Writing Prompt: Daisies & Dandelions

Once upon a time, in a small cottage deep in the woods, the wife of a woodcutter gave birth to fraternal twin girls. She named them Myrtle and Agatha, and tried to raise them like respectable English ladies, as she herself had been raised. But only Agatha listened. Agatha stayed indoors, wore delicate dresses, tended to the house, and drank tea in the afternoon with her mother every day. The boys in the village all fell in love with her pale skin, sweet smile, and amiable temperament. Tom Willingden, with his blond hair and dashing smile, called her “the Daisy,” because she reminded him of his favorite flower and because he was Tom Willingden, the name stuck. George Hampden lurked outside her bedroom window in the evening, when his parents thought he was out doing normal things with his friends, and watched with great interest as she put on the least sensual pajamas known to man.

George did many things of which his parents were unaware. His neighbors didn’t realize that he was the reason they were unlucky with pets. Slicing through the hide of a squirrel was no longer providing that feeling of release and warmth in his groin and stomach, though. He needed… Daisy.

George thought the largest obstacle to his obsession was Tom; actually, it was Myrtle. Tom had given Myrtle a nickname, too… “Dandelion,” since she was “always where she wasn’t wanted, could be pretty if she tried, and seemed indestructible.” Because four syllables is a lot for a nickname, the kids shortened it to “Lion.” Lion was almost never indoors, insisted on wearing pants, and liked to pick fights with the boys so she could get some of her aggression out through her fists. Lion was always angry; her mother claimed she had even screamed more loudly than her sister when directly out of the womb.

Daisy pleased everyone; Lion pleased no one. Daisy brushed her long raven locks so that they gleamed; Lion impulsively grabbed a pair of scissors and cropped her hair as close to her scalp as she could get at the beginning of summer. Her peers joked that she had cut herself a mane, since her blonde locks reacted to the humidity, framing her head with a crown of frizz. Lion prowled through the woods, moving soundlessly through tall grasses and twig-strewn woodland floor, and she saw George looking at her sister. Lion knew a fellow predator when she saw one, and Lion refused to allow Daisy to become his prey.

She went foraging in the forest when the first few rays of sunlight peeked over the Eastern horizon, and brought her sister gossamer webs from Lady Spider. “I thought you could sew these into curtains for your windows,” she told Daisy, who agreed that they were absolutely lovely and had completed the task of sewing and hanging the gauzy confections before supper.

As Daisy was preparing for bed that evening, a howl rent through the air that frightened her and sent her father outside to discern its source. The woodcutter found George struggling to balance on one foot, grasping his left foot in his hands, expletives falling from his mouth as freely as water gushes over the edge of a waterfall. Proffering his right arm and shoulder, the woodcutter helped George hobble into his house, where Daisy, Lion, and their mother waited. He was helped into a sturdy and comfortable chair, and it was discovered that his foot had been pierced clean through with a sharp wooden stick.

“Bummer,” Lion pretended to commiserate.

“Lion…” her father said in a tone that made it clear he thought she had something to do with the current situation.

“Yes, father?” she asked, mock innocence personified.

“Why is there a plethora of sharpened sticks outside of your sister’s window?”

“I don’t know, father,” Lion answered. “What was George doing outside of mine sister’s window?”

The woodcutter blinked rapidly as he reluctantly realized that his wild and often aggravating daughter had a point.

“Yes, George, what were you doing outside of Daisy’s window?” their mother asked, bringing in clean water and rags for the wound.

After many moments of awkward silence, George said: “Whaaaaaat?! Was that Daisy’s window I was outside of…? I… had no idea! Oh, geez, look at the time.” And he stood up and limped out of the room as quickly as he was able, which was not very quickly at all.

Daisy innocently told Tom about the event the following day, as they drank tea, mostly to prevent him from telling her yet again how beautiful he found her. “Of course, he had no idea he was right outside my window!” she finished. “But where he thought he was, and what he was doing outside there is a perplexing puzzle all its’ own!”

Tom feigned amusement at Daisy’s story, inwardly seething since he was aware that all of the boys in the village knew which window was Daisy’s. Shortly after the episode had occurred, George mysteriously lost a few digits, with rumors whispered that not all of them were on his hands… People were awed that Tom had gone so far to defend his lady love, though Tom was as mystified as anyone else about how it had occurred, since he and his pals had only roughed up George and given him some bruises. And George never told anyone how it had occurred, either, though he flinched every time he was around a cat… or a fascimile of one.

Written in response to ~M’s June Writing Prompts (yes, I’m late, but I moved across the country, so I feel okay about this…).

H&G: The Witch Needs to Update

“Look,” Geoffrey said, pointing towards a copse of trees about 600 meters away. The green of their leaves shone brighter in the sun that shone, seeming to single out these trees amongst the cool shade of the woods surrounding them.

“No, Geoffrey,” Hannah protested, stamping her right foot, her hands curled in fists at her sides. “You will not drop trou and piss in the woods. I will not have it.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the bossy one? I’m the boy, and I’m older.”

But it had always been this way. It was difficult to resist someone who was so opinionated and certain when you were an aimless waffler.

Speaking of waffles…

“What is that delicious smell?” Hannah asked, her nostrils widening as she breathed deep.

“What do you care? You don’t eat – anything, really, as far as I can tell.”

Hannah shrugged. “True. But baked goods means that there is probably someone nearby. Perhaps in a lovely little cottage.”

“Lovely little cottage? Have you been watching those Jane Austen movies again or something? We live in the 21st century, not the 19th. Also, have you seen those hairstyles? You could never pull that off.”

“No one could. That’s why they wore bonnets. Or hats? I don’t know – something that covered their head.”

“That’s about the level of eloquence I expect from you.”

“I would kick you, but it might cause you to piss yourself.”

“Thank god for Oprah; I might not be alive anymore if you weren’t a germophobe.”

“…Hello children.” The voice broke through their fighting, despite having a fragile, bitter quality that should have been easy to ignore. Its’ owner looked equally frail, and was waving a hand with gnarled, knobby fingers at them, smiling at them with a mouth filled with crooked, yellow teeth.

“Hello,” Geoffrey said politely.

“You must be tired, if you have walked all the way out here to my cottage. Please help yourself to my house.” The gnarled fingers skimmed along the windowledge, and the siblings realized it was gingerbread. The entire house, in fact, was gingerbread, decorated with thick white icing, windows spun from sugar.

“Please. Eat,” The elderly woman prompted again, but both of them declined.

“That’s sweet, but I’m on a diet,” Hannah said.

“Diabetic,” Geoffrey said ruefully, shrugging his shoulders.

“Although, if you don’t mind, we would love to use your bathroom,” Hannah continued. She had begun feeling the pressure from her own bladder for the last few minutes, and was relieved to think that she would not have to walk all the way back to the car without relief.

“Bathroom? How would I get plumbing to work in a dessert house?” The witch replied, furrowing her brow in disbelief.

“I don’t know. How do you prevent the bugs and birds from eating it?” Hannah retorted, her bladder pressing ever more urgently.

“I don’t. It’s just fresh baked. Look, here they come now.” A line of ants was creeping up towards the windowpane from which the witch had greeted them.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Hannah asked, certain the woman was holding out on them. “Our car has got to be at least 2 miles away!”

The elderly woman shrugged. “Use the trees like everyone else?”

As the two hangry females had been arguing, Geoffrey had crept behind a nearby tree and done just that. Hannah refused.

So it was that two hours later, two lost little children came upon a restroom in the woods. They ran inside, only to find themselves caught in a trap once they had relieved themselves. And Hannah and Geoffrey came upon their car, having been lost only once, which was a full four miles from their encounter. Hannah would discover she had a urinary tract infection the next day, and Geoffrey would secretly revel in the fact that he had not solely been her lemming, and he did not.

Mr. Fox Takes a Wife


Write a story about or containing a fox.

Writing Prompt for The Waking Forest FFBC Tour

Mr. Fox walked into the bar, smoothing down his fastidiously-trimmed moustache with one hand, while the other clamped down on the wooden cane that he stamped upon the ground with every other step, making a loud thump in conjunction with the light taps of his patent leather clad feet. He ordered a scotch, neat, from the waitress who appeared at his table, and surveyed the establishment with an appraising eye. He was on the hunt for new prey; it had been too long since he had been with a woman, and he was growing weary of returning to an empty home each evening.

The problem with living in a small village, he thought to himself, was that the women were all too quickly known. It was hard to be excited that little Molly was now grown up, having seen that curly brown hair in unruly pigtails, and those fair cheeks smudged with some unidentified sticky substance. And while it was impossible to deny the beauty of Katrina, it was also impossible to forget about her sister’s disappearance, which darkened those lovely green eyes with tragic shadows.

It was the same with all of the women his eyes skimmed over. They were all known. Boring. Predictable.

And then, he espied a new crop of burnished golden curls. Large blue eyes. Creamy skin. A female he had never seen, small and delicate as a porcelain doll. It had been awhile since he had hunted someone young and virtuous; his long, slender fingers stroked the trimmed beard on his face, grey streaks breaking up what had once been a full, red chin of hair. He would rather enjoy being around someone malleable.

He sent a drink to her table, a pink cocktail with too much sugar that hid the taste of alcohol. Her pale cheeks flushed with surprise and delight, her pink lips opening in an “O” of surprise, morphing into a smile and a mouthed “thank you” directed to him once the waitress disclosed him as benefactor. He waited until she was nearly finished before ordering another cocktail that he delivered himself. “You looked like you enjoyed the last one, so I got you another. I hope that’s all right.”

“I am very thirsty,” she responded.

“Care if I join you?”

“Of course not! Thank you, again, for the drinks. Is everyone so nice here in Forest Green?”

He laughed. She thought he was nice. He responded: “Who could resist being nice to a pretty little thing like you?”

Two months later, she was walking towards him in a white, silk dress, her hair fetchingly arranged in an updo festooned with flowers, a coy, pearl-encrusted veil shielding her face. He gazed in wonder at his demure young bride, who was everything he had hoped she would be, as she joined him at the altar. They said their vows, and the food and revelry that followed passed in a blur as both bride and groom anticipated their wedding night.

He was not expecting the collar she slapped around his neck, soon as he had taken off his shirt. Strong black leather, studded with metal, to which she affixed a linked metal leash to keep him in bed. Not only was the new Mrs. Fox not the innocent virgin he had anticipated; she was also well aware of the dungeon that still contained Mr. Fox’s previous wives, including that of the beautiful Katrina’s sister. She deftly plucked the large, ancient brass key from his bureau, and led the townsmen to the cool underground room with its’ blood-spattered walls and stink of decay.

Was she really so clever, so good an actress? Or was he just getting old? Possibly allowing his imagination to make someone what she most certainly was not? He did not have long to ponder on the conundrum, but it filled his mind in the time he had left.

A mere week later, Mrs. Fox walked into the bar, protected from the chill air by a luxurious fur wrap. “Thank you; it’s fox, of course,” she responded to the exclamations of admiration from her female compatriots. She joined a group of them at a table, and ordered a round of drinks, obtaining for herself a scotch, neat. She sighed with contentment at the first sip, then began surveying the establishment for a suitable male companion. The hunt had been long and arduous, and it had been too long since she had enjoyed the company of a man.

Fantastic Flying Book Club Tour Creative Post — The Waking Forest

Hello, literary aviators! Welcome to the last stop of The Waking Forest book tour; I hope that your flight has been free of tempestuous clouds and that you are ready to enjoy this last lovely blog post before your return flight. For those who haven’t heard of this new release by Alyssa Wees , here is a brief synopsis of the book:

The waking forest has secrets. To Rhea, it appears like a mirage, dark and dense, at the very edge of her backyard. But when she reaches out to touch it, the forest vanishes. She’s desperate to know more—until she finds a peculiar boy who offers to reveal its secrets. If she plays a game.

To the Witch, the forest is her home, where she sits on her throne of carved bone, waiting for dreaming children to beg her to grant their wishes. One night, a mysterious visitor arrives and asks her what she wishes for, but the Witch sends him away. And then the uninvited guest returns.

The strangers are just the beginning. Something is stirring in the forest, and when Rhea’s and the Witch’s paths collide, a truth more treacherous and deadly than either could ever imagine surfaces. But how much are they willing to risk to survive?

For this creative post, I will be providing a list of writing prompts related to the novel. If any of these prompts tempt your inner writer, please post on your blog and link to and/or comment on this post so that we can all read your work!

  1. Re-write a fairy tale from the villain’s perspective.
  2. Write a story that occurs within another story.
  3. A character is lost in the forest, and the trees begin speaking to him/her. What do they (i.e., the trees) say?
  4. Write a story about or containing a fox.
  5. Write a piece that includes metamorphosis.
  6. Write a story featuring a powerful sibling.
  7. Write a fairy tale retelling of the John Hughes’ movie of your choice.

I look forward to reading your works! Thanks for stopping by, and have a safe flight home (and if you haven’t yet, enter to win a copy of the book via this Rafflecopter).