Today's writing workshop covered fairy tales, so in keeping with the theme I'll begin my own...
Once upon a glorious morning Dorian unfolded the bicycle that had long lived on their sailboat, letting it stretch its legs on land once again. Her utmost desire was to attend a lovely school located not far from the family' flat on time and in good form.
This proved both an easy and enjoyable task as everything about her lay tranquil and absolutely still, until she fell upon the dreaded dark tree green monsters sprouting mischievously along the lake.
Dorian pedaled furiously, suddenly understanding this could present the biggest struggle of her day. She made her way past the deceptively docile creatures, so dignified and coiffed, intuitively knowing the minute her gaze would stray they could pounce!
So glued was she upon their invisibly wicked ways, assuming just one scant glance away could bring peril, she passed, sighing with great relief, proceeding along her merry way to Webster University.
She glided along the bike path, ultimately seeing her last landmark, the United Nations, their flags lay so flat and strangely calm, as if all nations pretending to get along.
Her mental state was safe, her personality now transformed by the sheer majesty of those early morn environs as her wheels quietly rolled along the last stretch of road, finally arriving at said destination. The End.
Hope you enjoyed my tale, I'm so glad I chose to take my camera to class today. The day was great with preliminary instructions to review how folk and fairy tales channel all the archetypal energy. We then exercised our right to enter into our own tale, assisting us in our craft and desire to put pen to paper. Maybe it helps us to know ourselves a bit better or be a bit more honest in accepting our own narrative, our own journey.
Who knows, it could happen.
So when was the first fairy tale told anyway? Was it Cupid and Psyche? And when did Cinderella begin her dance around the globe, was it in China, circa A.D. 800. It makes sense if you've read about how that country used to squash those little feet with those contraptions. My own feet are so large, I'd have been doomed from dusk til dawn.
Either way, Susan Tiberghien, whom I've posted about before, runs a compelling workshop, the ideas and lessons spread from folk to fairy tale, from myth to fable, detailing local sagas, reserved for adults sharing and passing down their own drama long before the Brother's Grimm got into the game.
Not sure which ones I can apply to my own life, but anytime I can invoke The Red Shoes and think about Anton Walbrook I find myself perfectly content.