the deep moans round with many voices

And this was my first attempt to retell The Firebird, which I lated expanded into Bluebell. You can see how the story changed as it grew -- among other things, 'the Prince' became Ivan, and thus a much more realized character, and the princess turned from Emerald, a very self-assured young woman, into Bluebell, who's a bit younger, less fixed in her views, and much less of a channel for my voice and issues.

Apparently, the longer the story the less didactic I get.

( Emerald )

This is the story I wrote as a holiday present a few years ago. It's called "Bluebell," because it's about a girl named Bluebell, and titles have never been my strong point. It's kind of a backwards retelling of one version of The Firebird -- not the version with Koschei the Deathless and the stone statues, but the one where the prince (who's the youngest of three sons, naturally) has to find three treasures with the aid of a talking fox, and he keeps screwing up, because otherwise there wouldn't be much of a story. I like the story, but certain aspects of it began to bug me on a closer reading. I retold it to get those issues clear on paper.

So here we go. Please forgive the excessive parentheses; this was a stylistic experiment as well as my first serious attempt at something light and semi-fluffy. I should warn you, though, that I failed to some extent in my quest for good cheer -- there are some potentially disquieting parts of the story, and the philosophical questions (i.e., the problem of free will and a discussion of the ethics of assissted suicide) that crept in behind the scenes never really get resolved.

( Bluebell )

I did post this story previously in a divided form, but it was always intended to be a single story (despite the 'chapter' divisions) and I have more captive readers now than I did a year and a half ago, and I wanted to give people a clear idea of what I do when I retell fairy tales, so... *grin*

And here we are... the last of it.

( Bluebell, Part IV )

I would say something more, but I'm in a curious floaty headspace and coherence is not coming to me now.

In which they don't actually trade the horse for the firebird, and we meet Ivan's parents. (Y'know, I know my sense of humor is obscure when not one of my relatives -- not even my sister -- recognized his mother. *sigh* Must learn to make clearer references, or else to snigger at all the ignorant fools who miss them.)

( Bluebell Part III )

The next parts get a little heavy/weird, which I spent several days fighting against when I wrote the damn thing, but I eventually surrendered to the tendency of my stories to go peculiar and dark and philosophical. (You should have seen the rough draft. It was scary. Pages of discussion on... no, can't say yet. After it's posted. *evil laugh*)

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Am not feeling the writing bug at the moment. Am too interested in reading Spuffy smut and Skywalker family stories. Must stop falling into new fandoms, damnit! I write Harry Potter, not Star Wars or BtVS or DBZ or Ranma 1/2 or Gundam Wing or Dark Is Rising or PotC or...

Focus, Liz, focus!

I have decided, out of the infinite goodness of my heart, to grace this portion of the digital realm with some of my earlier works of genius.

In other words, I can't think of anywhere else to post some of my old original stories, so I'm inflicting them on the world via this journal. This one's called "Bluebell," because it's about a girl named Bluebell and titles are not my strong point. If you must know the plot, it's kind of a backwards retelling of one version of the firebird fairy tale... not the one with Koschei the Heartless and the stone statues, but the one where the prince has to find three treasures with the aid of a talking fox (and he keeps screwing up, because otherwise there wouldn't be much of a story).

So here we go. And please forgive the parentheses; this was a bit of a stylistic experiment as well as my first attempt at something light and semi-fluffy.

( Bluebell )

There are nine chapters in all, but as you can see they're quite short. This story was written as a Christmas present, after all, a couple years back when I'd blown all my discretionary money on a complete set of Neil Gaiman's Sandman, so I couldn't make it too long.