Cinderella: The Modern Spy Version

Last month in my Digital Storytelling class, I had the assignment to re-tell a classic story, changing the situations, POV, characters, setting, etc..  I turned Cinderella into a modern spy story about conspiracy and undercover intelligence.

The concept of romance, you see, what a necessary pretense... Cinderella was a threat to the security of England all along.

I decided to share it with you for your own amusement. Hope you enjoy.

(Click on the pages to make them bigger; then you can scroll through them and read them that way.)

The Art and History of WRITING In 10 Minutes

 Tick, Tick, Tick!

Writing is an important part of our world. From its earliest beginnings in Africa and the Middle East, to its influence on the thoughts, feelings, and actions of countless individuals throughout history and today, it has played a vital part in shaping and defining the world we know. Among the vast varieties of styles, techniques, and genres of writing, exists an art that many love and are proud to call their vocation.

HISTORY

The first writing originated in Egypt and Sumer, although it cannot be stated for sure which place is credited with truly being first. The oldest Sumerian and Egyptian scripts have both been dated around 3200 B.C. Sumerian writing was called cuneiform, from the Latin word "cuneus" (wedge), because it was made up of wedge-shaped marks, formed by a sharply cut reed that was pressed in wet clay. The other early form of writing was Egyptian picture writing, known as hieroglyphs. This was eventually written on papyrus, an early kind of paper. The last of early civilizations to develop writing was China, circa 1600 B.C.

 Cuneiform

Hieroglyphs

The next most significant advancement in writing, after it was invented, was the move to a phonetic system. This began with the Phoenicians in the 15th century B.C. It was further developed and expanded by the Greeks, Romans, Muslims, and many others for their respective languages. The Roman alphabet became what we use today in English.

 Phoenician alphabet

In early Medieval Europe, books were expensive and written by hand by a trained scribe; usually a monk. At first, all books were written in Latin, but then people began writing in common tongues. In the 1400s, a German named Johann Gutenberg first invented the printing press. His invention changed the world; especially the world of writing. People who could never afford books suddenly could. Ideas traveled faster and more cheaply.

 A printing press

In the early 1600s, the book Don Quixote was written by Miguel de Cervantes in Spain. Although not all scholars agree, many identify it as the first modern novel. Don Quixote inspired writers to write adventure novels, paving the way for authors like Flaubert, Dostoevsky, Twain, and innumerable others. 

 Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes

 

ART

Modern writing techniques differ according to the type of writing. In a short story, for an example, there should be a small handful of characters that are developed rapidly, a simple subject that lets the story take place in a brief amount of time, and a strong, satisfactory ending. By contrast, a novel typically has a more complex plot and a wide variety of characters. Good, well-developed characters are vital to the success of any story, but especially to a novel. According to The Everything Creative Writing Book by Carol Whitely, "Three-dimensional, intriguing, standout characters can make or break a novel."¹

Poetry has its own set of rules when it comes to writing; in fact, the main rule of poetry is that it has no rules. Rather, it is written and defined however a poet wants to write or define it. Typically, however, poetry is written in lines, and falls under one of three major types: descriptive or dramatic, which describes a scene, sound, person, or feeling; narrative, which tells a story; and lyric, which expresses personal feelings and thoughts. Some techniques used in poetry include alliteration, allusion, metaphor, onomatopoeia, personification, and simile. 

Nonfictional writing can be just as creative as fictional writing, although it has some of its own rules. For an example, research is one of the most important aspects of nonfiction, especially functional nonfiction like letters to the editor, reviews, opinion pieces, and advertisement or marketing materials. At the same time, nonfiction can be made stronger with many of the same techniques as fiction, such as personification, similes and metaphors, dialog and description. Nonfiction can also by strengthened by making it relevant to the reader, adding intrigue, writing with passion and emotion, and including interesting, unusual information.

Writing is a vast subject and cannot be adequately covered in a short amount of space. However, it only takes a brief glance at its art and history to see its importance in our world.

Note to fellow writers --> Recommended reading: The Everything Creative Writing Book by Carol Whitely!

Footnote:

1 Whiteley, Carol. The Everything Creative Writing Book. Avon, MA: Adams Media, 2002, page 32

Other sources consulted:

* Burch, Joann Johansen. Fine Print: A Story About Johann Gutenberg. Minneapolis, MN: Carolrhoda Books, Inc., 1991

* Carr, Karen, Dr. "Medieval Literature." 21 October 2010. http://www.histo

ryforkids.org/learn/medieval/literature/

* "History of Writing." http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistori

es.asp?historyid=ab33
* "Who Was the First Person to Write a Modern Novel?"

com/history-fact-finder/culture-recreation/who-was-first-person-write

-modern-novel> (accessed 13 November 2010)

Answers to the Quiz and An Easter Story

Okay, seems like I haven't fooled anyone. 100% of you answered "i: none of the above" for the quiz two posts ago. And you were correct.

Easter is coming up, so I decided to post a short story I wrote last Easter titled "Call of the Prince". Enjoy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Call of the Prince: An Easter Short Story

The air was humid, the ground barren for miles. Gray, craggy mountains rose awkwardly from the horizon, the ground a wasteland stretching unto that point. Nothing lived, everything perished. The dirt was a hard dry brown, split with wide cracks running through its surface. Each crack was infested with dead vines bearing cruel thorns, creating stumbling blocks for the bare feet of travelers.

Travelers? Who would travel such a lethal, macabre wasteland? No one would choose to, but nonetheless, a train of prisoners appeared in the distance. Heavy chains clamped around their wrists and to each other to form a long line of weary, sweaty travelers from the faraway Kingdom on the other side of the mountains. Soldiers dressed in black, metal armor lead them along mercilessly. These were the criminals; they had been such since birth. Each had the mark on their foreheads, and each deserved to die.

Finally, they came upon a small, wooden cross jutting up from the earth. They had reached their destination, and their place of execution.

“Bring the first in line,” a soldier ordered in a gruff, harsh voice.

The first was a girl, no older than 18. Patches of dust and dirt sooted her face and clothing, and strands of thick hair clung to sweat on her forehead, just leaving her criminal mark visible behind them. She gazed at the cross, and her heart sank as she was pulled harshly forward. They bound her arms to the wood and stood back, sharpening a long sword for her execution. She watched and listened to the sound of metal scraping against metal. A large tear streamed down her cheek, picking up dirt from her face and becoming a dusty brown color before dripping off her chin and falling onto her shirt.

One soldier held up the sword, pointing it towards her. The girl sucked in air nervously, then closed her eyes, awaiting the feeling of a cold blade through her chest...

“Wait! Don't kill her.”

Her eyes popped open, and she, along with the other soldiers, turned their head towards the direction of the voice.

Appearing from behind a large rock, was a man. He appeared to be no more than another traveler. His simple, almost ragged attire hung unevenly from his body. He had bare, dirty feet, and long, unkempt hair fell around his face. It was obvious that he had had a long journey similar to that of the prisoners.

“What authority do you have?” a soldier demanded harshly. For such a lowly person to dare challenge authority, he had to have a very good reason or else he would be no better than the girl.

However, the man only smiled, though it was a somewhat weak and saddened smile. “You shall let her go,” he said, his voice commanding. “And, should they choose, all of them-” he swept his hand towards the other prisoners. “-if, you kill me; the Prince; in their stead.”

Immediately, the soldiers began to stare at him with a sense of fear and dread.

“Prince Jesua?” once inquired, shocked.

At that moment, the girl bound to the cross realized something horrible: the soldiers would agree and kill the only heir, after which they would kill the prisoners as well anyway. “Wait, Prince, no!” she cried. “You don't know what you're do-”

“We accept.” a soldier said, smiling sinisterly. He pulled the girl from the cross and pushed her to the ground, before stepping back and beckoning the Prince to come to where she had once been.

The Prince was unafraid. He did as the soldier asked, and allowed himself to be bound to the cross the girl should have rightfully died on. The girl, however, watched terrified, tears escaping the corners of her eyes. If the heir was killed, what would become of the kingdom?

As the sword was raised, the Prince turned his head towards the girl on the ground, smiled to her affectionately, and then fixed his eyes upon the sword before him; staring death straight in the face.

The blade came quickly. For a small moment, the Prince's face grew solemn as he felt the pain, but then, his eyelids drooped, and his head hung. The girl shook her head defiantly, and buried her face in her arms. The soldiers laughed.

“Next,” one said, half-commanding and half-joking. They started to turn towards the girl, but suddenly, a steady chorus of “click-click”'s caused them to freeze and stare at each other quizzically.

“The locks,” one mumbled. “How did all the chains unlock?”

They looked down the row of prisoners, and all of their chains; even that of the girl still on the ground; had been mysteriously unlocked. At least they weren't off, so as long as none of the prisoners noticed and kept them as they were, they were still captive. The soldiers shrugged, trying to put it off in their minds as just a strange happening, but the mysteries were not over; the greatest one was still to come.

It was the girl who noticed first. She saw that the binds around the Prince's body had disappeared, and he was slumped against the cross; unbound. She gasped, and the soldiers turned around to see what had happened, but before they could react; the rags on the Prince's body began melting together into elaborate attire with rich greens and purples and fine gold lining the edges. His hair swept back to reveal a sudden, golden crown, and his eyes opened; alert and alive with passion. Wounds and dirt wiped away like a cloth wiping away muck from a brass table. He stood up, smiling; even laughing, and held out his hand to the girl. The soldiers remained frozen in shock.

“Will you come with me, to a life in the castle where you will be my princess, my bride? The journey there may be difficult, but the rewards worthwhile; and I will be with you every step of the way.”

“But how can it be?” the girl exclaimed. “Those who bear the mark cannot enter the castle!”

Prince Jesua grinned. “Ah, but with my Father, all things are possible,” he insisted.

The girl hesitated, but then reached up and grasped his hand. Instantly, the mark on her forehead disappeared; and much like the Prince, the dirt and filth washed away to reveal clean, smooth skin, and her patched rags were replaced by a royal, blue dress flowing to her ankles. Prince Jesua pulled her to her feet, and then addressed her anxiously, “Hurry, we must warn the others to follow me to the castle and escape their coming death. The chains are unlocked; but unless they accept freedom, it will not be given to them.”

As desperately as they could, the Prince and his fiancé begged the prisoners to come with them. Many answered willingly, and allowed the Prince to slip off their unlocked chains... but many others were reluctant and skeptical.

Before parting and beginning their journey, the Prince gazed at his group of followers, then back at those who had refused to obey and were still in line for execution.

“Is this it, then?” he said with a mournful expression. “Will my children refuse to follow their Prince to the life they were truly born for? Alas... many are called, but few are chosen.”

~~*~*~~

Will you answer His calling? And will you make sure others hear it?