Working Title: Story, story, WORTHY WOMEN
This Book Is In Development
The book contains folktales, faerytales, cautionary, and myths and legends which inspired female animals or humans to overcome challenges from their environment: predators, hunger, oppression or aggression.
In our world are the visible and the invisible hunters, The wolf or bears in the time of diminishing our forest, Now, we have the invisible ones who stock us in a different way, still eating. They infect us, move inside our bodies and cause deadly pain. Horror, like frighting a pack of wolves charging from a woods. I did hear an Native Indian in Alaska tell of a wolf standing on a rock staring at him with water dripping from her mouth and eyes full of fire. He could smell his death on her breath. His weapon weak against her strength and cunning. Although ready to fight, he accepted that this huge, strong being was his death. His friends came to help with the battle. Today with this virus, we can not stare our enemy in the eyes or see their sharp teeth only feel the pain they cause in our bodies. Remember your friends are here to help with their their weapons; masks, cleaning and staying calm until the virus defeated.
Thoughts about the story, Innocence Red, or Little Red Riding Hood. I write about strong maidens or matrons who overcome tyranny and suppression by facing ignorant dominance. BECAUSE as a child and young adult, I was --> female, second to a male; --> lady, second to a lad; --> women, second to the man; --> she or her, second to he; ---> heroine, second the hero! Unfortunately, still 'he' leads and solves the problems and dilemmas of our world. As a girl and young adult pushed from the success frame because of my sex, I needed a place in the stories, in the plots. So I write with my mature feminine voice about strong maidens or matrons who battled against oppression cause by a 'him”. as a villain, a male antagonist. In my last piece, PURSUED, a Russian folktale, the ugly frog skin of a princess is burnt by a selfish prince, the fool. I did use a male's helper because this fool needed to know what his failure was.The fool does not understand balance and equality in a partnership only that a female's beauty is for his prestige. My feminine protagonist needs to conquer this hateful message as does Faery Rhyonna who rids Zzuf from her realm.
FROM the PRAIRIE HEN or the Little Red Hen ----> When we have a task, we might think too hard for us, some of us ask for help and are turned down. This can be upsetting. The little hen is not upset and can do what she must in order to make life easier for her and her children. I love this story because it is my Grandma Bessie. When we visited, mean, cranky step-grandpa was in his rocking chair demanding, and Grandma served him. He saved her and her four children when her husband died early. My Grandma had a garden, cherry and apple trees, a pond full of fish, chickens, a goat, lots of cats, and six children. She made her bread in a wooden stove and had a water pump in her kitchen. She did all this herself. I figured if Grandma could do in her world so her granddaughter could. I've 'taken on' being unable to spell and write my stories. To the little hen story, I added a helper, they are out there, only, beware of demanding bullies.
This is the first folktale, I really heard as a child. I loved the fact the little hen made bread all by herself. We did have the little prairie birds on the Alpine Meadows of Colorado, especially at Harstel Flats, we drove through to go fishin'. In Colorado Springs, My brother and I walked from our home on 18 St across a long field to 26 St were Grandma Bessie lived. We ventured through the disabled train terminal where trains once traveled up Pike Peak to Cripple Creek and down to the Golden Cycle Mill, that was also abandon. We live by Fountain Creek and below the gold mill. What fun we had exploring. By the time we got to grandma's house, she had baked fresh bread for us, and we had many stories to tell. She was my prairie HEN!
Working Title: PURSUED
This Book Is In Development
A dark, smelling, cold fog crawled to the Elve's gardens searching for someone. That mess of fog growled through the gardens up turning houses and drowning the circle of laughter! Then the elves heard a humongous uproar and fight on top of the bridge where the older Troll children live. Troll Canute, his house, now Troll Grunda Faye and the sherrie are missing.
As a child running and playing in the mountains of Colorado, I remember the cold snow, the bitter fog, and the bite of the blowing wind. No matter if your hands had on mitten or gloves or your head was covered after awhile the cold penetrated into your clothing. If you got wet the cold was more dangerous, freezing the cloth, which made your movement tight and hard which caused you to fall into the snow and becoming more cold and stiff. I heard stories of people freezing to death. After getting dangerous cold to the point of falling asleep, I would stagger into the house. Of course, the rule was all clothing from outside left by the door. Taking off the stiff, frozen coats, leggings, gloves, and hat was an enduring process. Finally inside, the feeling of warmth to fiery hot was the best. My cheeks burned. My legs and arms moved. I could think. Death did not get me.
Adventures start when time traveling. This happened to a sherrie who dropped into the Oakgrove gardens through the PortHold while escaping through the InBetween PURSUED by Ole Fog, the immortal, DEATH. -- I borrowed this analogy from our ways of traveling. -- When driving a car, riding on a train, flying in an airplane, or voyaging on a ship, we travel through place, time, space, and dimensions. We enter a protective frame: our car, plane, train or boat, the PortHold. Then we drive, ride, fly, or float through the InBetween of vast experiences. We disembark at our destination, the next PortHold: a parking lot, train station, airport, or ship dock. video games, television, movies, and computers are also PortHolds of time travel through to the InBetween — streaming. — A variety of textures, noise, and lights waits for us and describes any tunnel in the InBetween used to slide from one realm to the next realm — the general relativity or string theory!
During my childhood in Colorado, the weather was dramatic with winds, rain, and snow. When living Alaska, there were three days of Autumn: one the yellowed leaves, next the leaves dropped off, on the third tiresome snow fell. California has either drought or rains. With the rain comes the fog which rolls across the ocean creeps through San Francisco and crawls across the Bay. Fog blankets the East Bay quietly and deceptively. Fog was an essential character in the Celtic and the Russian folklore and is called Ole Boneless, the immortal, Death. Fog's strange and mysterious appearance makes the perfect nemesis. PURSUED is a retelling of the Russian folktale, 'Vasalisa, the Frog Princess,' which is now in writing process, that means re-imagining, enhancing, and elaborating.
Working Title: Humble Heroes
This Book Is In Development
We connect to a story because of pity, identification, sentimentalism, suffering, struggle, hope, or recovery. A story is believed in all the enhancements, fabrication, embroidery, adaptation, and re-imaging used by the storyteller. We connect to other countries, worlds, and realities in other times and places through FABLES, FOLKTALES, FAIRY TALES, LEGENDS, AND MYTHS about kings, queens, sorceresses, magicians, princesses and princes, faeries, elves, trolls, giants, men, women, villains, or monsters having MAGICAL creatures: frogs, birds, snakes, cats, dogs, lions, tigers, bears, dragons or mythical beasts that live in faraway kingdoms or dynasties, on farms, in towns, in palaces or castles, in deep forests, dry deserts, thick jungles, on high mountains, or in busy cities, by rushing rivers, the vast ocean, and seas, in the expansive sky, or the milky-way where heroes, heroines, gods, goddesses, or just plain everyday folk and animals travel through and in other realms in stories. STORY resonated in our bones from the ancient past with time-honored plots and speak to us.
The Boy Who Yelled Wolf "A liar will not be believed, even when he speaks the truth." First written down in 1484, can you imagine how old this cautionary tale is, if verbally told ancient. Cautionary is when someone ignores a warning and must pay the consequences. LYING! This fable is included in my Fractured Folktales because some bare bone stories are so in our body and from such a long time they need not change. Today, Aesop's Fables are cute mainly for children; however, these parables started in eons as adult cautionary tales. They traveled from India through Greece. Aesop wrote them down, and the fables migrated through Europe and beyond for us.
This story, ‘The Three Billy Goat Gruff,’ a Nordic European folktale, that has many versions telling about retaliations against tyranny. Here is my take on the story, which is again full of symbols and analogies, especially ‘Whose tramping over my bridge?' and 'I will eat anyone who wants to pass over.' The troll's role taken from the Valkyries who guard the Bridge to Heaven and took offerings from those warriors who passed. So Father Troll guards his hand-made bridge to rich, tasty flowers and grains in a meadow across a raging river. I have fractured, enhanced, re-imaged, and elaborated this folktale. The challenging goat is a female because as a child only males won - I wanted to win! I noticed, even today, my spell checker wanted billy capitalized and not nanny. So on we go today with outdated prejudices again women!
This story, told once was liked and told again and liked and on and on the story traveled through country after country through egos of time. The plot remains the same. Most of the time the rogue, trickster stayed the same. The environment, the place, his needs, his clothing, the foods change. The premise remains the same, the use one thing to get another for himself. This rogue seduces women or takes children, if he is not paid. On the other hand, the minstrel spreads the world of magic with fun, humor and a bit of gossip and story. In the children's fable of STONE SOUP, the participation from the audience creates a soup with the help of three magic stones. The troubadour is involved only we create the soup.
Rhyonna's Fright, an adventurous story book for children or family reading, is set in an idyllic faery realm. Faery Rhyonna, loves to fly, only she is over-confident, so falls victim to a monstrous hideous Zzuf. Rhyonna's impulsive risk causes damage to herself, endangers the Tawnyee Flyers and her friends. Rhyonna must escape; she can' let everyone down. She must rib Zzuf, the horrid mold, from her realm.
After the cold, blowing freezing snows, the winds, rain, and fog comes the growth of Dandelions. Most gardeners call these weeds. Rhyonna, my faery chose this flower as hers. Dandelions have magic, when blown they scatter flying into the air floating here and here. The tiny parachutes carry seeds to other parts of the garden for new growth. You can make a wish while blowing on the seeds or send good thoughts to your friends. Faery Rhyonna likes to float on the seeds. She eats the pollen, and at night she cuddles into a flower, which wraps around her to protect the wee Faery. Dandelion is a French word because the petals resemble teeth. All parts of the plant are good for humans.
As clever as Rhyonna is, her faery nature is more greedy than she will ever admit. Rhyonna, the Flying Teacher of the Wee Faeries, is caught. As a person, I have never set a trap for anything, except as the teller of this story. I never intended horror; however, directed by Rhyonna, this is her path. Rhyonna needs this unexpected fright before her meeting with the Fuzzy Creatures and Zzuf, who is an unfortunate creature bent on taking the sweet world as its own. We are to see the evil greed of a monster, which is not the creature Rhyonna meets as Zzuf. The monster is addiction. Rhyonna's story is how she defeated this threat.
To the free-flying Faery Rhyonna, an ant's life is dreadful and boring. Our Faery, who loves to fly whenever and where she wants, will soon find her life of flying is about to change and other perspectives, the ants, will enrich hers. Having lived an exciting and creative life, I realize that the tasks, the tediousness of completing jobs, are the profit and joy of the vision. The gathering, the sharing is the reward. To understand the value of one’s gift is the challenge, which our Faery Rhyonna will receive from the horrid Zzuf, who plans to eat all that exists in her world. AND, in our challenges, those we never expect are usually our best friends, allies, and helpers.
Spiders have ugly faces and creepy legs and some jump. Most webs become messy when old. Spiders are vicious to their foods, thank heavens, they eat flies, or we would drown in flies. All in all, spiders are a gardener's helper. In my garden are six I can see: granddaddy long legs, the ones that hide in cracks, the wolves, the shiny black ones, the yellow ones that eat other spiders, and my favorite the Orb Weavers, who make the rounded web that hang all over my garden. Fall is the time for Orb Wearers who grow huge with striped legs and body, lovely harmless creatures that do so much good. So, an Orb Weaver, Spider Erwina in Rhyonna's Fright, helps the Tawnyee Flyers when they are lost. These spiders give their silk to the faery seamstresses, who make the clothing, baskets, and beds for Blackberry Village. Of course, the Tawnyee Flyers, who flew without permission to find their Flying Teacher Rhyonna, are horrified by the big striped spider that approaches them. Ugly and helpful Spider Erwina is glad she found the young flyers and shows them off to the other Orb Weavers. The Tawnyee Flyers love this adventure. And hopefully, Spider Erwina bridges the myth that all spiders are bad.
Rhyonna, like any of us, loves the beauty of the Butterflies. We all have tried to catch one or grow a chrysalis. Butterflies are a mystery, the metamorphosis of four lives, the egg, the hungry caterpillar, the chrysalis, and the flying beauty, which is also camouflage. Their fight is so relaxing and gentle, poetic. And so to watch a butterfly is to create poetry. Sometimes what they say to us in their poetic way is a message for us to decode. Seen a butterfly lately, what message might be sent to you?
Mizzee Bee is an analogy of Rhyonna's kinship to flying and what her Tawynee students need to understand about balance. All that pollen on Mizzee Bee's legs gathered and flown back to the hive to make honey for others in the colony. Mizzee Bee is busy and productive while Rhyonna sits on a flower, prefered is her dandelion, eats pollen, and watches the others fly. And best Mizzee Bee sings. As one does sipping lemonade in their garden, walking in a botanical garden to observe nature, or pausing while hiking to rest on a rock, as Rhyonna does. Watching and listening to the song of a busy, pollen gathering bee is the best way to engage in another use of flight. I like to say is an out-of-the-body experience as reading a book, viewing a movie, or hearing a story.
When living in Colorado Springs, when I played with friends on a steep rocky hill on Vermijo Street, in the catci and yacca plants lived many lizards. They paid no attention to us and spent their time perched like sticks on rocks in the hot sun. While hiking in Colorado, again as a child, on the fishing trips with mom and dad, the paths had lizards perched here and there enjoying the sun. Later I learned they symbolize the dreamer, of which I consider myself. Along the hiking paths in California, lizards also silently sit in the sun, and as usual on a rock. I have always thought they sing, of course, silently so only lizards hear. And so Faery Rhyonna has Lender the Lizard that offers his rock to her and silently sings.
As a young child, I would sneak to the creek, Fountain Creek in Colorado Springs, CO, that ran from the gold fields in the mountains beside the rail tracks through the old farms and past the Golden Cycle Mill. In that place of many intersections was the magic, the porthole into the world of the others. Watching the fish swim was my way inside the porthole of water. I never wanted to catch them, even though my father was the best of fisherman. I wanted to swim like a fish, gently, slowly, at peace in the shallow cool trickling water. I always wondered what a fish thought, and I knew I could hear if only I got still enough. As light as a faery, I sat and listened. Other fish came to join the conversation, singing their song. And so Faery Rhyonna rides on her Fish.
One knows that all faeries fly, this is their right. Only a friend who was new to the faery world, asked, "How do Faeries fly, and where are their arms." So I show Rhyonna flying with her dragonfly, which is much like diving and swimming. As a kid down at the creek, I loved, I was always flying from one rock to another across the creek or jumping from fallen tree to another. Flight was easy; your wings did exactly what your arms did, only held the wind. And your wings were much stronger. I still fly. As a faery with many powers flying is an art, and to race a dragonfly makes the craft much better. This is why Rhyonna is the best at flying and the flying teacher, she is an excellent flyer.
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