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Fairy Godmother Issue Table of Contents

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The 1% Fairy Godmother Strata, By Janet Bowdan

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If you ask me, they get more credit than they deserve swooping down at the last minute with a wand and a fancy dress like that’s going to solve all the world’s problems.  Where have they been while the rest of us are struggling to get the day’s work done?  Sure, they came to the naming party, brought a gift, something useful like “the voice of a lark” or “tresses as gold as wheat,” flutter of wings, wave of magic wand, bye-bye, see you in 20 years or so once you’ve grown up and gotten interesting. By which they mean ripe for romance with a side order of toppling the status quo just to set it right up again claiming to be better
at it than the previous lot.  Different, maybe.  Less experienced, sure. And okay, let’s say our fairy godmother pops in, rights a wrong, restores the lost heiress to her family and high position,
throwing in a makeover while she’s at it: where was everybody else all
those years
watching as the wicked stepmother abuses her, the oblivious
dad neglects her, the family she doesn’t fit …

The House That Jack Built, By Erin Wyble Newcomb

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The house that Jack built sat atop a hill along the well-worn trail of Fairy Tale Forest. He called his establishment “The Giant’s Brew,” and he offered his customers the finest in regional cuisine, all sourced locally. It was a comfortable house, where the fire was always stoked and the wine was always sweet and the bread always rose and the cheese never turned.
But, really, what Jack wanted most was not a house but a home.
So one day, after a suspicious but fortuitous explosion at the local mill, Jack brought home a bride. The mill sat in a charred heap of ashes, which meant Jack had to travel a little farther afield for his flour. That was inconvenient, no doubt, but he’d always suspected the miller of adulterating the flour anyway. And now at least the miller’s daughter, Milli, was free to marry Jack. On balance, the circumstances worked out in favor of Jack’s house, and Jack always paid attention to the balance. It was not a poor house, and Milli’s presence made it so much the rich…

Sun, Sky, Moon, By Priya Sridhar

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(Inspired by "Donkeyskin")
I read your scroll demanding
A gown woven from the sun's rays
Embroidered with the brightest sunset
And the darkest flowers

I walked into the woods
Past the tallest trees, the thorniest bushes
Climbing the tallest hill
That climbs into the curving sky.

A sheaf of silk hung from my hands,
Dyed the color of marigolds in bloom.
I held it on the hill, feeling the setting sun
Entering the rippling cloth.

I caught each glistening, sweltering ray
So that the silk glowed and blazed
So will your daughter glow
In the gleam of your eye

I read your next scroll,
The handwriting curved and neat
Asking for a dress tailored from the sky
Embroidered with the finest clouds

I climbed the castle's tallest tower
Each step creaking my bones Until I read the cobwebbed window And climbed the narrow spire. Thin muslin, blue and grey Hung from my fingers Spun with the stormy gusts And tore at the fragile corners
I caught each breath of wind So that the muslin murmured in pain
So will your daug…

The Memory Ball, By Stuart Suffel

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The footsteps were familiar, flabby but firm. The baker's son. I did not move from my desk. I glanced at the calendar. Ninety days exactly.

He rapped on the door, opened it and stood on the threshold. He was a giant of a boy, arms like rolling pins made from barrels. “Papa said it would be all right if I called. It being the time.”

Ninety days. Enough time to mourn anyone, according to local wisdom. I didn't answer. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. I smelled the bread he held in his hand. Fresh. I gestured that he enter. He ambled over, placed the bread on the desk before me. “That's just for starters,” he said.

I grimaced inwardly. If Saorcha had been sitting here his father himself would have come, but only after sending a basket of baked goods every day for a week first. But I was not Saorcha. I nodded a thank you. The bread did smell good, and I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since yesterday and it was noon now. “Aaron, isn't it?”

He nodded, g…

Understanding Balance: A Fairy Godmother'd Perspective, By Alicia Cole

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She was often tired. And the kitchen was sometimes
dirty. There'd be an unscoured pot, at the least.
And, her husband, who I never met: he  was lazy,
and louche,  and full of rum and vinegar. 
A sour combination.

Still, she gave well enough. When she wasn't
angry, or hurt, or mending. A fairy godmother
in pain is an evil thing indeed. Wands reverse.
Wands kill. Women don't do well under
a desperately heavy load.

I'm just a child and the man I'm to marry
has long hair and rides a white horse,
the way it always should be. She tuts over me.
Feeds me pork roast. Lets me steal an occasional
cherry tomato.

I'm just a child and the man I'm to marry
doesn't call often. He's a traveler. He's a roamer.
He's a healer. There's another who comes calling,
though, and when he does, this desperado, she
sits me down, hands me a spoon,

and begins to speak. Spoons' concavity are good
for reviewing the echoes of a day. You see yourself,

11 Rules of Responsible Fairy Godparenting, By Jude Tulli

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Welcome to Fairy Godparenting school. And congratulations on being accepted. That you’ve made it this far in the process to certification means one of two things:


1.You’re exceptionally giving and hard-working or
2.One or more of your ancestors were Fairy Godparents and you don’t know what you want to do with your life

I know that hardly sounds fair, but it’s the way life works. You need to know these things if you’re going to do any good as an FG. Let’s see…there are 1, 2, 3…oh, about 20 of you here today? Let me assure you, only one of you will graduate.

Don’t worry; we don’t use the word “flunk” here. Many of our dropouts become healers or royal consultants. You have to love FGing or you’ll simply burn out. I know Cinderella made it look easy, but honestly most of your protégés will disappoint you. Hers was truly the “Cinderella story” of Fairy Godparenting.

You’re probably wondering about it now more than ever so I’ll put the rumors to rest. YES, once upon a time, I was Cinderella’s FG…

The Crone in the Cornfield, By Kristen VanBlargan

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Listen, child, and I’ll give you the tale you want. Yes, there will be a fairy godmother. But a love story? My dear, I can’t promise you that.

Once upon a time—that era deep in the caverns of your imagination—if you were to travel past vales and vineyards, through plains and pastures, you would find a kingdom nestled between the roaring currents of rivers and the sighing mists of mountains. In this land, the king and queen were beloved by all, for they ruled their people with just and generous hands.

But you’ve heard these stories before, and you know there must be a catch. No, the queen doesn’t die, but that’s a good guess. She had no child. Although she was still the most beautiful woman in the land, the queen had long since passed the days of her youth. She would smile and laugh among her people, but at night she wept at her barrenness. 

One day, her handmaiden saw the vestige of tears on her queen’s cheeks. “My queen, why do you cry?” she said. “You have been blessed with the fortune…