A Fairy Tale for Writers: What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

Aug 18, 2020 | Fiction

Contents


 

Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing. — Benjamin Franklin

“Why do you want to be a great writer, Nyalee?”

“Doesn’t everyone, Nana?”

Nana scoffed as she hung the wet clothes on an old line, stretched taut between the gray farmhouse with its red roof and peeling siding, and the sweetgum tree that stood, casting shade and pointy little seed pods, like miniature mace balls, throughout the late summer. That tree never could seem to make up its mind whether it loved us and wanted to shield us from the unrelenting heat of the sun, or wanted to run us off its property with tiny medieval weapons. I loved to climb that tree — to read books among the branches — and to imagine that the falling seed pods were lobbed at us by angry fairies.

Nana had married a great writer, once. Grandfather was famous for three things: books, bees, and booze. Around town, it was the booze that cemented his fame, and brought the flow of words to an abrupt halt, instantly doubling the value of his books. “Nobody’s a great writer till they’re dead, Nyalee.” Nana let the clothes flap like flags in the wind, as she donned her netting and went to check the hives. “That’s how we earn our money, Honey,” she said, with a wink. She kept us fed and clothed with the sweet nectar, and she kept the bees housed and fed on a field of colorful wildflowers.

“Maybe I’ll be the first,” I said, quietly, thinking of all the definitions of “great,” and wondering if Nana and I understood it the same way.


Late in the afternoon, when all the chores were finished, I scrambled up the sweetgum tree with a copy of Mr. Smithfield’s Field Guide to Northeastern Fairies and Other Woodland Folk. My arms were dappled beige and brown and gold as the breeze wiggled the leaves around me; my skin seemed to shimmer with sunlight and shade. I dozed off in the heat, straddling a sturdy branch, resting my spine against rough bark and a thick, tall trunk.


“Why do you want to be a great writer, Nyalee?” chirped a bright and melodious little voice, startling me awake. The voice came from a tiny green fairy, no bigger than my hand from wrist to fingertips, perched atop the leather-bound spine of my Field Guide. She sat cross-legged on the edge of the book, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, her elbow propped on one knee.

“Who are you?” I asked. I longed to open the book and thumb quickly through its pages to figure out what sort of tiny creature this was, but I did not want to startle it. Her.

“I am Leiliaticia. Your book, here, says that I am a ‘Common Green Hardwood Fairy’ often found among sweetgums and maples, which sometimes uses seedlings for caps when working in the fields. In case you wanted to know,” she added. “I have been reading while you napped.”

“Is that — is that what you are, then?” I asked, stupidly.

“Not really, but I suppose if you are ‘Human’ than I can be a ‘Common Green Hardwood Fairy.’ Does that feel — adequate, to you?”

“Not really,” I said, frowning, thinking of all the sorts of Humans there were in the world. I was not sure which sort the fairy thought I might be, and it bothered me a little. “So what are you, really?” I asked.

The little fairy thought for a moment. “I suppose you might call me a ‘Guide,’” she answered.

“A guide to what?” I asked.

“What would you have me guide you to?” she asked, contrapuntally.

This was becoming a very circular conversation. I wanted her to guide me out of it. “How did you know that I wanted to be a great writer?” I asked.

“I heard you talking to your Nana, of course.”

“You were eavesdropping?” I asked.

“You were speaking very loudly,” said Leiliaticia, wrinkling her brow and covering her tiny ears with her hands. “You humans have very big mouths.”

“I suppose you have a point. But then, you must be shouting for me to hear you so well with your little bitty mouth!”

“Perhaps I am. Or maybe I just know how to project my voice, so that it carries on the breeze.” Leiliaticia looked around the yard. “If only you humans ever listened to any voices but your own,” she added.

She made a little clicking sound with her tongue, and began to grow swiftly larger, until she and I were of the same height. The tree, though, was now a giant thing — the branch I sat upon had swollen to the size of my grandmother’s rooftop; I could no longer straddle it at all! I scrambled to my feet as it grew larger and larger beneath me. Now, Leiliaticia sat on a pebbled crimson ledge looking down at me and laughing.

“Wait, what — ” It was no “ledge” she sat upon; it was my book! Suddenly, the world around me had grown vastly bigger.

Fluttering her delicate wings as softly as any butterfly, Leiliaticia hopped down and stood before me, holding out her hand. “You asked for a guide?”

“No, I asked you what you were a guide to!” I exclaimed. “What have you done?” I think that I had been extraordinarily calm, up to now — for a human, at least. “You’ve shrunk me,” I cried. “Put me back to normal size, right this insta — oh! Brownies to Beelzebub, what in creation what is that?” I shrieked, pointing at a giant black and brown, softly furred bird with gigantic black eyes that hovered next to us, as if awaiting something.

Leiliaticia laughed. “Don’t you recognize Fazitz? He’s a Gatherer — what you and your Nana call a ‘Forager bee.’”

Oh, no no no no no… I had my doubts about going into the family business, but giant bees that were almost as big as me? No. Hmm mm. I backed up and pressed my body into the bark of the sweetgum tree, trying to hide in its deep crevices. I stared at the bee. It stared back. I swear, if bees could laugh, it laughed. Sort of a cross between a buzz and a hiccup, with a little wiggle in its wobbly flutter-hover.

“Humans are so weird,” said Leiliaticia, rolling her eyes. Fazitz landed on the branch in front of us, and Leiliaticia instructed me to climb up on its back.

“NO.” I balked, shaking my head. “I am not riding a bee.”

“Why not? Think he’ll sting you?”

“Won’t he?”

“Well, if he does, he’ll die. Does he look stupid to you, Human?”


To be continued…

Holly Jahangiri is the author of Trockle, illustrated by Jordan Vinyard; A Puppy, Not a Guppy, illustrated by Ryan Shaw; and the newest release: A New Leaf for Lyle, illustrated by Carrie Salazar. She draws inspiration from her family, from her own childhood adventures (some of which only happened in her overactive imagination), and from readers both young and young-at-heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband, J.J., whose love and encouragement make writing books twice the fun.

12 Comments

  1. Marian Allen

    Oh, oh, oh, I’m HOOKED. PLEASE finish this story! HUGS

    Reply
    • Holly Jahangiri

      Yes, Ma’am! 🙂

      I had posted this first installment on Medium.com, a few days ago. Then, yesterday, they changed their Terms of Service, and I saw that as a sign that I really needed to build my own playground – not theirs. It’s not that the TOS is any more or less egregious than any other (including my web hosting company, and probably yours!) but given that they are in the publishing biz, I wonder at their timing – they went from amazingly author-friendly terms to super over-reaching boilerplate, and you have to ask yourself “why?”

      But it’s a good thing, right? I should be writing here, more than there! And I was so happy to come back, after getting coffee, to see THREE COMMMENTS!! Really, that’s huge – that is all I need to egg me on to write the next installment, you know.

      ((hugs))

      Reply
  2. KathleenMK

    Miss Holly!
    What a fun, entertaining read. Thank you for writing and posting it. You have brought a bit of joy to my already busy day.

    Looking forward to reading more of your pennings.

    Sincerely and Respectfuly yours,

    Kathleen

    Reply
    • Holly Jahangiri

      Oh, thank you, Kathleen – and thank you for continuing to read my erratic and irregular writings! 😀 Your comments bring ME joy, too.

      Reply
    • Holly Jahangiri

      Hehehe…isn’t it, though? Cheeky little fairy. I think she might technically be a cross between a fairy and a pixie, and her mother was a Muse. I honestly don’t know – she’s sitting here on my pencil sharpener, so maybe I should ask her.

      Reply
  3. Linda

    My favorite subject fairies. Please finish. It is wonderful.

    Reply
    • Holly Jahangiri

      Thank you, Linda! I will! You have provided me with all the incentive I need. How are you?

      Reply
  4. Mitchell Allen

    Holly, this is a great start and I’m glad you’re building it on your playground! I love the playfulness of the fairy and bee.

    Cheers,

    Mitch
    Mitchell Allen recently posted…My Neighbor’s YardMy Profile

    Reply
  5. Noam

    What a lovely beginning, I look forward to reading more. Two of my favourite topics here – how to be a writer, and fantasy folk.

    Noam recently posted…pantry and sundriesMy Profile

    Reply
  6. Mahnaz Waheed

    Hii,
    Amazing story.I enjoyed to reading it.
    Allah Bless you.

    Reply
    • Holly Jahangiri

      Thank you, Mahnaz! I am glad. It’s about time for the next chapter!

      Reply

Leave a Reply to KathleenMK Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge
 


Copyright © 1998-2020 Holly Jahangiri
Nothing on this website may be used without prior written consent of the author and owner.

Let’s Connect!

Subscribe by Email (WordPress)

Recommended method: Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 6,363 other subscribers

Subscribe by Email (FeedBurner)

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner

 

Troubleshoot: Subscribe by Email Problems

Post Categories

Whats Your #OneWord365?

Looking for Excellent Web Hosting?

PeoplesHost Web Hosting

 

I have been a happy customer here, myself. While this is an affiliate link, I'm just happy to promote PeoplesHost, because I have had nothing but great customer experience with them as my own web hosting provider.
%d bloggers like this: