Forging My Creative Writing

 Blog no. 4

A warm welcome back to the candlelight entries. Please light your candle of choice and settle down. 

Within this blog, I am going to subvert all traditional blogs. I know it sounds illegal. But I can't explore writing types if I don't bend the rules sometimes. A lot of famous writers have done it, so why can't I? Or why can't you? 

If you do not believe me, here is a deeper explanation. Charles Dickens broke the expectation of writing in his realism by portraying it as a hyper-focus. This makes his pieces immensely descriptive. Another example would be many authors out there who write revisions of existing fairy-tales by changing the point of view of the characters' narrations or shifting the importance in the plot. Some authors who have done this are Angela Carter in her collection of short stories in The Bloody Chamber and Brigid Kemmerer with her novel A Curse So Dark And Lonely. Subversion is all around; otherwise, literature would grow to be dull and repetitive. 

Here is a little context for my piece called Trials of Fairness.

It is a fairy-tale retelling of The Tinderbox by Hans Christian Anderson, published back in the 1830s. I chose one that I was not familiar with so I could approach my writing without a biased view; it also had the bonus of encouraging my creativity into a wilder brainstorm. Originally, this fairy-tale is told from the soldier's point of view, whereas I switched it to the Princess. There also is no key moral that shines through The Tinderbox, unlike Trials of Fairness, where greed is embedded in many details. 

Trials of Fairness.

Princess Buttercup observed the rugged soldier dragging his feet through the muddy woodland floor. What sparked her as odd is his handsome face revealed no sign of discomfort. She put her practical mind in action and concluded it could be because he had been in worse conditions, being a soldier and all. Now and then he would bend down and pick up something golden.

The enchantment she had cast lures potential candidates through their greatest desires, so maybe this golden trail is made up of rings. This sparked the Princess' curiosity about whether he was ‘the one’ even more. This is fascinating. It was time to intervene. Princess Buttercup closed her eyes and envisioned the form of an older, less conventional-looking woman.

She focused on her yellow, lengthy hair becoming matted and fading to a mossy grey. Then came her eyes; they must become dull and repetitive. Her attention pivots to the detail of her smooth, youthful skin converting to host enough wrinkles that you could count her age like a tree. A tingling sensation of her magic took over, causing her to shift with a shiver through her body as she morphed into the imagined form. Once the process was complete, Buttercup took a sharp breath to conceal her excitement and take on the role of a helpless woman.

Taking a small step away from the concealment of the oak tree's trunk, and in the process caused a spine-breaking crack to reverberate through the area. The soldier turned, appearing half startled and half lost. With a silent gentleness, Buttercup cleared her throat and began her performance.

"Hello, dear soldier. I do not suppose you could help a beauty like myself?"

Princess Buttercup worked hard to keep her shock at how on point the huskiness of this new woman's voice was to a minimum. The soldier looked as if he was going to decline. So Buttercup repeats herself, adding a manipulative charm into her voice.

"Of course". He plasters his response with a genuine smile. "I would always help someone as beautiful as you".

The Princess disguised as the witch is so happy with his agreement that she misses his eye twitching, as he hovers over the word beautiful. Princess Buttercup begins to explain how he must descend the staircase in the hollow of her tree.

"Once you are down there, you must walk past three iron doors guarded by three dogs. They're not harmful as long as you cover them with this royal blue satin scarf", Buttercup reveals the scarf in her hand.

"What they guard is a different colour of coin". The witch went on, spinning her narrative. "But you must find an old tinder-box of mine; I wish to gift it to my daughter's husband".

The soldier nodded along, unaware of the white lie. Princess Buttercup's hopefulness grows with pace.

Snatching the satin scarf from her grasp. The shock of his drastic movement caused the witch to shriek. Princess Buttercup chants to protect herself as he grows closer to the bottom of the step and invades the untouched chamber. She uses her magic to follow his perspective underground.

A cold, bitter chill consumes the entrance hall. A large chandelier glistens from the towering ceiling. In an instant, she can see him pinpoint the three 'dogs', but all her hope deflates as she sees how he is perceiving the dogs as pigs instead.

He placed the scarf over the closet pig, twisted the key, and the door creaked open. Copper coins. He closed that door fast.

Oh no! They mustn't have satisfied him.

He moved to the second and repeated his actions.

Silver coins. From what it seems, they are still not up to his desires.

He hurried to the last door, following the same process.

Gold coins, and the tinderbox.

Dread and regret filled Princess Buttercup's chest as she watched him pocket the material items. It is as clear as day that he isn't the one for her, and that he will not hand over that tinderbox. So Buttercup uses a teleportation chant to take her back to the castle.

What has she done, or even unleashed? Her father will never let her marry someone of her choice now.

Two weeks later, the Princess is visited by one of the pigs who used to be a dog, but the soldier's corruption twisted the dog spirit's protection to the living eye, clear that it is now tied to the soldier, not her.

Holding onto the pig, she teleports them both to the soldier, who is covered in and surrounded by an excessive amount of useless 'belongings'.

"Hello Princess, rumour is your father locks you away until he can find you a wealthy husband, not a matter if he is cruel".

Buttercup smooths down her sunset dress, glaring at him with a crease in her forehead, biting back. "My father's actions are none of your business".

The soldier continues, "This tinderbox was given to me by a powerful witch, and it brought you to me, so we can marry".

At that, Buttercup recoils. "Gifted?" She raises an eyebrow at his smug look. "Do you not mean stolen?".

Now it is the soldier's turn to recoil: "How could you know that?". The question is not meant to leave his lips.

Buttercup steps forward. "I know, for I am the witch, the daughter and the princess, and you were supposed to be the husband". Confidence sparks as she goes on. "But you cannot be, for you have failed the test by falling in love with something else.

The soldier looks stricken, as a wicked smile paints Buttercup's face. "Greed!" She continues to state. "You are not worthy of a royal title, or my money".

Clicking her fingers, they both appear back in the woodland where they first met; all the soldier's grand new belongings have disappeared. "Because you stole it and did not earn it, eliminating the honour that comes with serving your country".

The Princess pulls a dagger subtly out from the back of her dress. "So, tell me, dear soldier, what gold object lured you into the forest that day?".

The soldier's eyes filled with dread as his weak voice spoke, "Golden nuggets".

At that, Buttercup lurched for him, her golden dagger piecing his heart. As she yanked the weapon out, his lungs deflated. Whispers of yellow mist vapoursied from the wound, then he followed suit.

Burying the body under the root of the oak tree, she later reset her trap. Only this time she manifested someone loyal, kind and generous.

Blog Wrap Up. 

One thing I tried to do throughout this piece is keep it recogisable to Anderson's original piece, which is why I didn't diverge and modernise the aspects. I would definitely explore that side in the future as I feel it would shift the fairy-tale even more. I hope you enjoyed exploring the depths of my writing and that it encouraged you to go out of your comfort zone too and experiment. If you would like some creative writing tips, please let me know, and I can write a traditional blog centred on that in the future. Thank you for finding some time to read through this; it truly does mean a lot to me. 

Question: What is your favourite style to write in?

Until the next wick burns low,

Esme-Rose xoxo