Braving the Dark

"Hansel, Gretel!" the man in the doorway called out.

He opened his arms wide and wrapped Hansel in a giant hug. I hung back, not sure what would happen to me when the man realized I was not his daughter Gretel, but someone else entirely.

"Come, Gretel," he said as he looked over Hansel's shoulder and waved to me. I looked into his twinkling blue eyes, and I saw nothing there to fear. So I stepped forward slowly, waiting for it. Waiting for the look in his eyes to change. For the question mark to replace the welcome. But it didn't appear. One step turned into two, and three turned into four. Before I knew it, I was wrapped in the same warm hug. I couldn't understand what was happening. Why didn't he see that I wasn't Gretel? I could only rationalize it one way--this was a dream. As much as it felt real, it couldn't be. So with that resolution, I followed Hansel's father into the cabin. A warm fire flickered gently in the brick fireplace in the corner. A small table was laid with a white tablecloth. I could see few furnishings. Certainly nothing like our living room at home. There was no television, no computer and no telephone. In the corner was a small bed made up with a faded red blanket.

"I thought we had lost you forever," Hansel's father was saying to us. "I searched and searched, where were you?" I noticed that his eyes were filled with tears of joy at our return. I was about to tell him what had happened, but just then, a rush of cold air struck my face, stinging me like a slap.

There she was. The stepmother. The reason Hansel and his sister had been left in the forest.

"Hansel, Gretel--you have returned," she said with a happy lilt to her voice. I wondered if anyone else could see the narrowing of her emerald eyes, the clenching of her jaw. "We thought you were gone," she finished.

"You hoped we were gone," I muttered under my breath. It was so quiet, no one could have heard it. Yet, somehow, inexplicably, she did. She turned her venomous smile on me.

"Well, then, you must be too tired to eat, Gretel. Off to bed with you then." And just like that, I was sent up the ladder to the second floor to sleep. I climbed the ladder, reaching the top rung and looking around to get my bearings. A small alcove, filled by a mattress on the floor and nothing else. It was cold and dark. And I was hungry. It was definitely time to wake up from this nightmare.

I sat down on the mattress. It looked clean enough. I closed my eyes. And hoped that when I opened them again, I would be home.

Walking in Gretel's Shoes

Kate here, back to tell you more about my adventures in fairytales. There I was, walking in a dark forest with an odd boy named Hansel. The glow of the moon helped to illuminate the tiny white pebbles Hansel had dropped along the path. To lead him home. It was a really long walk. And I could hear strange eerie sounds in the forest. Sounds that caused shivers to run down my neck. My heart was beating a strange quickened rhythm that left me gasping for breath. I kept reminding myself that this was only some kind of dream and that it wasn't real. But the cool breeze that ruffled the flowered dress that wasn't mine, and the very real ache in my feet from walking in ill-fitting buckle shoes didn't feel like a dream. The wolves howled near us, and I thought they were coming closer. I wanted to run, but I didn't know how far we had left to go. At the same time, my brain was searching its memory for the rest of the Hansel and Gretel story. My grandfather read fairy tales to me when I was little. I could remember the house made of candy, and that there was a witch. But I couldn't remember why the kids were alone in the forest. Something was dancing in the shadows of my mind. I just couldn't bring it into the light. So I kept moving forward, not knowing what the future would hold. Or when I would wake up from this very strange dream.

"There it is!" Hansel exclaimed, pointing to a swirl of pale smoke in the sapphire sky. "We're home!" As we drew closer, I could see the smoke was trickling out of a small chimney set atop a quaint little cabin made of wood and brick. Hansel began to run, but I held back. The door opened and I could see a man standing in the doorway. Suddenly, I was gripped with fear. In the light, surely I would be recognized as an imposter. What would happen to me then?

Becoming Gretel

Hi - it's me, Kate, stepping in for Deborah to tell you about my adventures in fairy tales. There I was, standing in a forest in the middle of nowhere. With a boy calling me "Gretel." He was taller than me by a half a head, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Oh, and interesting factoid--he was dressed like a gnome. You know, the ones that stand around in gardens with the pointy blue or red caps? Well, this boy was a dead ringer for a garden gnome. Only he could speak. And he was calling me "Gretel."

"Listen," I told him. "I don't know who Gretel is, but I do know I'm not her." I was trying to set him straight. But he wasn't hearing me. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Gretel, I'm your brother, Hansel. We're lost here in this forest. Don't you remember?"

The boy was trying to explain things to me. He thought Gretel was confused. I'm not sure about Gretel, but I sure was confused. I remembered reading the first words of Hansel and Gretel but I couldn't remember anything else. I could only remember arriving here, to find this odd boy in the woods.

"Gretel, listen to me," the boy was pleading. "When our stepmother led us out here, I had a feeling she was going to do something terrible. So I left a trail of tiny pebbles behind us. If we can find the pebbles, we can follow them home. Then we will be safe."

I remembered a little bit about the story of Hansel and Gretel. Enough to know that he and his sister were far from safe. The strange part was--I didn't see the real Gretel anywhere. I didn't understand how Hansel could think I was his sister. Even in the moonlight, he had to see my brown hair and green eyes. Nothing like his own. And my clothes were so different. I glanced down at my sweatshirt and jeans, only to find that I was no longer dressed like myself. Instead, I was wearing a faded dress with tiny red and yellow flowers. And in place of my sneakers--red buckle shoes!

Before I could begin to make sense of my strange new attire, I heard a sound. An eerie howling. It was returned by a chorus of other howls. I didn't have to ask what that meant. I was in a fairy tale. It had to be wolves.

I wasn't going to wait to meet Little Red Riding Hood.

"Okay, Hansel," I whispered. "Let's find that path of pebbles."

Stepping into a Fairy Tale

Hi - it's me, Kate. I'm back again to tell you more about my adventures in fairy tales. I bought a book of fairy tales from a mysterious woman who told me the book would take me on a magical journey, but only if I truly believed.

When I got home, I opened the dusty old book. I began reading the first story. Hansel and Gretel. As I began reading the words to myself, I wondered if something magical would happen to me. I didn't really believe in magic, but something about the book with its tattered pages and the old woman with the purple eyes had made me curious.

I read the first few sentences.

Absolutely nothing happened. Nothing at all. It was just an ordinary book, I thought, with a bit of disappointment.

Then I recalled that the magic would only work if I truly believed. I took a deep breath. And told myself to believe. To believe in the impossible. I closed my eyes. Imagined a world of magic. A world where animals could speak, and I could fly.

I opened my eyes and began reading the words once again. "Once upon a time, in a land far, far away. Lived a boy named Hansel and his sister, Gretel." Suddenly, I was plunged into darkness.

I could hear someone speaking. The words echoing as though in a cave. "We are lost, Gretel. Hopelessly lost." I felt like I was floating between worlds. Adrift in the pages of a book. Fluttering through space and time.

And then my feet touched ground. The moon broke through the clouds, and I could see a boy in front of me. He was tall and blonde. And he spoke with a strange accent I didn't recognize. But the strangest thing of all--he was calling me "Gretel."

How I Saved Hansel

Hi there, it's Me, Kate Walsh. 10 years old, fan of skateboarding and riding horses. I'm writing posts for Deborah because she's busy working on a new novel and hasn't had time to blog lately.

A few weeks ago, I discovered a magical book. I know, it sounds crazy and unbelievable. But it's true. It was just a dusty old book of fairy tales. A book I thought I was way too old to even read. But this strange old woman with purple eyes convinced me that I needed to read it. She told me the book would take me on a journey. I had no idea she meant a real journey. A journey into another world. So I'm going to tell you all about it. About how I saved Hansel. Remember the story of Hansel and Gretel? You know, the kids who got lost in the forest and munched on a gingerbread house? Well, it isn't exactly the story you think. And when I finish telling you what happened to me, and to Hansel, you won't think fairy tales are for little kids anymore.

Til tomorrow--
Kate

The Writing Life

Last week, I spoke to a class of first grade students about the job of a writer. Preparing for my presentation really made me reflect on what this writing life is all about. I told them that to be a good writer, you need to love books and you need to love telling stories. I told them that the good part is that you can work in your pajamas, and the bad part is that you work by yourself (which can be hard if you are not a self-motivator). The best part, I told them, is that there are no rules. You have complete freedom. And your work is totally unique because it comes from your heart. The students asked a lot of questions, everything from how cover artwork is designed to how you sell your story. But the best question was asked by the teacher. What do you do when you get stuck? Her question caused me to think about my own struggles with writing. Sometimes, I think you have to just push through, force yourself to move forward even if it is difficult. Like a river bending around a boulder but still flowing. It doesn't stop because it is blocked, it just finds another way. Other times, I think you need to step back. Reflect on the work you are creating. Why isn't it working for you? Why can't it flow around the rock? This is what I told the teacher and her students: sometimes, you need to have the courage to let go. And to move onto something else. I encouraged them to feel free to cross out words they didn't like, or to even start over. Because writing takes on a life of its own, and when you set aside one story, I believe it isn't abandoned. It lives on in the new work you create. Because every word you write only serves to enhance your craft. Some stories take time to evolve in your subconscious before they are ready to be born. You just have to wait until they are ready to be told. It takes courage to rewrite, and even more courage to start over. Most of all, it takes persistence. That is the key to a writer's life--never ever giving up.

D.L.

Breathing

Today, I have the pleasure of introducing you to a friend of mine from the Class of 2k9, ya author, Cheryl Renee Herbsman. Cheryl has written this wonderful gem of a book, Breathing (Viking, 2009)--the paperback version of which has just been released. (Great news for those of you looking for a great summer read). Breathing is a charming love story which I could not put down.

Here's a bit about the book:

Savannah would be happy to spend the summer in her coastal Carolina town lying in a hammock reading her beloved romance novels and working at the library. But then she meets Jackson. Once they lock eyes, she’s convinced he’s the one — her true love, her soul mate, a boy different from all the rest. And at first it looks like Savannah is right. Jackson abides by her mama’s strict rules, and stays by her side during a hospitalization for severe asthma, which Savannah becomes convinced is only improving because Jackson is there. But when he’s called away to help his family—and seems uncertain about returning — Savannah has to learn to breathe on her own, both literally and figuratively.


DL: Cheryl, you did such a wonderful job with the pace of the romance in Breathing. Did it just unfold naturally or did you have to plot it out?

CRH: Thank you! It did unfold naturally. I’m what some call an “organic” writer, others call a “pantser”, as in fly by the seat of your pants. I never outline stories and usually don’t know what is going to happen until it does. When I sit down to write, I read over the last scene I wrote, and then just listen for what comes next.


DL: The setting in Breathing is almost like another character--it is so much a part of the book. How did you decide to set the book in this location?

CRH: Breathing started with a character sketch. I met Savannah and her family during a writing exercise. The setting was so much a part of who Savannah is that it came as part of the package. I never considered setting it anywhere else. Savannah had lived and breathed the coastal Carolina atmosphere her whole life. So it was a part of her, a part of her family, a part of her community. It’s a setting I know from my own childhood, one I love. I grew up in North Carolina and every summer my family would spend time at the beaches in North and South Carolina. Those are still some of my favorite beaches. It was fun to immerse myself in my memories of the place and to even take a family trip there for “research”


DL: I loved the ending of the book. So many times, when I get to the end of a book, I am disappointed. But your ending was so perfect. And I wondered if you had considered a sequel?

CRH: Thank you so much. Endings are always tricky. I find myself second-guessing a lot. “Is it too this or too that” type of concerns. But I try to let it unfold naturally. I’ve been so fortunate that many readers have written to me to ask about a sequel. My feeling about it is that right now the story Savannah had to tell has been told. But you never know, she might drop back by with another story to tell. And if she does, you can be sure she won’t give up until I write it!


DL: For those of us who are authors, can you tell us how a paperback release differs from the initial hardcover release?

CRH: For me the paperback release was different in the sense that I had very little to do with it. There were some minor changes made to the paperback cover from the hardcover. I wasn’t involved in those at all. And really the only contact I had with the paperback publisher was receiving my author copies. It feels like a quieter sort of event. But I’m very grateful for it nonetheless, because it means my story is accessible to more readers and has the opportunity to stay in print longer.


DL: What is your favorite sentence in Breathing and why?

CRH: Ahh! That’s a tough question. But I think I’ll stick with the one I had printed on my bookmarks. Savannah says: “I know it’s only dreaming, but I reckon if you go on and act like something is real, sometimes it just believes you.” I think that sort of sums up what I love about her, her dreamer nature, her courage, her boldness, her willingness to try.


DL: That is my favorite sentence, too. It really resonated with me. What tips can you share with other writers who are working on getting their first manuscripts published?

CRH: Don’t ever give up. I’d been trying to sell a fantasy manuscript for about two years. Friends encouraged me to work on something else while I was trying to sell the fantasy. So just as a distraction, I started something else, which ended up being Breathing. It sold very quickly. Keep at the craft, keep reading and writing and learning about the business of publishing and it will happen!


DL: What can we expect from you next?

CRH: I have a manuscript out on submission now. It’s a story I dearly love. And while I’m waiting to hear … I’m working on something else!


DL: Thank you Cheryl! And I can't wait to read your next book.

You can find out more about Cheryl Renee Herbsman and her books at her website.
www.cherylreneeherbsman.com

D.L.