Angela VanWell

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My Writing Journey: Sources of Inspiration Part 2

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As mentioned in last weeks post, Neil Gaiman shared advice on how to look at what is around you with fresh eyes, for writing inspiration. As I shared, fairytales and folktales continue to have great impact on me, as an Anthropologist I love to study them as a part of their cultures, so I chose to look at a fairytale from my childhood with fresh eyes. The fairytale I chose was Rapunzel.

I went back to the original 1812 Grimm’s version of Rapunzel. The original story is darker and contains four characters, a husband and wife, their daughter, and a fairy. The original story has the fairy as the antagonist. I chose to look at the story with the fairy as the protagonist and a curse as the antagonist. The Curse is known as Hunger. Please enjoy my short retelling of Rapunzel below:

My wife saw your rapunzel from our window, and such a longing came over her, that she would die, if she did not get some to eat.

Grimm’s Fairytales, 1812

Rapunzel Retelling by Angela VanWell

Once upon a time, there lived a fine fairy who had a garden. Her garden was not a typical garden. Yes, there were roses, but they sucked blood through their thorns. The ivy entangled its prey, weaving a web around them, followed by a month of hanging before the ivy and the willow could absorb its flesh. Each plant was unique, which is why she kept them in her nursery. To keep them safe. The magical plants were her life’s work. However, they acted naughtily, so she raised a high wall to keep them safe and used her magic to block them from stalking mortals outside the wall.

One day, the fairy noticed her human, female neighbour staring out her window, lips parted, her fingertips touching the window’s glass. As though she wanted to touch the garden through the glass. Her skin appeared tight against her skin, no longer the plump figure she had been. Though time passed haphazardly for the Fairy so she was not sure how long ago it was. Many emotions had been rioting from their house over the years, loss, sadness, hope, fear, all delicious snacks to her garden. The fairy deepened her magics into the soil to keep the emoting out. The chaos of it would influence the growing patterns of her lovelies, and with them in bloom she was ever vigilant. 

Not that she didn’t understand the compulsions of her nursery. The ivy reached for her as she strolled, and she let the delicate end touch her finger. It shuddered as it twisted around her finger, and she shared a knowing grin. 

“How strong you have grown.” she crooned, as she loosened a wisp of magic down to her finger tip. The juvenile stem shuddered. Changing from green to purple as her power pulsed down its line. The creeping vines released their web that had grown around her and turned their blush pink blossoms towards the sky. They recognized a predator.

A throaty laugh escaped her lungs. It brought her joy to see them grow strong. The other delicate herbs, splendid blossoms, all flourishing, leaned away as she passed. They had tested her and recognized her power. They shared their perfumed calls and splendid blooms for the remainder of her walk.

The house wife touched the window again. Her gaze darting after the fairy who sauntered through her garden with no thought of her neighbours and their slumbering garden. Winter still froze their ground. It had been months since she ate anything fresh, and the larder lay near empty. 

It should have been a time of joy. For years, the couple tried for a child and failed. Then one day, like magic, she became pregnant. They spent the winter nurturing their miracle. Thrilled, the husband denied her nothing, no matter how big or small, how innocent or dangerous.

 Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the magic on the breeze, escaping the garden. She had a craving. After many days ignoring it, it seeded in deeper as she broke into tears. Her stomach’s growl shook her. 

Grabbing fistfuls of fabric from her rapidly swelling belly, she whimpered, “I will die if I have none of the Rapunzel.” The lettuce stood tall, covered in dew, in the bewitched garden. The farm wife could deny her craving no longer.

He watched as his wife, who was so fair and now stood wan, lean into the window. Her hands shook as she held her belly. Walking over, he pulled her into his arms, rocking in place as he felt her chilled frame against him. She stood rigid and then slowly melted into his warmth. He didn’t understand why she desired something from the garden. The magic didn’t affect him. The St. John’s Wort he took for his depression, kept him safe from the garden’s magic.

 Holding her shivering, boney body close, he thought to himself. “No matter what it costs. I will bring her the Rapunzel.” She’d grown leaner as the winter progressed. As though her body sacrificed itself to their new family member. The thought of her dying before their miracle baby’s birth was too much for the husband. He resolved to grant her wish that night.

As evening fell, he clambered over the wall. Tiptoed through the garden until he arrived at the Rapunzel. The rosettes of the young plants with spoon-shaped leaves called out to him under the dusk light. Surrounded by so many competing, amazing smells, he wished to pick a piece of the lot. To bring it all to his wife and to see her joy. See her skin flush again with happiness and warmth. But she had eyes only for the rampion, Rapunzel. 

Crouching, he turned and watched as fireflies brightened the night. Swarming a grand tree deeper in the garden. Their dance drew him away from the Rapunzel and towards a willow whose branches twisted into the breeze, snaking towards him. He lifted one foot after another towards it until his heart squeezed tight in pain. Pain darted through him, like a knife blade in the gut, clearing his head. Reminding him. It wasn’t safe to be in a fairy garden. He cut a rosette of Rapunzel, as it reached up to his ankles, then slipped back over the wall and to the warmth of his family.

His wife rejoiced. Drawing the dewy greens from him, he gaped at her transformation. Her shoulders lowered, the shine returned to her eyes, and her smile returned like the morning sun. She created a beautiful salad between the Rapunzel and dried fruit from the pantry, and devoured the entire salad with an intensity he had not seen since their nuptials. When she finished, she was satisfied. They returned to their joyous state of soon-to-be parents. Once again, their home burst with love and laughter.

 And that made the husband happy too.

Hunger struck again the next dawn, Hunger like the house wife had never experienced before. The insides of her stomach quivered in agony, twisting around and filling her with fear. Even in the periods of famine, she hadn’t known deperation like this. Shocks snaked through her system and she feared the loss of their child. It wasn’t the child causing her pain, but the Rapunzel. It was not ordinary Rapunzel; it was Fairy Grass.

Fairy Grass, or Hungry Grass, contained a curse. It doomed any who walked across it or ingested it with ravenous desire. For though the fairy had protected the mortals from her plants spreading from the garden, she hadn’t stopped mortals from entering. When she was away, the garden had fed on the prey they called. The corpse’s cry of agony reached up through the soil and became one with the grass. The grass that wove its needs through the housewife.

In terrible pain, needing MORE, the wife begged her husband to once again scale the wall and fetch more Rapunzel. The cravings grew stronger than the day before, “I will die this time without it.”

Her husband knew, to save his family, he must visit the garden again. He sensed a wrongness in the air. A shiver of danger ran along his skin. The joy drained from him as he prepared for his journey. This time he would not be so lucky. But he’d made a vow.

And so he went. Petrified this time the fairy would catch him. Yet he pushed himself to enter the garden, keeping his eyes focused on his goal. His families’s health. When he reached the patch, he bowed to the ground, ready to fill a bag with Rapunzel.

The fairy yelled from behind him. “Why do you invade my garden? It belongs to Fairy not mortals.”

The husband turned, horrified. The diminutive female growing with her anger. Much as the fireflies had swarmed the tree, he watched as light glistened down to her fingertips. 

He pleaded, “but I must. This is the sole food my spouse will eat. She’s pregnant with our precious baby. I don’t wish her or the baby to starve. Please, please, I beg you to let her have the Rapunzel.”

The fairy noted the man’s lack of fear for himself. His malaise and medication protected him from the magic of Fairy. His eyes flashed with fear, but the fear reflected to his home. 

Movement in the window caught her eye. She watched for a moment with both her eyes and her magic. She recognized the wife’s suffering. It was the curse of Hunger. Insatiable Hunger. She had a Knowing as the magic murmured its secrets to her. It was not the wife, but the baby who was cursed. The baby who was not quite human. It’s magic touched her and recoiled back. It was young and weak. 

 Saddened, the fairy said to the miserable fellow, “I shall grant you the right to pick my Rapunzel, as often as you need.” The fairy exhaled a heavy sigh, savouring the magic she breathed in from the garden surrounding her. Her charges and her debt.

 “You shall take nothing else in the garden or you will lose your life. The Rapunzel is only for the babe and her mother. Upon the child’s birth, she is mine.” This too was part of the Knowing.

 The husband’s devotion to his partner was strong, but his dread of the fairy greater. He agreed to her terms. 

He continued to scale the barrier, pick Rapunzel and deliver it to his wife as it was the sole food she could eat. The one item that sustained her.

Then the day came where his wife gave birth to an exquisite baby girl. The fairy appeared, declared the baby’s name Rapunzel, and snatched her away. His wife’s eyes dulled at first, with the loss of their miracle child. But then she blossomed, like their garden, both grew healthier than ever before. She returned to herself and once again was his loving bride. He gathered her up and fled the area. Grateful they had survived their encounter with Fairy. 

At first the fairy raised Rapunzel in her little house next to her garden because Hunger needed fulfillment. The small girl was exquisite, a porcelain doll, her every look and smell, addicting. Enticing. And the fairy rejoiced for the lovely, wicked gift the garden had provided. She raised Rapunzel, in the cottage beside the garden, until the young lady turned twelve-years-old. Hunger grew stronger than the spells containing her small nursery and her home. The fairy realized Rapunzel required a place with deeper magic, a place to contain her.

They traveled to a fairy knoll. From its centre grew a magnificent tower, with no stairs, no exits, and a modest window at the top. Magic swelled from where the tower rooted in Underhill, in Fairy itself. The fairy knew it would contain Rapunzel without removing her needing to Rapunzel from the mortal world. 

Rapunzel developed into a lovely young woman with golden, glowing hair and a voice so appealing, she drew the birds down from the sky.  Such allure, twisted with Hunger, was dangerous where mortals roamed. She was like the fairy’s meadows, herbs, and blossoms; poisonous to mortals, but exquisite in her own way. The fairy didn’t believe poisonous creatures deserved removal from the world, instead she guarded them. So she protected Rapunzel as she did her garden.

Rapunzel lived for many years, as the fairy visited and guided her and her Hunger. They sang together, cooked together, and cared for one another as family. The fairy believed Rapunzel protected and safe in the tower. But what she didn’t realize was while she was away, Rapunzel rested in the window and sang, attracting the wildlife surrounding the knoll. One day, it was not just the birds who observed her sing, but a prince.

Once the prince heard her sing, he watched her sit in the window, breathless. He noted how graceful she sat, how beautiful she was, and how much he needed her. She was more exquisite than any bird he had ever seen, and he discovered, just as caged. There was no means to reach her. He fantasized of sweeping her away to his castle, but could find no way to reach her. He couldn’t leave without meeting and winning the heart of the girl with the magical voice.

Then one day, while he watched her from afar, he heard her fairy mother cry, 

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

A wondrous braid of spun gold dropped thirty yards below to the ground. The fairy, (who else would lock a lady away in a tower?), tied the roped braid around her and the damsel pulled her up and into the tower.

 At last, he knew how to meet the girl who mesmerized him with her seductive voice.

 He waited until near dusk, then he snuck to the tower and called out.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

He watched the spun gold fall from above. Once it reached the prince, he drew it around his waist and Rapunzel pulled him up to the window.

Upon his entrance, the prince terrified Rapunzel. Trembling, Rapunzel hid behind her wardrobe. She had seen no one but her fairy mother before his entry. But the young prince was so smitten, it didn’t take long before Rapunzel delighted at his company. He climbed the tower to call on her every night.

Over time, their adoration turned into love. Their need for each other was so strong, they rarely parted. The prince could hear his named called from afar, as his kingdom searched for him. But such a calldid not compare to the voice of his love. If only the fairy mother did not visit, they would never part again.

One day while the fairy visited her ward, Rapunzel asked, “Tell me, Mother Gothel, why are my clothes becoming so tight?”

The fairy stared at Rapunzel’s stomach and her previous Knowing came true. “What have you done?”

Despite moving Rapunzel within the greater magic of the Fairy Knoll, she hadn’t made Rapunzel safer, or mortals any safer from Rapunzel. And now, there grew another generation of Hunger. The fairy wept at her mistake. She was the protector, but had fallen in love with this poisonous flower. Knowing what she must do, she seized Rapunzel’s hair, wrapping it around her hand, and snipped off the braid with her knife. The glistening hair shuddered, then lay dead on the floor. 

 Heavy of heart, she then banished Rapunzel to the Mists. The Mists hid Underhill’s entrance, where the fairies played and humans died. There, at last, Hunger would be tied to the fae lands. Underhill was a merciless place, but Hunger was too strong for her spells to contain.

She knew that the prince would search for Rapunzel; his addiction to Hunger. So she waited. Throwing out the end of Rapunzel’s hair once he called.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

 When the prince climbed up the cut braid, he was shocked to find the fairy and not Rapunzel. She looked at him, sadly. “Do you know what you’ve done, you poor boy? Rapunzel is lost from this world. And now, so are you.” She pulled on the Hunger, calling it with her magic. 

The prince’s mouth fell open, his body frozen. He recoiled from her touch, shaking his head. His hands trembled as he reached behind him for the window opening. His eyes went out of focus and she could see the Hunger twisting his soul. It would unravel him. Then it would be contained. Sometimes pruning was necessary in a garden. 

In his despair, the prince threw himself from the tower. He escaped with his life, but he fell into the Bramble at the edge of the fairy mound. And with that, he lost sight in both his eyes.

 The fairy didn’t bother to capture him. She’s poisoned the seed within him. Her job was complete. 

He stumbled away and wandered alone in the forest, injured, eating nothing but grass and roots, starving, weeping, longing for Rapunzel.

The mists surrounding the entrance to Underhill were a magical place. Much like the roots of the tower could connect the Fairy Knoll to the magic of Underhill, the Mists allowed the Hunger to call to itself. The seed dying within the prince felt the song of mourning Rapunzel sang at the mouth of Underhill. The prince heard the song, the voice that attracted him to the fairy tower, and followed it. Over time, he climbed over hills through forests foraging as he went along, following the sound carried by the mists, until at last he entered the mists themselves. The magic in her voice wove through UnderHill, up through the earth, pulling him to her.

The prince recognized her by touch. She recognized him too, despite the hollow man covered in mud and rot that crawled towards her, and they embraced. Her tears fell upon his eyes, clearing his vision. At last, he could see. Within the Fairy magic, the two united. And their family lived forever at the portal between earth and Underhill, unable to travel home. Calling others to them and consuming their wills so they too lived in the mouth of Underhill.

The fairy returned to her garden. This time she did not trust the wall to keep the garden safe. She added a magical curse to any who crossed the wall to wander, lost forever. Never shall they enter her garden or her fairy knoll again. 

THE END

As you read, I returned to the dark ending of the original. Though it has Rapunzel raising the babies without prince within the briar patch until he happens upon her. It was a fun exercise to twist the tale and breathe new life into it.

I urge you to do the same. Happy Writing!

Inspiring Author of the Week: Joseph R. Lallo

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I found Joseph R. Lallo, who I knew as Joe, through the Sc-Fi& Fantasy Marketing Podcast hosted with Lindsay Buroker and Jeff Poole. The podcast, which I found through Lindsay Buroker, provided hours of interesting information on independent publishing and marketing. It was this podcast, along with NaNoWriMo that gave me the push to publish a book in 2021. They are also the reasons I pushed myself to start this blog. Sharing pieces of myself seemed so scary. But then I realized the authors I admired were sharing pieces of their writing failures and wins with me and how much I appreciated it. The blog readers and podcast listeners were all people like me, passionate about fantastic stories.

After enjoying hours of entertainment and information listening to their podcast, I grabbed a free copy of The Book Of Deacon. This was early on before I committed more to one e-retailer than an other. Back in those days I might have books from one author on more than two platforms. I would buy a book based on whichever e-retailer I was using at that time. It was a big mistake. Not I have to hunt for the books to finish reading a series I already own. I guess that is my way of asking “Should you still be reading?” As though I am Netflix and worried about a 12 hour read-a-thon. It does work the same. I realize half the weekend has went by and I only left my hammock to warm up my coffee or have something to eat.

I was warned from the beginning, by Joe himself during one of the podcasts, that he did not intentionally write a trilogy. Rather, he wrote an exceedingly long epic fantasy, then realized it could be broken into three books. Armed with this information, I was prepared for immersive settings and epic battles. I was correct on the settings. The grittiness of the landscape, a place worn by generations of war. The remaining battlecry of the lands now the reverence of sacrifice. Where soldiers and their families brag about how many of the enemy they will kill with the unwritten understanding it is hope for before they die. And in a multigenerational war, the only people as vile as the enemy are those who don’t believe in the war. Enter the protagonist Myranda Celeste.

Myranda is an orphan of the war, and feels empathy for all who fall to it. This makes her an outsider and unwelcome in the lands she was raised in. She also comes across as extremely virtuous. She is unwilling to lie about her beliefs to find a place to belong, even though that is her greatest desire. If anyone shows her any kindness, she believes it to is virtuous. Such folly is what leads her into many of the challenges she faces in The Book of Deacon. Scavenging a priceless sword off a battlefield draws her deeper into the Perpetual War she despises. It is also what brings her a baby dragon as a travel companion. Who else would take a baby dragon to care for when she can barely care for herself?

Book One, The Book of Deacon is focused on Myranda learning who she can be and what impact she can have on the world around her. Her belief in the Five Chosen, and their ability to end the Perpetual War provides her with the resolve to train and learn how she can help end the war, rather than running from it.

In Book Two, The Great Convergence, Myranda continues her journey, this time in search of the Chosen Five. Book Three, The Battle of Verril, is the final book in the trilogy where Myranda and the Chosen Five fight for the end of the war. As I stated before, all three books were written together as one epic novel so they stories run seamlessly together.

I reread The Book of Deacon and The Great Convergence this weekend. A lot of the world build up and Myranda’s character are the focus of the first book. The action picks up in the second book. I appreciate Jo Lallo’s attention to detail with magic development and explanation. It make magic seem matter-of-fact in the world. If you are looking for some deep world building and epic fantasy, check out his The Book of Deacon Series.

You can find Joe Lallo’s work on his website. He also has a sci-fi series for you to check out.

Happy Reading!

My Writing Journey: Sources of Inspiration Part 1

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Neil Gaiman shared this advice in the Masterclass Series. To inspect your own life and the community around and you and look at it from a different perspective. A great way to write with emotional honesty is to use the influences in your life with which you have an emotional connection.

It will be no surprise to know I have a great of connections to fairytales and folktales as I do to a place. By the age of twenty, I had lived in two countries and more than a dozen houses in different communities. At this point in my life, I have expanded to have lived in seven countries. More than twenty houses. So the place I have the most connection to would be the village my mother was born and where I attended university in Canada. Folktales tend to explore the idea of Other. I found the more we move, the more I feel Other. I no longer fit in where I grew up, and I am new to where we move to.

For my daughter, there is a term: Third Culture Kid.

As a parent of a Third Culture Kid, I consider myself a wanderer. There is always something to be cherished in our new home town and country and something to be missed by those that we have left behind. What I have gathered from all of the places are their stories. I pick up books filled with folktales, fairytales, as well as recipes. Cultural food is an important part of the past and current culture. But back to writing inspiration.

Neil Gaiman suggested taking a tale, a story you grew up with, and to look at it with fresh eyes. What doesn’t make sense? Step back and consider how that tale might change with modern beliefs and labels. Look at it from a different perspective, take one of the big plot points or characters and twist it.

I decided to use one of Grimm’s fairytales. I have multiple copies of their stories, but the one I chose was an English translation of their original 1812 and 1815 books. They were darker and not necessarily full stories. But they were the closest to the original tales the Grimm family collected. Of the 156 stories included, I chose one of my favourites, Rapunzel.

Jack Zipes’s provides important historical context, including the Grimms’ prefaces and notes.

I am sharing a link to Rapunzel from Project Gutenberg as there is the audio as well as the ebook formats available for anyone to enjoy. There was no mention of God in the original version, and the Enchantress was a fairy, Rapunzel became pregnant, and there was no kingdom, but otherwise, the version follows along well with the original tale.

RAPUNZEL

The Project Gutenberg eBook version

There were once a man and a woman who had long in in vain wished for a child. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had great power and was dreaded by all the world. One day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion (rapunzel), and it looked so fresh and green that she longed for it, and had the greatest desire to eat some. This desire increased every day, and as she knew that she could not get any of it, she quite pined away, and looked pale and miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and asked, “What ails you, dear wife?” “Ah,” she replied, “if I can’t get some of the rampion which is in the garden behind our house, to eat, I shall die.” The man, who loved her, thought, “Sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost you what it will.” In the twilight of evening, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his wife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it with much relish. She, however, liked it so much, so very much, that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband must once more descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening, therefore, he let himself down again; but when he had clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before him. “How can you dare,” said she with angry look, “to descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it!” “Ah,” answered he, “let mercy take the place of justice. I only made up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she had not got some to eat.” Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be softened, and said to him, “If the case be as you say, I will allow you to take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one condition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into the world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother.” The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the little one came to them, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.

Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child beneath the sun. When she was twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself beneath this, and cried,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair to me.”

Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses, wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair fell twenty yards down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.

After a year or two, it came to pass that the King’s son rode through the forest and went by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The King’s son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair.”

Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress climbed up to her. “If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I will for once try my fortune,” said he, and the next day, when it began to grow dark, he went to the tower and cried.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair.”

Immediately the hair fell down, and the King’s son climbed up.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man such as her eyes had never yet beheld came to her; but the King’s son began to talk to her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her. Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for a husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought, “He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does;” and she said yes, and laid her hand in his. She said, “I will willingly go away with you, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse.” They agreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the old woman came by day. The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until once Rapunzel said to her, “Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young King’s son—he is with me in a moment.” “Ah! you wicked child,” cried the enchantress, “what do I hear you say! I thought I had separated you from all the world, and yet you have deceived me!” In her anger she clutched Rapunzel’s beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snip, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert, where she had to live in great grief and misery.

On the same day, however, that she cast out Rapunzel, the enchantress in the evening fastened the braids of hair which she had cut off to the hook of the window, and when the King’s son came and cried,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair,”

she let the hair down. The King’s son ascended, but he did not find his dearest Rapunzel above, but the enchantress, who gazed at him with wicked and venomous looks. “Aha!” she cried mockingly. “You would fetch your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest; the cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is lost to you; you will never see her more.” The King’s son was beside himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did nothing but lament and weep over the loss of his dearest wife. Thus he roamed about I in misery for some years, and at length came to the desert where Rapunzel lived in wretchedness. He heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two of her tears wetted his eyes, and they grew clear again, and he could see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom, where he was joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and contented.

Part 2 I will share my version of Rapunzel. My intension is to follow the original storyline but to change the protagonist to the fairy. We will see how it turns out.

What story would you choose to rewrite? Happy Writing!

Inspiring Author of the Week: Kathleen McClure

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The challenge I have with ebooks is I have a harder time remembering when I first found the author. When I hold a physical book, it becomes a tactile memory connected to my other senses. I remember where, when, why I picked up the title. Sadly, my ebooks do not get the same memory trail. Did I hear about it from a friend? From a SciFi site? From Goodreads? Bookbub? I reread the series last week and still I have no memory of when I bought it and what was the draw. This leads me to believe it was the book itself, Soldier of Fortune, book 1 in The Fortune Chronicles.

When I hear the phrase, soldier of fortune, I assume mercenary. A band of unlikely hero’s who turn around who do something great and save the day. Upon reading the book blurb, it turns out Quinn is not a mercenary but a soldier wrongly accused of treason and sent to work the mines. The story takes place on the planet of Fortune, a planet, one of many terraformed to replace Earth.

Quinn is given early parole and a chance to clear his name, or to get revenge. Quinn, and his Draco Elvis, are dropped off in the city of Nike where the man he holds responsible resides. Quinn, more of a paladin than a soldier, collects a band of people, mostly in distress, who come together to support each other in the gritty city. So, I had the mercenary character wrong but the merry bunch of misfits right.

There is a tongue and cheek piece to the universe Kathleen McClure developed. Instead of naming the newly colonized places after the old places, such as New York, New Zealand, they are named after the leaders of capitalist society, such as Nike and Ford. Memorabilia from Earth are collectors items, many items whose purpose is no longer remembered. The technology that brought humanity to Fortune destroyed its technology upon arrival hoping the world would not be destroyed the same way as earth. It is an interesting idea in that there must have been the people who believed in the fresh start and those who miss what they left behind. I would have appreciated more development of the backstory to balance the amount of corporate names used in the series. I loved the mixture of fantasy, dystopia, and military science fiction in the book. I think it is what drew me to it. It didn’t really fit in any specific genre to me so I was able to enjoy it as it was.

Book two in The Fortune Chronicles, Outrageous Fortune an Errant Enterprise, was written by both Kathleen McClure and Kelly McKinnon, and was a great followup to book 1. Side characters in Soldier of Fortune took the lead in this book. Although I loved Quinn and Mia in book one, the dynamics on the airship Errant are much more engaging. The story takes place a little bit earlier than Book 1 and at one point the two stories share scenes together. I enjoyed how well it was carried it out and seeing the same scene from a different perceptive.

Book three, is back to Gideon Quinn’s adventures. Characters from both previous books take part in this adventure. People are going missing in Nike and Quinn and Mia are asked to investigate. There is more development of the political issues on the planet of Fortune and the fallout of war. I liked how each of their personal stories impacted how they handled the missing persons case. This book had humour but not as much as the first two books it was a darker story.

All in all and enjoyable series. Something to read if you enjoy the mixing of genres with a lot of action. I look forward to reading more of her individual works and collaborations.

Happy Reading!

My Writing Journey: Writing a Killer Prologue and Epilogue

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We made it to the final chapter of the book! And the best part is it is a bonus chapter. The focus of this chapter is on prologue and epilogue development.

Prologues are set before Chapter One. Many readers prefer to skip the prologue, according to the exercise book Plot Development Step by Step by Jesper Schmidt & Autumn M. Birt– I for one always read them — so if you are to add one, ensure it is engaging and revealing information interesting enough to hook the reader.

A book with a fantastic prologue is Elantris by Brandon Sanderson. For those who read my Inspiring Author of the Week posts, yes. I chose this one because I spent the last week back in Brandon Sanderson’s story world. So it was the first one that popped out at me!

Elantris was beautiful, once. It was called the city of the gods: a place of power, radiance, and magic. Visitors say that the very stones glowed with an inner light, and that the city contained wondrous arcane marvels. At night, Elantris shone like a great silvery fire, visible even from a great distance.

Yet, as magnificent as Elantris was, its inhabitants were more so. Their hair a brilliant white, their skin an almost metallic silver, the Elantrians seemed to shine like the city itself. Legends claim that they were immortal, or at least nearly so. Their bodies healed quickly, and they were blessed with great strength, insight, and speed. They could perform magics with a bare wave of the hand; men visited Elantris from all across Opelon to receive Elantrian healings, food, or wisdom. They were divinities.

And anyone could become one.

The Shaod, it was called. The Transformation. It struck randomly—usually at night, during the mysterious hours when life slowed to rest. The Shaod could take beggar, crafts­man, nobleman, or warrior. When it came, the fortunate person’s life ended and began anew; he would discard his old, mundane existence, and move to Elantris. Elantris, where he could live in bliss, rule in wisdom, and be worshipped for eternity.

Eternity ended ten years ago.

Elantris prologue, Brandon sanderson

The first line hooked me in. The idea of of place of eternal beauty, before set my imagination on fire. What happened? Then he followed up with a visually engaging view of Elantris and how it was open to those who were mysteriously chosen. Where they could be turned from a beggar into a ruler to be worshipped for eternity. However, eternity ended. How can eternity end?

The setting up of the history of Elantris through visual details engaged my senses and drew me to the story. I needed to know what happened as well as what is happening now, after eternity.

An epilogue can be used in a similar matter. It can be used to add to the reader’s understanding of the character, their personal growth since the final chapter, or it can be used to set up the next book in the series. I am a serial series reader, so I am always hoping for the next book in a series. Having a piece of writing that alludes to what is coming, is a glimpse into the next adventure I cannot wait to read.

An epilogue that shows character growth and their paths in the future I enjoyed was the ending of the Wheel of Time Series by Brandon Sanderson and Robert Jordan. It is too long to share the full ending so I have to excerpts from it:

“I see the answer now,” [Rand] whispered. “I asked the the Aelfinn the wrong question. To choose is our fate. If you have no choice, then you aren’t a man at all. You’re a puppet.”

Memory of Light, Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson

The wind blew southward, through knotted forests, over shimmering plains, and toward lands unexplored. This wind, it was not the ending. There are no endings, and never will be endings, to the turning of the Wheel of Time.

Memory of Light, Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson

The final quote is one of the last paragraphs in the series. It is similar to how the series began, with the wind and the understanding of the Wheel of Time. The text suggests the epilogue be kept short. But when the epilogue is the end of a fourteen book series, I think there is an expectation of all the character arcs and the story arc to be complete. A chance to say goodbye to the characters we loved and hated.

Thus ends my examination and execution of the exercise book Plot Development Step by Step by Jesper Schmidt and Autumn M. Birt. I think this book supported my story development and outline, made it stronger. Soon I will find out if it makes the editing process shorter. NaNoWriMo has one week left and I am currently at 45,463 words. I look forward to finishing the book and in another month, the editing process.

Next week I will examine a story exercise suggested by Neil Gaiman in the Masterclass Course. Happy Writing!

Inspiring Author of the Week: Brandon Sanderson

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I found the book Mistborn at a used book store called Fair’s Fair in Calgary, Alberta years ago. I loved fantasy books but could not always ready them quickly when I was in university. I forced myself to finish school assignments and study for and complete exams before I was allowed to enjoy a new book.

Rather than borrow books from the library and renew them over and over again until I finally had time to read them, I would travel to my favourite used book store. Fair’s Fair originally had three locations within my train and walking area. The fantasy and scifi section was vast and brought me many new-to-me authors to enjoy.

Mistborn was one of those books. Kelsier, a half-Skaa prisoner, ensures the prison’s torture until the one day that he ‘snap’ed’ and his Mistborn talents are awaked. He then takes of the mantle of troublemaker, rebel, forcing his Skaa people into rebellion.

Vin is another half-Skaa her life hard, filled with a bitter betrayal. It is her skill of luck, a skill she does not fully understand, that has kept her alive and who can make the difference in Kelsier’s rebellion.

The story is gritty and dark. Where the only hope for the Skaa is forced upon them. They have toiled too long in the darkness and do not have the spark to start a rebellion themselves. At the end, as with many epic fantasy books, it ends with sacrifice, blood, and tears. But there are many plot threats left open and the idea of a Darkness in prophecy that may still need to be dealt with, not to mention, rebuilding a nation.

Brandon Sanderson left himself a lot to work with for plot threads to run through the series. They remain epic, gritty, and filled with pain and hope. suspect it was this series that showcased his skills and gave him the opportunity to complete the Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time Series.

Anytime a tyrant is taken down, there are new enemies vying for that position and old enemies no longer stopped by that tyrant. Both series have this plot arc. The rise and fall of kingdoms, makes for gritty action-filled pages. If you like one series, you will like the other. It was wonderful Robert Jordan’s wife approached Brandon Sanderson to finish his series. Without him, the Wheel of Time Series may never have ended. I found his continuation of the series to be mostly satisfying. The characters felt like themselves, to the most part his writing and Robert Jordan’s wife’s editing made the transition seamless. There were a few threads left open, but maybe we will see them in a short story or a novella in the future. We never know.

While his each of his series are independent, Brandon Sanderson has created a greater connection, he calls it the Cosmere. His worlds are connected by a greater plan. Or as Kelsier would say, more secrets. He had a character, Hoid, who is connected to the words who do not know each other. There are other easter eggs, other foreshadowing in his books. I for one look forward to finding out what they are as the Cosmere becomes more clear.

If you are new to Brandon Sanderson’s writings, check out his website. He and excerpts from many of his books and free stories as well. He is one of my favourite authors in epic fantasy with a strong female protagonist in his crew. Happy Reading!