thought

The figure, lovely as ever, huddled further down on the mat and shivered slightly as a draft blew in under the door and around the room. The man shivered too but for a different reason. It had begun.

The slender arms twitched and re-wrapped themselves around the perfect, porcelain-pale form, classical fingers curling into claws so the nails dug mercilessly into its flesh. The head came up slowly. Beautiful green eyes stared hard and unblinking at the man through a curtain of soft wheaten hair and one word formed on the blood red lips: “You.”

Without warning the lily-white hands flew to its own throat and a choked gargle forced itself out as the contortions began. The man squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. It was taking longer than usual. Much longer.

Finally, the sporadic movements from the figure ceased and an eerie stillness settled over the room. Tears stung the back of the man’s eyes as he willed them to open and see what he already knew was there.

It was as if the figure had been completely replaced by some punishment of nature. From the badly deformed feet to the twisted spine, not one elegant line was left. Only the eyes were the same – beautiful, green - yet the fury in them was gone.

The doubled-over creature slowly shifted its body across the room until it stood before the man then gently stroked his head with a twisted hand. Reluctantly, he looked into the eyes. Instead of hatred he saw understanding, even love, shining from the depths of the creature’s soul. It made it worse. The stinging tears finally slipped free and spilled down the man’s face. With infinite tenderness, the creature soothingly rocked him back and forward as he wept his apologies, the gulping sobs shaking his frame.

When the man’s weeping ceased and the tears had begun to dry, the twisted figure gently bent its head to ask its question the only way it could – with its eyes. Having expected this, he nodded and watched with leaden arms and legs as it painfully shuffled its way across the room to struggle determinedly with the weight of the door. Cold air brushed his face when the barrier finally opened and the man turned his head away so he couldn’t see the creature step out into the gray evening beyond.

Hearing the door click back into place he looked down at his hands. They were strong hands; willing to work, to create… and more than able to destroy. His gaze shifted to the stained worktable at the center of the room. Guilt, frustration and self-pity warred inside and, needing an outlet for the tightening circles in his mind, he snatched a discarded shoe, throwing it forcefully at the table that had supported his madness. His aim was bad. Yet another mark on the grimy wall was all that showed for his effort.

A shadow scuttled under his chair and he flinched, biting his hand to stifle further reaction. Even a spider was more beautiful than that… than his creation.

Abandoning the support of the chair before he could change his mind, he forced himself to approach the window. Clutching the ledge, he turned his glazed eyes to look out. It took him a moment to realize rain was drizzling down steadily outside the warped pane, so any moving image took on distorted shapes. Despite the gloom, it didn’t take him long to discern where the creature was and that something was very wrong.

Knuckles whitening, his gaze sharpened and riveted to the figure holding onto the rusty iron fence that kept the world away. The creature, his creature, was writhing spasmodically, the limbs twisting and clawing frantically as it appeared to fight for its life. Its back arched and whatever control the creature had, slipped away.
The features began to change, then change again. Faster and faster they shifted, till all that could be seen was a blur. An unearthly scream escaped into the night air and the man, unable to stay motionless any longer, tore himself away from the window and out the door.

Blood pounded in his ears with every heartbeat, nearly deafening him as he half-slid his way down through the wet grass to the writhing body. Unable to stop, he collided with the creature and sent them both crashing into the iron railing in a tangle of limbs. A hand shot out to trap his own against the unforgiving bars and he felt the creature’s savage emotions surge through him. Darkness blinded his thoughts, crowding his mind until dimly he heard his own screams. Desperately, he found the creature’s neck with both hands and, shaking, stared into the horrifying face before he let the surging hate take him. Fingers tightening, his grip grew steady with purpose and his lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a madman’s grin.

It was then they both turned on him.

United in purpose for the first time since it had taken breath, the creature fought back with horrifying strength. Almost instantly, the man found himself giving ground, his strength fading rapidly. Before long he was forced to his knees. What was left of his sanity told him he had lost and, shivering uncontrollably, he closed his eyes. He knew death would be a kindness. As he felt the monster close in, his last measure of hope died and somewhere deep inside he thought he heard his soul scream for mercy.

The shred of good remaining in the monster responded. It was enough. Crying out against the injustice, it fought the completion and froze its limbs in mid-strike.

The man’s eyes opened to meet those of the creature and, briefly, creator and creation were equal. The moment passed. Confusion clouded the creature’s visage and it dropped its arms, twisting away out of his reach. The man struggled back onto his legs, leaning on the fence as he mumbled a prayer of thanks and shuddered with relief. Sensing the change, the creature reared its head and, hands curling like talons, threw itself back at the man. He braced himself for the impact but found instead the figure he had last seen on the mat in his room, sobbing in the muddy ground at his feet.

Limbs shaking, he gathered his creation into his arms and felt a chill breath steal away across his skin into the night.

Down the road, a dog leapt to its feet and ran straight for the river, letting out a howl that ricocheted off the back hills. As it was swept out of sight by the icy current, the figure went limp in the man’s arms and he bowed his head. Raindrops mingled with tears in a final blessing on the beautiful, pale cheeks as the first and last true smile settled on the blood-red lips.



The End


©Gypsy Thornton, October 2009
http://www.theinkgypsy.com/


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