While a part of me wanted to tell my writing student K last night that we needed to rain check--not because I didn't want to spend the evening with her but because I was such bad company--I nevertheless insisted she still come despite the news I had to swallow earlier in the day. Gracious young woman that she is, K brought dinner from Whole Foods (and prepared it), changed out the light bulbs in my front porch light (I've been in the dark for 5 days), and hauled the laundry that has been sitting in the basement since last Tuesday up to my bedroom.

I asked K to give me a writing assignment, turning the tables so to speak. Her response was to instruct me to take a familiar story and write it from a different perspective. I didn't have to write much...just try. Below is the bit I did:


Ella, In Truth

Ella! That very name causes my blood to boil! Ah, but not with anger. Not anger.

Watching her twine her arms around her father’s neck, tugging on his beard, leaning her head into his shoulder…. How does he not see she is wrapping him around her little finger? Why does he scoop her up in his arms even when she has done wrong?

Wrong! She can do no wrong! She dances in the rain, ruining her dress and all he can say is that her feet were as light as air. She sets fire to the bed hangings in her chambers after falling asleep with her book and candle and his response is how much he appreciates her find mind. Why does he love her so?

She is not beautiful. At least, she is no more comely than I. Yes, her hair is fair and her skin porcelain, but am I not as pale? Do not peaches bloom on my creamy cheeks? My hair is dark, but it is a shining river of curls that cascades to my knees, whereas her straight locks barely fall below her shoulders. What glory is there in that?

Am I not equally intelligent? Can I not pronounce the Latin names of each and every plant in this forsaken keep? Have I not worked diligently in the still room since the time I could walk? My herbs and poultices heal far more effectively and much more quickly than those of any healer known for leagues. I have read every book in her father’s library and the seasons have not yet made a full turn since Mother brought us to live here.

“Blodwen, you must make this work for us. Your father’s pension is all but gone. Befriend his daughter so that he will befriend us all!” Mother had implored to me shortly after she met him at the Duke’s manor.

My sister Halyna cares more for the trim on her skirts than she does for anything else. She is perfectly willing to dance attendance on the Marquis’s daughter, praising her every move. As for me, I cannot see as to why Ella is the enchanted one and I mere dust.