June 9, 2011

Mini Writing Contest Here At EC IS OFFICIALLY OVER!!!!!!

n order to celebrate the forthcoming "Snow White Poetry Issue," we're kicking off a mini writing contest. There will be one winner. To enter is very easy, but first, some of the practical stuff:
1) You must be 18 to enter.
2) The entry must be in English.
3) All decisions are final.
4) You must be easy to reach. Please no mysterious names with no email addresses attached to them.
5) Only one entry per person.

Now for the fun part. In a comment for this post, write a description in 300 words or less of who the prince in Snow White is as a person. How is his character? What is his real motivation for his actions in the story? His true feelings for Snow White? What does he look like? Does he rue the day he found her in that coffin?It's really a character sketch we are looking for. The contest starts now and ends June 18 at 1 p.m., EST.

Entries will be judged on detail, clarity, readability, and a sense of capturing the spirit of what that strange prince in "Snow White" might be like.
We look forward to reading your entries! Don't forget the prize is a $25 Amazon gift certificate!


  1. Charming's Real Motive

    Prince Charming was seeking to add to his collection,
    of milkmaids, shepherdesses, and cooks,
    All 'rescued' from the dungeon, indebted to the Queen,
    To turn a profit with their good looks.

    Still searching for the diva of his wildest dreams,
    Where he grew richer night after night,
    A singer and dancer of grace and poise,
    He'd been hoping for with all his might!

    A voice sweet, alluring, wholesome, and pure,
    Echoed off of a tower of stone.
    Dollar signs danced in his head as he ran,
    He prayed he would find her alone!

    Swans looked clumsy beside her grace,
    When she spied him, her blush was crimson.
    His heart melted soft as his passion grew hard,
    Fulfilled, the objective of his mission!

    aprilswriter (at) yahoo (dot) com

  2. Perfect Princess

    She was worthy of a second glance, the dainty porcelain doll, but it was the gold inscription that caught my eye.

    “Daughter of a king,” I said, muffling the words in a faked sob, aware of the sharp, sad eyes upon me. “Perfect.” My retainer, John, slipped a handkerchief into my questing fingers, and I wiped away false tears.

    The little men would not accept gold or gems for their precious maiden, but after I wailed that I simply could not live without her, they gave her to me. I snapped my fingers and my servants sprang forward, hefted the coffin onto their shoulders, and off we went.

    She is the first female in whom I've shown any interest, and the kingdom rejoices. Young, beautiful, a king's daughter—my father couldn't have chosen a better match. OK, her being dead is a problem, but even a dead princess inspires hope. My mother hopes for grandchildren. My father hopes to continue his family's reign. The lords hope that their wild prince will stop carousing with his friends and learn how to rule. The common folk hope for stability and peace.

    My dead princess doesn't rot. Whispers float around the kingdom about enchanted sleep. Wedding plans commence.

    The dead princess fulfilled my hope: freedom.

    I won't be free forever. The girl may wake one day, and we will marry. But she is young: six, perhaps seven. Nobody will expect a true marital relationship for years. In the meantime, I am encouraged to dote on my dead beloved, free from prying eyes and ears. I sit, day after day, by her coffin, accompanied only by my faithful retainer, John.

    I peer through the wondrously clear glass of the coffin and wink at John, who gives me a sweet smile in return.

  3. Prince Rufus sulked atop his horse. When his elder brother took his year of pilgrimage, his missives and tokens numbered dozens of marvelous wonders. His turn was proving miserably disappointing.

    “Dwarves!” The entourage of guards prepared for an attack, but it proved to be nothing but a mourning party.

    Rufus proffered condolences. “How long ago did you lose her?”

    “A year ago last week, your highness,” the dwarves babbled. Puzzled, the prince took a real look at the coffin. “…but she always looks so fresh.”

    “I’ve found the girl who defeated death!” cried Rufus. His natural vanity and sibling jealousy rejoiced at finding this wonder.

    On returning home prince Rufus was shocked to discover his mention of a girl was received as news of his betrothal. Too loyal to cause his family embarrassment, and used to feeling a fool (if only in private), he married the Girl Who Defeated Death.

    “It’s not so bad, really,” he explained to his captain. “I would’ve had to marry anyway, and I definitely wasn’t looking forward to spending all my time meeting or courting girls. I never have a thing to say to them, anyway. With Snow White I don’t need to worry about that! And you know my wife’s a beauty!”

    The captain sighed. All the soldiers loved Prince Rufus for his bravery and tenacity, but his captains held him in special regard. While brilliant in the moment, Rufus had no gift for planning ahead and, amazingly enough, he knew it. He never tried to lord over the captains, and always adhered strictly to their advise. Staunchly loyal as a brother, good-natured as a friend, and a proud enough prince to command the love and respect of every man in the kingdom, was their Rufus. If only he wasn’t so stubborn.

  4. Cliché Prince

    Ah, but a cliché of a prince
    I can land any woman with one wince.
    What a great opportunity to come upon such a catch,
    I don't care if we are a good match.
    She'll be my prize of a trophy wife,
    Her life will be easy without strife!
    Oh yes , my princess will never have a mood of blue,
    She'll just have to clean and bow down to everything I say or do!
    Imagine my luck to come upon her coffin,
    But, if I find more beautiful princesses I will get married often.
    To think Snow White will land me the gig as king,
    I get to show off my royalty bling.
    I do love her it’s just that I don’t care,
    If she’d had been ugly and not a princess I probably would have left her right there.
    I would like the seven dwarves to work for me,
    They would owe me a debt for all eternity!
    Some say I’m arrogant or cruel,
    Others tell me I am just a tool.
    I think it is nonsense because I have it all,
    I’m rich, have great looks and charm that doesn’t measure small.
    To some I am smug or even a narcissist,
    But how can you blame me if I was born into this?
    Oops I just forgot my princess’s name,
    I’m sure she wishes she had the chance beforehand to audition me on the Dating Game.
    My job as a fairy tale male hero,
    I constantly lose with a score of zero.

    The End

    (259 Word Count)


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  6. The young prince is in love with beauty. He has squandered his fortune filling his palace with works of art. Statues, paintings, ancient vases, endless walls covered in tapestries, he has collected all that he could find, amassed them in the vast halls of the palace so he could be surrounded by beauty at every step. Yet he had never seen such beauty as this. The crowning piece of his collection, so exquisite it borders on magic, so magical it borders on insanity. The girl looks alive inside her glass coffin, her cheeks still blushing as if she knew she is being watched. Skin as pure as snow, hair as dark as ebony, lips as red as blood, and the maddening mystery of those closed eyes that look like they're about to open in an instant, with a gentle flutter of those long, dark lashes and reveal the closely guarded secret of their color. The prince is in love with beauty, and it consumes his very being to the core. He has no pleasures other than to look at it, no desire other than to possess it, no inclination other than to be in its presence. It has driven him mad, mad enough to have a dead girl by his side, for her beauty is the greatest work of art of all.

    dianaparparita [at] gmail [dot] com

  7. The Prince is a magician. His father's court is full of wizards who covet the throne for themselves. He has learned the lore of curses simply to survive.

    When he sees Snow White in her glass coffin, he is struck first by her beauty, then by the unmistakable aura of a curse. He understands at first glance that, without him, she will sleep frozen forever. Only the kiss of a Prince will revive her.

    He does not love her. Not at first. But she is beautiful and he is curious. Who is she? Who cursed her? Does she have power of her own?

    When her eyes flutter open, she is incoherent with gratitude. He hoists her onto his horse and questions her quietly until he understands the story. Only then, while he marvels at her innocence, does he realize he loves her. He forgets to ask if she loves him back. He is a handsome Prince, and he saved her; of course she loves him. When he proposes, she agrees, and the issue is settled.

    But a magician’s cruelty lurks in the Prince’s heart. It is cruelty, not love, which spurs him to labor late nights in his study, crafting iron shoes for her wicked stepmother. His court applauds when he presents the final product, applauds again when the witch has danced herself to death.

    But gentle, kind Snow White turns away.

    It is years before he guesses at his mistake. By then, she has drifted irrecoverably far. He is not cruel to her - not to the wife that he loves. But he has been a magician too long to change himself. So he waits in despair, knowing she will never really be his, and wondering each sunset if this is the night she will steal away for good.

    Ada Hoffmann

  8. I was lonely, always lonely. It doesn’t matter how many people surround you when you feel like there is a fence between them and your heart. But there was no caring, no interest in me, just the crown that they looked at. The crown that turned their eyes gold until they gleamed and turned their lips and smiles a shiny metal sharpness. I do not know how to act in society. I barely walk through it. Yet there is the title ‘Prince Charming’. It always comes back to throne. If there was no Prince in me there would be no Charming.
    The only times I don’t feel alone are when I was out riding in the royal forests. Out away from everyone else and their staring eyes and their desperate mouths. Their greedy tongues sliming out of slippery mouths. I didn’t have to feel lonely there. I didn’t have to feel anything. Just the haunches of Triune beneath my thighs bunching and galloping. The wind passing through my hair so fast that it was hard to breathe.
    That was when I saw her. Just one ride to escape some royal duty that was too onerous for me to deal with. Waving to the crowd. I could not do it as my parents could. She was encased in glass and silent and still. A stillness beyond death, beyond sleep. Her lips seemed to smile through the glass.
    There was something about her that called to me. The distance that trapped her away from the world. The same distance that trapped me from mine. She became someone who I could talk to. Someone who could hear me without thinking I was a prince. Maybe she could understand in her stillness. I would leave the crown behind. With her I could be myself.

    goneril85 (@) hotmail.com

  9. Paradigm Shift
    At first, he thought the girl was sleeping or ill, but the bed was so strange, a sort of glass box on stilts. Her skin was pale but there was a flushed color in her cheeks and lips. Then he saw the marker. Men emerged from the woods, twisted and bent from years working in the mines to stand and stare at her.
    ‘Poor girl,” he thought, ‘They have buried her alive.’
    “Open it,” he said his voice urgent.
    They looked at him without moving.
    “I am Prince Charles,” he lied, “from a far country.” He hoped Prince Phillip would forgive the use of his title but he did not think these men had ever seen a doctor. He smiled trying to look kingly. His cape was long and ornate and he wore a sword given to him by the Prince. He was tall and many said he was handsome. There were even those that preferred his blond hair to the dark hair of the prince.
    “Open it,” he repeated more firmly. When no one moved, he bent to open the box himself. One miner grabbed his arm. Charles stumbled against the box causing one of the stilts to topple. The box fell, the lid slid into the dirt. The box stayed upright, unbroken.
    He moved forward to take her head in his hands, tilting her head to help her breathe. Her black hair was soft and her skin was warm. She coughed and her long-lashed eyes opened. Her eyes were the exact shade of blue of his late wife.
    “How long was she in there?” he asked drowning in those eyes.
    “Two years,” said the miner.
    “Years,” he repeated as he kissed her.
    suz.sisco@gmail.com 286 words

  10. “Idle hands are useless hands.”

    How many times had the king said this? The prince had lost count long ago. In his father’s mind, everyone stayed busy. A poor man worked to feed his family. A wealthy prince worked to help others.

    The prince thought differently. Why work, when he could spend his days laughing at the court jesters, or drinking mead with his knights?. Life was too short to fritter away with labor.

    And those hideous dwarves! One morning, the king woke him from his slumber and dragged him to the tower window, where they could see the entire kingdom below. The 7 mini-men were trundling along, tools swinging at their sides as they sang their happy tunes.

    “Off to work they go.” The King would nod sadly.

    “They’re so … short,” the prince replied, stifling a yawn.

    He hated those dwarves.

    So when the beautiful woman who dwelled with them in their stumpy little cottage bit the apple and took a nap, the prince leapt into action. He kissed her red-wine lips, woke her up and spirited her away. He knew that she’d be eager to leave those frumpy worker-bees and become his wife.

    “Take that, shorties,” he chuckled as she waved the dwarves a hasty farewell.

    She couldn’t wait to become his bride. A month after their wedding day, he was shaken out of a sound sleep. He stirred, wishing he hadn’t had that last tanker of mead last night. Now it was Snow White, not his father, who smiled down at him.

    “What is it?” he asked.

    “Out of bed, Sleepyhead,” she sang. “We’re riding through the kingdom with food for the poor today, remember? The men need your help loading the corn and wheat.”

    Sighing, he hauled himself from bed. A prince just couldn’t win.

  11. A handsome reflection from a still pool stared back at the prince. His face was perfect except for the scar running from the corner of his eye to right below his ear. He’d received it from the witch who broke his heart. Deep down he knew she wasn’t the right one. Besides his father always said, “Every character is perfected by a flaw.” His flaw was to trust outer beauty without seeing what loomed beneath the surface.”

    One thing he knew for sure, he’d never make that mistake again. He jumped up and called his white steed. He swung himself into the plain saddle adorning the horse. He had many others made of leather and gold or leather and jewels, but this one was given to him by a little man he helped in the forest years ago. He smiled when he thought of the joyful fellow. The little man actually said his name was Happy.

    As it would be, that very day, the prince came upon Happy again. He yelled, “Hello Happy.” The little man turned around and said, “It’s Grumpy.” Prince Charming apologized for the mistake. “No problem there are seven of us, it happens all the time.” The prince marveled over the thought of seven small men. He asked, “Why are you Grumpy?” The small man took him to a glass coffin. Beneath the surface was a young lady sleeping soundly. Charming knew she wasn’t dead because he heard her snoring. He wondered if she was a witch like the last woman he’d encountered, but he noticed the little men surrounding the coffin seemed to adore her. Right then he realized, sometimes a person’s true beauty is reflected in others. He kissed her lips and opened his heart.

  12. Oops forgot my email margaret(dot)corbitt(at)yahoo(dot)com

  13. Snow White’s Prince

    He stretched, like a cat; unhurried,carefully. He could hear his father the king stomping down the corridor to his apartments, yelling at the same time.
    “He really shouldn’t exert himself, he goes purple in the face and his moustache wobbles, making it impossible to take him seriously” The Prince drawled as the queens youngest lady in waiting blushed furiously, delighted to be the focus of those dreamy blue eyes. The King burst in with his men-at-arms (always desperate to impress, the Prince noted, sardonically), the Prince bowed with a flourish, if a little exaggerated, almost sarcastic. This had the effect of disrupting the King’s bellowing and ruining his entrance which of course was exactly as the Prince had intended. This really did it; the King was truly purple in the face. The Prince has this effect on his father; he has been totally unmanageable since the age of ten. He doesn’t really want to be a prince. What he wants is to be a Knight, travel the world. He is not a bad Prince, just a bit selfish and of course a huge favourite with the ladies-in-waiting and visiting princesses. The King and Queen have been trying to get him married off for a few years now. Snow White is their last hope.
    “She’s sleeping in a glass coffin; you don’t even have to speak to her!” The King roared
    “Alas, my love cannot be taken hostage; I am not ready to give it. I will return when I can, and then she will awaken to true love’s kiss, or make Joffrey do it... I’m off”
    With a jaunty wave he jumped off the balcony onto his waiting white charger and galloped off.
    “Your brother isn’t tall enough!!” The kings’ roar faded into the background.


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  15. How many years…? A dozen, at least, since he had vaulted the steps to the nursery tower, bringing Nurse a treasure from the gardens or some dire injury that could only be healed with a kiss. All those years, and here she was by the fireside, bent over her sewing, as if he had just returned from a morning at play. I made believe I was in a deep, dark wood, he would tell her, and she would listen to his strange tale of a princess asleep beneath glass and say that reminds me of a story of long ago…

    But he was too old for stories now. So they talked of her health, and the fine sunset, and when this spell of talk ran out he sat in silence on the hearth and she sewed, humming to herself. The fire burned itself out.

    He said, “I missed your stories.”

    “I missed telling them, my love.”

    Much easier to speak his heart in the almost-darkness. “I never forgot. All those heroes, third sons like me, winning out where the older brothers failed. Father was furious when I told him I was leaving the kingdom, but I insisted. I was going to cross the seas. Find dragons. Find the story…”

    Not an hour’s ride from the palace they’d found the coffin in the woods. And who could leave the poor girl like that – especially a third son on a quest, who might at any time come upon an enchantress in disguise? And who would have the heart to tell her, when her eyes fluttered open and lit on her handsome prince, that she’d misunderstood?

    “Oh, my dear,” Nurse said, and the sorrow and pity in her voice flayed him: “Whoever said the story, if you found it, would be yours?”

    nichols.emma @ gmail.com

  16. My email's also easily found at my profile, but in case that's not enough I can be reached at: wheresmytower (at) yahoo (dot)com.

    For future reference, when you state that we must have an easily reachable email address, is it enough to have it in your profile, or do you need it here? I've had quite a debate about it with my fiance who's adamantly against putting email addresses up on public websites.