NaNoWriMo: Progress so far (Day three)
Nov. 4th, 2018 07:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capri0mniWorking title (That may end up being the actual title, if its tone continues toward the tongue-in-cheek):
Some Sort of "Fairy Tale"
Total Word Count (according to my own word processor program): 5,422
“Who are you?” the monster asked, instead of answering her question further. “Why are you here?”
“I--” The fair princess Turmeric paused. Dreams didn’t usually ask questions back, at least not without waking her up in the process. She wasn’t sure whether deceptive spirits bent on eating you for breakfast, or carrying your soul down to Hell asked questions of you, either. And she wasn’t sure it was safe to tell too much of the truth, but she couldn’t think of a lie to tell instead.
“I was tired of being where I’m not wanted,” she said, at last. The words surprised her, even as she spoke them. She’d expected to say how she wanted excitement instead of dullness.
And then, she surprised herself again by asking: “Do you want me?” And she were wondering if this was the spirit’s trap finally being sprung-- if she were asking to be eaten, after all. Well, she thought, if I am eaten, at least I won’t have to go and be a lady-in-waiting for my dowager great aunt.
The monster raised its head and stretched its neck out until its face was as close to Turmeric’s face as the span between her pinkie and thumb when she stretched her fingers as far as she could. Its breath stank, but not like an animals, rather like the moldy, musty, smell of wet stone and rotting leaves. The monster’s eyes were each as big and round as dinner plates, and they glowed with a strange, cold light of their own, and left Turmeric blinking and squinting in their glare, while at the same time trying to hold very, very, still.
“Are you the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter?” the monster asked, blinking slowly.
“I-- well, almost?” the fair princess Turmeric offered. “I am a seventh daughter. But I don’t know about my mother. If she were, as well, I’m sure someone would have said something about it.”
“Oh.” The monster retracted back into its hollow, and seem to contract into a form very like the boulders the fair princess Turmeric was standing on. It sniffled again, and seemed to be on the verge of weeping again.
“But maybe I am,” the fair princess Turmeric said, quickly, hoping to stop the terrible noise before it started again. “I mean, maybe it’s a secret.”
“You think so?”
“I think it’s possible.” She took courage and climbed the rest of the way up the rocks, to where there was a flat space she could sit down. After all, it hadn’t eaten her, yet, and it had had plenty of chances to.
It was then that she remembered the half loaf of bread in her pocket-- she’d already eaten one half, and had been saving the other half for tomorrow, when she had been expecting to reach a village on the other side of the forest. Remembering that nearly all of the stories her governess had told her had a scene much like this one, she broke what bread she had left in half again, and offered one half to the monster.
It took her offering rather delicately between its finger and thumb (which was nearly half as tall as the fair princess Turmeric herself). As it did so, the half of a half of a loaf grew until it was larger than the original had been, so that it was big enough to satisfy the appetite of a creature that large.
It took a bite, and as the crumbs tumbled down its massive, craggy shoulders to land on the earth at its feet, they turned to seeds, and sprouted into fruiting bramble bushes.
After the monster swallowed, it sighed and said: “Why am I here?”
“Oh dear,” said the fair princess Turmeric. “That’s a riddle, isn’t it? I’ve never been very good at riddles.
The monster sighed again, and shook its head. It looked like it wanted to start crying again, but was either too tired, or too out of tears. “Not a riddle. Just a question I hoped you knew the answer to. I’m a monster. And I don’t know why I’m here.”
“I don’t think anyone knows that about themselves-- or anyone,” the fair princess Turmeric said. “I’m sorry that I find this all very confusing. Like I said: I’m not very good at riddles, and I’d only planned on traveling through this forest for one night.”
“Really?” the monster asked, brightening momentarily. “Do you have seven-league boots?”
“N-no… Is this forest really that big?” and then, before the monster could answer, she added: “I think I’m lost, anyway. Or dreaming. I’d rather be dreaming than lost..”
“You’re not dreaming. I’ve seen animals dreaming. They lie down with their eyes closed, and their legs move like they’re running.”
The fair princess Turmeric repressed a shudder at the thought of the monster watching the creatures of the forest in their sleep. And her voice cracked a little when she asked: “Why do you want to know why you’re here? Why is that important enough to weep over?”
The monster took another bite of the piece of loaf that Turmeric had given him. And more crumbs tumbled down its sides and sprouted into brambles. Just as carefully as the he had taken the portion of bread she had offered him, he handed the heel of the loaf back to the fair princess Turmeric. And that crust of bread was larger by three than the portion she had given him.
“My parents, and my only kin, were a lightning bolt and the tree it struck. Both died in the same instant that I was born. And when a monster is born thus, it is because they are destined to give a warning about a grave danger,” he explained. “Only--” And his shoulders heaved with a great hiccoughing breath (making the ground around them shake), and he looked to be ready to break out into weeping again, “--only, I don’t know what that danger is, or who it is I’m meant to give the warning to.” He sank down even further, as if suddenly very weary. “All monsters exist for a reason,” he said. I exist, so there must be a reason for me, too. And if I don’t figure out what that is, I fear a terrible thing will happen-- I mean, I know a terrible thing will happen-- but I fear it will happen to people who are unprepared, and so the terrible thing will be even worse. I was hoping someone would come who could tell me, and then I would be free to be who I was meant to be.
“You came. But you’re no good at riddles, you said.”
The fair princess Turmeric almost felt like crying, herself, after hearing the monster explain his woes to her.
She looked down at the crust of bread in her hands, that the monster had handed back to her, and marveled at the size of it. It was so big. This forest was so big. And the monster dwarfed everything else. And she felt smaller than ever.
“Well,” she said at last. “Well, I can’t give you an answer… But maybe I can help you look for it? If--”
That last word slipped out of her mouth like a tadpole she’d once tried to catch had slipped through her fingers. She knew it was dangerous to strike a bargain with monsters, even when (maybe especially when) they seemed to be kind. But once the word was out, the bargain was begun, and she had to finish saying it: “If you can help me find my way through this forest.”
The challenge that's presented itself: How to get to the "Happily Ever After."
Some Sort of "Fairy Tale"
Total Word Count (according to my own word processor program): 5,422
“Who are you?” the monster asked, instead of answering her question further. “Why are you here?”
“I--” The fair princess Turmeric paused. Dreams didn’t usually ask questions back, at least not without waking her up in the process. She wasn’t sure whether deceptive spirits bent on eating you for breakfast, or carrying your soul down to Hell asked questions of you, either. And she wasn’t sure it was safe to tell too much of the truth, but she couldn’t think of a lie to tell instead.
“I was tired of being where I’m not wanted,” she said, at last. The words surprised her, even as she spoke them. She’d expected to say how she wanted excitement instead of dullness.
And then, she surprised herself again by asking: “Do you want me?” And she were wondering if this was the spirit’s trap finally being sprung-- if she were asking to be eaten, after all. Well, she thought, if I am eaten, at least I won’t have to go and be a lady-in-waiting for my dowager great aunt.
The monster raised its head and stretched its neck out until its face was as close to Turmeric’s face as the span between her pinkie and thumb when she stretched her fingers as far as she could. Its breath stank, but not like an animals, rather like the moldy, musty, smell of wet stone and rotting leaves. The monster’s eyes were each as big and round as dinner plates, and they glowed with a strange, cold light of their own, and left Turmeric blinking and squinting in their glare, while at the same time trying to hold very, very, still.
“Are you the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter?” the monster asked, blinking slowly.
“I-- well, almost?” the fair princess Turmeric offered. “I am a seventh daughter. But I don’t know about my mother. If she were, as well, I’m sure someone would have said something about it.”
“Oh.” The monster retracted back into its hollow, and seem to contract into a form very like the boulders the fair princess Turmeric was standing on. It sniffled again, and seemed to be on the verge of weeping again.
“But maybe I am,” the fair princess Turmeric said, quickly, hoping to stop the terrible noise before it started again. “I mean, maybe it’s a secret.”
“You think so?”
“I think it’s possible.” She took courage and climbed the rest of the way up the rocks, to where there was a flat space she could sit down. After all, it hadn’t eaten her, yet, and it had had plenty of chances to.
It was then that she remembered the half loaf of bread in her pocket-- she’d already eaten one half, and had been saving the other half for tomorrow, when she had been expecting to reach a village on the other side of the forest. Remembering that nearly all of the stories her governess had told her had a scene much like this one, she broke what bread she had left in half again, and offered one half to the monster.
It took her offering rather delicately between its finger and thumb (which was nearly half as tall as the fair princess Turmeric herself). As it did so, the half of a half of a loaf grew until it was larger than the original had been, so that it was big enough to satisfy the appetite of a creature that large.
It took a bite, and as the crumbs tumbled down its massive, craggy shoulders to land on the earth at its feet, they turned to seeds, and sprouted into fruiting bramble bushes.
After the monster swallowed, it sighed and said: “Why am I here?”
“Oh dear,” said the fair princess Turmeric. “That’s a riddle, isn’t it? I’ve never been very good at riddles.
The monster sighed again, and shook its head. It looked like it wanted to start crying again, but was either too tired, or too out of tears. “Not a riddle. Just a question I hoped you knew the answer to. I’m a monster. And I don’t know why I’m here.”
“I don’t think anyone knows that about themselves-- or anyone,” the fair princess Turmeric said. “I’m sorry that I find this all very confusing. Like I said: I’m not very good at riddles, and I’d only planned on traveling through this forest for one night.”
“Really?” the monster asked, brightening momentarily. “Do you have seven-league boots?”
“N-no… Is this forest really that big?” and then, before the monster could answer, she added: “I think I’m lost, anyway. Or dreaming. I’d rather be dreaming than lost..”
“You’re not dreaming. I’ve seen animals dreaming. They lie down with their eyes closed, and their legs move like they’re running.”
The fair princess Turmeric repressed a shudder at the thought of the monster watching the creatures of the forest in their sleep. And her voice cracked a little when she asked: “Why do you want to know why you’re here? Why is that important enough to weep over?”
The monster took another bite of the piece of loaf that Turmeric had given him. And more crumbs tumbled down its sides and sprouted into brambles. Just as carefully as the he had taken the portion of bread she had offered him, he handed the heel of the loaf back to the fair princess Turmeric. And that crust of bread was larger by three than the portion she had given him.
“My parents, and my only kin, were a lightning bolt and the tree it struck. Both died in the same instant that I was born. And when a monster is born thus, it is because they are destined to give a warning about a grave danger,” he explained. “Only--” And his shoulders heaved with a great hiccoughing breath (making the ground around them shake), and he looked to be ready to break out into weeping again, “--only, I don’t know what that danger is, or who it is I’m meant to give the warning to.” He sank down even further, as if suddenly very weary. “All monsters exist for a reason,” he said. I exist, so there must be a reason for me, too. And if I don’t figure out what that is, I fear a terrible thing will happen-- I mean, I know a terrible thing will happen-- but I fear it will happen to people who are unprepared, and so the terrible thing will be even worse. I was hoping someone would come who could tell me, and then I would be free to be who I was meant to be.
“You came. But you’re no good at riddles, you said.”
The fair princess Turmeric almost felt like crying, herself, after hearing the monster explain his woes to her.
She looked down at the crust of bread in her hands, that the monster had handed back to her, and marveled at the size of it. It was so big. This forest was so big. And the monster dwarfed everything else. And she felt smaller than ever.
“Well,” she said at last. “Well, I can’t give you an answer… But maybe I can help you look for it? If--”
That last word slipped out of her mouth like a tadpole she’d once tried to catch had slipped through her fingers. She knew it was dangerous to strike a bargain with monsters, even when (maybe especially when) they seemed to be kind. But once the word was out, the bargain was begun, and she had to finish saying it: “If you can help me find my way through this forest.”
The challenge that's presented itself: How to get to the "Happily Ever After."
no subject
Date: 2018-11-04 01:45 pm (UTC)So far it seems quite cheerful, and more likely than not to end with the characters happy, if not Happily Ever After
no subject
Date: 2018-11-04 07:22 pm (UTC)I enjoyed Patricia Wrede's books more when I was a teenager than I do now on a reread, unfortunately.
My worry, the author (who may, or may not, be in charge), is: If the monster has come into being for a particular purpose, will he/it die (or otherwise cease to exist) once that purpose is fulfilled? According to the premise of my opening gambit, the answer appears to be "yes," unless I can come up with a twist or three.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-04 10:11 pm (UTC)Can the purpose change? If yes, can the monster make their own purpose for their own life? Choose their own destiny?
If not, can careful rules-lawering by employed by a clever princess to explain why, even if the Intent of the Purpose has been fulfilled, the exact Terms and Conditions as written have not been?
no subject
Date: 2018-11-04 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-11-05 07:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-11-06 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-11-05 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-11-06 11:51 am (UTC)I've got a lot of catching up to do today, though-- I really stalled out yesterday.
At least it will give me something to focus on, besides the election. :-/