U is for Unicorn

         (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, reimagining, and riffing on 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.  Plus, be sure to check out all my fellow A to Z bloggers at the Master List of participants.)

        Mythology about unicorns has shifted quite a bit over the centuries.  The ancient Greeks and Romans believed that unicorns lived in India, had black or tri-colored horns, and included elements of not only horse anatomy, but also stag, wild ass, and even feet like an elephant.  To evade hunters a unicorn could throw itself off a cliff and land on its horn to absorb the shock, thus escaping unhurt.  By the middle ages Europeans thought of the unicorn as looking more like a horse or goat, and most often white.  It was now a woodland creature, fiercest of all beasts to be hunted, and it could be caught only with the taming influence of a virgin.  By the late twentieth century the unicorn had become entirely equine, most often white but sometimes with fancier decor such as rainbow mane and tale, gold or silver horn, and general sparkliness.  It was now mystical and sweet instead of fierce, had lost all its medieval and renaissance allegorical symbolism, and by the 21st century had gained instead a special symbolism within queer culture, and more broadly as a symbol of anything incredibly rare and special (and possibly purely fanciful).  You can read a prior blog post about Unicorns here.

        My short story “The Unicorn Maiden’s Tale,” however, is set very firmly within the medieval world of unicorn lore.

        They picked me when I was fifteen, because I looked the part as they imagined it: long blonde hair, pale pink skin, a maidenly blush...  I blush so much that the boys in my town always teased me about it, and sometimes I blush at the mere thought of how much I blush.  But such modesty was perfect for the Duke’s purposes.  His housekeeper dressed me in a long white gown, and his huntsmen sat me down in a mossy glade in the depths of the forest, stuck a garland of flowers on my head, and told me to wait.

        “What shall I do?” I asked.

        “I don’t know,” the captain of the hunt replied.  “How about singing.  Sweetly.”

        In this story the unicorn is the fiercest, most dangerous creature, drawn to the innocence of a virgin.  In the narrator’s culture the unicorn has powerful religious symbolism, serving as an allegory of Christ’s Incarnation through being born to a virgin, only to be killed by humans.  But it simultaneously represents secular ideas of sexual ardor, as well as of base animal passions being tamed by virtue – not to mention the fact that its horn is worth an enormous amount of money.  The medieval and renaissance beliefs about unicorns were complicated, many-layered, and fraught, and so it is for my unicorn maiden, forced to be the bait in the hunt for this rare and valuable – and dangerous – creature.  Content warning: this story includes more violence than is usual for me.  That’s frankly a pretty low bar because my writing it generally quite gentle, but it’s worth noting for my regular readers that when you deal with fairy tale and myth you do inevitably come up against some pretty dark themes.

        Unlike most of my block prints, for this one I haven’t put any twist on the traditional iconography.  For purposes of keeping my story firmly rooted in the medieval mythology about unicorns, this little piece is based closely on a handful of medieval illuminations and renaissance wood block prints from bestiaries.

        The traditional moral of the Unicorn Maiden would be all that allegorical stuff I’ve already described.  But my moral is that sometimes “innocence” may not look the way you expect.

        Let us know: are you a unicorn fan, and do you own any unicorn paraphernalia?  T-shirts, figurines, plush animals, reproduction tapestries, mugs, or any other unicorn-themed items?

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

T is for Trickster

         (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.  All through the month I’m sharing excerpts, as well as some reflections on the power of the traditional stories that inspired me.)

        People all around the world and throughout history love tricksters.  Or at least, they love telling stories about tricksters – but they don’t generally love being on the receiving end of the tricks.  Tricksters serve an important role in shaking up the status quo, introducing change, unsettling the powerful, giving voice to the forbidden, and upending expectations… but they are not always admirable or likable.  They can be heroes or villains, and are often both at once.  My stories tend to have a strong moral sense and I like my heroes to be heroic (read a prior blog post about that here), but you really can’t write a trickster tale without at least a bit of moral ambiguity.  Even when they help others, tricksters always make sure there’s something in it for themselves, and even when they work toward noble ends, their means tend to be a little sketchy.  Nevertheless, I wanted to write a trickster tale with a trickster who was fun and not too reprehensible: a trickster who doesn’t have any grand ambitions of world domination or epic vengeance, but who just wants to enjoy a pleasant life…

        Tin the Trickster was not very popular with the people, who tended not to appreciate being tricked.  But Tin was tired of always being mistrusted while everyone adored The Strong One, so today they were wearing the appearance of a huge muscle-bound man, with golden armor covered in buttons and dials that certainly looked very impressive.

        “Let me put it to you this way,” they said to the gathered crowd, “Two men go to lift up a big rock.  One grunts and puffs and strains, and raises it up over his head with a cry of triumph.  The other simply picks it up, without any noise or fuss.  Which one is stronger?”

        The people glanced at each other warily, always prepared for some sort of trick, but the answer seemed straightforward enough.  “The one who doesn't need to make a lot of noise?”

        “Exactly!” Tin replied triumphantly, “And that's how you know my magic armor is so powerful.  No noise at all.”  When they were sure they had everyone's attention, they suddenly spun to the side, eyes narrowly focused on something in the distance, struck a pose on one knee, and punched out dramatically with an arm.  Sure enough, there was no noise.  The people nodded uncertainly, not sure whether to be impressed or suspicious.

        Tin stood and turned back with a broad, benevolent smile.  “So let's have no more of this nonsense about how wonderful The Strong One is, eh?  I think we can all see that I am just as mighty.  Probably even more so.”

        This was all well and good – some were convinced and some were not – until a breathless rider arrived, frantic with bad news: The Giant from Over There was on the rampage.  And now it became clear how deeply Tin had impressed the people with their magic armor.  After a hurried consultation, it was The Strong One's door on which the Elders knocked, anxious to recruit him in the people's defense.

        Of course it will be Tin the Trickster who saves the day, but how will they do it?  Read Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns to find out!  As for the illustration, this is a brown-headed cowbird, one of nature’s tricksters, who serves as a messenger for Tin in my story.  Cowbirds lay their eggs in other birds’ nests, leaving the unwitting host to hatch and raise the cowbird chicks, often to the detriment of their own brood.  You can consider cowbirds

“mean” or “lazy,” or you can appreciate that they’re just living their appointed niche in the natural world.  Either way, they seemed like appropriate sidekicks for a trickster figure.

        T is also for Tree of Life, and you can read a post about that (including my own artwork) from the 2024 A to Z Challenge: Magical Botany L.  And T is for Tarasque, a creature you can meet in my 2016 A to Z: Mythical T.  There are pieces in Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns relating to both the Tree of Life and the Tarasque.

        The moral of Tricksters is, I suppose, trust no one!  But also, remember the Boy Who Cried Wolf and consider that you won’t enjoy it when you’ve become the one whom no one trusts.

        From Anansi to Loki, Till Eulenspiegel to Coyote, Jacob to Bugs Bunny, and Sang Kancil to the team of the television series “Leverage,” we just love seeing cleverness and chutzpah in action, just as long as we’re not the victims.  Do you have a favorite trickster?  And how do you feel about practical jokes in real life?

[Picture: Trickster’s Familiar, rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2026 (Image from NydamPrints.com);

Tarasque, rubber block print with colored pencil by AEGNydam, 2026 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]

S is for Shabti

        (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.  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.)

        For S we’re going into the “Other” category for a poem inspired by the mythology of ancient Egyptian funerary practices.  So, you’re going to live forever in an afterlife that’s really pretty much exactly like this life.  In other words, all the work still needs to be done – and who wants to spend an eternal afterlife doing the chores?  That’s where the shabti comes in.

        A shabti (sometimes also called ushabti or shawabti) is a model figurine of a person, inscribed with magical spells so that when called upon in the afterlife, it will step up and do all the required work, leaving its master to “live” an afterlife of leisure.  The people of the highest wealth and status might include dozens or even hundreds of shabtis in their tombs to make sure they were properly served.  For me the idea of shabtis, like all those stories about beings created for the sole purpose of serving their masters, raises the question of how they feel about this situation.

     For a long time I waited, silent in the sand.

     Feet planted, arms crossed, silent in my row.

     For a long time I waited to respond to the command.

     All was stillness, all was darkness, unvarying and slow.

 

     For a long time I waited, patient for the call

     To plow, to clear obstructions, to carry stones or sand.

     For a long time I waited, my obedience a scrawl

     Of symbols down my legs: my statement and my stand.

 

     “I am here; I answer,” my painted spell declares,

     To the master in whose likeness I am made.

     All around me in the darkness are my master’s painted prayers…

     But his heart has not returned from being weighed.

        Once again I have given you here only half the poem, in an unabashedly unsubtle attempt to entice you to want to read more, thus having to purchase a copy of Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns for yourself.  And in case you need further enticement, But wait!

There’s more!  S is also for Scheherazade, about whom you can read the poem which I posted here.  (Plus, you can read about some other authors’ Scheherazade retellings at this post.)  And S is also for Siren.  I’ve got a short story and a poem about sirens in my book, but in this prior post on The Lure of Sirens you can read all about the varied ways sirens have been depicted in art from ancient Greece up to my own rubber block print (which is in the book - in three variations, no less!)

        The moral of shabtis is that although humans never stop trying to figure out ways to make someone else do the work for them, enslaving another sentient being is never okay.

        However, if you persist in making shabtis despite Moral #1, it’s worth it to pay a little extra for a scribe with clear handwriting, lest you end up with garbled spells and malfunctioning shabtis for all eternity.

  The ancient Egyptians tended to pack for the afterlife like going to a deserted island, so I’ll go with that classic question: what three things would you take?

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

Siren Song, rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2025 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]

R is for Rapunzel

        (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).]