Hiatus? The End? A Hundred-Year Nap?

Well. As you can see, it’s become harder for me to maintain Scandaroona, as much as I love it. This has a little to do with the fact that I’m studying abroad in Scotland at the moment (and thus running around the moors like a crazy person), and a little do with the fact that I’m working on something that isn’t a fairy tale, so my fairy tale creating time has become a bit limited.

I do still blog, though. I just hang out at clishmaclavering.wordpress.com instead these days.

Anyway. I don’t know if I’ll come back to Scandaroona. I’d like to. I don’t really have the sense that it’s completed yet. And I do have two other fairy tales in the works — maybe someday I’ll finish and post them.

We’ll just have to see what happens.

Part 6: “Wishes Again”

This is the final section.

***

Part 1 can be found here, Part 2 can be found here, Part 3 can be found here, Part 4 can be found here, and Part 5 can be found here.

***

The next morning was a difficult one for the tallest man. It was all he could do simply to rouse himself: the heavy layer of melancholy he had been living in seemed to have thickened overnight, leaving a leaden weight somewhere inside his chest. Nevertheless, he got up and had breakfast, loitering in his bedroom for a few minutes in hopes of figuring out a plan.

His wife surprised him by sitting up in bed.

“Where were you last night?” she asked.Image

The tallest man had barely spoken to her for weeks, and he was no longer used to it. He looked down and said nothing.

(Continued after the jump.)

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Part 5: “Back to the Stream”

(Haven’t had time lately to engage in the self-mockery that is Libby Drawing Pictures, so today’s segment will have a lovely photograph of autumn here instead. Pretend the leaves are by the stream. Or just pretend that I will re-post later and put a real picture in. :)

Part 1 can be found here, Part 2 can be found here, Part 3 can be found here and Part 4 can be found here.

***

The next morning, the tallest man’s wife was shocked to see her husband climbing out of bed, and more shocked still to see him wolfing down breakfast as though he hadn’t eaten in days (which, unfortunately, was close to the truth.) She started to ask him what had caused such a sudden change in his spirits, but he had dressed, washed and raced out the door before she could finish her sentence.

The baker and the miller’s daughter had kept the tallest man up-to-date as to his friends’ whereabouts, and so he knew where he could expect to find them. He decided to seek the shortest man first, and headed for the town square, where he saw him almost at once.

The shortest man was stretched out on a smooth stone bench, surrounded by giggling milkmaids. He seemed to be telling some grand, heroic story, and as the tallest man grew closer, he realized it was about the shortest man himself, and also that it was not true. A milkmaid with a dimple in her chin sat in his lap, while a milkmaid with a rounder shape and corkscrew curls wound her fingers through his hair. He did not shift his gaze as the tallest man approached.

“I have a message for you,” said the tallest man, feeling his knees quake from beneath him. He could see nothing of his old friend in the man that sat before him now, and he did not know how he would respond.

The shortest man tore his gaze from the milkmaids and stopped smiling abruptly.

“It is a message from the spirit of the stream,” continued the tallest man. “He asks that we meet him by the water this evening. He will transport us to the stream at the stroke of midnight, for he wants to ask us a question.”

(Continued after the jump.)

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Where I’ve Been

Hello! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Do you remember when I was talking about how difficult it was to blog amidst all the odd college-y things that seem to crop up when you least expect them to? Well, I’m going to have to do a deep, humiliated blush and admit that those things have definitely gotten the better of me this semester. I love working on Scandaroona. And yet I don’t seem to have the kind of time for it that it really needs in order to be what I want.

Ultimately, I think that’s okay. Because I’m a college student, and I just had fondue with friends at my favorite coffee-shop and worked on Fairy Tale #2 (no, I’m not telling), and before that I was in New York City listening to my favorite author speak*, and before that I was studying for a rather ugly History of Ancient Israel test, and before that I was dancing around the house with my sister, and all of those things add up to something like a life outside the Blog, and I don’t think it’s terrible that I’ve been living it. But I enjoy my Blog-world enough that I don’t want to lose it just yet. I’m just… going to be posting less often.

So here’s what (I think) is going to happen.

(Continued after the jump.)

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Part 4: “At Night”

Part 1 can be found here.

Part 2 can be found here.

Part 3 can be found here.

(Today’s drawing was produced by my brilliant artist friend Dana. Isn’t it wonderful?! I hope to enlist her again.)

***

When the tallest man reached the stream and saw that neither the shortest nor the middle-sized man was there, he thought at first that they must be late. He took off his boots and slid his feet into the warm, dark water, darting glances behind him every few seconds. After a while he shifted his gaze to the bottom of the stream. A small, bright light winked at him from beside a rock, and after a moment it rose up and turned into the water spirit.

“I’m afraid that they will not be coming,” he said. “I knew from the very beginning that they would not. This often happens with wishes. I tried to warn you, but you did not listen. Those men are shadows of who they once were. Your friendship no longer matters to them.”

“I’m sure I could speak to them,” said the tallest man, whose heart was beating painfully in his chest. “Perhaps they will meet me here tomorrow.”

“They will not,” said the spirit of the stream. “They are no longer the men that you knew. Go home, enjoy your wealth, and try to forget.”

(Continued after the jump.)

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Scandareview #5: The Fisherman and His Soul

So it’s become glaringly clear that my original plan of posting weekly despite my return to school hasn’t worked. I’m really sad about that; I’d had high hopes that I could organize my Scandaroona time around my workload and social life, but so far I seem to be having trouble — I’d forgotten how incredibly busy life tends to get. We’ll see how things go in the coming weeks (I haven’t given up just yet!) but I’m trying to come up with a new plan, one that allows me to continue writing Scandareviews and drawing awful pictures as well as permitting me to do college-y stuff unfettered.

That might mean a hiatus after mid-October, so I have more time to finish my second fairy tale; it might mean four posts a month rather than six; it might mean frequent delays in Scandareviews; or it might mean none of the above. I need time to think about it. But I’ve missed it here, and am seriously excited to talk about today’s fairy tale.

I read most of it during an awkward college symphony I went to with my friend Dana — awkward because almost everyone else there was over the age of sixty, and awkward because we’d brought a picnic blanket and most people were sitting primly in their seats. But it was also fun — they played the Star Wars theme, for heavens’ sake! — and I can’t say that Oscar Wilde coupled with a little John Williams was bad.

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Part 3: “The Tallest Man”

Part 1 can be found here.

Part 2 can be found here.

***

The tallest man awoke the morning after the meeting with the water spirit feeling excited and hopeful. Wealth, he knew, could take many forms, and he was eager to see which ones the water spirit had chosen for him. When he opened his eyes to an ornate ceiling, covered in gold-plated curlicues beset with silver, he leapt out of bed and shook his wife awake.

Although he had told her all about the events of the previous day, she was just as surprised as he was when she saw how their bedroom had changed. Overnight, it had tripled in size, and a velvet canopy had appeared on the bed, which was now much bigger and softer than it had been. Looking down at himself, he saw that his nightclothes had been changed into silk, and a satin dressing gown had been hung up on the shining gold curtain rod. Two servants waited at the door, carrying an enormous silver platter, on which a steaming, mouth-watering breakfast was laden.

After the tallest and his wife had finished eating, two servants entered the room and helped their new master dress. The tallest man’s usual clothes had been replaced by countless sets of stiff-looking suits, with a row of smart-looking ties folded neatly inside the wardrobe. Two more servants entered the room and polished the tallest man’s shoes until they gleamed. Then the servant to his left slipped a tiny gold key into his pocket.

(Continued after the jump.)

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Sadly…

…today’s story post has been delayed for twenty-four hours, due to settling into being back at school and all the unpacking, rescheduling, and unexpected s’mores parties thereof. However, it should be up by midnight tomorrow. Fingers crossed!

See you tomorrow!

-Libby

Scandareview #4: Erisichthon

This is my last week at home before heading back to school, and due to the ridiculous amount of stress created by cramming a large amount of things into several small bags, I’ve again made the decision to talk about a fairy tale (or myth, in this case) that I’m familiar with. I’ve also been taking some time to think about Scandareviews and the direction I want them to go in, and I want to discuss that before plunging headlong into the tale of horrible tree-chopping daughter-selling Erisichthon.

I love doing Scandareviews. I really enjoy them, even though I’ve only done four so far — but a nagging voice in the back of my head kept telling me last week that my Blondine review was too long, and I’m afraid it was right. I’m not sure it’s too long for readers — I’m definitely not an expert at figuring out what readers like and don’t like, and this blog is really for me — but I think I’d majorly underestimated the amount of work involved in the reviews I’ve published so far.

I don’t want the quality of them to lessen, and I definitely don’t want to drop the project, so my decision for now is to try to make Scandareviews more concise. I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to do that, but with the added load of schoolwork and the coming semester, I’m just going to have to find a way to cross that bridge. We’ll see how things go!

Anyway, today’s story comes from my beloved Bulfinch’s Mythology, which contains some of the best rainy-day reading in the world.

I was surprised to discover “Erisichthon” when I read it my sophomore year in high school, because until then, my main source for Greek and Roman mythology had been the D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths, which it’s conspicuously absent from. It’s a dark, cold-winds-in-December kind of story, and not many people seem to have heard it before.

(Continued after the jump.)

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Scandareview #3: Bright, Deardeer, and Kit

This past weekend, my cousins came to visit. I’m the oldest out of all my cousins on both sides, so these visits are always an opportunity to stop pretending to be dignified and just be silly for a while. My sister and I took them to the county fair, which lasted most of the evening, but by the time we were home, my eight-year-old cousin was still full of energy and wanted something to do. When I recommended finding something new to read, she asked me if I had any fairy tale books. (What a wonderful question!) This was the one I picked:

Amazingly, it’s still in print today, although it now goes by the name of The Golden Book of Fairy Tales. It wasn’t only my favorite fairy tale book when I was eight — I inherited it from my mother, who remembers it fondly from her own childhood. By the time my cousin was settled with it on the sofa, my mother and my aunt were looking at it too, rattling off the names of their favorite stories. I actually discovered there was a story in the book I’d never read — “The Royal Ram”, because apparently little Libby believed a story about sheep could contain nothing that would interest her. (This is dreadfully ironic now, considering I spend a lot of my time at school writing in a field with about eight rams hanging out just beyond the fence. Inspiring, no?)

But I didn’t read that story today. For the first time, I decided to review a story that I’d already read — one that is known to Golden Book aficionados as “Bright, Deardeer and Kit”, but which is actually called “L’Histoire de Blondine”, or “The Story of Blondine, Bonne-Biche, and Beau-Minon”.

(Continued after the jump.)

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