Thursday, September 15, 2016

Fairy Tale Retellings + Snippets

     I briefly mentioned at the beginning of this summer one of the fairy tale retellings I'm working on. What I didn't expect was for another fairy tale retelling to re-emerge from my drafts pile and take precedence. Strangely enough (and completely unintentional on my part) both of these stories have connections to Italy. One is set in a fictional Italian state during the Renaissance, and the other involves the Italian mafia in 1920s New York.

     I don't usually post a lot of snippets, mostly from paranoia. (1, that someone will steal my work and 2, that I'll end up drastically changing the said snippet in the final story and wishing I'd never posted it.) However, I become more open to sharing some of my work the closer it becomes to being finished...and plus, I'm doing the #WIPjoy hashtag thingy as well which means I'm sharing more about my current retelling, With Blossoms Gold. (I still don't really understand twitter, guys. But if you don't mind my clumsy efforts, you can always follow me @Hayden_Wand. If that's not a shameless plug, I don't know what is.) Can you guess which fairy tale WBG is? I doubt its origins should be too difficult to decipher....

     The man cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding. I was told that a beautiful maiden was held captive in this tower against her will. Though I won’t deny that you are a beautiful maiden—”
     Nella’s frown deepened.
     “—apparently I was misinformed about the captivity. Anyway,” his eyes flickered to the vase, “I see you are quite able to take care of yourself, so it has been nice meeting you and I will be on my way.” He backed out of the room. - WITH BLOSSOMS GOLD

     He wondered if all men on the verge of death felt such regret. Did they all see their lives so clearly, their faults magnified by the mortality of their existence? -WITH BLOSSOMS GOLD

     "...I simply can’t move, and the world crushes me and I can’t do it. It’s hopeless. I can’t even name my fear. I know it’s unreasonable. But it’s always there.” -WITH BLOSSOMS GOLD

The firelight from her torch flickered against the skulls, casting ominous shadows upon the damp floor. -WITH BLOSSOMS GOLD

     “Cold?” the voice asked.
     She turned her head in the direction of the voice. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark now, and she could make out the dim figure of the hobo. His back was leaning against a crate and he had his knees pulled up to his chest.  He clenched an unlit pipe between his teeth. -JANUARY SNOW

“Ah, now that was a voice,” Granny Euphemia sighed. “Nothing like the trash they sing now. Bunch of tuneless babble.”
“Not all of it is so very bad,” January couldn’t help but say, even at the risk of upsetting this relic of the Victorian age.
“Mebbe, mebbe,” Granny conceded. “But I won’t say it’s so very good, either.” -JANUARY SNOW

all pictures from pinterest
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