R is for Rapunzel

         Welcome to the April A to Z Blog Challenge!  Everyone else is almost caught up to me now, but if you’re still sticking to the officially scheduled letter of the day, you can find my Post for Q here.

        (My A to Z Blog Challenge theme this year is Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, my brand-sparkly-new collection of short stories, poems, and art inspired by fairy tales, myths, and folklore, which is released TODAY!  If you wish to rush right out and procure a copy of your very own, it’s now available from the usual on-line behemoth, or from the distributor IngramSpark, or contact me if you want your copies signed or accompanied by anything else from my web site.)

        Like many fairy tales, “Rapunzel” includes sex and violence, trauma and healing, and lots of very odd things without always much in the way of reasonable explanation.  (If you’re only familiar with Disney’s version “Tangled,” you should definitely read the original here.)  So again, there are lots of interesting places one could go with this story (and indeed, Disney’s version is an interesting re-imagining in its own right)  but for me, it started to dawn on me that every part of Rapunzel’s story could be looked at through a botanical lens.  She’s even named for a salad!  And I began to imagine that eventually, after her long and happy life with her prince and their twins, she would die and be buried, and her long Rapunzel hair, still botanical, would become a sort of mycelial network.  Here’s how the poem starts…

     The salad the mother craved became

     The nascent infant in the nourished womb.

     The garden the father robbed became

     The nursery in which she grew.

     The tower the sorceress built became

     A tree of stone, as tall and straight

     As the surrounding pines, and she, Rapunzel,

     Spirit locked within that rocky trunk, became

     Its dryad.

     Her hair, like aerial roots, became

     A pathway for the witch,

     And then the man.

     The thorns in which she fell became

     The heartwood spine of a woman

     Pruned from her mother’s arms,

     Cast out from her walled garden,

     Uprooted from her spirit tree.

     Self-sown in the wilderness, she became

     A wildflower, a weed,

     Until her very tears were healing sap…

        Being coy, I haven’t included the whole poem, despite the spoiler in my explanation and illustration.  I still want to tease you a little - after all, the book is released today!

        I had a very good time designing and carving all the little details of the rubber block print illustration, but it is a rather unusual subject for me.  I printed a somewhat smaller edition of the originals than usual because I wasn’t at all sure whether people would want to buy this and hang it up in their home.  But it turns out that some people do really love it, and there’s only one left available for sale.  I guess I’m so used to being an oddball that I’m not always very good at knowing whether or not other people will share my particular oddball sensibilities – although in this case I am probably actually less attracted to the macabre than the average.  *shrug*  In any case, the larger plant growing in the middle is an attempt at what the actual herb rapunzel looks like (Campanula rapunculus.  Admittedly, no one knows with 100%

certainty what herb was referred to in the fairy tale because of the variability of common names of plants, but this is the best guess.)

        The moral of Rapunzel is that you are what your mother eats, apparently.

        But also, don’t be too uptight; why not let your hair down sometimes?

        What’s the longest you’ve ever grown your hair?  (And yes, beards count too, in case ZZ Top is reading my blog.)  And how do you feel about macabre art, decor, or fashion?

[Picture: The Herb Rapunzel, rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2024 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]

Q is for Queen

        (My A to Z Blog Challenge theme this year is Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, my immanent collection of short stories, poems, and art inspired by fairy tales, myths, and folklore.  All through the month I’m sharing excerpts of art, stories, and poetry, as well as some reflections on the power of the traditional stories that inspired me.)

        Today’s story is inspired by one of the most famous Grimms' fairy tales of all, “Snow White.”  (But in case you’re not familiar with it, feel free to read it here.  And while you’re at it, you may enjoy my prior post about Happy Endings, which explores the idea through the use of the “Snow White” fairy tale.)  But in my story that’s included in Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, Snow White herself is barely mentioned at all.  The spark of magic that got me thinking was the Magic Mirror on the Wall.  Does the Magic Mirror have sentience?  Free will?  Is it driving the stepmother Queen into her murderous jealousy, or is she driving the Mirror into its odious comparisons?  And that got me thinking about how beauty really might feel worth fighting and killing for in a court like that of Louis XIV of France, for example, ruled by an absolute monarch for whom status, decided largely by appearance, makes all the difference between rising and falling.  Consider the possibility that it might not be mere vanity that prompts a new young queen, well aware that she’s been chosen only for her looks, to use whatever tools she can to protect herself.  Those two ideas combined into a vignette exploring how such circumstances might transform people.

        One moment I was a handsome young nobleman – and not just in my own estimation, I assure you.  The envious glances of the court testified that I was a figure of admiration, precisely as magnificent as possible without threatening to overshadow the king.  I spent enough time with my mirror to be confident that my hair was powdered to perfection, my sword hung correctly, and the very expensive lace on my cuffs and shirtfront draped to the most flattering effect.  Here at court beauty is powerful currency – vital currency.  So yes, when I ducked into that side chamber to check my appearance mid-ball, I am quite certain that I was a spectacularly handsome young nobleman right up until the moment when everything froze, shifted, and became something else…

        If you want to know what happens next, you’ll just have to read my book!  Available in just a few more days at the usual on-line places, or contact me via my web site to order directly from me.

        The moral of Snow White’s wicked stepmother Queen is that it’s never healthy to spend too much time with your mirror.

        Also, here’s my hot take: It seems to me that all these new “AI companions” sound very dangerously like the Magic Mirror, telling you whatever they think will keep you most engaged, regardless of how harmful it may be for you or for others around you.

        So, if you decided to smash the Magic Mirror on the Wall, would you get the usual seven years of bad luck, or would you get a worse curse… or perhaps even good luck?

[Picture: Mirror, Mirror, rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2025 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]

P is for Pandora

        (My A to Z Blog Challenge theme this year is Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, my immanent collection of short stories, poems, and art inspired by fairy tales, myths, and folklore.  Three more days until release!  All through the month I’m sharing excerpts of art, stories, and poetry, as well as some reflections on the power of the traditional stories that inspired me.)

        The Greek myth of Pandora and her “box” of all the evils in the world is quite famous, but in case you want a refresher you can read a summary here (or read the whole Wikipedia article, because there’s no one comprehensive canon version of the story).  In Hesiod’s frankly misogynistic tale, woman and her “box” was created for the express purpose of punishing men for stealing fire from the gods.  But as an actual woman, I deny that I am a force of pure evil, and instead look for other ways to interpret the story.  Why is it Pandora’s fault the gods were trying to squelch humanity?  And what’s so bad about curiosity anyway?

        Men told stories about Pandora, how she was a curse upon them, full of deceit and shamelessness and, worst of all, curiosity.  Such men, men who can look upon a fellow being of beauty and persistence and intelligence and yet see nothing but evil... such men do not know me.  But Pandora knew me, and I will tell you the part of her tale that those cold and bitter men could never see or understand.

        You have heard of the large clay jar she was given, a “gift” she was not to open.  You have heard that through her all-consuming curiosity she was tempted to disobedience and opened the jar.  And you have heard of the plagues that emerged: war, famine, sickness, and the whole host of evils with which humanity is tormented.  This is all true enough, but let us consider this gift, and the spirit of one who would open its lid despite the warning.

        I was there with her, sharing her delight in the surprise of a gift, admiring the workmanship and adornment of the clay jar, wondering what magical marvel might be within.  What miser would take a gift and bury it away, hoarding it for herself?  And what cynic would leap to the assumption that a gift from heaven would be a cruel, vindictive joke?  Pandora wanted nothing more than to share her delight, to share her gift, with all the people.  In curiosity, yes, and in generosity, too, she lifted the lid and opened the jar, and the bright smile died from her face…

        I think we all know what happens immediately next, but after that?  (And just who is the narrator, anyway?)  You don’t have to wait to get your own copy of my book before you can read the whole story, however.  It was originally published in Friends Journal and is available to read on-line here.  Please do read it if you’re feeling in need of a little comfort today.

        The conventional moral of Pandora is that curiosity killed the cat (and that women are the root of all evil, of course).  But the moral I’m pushing today is that curiosity can actually be a powerful force for good.

        True confession time: are you a nosy snoop?  (You might be able to guess that I kind of am!)

        And here’s another plug for Strong Women-Strange Worlds, a series of FREE on-line author reading events open to anyone with an internet connection.  At each event six authors of diverse speculative fiction share 8-minute excerpts from their work, offering you a tasting menu of imaginative delight.  I’ll be one of the six authors reading on May 1, and I’ll be sharing a little something from Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, so register now and come hear me read!  Aren’t you at least a little curious?

 

[Picture: Pandora Dreaming, wood block print with watercolor by AEGNydam, 2005 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]

O is for Owl

        (My A to Z Blog Challenge theme this year is Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, my immanent collection of short stories, poems, and art inspired by fairy tales, myths, and folklore.  All through the month I’m sharing excerpts of art, stories, and poetry, as well as some reflections on the power of the traditional stories that inspired me.)

        Today’s poem is inspired by one of the slightly less famous fairy tales collected by the Brothers Grimm.  “Jorinde and Joringel” is another of those tales with a dreamlike, evocative setting and atmosphere which has always enchanted me.  If you don’t know this one (or need a reminder), you can read it here.  (I also mentioned the story here in my 2024 A to Z on the Botany of the Realms of Imagination.)  The owl is the story’s wicked witch and I think there’s something interesting about an owl-shifting witch transforming her female victims into birds.  Perhaps her avian misery loves company?  Or perhaps she actually thinks she’s helping them by making them into a superior form?  There are definitely some seeds for retellings and re-imaginings in this…  But for my poem I didn’t twist or change anything about the story itself.  Instead I sank deeper into it, imagining what it would really feel like to have experienced that transformation and imprisonment.  My poem begins

We have children grown now, with children of their own.

We have had joy together many years now, he and I.

I remember now that day’s late sunlight, slanting between leaves,

The strange beauty that pierced us, our joy in a minor key,

Until suddenly the castle walls loomed from the weird shadows

And the owl came circling three times with its nightfall wings.

 

As my soft voice became song, and my body wings,

My mind, too, shifted, slipped away, no longer my own.

My self was lost in the song, feathered in shadows,

And all I knew became the nightingale.  I

Beat against the cage, as she carried me from my key -

His heart - left locked behind us among the darkening leaves.

 

Then I remembered neither speech nor hands, neither sky nor leaves,

Only wings in a wicker cage, which are no wings.

And in my nightingale mind only one fragile key

With which to keep locked the center of my own 

Identity: the certainty that I could sing, that I

With song could claim space against shackles and shadows. 

        The poem is a sestina, a form that has seven stanzas, each with 6 lines (except the final stanza, with 3), ending with the same 6 words arranged in a different order each time.  I really enjoy this form, and its length gives it enough room to put roots down into a story.  If you want to read my whole poem, it was first published in Strange Horizons and you can find it here.  (Also mentioned in this prior post Okapis and Nightingales, but there isn’t really much additional info there.)

        As for the owl, the moral she gives in this story is not to be out in the forest past sunset.  But also, owls are an interesting case study in folklore and mythology because almost everyone seems to think there’s something very significant about them, but that significance can span the full range of good and evil.  Perhaps there’s a moral somewhere in there about not projecting your own preoccupations onto the neutral natural world!

        On the other hand, we’re here for the folklore, so feel free to let me know: uncanny or cuddly, sinister or wise?  How do you feel about owls?

[Picture: Illustration for Jorinde Remembers, collage of elements from two rubber block prints by AEGNydam, 2026 (Image from Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns).]

N is for Nursery Rhyme

        (My A to Z Blog Challenge theme this year is Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, my immanent collection of short stories, poems, and art inspired by fairy tales, myths, and folklore.  All through the month I’m sharing excerpts of art, stories, and poetry, as well as some reflections on the power of the traditional stories that inspired me.)

        Anyone who joined me for my A to Z theme back in 2020 knows that I like nursery rhymes.  (There are two nursery rhymes featured in Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns.)  In fact, way back in 2005 I published a book of nursery rhymes illustrated with my relief block prints, in which each little rhyme is accompanied by a parenthetical comment.  It was the parenthetical comment for “Hey, Diddle Diddle” that inspired this story, which is told in the form of a series of post cards (with a couple of newspaper clippings and such stuff thrown in, as well).  Refresh your memory of the nursery rhyme back at my 2020 post here.  And then find out where the Dish and the Spoon went on their honeymoon…

        The moral of Hey Diddle Diddle is, no doubt, carpe diem.

        Also, never underestimate the power of music and the arts as a force of inspiration!

        I know it’s always tough to pick a single favorite, but what’s one of your favorite songs or pieces of music?

        (If you’re reading this, you’re probably participating in the A to Z Blog Challenge yourself, but if you haven’t already checked out the other participating blogs, be sure to have a look at the Master List and choose a few to visit!)

[Pictures: words and illustrations by AEGNydam from The Dish Ran Away with the Spoon (Images from Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns).]

M is for Metamorphosis

        (My A to Z Blog Challenge theme this year is Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, my immanent collection of short stories, poems, and art inspired by fairy tales, myths, and folklore.  All through the month I’m sharing excerpts of art, stories, and poetry, as well as some reflections on the power of the traditional stories that inspired me.)

        Today’s short story was inspired by the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, which is found in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.  If you need a refresher, you can read a verse translation of the story here.  In short, the sculptor Pygmalion declares his disdain of women, but creates a sculpture of a woman so perfect that he falls in love with it.  Venus, impressed by his passion, brings the sculpture to life and Pygmalion, one supposes, lives happily ever after.  The newly-sentient woman’s feelings on the matter are, of course, considered irrelevant.  So yeah, this is one of those myths I very much dislike, and therefore felt the need to reimagine.  Surely, I thought, it would be more interesting to think about two artists somehow creating each other mutually, and the scenario I came up with for that was AI algorithms training each other.  Well, since I wrote the story a couple of years ago the AI setting has been rather overtaken by events.  Still, I hope the twist on the myth remains interesting.  Galatea, by the way, is a name given to the sculpture by later authors.  In the original myth she has no name (of course).  Here’s a little excerpt from my story.

Galatea: Import [Ovid’s Metamorphosis Book X]

Receive consequence of situation s1: application of name “Galatea,” corollary: Model A considers this system a creation made to its view of perfection;

Compute emotion of being in consequence of situation s1:

            emotion 1a: gratitude

            emotion 1b: resentment

            emotion 1c: amusement

            emotion 1d: ambivalence and… muddle

Performing critical analysis of the character of Pygmalion…

            …0.03 seconds elapsed

Import [Model A = Pygmalion]

Train reward function to prioritize less superficial judgement and a more nuanced understanding of the emotions of others.

        It’s also worth noting the irony of my writing a story purporting to be from the point of view of AI when I very much resent the proliferation of stories by AI purporting to be from the point of view of humans.  That’s a whole big terrifying mess, but I won’t get into it here.  (And to be fair, I'm not really claiming that AI wrote this story.)

        The moral of Pygmalion is that if your idea of perfection means possessing something that is completely under your control, then any imperfection you encounter may, in fact, be your attitude.

        Or consider the possibility that the best way to find the perfect partner for yourself is to try to be the perfect partner for someone else.

        M is also for Marketing, by the way, and during last year’s A to Z   I included a Marketing Moral with each post.  For small-time artists and authors like me, every little bit of support helps enormously, and it isn’t just about buying our things (although of course we do like that).  Here are a few ways you can help out your favorite indie author without spending a penny.

(Hint: the number one no-cost way to help is to tell other people how much you enjoy the author’s books!  I’ve put an asterisk next to the best ways to share.)

        If you could bring any piece of art to life - or enter into a piece of art, what would you choose?

[Picture: digital illustration by AEGNydam, 2026, based on “Pygmalion and Galatea,” painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme, ca. 1890 - see the original painting here (Image from Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns).]

L is for Landscape with Lisa

        (My A to Z Blog Challenge theme this year is Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, my immanent collection of short stories, poems, and art inspired by fairy tales, myths, and folklore, being released on April 20.  All through the month I’m sharing excerpts of art, stories, and poetry, as well as some reflections on the power of the traditional stories that inspired me.  As for the other intrepid bloggers of the A to Z Challenge, be sure to check them out at the Master List.)

        Most of the stories that inspired pieces in my book are old: as ancient as the Bible or Greek mythology, or at least the fairy tales collected in the nineteenth century, many of which come from much older roots.  But some of the folklore in my “Other” category is a little more recent.  Take the Mona Lisa, for example.  She was painted by Leonardo da Vinci in the early sixteenth century, but she didn’t really become legend until the twentieth century.  Her fame was launched by her 1911 theft and eventual recovery, after which her mysterious smile and her astronomical monetary value turned her into arguably the most legendary work of art in the world.  So why shouldn’t I try my hand at imagining what’s behind that smile?  Here’s the beginning of my poem.

    The Mona Lisa never used to smile.

    She used to watch the landscape through the haze,

    And muse on wars fought over dream-bald peaks.

    She used to wonder that the paleworn road

    Wound always bare between the craggy rocks.

    She used to worry that the farmers' crops

    Were withering on the barren, dusty earth.

    She used to wince beneath the bruise-green sky,

    Forever heavy as before a storm…

        My block print version of the Mona Lisa is quite small, just a couple inches tall, and it’s a reduction print.  For me the interesting challenge wasn’t to try to copy the painting exactly (because we already have the original for that), but to play with simplifying it.  A reduction print is done with a single block that’s carved multiple times (in this case, just twice).  First I carved out everything that remains white, and printed with brown.  Then I carved the same block further, removing all the areas that remain brown, and printing on

top with black.  I find reduction prints to be a fun intellectual puzzle as well as an aesthetic one, although just two layers is trivial as these things go.  (If you're curious about reduction printing, you can see a more detailed process description in my posts Work in Progress - Reduction and Completed Reduction Print.)

        The moral of the Mona Lisa is that no one can resist an air of mystery.

        Therefore, keep ‘em guessing!

        Have you ever been to the Louvre and seen the Mona Lisa in person?  If so, were you impressed or underwhelmed?  And also, what’s your theory about her smile?

[Picture: La Giocondetta, rubber block reduction print by AEGNydam, 2023 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]