Showing posts from April, 2018

FAIRY TALE FLASH - The Firefly Above the Mill by Richard Bower

My older sister claims she remembers Grandad before he turned into a firefly and went north into the woods. She says she’s smarter, braids her hair. On most days, the braids are all she can show, honey-colored, long and easily pulled. Still, I defend her when schoolboys try. Talia will only tolerate me teasing her anyhow. If a boy got hold of her braids for real, she’d wallop him so hard he’d fly high over the mill’s fences bordering southside. He’d land in the heat treat furnaces--where steel ingots are cast--and be scorched to cinders.
We doubt Grandmother is blood related. Our mother died when we were too young to remember more than her shadow. Grandmother hounds us with numbers and science, so we can study metallurgy and work steel at the mill. It is our legacy and misfortune. Many nights if we can’t finish the calculations she assigns, we go to bed with growling bellies. Morning chores cleaning and caring for animals, our arms move by will alone. Some days Talia and I are so hungr…

WHO WAS MOTHER GOOSE by William Gilmer

What comes to mind when you hear the name Mother Goose?
Maybe you envision a group of children sitting in a circle while a teacher reads aloud, or perhaps a parent tucking the little ones in with a bedtime story. We all know Mother Goose, but where did this figure of children’s literature come from? Was there a real Mother Goose, and if so, who was she?

The story of Mother Goose is a complicated one, much more so than I expected when I began researching the topic. The name, or title, itself stretches far back into history. The earliest verifiable reference to Mother Goose is in Jean Loret’s La muze historique, a collection of verse describing the news and popular happenings of the day. In 1650, Loret mentions that something is “like a Mother Goose story," showing that the phrase was popular enough at the time for Loret to expect that the average reader understood what it meant.

Jean Loret’s reference is not the only thing we have to go on. Another French author and fairytale found…


Enchanted Conversation has launched  our first Patreon campaign...
Hello to everyone who reads EC! 
As you know, Enchanted Conversation publishes six issues a year, along with original weekly content in the form of Fairy Tale Flash stories, articles, and commentary on our site. We love all the amazing authors and want to continue paying them, as well as keep EC up and running and becoming bigger and better for all those who read it.
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Thank you!! Amanda Bergloff Editor-in-Chief

FAIRY TALE FLASH - The Royal Pea by Olivia Arieti

The knocks were too loud, almost insolent. When the young prince opened the door, before him stood a stout girl with disheveled hair and sloppily dressed.

“I’ve lost my way and it’s pouring, so I wondered if you could put me up for the night.”

“With great pleasure,” he replied charmed by her spontaneous vivacity.
Although perplexed by the girl’s aspect, the queen put a pea under the twenty mattresses of her bed; the fear that her son might never marry was too strong.
“I’ve slept terribly,” the maiden complained the following morning, “there must have been stones under those mattresses.”
“It worked, it worked!” cried the queen and told her guest about the pea’s magic power.
No sooner she had finished talking than the prince knelt down and proposed, “I was sure you were a real princess! Will you marry me, my dearest?”
The girl gazed at him stupefied and then burst into laughter, “Me, a princess?  I’m no princess, simply a humble shepherdess who lives with her father in a hut beyond the hills.”

FAIRY TALE FLASH - Ashes of Roses by Renee Carter Hall

Wherever I tried to live, they would blossom.Outside my father's house. In my sisters' fine gardens. Black petals with a heady, musky perfume--roses not of this world, but the next. Always they were edged in dew, no matter how the sun burned. Once I touched the droplets, put my fingers to my lips, and tasted salt. And I could not forget.

At last, then, I returned, to this dead castle where the long table is always set for dinner. The servants are gone; I do everything myself. I plant and cook, wash and mend, and try not to feel the cold that seeps through velvet and wool and fur, no matter how many layers I wear. I am cold to my bones now, always, because I was too late. I stayed away too long, and when at last I hurried back, he was dead. I told him then how I loved him, but it was not enough. Not quite enough.

Each night, I polish the silver candlesticks, light the beeswax tapers. The table is set with china, with crystal, everything glittering in the dim and dancing light. B…

APRIL ARTIST SPOTLIGHT - Meet Brian Malachy Quinn

This month's Artist Spotlight shines on artist/illustrator, Brian Malachy Quinn.

Brian's art has been featured on the covers of Electric Spec Magazine, Space and Time Magazine, Helios Quarterly, and NewMyths, among others.

He uses a variety of mediums such as watercolor, pen and ink, block prints and etchings to bring forth his unique and beautiful art.

Find out more about Brian in his interview below, and share your thoughts about his art in the Comments section. 
Hi Brian. What inspired you to become an artist?
Reading has always been important in my family so there have always been many books in my house and the artwork in illustrated ones enraptured me before I was even able to read them. Illustrations by N.C. Wyeth, Arthur Rackham and Beatrix Potter were amongst my favorites as a young child and I would spend my days trying to reproduce them. As I gained knowledge of composition, color palette and perspective and improved my skills with the various media, I achieved better …

DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - Goblin Tree AND Regarding the Complaints

This week, Enchanted Conversation Magazine  presents two Fairy Tale Flash stories: Goblin Tree by A.A. Azariah-Kribbs and  Regarding the Complaints by Monica Wang We hope you enjoy them and share your thoughts with the authors of these tales in the comments section below.
Once, a goblin stole whatever he could from a human village, jewels, apples, and buttons. He was lean-limbed with fierce gold eyes, but his hands, though slender, were like talons.

His one weakness was a human woman. When their love became known, the village threatened her if he did not surrender himself. He surrendered. I can’t tell you how many different ways they tried to kill him, but nothing harmed him. So they buried him alive. Some say these gnarly roots evoke the goblin’s reaching hands, clawing for escape.

“Ugh. Mommy.”

I ruffled the little girl’s hair fondly. “It’s true.”

She turned. “Is it true, Daddy?”

He held up his hands playfully, crooking them. “Oh aye, don’t you see the resemblance? It’s a good thing I cut my …