As soon as I heard the tornado warning, I decided to pack my suitcase. Sure, I live in a castle and it’s mostly stone but it’s pretty old and I had never been there during a tornado before. It might not have been so bad if I had company, but since Mom and Dad retired to Florida, I’ve been living here by myself and I just wasn’t prepare to weather a tornado alone. I’d rather go somewhere safe, thank you very much, and leave the castle to stand or fall without me being under at the time.

I called Mom for advice and she suggested that I go and visit some friends of my Dad’s in the next town. They were out of the path of the tornado and their castle had plenty of room, so apparently they were happy to invite me to join them for a night or two. Mom said they had an excellent library so if worse came to worse, I could just hole up there and pretend that I had a lot of research to do. It wasn’t even a lie, my graduate studies kept me at the books most of the time. After all, a thesis on the power of the modern princess is hardly going to write itself – and I do want to get rid of the stereotype of helpless little flibbertigibbets flitting around magical kingdoms. We’re not like that at all. We’re just as kick-ass as the next girl – maybe even more so in some cases!

I threw my suitcase in the trunk and then hopped in my convertible to drive to Dad’s friends’ castle. The Daltons were expecting me by 5 so we could have dinner together and, given the 90 minute drive, I just barely had time to swing by the liquor story to pick up a bottle of wine to bring with me. The first half of the trip was fabulous. But when I was about 20 minutes from their castle, it started to rain, and, of course, I couldn’t manage to get the convertible top to go up. By the time I pulled up in front of their place, my hair was stuck to the sides of my face, my mascara was pooled under my eyes, and my clothes looked like it had been painted on. This was not the image I had hoped to present.

I knocked on the door anyway, of course. What else was I going to do? I wasn’t about to drive back into a tornado zone just to freshen up, they were going to have to take me as I was.

I think that Mr. Dalton was a little alarmed at first but he let me in anyway, and showed me to my room so I could get ready for dinner. It took three towels, a hair dryer and about twenty minutes work, but I managed to make myself look somewhat presentable. After all, I didn’t want them to think I was being disrespectful.

The dinner was a little awkward, but fine. We had the usual sort of fare, roast duck, creme brulee – the kind of things that everyone serves princesses (What I wouldn’t give to have someone serve me french fries every now and then!) and we had the usual sort of entertainment – the Daltons trying to set me up with their son. Jeremy seemed like a lovely sort of fellow but I am really not in the market for a partner at the moment so that got old quickly. I persevered though and made it all the way to brandy in the drawing room. After about an hour, conversation was steering back around to what a great catch Jeremy was, so I decided to head to bed early, feigning exhaustion from stress and from my drive. Sometimes that ‘fragile princess’ stereotype can be put to good use because they didn’t even question my tiredness, Mrs. Dalton just escorted me to my room and wished me good night.

I got into my pajamas, brushed my teeth and settled into bed, but I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. The mattresses were luxurious but I kept feeling like something was digging into my hip as I lay on my side. There was nothing twisted into my pajamas nor in the sheets so I tried to ignore it and just go to sleep but it wasn’t happening.

You know how, once you are tucked warmly into bed, you hate to get out? You’ll lie there in relative discomfort, having to pee or maybe needing a drink, too uncomfortable to sleep not uncomfortable enough to get up. That’s how I was for about half an hour. Eventually though, I had to get up and investigate. I tore off the sheets, and ran my hand along the top of the mattress.

I finally felt the lump at about hip height in the centre of the bed. As soon as I found it, I realized what was going on. Oh, damn them, us princesses have to put up with so much crap all the time – we can’t even get a decent night’s sleep. I flipped up the mattresses to find the pea beneath and go confront the Daltons. They were friends of my Dad’s they should know better than to test me.

The dumb thing though? It wasn’t even a pea! It was a peanut, still in its shell. That was no princess test, even a King would delicate enough to feel that. What a bunch of morons. I grabbed the peanut and stormed out of the room to find them all waiting expectantly at the end of the hall.

“You weren’t asleep very long Alysha.” Mrs. Dalton was smiling away at me like she had uncovered a treasure.

“No, I didn’t sleep at all.” I spoke through gritted teeth but they didn’t seem to notice.

“Didn’t you find the bed comfortable?” Jeremy asked, with a kind of feigned innocence that young men usually save for their Moms. Mr. Dalton stood behind his wife and son, just beaming with excitement, he didn’t have anything to add, apparently.

“No, I mostly certainly did not find the bed comfortable and I believe you know why.”

All three of them tried to adopt a neutral expression and failed miserably.

I held the peanut out in the palm of my hand. “This is NOT a pea. This is no way to test a princess. ANYONE would have a problem with a peanut in their bed. Imagine if I had an allergy!”

Their sheepish looks just made me more annoyed. “I can’t believe you would insult my family by testing whether I was real! And I think it is ridiculous that in this day and age you just assumed I would be okay with being tested out for marriage. Jeremy seems like a great guy but I’m not looking for a partner, I’m still in school for heaven’s sakes. I think it would be better for us all if I just left.”

They all looked horrified and started talking over each other.

“Mom! I told you this was stupid…”

“We didn’t mean to insult you dear…”

“We weren’t testing you per se…”

Finally, Jeremy shushed both his parents and turned to face me.

“Alysha, I’m sorry. I don’t know what we were thinking. Please don’t go anywhere. Let us help you get the bed back in order so you can get some sleep.”

His apology was sincere, his parents were nodding like two bobbleheads behind him, and I really didn’t want to head out into the night in my soggy convertible, so I agreed to return to the room. After all, a princess does have to know when to be gracious.

If they decide to offer to bring me my breakfast in the morning, I may even leave the details of tonight out of my thesis.

I’m going to end up coming back to this story. This is definitely not the final version, but this is ‘Story a Day May’ not ‘Perfect Story May’ so I am posting it as is.

“To us then, I guess?” Jenny poured the white wine into both of their glasses, spilling just a drop on the table between them.

They lifted the glasses and gently touched the rims together before taking a drink. Ben held his up to the light in their dining room. They had chosen a poor font for the glasses and the word Groom was almost unreadable. “I always thought these were corny, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but they seemed like the thing to do, at the time.” She looked tired and he wanted to push the hair away from her eyes but he held himself back.

“It was a good day, though, wasn’t it?” He smiled at her, thinking of how bright and beautiful she had looked, walking up the aisle towards him. He remembered the feeling, like the whole world was opening up before him, like he was seeing happily ever after.

“Oh, it was terrific. But, we’ve had a lot of good days. A lot of fun.” She finished the last of her wine and poured another glass. “Despite everything, we’ve been pretty happy.”

“Definitely. Are you happy now, though, Jenny?” He let her fill his glass again, too.

“Yeah, I am. I think this is for the best.” This time her smile looked more resigned.

“So, we’ll take one of these each, will we?” It had come down to dividing everything and now they were at their wedding glasses. The set only made sense together, you couldn’t be a bride or a groom by yourself.

“I guess. Or…” Jenny looked at him out of the corner of her eye the way she did when she was up to no good. “…or, we could smash them.”

Ben nodded. Smashing them had a lot of appeal. It was much better than owning half of a set.

I’m experimenting with creating a blog post plan with specific topics on specific days. In a mark of stunning innovation and originality, I’m going with ‘Writing’ for Wednesday. Sometimes it will be about what I’m writing, sometimes it will be about how I write, and sometimes it will be a little advice-y.

Have you ever given up on your writing because it didn’t feel very original? Or because it felt like you didn’t have anything *new* to say? I’ve done it and it sucks.

On the one hand, it makes sense because you don’t want to just repeat what other people are saying – that’s just boring plagiarism and you already know not to do that.

On the other hand there is a HUGE difference in being not particularly original and actually being derivative. AND I think that trying to be original for it’s own sake is far more annoying than saying something that has already been said but in a new way.*

That’s the thing, right there: Unless you are copying and pasting someone else’s work (DON’T DO THAT), or simply restating a precis of someone else’s stuff, you ARE being original.

Giving your own take on the situation, telling people what you think of it – that’s your originality right there. No one else has your exact combination of experience and talent and thoughts, so by default, no one else is saying what you are saying. Perhaps it will be your phrasing that will reach someone in need when no one else’s would.

And, really, how original can anyone be?

It’s well known that there are only seven or so basic storylines in all human stories. The difference is only in how they are presented. Soooooo, why should you worry about being the person to come up with an eighth?
You don’t need that pressure! Why not accept that you are probably going to hit the same marks as someone else and just concentrate on how well you hit them? Why focus on how accurately you say what you mean to say?** Or, even, on what insight you can bring to the topic.

I’m not saying to jump on the bandwagon to comment on the same things that everyone else is commenting on. You don’t need to just add fluff – the only time you need to do that is when you are shipping breakables. But if you feel pulled to discuss or write about something, don’t let the fact that other people have already discussed it hold you back.

You have just as much of a right to comment as anyone else does and, I think that you should carry on. I’m not promising you fame and fortune. I’m not saying that no one will be irritated with you about it. What I am saying is that your writing is about you expressing your ideas so you should just keep on doing that***

It is far more important to do the writing than it is to worry in advance about how original it is. You need to get on with getting the words out. You can re-craft them later. When you’re editing, you can add some in, take some out, do what you need to do make them better, but if you do not start by writing, then you will have nothing to work with.

You cannot edit a blank page and you cannot post a blank page and you cannot publish a blank page. A blank page serves no one, especially not you.

So, go forth and write, my friends! Mess up some paper with your words!

*You know, kind of like those insufferable people who work SO hard to be different and they just end up making you want to punch them?
**And don’t get started on worrying about hitting them on the first try either. Get close to the mark on your first pass, move closer on the second and third and just hope for the best.
***One important caveat: While it is okay to have opinions on world events, do NOT speak FOR a marginalized group, step out of the way or sit the hell down and do not prevent them from having room to speak on issues that concern them. Don’t mansplain, whitesplain or richsplain: LISTEN.

A short piece of flash fiction about (one aspect of) mothering.

Before Owen was born, Carolyn had assumed that her days would be filled with glancing adoringly at her baby and then writing while he napped. She imagined all the creative projects that she would get done while he slept and all of the fun they would have together while he was awake. She imagined walks to the park, cute photos on Instagram. She thought about learning to scrapbook so she could have a record of all of the heartbreakingly cute moments of his early years. She imagined the joy of nursing him, the thrill of rocking him to sleep, the fun of making him giggle as she bathed him.

Of course, with mothering, like with anything, there are parts that you cannot know until you are living them. Now that she had context, she understood the things that her sisters had tried to tell her about their days. Her baby was young, her creative projects were few, her days were baffling. There was joy but very little order.

She found herself laughing at her list, made a few days before Owen arrived, of the things she would need for the first few months. She thought she would need things like cute outfits for the baby, some props, and a faster internet connection so she could share her photos easier.

Now that he was her, her list for the first few months was far shorter. She just needed more sleep.