Creative Wiritng Club: Week Two

Today in CWC, as well as writing up our poems neatly (in felt tip on coloured paper), we also wrote Haikus.

Normal poetry is one thing, but Haikus? This was a challenge. We had three themes - Nature, Summer, and School. They all had to be positive, so no 'School sucks' Haikus. Here are mine:

Nature

Feathery fingers

Quiet whispers in your ear

Invisible friend

 

Summer

A golden flower

honeyed drops of bright pollen

scatter to the earth

 

 

School

Avid learners

wise teachers, sharing knowledge

A place of worship

Although Haikus really aren't my thing, I was pretty chuffed with how these turned out. Though maybe most people wouldn't consider school as a place of worship!

Creative Writing Club: Week One

I recently started going to the Creative Writing Club at the school I work at. I have started writing again but I thought I needed more inspiration if I was going to keep it up. Not to mention, I want to make myself known in the English department. My aspiration is to work my way up from TA to library assistant or similar, hence why I also did Year 9 Books and Beyond, a reading challenge. I also don't want to let my Creative Writing degree go to waste.

I'm not the only TA at CWC but most of the other attendees are Year 9 or below, a big change from University where I felt like a toddler doodling with crayons while everyone wrote masterpieces. This week, as it was so sunny, we went outside to the grass bank to write about summer.

Our task was to split our page into boxes and write about the five senses in an imaginative way.

Here are some of my lines:

Sight
The sun winks off car windscreens, like light off ocean waves.
Students are scattered across the field amongst sprinklings of daises and clovers.

Touch

The warm breeze brushes through my hair like a lovers caress.

Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun, the damp of the waterlogged earth creeps through the fabric of my dress.

Sound
Children's playful cheers are carried across the valley on the wind, so carefree after the captivity of school.

Smell
The air is warm and thick, bristling with ozone, bringing with it the threat of an early storm.
Fresh cut grass infuses the air as hundreds of people decide, as if connected, to mow their scraggly lawns.

Taste
My mouth is parched and the sheer azure of the sky makes me crave the cool splash of water.

After we wrote our lines we went around and shared them, 'magpie-ing' from each other, which meant nabbing the best lines other people wrote. Lots of the students had some really unique lines; I could never have written like that at their age, so I was thoroughly impressed.

We returned to the classroom and used our lines to write a poem. I baulked at the idea as poetry really isn't my thing, but I gave it a go anyway.

From the sea
over the hills
across the moors
it ruffles the emerald leaves of trees
ripples the delicate glass of ponds
helps the young birds take their first flight
With it follows
cut grass
fresh fields
greasy burgers,
the scents of summer come early.
Warm and demanding
it forces them out of
coats
jumpers
and scarves.
It pulls at skirts
tugs at shirts.
Runs its fingers through hair,
gentle as a lover,
as constant as a mother.
The wind brings the change
yet, he himself, is constant.
Never ending,
never leaving.

I didn't think it was too bad. Next time we'll be writing them up neat to put them on display in the corridor. In conclusion, CWC was enjoyable and I'm looking forward to going again!

Top 10 Writing Influences

For part of my Creative Voice III module we had to come up with our top ten writing influences in chronological order. They could be any type of media, book, film, music, etc. as long as they inspired us to write. So, as I am avoiding doing dissertation work, here is my Top Ten.

1. Disney Films/ Fairy Tales: Okay, this is a bit generic, but I had to pick just one and I couldn't list all of them. My favourite Disney film is constantly changing. It used to be Sleeping Beauty, then The Little Mermaid, then Hercules, and Mulan, and Beauty and the Beast, and The Lion King, and Tangled. Oh, it's just impossible! I love them all! When I was younger I used to read a big fairytale book every night before bed. It used to be my mum's and she had drawn around all the pictures, it is like our only family heirloom, and I hope my kids can read it one day, too. But this book and Disney films inspired me to write my own fairy tales and were responsible for my A* in English for this piece, A Disney Parody.

2. Santa Paws, Come Home by Nicholas Edwards: This is the first book that I read without pictures. I bought it at a book sale at school when I was in year 3, maybe? It's about this amazing dog who gets dog-napped and has to find his way back home. I loved it as a kid and still have it at home on my bookshelf. It inspired me to read, and therefore write later in life. 

Also, who couldn't love this little face?

3. Jacqueline Wilson books: Whenever I used to go shopping with my dad we'd always go to Waterstones and I would always buy the latest Jacqueline Wilson book. I would reread them all the time and still do - check out my post on Lola Rose. My all time favourite was the Girls series, you know Girls in Love, Girls Under Pressure, Girls Out Late, and Girls in Tears. I think I liked them so much because I was probably a bit young to read them and I thought they were a little risqué. I also really related to Ellie, the main character, probably because all her friends were pretty and skinny, and she was more on the piggy side. Others that I liked were The Dustbin Baby, The Illustrated Mum, Tracy Beaker, and Diamond Girls. As I got older the books started to get a bit samey, once you read one, you'd read them all. It seemed like Wilson was churning them out. I soon lost interest. But her books made me realise that stories can help people in need or with their problems, and this is what I wanted to communicate through my writing. 

4. The Harry Potter series by J.K Rowling: This is a bit of a give in, and is probably on everyone's list in this generation. This was the first series I had ever read, I wasn't into reading when I was younger and I actually saw the movie first. It's just inspiring, and that's all I can really say. 

5. Meg Cabot books: When I was in secondary school I remember my friend reading the first The Princess Diaries and was quite surprised because she never read anything. I'd seen the movie and really loved it but I had never bothered to read the book myself. My sister had all of the books in the series at the time and said I should read them. I was sceptical. However, this was my first incident of reading a book and it being so different from the film. At first I was put off. Then I realised that the book was so much better. I couldn't put it down. Soon my sister grew bored of the series and I bought the rest of the books. I remember reading the last one on holiday and it was just a fantastic ending. Some endings to series can be disappointing but this was not the case. I've read nearly all her other books and own most of them, too. I love the Missing series, and especially the Mediator series, which is why I'm so happy to hear that she's writing another one. Cabot's books inspired me to write chick-lit and helped me to progress to more adult fiction like Size 12 isn't Fat. She also writes in lots of different styles like dairies, and one series is done entirely in emails and letters. Since coming to University, however, I realise people don't like chick-lit too much, and have changed my style somewhat. This piece Royalteen was heavily inspired by The Princess Diaries, and to some extent so was The Diary of Lucy Van Helsing.

6. Lord of the Rings film trilogy: This series really got me into fantasy. After watching these films I created my own fantasy world with lots of different kingdoms, knights, princess, witches, and even some magical jewellery.  I wrote so many fantasy quest stories...unfortunately, by computer died and I lost them all. Some I have written on paper still and one day I will type them up again. I have all my drawings of maps, weapons, and clothing still. I used to be obsessed by these fantasy stories and spend all my time writing and drawing. I wish I could be in that mindset again. In a way University destroys the creativity because now I'm so worried about editing and publishing that I'm too scared to write anything in case it's crap. When I was younger I wrote whole stories and thought they were amazing! I have recently finished reading Lord of the Rings and I still think it's brilliant, and I really watch the films again. Extended edition, of course. 

7. Doctor Who TV series: I never used to care about Doctor Who much but the Doctor reminded me of a boy I fancied (who loved Doctor Who) so I used to watch it constantly and pretend I was the companion. I also fancied David Tennant a little bit, too. Apart from that though, Doctor Who is a great example of how to write a brilliant sci-fi story; it has everything you could possibly want - space travel, time travel, and a main character who can regenerate so you can keep the series going even if the main actor quits! Over the years I have come up with a few Doctor Who story lines and would love to be a writer for the show. It was because of this programme that I took the Sci-Fi and Fantasy module this term. I've also met two of the Doctors, Matt Smith and David Tennant. Oh, and that boy I fancied? He's now my boyfriend!

8. The Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan: I started reading this series in year 10 (I liked converse shoes back then and the book cover was a flying converse). I bought the first two and borrowed the others from the school library. I remember finishing my work early in class so I could read them. I was such a nerd! I reread them over the summer on my kindle and I still love them. I have always been interested in Greek mythology, especially after Disney's Hercules, and these books really satisfied my craving. The books we had at home about the Greeks were really dry and boring, so these were the perfect way to learn and be entertained. This has inspired my dissertation as I want to get kids interested in Gothic Literature. Obviously, with the internet it is a lot easier to learn things, I could just Google Greek myths now. But reading is much more fun. 

9. The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe: This story seems to have followed me everywhere. I first heard of it via The Simpsons, a very educational source. Then in Art A-Level I was told my subject matter was 'too nice' and should do something more 'edgy'. My art teacher wanted me to do something about gangs and drug culture. Boring! I chose the dark literature route. I illustrated the whole of The Tell-Tale Heart and loved every minute of it. Then in the first term of university I wrote a piece inspired by this story, called Obsession. In the second term I went on to illustrate it. Considering I hadn't been a very Gothic person before, I was really getting into it. There just seems to be a strange affinity with this story, and it has even worked its way into my dissertation too.

10. The Gone series by Michael Grant: I read this series over the summer and oh my God! It is gripping. The last one comes out in April and I am so excited, it is my post-dissertation treat. It has been a huge inspiration for my dissertation and after reading these books I changed my idea completely. Gone was the romcom and instead was a dangerously dark mystery with murder and ghosts. This series made me realise that kids don't need protecting from wicked things, and in fact love to read about them. You can also write about crazy things like mutant powers and 'the gaiaphage' and kids will go along with it. 

Obviously, there are so many more books and authors that have inspired and influenced me, but alas, it was a Top Ten, not a Top 100. If you are a budding writer, I recommend you do this too, it can be quite surprising as to what inspires you most. 

The Tell-Tale Heart Intervention

I am working diligently on the third draft of my ECP ( go and read the Second Draft too) and I am now over 8,000 words. Which means it's technically completed.

Whoa!

But they may not be 8,000 amazing words thus the work continues. One my supervisor's criticisms was that some parts weren't developed enough. So I thought I'd post a section that I've been working on and see if you think it's developed enough. It is also a reworking of The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe, of course! I've always had an affinity with this story, I did my A-Level Art course work on it. I illustrated the whole story on one canvas, and believe me that took a while. Here are parts of it:

The Eye

The Old Man

Part of the Final Piece 

Anyway, here's the story of Greg and his granddad. Tell me what you think!

Greg and the Eye

Greg Sullivan had never liked his granddad. Although he would never admit it. Every time his mum told him that his granddad would be visiting he felt the dread settle in his stomach. His granddad wasn't like ordinary granddads. He never told funny stories, or gave him money, or even commented on how big he was getting. He would bang on the front door, demand Greg get his bags from the taxi, collapse into the red armchair, and order Greg's mum around. Even when she tried to talk to him all he would do was moan.

   ‘Put on the heating, woman. This place is freezing.’

   ‘You call that tea, more like piss.’

   ‘I suppose you’ve never heard of a duster then.’

But the complaining wasn't the worst part. The worst part was his eye. He had been blind in one eye ever since Greg could remember. No one had ever explained why he was blind and Greg never dared to ask. It was a taboo subject in their house.

So when Greg's mum said that his granddad would be staying for an entire week Greg seriously considered running away. Same as usual his granddad collapsed into the red armchair and ordered Greg's mum to get him a tea: no milk, no sugar. Greg sat on the sofa on the other side of the room watching his granddad and thinking of the blank eye; how did he get it? And why did nobody want to talk about it? His granddad sharply looked at him, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. Greg immediately stared back at the TV.

   ‘Got something you want to say, boy?’

   ‘No, Sir,’ Greg mumbled.

His granddad grunted in reply. Greg didn’t stick around long after that, he ran upstairs to his room and shut the door with a snap. A week was definitely too long.

*

The eye plagued his mind more than usual. That night while he lay on the sofa - his granddad always got his room, another reason to hate his visits - his thoughts kept returning to the eye. White and milky, like a full moon in a cloudless sky, but as sharp as a greedy vulture stalking it’s pray. Such a gross thing. So repulsive. He should wear a patch or glasses, Greg thought. Hide it. Get rid of it. Gouge it out. Destroy it. Kill it. Greg flinched. His heart was pounding and his body was moist with sweat. Where had that come from? He shook his head and tried to think of something else, like the new computer game he had bought. But when he closed his eyes and finally drifted off it a fitful sleep he could still see the eyeball. It watched him in his dreams.

Even at school he could see it. It was the circle equation during maths, the petri dish during science, and the football during lunchtime. His mind would wander during class and when he finally snapped back to reality he found eyeballs staring at him from his notebooks. He had covered every page in drawings of eyeballs. His chemistry teacher Mr Waldman had written a note in his dangerous red pen.

See me after class. We need to talk about this

Greg had torn the page from the book and hurled it in the bin, his breathing ragged. As soon as the bell rang he legged it from class. He even ignored Mr Waldman calling after him. He knew he’d be in big trouble the next day.

That Thursday he was relieved to think that in twenty-four hours his granddad would be gone. No more staring vulture eye. But when he walked into the living room and saw his granddad sat in the same red armchair his usual sneer upon his face and the staring milky white eye, the relief vanished and anger seared through his veins. Vile eye. Grotesque eye. Have to get rid of it, Greg thought. Have to destroy it. Have to kill it. Have to kill him! Greg faltered. Kill him? Surprised at his rage, he ran upstairs to his room. He collapsed against the door and forced himself to calm down.  His breathing slowed and his pounding heart returned to normal but that voice in his head continued. Greg clamped his hands to his ears and forced it to go away. He put on his music and turned it up to the highest volume and didn’t turn it down even when his mum yelled at him.

At dinner he avoided looking at his granddad but he could still feel the eye upon him and the throbbing rage in his head grew. The voice screamed at him. Kill it. Kill it now! His hand clenched around his knife.

   ‘I’m not feeling well. May I be excused,’ he burst out. His mum most have noticed his pale, sweaty face and let him go without questioning him.

It wasn’t until he closed his bedroom door that he realised he was still holding the knife.

*

Greg hid in his room until it was time for bed, then he slunk down the stairs without a glimpse at his granddad. He tossed and turned on the sofa for hours but the feeling that he was being watched never left him. The eye, it was there. Through ceilings and walls it could see him. Disgusting eye. Revolting eye. Had to stop it staring. Had to stop it living. Had to…to kill it. He leapt from the sofa as if under a spell, mind and body focused on only one thing. He crept to the kitchen and picked the largest knife from his mum’s knife rack. It would be quick. It would be gone. It would be dead. He had to do it. Had to kill it.

Careful of the creaky ones, Greg took the stairs two at a time. The door was ajar and he was sure that the eye knew he was just outside. Hateful eye. With the knife thrust out in front of him, Greg pushed the door aside slowly and entered the room. His granddad was asleep and yet the eye was still open, Greg could see it gleaming in the darkness. He was pulled towards it. Kill it…Kill him. The voice urged him. He lifted the knife up high above his head, the sharp tip pointing directly at the offensive eyeball. Loathsome eye. Nasty eye. Kill it. Kill it now! Greg plunged the knife downwards into the socket just as his granddad's other eye popped open. 

A Wicked Fairy Tale - Cinderslut

Another fairy tale themed post! Again, this piece was written while I was at college and was inspired by none other than Angela Carter. Now that I am studying her at University I find there is a lot more to her stories than I had originally thought. Back in college I just thought she wrote sexual, feminist pieces, but now after learning about sexual politics, agendas, moral pornography I know how wrong I was. I preferred my college perspective; it was easier. Anyway, this is my Angela Carter-esque version of Cinderella. Enjoy.

Cinderslut

Once there was a widower, who soon after his wife’s death married another wealthy widow for he had lost all his money in poor trade. She was cruel, vain and completely selfish. She had her new husband completely under her control as soon as they were married, and let her two equally selfish daughters run amok; terrorising her husband’s only daughter: Cyndi.

The stepmother had always hated Cyndi, since she had first laid eyes on the child and wanted to get rid of her, but there was nothing she could do while the girl’s father, her husband, was still around. It was then that the stepmother decided to take action.

One day a couple of weeks after the wedding, while making her husband’s tea she dropped a spoonful of rat poison into boiling water, mixing it thoroughly with the tea leaves. She gave it to her husband and smiled as she took a sip of her own untainted tea. She watched with a twisted grin as he gulped the tea down. Instantly, his eyes bulged and his lips turned blue, he slumped in his chair and the china cup smashed on the floor. The stepmother waited a few seconds, taking a couple more sips of her tea, before letting out a convincing scream.

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Cyndi knew that her father’s death was no accident.At the funeral she was forced to stand with the servants while her stepfamily sobbed fake tears. Cyndi did not know it, but as her stepmother squeezed the false tears from her dry eyes she was already planning on how she would get rid of her dreadful stepdaughter.

Cyndi had always been a generous, sweet natured child but after her father’s death she was treated worse and worse and could no longer keep smiling. She was forced to work around the house and sleep in the cellar next to the hearth. Her stepsisters even gave her the wicked name of ‘Cinderslut’.

The manor soon fell into disrepair as Cyndi’s stepfamily spent all their money on frivolous things like dresses, perfumes, and jewellery, although none of these things could ever really help their hideous appearances or personalities. The roof had fallen apart in some areas and ivy grew into the walls, cracking up the frail foundations. A few of the windows were boarded up and the front door rattled in strong winds. Cyndi could not stand how despairing the old manor looked now, and her hatred for her stepfamily grew.

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A few months after the funeral, the perfect opportunity arrived for the stepmother to finally get rid of Cyndi forever. An old Baron friend of the stepmother’s had come to her late husband’s funeral and had expressed a desire in her little stepdaughter. The Baron had a drooping moustache, baggy jowls and a large belly, but plenty of gold and the stepmother could never say no to gold. She sent for Cyndi straight away. Whereas the Baron was near to old age, Cyndi was only just approaching womanhood. Her hair was thick and bright, her skin was beautifully unblemished, and her body was becoming supple and soft. The old Baron slavered at the thought of her being completely his, and only his. The stepmother could not help but notice the look he had on his face and was pleased that Cyndi would get what she deserved.

Cyndi entered the drawing room with her head held high, her butterscotch hair tied back with a headscarf and her face speckled with soot.

-          Cyndi, this is our very special guest, the Baron, the stepmother said.

-          Nice to meet you Baron, Cyndi bowed gracefully and the Baron eyed her young body much to Cyndi’s disgust.

-          The Baron has a wonderful proposition; he wishes to make you his wife.

Cyndi did not even falter; she would not give her stepmother the satisfaction. She could hear her stepsisters’ delighted cries of laughter at Cyndi having to marry this repulsive letch. She really did not want to marry this Baron but she could see no way out of it; she simply stood with her back straight and said nothing. Her stepmother seemed to think this meant that she was accepting the Baron’s offer.

-          Then it is decided! Cyndi will marry the Baron at midnight in three days time! The stepmother declared vindictively.

Before the Baron left that day he took Cyndi’s hand and pressed his lips to it in a slobbering kiss, she quickly snatched her hand away.

-          I look forward to tomorrow night, my dear, he whispered into her ear, whilst smelling her hair with undisguised pleasure.  Cyndi shuddered and stepped away from him; not wanting to be near him. His odour was overpowering, it was as if he had gone fishing for the weekend but had forgotten to wash since. The smell made her gag.

As soon as the Baron left and her stepfamily finally stopped laughing at her spitefully, Cyndi ran out of the unkempt manor; anger forming tears in her eyes. She ran to the bottom of the garden to the small overgrown gravestone of her Mother. It had been many years since she had been down to visit her Mother’s grave and hundreds of branches snaked across the weathered stone. Cyndi fell to her knees and finally let the tears fall.

She did not know how long she spent by her Mother’s grave but she felt exhausted and weary from the day’s events. She could not believe that in a few days she would be a married woman; a slave for yet another person.

-          Oh Mother, what am I going to do? Cyndi whispered to the overgrown grave.

A bustling wind rushed through the branches and whipped at her hair and a small purple flower with delicate petals but vicious thorns came to her attention. She peered at the flower; towards the middle the purple darkened to pure black, and just a sniff made her eyes flicker and an instant drowsiness fell upon her.

-          Hawthorn, she muttered.

She stared at the grave. Was this her Mother’s wish; to poison the Baron with this deadly flower? She looked back at the disastrous manor occupied with equally disastrous people. It was suitable revenge for what her stepmother had done to her home, family, and life. She plucked the small flower careful not to touch its thorns or breathe in its scent. She hurried to the kitchen and ground the plant up in a small bowl, amazed at the amount of black sap it released. She quickly poured it into a vial and corked it, tucking it safely in her apron.

As the clock struck midnight, she realised with irony that in three days time she would not be a wife, but a widower.

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The Ball was the talk of the ton. Hundreds of noblemen and lady friends of the Baron were invited and they were quick to accept. It was quite a scandal for the Baron to marry a woman untitled, much less a girl-child. Cyndi could feel their eyes following her but she tried to ignore them. It would not do for her to become nervous. She put her hands in the pockets of her lavish white gown and fingered the vial. It was only a matter of hours.

The ceremony was to come first though, and now Cyndi knew she must kiss the Baron no matter how much he disgusted her. When the time came she could see her stepfamily smirking gleefully behind their gloved hands, pretending to be crying with happiness. Cyndi held her breath and clenched her eyes shut. Again, the stench of fish overwhelmed her and her throat convulsed. His lips were moist and leathery, but it was the touch of his hands on her waist that made her recoil rapidly, breaking the kiss. The Baron smiled wickedly.

-          Yes, we must leave it for later; he murmured so only she could hear. Cyndi cringed. She had made up her mind; and this was the time to do it.

-          Why wait? She asked in what she hoped was a seductive tone and licked her pink lips timidly. His face brightened and his moustache twitched furiously.

-          Oh yes, my sweet, why don’t you go up all ready? I’ll entertain the guests for a while then I will join you. But please, put on the clothes I left for you.

Cyndi dreaded what awful clothes he had arranged for her to wear but exited the ballroom none the less. The Baron had given her a tour of the castle before the wedding so she climbed the stairs quickly to the Master Bedroom.

It was a dark room, with mahogany furniture and deep red velvet curtains and covers, all of which had the exact same smell as the Baron. Cyndi tried her best to hold her breath but could not last for long, so instead she willed herself to forget the smell was there; it was not for much longer and then she would be rid of this foul smelling monster.

The garment on the bed consisted of a lacy white negligee and white stockings; the fabric of both was so sheer that her body was practically bare. The negligee showed off her white skin, her pink nipples, the roundness of her bottom; each curve was on show. But Cyndi had to be strong so she sat proudly on a chair and waited for her newlywed husband.

It was not long before the door opened and said husband burst in, practically trembling with desire. His moustache was twitching so furiously this time when he saw his young bride in the virginal white gown and her blonde hair falling around her shoulders that it practically flew off his face. He devoured her with his eyes. Cyndi stood and beckoned him towards her with a finger. He came to her in a lust filled daze.

-          Oh, but wait. Cyndi interrupted, you must be thirsty, how about some wine, a toast to our marriage?

The Baron yearned so much for his girl-bride that he just nodded his head, enthralled by her glowing skin and tender body. She poured two goblets of wine and with nifty fingers poured the contents of the vial into his goblet too. The dark liquid turned the wine black before fading back to ruby red once more.  Cyndi turned to her husband, goblet in hand and smiled. She raised the wine to his lips and he drank eagerly.

After the first gulp the Baron’s eyes dimmed and his mouth slackened. After the second gulp his body stiffened and juddered. The spill of wine stained the front of Cyndi’s gown crimson as the goblet fell to the floor. The Baron pitched forwards towards Cyndi but she shoved him away causing him to crash to the floor. Then, just as her stepmother had before her, Cyndi let out a very convincing scream.

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Rumours had of course spread instantly as to how the Baron had died. But the Baroness never mentioned it and would give cold glares to anyone who did. She had inherited a lot of money and power with her widowhood, and with that power she had her stepfamily evicted from the manor and sent far away so she would never have to see them again. She also gave her mother a proper burial, right next to her father’s and a planted a small Hawthorn bush on top.

Just in case she was to wed again. 

Disney Parody

Following the fairy tale theme I'm posting a story I wrote at the beginning of year 10. I just read through it and it's not as hideous as I thought it would be. However, I don't think it was worth the A* I received for it, though some parts are rather funny, if I do say so myself!

The Princess and the Affair

Cinderella was a very happy princess; she had everything she had ever dreamt of. A lovely huge castle, servants to wait on her every whim, a charming husband, (tall dark and handsome and dressed to impress) and all the shoes she could ask for. She had red shiny ones, black leather ones, blue party ones, pink glittery ones and her favourite glass slippers. She loved every single pair and they had their very own room in her castle. It had floor to ceiling shelves, with the shoes stored from smallest to highest heel, as well as colour coordinated. She even had shoes that she had never taken out of the box; they were saved for really special occasions. Now her husband, Prince Charming, had got annoyed a couple of times before, but Cinderella just promised not to do it again…and he believed her!

*

Cinderella smiled as the clerk packed her lovely new dark green stilettoes into a box after wrapping them in silver tissue paper - buying shoes was so much fun, she was just sad that she never got to do this sooner. How could she with those selfish idiots for a family, she was glad they had gone to live somewhere far, far away from here. She smiled again at the memory of her stepmother's face as the glass slipper slid comfortably onto her foot. That was a great day!

Her attention was quickly caught when the shopping clerk spoke. "Here you go, miss," she said brightly handing over the bag that contained her new shoes. Cinderella grinned, thanked the clerk and walked from the shop with a slight skip in her step.

As she left the shop she spied black hair, a hideous yellow skirt, blue top with light blue-capped sleeves and a high white collar. She even had that disgusting red cape on. Doesn't she know that outfit is so out of fashion, thought Cinderella, cringing at Snow White's horrible dress. She looked down smugly at her own clothes. She was wearing her new very fashionable white halter dress designed by the one and only Lumiere, a great French designer.

She smirked at Snow White as she walked past, but instead of being intimidated or afraid, Snow White just smirked back. The cheek of her, to smirk back at me, Cinderella fumed as she stormed out of the Fairy Tale Mall, (It Makes All Your Shopping Dreams Come True!) and into her lovely silver pumpkin carriage, with 8 horsepower.

She got home to her castle and ran straight up the stairs wanting to try on her new shoes and maybe get all dressed up, after all that was the second best thing after shoes - dressing up! She got to her room to see Prince Charming standing by the bed, facing the window. Cinderella quickly hid the bag, with her new shoes inside, behind her back.

‘Hello dear,’ she said sweetly. ‘I didn't expect you home until dinner time.’

Prince Charming turned around with a scowl on his face. ‘You bought more shoes, didn't you?’ he said. Cinderella's face burned as she was found out. She felt like a naughty child that had been caught eating cookies right before lunchtime.

‘Well, you could say that, I guess,’ she muttered while bringing the bag out from behind her back. Prince Charming’s scowl deepened.

‘You have thousands of shoes, why do you need more? I mean, there are some people who spend their money on better things. Like Snow White,’ as soon as he said her name Cinderella's face darkened. ‘She works so hard looking after all seven of those dwarves and she spends her money on good, useful things. Like did you know that she donated lots of money to a special clinic that helps the vertically challenged? Isn't that great? She is such a nice caring person,’ he said, now smiling. ‘I'm sure you two could become the best of friends if you just tried. But now's your chance, because I've just heard from Bluebeard that she bought the house opposite him in our street! So now you, Beauty and Snow White could hang out and do all those girlie things you like!’ He was now positively beaming at the idea of them being friends. Cinderella rolled her eyes at his happiness.

‘What if Beauty and I don't want her to be there?’

‘But she's such a nice person,’ he mumbled, looking dejected.

‘Why don't you just marry her, if you love her so much?’ she scoffed as she left the room taking her new shoes with her. Only she didn't hear her husband mutter, ‘I would if I could,’ as soon as she left the room.

*

Cinderella was prancing about in her new green shoes and a dress made by Lumiere when two little blue birds fluttered up to her windowsill with a creamy envelope. Cinderella gave them an odd look but took the letter all the same. The two birds quickly disappeared down the street chirping happily. Cinderella flipped the letter over in her hands and looked down on the curly writing spelling out Mr and Mrs Charming.

She looked down at it confused; she hardly ever got post. Well, she got post from the bank a lot; those goblins really hated it if she forgot to pay her bills, like they don’t already have enough money, without stealing it from her. She carefully looked at the red seal with a S.W in bedded in it. Snow White. With that she ripped the envelope open and read the letter quickly.

Dear Mr and Mrs Charming,

You are cordially invited to Snow White's palace warming party.

Please wear formal dress and bring presents.

At Snow White's house, tomorrow, dinner time.

Yours truly,

Snow White

And the Seven Dwarfs.

Cinderella glared at the letter in disgust and was very tempted to screw it up and throw it in the bin but Char would get mad at her. God, she hated Snow White. So instead she walked down to Char's study with a fake smile plastered on her face.

‘Sweetie, a letter has come.’ Prince Charming regarded her from his desk with a bored look on his face. ‘It's from Snow White,’ she added. His bored look quickly changed to shock then to surprise then to fear in about two seconds but then it was back to his clearly bored look.

‘Oh, what's it about?’ he asked in a disinterested tone. Cinderella was baffled by his quick change of expressions but let it pass.

‘It's just a palace warming party, you know 'cause she bought a new palace and all.’ She smiled sweetly again. Char nodded as if he was thinking about something very serious, then spoke.

‘I have something to do, why don't you go to the salon?’ he suggested while giving her his new credit card. (Dragons Gold Credit Card: Keep Your Treasure Safe.) Her eyes sparkled and she snatched the card from him.

‘Okay! You take your time doing what you're doing. I'll be a while, after all looking this great all of the time is a thing that only a Fairy Godmother can do! And they're not cheap!’ she said happily as she headed for the front door.

Cinderella arrived home from Genie’s Hair Salon (Makes Hair Perfect With Just Three Wishes!) with her blonde hair cut, styles and straightened. While she was out she treated herself and also had her eyebrows plucked, a manicure and a pedicure, her legs waxed, a back massage, a facial, and a medium spray tan. Once she was back in her castle, she looked at herself in the mirror for about five minutes but then she was bored. She slumped on her sofa and looked at the clock to see that it was only three o'clock, meaning the Mall would still be open for another two hours.  She could totally go and buy some new shoes; after all she didn’t have any suitable palace warming shoes. Besides, she still had Char's credit card, which she fingered lovingly. Cinderella leaped up from her seat, jumped in to her pumpkin carriage and zoomed off to the Mall. She parked quickly and ran (with dignity) to the nearest shoe shop.

An hour and a half later she came out with three new pairs of shoes, four new dresses and some new jewellery to match. Okay, she might have gone a little over the top but it's shopping, it's important. Well, to girls anyway. She smiled happily to herself but the smile fell off her face as she saw Snow White, again. Didn’t she have anything better to do than hang out at the Mall?

She was sat at a table at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Shop, sipping tea with her little pinky finger sticking out; how pretentious. But this time she was with a man, who looked oddly familiar, even if Cinderella could only see him from the back. His neatly styled dark brown hair and nice suit looked fabulous and she was sure he’d look even better from the front. Cinderella snorted. How could Snow White get such a nice, handsome boyfriend? Cinderella then decided to see whom the lucky, or should she say unlucky, man was. She began to stroll nonchalantly over to the tea shop waiting to see the out raged look on Snow White's face as she gave away all her biggest secrets and fears to her new boyfriend. Before she could reach the two lovebirds the intercom buzzed loudly.

Ding Dong! ‘Would the owner of the silver pumpkin carriage please report to the carriage park, you are parked on a goblin.’ Ding Dong! Cinderella frowned as she realised that was her carriage. She would have to move her carriage and quick otherwise the Mall Manager would ban her from the mall again. That meant she couldn't mock Snow White, but it didn't matter as the couple had finished their drinks and left the table.

Cinderella stamped her foot in annoyance but hurried off to the carriage park so she didn't have to spend money on pointless things, like parking tickets, which would make Char more annoyed.

*

She sped into the gravel driveway at the same time as Char came running down the street looking flushed.

‘Char!’ she exclaimed stuffing the carrier bags back into the carriage boot and shutting the door with a quick snap. He quickly looked at her nervously and guiltily.

‘Oh, Cindy!’ he said in surprise. ‘You're back; I thought you'd be longer.’ He part spoke, part mumbled. Cinderella raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at his remark but let it slide seeing as she had just bought lots of new clothes.

‘Well, I just went to the Mall; I needed some new clothes for Snow White's party.’ She shrugged hoping that he wouldn’t notice all the expensive labels later on. Only she didn't notice the way Char flinched at the mention of the Mall and Snow White. She smiled at him and walked into their palace with the servants carrying in her bags. Char let out a huge sigh and followed her in.

*

The next day Cinderella got up bright and early to get ready for Snow White's party. She was going to look so gorgeous that no one would even notice Snow White; Cinderella's beauty would just amaze and dazzle them. She smiled to herself and hummed a little tune as she got out of bed. She stopped when she saw that Char's shirt from yesterday wasn't in the wash but sticking out from under their four-poster bed.

‘Too good to put his own shirts in the wash, is he?’ she said quietly to herself as she bent down to pick it up and put it in the wash, ‘I thought I would be done with chores once I got away from my step family!’ she was about to toss the shirt in the laundry basket when she noticed something shocking. There on the shirt's white collar was a blood red lipstick mark. Cinderella gasped loudly and dropped the shirt just as Char rolled over in their bed.

‘Cindy? What's the matter?’ he asked sleepily, peering at her from under the duvet with half closed eyes.

‘Oh, nothing!’ she said quickly, ‘I just broke a nail,’ she lied while nudging the shirt under the bed again.

‘Aw, poor Cindy. Come back to bed and I'll make it all better,’ he said with a cheeky grin.

‘But I have to get ready for the party,’ she lied once more. It was only a half lie though; it would take her a long time to get ready.

‘You've got all day to do that.’ Char moaned now fully awake.

‘Well you know me, busy, busy.’ She giggled nervously as she moved over to the door pulling her designer dressing gown on. ‘See you later,’ she added and slipped through the door.

Cinderella then shut it with a snap and leaned against it. Blood red lipstick; his flushed and guilty face; the handsome guy at the mall yesterday, it all made sense. Either Char was having an affair with Snow White or he had a secret identical twin. Cinderella wished it was the twin theory but of course she had met all Char's family and he had not one other sibling, well except his half-brother, but no one knew where he was. (Apparently he was really spoilt and obnoxious and had gone to France looking for a beautiful wife and had never come home. Some say he had a curse put on him, something about a beast, but everyone knows that only happens in story books.)

Cinderella was upset and annoyed at the idea of her husband being unfaithful, but what made it so much worse was the fact that it was with Snow White! She slid down the door and sat on the floor sobbing with fury over a man that was so obviously not worth it. She heard Char get out of bed so she dried her eyes, smoothed out her nightgown and began to plot a way to get back at them both.

*

The time flew by and soon Cinderella and Char left their palace and walked down to Snow White's. Cinderella was proud of herself, she had come up with a plan and she looked absolutely fabulous in her long blue and white ball gown with shoulder sleeves and lovely new white heels. Her shoes tapped loudly on the pavements as she walked arm in arm with her no good, dirty, rotten, cheating husband. Snow White would regret the day she had an affair with Cinderella's husband.

Snow White's palace had decorations everywhere; hanging from turrets, weaving through trees even around some dwarves' necks. Cinderella thought it looked tacky; there was such thing as over doing it. But Char loved it.

‘Oh wow! Doesn't that look wonderful?’ he cried, amazed. Cinderella pursed her lips and tried to smile.

‘Yes,’ she replied, wishing that Char and Snow White would both spontaneously combust, but that was what the plan was for.

They arrived at the front doors and were greeted by the lesser-known eighth dwarf, Greety.

‘May I take your coat, Prince Charming?’ he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Char nodded, passed his coat over and strolled on into the house while Greety hung the coat on the back of his hook-like hat with other coats.

Cinderella was quite impressed with the castle but she would never let Snow White know that, and of course, Cinderella's palace was so much nicer. They walked hand in hand through a huge oak door into a magnificent dining room where rich and delicious food was arranged on a well-carved table. And there, sitting in the middle was a large cream covered cake with little red apples around the sides.

‘That looks delicious!’ Char beamed as Cinderella grinned falsely but inwardly she smirked - soon it would all be over.

Just then Snow White glided into the room in exactly the same long blue and white ball gown with shoulder sleeves and lovely white-heeled shoes as Cinderella. She gasped in shock and felt her face flush red as everyone turned to look at her. Snow White smirked triumphantly at her then spoke proudly.

‘Welcome fellow royalty, thank you so much for coming!’ She flashed her audience a huge, white smile, her eyes lingering on Cinderella. ‘And without further ado let the dinner be served!’ She gave a curtsy and everyone flocked to the food but Cinderella was still in shock. How dare she wear the same dress as me! thought Cinderella in outrage. She couldn't take it anymore, first she gets one of the nicest houses on the street then she steals her husband and now the worst crime, she stole her dress. That was the last straw. Scratch the plan. She marched right over to Snow White who was about to cut the cake and SPLAT! she shoved her face right into the creaminess. 

Icing, cake crumbs, and decorative apples flew everywhere as Snow White's face collided with the dessert. Cinderella grinned evilly as she pulled Snow White's head back then pushed it back into the cake again, which made a very satisfying sound. Snow White's screams overpowered the noise of people gasping, dwarves cheering, and Char yelling at her to stop.

Only Cinderella must have let her guard down because Snow White twisted in her hands and tried to bite her arm. Cinderella leapt back in surprise, her heel snapping and she fell to the ground. The room span for a second but the dizziness soon left. Unfortunately, Snow White had already dived on her knocking the wind out of her.

‘You ruined my party!’ she screeched in Cinderella's face as she tugged at her hair and tried to scratch out her eyes.

Now Char was yelling at Snow White to stop but no one tried to pull the two princesses apart. Cinderella struggled about and grabbed Snow White's wrists then pushed her to floor as she jumped up. She checked herself over and sorted her hair; she then took her shoe off and checked the damage.

‘I may have ruined your party, but you have ruined my brand new shoes!’ she yelled as she threw the broken shoe away. The shoe flew across the room and knocked a candle down off the table as Cinderella stormed from the castle with Char running after her. But no one seemed to notice the fallen over candle until the fancy lace tablecloth caught fire.

Cinderella was so angry; that jumped up princess was nothing but a spoilt bitch, there she had said it!

‘Cindy! Cindy!’ Char yelled, ‘Wait, how could you do that back there?’ Cinderella quickly turned around and slapped him right across the face.

‘I know about you two! I know your dirty little secret!’ she screamed and his face paled visibly.

‘You knew…’ But before he could finish his sentence, screams erupted from the house. The unhappily married couple both turned around to see all the guests running from the palace, flames licking their feet.

‘Run! Run!’ yelled Sleepy the dwarf sleepily while yawning loudly. Char and Cinderella froze and watched as flames engulfed the entire palace. Suddenly a scream brought them back to reality.

‘Snow White is still in there!’ a party goer cried. Char stared in horror as a long turret fall into the burning mass that was once a beautiful palace. Cinderella cringed as a flame exploded from the west wing and some trees caught fire. There was no way Snow White was still alive now.

*

Cinderella went to jail that night for Arson and Manslaughter. Twenty nine people including all seven dwarves testified against her. Even Char was against her but she couldn't care less about him anymore. She thought darkly that it would have been better if he had died in that fire, too. The only thing that really upset her about this horrible situation was that she no longer had all her beautiful shoes.

Fairy Tale Art

After my Textual Intervention lecture, in which we were looking at Bluebeard, Beauty and the Beast, and Puss in Boots, I am in a very fairy tale mood. I have written many pieces on fairy tales over the years as I absolute adore them, I did my year 13 art course on them, too. So today instead of writing, I'm going to post a few of my fairy tale inspired art pieces, and then later some pieces of writing I have done. Hope you enjoy.

This piece was inspired by Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber. Her dress features the main motifs of the story, which are: marriage hence the gold rings, the key as this leads her to the bloody chamber, and the skulls which relates to death and danger. The words around the woman are some of the more explicit pieces of language that Carter uses (everyone was particularly giggly at 'orgasm') as well as the most important, like 'forbidden' and 'lust'. Notice the number 3, a magic number in fairy tales - Bluebeard had three wives before this woman, and now he has three dead wives in his bloody chamber. The art style is based on Liselotte Watkins, who does the illustrations for Tamora Pierce's fantasy books. I had originally started the course by doing the traditional fairy tales and traditional drawing styles but my teacher wanted something more 'edgy'. And what is more edgy than Angela Carter?

Oh, by the way, if you haven't read The Bloody Chamber I would highly recommend it, especially if you love fairy tales, Carter gives them a funky twist. However, as I now have to read it for University, I absolutely despise it! I have to write an essay Carter's work, sexual politics, and moral pornography. Fun.

The following photographs were taken at my friend's house. She lives in an amazing house with a huge garden; it has an orchard, a field, a croquet lawn, a vegetable patch, everything! These photos were inspired by the stories of King Arthur, and after writing The Act of Love, I was really into the tale of the Lady of Shalott, who did not receive Lancelot's love and ended up dying; so a happy ending all round. I printed off these photos as well as others and made them into a little book. But as I mentioned earlier, my teacher wanted something more daring and so was only marginally interested in these, even though they took me a long time to do. Yeah, I didn't like my art teacher very much, she was a right meanie!

The girl who plays The Fair Maid of Astolat, who's real name is Eleanor, is actually called Elly herself, and did her role as fair maid very well. The blue dress she is wearing was made by my mum for my 16th birthday - it was a fairy tale theme as all the heroines in Disney seemed to be 16 years old. I would love to wear it more, but it's hard to find a reason for wearing a princess dress in everyday life!

The girl in the white dress is my friend, Izzy. She is playing the beautiful Guinevere as she searches for her secret beloved, Lancelot. The dress she is wearing was also made by my mum for my 13th birthday, which I shared with Izzy. We had a black and white themed masquerade at this very house, in this very garden. I had the most extravagant dress, as everyone else had just bought theirs off the high street. Looking back on it now I feel very foolish, as I was only 13 but acted like I was much older.

The Act of Love

Here's another little teaser for my upcoming story posts. Like any other story this one also has a front cover, hand drawn by me! But don't go judging this book by its cover!

Can you guess what it could be about?

The Lady of Shalott

The next couple of posts are going to be a story I wrote nearly two years ago; but it's too long to do as one post so I shall break it up into exciting 'chapters'. This is just a teaser blog though, to get you all excited about the story!

So, this was a task set over the summer between year 12 and year 13. We had to write a short story inspired by the poem 'The Lady of Shalott' by Tennyson. And like normal I was the only one to actually do it. I don't mind though because I really enjoyed writing it. In the end I made it into a book, dedicated it to my father, and gave it to him for his birthday. My story is a modern twist on this classic poem, but sticks very close to the original narrative. I hope you're getting excited for this!

In case you haven't read the poem here it is (it's quite long!) :

The Lady of Shalott

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott. 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Molly Day-Dreamer

I thought I'd go for a change this time and post a story. This story was written at the end of year 12 or the beginning of year 13, I can't really remember. I only remember having to write a piece inspired by Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I actually did a lot of work based on this story during my last years at college and it was all very enjoyable. Anyway, here's the piece that I did, I hope you like it!

O

nce upon a time there was a little girl called Molly, who daydreamed all the time. She would daydream while she was at school, she daydreamed while she ate dinner and she even daydreamed while she was daydreaming! All her daydreaming earned her the nickname from her parents of Molly-daydreamer.

But Molly did not mind. Molly loved her daydreams. She could escape to magical worlds whilst she did the dullest of things. When she had to clean her room she just imagined that instead she was a lonely dragon who had to hide all its treasures from the greedy knight. Or when she had to wash the dishes she pretended that each plate and bowl was a boat she had to save them from a terrorising flood.

One summer morning her Mother asked her to go through the small woods by their house to take a freshly baked cake to her Grandmother. Molly thought this was an incredibly dull thing to do. Her Grandmother was so old she could barely hear so she yelled everything; and what was worse was that she despised Molly’s daydreaming. Nonetheless, Molly grudgingly took the basket with the cake in it and set off through the woods. Her Mother waved her goodbye.

Molly liked the woods though. In fact she loved the woods; it was so peaceful and quiet, and she had all her best daydreams between these trees. She followed the winding path through the woods at a dreamy pace, swinging the basket as she went. Her eyes wandered over the trees and she smiled and was pleased when the trees smiled and waved their branches back. The little birds flying about soon became fairies and the sleepy hedgehogs stood on their hind legs and called, ‘Good morning!’ 

She followed the path for a long time, waving hello to all the wood’s inhabitants before the path suddenly came to an end.

She was lost.

‘Oh, this is really no good,’ she muttered to herself. She peered around but the path was gone altogether. She did not know which way she had come from or which way to go. She looked to the trees for answers but their smiling faces had left, leaving her lost and lonely. Molly sat down on a mossy tree stump and sighed.

‘It looks like I’m lost for good; no one shall ever find me all the way out here.’ She sighed again. ‘I will freeze during the night and become as still as a statue…perhaps then I should get into a good pose, I wouldn’t be a very interesting statue just sitting here with a gloomy face.’ So Molly put down her basket full of cake and stood on the stump on one foot balancing like a ballerina a huge grin on her face. She had always wanted to be a ballerina. She held the pose for what seemed like an eternity before her jaw began to ache and her leg shook and wobbled and she fell off the stump with a thump. She sat up and blew her hair out of her face, rubbing her bottom.

‘Well, that was certainly no good. Oh! What am I going to do?’ Molly wailed, feeling rather miserable for herself. But a shuffling noise beside her drew her out of her misery. She looked over her shoulder and saw a small furry squirrel poking into her basket full of cake.

‘Mmm, this will certainly be good for the party,’ It said to itself, licking its whiskers.

‘Excuse me, but what do you think you’re doing?’ Molly asked.

The squirrel looked up in alarm; it snatched up the basket and ran off further into the woods.

‘Hey!’ Molly called out, ‘That’s my cake!’ and she set off after the cake stealing squirrel.

The trees began to thin out and the sun shone through the leaves, and the bird-fairies fluttered above her singing their happy little songs. Molly puffed and panted as she followed the squirrel around another tree. She suddenly came to a halt as she saw a large table in a sunny clearing. Molly looked at the table in awe. Hundreds of tiny china teacups on equally tiny saucers were laid out on the table; some much too small for even a baby to use. There were even plates of minuscule cookies and cupcakes all with different types of multi-coloured frosting. Molly swiped her finger across the top of one and popped it in her mouth. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She was about to eat the whole thing when she saw right in the middle of the table was her Grandmother’s cake. No one seemed to be around, not even the cake stealing squirrel, so she reached across the large table to retrieve her cake. 

‘That’s our cake!’ cried a squeaky voice from her feet. Molly leapt back in fright. She looked down at the ground and saw two little white mice stood on their hind legs and they twitched their noses crossly at her. They scurried up the large table leg so they were face to face with Molly.

‘If you wanted some cake you only had to ask.’ The other mouse squeaked, ‘But you’ll have to wait anyway, the other guests have to come first.’ It pointed towards a chair, its skinny tail flicking irritably.

Molly sat down on the spindly wooden chair and waited for the other guests to arrive. From the size of the table and the amount of cups, saucers and chairs she guessed that there would be quite a lot of them. She jumped when a badger walked out of the undergrowth with a small bowler hat perched on his black and white head. More animals emerged from the woods, each wearing a small yet detailed item of clothing. Molly especially liked the little red waistcoats the Robins wore. She watched with a pleasant smile on her face as they all pulled up a chair and chattered away to each other.

Eventually, the table was full of excited animals and they were allowed to eat. By now Molly had forgotten that the cake was actually for her Grandmother; she was so excited and hungry that she just could not wait to have a slice of it. As she reached for her piece of cake she saw the bushy end of a squirrel’s tail peeking out from under the table. Molly reached under the table and tugged on it; the squirrel let out a squeal.

‘Ouch! What was that for?’ the squirrel asked indignantly, this time poking its head out.

‘You stole my cake,’ Molly replied just as indignant.

‘Oh yes, I remember. You’re the strange little girl stood on the tree stump doing some kind of odd dance.’

‘I wasn’t dancing!’ Molly cried, just a bit embarrassed.

‘Well whatever you were doing, it didn’t look like you were going to eat the cake any time soon.’ The little squirrel replied, and with a furry grin he grabbed a cupcake off the table and scampered up a tree to enjoy his treat.

Molly huffed. Now what would she give to her Grandmother? Her Mother would be cross too if she found out she had let some woodland creatures eat it all. One of the rabbits next to her noticed her anxiety.

‘Cheer up! We have a lot more cake to eat and I think I heard Fox say that there was going to be dancing later.’ The rabbit babbled happily. Molly thought that dancing sounded like a lot of fun and ate her cake with a little more cheer.

After all the cupcakes and cookies were finished, the woodland creatures began to dance around and singly merrily. Molly joined in, sometimes showing the animals a new sort of human dance. They all laughed as the deers tried to copy Molly’s dance but just fell over their own legs.

The sun was getting lower in the sky and the shadows stretched across the woodland ground when Molly remembered why she had even come to the woods today.

‘Oh, no! I’m going to be late! I should have been at my Grandmother’s house ages ago!’ Molly cried. All the animals looked upon her sadly and called out goodbyes as she grabbed her now empty basket and stumbled through the foliage. Molly did not know where she was but amazingly she quickly found the winding path back to town.

The singing of the fairy-birds faded into quiet chirping and the tree’s branches barely moved in the breeze. Molly followed the path feeling a bit lonely, and a bit sad that she had to leave the party so abruptly.

When she arrived at her Grandmother’s house on the other side of the woods the sun had set and a cool wind tugged on Molly’s hair. She knocked on the door loudly and her deaf Grandmother took nearly five minutes to answer.

‘Oh, did my dear little Granddaughter bring me some cake?’ She asked loudly, spying the basket in Molly’s hands. She bent down to take the basket from Molly, her bones creaking.

‘Why, there’s nothing in here!’ She said in surprise. It was then that her Grandmother noticed the cake crumbs down the front of Molly’s dress, the grass stains on her socks and the mud all over her shoes.

‘You dawdled in the woods - daydreaming probably - and ate all my cake.’ Her Grandmother accused her heatedly. Molly bowed her head in shame, but secretly smiled to herself.

That’s what you think, Molly thought happily.