Tag Archives: fairy tale factory

Tips for Self-Editing, From a Pro Who Knows

It's hard work!

There are lots of hard things about writing, but one of the hardest is editing your own work. Editing brain is an entirely different animal from writing brain, and flaws that seem obvious in someone else’s work often go unnoticed in our own. So what’s a poor writer to do?

Fortunately for us, Carol Saller, senior manuscript editor at the University of Chicago press and an editor at the Chicago Manual of Style, has compiled a list of errors she sees in manuscripts over and over again. For instance:

* Throat-clearing. When writer Richard Peck finishes a novel, he claims, he throws out the first chapter without reading it and writes it anew. He reasons that when we begin a work, we’re rarely certain of where it will end. Revisiting the beginning after the end has emerged makes sense. This time it will be easier to eliminate all the bush-beating.

* Personal tics. Most writers have a few pet words or phrases: decidedly, or by no means, or incredibly, or most important. Ditto for favorite sentence constructions: “Not only X but Y” is always popular. Once you identify your own foibles, they become more difficult to ignore.

* Repetition. Word-processing encourages this to the same degree that old-fashioned typewriting discouraged it: why say something once when you can say it three times? A common keyboard error is to copy and paste when you mean to cut and paste, so that whole passages are accidentally repeated verbatim.

Read the whole list.

And hook yourself up with an incredible blog about language and writing, while you’re at it.

Fairy Tale Friday: The Death of Koshchei the Deathless

With Halloween right around the corner, it seems only right that today’s fairy tale should feature Baba Yaga, monsters, violent deaths, and unnatural resurrections. For bonus points, there is also a warlike princess whose future husband falls in love with her over the bodies of the 1,000 soldiers she’s just slain. (Russian ladies are fierce!)

The Fearsome Baba Yaga

Without further ado, I present you with this thrilling tale from Andrew Lang’s Red Fairy Book:

The Death of Koshchei the Deathless

IN a certain kingdom there lived a Prince Ivan. He had three sisters. The first was the Princess Marya, the second the Princess Olga, the third the Princess Anna. When their father and mother lay at the point of death, they had thus enjoined their son: “Give your sisters in marriage to the very first suitors who come to woo them. Don’t go keeping them by you!”

They died, and the Prince buried them, and then, to solace his grief, he went with his sisters into the garden green to stroll. Suddenly the sky was covered by a black cloud; a terrible storm arose.

“Let us go home, sisters!” he cried.

Hardly had they got into the palace, when the thunder pealed, the ceiling split open, and into the room where they were came flying a falcon bright. The Falcon smote upon the ground, became a brave youth, and said:

“Hail, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a wooer!” I wish to propose for your sister, the Princess Marya.”

“If you find favour in the eyes of my sister, I will not interfere with her wishes. Let her marry you, in God’s name!”

The Princess Marya gave her consent; the Falcon married her and bore her away into his own realm.

Days follow days, hours chase hours; a whole year goes by. One day Prince Ivan and his two sisters went out to stroll in the garden green. Again there arose a storm-cloud, with whirlwind and lightning.

“Let us go home, sisters!” cries the Prince. Scarcely had they entered the palace when the thunder crashed, the roof burst into a blaze, the ceiling split in twain, and in flew an eagle. The Eagle smote upon the ground and became a brave youth.

“Hail, Prince Ivan! I Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a wooer!”

And he asked for the hand of the Princess Olga. Prince Ivan replied:

“If you find favour in the eyes of the Princess Olga, then let her marry you. I will not interfere with her liberty of choice.”

The Princess Olga gave her consent and married the Eagle. The Eagle took her and carried her off to his own kingdom.

Another year went by. Prince Ivan said to his youngest sister:

“Let us go out and stroll in the garden green!”

They strolled about for a time. Again there arose a storm-cloud, with whirlwind and lightning.

“Let us return home, sister!” said he.

They returned home, but they hadn’t had time to sit down when the thunder crashed, the ceiling split open, and in flew a raven. The Raven smote upon the floor and became a brave youth. The former youths had been handsome, but this one was handsomer still.

“Well, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a wooer! Give me the Princess Anna to wife.”

“I won’t interfere with my sister’s freedom. If you gain her affections, let her marry you.”

So the Princess Anna married the Raven, and he bore her away into his own realm. Prince Ivan was left alone. A whole year he lived without his sisters; then he grew weary, and said:

“I will set out in search of my sisters.”

He got ready for the journey, he rode and rode, and one day he saw a whole army lying dead on the plain. He cried aloud, “If there be a living man there, let him make answer! Who has slain this mighty host?”

There replied unto him a living man:

“All this mighty host has been slain by the fair Princess Marya Morevna.”

Find out what happens next!

WTF, Peter Gronquist?

The Last Unicorns

Fairy tales are full of magical animals that turn into princes(ses), give sage advice, cough up enchanted items, and otherwise save the day. Who hasn’t yearned for an encounter with a magical animal, just once?

Sculptor Peter Gronquist gives us that chance, in his own, twisted way. His latest show, The Evolution Will Be Fabulous, reminds me of the villain in my favorite FTF student story, a cruel king who’s killed one of every animal in the forest and mounted their heads on the wall. Only this time the king was hunting magical animals, and those animals were deliciously dark and weird and dangerous.

I mean, right?

You can see these macabre beauties for yourself in Los Angeles, CA, at the Gallery 1988 in Venice through November 4. And you can take one home for as little as $5,000, if that’s your thing.

All I need is a tall ship and star to steer her by!

Thanks to the ever-amazing Super Punch for bringing this bit of wonder to my attention.

Barbara Sher on Raising Horses in the Basement

Barbara Sher changed my life. I mean, I changed my life, really. But Barbara Sher helped me figure out how. I was between jobs, lost and aimless, and making lists of business ideas, story ideas, project ideas, ideas ideas ideas. I felt crappy about having so many ideas. Why couldn’t I pick a single project? Why couldn’t I focus? No wonder I was unemployed. Again. Clearly, I was a loser who would never fulfill her potential because she couldn’t pick something and stick with it from beginning to end.

So there I was, moping around my local bookstore feeling like a total loser, when I glanced at one of the shelves and felt my heart give a hopeful little thrill. There facing out at me was Babara Sher’s amazing handbook for the omni-directionally interested: Refuse to Choose. I read the first two chapters standing up in the store, then took it home and devoured it in a night. I even did every exercise. Which is how the Fairy Tale Factory was born while I simultaneously completed a photo-essay, renovated my garden, and found the best day job I ever had.

If you’ll pardon my French, Barbara Sher is the shit. But don’t take my word for it. See for yourself:

Fairy Tale Friday: The Princess on the Glass Hill

Happy Friday, everyone! I don’t know about you, but I have had a long, hard week and I am so glad the weekend is here.

by the incredible Lawrence Beall Smith

To celebrate, I present you with a tale from Andrew Lang’s Blue Fairy Book, a fascinating variation of “Cinderella” in which Cinderella is a MAN. That’s right – CinderFella.

ONCE upon a time there was a man who had a meadow which lay on the side of a mountain, and in the meadow there was a barn in which he stored hay. But there had not been much hay in the barn for the last two years, for every St. John’s eve, when the grass was in the height of its vigor, it was all eaten clean up, just as if a whole flock of sheep had gnawed it down to the ground during the night. This happened once, and it happened twice, but then the man got tired of losing his crop, and said to his sons–he had three of them, and the third was called Cinderlad–that one of them must go and sleep in the barn on St. John’s night, for it was absurd to let the grass be eaten up again, blade and stalk, as it had been the last two years, and the one who went to watch must keep a sharp look-out, the man said.

The eldest was quite willing to go to the meadow; he would watch the grass, he said, and he would do it so well that neither man, nor beast, nor even the devil himself should have any of it. So when evening came he went to the barn, and lay down to sleep, but when night was drawing near there was such a rumbling and such an earthquake that the walls and roof shook again, and the lad jumped up and took to his heels as fast as he could, and never even looked back, and the barn remained empty that year just as it had been for the last two.

Next St. John’s eve the man again said that he could not go on in this way, losing all the grass in the outlying field year after year, and that one of his sons must just go there and watch it, and watch well too. So the next oldest son was willing to show what he could do. He went to the barn and lay down to sleep, as his brother had done; but when night was drawing near there was a great rumbling, and then an earthquake, which was even worse than that on the former St. John’s night, and when the youth heard it he was terrified, and went off, running as if for a wager.

The year after, it was Cinderlad’s turn, but when he made ready to go the others laughed at him, and mocked him. “Well, you are just the right one to watch the hay, you who have never learned anything but how to sit among the ashes and bake yourself!” said they. Cinderlad, however, did not trouble himself about what they said, but when evening drew near rambled away to the outlying field. When he got there he went into the barn and lay down, but in about an hour’s time the rumbling and creaking began, and it was frightful to hear it. “Well, if it gets no worse than that, I can manage to stand it,” thought Cinderlad. In a little time the creaking began again, and the earth quaked so that all the hay flew about the boy. “Oh! if it gets no worse than that I can manage to stand it,” thought Cinderlad. But then came a third rumbling, and a third earthquake, so violent that the boy thought the walls and roof had fallen down, but when that was over everything suddenly grew as still as death around him. “I am pretty sure that it will come again,” thought Cinderlad; but no, it did not. Everything was quiet, and everything stayed quiet, and when he had lain still a short time he heard something that sounded as if a horse were standing chewing just outside the barn door. He stole away to the door, which was ajar, to see what was there, and a horse was standing eating. It was so big, and fat, and fine a horse that Cinderlad had never seen one like it before, and a saddle and bridle lay upon it, and a complete suit of armor for a knight, and everything was of copper, and so bright that it shone again. “Ha, ha! it is thou who eatest up our hay then,” thought the boy; “but I will stop that.” So he made haste, and took out his steel for striking fire, and threw it over the horse, and then it had no power to stir from the spot, and became so tame that the boy could do what he liked with it. So he mounted it and rode away to a place which no one knew of but himself, and there he tied it up. When he went home again his brothers laughed and asked how he had got on.

“You didn’t lie long in the barn, if even you have been so far as the field!” said they.

“I lay in the barn till the sun rose, but I saw nothing and heard nothing, not I,” said the boy. “God knows what there was to make you two so frightened.”

“Well, we shall soon see whether you have watched the meadow or not,” answered the brothers, but when they got there the grass was all standing just as long and as thick as it had been the night before.

The next St. John’s eve it was the same thing, once again: neither of the two brothers dared to go to the outlying field to watch the crop, but Cinderlad went, and everything happened exactly the same as on the previous St. John’s eve: first there was a rumbling and an earthquake, and then there was another, and then a third: but all three earthquakes were much, very much more violent than they had been the year before. Then everything became still as death again, and the boy heard something chewing outside the barn door, so he stole as softly as he could to the door, which was slightly ajar, and again there was a horse standing close by the wall of the house, eating and chewing, and it was far larger and fatter than the first horse, and it had a saddle on its back, and a bridle was on it too, and a full suit of armor for a knight, all of bright silver, and as beautiful as anyone could wish to see. “Ho, ho!” thought the boy, “is it thou who eatest up our hay in the night? but I will put a stop to that.” So he took out his steel for striking fire, and threw it over the horse’s mane, and the beast stood there as quiet as a lamb. Then the boy rode this horse, too, away to the place where he kept the other, and then went home again.

“I suppose you will tell us that you have watched well again this time,” said the brothers.

“Well, so I have,” said Cinderlad. So they went there again. and there the grass was, standing as high and as thick as it had been before, but that did not make them any kinder to Cinderlad.

When the third St. John’s night came neither of the two elder brothers dared to lie in the outlying barn to watch the grass, for they had been so heartily frightened the night that they had slept there that they could not get over it, but Cinderlad dared to go, and everything happened just the same as on the two former nights. There were three earthquakes, each worse than the other, and the last flung the boy from one wall of the barn to the other, but then everything suddenly became still as death. When he had lain quietly a short time, he heard something chewing outside the barn door; then he once more stole to the door, which was slightly ajar, and behold, a horse was standing just outside it, which was much larger and fatter than the two others he had caught. “Ho, ho! it is thou, then, who art eating up our hay this time,” thought the boy; “but I will put a stop to that.” So he pulled out his steel for striking fire, and threw it over the horse, and it stood as still as if it had been nailed to the field, and the boy could do just what he liked with it. Then he mounted it and rode away to the place where he had the two others, and then he went home again. Then the two brothers mocked him just as they had done before, and told him that they could see that he must have watched the grass very carefully that night, for he looked just as if he were walking in his sleep; but Cinderlad did not trouble himself about that, but just bade them go to the field and see. They did go, and this time too the grass was standing, looking as fine and as thick as ever.

The King of the country in which Cinderlad’s father dwelt had a daughter whom he would give to no one who could not ride up to the top of the glass hill, for there was a high, high hill of glass, slippery as ice, and it was close to the King’s palace. Upon the very top of this the King’s daughter was to sit with three gold apples in her lap, and the man who could ride up and take the three golden apples should marry her, and have half the kingdom. The King had this proclaimed in every church in the whole kingdom, and in many other kingdoms too. The Princess was very beautiful, and all who saw her fell violently in love with her, even in spite of themselves. So it is need- less to say that all the princes and knights were eager to win her, and half the kingdom besides, and that for this cause they came riding thither from the very end of the world, dressed so splendidly that their raiments gleamed in the sunshine, and riding on horses which seemed to dance as they went, and there was not one of these princes who did not think that he was sure to win the Princess. …

Find out what happens next.

Link courtesy of Laura Gibbs’ wonderful site.

Introducing Diana Sudyka, FTF Anthology Illustrator

What a lovely raven!

I’m just a few short weeks away from sending the first collection of illustrated student stories to the printer, so it seems like a good time to introduce the illustrator, Diana Sudyka.

I met Diana at Flatstock in Seattle two or three years ago, and was immediately taken with her work. To be totally honest, I thought she was out of my league, but I got her business card and chatted her up anyway, just for the fun of imagining I could one day hire a fancy-pants illustrator like her. Then I found out she’s married to Jay Ryan, on whom I have a total art crush, and I was so smitten I could hardly even look at her.

Civil War Widow

But the world is a very small place, and in the course of chatting, I discovered that these two super talented humans are friends with a friend of mine from back home, and suddenly we were laughing and sending him rude texts and telling embarrassing stories about him, and generally having a pretty good time. And then it didn’t seem so crazy or far-fetched that I might get Diana Sudyka to illustrate my little collection of stories, after all.

Buy this print!

So there you have it. The rest is history. A year or two later I called her up, sent her my illustration requests, and BANG. Seven gorgeous illustrations that I’m proud to print. You can see the rest of Diana’s portfolio at her site, or you can visit the Decoder Ring to treat yourself to a limited edition print.

I can’t wait to show you the FTF illustrations!

Fairy Tale Friday: The Nixie of the Mill-Pond

Bowley's

Of all the recurring motifs in fairy tales, of all the many plot devices fairy tale tellers employ, my absolute favorite has got to be the bad bargain. People are forever accepting the help of magical creatures and promising things that somehow turn out to be much more than they’d ever intended to give. (Stupid people, don’t you know better than to give away the first thing that runs out to meet you when you get home?)

It’s a storytelling device that’s as ancient as it is effective, FTF alum Uncle Vinny even found a version of it in the Bible:

On behalf of Israel as a whole, and in reliance on the might of God the Judge, Jephthah challenges the Ammonites. Jephthah swears an oath:

“Whatever/whoever emerges and comes out of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in peace from the people of Ammon, shall surely be God’s, and I shall sacrifice him/her/it as a holocaust.”[1] (Judges 11:31 – a holocaust is a burnt offering).

Who does that? Who thinks that’s a good idea? But you know what? Without this plot device, some of the world’s best fairy tales would never have been written.

And so, in celebration of the Bad Bargain, today’s fairy tale is “The Nixie of the Mill-Pond,” in which a desperate man makes a terrible bargain with a watery tart, then has to live with the consequences.

There was once upon a time a miller who lived with his wife in great contentment. They had money and land, and their prosperity increased year by year more and more. But ill luck comes like a thief in the night. As their wealth had increased so did it again decrease, year by year, and at last the miller could hardly call the mill in which he lived, his own. He was in great distress, and when he lay down after his day’s work, found no
rest, but tossed about in his bed, sorely troubled.

One morning he rose before daybreak and went out into the open air, thinking that perhaps there his heart might become lighter. As he was stepping over the mill-dam the first sunbeam was just breaking forth, and he heard a rippling sound in the pond. He turned round and perceived a beautiful woman, rising slowly out of the water. Her long hair, which she was holding off her shoulders with her soft hands, fell down on both sides, and covered her white body. He soon saw that she was the nixie of the mill-pond, and in his fright did not know whether he should run away or stay where he was. But the nixie made her sweet voice heard, called him by his name, and asked him why he was so sad.

The miller was at first struck dumb, but when he heard her speak so kindly, he took heart, and told her how he had formerly lived in wealth and happiness, but that now he was so poor that he did not know what to do.

Be easy, answered the nixie, I will make you richer and happier than you have ever been before, only you must promise to give me the young thing which has just been born in your house.

What else can that be, thought the miller, but a puppy or a kitten, and he promised her what she desired.

The nixie descended into the water again, and he hurried back to his mill, consoled and in good spirits. He had not yet reached it, when the maid-servant came out of the house and cried to him to rejoice, for his wife had given birth to a little boy. The miller stood as if struck by lightning. He saw very well that the cunning nixie had been aware of it, and had cheated him.

Hanging his head, he went up to his wife’s bedside and when she said, why do you not rejoice over the fine boy, he told her what had befallen him, and what kind of a promise he had given to the nixie…

Read the rest of the story. [Caveat: The original site is an academic site with tiny font, and no spaces between paragraphs. BUT. It is not the story’s fault that it’s poorly formatted. It’s still a good story, and worth reading through to the end.]

Get to Know Dan Grzeca

This print is only $40!

It’s no secret that I am a big fan of poster art. I think the most vibrant, compelling, beautiful art being made today is coming out of the illustration and gig poster community. So it pleases me to tell you about Dan Grzeca’s gorgeous prints.

Dan does gig posters for indie darlings like Okkervil River, the Black Keys, and Iron + Wine, and his work features loosey-goosey lines that feel more like sketches than finished drawings. He uses organic motifs, animals, plants, freshly-ploughed fields, but my absolute favorites are the recurring images of RVs, houses, and house-animal hybrids on tall, mechanical legs with all sorts of crazy business coming out the windows. When I think of modern fairy tale art, Dan’s work comes immediately to mind. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll agree to illustrate the next Fairy Tale Factory collection!

That Winnebago is going places

The best part about these prints, for me, is that they’re priced between $30 and $60. Check them out.

Check out that pugnacious percolator.

Stephen King Tells It Like It Is

Edmund Dulac's 'The Ebony Horse'

I’m no Stephen King, but I have been an honest-to-goodness paid professional writer for the past 15 or so years. And every time I read this wonderful bit from Mr. King, Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully: In Ten Minutes, I am struck with the raw, perfect truth of it. (Even though it was written in 1986! Before they even had teh innernets!)

Some of my favorite bits:

1. Be talented
This, of course, is the killer. What is talent? I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness. For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success – publication and money. If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

4. Remove every extraneous word
You want to get up on a soapbox and preach? Fine. Get one and try your local park. You want to write for money? Get to the point. And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again . . . or try something new.

5. Never look at a reference book while doing a first draft
You want to write a story? Fine. Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus. Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket. The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time…

Read the whole thing: Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully: In Ten Minutes

Fairy Tale Friday: The Legend of the White Snake

What’s better than a fairy tale? A fairy tale with KUNG FU!

Jet Li and Eva Huang bring an old Chinese fairy tale to life in this kung-fu-tastic film version of the Legend of the White Snake. The CG looks a little shady, and the storyline has certainly wandered far afield from the traditional version, but hey – kung fu!

For those who prefer their Chinese fairy tales to be text-based and not full of Whirling Fists of Death, please enjoy this lovely version of the traditional tale:

The Legend of the White Snake

“Good old man, please give us a ride!” Lady White shouted to the boatman from the bank. The young man asked the boatman to stop and let them go aboard. They thanked the young man and Xiaoqing asked him his name. He replied,”Xu is my surname. I am told that I once met an immortal near the Broke Bridge when I was a child so my father gave me the name Xian.” (Xian means immortal in Chinese.)

And so Lady White’s wish was fulfilled. The handsome young man was indeed the little boy who had always stayed in her heart.

Because of the downpour, Xu Xian lent Lady White his umbrella to carry home. Later, whenever she looked at it, she felt a longing for Xu Xian. Xu Xian also felt himself falling in love with Lady White. On the day he went to get back his umbrella, he asked Xianqing to act as go-between to arrange a match between Lady White and himself. Xianqing did her job well and the pair married.

After their marriage, the couple and Xiaoqing moved to Zhenjiang and set up a herbal medicine store. Lady White wrote out the prescriptions while Xu Xian and Xiaoqing gathered and dispensed the herbal medicine. Patients unable to pay ere given free treatment and medicine. The store quickly became well known and popular.

At the time of the Dragon Boat Festival, it was the custom for every household to fasten plants such as calamus and Chinese mugwort on the ground to drive away spirits. These were, of course, dangerous to Lady White and Xiaoqing, since there were spirits, after all. Lady White was by now pregnant so she had even more reason for staying at home. Xu Xian decided to spend the day at home with his wife. He prepared a pot of old wine with realgar, for realgar not only drove away evil spirits but was also considered beneficial to pregnant women. Under her husband’s coaxing, Lady White could not find a reason to refuse the drink and she took a sip, thinking that her superior magic skills would make her immune to the power of relgar. But she immediately was stricken ill and barely managed to get to bed. Xu Xian rushed to the bed and drew aside its curtain. Lady White was no longer there. In her place was a large white snake coiled on the bed. So great was Xu Xian’s shock that he fell to the floor and died.

When the power of realgar’s power faded, Lady White resumed her human form. She was heartbroken to find Xu Xian lying dead beside the bed. But she knew that the glossy ganoderma, a celestial herb on the Kunlun Mountain, could restore him to life. She flew to the Kunlun Mountain to steal the celestial herb but encountered the white crane and heavenly guards responsible for looking after the glossy ganoderma. They fought to prevent her from taking the herb and Lady White was losing the battle, when suddenly a voice commanded them to stop. It was the voice of the Immortal of the Southern End. Lady White begged him in tears to help her. Impressed by her sincerity and perseverance, he granted her the glossy ganoderma.

Lady White ground the herb and fed it to Xu Xian who soon came back to life. But he was still frightened at the memory of the snake that had appeared in his wife’s place.

Lady White made up a story to set his mind at rest. The snake he saw, she told him, was in fact a dragon descending from heaven. The sight was a good omen. She regretted that she was unconscious at that time, otherwise she would have burnt some incense to the dragon.

Xiaoqing added she also had seen something white resembling either a snake or a dragon and that it flew from the bed to the window and disappeared. Xu Xian’s suspicions were allayed by this colorful story.

Story courtesy of Chinapage.com