Early Morning Phone Calls

I grew up in a time when phone calls were not the common occurrence they are now. Sure, each home had a phone, but usually only one. Sometimes bigger homes had an extension - two or more phones that were connected to the same line. This meant that more than one person could be on the same call at the same time, wh ich was convenient for big family calls like on Christmas day, or other similar events. It was inconvenient when you wanted to call your friend to see if she could come play, but your mom was on the phone. If you were sneaky and a light breather, you could listen in on calls that you shouldn't be. Fine, it was eavesdropping. 

Long distance was a luxury. Those calls were reserved for either very special occasions (the aforementioned Christmas Day) or emergencies. The cost was measured by the minute and distance, so not a lot of time was wasted on idle chit-chat. You got on, established the other party was who you wanted to talk to, said your piece and listened to theirs, then got off. This led to some very sudden endings to calls, and even when long distance charges were turned into one monthly flat rate, my mother would still end calls abruptly, leaving me looking at the phone, perplexed, wondering if I had said something offensive.

The social norms for calling times were very well established. If you knew someone well or were family, you could call starting at 8:00 a.m; otherwise, nine o'clock was the general accepted rule. And if someone called after 9:00 p.m., they'd better have a darn good reason.

Long distance charges were allowed to stretch the call times for family members. My parents were both early risers, and since long distance charges rose substantially after 7 a.m., most family calls were made before that time. It helped that we lived in an earlier time zone than most of my family. So it wasn't entirely uncommon for our phone to ring before 6 a.m. We were all up anyway. 

But when phone companies started competing with the original Ma Bell for business and the flat rates were instituted, the practice of early morning calls lessened. It got to the point where if the phone rang before 8 a.m., you emotionally braced yourself for some bad news.

This morning our house phone rang at 5:15 a.m. Linda was in the shower, getting ready to go teach seminary. I was awake, but only just, and certainly hadn't made any overtures towards actually rising. At first I thought maybe I imagined the sound.  I listened carefully, and heard it again. I flung the covers off, opened my bedroom door and stumbled into the living room. (I haven't had a phone in my bedroom since I was the early-morning seminary teacher, as my roommate would receive calls after I had gone to bed.)

The person on the other end couldn't understand why Linda hadn't answered the phone and kept asking me if I was sure I wasn't her. I couldn't understand why the caller wouldn't identify himself. Phone etiquette - one of my pet peeves. After we finally established each other's identities and I assured him that I wasn't going to hand the phone to my showering roommate, but would instead relay the message, things went much better. 

On my way back to my room, I paused at the bathroom door and hollered in, "That was the chapel custodian. He wants to know if the heater is working today, so I told him you would call him when you got up there." I paused, and she acknowledged she would do so. Then I said, "And if you could please tell your friends to not call at five-fifteen in the morning, I'd appreciate that."

She laughed, "Yeah, Vern and I are best buds." We both chuckled, and I went back to bed. 

I'm still expecting that bad-news phone call, though. 

Birthday Celebration

For my birthday this year, Linda, Cim and I went to the Safari Park in San Diego - formerly known as the Wild Animal Park. It's affiliated with the San Diego Zoo, and does a lot of conservation and work to get endangered animals bred and back into the wild. They're non-profit, which they make sure to tell you all day long, so you don't feel resentful about the exorbitant cost of food, souvenirs, etc. High prices notwithstanding, the main event of our day was to be the zip line.

Our time for that wasn't until early afternoon, so we made sure to get there early so we could take in the sights and as many animals as possible before dangling above them in a harness.

 The lemurs weren't leapin', but they were grooming each other after a nice breakfast.

 This little dik-dik kept trying to get to the bigger animal's food - just feet away from us while we waited for the tram safari to get underway.

 Beautiful cheetah!

The flamingos were far enough away we didn't have to smell them. They're prettier that way. 

Eric, the white rhino. 

Herbert, the wildebeest. Unlike Eric, I don't know if this was the wildebeest's name or not, but he lumbered alongside our tram as we escorted him to his herd.

 Look! Herbert again!

 Some people were feeding the giraffes - another  up close encounter you could pay for the privilege of having. 

 The lioness sunning herself on top of a car. She had just given birth three weeks prior to twin cubs, which she subsequently abandoned. They're being cared for in the nursery, and were dang cute! If this had happened in the wild, which it does, they would have been left to fend for themselves and die. Here, they will be raised, survive, and thrive.

 Don't you just want to run your fingers through that mane?

 I love elephants.

At the bird show we saw so many different types - I can't put them all here as it's already picture-heavy. This was a hawk, guarding his prey. 

 The secretary bird, their largest raptor, running out to come attack and "kill" his toy snake.

Gorgeous.

After some lunch, it was time for our big event - the zip line. They showed us a quick training video, strapped us into our harnesses, and then off we went. First was a little one as training - just to get us used to the basic mechanics. Then we took a truck ride up a hill (thank goodness we didn't have to walk that far in our harnesses!) where we got to see some more of the facility we wouldn't have had time for, including the previously endangered California Condors. They're gorgeous in their own ugly way.

Then, the zip line over the same area we had seen earlier via the tram. At two-thirds of a mile long, it's the second longest zip line in the United States- the longest being in Alaska. It took about a minute, and they saw the speed ranges from 40-60 mph. It was quite fun.

And here's the video to prove it.

(Argh. You'd think Blogger and YouTube would do a better job of talking to each other since they're both Google products. So here's the link instead.)

The Christmas Equation

Each year when it’s time to take down the Christmas tree and other decorations, I feel mild pangs of guilt. Did I appreciate all the beautiful Christmas lights and decorations enough? Did I make it a point to get out and actually see them instead of just taking the festive lights for granted? Did I feel peace on earth and good will towards men? Did I listen to enough Christmas music? Did I sit quietly in my own living room to enjoy the simple light cast by the Christmas tree lights? Did I take enough time to contemplate the birth of the Savior? Did I, did I, did I?

With the exception of one of those questions, the answer to all of them is invariably “No,” and with that realization comes a sadness brought by regret. It is slightly alleviated with the knowledge that in another eleven months or so I’ll have a chance to improve on last year’s holiday spirit, which is almost immediately dampened with the memory of having the same thought eleven months prior and still failing.

So. Christmas is over. And it’s true – I didn’t listen to enough Christmas music, or sit under my own tree, or drive around looking at lights. I definitely lost some feelings of goodwill towards men as I negotiated busy parking lots and long cashier lines and a perceived general lowering of other drivers’ IQ levels, causing me to frequently echo Scar’s sentiment, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Some of the guilt comes from the (probably false, or at the very least, misplaced) belief that Christmas should be as magical for me as an adult as it was when I was a child. For all that I still believe in Santa Claus (truly!) and magic, I don’t think it’s possible to reclaim the childlike novelty and mystery surrounding the holiday. As my brother wisely points out, it’s a simple matter of percentages. When a child is two, the next year is 33% of her life, the next is 25%, etc. When a person is 47 (to pick a not-random number), a year is a little more than 2% of the remainder of her life, assuming death at 90 years of age.  In other words, the older you get, the ratio of responsibilities begins to way outdistance magic.

But if we’re using math to explain why the magic disappears the older you get, it actually seems like it should be even MORE magical because the math says that the ratio of magical vs normal days lessens, which should make it even more mysterious and thereby delightful.

Sadly, the reality is that the heaviness of everyday life tends to weigh the average adult down. Memories and experience add to the weightiness of those scales, and the (perceived) responsibilities of living up to the hype of the season makes it nearly impossible for some to rise above the heavy-laden expectations and achieve peace, let alone joy or happiness, regardless of what every greeting card you received says.

So now what?

I don’t know. Unfortunately, the equation for finding n where n = Christmas joy and magic will vary for each individual. But I do know that the more expectations I place on myself to have the house decorated by a certain date, or presents bought, or cookies baked, meals prepared, feelings felt, lights viewed, the less I enjoy the season.

I will tell you that I really enjoyed this essay by Mark Evanier, a gentleman’s blog I follow. In it, he explains why Christmas didn’t feel stressful for him (his half-Jewish status notwithstanding) or his family – because they didn’t feel the pressure of being nice to each other during one season of the year, because they already WERE nice to each other. It’s a good read – give it a try.

Meanwhile, I do hope your holiday season was joyful, or as joyful as you knew how to make it. And if you’ve got secrets on how to enjoy it more, please feel free to pass those along.

December 4

I don't have enough of a single topic for a single blog post; rather several random, non-cohesive thoughts. Here goes:

Now that it's December, the three TVs in the lobby of my office building are playing Christmas movies and the Yule log. I love it. 

This morning I put on a new striped sweater that I hadn't worn before. Linda assured me it looked good.

"I don't look too much like Freddy Krueger?"

"No, he had his own set of issues."

"Well, so do I. Which is why I want to check I don't look like him."

"No, you don't have scissor hands."

Also, no weird burny scar face or dapper hat.

I was at the grocery store this morning before work and saw some garlic that wants to be something else when it grows up:

Speaking of the grocery store, I do stop there frequently on my way to work. It's a good time to go if I'm getting non-perishables or stuff for work. They usually have one check stand open, and then someone standing at the "self check out" area to help.Which - if you need help doing "self check out," then it's not "self," right? Anyway, I caved on doing it once, but hate it because it's inconvenient for me and involves too much thinking - usually I'm buying fruits and veggies, so it's not as simple as just scanning a barcode; it involves looking up the right item manually, and I just don't want to. So there was one checkstand with a light on, indicating it was open. I headed there, and got sidelined by a "helpful" employee:

"Good morning, would you like to go to self check out?"

"Um, no thank you. I don't like it. Can't I just go here?" indicating the one check out lane with the lit light signifying its openness. She wasn't happy with me, because it wasn't manned and she had to call for "John" to come take his post.Whatever, Ralphs lady. I'm paying you for groceries - I shouldn't have to do your job for you too. 

But the sparkly European trees I saw on the way out made me laugh: 

 Clearly there is more sparkly glitter in European soil than American.

The Parable of the Pico de Gallo Sauce

It’s December! (Oh, that reminds me, I need to change my calendar pages. I’m always two or three days behind on that.) This means different things for different people, but in my world, it’s the start of the holiday season. We all know it’s a stressful time etcetera and so forth, henceforth and forever, and I get that. One of the stress causers, for me at least, is feeling a genuine holiday spirit. I consider myself fairly kind and generous during the balance of the year, so feeling the pressure of peace on earth good will towards men in December feels, well, like more pressure.

This morning I hit a fast food drive through on my way to work. The person taking the order sounded like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I even said to the non-responsive speaker, after placing my order, “Wow, Miss Sunshiney-Pants. Someone’s having a bad day,” and the immediately felt guilty for thinking that because that’s how I roll. Instead, I imagined what the mystery-voice person would look like. Was she crying? Upset? Did she not get a lot of sleep? Was she actually happy but didn’t have a matching voice?

When I got to the window the headsetted person smiled at me, but no teeth were showing. She took my card for payment and I wondered if I could say something that would get a genuine smile from her.

Then I remembered this blog post from someone I know who works in fast food (and deals with cranky people all the time, thankyouverymuch), and thought, “That's it! I’ll pay for the person behind me!”

Only, there was no one behind me.

Then the cashier appeared with my food order and asked if I wanted any sauce or anything. I said, “Do you have any pico de gallo?” hopefully, with a big smile.

She said, “Well, yes, but, I mean it’s, well, never mind. I’ll get you some.” She disappeared again, and then guess what?

A car appeared behind me. She handed me my bag, presumably complete with pico de gallo, and I handed her my card again. “I’d like to pay for the person behind me.”

And guess what else? A genuine smile appeared. She said, “He ordered a steak and egg burrito,” and when I allowed as that was fine, she ran the card and handed it back to me.

And that was it. Melissa was right – I felt warm and fuzzy inside. I considered pausing to see what the man’s reaction was, but wanted the joy of remaining anonymous, so noted only that it was a red Lexus before taking the turn to finish driving to work.

And then traffic wasn’t great. And there was a dumb garbage truck mucking up the works. And I got stuck behind someone else, and then stuck at a red light. And then I noticed that out of all the drab neutral-colored cars, a red Lexus appeared behind me, then got in the lane next to me. There was no car in front of him so he could have easily pulled all the way up to the crosswalk lines, but he paused next to me and mouthed through the window, “Was that you?”

I laughed, because what else are you going to do? We both rolled down our windows, and I said, “I just wanted to say have a good day. Have a great day!”

He shook his head and said, “Wow. Thanks so much, that was just so awesome.” He started to pull up to the crosswalk lines and said, window still open, “No one’s ever done that for me before. Wow.”

And that felt good. Maybe he’ll pass it along to someone else (there was no other cars behind him in the drive-through; I checked), or be a little nicer to someone today because someone was nice to him. I’m certain he could have afforded a steak and egg burrito ($3.20 before tax) on his own, if appearances (red Lexus and all) are anything to go on (there I go being all judge-y again.) But it was still nice to do something nice.

And then it looked like we were both headed to the same parking garage, so I took the long way to work, because enough is enough already. Heh.

And P.S.  I got an extra huge helping of pico de gallo!

So don’t stress this holiday season if you can’t get the house decorated the way you think it’s supposed to look, or the tree up on time, or the dog swallows the Baby Jesus, or you don’t the money you think you’re supposed to have to give everyone the merry Christmas you’d like them to have. Just..stop.

Breathe, enjoy. Rinse and repeat.

Then go get a burrito, ask for pico de gallo, and pay for the guy behind you. Let me know what happens.

P.P.S. I don't share this with you because I like being all braggy-pants and "LookWhatIDid? Aren'tIAwesome?" because I don't like it when people do that. This isn't about bragging. It's about pico de gallo. Mostly.

Thanksgiving Walk

Linda and I went for a walk this morning and saw some really interesting things. Here they are for your enjoyment:

NaNoWriMo: A Summary

November's almost over, and though you may feel neglected - all five of you - I have not been lazy in the writing department. I have been plugging away furiously, attempting to meet the 50,000 word goal over at NaNoWriMo. I finished today - not because I hit 50,000, but because I finished the book. Well, "finished." The first draft is done. There's a lot of work to be done, but I'm ready to let people read it. I need to find a balance between people who will read and offer constructive advice, versus those who will read it and tell me what a great job I did. I mean, I want the compliments - don't get me wrong - but it will be more valuable to have a critical eye towards what I can improve on. There's stuff I know can be improved on certainly, and other things I have ignored up to this point. Granted, I haven't really read it through myself all the way yet, but that will come.

Meanwhile, to try and reach the 50,000 goal, I did a little P. S. That's what this is. If you're interested in reading the actual book, let me know and I'll get it on Google Docs or something like that for you. The condition is that you need to be willing to be constructively honest with me, 'k?

******

As of this version, the book is at about 38,000 words. The challenge for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is to get to 50,000 words. I could tell early on that I wouldn’t have enough to fill that quota, and it doesn’t make sense to put in a dream sequence where one doesn’t belong just to have more words, so I’ll start filling up some of the word count here. I suppose I could be satisfied with the idea of writing a book, a very rough draft of a book, in less than a month, but by golly, I’ve written a book in a month! I want credit from the organizing website for doing so! Even if it only means getting a badge I can post (with pride!) on my blog or something. So I’m putting some thoughts down here. I want to capture what this meant, and some of my thought process, and maybe even what I’ve learned.

Oh, I know this isn’t a perfect book. Far from it. I know there are edits that need to be made, evidenced by the highlighted parts indicating entire sections that need to be reworked, rewritten, or just plain ol’ written. Published? Don’t make me laugh. Well, do make me laugh  - go ahead. I like laughing. I just can’t write comedy, apparently. And that’s one of the parts of this “book” that will get fixed. I had to put that as a placeholder so that I could myself permission to carry on and not get stuck.

I didn’t know when I first started this that it was going to turn into a love story. I knew I wanted to do a fairy tale, because some of my favorite authors have done treatments of traditional fairy tales. Or at least, some of my favorite stories and/or books lately have been treatments of fairy tales, and those authors have since turned into some of my favorites. You know, like Gail Carson Levine. My sister recently introduced me to Charles DeLint, via one of his “Jack” books, which is where I got the idea of having Jack be a recurring character, a cross-over from the human world, into the faerie realm.

The master of fairy tales though, and the most original ones, is Neil Gaiman. It was him who gave a talk not too long ago about the importance of libraries – one of my fondest memories of my childhood. Within the text of that lecture, he says, “fiction …opens a door, shows the sunlight outside, gives you a place to go where you are in control, are with people you want to be with(and books are real places, make no mistake about that); and more importantly, during your escape, books can also give you knowledge about the world and your predicament, give you weapons, give you armour: real things you can take back into your prison. Skills and knowledge and tools you can use to escape for real.”

He says a lot of great things, but that one really resonated with me, because I had been thinking about doorways a lot before undertaking this little adventure. I asked a friend of mine, in fact, if she believed in magic.

I’m not talking about a Magic Castle sleight of hand artist or illusionist, but magic magic. Harry Potter magic. The stuff-great-kids’-books-are made-of magic.

If fiction is based somewhat in reality, I think there may be such a thing as magic. Rather, there must be such a thing as magic, if you follow that logic thread. I suppose that argument could go the other way too for things that I’m not sure are real, like vampires or werewolves or faeries, unless you take the approach that they’re based on real-life monsters, of which there are plenty. Not faeries – those are based on butterflies and crickets and hummingbirds. Mostly hummingbirds, I think. Not crickets – I take that back. (Also, I do not like crickets. Never having met a fairy, I'm not entirely sure I like them either. ) 

But back to magic. I suppose miracles of the biblical sort could be considered magic, because it’s something that can’t be explained with science or logic, but my intent isn’t to downgrade miracles either. It’s a fine line, this idea’s border. I could be a crazy person, or I could be the one adult in a kids’ book that believes magic is real. 

Obviously I’m still working on this idea, and haven’t come anywhere near coalescing a coherent thought. I think this may be preliminary thoughts for NaNoWriMo. Hmm. But it IS one of those things you don’t talk about with just anybody. Is it just a trick in literature to get children/young adults to believe beyond a real-world capacity? To stretch imaginations? Or is there something to it?

So yes, that’s where my thoughts were leading up to this grand month of November.  Oh, her answer, in case you’re interested, was this:

Magic - I'm not sure you really want to be coming to a person who already has an extremely tenuous grasp on reality for confirmation of your sanity, but since you asked - um, duh. Doesn't everyone believe in magic? Never mind I just answered my own question. No, they don't. But I certainly do, at least from a certain point of view. And I think more people should because, come on. You already said, we're a church full of people who believe in things like parting the red sea and walking on water. I think if anybody should have a pretty high tolerance for the out of the ordinary/strange/fantastical, it should be members of the church.

I too would like to think that if one day some children came to me and said, we found a portal to another dimension in yo ur closet, my answer would be, 'fantastic; let's leave now.' I think if I live my whole life without ever once encountering a dinosaur or a time machine or a secret underground world, I'm going to be severely disappointed. Maybe my books have just given me unrealistically high expectations of what life is supposed to be like, but at least if I can't live it I can still read about it.

Tying magic in with books also makes me think of a speech Neil Gaiman gave a few days ago. He said, among other generally brilliant things, because he's Neil Gaiman and saying brilliant things is what he does, that "truth is not in what happens but in what it tells us about who we are. Fiction is the lie that tells the truth."

Or, to put it another way, "Of course it's all happening in your head. But why on earth does that mean it's not real?"

I have been mildly obsessed with the idea of archetypes for a long time now - like how every culture passes down the same couple of types of stories over and over again, about parents and children and heroes and caves and monsters and light and all kinds of lovely stuff. And it's all just different symbols being used to say the same things. So I think you're right about werewolves and fairies and what have you - there's truth, and then there's fact, and all the stories are based on fact, or some version of a fact, and the facts get used to say true things about people and life. It's like in Doctor Who, or Indiana Jones - they go and investigate some weird thing, and the townspeople will be like, oh, well, there's this legend that nobody really believes except some old lady out in the woods. But the story goes like this...and then they tell the story and then of course whatever weird thing that's happening is exactly what happened in the story. And then the townspeople are like, ohhhh, so werewolves are real. Huh. OK then. And then they become the crazy old people out in the woods telling stories to their children. It's kind of how life works. (Or at least how stories work, which is much better.) I just like to think that I'm in on the joke.

That’s how this started. I wanted to explore the ideas of doorways into magical lands. Probably because more than anything, I want to find a doorway into a magical land. I want it to be there, and accessible, without the pain and hassle of air travel, of dealing with TSA agents, and the high cost of airplane tickets. For now, books are it. I hold out hope that, though, I’ll open a closet door and see a removable panel hidden there that reveals a pathway to somewhere else. Or that one day I’ll discover a pull-down stairway that goes to an attic in my own house. And in this scenario, I never knew that attic was there, but you climb the stairs, and the attic isn’t just a thing that transverses the house, but is a place. A place of … magic, intrigue, mystery.

(I have that dream, by the way. Frequently. I also have the dream that I’m a kid again, and in my dad’s shop, and I press the button made from paper that my sister made and put on the wall. Because when you press that button, and go through the black revolving door that allows access to the photographic dark room, you can go wherever you want. True story – that button made of paper and the revolving door really did exist in my childhood. My sister made it, and my dad indulged us by letting us put it on the wall. And every time we went to visit him in his shop, that raggedy piece of paper was still on the wall, ready for us to push, so that we could then go to any place we wanted. Any place our minds would let us, that is.)

(The Neil Gaiman talk, by the way, was delivered on October 14, 2013 in London at the Barbican., if you’re interested in looking it up in its entirety yourself. It’s quite good.) Neil Gaiman also quotes Albert Einstein thusly: “If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales."

I didn’t think about that when I chose to do a fairy tale treatment. I thought about my limitations. There are many, but this one specifically I thought was the one most likely to hold me back from writing a book, and that is, I don’t have any story ideas. I’ve tried writing fiction before, with disastrous results. I’ve had the beginnings of ideas, but then don’t know what to do with after that. And I certainly don’t know how it ends. I know the beginnings of things, but not the middle or ends, and that doesn’t make for a very good story. So I figured if I could leverage a fairy tale, embellish details, place it in a context familiar to me, I’d be able to overcome that obstacle. After all, I like writing. I’m good at it. I think. It remains to be seen if I’m good at this type of writing.

And that’s something I’ve learned from this. (This is all about me, if you couldn’t tell. But I warned you about that at the beginning.) It’s been a good exercise. Just write, write, write. Focus on the story, get the words down, see where it goes. And I started to see what authors mean when they talk about how the characters in their books take over and have a mind of their own. It’s like those people come to life and are telling the author what to write, rather than the writer giving the characters the story. It’s an interesting feeling. I imagine it’s kind of like acting – you have to really get yourself into the character to portray it accurately and truly. With this writing process, this fiction writing, I just kept asking myself if I was being true to the character. And even though I didn’t start with a written outline or full character sketch of each person, I had those ideas in my mind when I started.

Ah. I will show you what I did have written down before I started:

Difficult choice- impossible choice- Garden of Eden type something. The owner of the palatial gardens is named (Kim). She likes glitter. She sings some of her sentences because she knows how ridiculous everything she says or requests is. 

Girl stumbles ... Magically, unexpectedly, into a spacious garden. Woman there offers refuge. The choice- choose a gift of whatever she wants, or return immediately to her world. 

Sylvia is very independent. The same qualities that her boyfriend was attracted to are the ones he's complaining about. She's been struggling with ... Job? Career? Boyfriend?

Meet four women- 

Daphne- too talkative Greek bay tree

Cynthia- too eager to please Greek moon goddess

Iris- too pretty Greek the rainbow

Phylida- too sharp-witted Greek a green bough

Sylvia's choice- quiet spirit. Latin from the forest

Returns to her home, feels no different, even after the adventures she's been on. The exception is that she feels completely indifferent to her boyfriend. In fact, he  is almost repulsive to her now. Her boss is still crazy, but she feels immune to that now.

And she meets...someone who looks familiar, not because she needs a someone, but because she's been on adventures with him already. Because they're already friends.

Yup, that’s all I had. Not a lot. I referred to it a lot to refresh my memory about the different fairy princesses – their names and qualities. Other than that, once I had that idea in my mind, the rest of it just took form as I put fingers to keyboard.

So a couple of notes about my notes. (Still only at 40,000 words. Don’t worry – this won’t take another 10,000 words.)

Kim, Sylvia’s friend from work, is based on my tap dance teacher. She has the most joy for life and living and having fun of any adult I have ever met. She often says that she is a child in an adult’s body. And in spite of her childlike attributes, she’s very responsible. She fascinates me, and I haven’t known her for very long, but I knew she had a place in this story somehow. I think she needs a bigger one somehow, and that’s one of the things that will get fixed in subsequent drafts.

I changed Phyllida’s name to Adele, because I wasn’t sure how to pronounce Phyllida. Probably just how it looks, but it isn’t a name that’s readily recognizable in a modern-day context. Adele means “happy,” or “joyful,” as I was trying to convey the idea of her humor. And I obviously need to do some more work around Adele/Phyllida’s home and its environs. I struggled with that character the most. At one point, I even considered combining her with Daphne, the talkative one, since the effects the two have on others are similar. That may still happen; we’ll see.

So yeah, the names matter, but the characters tell you that themselves.

And Sylvia is autobiographical, or a lot of her is, at least. And that’s the beauty of taking a fairy tale that was written more than a hundred years ago – you have the liberty to do a lot of fun things. And in the absence of being able to think of fun things, stick with what you know. That’s the one thing I remember from that one creative writing class I took a million years ago in college. But it’s also one of the areas that has the most room for change. For instance, I’m not sure now if it makes sense for Sylvia to have the same aches and pains I do. At first I imagined her being my age – a single woman in her 40s. But she’s probably closer to being in her late 20s, and that’s okay too. That’s how old I am mentally. But it also means running doesn’t hurt her the same way it does me.

Speaking of the age thing, I don’t know who would read this book. I know a lot of women my age, or around my age, read books that are intended for a younger audience, simply because the content is clean and they don’t want to read smut. I don’t want to read smut either, let alone write it. But I also didn’t want to write another book where the protagonist is a young teenager. It’s not real. And even though this is a fairy tale, it’s meant to be real. There’s nothing more real than a woman in her 20s, or 30s, or 40s still figuring out this mystery called life. I know that because that is my life. Each day is a new mystery, something new to figure out – either about myself and how I perceive the world, or react to people around me – or about other people and their perceptions. Writing fiction, (loosely paraphrasing Neil Gaiman again), or fiction itself, teaches us more about ourselves than any other medium. It teaches us how to relate to people, and even how to empathize. So if you’ve enjoyed any layer of this story, I’m glad. I’ll keep working and getting better, I promise.

Someday, one of my books may be the portal to a magic world you’re looking for.

Final note, I promise – the fairy tale I got this from is called “The Fairy’s Wish.” I found out about it from a marvelous book called, “Beyond the Glass Slipper: Ten Neglected Fairy Tales to Fall in Love With,” by Kate Wolford. The version of “The Fairy’s Wish” she cites as being from Andrew Lang’s “The Green Fairy Book,” 1892.