You can find Chapter One here: https://theinspirationaldreamer.wordpress.com/2015/06/01/a-sample-of-my-writing-fairytales/
It was a chilly April day, I sat on the dewy grass, cold and damp. My brother’s old laptop sat on my lap as I typed as quickly as I could. I took a sip of the strong coffee next to me, and it took away some of fog in my brain.
My Mom was coming for a visit this weekend and my Dad wanted my brother and me to be perfect. To me perfect was really far away but my Dad thought if he cleaned the house, made my brother mind his manners, and make me put away my fairytale junk, we’d be perfect.
“Heather!” My brother calls to me. I look back and he’s shivering. “Dad wants you to come clean your room!”
“I’m coming!” I yell back. My brother and I are complete opposites. And when I say complete opposites, I’m not saying that because I believe it, everyone does.
We look nothing alike, he has the perfect swoopy hair, blonde, straight out of a boy-band. I have a short bob that is caramel colored and my hair is coarse. He’s tall and really muscular. I’m shorter and not in shape but I’m sort of skinny. He has hazel eyes, I have dark brown. He’s into sports and girls. I’m into books and the perfect guy, who hasn’t actually arrived yet. He has this stupid girlfriend, who giggles at everything he says, while flirting behind his back with our neighbor.
As Audrey Hepburn put so well, “I hate girls who giggle all the time.”
I enter the house and suck in the smell of burnt…something, I’m not quite sure what yet. I peep in and see Dad taking something smoking out of the oven, a chicken. Gosh, did he? Did he have to try to cook?
“Dad?” I say wary, as I step in and he looks up and smiles.
“Oh hey, can you clean your room, there’s paper and books everywhere.”
“That’s a sign of genius.” I retort. “Besides, I think you need help.”
He looks down at the smoking, charred, chicken on the stovetop and smiles. “Oh that, I don’t need help. I can just…”
I take a step towards the phone can call up the Italian Place. I order a lasagna, garlic bread, and some éclairs. I hang up and turn to my Dad. “Now, when it gets here, put the lasagna in a pan, then put it in the oven, then cut the garlic bread in pieces and put in a bowl, and it’s foolproof.”
“What about the éclairs?”
“This is where my plan becomes flawless. She won’t believe you made them, so you tell her that you ordered those.”
“You’re a genius!” He tells me. I didn’t tell him that the whole idea was from an I Love Lucy episode. I walk to my room and stand in the doorway, looking at it in triumph. I had been working on it since my Mom left. My Dad couldn’t care less what I did in my life, since I wasn’t a cheerleader or sporty. He probably liked my brother’s girlfriend better. But anyways, I would like to say I have the largest collection of fairytales in the world.
I’ve got all the classics. All my Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen. And then I’ve found some great renditions like the Disney ones and others less popular. I also collect the newer ones. But my absolute favorite is my leather-bound, first-edition, Beauty and The Beast. The illustrations, and everything just make it magical. I bought it for a hefty price at an auction in Europe (a friend went and I begged for her to get it for me.)
I gather some of my fails at fairytales off the floor and as I do, I hear the doorbell ring. I hear my little brother and sister come in and my Mom as well. I hadn’t seen her in a while actually, about two years. The knock sounds on my door and my Mom walks in.