May 6, 2021

Throwback Thursday: Swan Daughter, By Jane Daugherty

Memories of broad white wings,
unfolded and spread...
Editor's Note: This story, from 2018, is the type of beautiful fairy tale that features the virtues of the animal/human relationship where sometimes the rescuer is not who you would expect...
The hounds were gaining on the White Hind, and her breath came short and painful. She leapt like a pale shadow among the trees, zig-zagging through sunlight and shade until she reached a clearing. In the clearing was a cottage, and in the cottage garden was a girl. The baying of the hounds was so loud, even the girl raised her head to listen. Her eyes were wide and full of compassion.

“Help me,” the hind pleaded. “Hide me from the hunters.”

The girl did not hesitate but let her into the cottage and hid her beneath the pile of wool she was spinning into thread. Minutes later, hounds were running around the cottage and scratching at the door. Hind and girl held their breath. There came a pounding of fists on the door.

“Open to the royal hunt,” an imperious voice commanded.

With her heart in her mouth, the girl opened the door and closed it behind her even though the hounds bayed and jostled to get inside. Horses stamped and snorted in her vegetable patch, and their haughty riders glared down at her impatiently.

“Where is the White Hind?” a young man with hard, cold eyes demanded. “You must have seen her.”

The girl recognized Crown Prince Florian, and though she trembled with fear, she said nothing.

“You’re hiding the beast!” Prince Florian beckoned to the Master of Hounds. “Let the dogs in.”

“No! I mean, please, Your Royal Highness, there is no one in the cottage. I am the White Hind.”

“You?” Florian, who was not a man of great imagination, narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

The girl curtsied. “I was under an enchantment.” She searched wildly for an answer to the question he would surely ask.

“But now you’re not? How so?”

“You have broken it, Your Royal Highness,” she replied eagerly, “by finding this magic glade and driving me into it.”

Florian looked about him at the poverty-stricken cottage and the little vegetable garden his company had mostly destroyed. He shrugged.
“The hounds lost the tracks of the White Hart and followed the White Hind instead. As you say you are, or were, that beast, I claim you as my property. What’s your name?”
The girl could barely control the trembling in her voice, but she thought of the terrified eyes of the White Hind and spoke up bravely. “My name is Eala.”
“Bring her a horse,” Florian barked, and a huntsman led up a spare saddle horse. Eala knew better than to disobey and let the huntsman help her into the saddle. With a heavy heart, she looked back at the little cottage that had been her home, and followed the hunt back to the castle.
A little while later, a scraping and pawing at the door told Saba the White Hind that her consort had found her. She nosed open the door where a stag was standing, his head bowed with weariness. She nuzzled his neck and Sabino the White Hart nibbled her ear.
“Are they gone?” he asked.
“They are, but they took the girl who sheltered me,” Saba answered. “We must save her. Prince Florian is evil personified.”
Sabino pawed the earth thoughtfully then raised his head. His eyes glittered. “Rufus!”
Saba snickered softly. “Perfect.”
Together, they moved off into the forest, flank to flank, Sabino limping, but overjoyed to have found his consort alive.
“Wash her and tidy her up,” Florian ordered a couple of ladies of the bedchamber. “If she cleans up well, she may make a concubine. Perhaps even a wife,” he added thoughtfully. “She must be a princess. Only princesses have enchantments cast on them.”
The two servants brought Eala a basin of hot water and new clothes to replace her own poor rags, for that evening, she was to be presented to King Rollo, Queen Guinevere, and the courtiers. Eala had never seen herself in a mirror, nor ever had a mother to tell her she was beautiful.
“She was the loveliest woman who ever lived,” her father used to say, “with hair as pale as moonlight and skin as white as swansdown.”
He could scarcely bring himself to look at his daughter after his wife’s death and died when Eala was twelve years old. No mother, no father, and certainly no young man had ever told Eala how lovely she was. When she appeared before the court, there was an audible gasp—of approval from the men, of jealousy from the women. Prince Florian got to his feet with an avid gleam in his eye.
“Sit,” he said, and pulled out a chair himself without calling for a servant. “If you know how to use a knife and fork, you’ll do very nicely. And mind—your name is Liliana. They tell me Eala means swan in the common speech. Ridiculous name.”
Eala barely touched her food. She could only guess at what would be her fate if she were judged coarse and common. She had a much clearer idea of the awfulness of being chosen as a bride for the crown prince. At the end of the evening, Queen Guinevere nodded and gave a slight smile. King Rollo nodded and gave a broader smile. As for Prince Florian, he announced his intention of marrying the ‘Princess Liliana’ in no more than a fortnight. Just as soon as a dress could be made and the invitations sent out.

No one had asked Eala what she wanted, and no one ever would. That night, she cried herself to sleep.
The moon shone down on the castle walls and on the two deer standing beneath, turning their white coats to silver. The castle slept, and from the kennels came the sound of snuffling and snoring as the hounds dreamed. Sabino tapped with a hoof at the kennels door.
“Rufus,” he called quietly.
“We have a boon to ask,” Saba whispered.
The door opened, and a boy with hair the russet color of autumn leaves slipped outside. His eyes were bright and not in the least sleepy.
“It’s about the princess, isn’t it?” he said. “I saw her. She’s special.”
Saba nudged his hand. “She is a very brave girl,” she said, “and doesn’t deserve to be locked up with that horror of a prince.”
“Is she one of ours?” Rufus asked.
“She has all the hallmarks of a swan, if you ask me,” said Sabino. “Will you help?”
“With all my heart,” Rufus said. “Let me wake the hounds. And get ready to run when the prince looks out of his window.”
Saba snorted in alarm. “If there’s going to be any running—”
Rufus smiled and his teeth glittered. “Don’t worry. The hounds will do as I tell them. They’ll race off into the forest and run Florian round in circles for a while. There’ll be bones and all the leavings from last night’s feast for them when they come back.”
Sabino snickered and trotted onto the lawn beneath the turret where Prince Florian slept. Rufus beat on the castle doors, waking the sentries.
“The White Hart! The White Hart!” he shouted. There was a clamor as bolts were pulled back and stable boys were kicked awake. Horses snorted and stamped and courtiers clattered into the courtyard.
“I see him!” Prince Florian shouted from his window, and Sabino leapt away into the shadows.
“Remember,” Rufus said to his hounds, “Remember who I am. Do what I tell you and there will be rewards at the end of the night.”
The pack leader licked his hand. “Don’t worry, Fox Brother. Hounds hate the men who make us hunt our kin.”
The Master of Hounds made his way sleepily to the kennels and took the dogs’ leashes without a word to Rufus, who was only the kennel boy after all. The hounds began to bay immediately and strained to follow an imaginary trail that would lead them far away from the castle.
Rufus slipped inside the castle and sniffed the air. The scent of loveliness and bravery was so strong he could almost see it. He followed it to the door to Eala’s chamber that glowed with a rose light to Rufus’s foxy eyes. He tapped gently.
“Eala Swan Daughter, wake up,” he called. “It’s time to leave.”
Eala woke immediately. The voice was one she had heard in her dreams, a husky bark of a voice that reminded her of the woodlands of home and the fox she had released once from a trap the hunters had set. Memories ruffled white feathers in her head as she opened the door. The boy who stood in the doorway opened his eyes wide and she saw herself reflected in them. She blushed and the boy took her hands. They were rough and strong and dependable.
“Quickly,” he said. “The court is off on a wild goose chase. We have only to walk out of the door.”
“And go where?” Eala asked, though she would have followed the russet-haired boy anywhere.
“Home,” Rufus said with a foxy grin.
Eala smiled back. “Where Fox and Swan may live in peace?”
For reply, Rufus took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.
In the shadows of the forest eaves, Sabino and Saba were waiting for them.
“Time to go home, Swan Daughter,” they said.
Memories of broad white wings unfolded and spread, and Eala followed her new family to the enchanted garden where they all lived happily ever after.
Jane Dougherty is Irish, brought up in Yorkshire and now living in South-West France. She writes stories where the magical and the apocalyptic mesh, where horror and romance meet, and the real and the imaginary cohabit on the same page. Her first YA post-apocalyptic fantasy trilogy is published by Finch Books. She has self-published a collection of folk tales, “The Spring Dance”, and has poetry and short fiction published in anthologies, literary journals and magazines.
The Spring Dance: HTTPS://WWW.AMAZON.COM/DP/B0764BPF53

Cover Layout: Amanda Bergloff @AMANDABERGLOFF

May 4, 2021

The Reishi Witch, by T. C. Zeddies

Editor’s note: What a charming and unexpected fairy tale. The language is clever and really helps the reader visualize the story. You are going to love this wise and witty journey of growth.

Once in the grievous and backward days when forest wolves were still a threat, there lived a mushroom farmer of maturing age. She used to grow the mushrooms on the beams of her little house in her little village. Sadly, her neighbors were sore weirded out by the sprouting tips of white oyster fungi coming out of every part of her dwelling. The mushrooms themselves were perfectly innocuous, not to mention delicious when stewed with onions and a bit of bacon. They left a good taste in the mouth, but apparently a bad taste in the mind. Peer pressure being what it was in this insular Germanish community, she soon found herself with a surplus of mushrooms and a deficit of coppers. There was only one thing to do for a woman of her age and accomplishments, and that was to become a witch.

They’d never had a witch in this neck of the outskirts of the woods, which gave her carte blanche (or blankoschek) to choose her own attire and demeanor. She decided the ones she had were good enough, so long as she found a dwelling sufficiently numinous. And indeed, a house with mushrooms growing out of it seemed perfectly fit. She wore old clothes patched with this and that, and did like to carry a broom with her to shoo away impertinent children and insects who threatened her crop. But she soon found that when people came to a witch (and come they did), they typically wanted her to do something magical for them, like curing their warts or helping them get pregnant (or un-pregnant). She didn’t know how to do any of those things, she just liked to grow tasty mushrooms and make soup.


There was only one thing to do, so she did it. She swept tidy her house, bundled her things together in a little cart, locked the house up tight, nodded to the spores within the walls, and set off to find out how to be a proper witch. Few were sorry to see her go, though she worried briefly that they would steal the mushrooms from off her house while she was gone. Then again, if they hadn’t wanted to buy them from her at a fair price, would they really want to steal them from her for nothing? She didn’t know, and really it didn’t matter. Once the spores were in the beams, the dears would grow and grow for years. The villagers could eat all they wanted, and choke on it for all she cared. Well, that wasn’t true. She actually cared for her comrades, and it had hurt when they abandoned her.

But the further she walked with her cart, the freer she felt. The freer she felt, the more that she took from her cart. Soon, she left the cart itself behind, and simply walked from wood to wood. She was untouched by wolf or man, and knew from her girlhood days how to get by on her wits and the gifts of the trees.


She walked until the trees became mountains, and the mountains became deserts, and the deserts became vast, flat plains. Eventually, she found some new people—people she had never seen the likes of, who rode and drank from horses. They taught her a thing or two, but none of it was useful for witchcraft, or wisecraft, or whatever you wanted to call it. But they did agree to cart her across the plains to places where she might learn more.


And so she went, and on she went. She met people who wore beautiful robes made from caterpillar webs, and baked long bread like strings in pots. She met people who grew tiny white wheat in flooded fields, and make sticky white porridge balls with all sorts of deliciousness inside. And, of course, everywhere she went she found new fungus. Wherever she went, she took another sample of the beautiful creatures of decay with her, until her pack was filled with a hundred varieties of all kinds of mushrooms. Every one of them was for eating, though, and none would help her become a witch.

At the end of her travels, when she neared an ocean said to be as large as the wide world she had walked, she finally met a man who looked as old as she felt. She found him while she was walking in the woods looking for new varieties of mushrooms, and she saw him strangely eyeing a growth from a tree. Upon closer inspection, she saw that he was looking at a simple shelf fungus. It was as ugly as it was bitter, and she thought at first that he was unschooled in the ways of foraging.


But once she spoke with him, she learned that he was familiar with all the same varieties as she, if not more. He instructed her that this was a special mushroom, rumored to strengthen the soul of the eater so to make them immortal and wise. She drank tea with him, and found that through the addition of some honey, the tea lost some of its bitterness. His sweet company made up for any remaining sting of bad mushroom tea, and soon they had become travelling companions. She knew that now she could be a witch, really and truly.


A year and day after that, they had returned to her village, where her house had been overwhelmed by mushrooms. Indeed, the village had been scalping her wares, but that was all right; for they had come to love the taste, and all came to the aid of the old couple in resettling themselves, paying them for a years’ worth of mushroom soup.  They became known as The Wise, and through the work of their medicine, the whole town became hearty and hale.


Note: Info on the reishi mushroom is here. We are not dispensing medical advice here—just providing a great story.


Bio: T.C. Zeddies grew up in a few enchanted spots in Michigan, Kansas, Texas, and Pennsylvania. He lives in Pittsburgh now with his lovely wife and child—not to mention the dog and cats. He loves to do theater, and makes a decent living helping people get food and medicine.


Image is from Oh So Nifty Vintage Graphics..

Submissions Window Closed for May 2021

The submissions window has closed for the month of May. It will open again on June 1, at 12 a.m., EST. Here are the submissions guidelines.

May 3, 2021

To Our Big EC Team, by Kate Wolford

Editor’s note: We’ll publish a great new fairy tale work tomorrow, but for today, please read this post on how much we appreciate other fairy tale fans here at EC.

Hi Enchanted Friends:

Yesterday I wrote about how things were going better financially at EC, thanks to the generosity of Patreon patrons, and the kind people who have sent money or helped us save money.

I also wrote about a fun virtual donors-only event EC will be hosting to mark the Summer Solstice. If you haven’t seen it, here you go. The whole team is so excited!

As for the word “team,” that’s why I’m writing today. EC is very much a team these days, with Amanda Bergloff, Kelly Jarvis, and Molly Ellson on board. They have made EC a much better publication through their hard work and genius. Plus, they are all fun people.

The fact that so many people are supporting EC financially these days also makes it feel much more like a big team effort. When you make a site like this, you need to feel a sense that other people care about it, but it’s easy to begin to wonder if you’re alone and no one cares. When you see that people care enough to invest money (and yes, a dollar a month or a one time small donation means a lot), then you know that people are paying attention. I can’t tell you how much that means. I suppose money shouldn’t matter, but it does.

But the overall EC group is just as important as the donations! That’s why I value comments so much on the site. It’s why I love the  Classic Fairy Tale Illustrations group on Facebook. It’s more fulfilling to enjoy fairy tales with other people, and the more the merrier. Just today alone, four more people joined the illustration group. Every new friend is welcome.

Thank you all for making this so much fun. If the Summer Solstice event goes well, and EC’s support grows, we can make even more community and do more events. Who knows where things will go? My current “stretch goal” is to do a chapbook project. I’ll do it if we hit $125 per month. We’re at $91 as of today. Not too shabby. (If you’d like to ask me about financially supporting EC beyond Patreon, just email me at

The whole point here is to get as many talented people’s work to as many readers as possible. Yet, just as important, is to build a world-class network of fairy tale fans, friends, and creators. 

Stay Enchanted,

Kate Wolford 

P.S.: To show you how much a group makes a difference, Molly Ellson came up with the sign off “Stay Enchanted.” I love it. See what more minds can do?


I don’t know who the artist is behind this image, but it looks like the kind of fun I hope we’ll have at the Summer Solstice Zoom Party!

May 2, 2021

A Wonderful Midsummer Event

Hi Everyone:

I hope you all are having a sunny spring. It’s lovely here in Indiana. 

I wanted to give you an update on how the money situation is going at EC. It’s much better, thanks to some incredibly generous giving on Patreon and through gifts received through PayPal. 

We can use more, though. As of now, if people continue with their pledges, we are getting nearly half of our monthly costs paid for by patrons. Amazing! Amanda, Molly, Kelly and I are all so grateful! Because of this generosity, we will be able to purchase a few extra bonus stories this year. (You don’t apply to have your work chosen as a bonus, it just happens through the usual process.) Bonus stories and poems earn the writer the same amount of money as everyone else: $50 each.

We can afford even more if you each give just a little! And to show you just how much you can benefit from being a patron, through Patreon, by rebating some money as a chosen writer for the site, or by giving through PayPal, you’ll be eligible to take part in the following special event. 

Remember, every dollar donated goes to making the site better and offering more opportunities to poets and writers. I do not benefit from EC financially at all.

Here goes:

I was in the process of creating a Facebook group for patrons, and dragging my heels for several reasons—not liking how Facebook has affected global discourse is just one of them. But the biggest reason was that EC already has a terrific fairy tale art focused group! With over 200 members, and growing daily, Classic Fairy Tale Illustrations is a great place to post pictures and talk about fairy tales. We don’t need another one. But those of you on Facebook, please consider joining if you haven’t already. You can post your own favorite classic fairy tale and myth illustrations as well as chat about the illustrations and fairy tales. Just ask to join, and you’ll be in.


Instead of the Patreon Facebook group, we will have a seasonal virtual event. We’ll do a Zoom party for the Summer Solstice as the first one. People can read pieces of their fairy tale or mythic poetry or snippets of their short stories. Those who are just fans can read from their favorites. You don’t need to write anything. We can have a kind of fairy tale celebration. It won’t be a workshop, just fun, and you can participate as much or as little as you like. The work you pick can be from any fairy tale topic or focus. You can also just be an audience member—you can even stay mute and not show your face on video!

This idea is the result of a marvelous Zoom poetry event Kim Malinowski hosted on April 28. It was such fun! So, to be clear, I am ripping off Kim’s event. Thank you to Kim!

This will only be open to patrons at all levels. From
$1 a month to $7 a month. However, because this a reward, it means no patronage, no participation. This is a reward, after all. People who have recently given through PayPal are also eligible, as are writers who rebated EC some money from their payments. (If you’d like to give through PayPal or want to discuss a donation with me, just email me at, or send a direct PayPal donation to

And there’s one more surprise: The fabulous Amanda Bergloff has created a set of printable bookmarks, just for the Summer Solstice event. Only participants receive them, and if you print them out on card stock, and cut the excess paper off, they will be sturdy bookmarks!

I’ve put a sample of the four beautiful bookmarks here, but I’ve blurred them so they won’t interfere with the big reveal at the Summer Solstice. But the real bookmarks will be crystal clear and very colorful!

Things are going well at EC, let’s keep the money momentum going.

Stay Enchanted,
Kate Wolford 

May 1, 2021

Celebrating May - May Day, Beltane, Poetry & More, By Amanda Bergloff



Among the changing months, May stands confessed

the sweetest, and in fairest, colors dressed!

-James Thomson

The beautiful month of May is here!

May is the month that is a bridge between spring and summer- A time when the garden starts growing, the birds sing, the flowers bloom, and the sun warms the days in anticipation of summer.

This month is thought to be named for the Roman goddess Maia, who oversaw the growth of plants. Maia was considered an earth goddess and nurturer which may explain the connection with this springtime month. 

To celebrate May, we've gathered some folklore, poetry and more for you to enjoy below!

Celebrated on May 1st, May Day is a traditional spring festival in many cultures. It is also linked with Gaelic Beltane, as well as being the date of International Workers' Day.

May Day is the celebration of the return of spring and has a connection to astronomy, as it's the halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice.

The celebration is also rooted in agriculture since springtime festivities, filled with song and dance, hailed the sown fields starting to sprout. Cattle were driven to their summer pastures and special bonfires were lit. The "bringing in the May" rituals involved the gathering of wildflowers or green branches, the weaving of floral garlands, the crowning of the May king and queen, and the maypole. These rites were originally intended to ensure fertility for crops, livestock, and humans, and the celebrations of May Day around the world today still include many of these ancient rites.
Here we come piping
In Springtime and in May;
Green fruit a-ripening,
And Winter fled away.
The Queen she sits upon the strand,
Fair as lily, white as wand;
Seven billows on the sea,
Horses riding fast and free,
And bells beyond the sand.

The Maypole is a tall wooden pole erected as part of various European May Day folk festival celebrations, around which the maypole dance takes place. It is thought by historians that maypoles were set up as part of spring rites to ensure fertility and as a sign that the season of warmth and growth had returned. The pole shape allowed for garlands or ribbons to be hung from them, and they were first seen in the British Isles between AD 1350 and 1400.  

The maypole dance is the ceremonial folk dance performed around the maypole which is garlanded with greenery or flowers and festooned with colorful ribbons that are entwined into patterns as the dancers holding them dance around it. Many maypole chants have been written to accompany this dance, and some dancers wear bells to mark off the beats of the chants or music by making their steps cross between a skip and a jog, coming down in time to the music.
Beltane (which means "lucky fire") is a celebration first attested in 900AD in Gaelic culture. It is one of four Gaelic festivals that are still observed today (along with Samhain, Imbolic and Lughnasadh.)

Celebrated on the evening of April 30th, (the eve of May Day) Beltane was focused on the symbolic use of fire to bless cattle and other livestock before being moved to summer pastures. The lighting of bonfires was a ritual meant to protect farmers, crops, and cattle, as it was thought that the flames, smoke, and ashes had protective powers. People would walk around the bonfires or jump over embers for luck, and cattle would be made to jump over small bonfires to protect their milk from being stolen by fairies. Fires in the home hearth would be put out and then re-lit using the Beltane bonfire to ensure extra luck and protection.
In addition to bonfires, this celebration included feasts with some of the food and drink being set aside as an offering to fairies as well. In early Irish literature, Beltane is mentioned and is considered another time of the year when the veil between our world and the underworld is thin, making it the best time to contact spirits. Conversely, the beings of the otherworld, such as fairies, and other spirits, can also have an effect on humans. That's why the protection of bonfires and other Beltane rituals were important.

To Learn More About Beltane:
Enjoy a free Beltane lesson from the Magickal Path by the fabulous Fiona Duncan!
For more info, click this link.
Lily of the Valley & Hawthorn
To show the one you love that your life is complete with them, give them a few lilies of the valley as this fragrant flower signifies sweetness, humility, and happiness.

The hawthorn plant is the other May flower. It represents hope and supreme happiness, and when you give it to someone, it signifies that you want only the best for them.
Emerald is the birthstone of May and is associated with love, fertility, and rebirth. It was purported to be Queen Cleopatra's favorite gem, and ancient Romans dedicated the stone to Venus, the goddess of love and beauty. The emerald signifies patience, growth, and wisdom. It is also thought to improve memory, soothe nerves, grant foresight, and ensure loyalty.

Oh! fragrant is the breath of May
In tranquil garden closes,
And soft yet regal is her sway
Among the springtide roses.

-William Hamilton Hayne, American poet (1856–1929)

A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.
Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;
For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain?
-Sara Teasdale, May Day
May Folklore
  • A dry May and a leaking June make the farmer whistle a merry tune.
  • A warm January, a cold May.
  • A wet May makes a big load of hay. A cold May is kindly and fills the barn finely.
  • Mist in May, heat in June, make the harvest come right soon.
  • The first 3 days of May were thought to be the time when the evil influence of fairies was at their strongest. To prevent them from entering your home, scatter primroses across the doorstep as they cannot pass it.
  • The Hawthorn tree is thought to be a tree of protection and can prevent lightning from striking the home and from storm damage when growing in the yard.
  • A swarm of bees in May makes a lucky day.
  • For good luck throughout the spring, bring branches into your home of forsythia, lilacs or other flowering shrubs from your region. 
  • Gathering the first dew on May mornings will guard against the evil eye.
  • Washing the face with dew on May 1st can beautify the skin.
Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
The very clouds move on.
- Heinrich Heine, Book of Songs
FLORA-Goddess of Spring
The earliest known May celebrations appeared with the Floralia, festival of Flora, the Roman goddess of flowers and spring, which was held the 27th of April through the 3rd of May in ancient Rome. 

Flora was the symbol for nature and flowers, especially the may-flower. Being one of several fertility goddesses in Roman mythology, her association with the spring gave her great importance at the coming of springtime, and her festival symbolized the cycle of life, rebirth, and flowers.
When April steps aside for May,
Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten;
Fresh violets open every day:
To some new bird each hour we listen."
- Lucy Larcom
The Full Moon of May
The Flower Moon
May 26, 2021
The full moon for May is named the Flower Moon for the simple reason that many spring flowers are in bloom at this time of year.
May's Moon Phases
Last Quarter: May 3, 3:50 p.m. EDT
New Moon: May 11, 3:00 p.m. EDT
First Quarter: May 19, 3:13 p.m. EDT
Full Moon: May 26, 7:14 a.m. EDT
And finally,
Some music that evokes the "feeling" of May to us...
Wishing all our EC readers an enchanted May!
Share what you love 
about this month
in the comments section below~
Enchanted Conversation's contributing editor, Amanda Bergloff, writes modern fairy tales, folktales, and speculative fiction. Her work has appeared in various anthologies, including Frozen Fairy Tales, After the Happily Ever After, and Uncommon Pet Tales.
Follow her on Twitter @AmandaBergloff
Check out her Amazon Author page HERE
Also, join her every Tuesday on Twitter for #FairyTaleTuesday to share what you love about fairy tales, folktales, and myths.

Cover Painting: "Forest Floor with Summer Flowers" by Alfrida Baalsgaard, 1880
Cover Layout: Amanda Bergloff
And check out
Enchanted Conversation's
and listen to the
Classical Music to Write Fairy Tales By
playlist for some writing inspiration!