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Showing posts from May, 2016

Ida Outhwaite, Classic Fairy Illustrator

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Ida Outhwaite, an Australian whose work flourished during the Golden Age of Illustration, is well remembered for her work with fae and children. Her images managed to capture the sense of childhood and fae without being too sweet. And her color palette was rich and pleasing to the eye. I'm surprised she isn't more well known, even though much of her work is nearly 100 years old.
You can read more about here here: http://bit.ly/1R96kfk
And here: http://bit.ly/1R97NSZ
Her work is also plentiful on Pinterest. 
Some images:







Throwback Thursday: Fitting In, By Katrina Robinson

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Editor's note: "Cinderella" from the shoe's point of view--I did not see that coming. But this poem works. Truly imaginative. Update, May 12, 2016: Here's a Throwback Thursday delight. It's worth reposting for the reasons listed in my first note. It was first published April 2, 2014.
I was meant to be a gift a precious keepsake that wouldn’t regress into forest vermin or a rotting gourd.
Yet, you’re too afraid to reach for me, unwilling to claim me. You begged for transformation, now you’re too fearful to see it through.
How do you think this feels, the looks that bore through me, the fingers that stain? They smother me in grubby heat when they force themselves in me. It always hurts. They never fit. But I won’t crack, I won’t break.
After each failed fitting he looks at me with frustration. His fingers tighten on me until I can feel his fractured pulse.
I’m nothing to him, just a conduit to you. We’ve both been abandoned and refused, stuck at a standstill since the moment you ran awa…

The Rain Issue 2016 Table of Contents

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Magic, fairy tales, nature, mystery, suffering, love and joy are all present in the six works featured in the 2016 rain issue of Enchanted Conversation. Mother Nature in all her power, glory and cruelty wends her way through these works.

The moon also makes an important appearance, as do strong references to "Snow White" and "The Twelve Dancing Princesses." And eggs? We got 'em. Mother love is explored, as is the confusion parents feel when kids don't turn out how we expected. Through it all, there is the steady thrum and patter of rain--sometimes helping, sometimes ruining, but never truly controllable. No fairy tale witch can ever match the sheer power of weeping clouds.

When I came up with the idea of a rain issue for EC, I wasn't sure it would work, but as I noted in an earlier post, the problem wasn't with too few writers and poets sending in excellent submissions for this issue. There were too many! I hope you'll love my choices. I do. He…

Waking Up Snow White, By Kim Malinowski

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I smooth the wet fabric around her collar, trace and tuck her gown. We are both wet from rain, and I can see that she has awoken, tears trickling down. I taste the brine as our lips bump. Nothing happens, she doesn’t pretend to wake up. I know what dead lips look like—shriveled and pale—like so many lovers. Too many apples to count. I’ve waited and practiced and now her lips are soft and full. I hold her hand, trace a line and whisper—“I know you are awake.” She takes her hand back. “I was never asleep, just waiting.” “Well, I’m the Prince.  I’m supposed to rescue you.” Rain trickles down my back.  There should be fireworks or something. Not wet. “Maybe I’ll love you,” she smiles. “Maybe I’d like to be dry.” I brush her cheek with my hand, savoring the softness. I pick her up, and we go inside.
Kim Malinowski earned her BA at West Virginia University and her M.F.A. at American University.  She currently a student of The Writers Studio.   Her chapbook is forthcoming fromKind of a Hurri…

Raindrop, By Amanda Bergloff

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Once long ago, a Queen sat embroidering by her palace window. It had been a long winter with many frozen tales to tell, however the first signs of Spring began to show in the palace gardens below.
The Queen worked steadily on her embroidery, but looked up when a little bluebird landed on the windowsill and sang a beautiful song which brought a smile to the Queen’s face. The little bird was delighted that it pleased the Queen with its song, so it stayed on the sill throughout the afternoon. While the Queen enjoyed her new companion’s song, she noticed that the first daffodils had bloomed outside the window in the garden under the beautiful blue sky overhead. As the afternoon wore on, clouds gathered, and a gentle Spring rain fell to coax the rest of the flowers in the garden to follow the bloom of the daffodils.
The Queen sighed and spoke to her friend. “Oh, little bluebird, how I wish I had a daughter with a voice as sweet as your own, eyes the blue of an endless sky, hair the yellow o…

In the Rain House, By Shannon Connor Winward

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In my dreams, the moon of mother's eye splits and cracks, a river swells against the branches of her lashes and when it breaks, I wake up gasping. It rained again last night. It froze today

my roof sagging with a drop of it round and heavy as my head. The grass stuck together, white, jagged protesting my grunts and kicks, my need to carve a door.  The afternoon rain

sloughed it clean again, but I am cold, cold.  Summer is a ghost.  The birds don't sing to me, the flies and beetles have all gone; no chirrups, no roars.  The stream has belched over its shores, and the rain

keeps coming back, thrashing petals from their necks, knuckling across my leaf- shadow floor.  I have worn through my lady slippers, my gown mother's careful stitches fray and shiver

my worry chokes and croaks like toad words mud in my throat. It's time to go.  Go where? The rain will crush me, it will turn to snow.  The sky is huge, the field is vast

a rough, shorn sea—I will be buried there unless the owls find me first. They…

River Child, By Chanel Earl

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There was once a river. It was broad and steady and flowed through a great valley where it brought life to the woods and fields.In the valley, in a modest farmhouse on the river’s banks, lived a farmer and his industrious wife, who had no children. The farmer’s wife longed for a child, and everyday as she went about the washing and the cooking, the weeding and the churning, she dreamed of the day when she would have a child to assist her. “Come, girl,” she would say as she carried the wash out to the line, “Help me with this basket.” And she would imagine the girl assisting her. “Son,” she would call out if she noticed the farmer had forgotten his lunch, “run this out to your father.” And then she would walk out to the fields herself, thinking of how much easier it would be if she could have a child to do the errand for her. In the evenings, when the day was done and the dinner was ready, as she sat at her small table, she would sigh and imagine a great, noisy table with many chairs. She d…

The Egg Memorial, By Caroline Yu

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I did not want to use a rabbit. Rabbits should not lay eggs. But some creature needed to and I could not take the hen. Long ago, a boy climbed a beanstalk and stole the hen from our fine city in the clouds. I’ve heard he told horrid tales about us, claiming we were nasty giants rather than fairies. I also heard it took years to get the hen back. So I knew not to ask the fairy queen if I might borrow her hen. Besides, the hen’s feathers were not golden and her eggs were. She would not work. You see, some fairy needed to return rain to the ground kingdom. I ask you, how could such be done without making a gold rabbit lay eggs? Months without rain had left the kingdom dry and decrepit, like an ancient parchment. Yet in its golden days, the kingdom looked lush as a dew-covered rose. Its meadows used to be a blinding green. Many a shepherd blinked at their brightness as he led his sheep. In the forests, wind wove through the trees, and leaves rustled like silken skirts. In the village, ga…