Fairy Tales, Part II: Shameless Family Promotion

Drax reminded me of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson. That was one that really affected me as a child. It is both dark and cruel. The fact that someone could get issues of poverty, class, and domestic violence into a Christmas Story is pretty amazing.

Drax is a wonderful writer in his own right--and also my BIL. However his usual fare is a little too dark for my taste (sorry Drax). However a few years back he wrote this--which I quite enjoy--that takes fairy tales to a whole new stratosphere. While you're checking out the wonderfulness that is Drax, don't forget to follow the link on his website to an interview with a very fabulous uncle. In case you get lost, you can also find it here.

On a related note, several years ago I wrote this little myth:

How Winter Began: A Myth

A long time ago there was only one season and that was summer. One day a young boy decided he was sick of seeing nothing but green trees. He took out his entire collection of magic markers and started coloring every leaf he could find. He colored them red and orange, yellow and brown. Pretty much everything but green. Several children gathered around and watched as the trees started turning into living rainbows. Children being children, they couldn't sit idly by. They ran home, returned with their collections of magic markers, and started coloring. Word spread and soon the world was engulfed in a frenzy of leaf-coloring. In their haste and excitement, the children tore leaves from the trees as they colored them. At one point they looked down and saw the lovely patterns the colored leaves made on the ground. An excited cry rang through the air as they scrambled to pick all the leaves off the trees and send them cascading down to earth. When every tree was picked clean, they jumped and played in the colored leaves. Suddenly a large gust of icy-cold wind came rushing by. The leaves were lifted into the air and blown from sight. The children shivered and were afraid the gods were angry with them for destroying all the leaves. They looked up into the sky but instead of seeing angry gods, they saw white powder falling softly. Confused and a little bit nervous, they started to scatter. However, as the powder hit the ground it stuck and started to build. The children played in the piles of cold powder until their mothers called them for dinner. Ever since then winter has come for the children.

That very short story turned into this even shorter poem:

Autumn

Leaves,

picked

with

crayon-stained

fingers,

invite

winter’s

breath.