How to Mix a Princess
So it’s Sunday, and it’s snowing and my grumpy underbelly is grumbling about how cold my run is going to be. If the wind is blowing I hope she goes gently, in the meantime I will satiate my irrational irritation with everything through a little cooking, and cleaning, and writing.
Once upon a time, there was a writer. On her best days, she sat quietly facing her computer screen. Dillejantly working away the hours searching endlessly for the right words, from adjectives to adverbs.
On her worst, procrastinating endlessly, learning in spite of her distracted reality. dissolving into the chaos of her surroundings. Noisy news sites, stories about bad things that seem unavoidable. But at the root of all nonsense, she had the displeasure of knowing, sense could be made. Dig deep enough and everything bore coals, tiny inklings with magnetic pulses.
On rainy days, she really plays, running outside over memories of when she used to pretend that she was a duck. On a farm, she had the perfect examples, and enough room to rut in the muck. Most of her clothes were hand-me-downs anyway. They knew what they were in for by blood. The relationship was one of tough love. These are the ones she experiences clearly, the reminisce reminding her of laughter for no one but the birds and the bees. Do things because it pleases, nature is watching the sky above can see. and that seemed to be enough for the sea of trees.
On her less magnetic days, she would watch the condensation from the window through a curled lip. Too cold, the run can wait, don’t want to test fate with an opportunity to smite me. Things like that you could find her grumbling.
Or… wouldn’t want to be sick for the moment He, meaning fate, finally showed up. With a suitcase and a contract to sign my talent away.
Her tears were usually spent quietly, every once in a while her poor prince was forced to feast his eyes upon them.
No folks, on her best days she would never dream of thinking or behaving this way. She would say lovely things like I can do this by myself while curtsying to her better self from the shelf in the back of her mind it would nod back.
But, where do you want me? She would yell, over a nod to the universe, as if saying he had to make his move first. The how was on Him now, because on her better days she understood she was only human, a speck in the painting of everything. Please place me.
In the end, she’ll be just fine in spite of her best efforts. I’m sure someday she’ll find her way, only to look back and laugh fondly over the fury she’s currently facing.
Don’t get it twisted at her very best, Cinderella was a total mess, we just never saw it! Real Princesses are scrappy, they’ve been hungry, they’ve starved for love and received nothing less, in the end, what is cursed can also be blessed! These are a few of the things I’m sure every princess would confess to, at their very best.
Whatever you do, put on the REAL shoe, the characters will know what to do, it’s then writing about it becomes more humorous, romantic, climactic, be it for entertainment, satisfaction, or dramatic after effect, when you set them free with a view, the characters really work their magic!
Ciao! ❤
The Inkling 