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The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus: Part 1

December 18, 2020 by angelavanwell Leave a Comment

My original plan was to post a short Christmas story I wrote. However, as I read some of my favourite childhood stories, I decided instead to share one of my favourites. L. Frank Baum is best known for The Wizard of Oz, a story he did not write until he reached his 40s. It was only the second book he published after Father Goose. In 1900 the illustrated book was published making Baum the the best-selling children’s book author in America. In fact, he founded the genre in America. In 1902 he published, The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, a story of Claus, an orphan, raised by immortal creatures of a fairytale forest. How Claus learns about the plight of the children of mortals and determines his life mission is to bring them joy. This is the story I will be sharing with you in seven parts over the next week. Enjoy!

YOUTH

Burzee

Have you heard of the great Forest of Burzee? Nurse used to sing of it when I was a child. She sang of the big tree-trunks, standing close together, with their roots intertwining below the earth and their branches intertwining above it; of their rough coating of bark and queer, gnarled limbs; of the bushy foliage that roofed the entire forest, save where the sunbeams found a path through which to touch the ground in little spots and to cast weird and curious shadows over the mosses, the lichens and the drifts of dried leaves.

The Forest of Burzee is mighty and grand and awesome to those who steal beneath its shade. Coming from the sunlit meadows into its mazes it seems at first gloomy, then pleasant, and afterward filled with never-ending delights.

For hundreds of years it has flourished in all its magnificence, the silence of its inclosure unbroken save by the chirp of busy chipmunks, the growl of wild beasts and the songs of birds.

Yet Burzee has its inhabitants—for all this. Nature peopled it in the beginning with Fairies, Knooks, Ryls and Nymphs. As long as the Forest stands it will be a home, a refuge and a playground to these sweet immortals, who revel undisturbed in its depths.

Civilization has never yet reached Burzee. Will it ever, I wonder?

The Child of the Forest

Once, so long ago our great-grandfathers could scarcely have heard it mentioned, there lived within the great Forest of Burzee a wood-nymph named Necile. She was closely related to the mighty Queen Zurline, and her home was beneath the shade of a widespreading oak. Once every year, on Budding Day, when the trees put forth their new buds, Necile held the Golden Chalice of Ak to the lips of the Queen, who drank therefrom to the prosperity of the Forest. So you see she was a nymph of some importance, and, moreover, it is said she was highly regarded because of her beauty and grace.

When she was created she could not have told; Queen Zurline could not have told; the great Ak himself could not have told. It was long ago when the world was new and nymphs were needed to guard the forests and to minister to the wants of the young trees. Then, on some day not remembered, Necile sprang into being; radiant, lovely, straight and slim as the sapling she was created to guard.

Her hair was the color that lines a chestnut-bur; her eyes were blue in the sunlight and purple in the shade; her cheeks bloomed with the faint pink that edges the clouds at sunset; her lips were full red, pouting and sweet. For costume she adopted oak-leaf green; all the wood-nymphs dress in that color and know no other so desirable. Her dainty feet were sandal-clad, while her head remained bare of covering other than her silken tresses.

Necile’s duties were few and simple. She kept hurtful weeds from growing beneath her trees and sapping the earth-food required by her charges. She frightened away the Gadgols, who took evil delight in flying against the tree-trunks and wounding them so that they drooped and died from the poisonous contact. In dry seasons she carried water from the brooks and pools and moistened the roots of her thirsty dependents.

That was in the beginning. The weeds had now learned to avoid the forests where wood-nymphs dwelt; the loathsome Gadgols no longer dared come nigh; the trees had become old and sturdy and could bear the drought better than when fresh-sprouted. So Necile’s duties were lessened, and time grew laggard, while succeeding years became more tiresome and uneventful than the nymph’s joyous spirit loved.

Truly the forest-dwellers did not lack amusement. Each full moon they danced in the Royal Circle of the Queen. There were also the Feast of Nuts, the Jubilee of Autumn Tintings, the solemn ceremony of Leaf Shedding and the revelry of Budding Day. But these periods of enjoyment were far apart, and left many weary hours between.

That a wood-nymph should grow discontented was not thought of by Necile’s sisters. It came upon her only after many years of brooding. But when once she had settled in her mind that life was irksome she had no patience with her condition, and longed to do something of real interest and to pass her days in ways hitherto undreamed of by forest nymphs. The Law of the Forest alone restrained her from going forth in search of adventure.

While this mood lay heavy upon pretty Necile it chanced that the great Ak visited the Forest of Burzee and allowed the wood-nymphs as was their wont—to lie at his feet and listen to the words of wisdom that fell from his lips. Ak is the Master Woodsman of the world; he sees everything, and knows more than the sons of men.

That night he held the Queen’s hand, for he loved the nymphs as a father loves his children; and Necile lay at his feet with many of her sisters and earnestly harkened as he spoke.

“We live so happily, my fair ones, in our forest glades,” said Ak, stroking his grizzled beard thoughtfully, “that we know nothing of the sorrow and misery that fall to the lot of those poor mortals who inhabit the open spaces of the earth. They are not of our race, it is true, yet compassion well befits beings so fairly favored as ourselves. Often as I pass by the dwelling of some suffering mortal I am tempted to stop and banish the poor thing’s misery. Yet suffering, in moderation, is the natural lot of mortals, and it is not our place to interfere with the laws of Nature.”

“Nevertheless,” said the fair Queen, nodding her golden head at the Master Woodsman, “it would not be a vain guess that Ak has often assisted these hapless mortals.”

Ak smiled.

“Sometimes,” he replied, “when they are very young—’children,’ the mortals call them—I have stopped to rescue them from misery. The men and women I dare not interfere with; they must bear the burdens Nature has imposed upon them. But the helpless infants, the innocent children of men, have a right to be happy until they become full-grown and able to bear the trials of humanity. So I feel I am justified in assisting them. Not long ago—a year, maybe—I found four poor children huddled in a wooden hut, slowly freezing to death. Their parents had gone to a neighboring village for food, and had left a fire to warm their little ones while they were absent. But a storm arose and drifted the snow in their path, so they were long on the road. Meantime the fire went out and the frost crept into the bones of the waiting children.”

“Poor things!” murmured the Queen softly. “What did you do?”

“I called Nelko, bidding him fetch wood from my forests and breathe upon it until the fire blazed again and warmed the little room where the children lay. Then they ceased shivering and fell asleep until their parents came.”

“I am glad you did thus,” said the good Queen, beaming upon the Master; and Necile, who had eagerly listened to every word, echoed in a whisper: “I, too, am glad!”

“And this very night,” continued Ak, “as I came to the edge of Burzee I heard a feeble cry, which I judged came from a human infant. I looked about me and found, close to the forest, a helpless babe, lying quite naked upon the grasses and wailing piteously. Not far away, screened by the forest, crouched Shiegra, the lioness, intent upon devouring the infant for her evening meal.”

I looked around me and found, close to the forest, a helpless babe, lying quite naked upon the grasses and wailing piteously.

Ak, The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum

“And what did you do, Ak?” asked the Queen, breathlessly.

“Not much, being in a hurry to greet my nymphs. But I commanded Shiegra to lie close to the babe, and to give it her milk to quiet its hunger. And I told her to send word throughout the forest, to all beasts and reptiles, that the child should not be harmed.”

“I am glad you did thus,” said the good Queen again, in a tone of relief; but this time Necile did not echo her words, for the nymph, filled with a strange resolve, had suddenly stolen away from the group.

Swiftly her lithe form darted through the forest paths until she reached the edge of mighty Burzee, when she paused to gaze curiously about her. Never until now had she ventured so far, for the Law of the Forest had placed the nymphs in its inmost depths.

Necile knew she was breaking the Law, but the thought did not give pause to her dainty feet. She had decided to see with her own eyes this infant Ak had told of, for she had never yet beheld a child of man. All the immortals are full-grown; there are no children among them. Peering through the trees Necile saw the child lying on the grass. But now it was sweetly sleeping, having been comforted by the milk drawn from Shiegra. It was not old enough to know what peril means; if it did not feel hunger it was content.

Softly the nymph stole to the side of the babe and knelt upon the sward, her long robe of rose leaf color spreading about her like a gossamer cloud. Her lovely countenance expressed curiosity and surprise, but, most of all, a tender, womanly pity. The babe was newborn, chubby and pink. It was entirely helpless. While the nymph gazed the infant opened its eyes, smiled upon her, and stretched out two dimpled arms. In another instant Necile had caught it to her breast and was hurrying with it through the forest paths.

The Adoption

The Master Woodsman suddenly rose, with knitted brows. “There is a strange presence in the Forest,” he declared. Then the Queen and her nymphs turned and saw standing before them Necile, with the sleeping infant clasped tightly in her arms and a defiant look in her deep blue eyes.

And thus for a moment they remained, the nymphs filled with surprise and consternation, but the brow of the Master Woodsman gradually clearing as he gazed intently upon the beautiful immortal who had wilfully broken the Law. Then the great Ak, to the wonder of all, laid his hand softly on Necile’s flowing locks and kissed her on her fair forehead.

“For the first time within my knowledge,” said he, gently, “a nymph has defied me and my laws; yet in my heart can I find no word of chiding. What is your desire, Necile?”

“Let me keep the child!” she answered, beginning to tremble and falling on her knees in supplication.

“Here, in the Forest of Burzee, where the human race has never yet penetrated?” questioned Ak.

“Here, in the Forest of Burzee,” replied the nymph, boldly. “It is my home, and I am weary for lack of occupation. Let me care for the babe! See how weak and helpless it is. Surely it can not harm Burzee nor the Master Woodsman of the World!”

“But the Law, child, the Law!” cried Ak, sternly.

“The Law is made by the Master Woodsman,” returned Necile; “if he bids me care for the babe he himself has saved from death, who in all the world dare oppose me?” Queen Zurline, who had listened intently to this conversation, clapped her pretty hands gleefully at the nymph’s answer.

“You are fairly trapped, O Ak!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Now, I pray you, give heed to Necile’s petition.”

The Woodsman, as was his habit when in thought, stroked his grizzled beard slowly. Then he said:

“She shall keep the babe, and I will give it my protection. But I warn you all that as this is the first time I have relaxed the Law, so shall it be the last time. Never more, to the end of the World, shall a mortal be adopted by an immortal. Otherwise would we abandon our happy existence for one of trouble and anxiety. Good night, my nymphs!”

Then Ak was gone from their midst, and Necile hurried away to her bower to rejoice over her new-found treasure.

Day Two will be up tomorrow. Happy Reading!

A little paperwork:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Move to Part 2 here.

Filed Under: Free Story, Ramblings Tagged With: Children's Story, Christmas Story, inspiring authors, L. Frank Baum, reading, Santa Claus

My Writing Journey: Sources of Inspiration Part 2

December 11, 2020 by angelavanwell 1 Comment

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!

Filed Under: Free Story, Writing Tagged With: Brothers Grimm, Rapunzel, reading, short story, sources of writing inspiration, the fae in urban fantasy, writing community, Writing Journey, writing short story

Little Lending Libraries

June 30, 2020 by angelavanwell Leave a Comment

My family spotted this library along the Terry Hershey Hike & Bike Trail in Houston Texas.

My family moved to Houston, Texas, USA in 2020. Not the easiest move due to the COVID-19 pandemic. But there is always a light that makes a new place feel like home, no matter where we move. The little lending libraries we happened upon when we explored Buffalo Bayou Park is one of those places.

Not only were we happy to find a lending library, but I was overjoyed to see the little library was a part of a bigger project called the Little Free Library, a book sharing movement. The movement is via a nonprofit organization focused on inspiring the love of reading and building communities.

With the Coronavirus outbreak still rolling, some of the little libraries we have seen have transitioned into a sharing box for essential needs. Regardless of whether there are books, seeds, or canned goods, to me, the libraries continue to be a beacon of the strength and support of community during these trying times.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: community, Little Lending Library, reading

Welcome!

June 30, 2020 by angelavanwell Leave a Comment

My name is Angela VanWell, and welcome to my new website! I have been a long time reader and finally reached for my dream to become an author. It took leaving my career to travel with my family for me to realize I needed to take the step to turn my dream of writing One Day into writing Day One.

With the support of NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, I have written an Urban Fantasy Series currently called River Run. Once it is edited, (And boy does it need it), I intend to share it on this blog. In the mean time, I intend to create a place to talk about books I adore, places to explore, and silliness that happens in every day life.

Visiting the Tinkinswood Burial Chamber in Wales

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Fantasy author, reading, travel, writing, zerotohero

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