Ganymeder

Play or download episode *here*

Hello, and Welcome to My Writing Niche, a podcast for new writers. Today’s podcast, #62, was recorded for Sunday, August 12th, 2012. I’ll be reading my latest #FridayFlash, “Sleeping Beauty Retold“,  as well as talking about my writing break and current projects.

**image courtesy of hiddedevries via Flicker.

***Slow Burn from the album Blues Sampler courtesy of Kevin MacLeod via Creative Commons Attribution license. More of his music can be found at FreeMusicArchive.org or at http://incompetech.com.

Long had the girl slept, cocooned within the thorny vines that embraced her castle. Long after the fairy curse had taken hold and forced upon her unnatural sleep, her parents and the other citizens of the kingdom had succumbed to the radiation that sickened humanity after the final World War. Toxic rain and poisoned water finished off those who had not died with the final deadly blast. Yet the princess Aurora slept on, immune by the unknown virtues of her curse.

The ship used its lasers to cut through the tangled vines, slicing a neat hole through the stones for its captain to enter. He stepped into the Earth’s past, sheltered and preserved by the briars that had gripped the castle like a skeletal fist. The light from the device he held lit his face in the darkened halls as he watched its monitor for signs of life. It pinged softly, each ping growing louder and closer as he strode the stairs of the castle’s tallest tower. By the time he reached the princess’s door, the noise had become a steady loud hum.

His large eyes widened as he pushed open the door to view the prone form of the girl, the last living woman on planet Earth. He pushed aside the dust covered canopy that surrounded her bed, gazing down at her beautiful features. Never had he seen a vision of such loveliness. Her long copper hair framed her face, like a Brillo pad around a worn bar of soap. Saliva dripped from the corner of her open mouth, from which the odor of her last meal was still apparent – seasoned by age. When he leaned closer, he smelled cumin.

Remembering his research, he bent over the girl and brushed her hair aside, planting a soft kiss upon her hard and cracked lips. He stood back and watched her struggle to open eyes that had been caked shut by years of sleep. One eye opened. She rubbed the other, which opened as well. Bleary eyed, she gazed upon her rescuer. “Whazza…whozit?” she mumbled, shaking off the sleep of decades. To her hero, her voice was the melody of the past.

He pressed some buttons on his device. The machine pinged once more, then translated his words into electronic clipped tones that Aurora would understand. “Welcome back to wakefulness, Princess. I have sought your resting place for many years. This is a very important discovery.”

The woman propped herself on elbows that popped audibly, then squinted into her benefactor’s large black eyes. “Huh?” She strained to focus on his face. Skin the color of ripe avocado, eyes that blinked slightly less often than she liked, and a large, bulbous head as hairless as a cue ball. If she was still dreaming, she figured she might as well play along. “Who are you?” she managed. Aurora ran her tongue across teeth that hadn’t been brushed in decades. She definitely needed a brush.

The little man pressed more buttons on the device. “My name is Zork, chief of Galactic History for Sector 42. You must accompany me to Zeta Prime where you will be questioned on Earth culture.”

The woman swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She gingerly tested each one until she stood on them both. “Wait a minute,” she said, reaching for a brush on the nightstand and attempting – without much success – to run it through her hair. “I read books, you know. I’m not going anywhere until I get my prince.” She glared down at Zork. The little man was waist-high. “Rules are rules.”

The little man’s skin darkened to a deep forest green. He tapped the device. “Our civilization has evolved beyond the feudal system of more primative sociopaths.”

Aurora backed away and gripped her brush. Dream or not, this still felt real.

Zork checked his device, then tapped again. “Apologies. More primative societies. There is, however, a Galactic President.”

The woman relaxed her grip on the brush. In her mind’s eye, solar systems did a slow waltz across galaxies which spun slow, lovely pirouettes. A thought struck her, shattering the image, and she blurted, “Beyond primitive so… so… so you don’t rule any land?”

The green creature looked at the ceiling a moment, then tapped again. The electronic voice chirped, “I own half of sector 42, which includes this solar system as well as several others.” He tapped, “This gives me exclusive historical excavation rights over said property. Is this sufficient to meet your requirements?”

Princess Aurora gazed down at her small saviour. Ruler of the whole freaking planet? A prince would be a step down. “Zork,” she said, smiling sweetly through taco-stained teeth. “Take me to your leader.”

Hand in hand, the two stepped aboard the shining craft. The saucer flew into the starry void.

*I’ve “retold” so many fairy tales that it’s hard to believe I’ve left this one alone this long. So I decided to destroy attempt a fresh take on this classic. Please, forgive me.

As a lover of fairy tales, it is a rare and special time when movies portray something of the classics outside of Disney. I recently attended Mirror Mirror, and shortly afterwards Snow White and the Huntsman, at my local cinema. Both tell the story of Snow White, both feature a strong female protagonist as well as antagonist, and both are visually beautiful. However, though each features the classic elements of the story, the tone and focus of the movies vary greatly.

For one thing, Snow White and the Huntsman is a horror story as well as an action adventure. Within ten minutes of the movie’s start, I was thanking my lucky stars I didn’t take my eleven year old to see this flick. There’s murder, betrayal, startling special effects, and scenes of intense cruelty and terror. It was definitely too scary for younger children, though for adults it is a compelling narrative featuring mythological themes. Several scenes used elements of Arthurian lore.

Mirror Mirror, on the other hand, takes a more light-hearted, tongue-in-cheek approach to the tale. The evil queen is not so much cruel as extremely vain and looking to marry a young stud. Snow White must flee the castle in order to grow into the kind of person who can and will rule the kingdom wisely. Her prince comes, but she’s more proactive about her own fate and takes matters into her own hands. This movie, in my opinion, is safe for children ten and older.

There were things I enjoyed about both films. Both portrayed more feminist interpretations of the tale, and I must admit that I am a sucker for any princess that rescues – not only herself – but her entire kingdom. However, while Mirror Mirror focused on humor and romance, those things were non-existent in Snow White in the Huntsman – which took a much darker and more dramatic approach to the subject. While Julia Robert’s queen in Mirror Mirror was vain and selfish, she lacked the backstory of Charlize Theron’s queen in Snow White and the Huntsman. In the latter, the queen’s motivations and obsession with beauty – while not justifable – at least become understandable. If it wasn’t for her inherent cruelty, the viewer might even feel sorry for the queen.

There is honestly no real way to compare these movies well. I can not recommend one more than the other, because they are too different. While the same tale inspired  both, one is a humorous, family friendly movie and the other a darkly disturbing tale. I would recommend any lover of fairy tales see both and judge for themselves.

Play or download episode *here*

Welcome to My Writing Niche, a podcast for new writers. I’ll read my latest piece of flash fiction, Rumplestilkstin, and talk a little about my current projects.

Thank you, as always, for your time. Polite feedback is both welcomed and appreciated. Have a lovely week.

**image courtesy of hiddedevries via Flicker.

***Slow Burn from the album Blues Sampler courtesy of Kevin MacLeod via Creative Commons Attribution license. More of his music can be found at FreeMusicArchive.org or at http://incompetech.com.

Rumplestilkstin

The Queen had but one bright spot in her life, and soon he would be gone forever.

As a young girl, her father had lied and bragged that she could spin straw into gold. The greedy King had overheard his subject’s drunken boast, and imprisoned the girl with one command – Spin gold by morning or die. The Queen remembered how she had sat at the spindle and wept bitterly for the life she would never lead.

But then the creature, a little man of light and shadow, had appeared from nowhere – like a miracle. He seemed to pity her misfortune and offered to aid her in her need. How could she know how high his price would be? How could she choose to do anything but live?

The creature had spun the straw throughout that night so many years ago. His fingers flew, and soon the cold gleam of gold replaced the musty straw. The air tasted of metal. Before the sun rose again, the little man had disappeared without a word.

The Queen still remembered the King’s delight with the night’s work. Instead of taking her life, the cruel King had taken her hand in marriage – an act he soon repented when he found she had no gift for gold. Over the years, he made her suffer for wasting his life on a common maid.

And yet, after years of pain, she had given birth to the child – the bright shining sun around which her life revolved. The King almost forgave her…

But then the little man returned.

The Queen wept bitterly as the gnarled little man snatched the squalling bundle from her arms. She turned her face into her husband’s chest, heaving great sobs at the loss of her beloved child.

“In three days’ time,” said the little man, his eyes filling with tears, “if you guess my name… I will return the child to you.”

The silent King wrapped his wife in his arms. His eyes shot daggers at the dwarfish figure scurrying into the shadows. All too soon, the child’s screams died with distance.

Once home, the little man removed his hood and hushed the child in his arms. “There, there,” he cooed, producing a bright golden rattle. The babe’s eyes lit up, and soon the creature’s cottage reverberated with the sound of childish laughter. The creature treated the child well, fed him sweets and all nature of good things for three days. Then he returned to the queen.

“Do you know my name?” he asked. His name was a secret, shrouded in mystery; and he did not fear her answer.

But then, he did not know of her spies. He did not how they had heard him sing the child to sleep, sing his own name – in the security of his home – as he promised to care for the child as his very own.

Now the moment for truth had come.

The Queen glanced once at the harsh face of her husband, again at the little man cradling her child in his arms, and answered, “No.” She washed the infant’s face with her tears when she kissed him one last time.

The little man turned and walked from the castle, humming a tune for the child. The Queen returned to her gilded prison, secure in the knowledge that at least her child was free.

The end

*image courtesy Cornell University Library via Flickr. No known copyright restrictions.

Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

Lonestar peered into the mirror, coifing his thick layered mane. Not rakish enough, he thought, mussing the chestnut mass. He looked again. The five o’clock shadow gave him that ‘Han Solo’ look – casual ladykiller.

Red was one hell of a fox, but another prey was on his mind. He loved older women, and Grandma really cooked. That’s why he liked Mrs. Robinson; she smelled like cookies.

The moon called.

His sharp-toothed grin widened. Old ladies were sweet, but terribly hard on the teeth. Granny was small though; so tonight he’d swallow the body whole-

and save on dental floss.

-

Many thanks to Maria Kelly who challenged me on Twitter to write my first drabble. This story is actually a prequel to Red Riding Hood Revised, a Friday Flash I wrote last year. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As always, polite feedback, critical or otherwise, is welcomed and appreciated. Thank you.

Snow White Retold

From within the crystal coffin, the fair maiden arose from the kiss of her beloved Prince. Vlad had been her intended before the Queen had broken their engagement and betrayed her – by charging the huntsman with bringing back her heart in a wooden box. Fortunately the weak minded were easily led, and he returned with the heart of a deer instead. Her animal minions had guided her to the house of the seven little men.

That day the ravens removed every last vestige of garlic from the premises while other creatures prepared a place for her. When the dwarves returned from their daily toil in the mines, they were seemingly enchanted by her cold white beauty and blood red lips. That evening, she spun her tale of forced exile by her wicked stepmother. With tears in her eyes, she begged them to shelter her.

She sought to win them over with a song. They readily agreed to let her stay if she promised to do the housework and -more importantly- stop singing. Both conditions met, all parties were satisfied. The men had been without a decent maid for months, ever since the Goldi-locks girl had cleaned their house out when she had… well, cleaned their house out. Still they stayed up late with the young princess, exchanging stories and not singing.

The next morning the seven bleary eyed men prepared to toil in the mines once more. As they marched away, they made her promise to not talk to strangers, especially old women bearing apples. As her eyes followed their progress into the woods, the princess – who had never worked a day in her life – resolved to spend the day waiting for her prince to save her from a dreary existence as a common maid.

No sooner had they turned a corner in the path when an old woman approached the cottage and knocked on the door. The princess peeped through a crack, but the hag elbowed her way inside. “Excuse me, young lady,” she said, “but I’m a poor woman with many grandchildren to feed. Would you like to buy an apricot? Pomegranate? Perhaps a kumquat?”

The princess was stunned. “Kumquat? Isn’t that indigenous to… where is this orchard anyway?”

“Oh, that is not important,” said the old woman. “But I need to sell something in order to feed my grandchildren.”

“Why not just give them the fruit?”

“Why not just…? Um, well… there’s taxes, you see. Death and taxes, can’t escape those, can you? And overhead costs, rent, cow dung isn’t cheap these days either…”

“Alright already! If I buy something, will you leave?”

The crone’s smile revealed broken, crooked teeth. From the saleswoman’s basket, the princess chose an apple – partly because its color appealed to her but mostly to annoy the dwarves. She planned to feed them to the prince later anyway – as a wedding present.

“Enjoy the fruit, my dear. It’s my best season yet!”

The princess nodded and waited for the woman to leave. “Why aren’t you leaving?”

“Just making sure you’re satisfied, my dear. I may be poor, but I’m a responsible businesswoman.”

Too bad the Prince didn’t like older women, mused the Princess. The old biddy annoyed her and might otherwise make a nice snack. She rolled her eyes, sighed, raised the apple to her lips…

And collapsed.

When the dwarves returned from work, they found the princess sleeping inside a crystal coffin. “What took you so long?” asked the Queen.

“Well, some of the material components of your spells are harder to get than others,” said Splotchy. “You’re lucky we had that much crystal on hand when we spoke earlier.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” said the beautiful Queen. “Displaying the girl that way is the surest trap we can lay for Vlad. He’s already turned many of my subjects, and to be brutally honest the garlic stench around the castle’s beginning to get to me. Whew!” She held her nose.

Once they’d lugged the crystal coffin to a conspicuously open space, they hid behind a tree and waited for sunset. From the mountain caves beyond the forest, the prince flew to his betrothed, folded his bat wings, and resumed humanoid form. Lifting the heavy lid, he bent over the slumbering princess and woke her to the life of the undead.

From within the crystal coffin, the fair maiden arose from the kiss of her beloved Prince. Their grins, filled with death (and on the Prince’s part a little gristle), revealed sharp incisors. “Oh, my Vlad! How I’ve longed for your return.”

“So have we!” cried the seven dwarves in unison, stepping out from the cover of the woods. The Queen held a cross, paralyzing the pair, while the dwarves rushed upon the duo with wooden stakes. Within moments, all that remained were two piles of dust mixed with clothing of questionable taste.

“So, you’ll sign the contract now?” asked Burpy.

“Of course,” said the Queen. “A deal’s a deal. You helped me protect my subjects – Can’t be Queen without subjects; now can I? So it’s the least I can do. Besides, you guys are the best suppliers in the business.”

“Aw, thanks, Mauve,” said Burpy.

“That’s Queen Mauve,” corrected the Queen, glaring at the dwarf. Burpy hid behind Splotchy, who pushed him away.

The Queen’s face cleared. “But let’s not quibble. My cousin, Agatha, has a lovely house a little deeper into the forest. She’s quite the baker. Her gingerbread is to die for! But I hear she’s expanding into savory dishes. Tell me, boys, would you care to dine on a little roast Hansel?”

The dwarves, stout from their over-fondness of desserts, readily agreed, and they accompanied the Queen into the woods. Moonlighting as vampire hunters was, after all, hungry work.

THE END.

Also, my other short story, ‘Space Camp’, can be found at the 52/250 flash challenge site under the name Catherine Russell. The theme for week #13 of the challenge was (you guessed it!) Space Camp.

‘Snow White Retold’ and ‘Space Camp’ are also available in audio through my account at Audioboo. Because Audioboo recordings must be less than five minutes, I read through ‘Snow White Retold’ a little faster than I would have liked. I did some voices for the characters too, so please – be kind. Hehe.

As always, I beg for welcome feedback! Thank you for your time.

*Photo of Northern Spy Apples available courtesy the Field Museum Library through The Commons via Flicker. No known copyright restrictions.

The Witch and the Frog

Blasphemous and profane hymns filled the room as the hag threw ingredients into the boiling cauldron. “Eye of newt and toe of dog,” she sang. From a rotting shelf, she grabbed a dish and threw its contents into the pot. Foul odors rose with the steam as she babbled arcane phrases mixed with snatches of old tunes.

On the windowsill of the stone tower, a frog croaked, watching the proceedings with interest.

“Snake skin next,” she called. The small serpent wriggled as she tossed it into the bubbling liquid. She cast a backward glance at her amphibian observer. “Then a witch’s clog.” She reached down, pulled off her right shoe, and tossed that into the concoction.

She shot a brief look at the frog as she stirred the loathsome brew. From a hook on the wall, she removed a ladle. She dipped it into the pot and blew away the steam before drinking.

Thunder roared. Lightning flashed. Arching her back, she cackled in triumph before orange flames consumed her body in an explosion of heat and light. When the smoke cleared, another small frog sat in her place.

She hopped over to the windowsill and asked, “Now will you kiss me?”

THE END.

*Please feel free to leave comments, and polite suggestions are always welcome. I was originally going to submit a different story, but decided at the last minute that I wanted to spend more time on it. This was written just before Midnight Friday, so be kind! Seriously though, I appreciate all feedback.

Red Riding Hood Revised is temporarily removed through July 2012. I am very honored to have the story published in the April 2012 issue of Beyond Centauri.

*image courtesy of photobucket

Goldi-locks part 2

The burglar glared at her jailers through the bars as the clock struck for the noonday meal. The policemen laughed and chatted, closing the door behind them, as the small girl struggled vainly in her handcuffs. With the final click of the lock, she spit the hairpin into her hands. She wasn’t called ‘Goldi-locks’ for nothing.

The thought of the cops’ faces when they returned to find her cell empty split her face into a malicious grin. With a deft movement the cuffs fell from her wrists and she grabbed them before they clattered to the ground. Years with Pops hadn’t taught her manners, but picking locks came as easily to her as breathing.

As she glanced through the door’s small window at the sleeping guard, she let her thoughts drift to the little fink that had exposed her. The world knew him as ‘Baby Bear’, but to her he was simply a rat. Surely she could think of worse things to do to him than eating his porridge. She swallowed the remnants of her conscience and headed for the door.

2010-01-27

*This story continues the fairy tale theme I started last week.  I like this microfiction format better than the newspaper format I experimented with last time.  Since I’ve been reading ‘Grimm’s Fairy Tales’ as bedtime stories for my son, I’ve had fairy tales on the brain.

This is my last #Fridayflash story before February. I plan to use all of next month to edit my 20009 Nanowrimo novel, ‘Mortal Coil: The Afterlife and Times of William Shakespeare.’  I am also participating in NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), so while I am not writing new short fiction, I will be posting daily on my editing progress.  Wish me luck!*