One Year to a Writing Life: Twelve Lessons to Deepen Every Writer's Art and Craft by Tiberghien Susan M

Author:Tiberghien, Susan M. [Tiberghien, Susan M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Books
Published: 2007-09-06T16:00:00+00:00

WRITING CONTEMPORARY TALES

In writing contemporary tales, you look for the core story of the fairy tale and ask yourself how someone today would react to this situation. What might change in the tale? What variations would be forthcoming? And what universal truths would remain the same? Here is an example of a modern tale by writer Lynne Barrett, published in River City Magazine, 2005. It is a modern take on “Little Red Riding Hood”—and a bold one, written in second person.

“LITTLE RED RETURNS”

These days you are a strawberry blonde. Back in town after a long rest at a woodland spa, peace, yoga, massages, excellent sleep in a rustic cottage, you feel ready. Tonight you’re with a backwoodsman you picked up out there, young, stalwart, unblemished. You take him clubbing, enjoying his astonishment as you go from one dizzy crowd to the next.

Wouldn’t you know it, you run into Vülf, entering Fungi as you leave.

“Where are you going, my dear?” His deep voice catches you, the same growl that, intoning on records, drew all the little girls, including you, back when.

“Oh, you know,” you tell him, “we have to take it all in. We’re headed to Anni’s party at Rose Red, later on.”

“Ah, Anni’s party. I’ll be there,” he says, “my dear.” His rasp raises the hair on your neck.

You want the old Vülf to swallow you and you know it. You’ve been in that darkness before. When you were with him his world surrounded you. You traveled with his pack and wore clothes he designed, the chic of the hood. You shared his nightly wandering, lived on his diet of steak and Veuve Clicquot and coca, went back to his lair and, while his music pounded around you, shook to his snarls. You cried, didn’t you, when he threw you away? You’ve dreamed of him, haven’t you: tall, charcoal and silver.

At Anni’s party, he’s not there. Anni herself has made more than one comeback and the white streak in her black hair seems now to be the only natural thing about her. The young models call her Granny, but still she reigns. The club is a hall of flattering pink mirrors. At one end, the bar glows, its long curve of rose-etched glass lit from within. You dance with your woodsman, turning and turning till you catch a glimpse of Vülf.

He beckons and you go to his red velvet corner. He offers you your choice, but you take the same mineral water that he’s having.

He pours it and grins. His smile is dark.

“Why, Vülf, what happened to that big tooth you had?”

“Ah, the diamond fang. You remember that, sweetheart? I cashed it in. You heard I had a patch of trouble, no doubt.”

“I heard something about those arms you had.”

“The his and hers Uzis under the back seat? They were quite legal, I had the papers, but certain parties were looking for an excuse to take me down. Fortunately, a whisper reached me.”

“I know what sharp ears you had.”

“They thought they’d snare me on a weapons count.

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