What’s in a Name?

During my time at university, I took a creative writing module which explored a variety of writing styles and techniques, and encouraged us to think more abstractly about our own style. To put this into practice we were set a task, which required us to pair our names with the five main senses and create a ‘description’ of our name.

Although the task was only to describe our own name, I couldn’t resist doing the same for another. Alexis. It was a name given to a character in a novel I began, a name I have always loved, and also the name with which I was almost christened. Sometimes I think I would have preferred to be called Alex, or Alexandra, or Alexis, as the name feels significantly stronger than Sarah. Is that weird to think? Can names be strong, or are they simply what we make them? I feel Sarah is soft, not weak, but not powerful either. Sarah is safe, comfortable, secure, but Alex shouts adventure, courage, strength! I have always loved the etymology of names, and spend hours choosing names for my characters in stories. But this was something new, unexpected, and fresh to muse over, so here are my descriptions, which make my feelings of these two names abundantly clear.

Sarah

My name is the colour of ripe peaches. It smells like fresh country air and feels soft but solid, like a well-plumped cushion. My name tastes sweet, like melting toffee and sounds like water flowing gently down a stream.

Alexis

If my name was Alexis, it would be deep purple with streaks of yellow; strong like the indigo night flashing with light just before the storm breaks. It would smell like deep forests, where the light rarely penetrates. It would feel solid, with no hint of weakness, despite its rounded corners. It tastes like red grapes, solid but sweet once bitten, with a slight tang at the end. It sounds like a firework, first a whispering hiss followed by a great explosion of uniqueness.

So there you have it – fairly obvious which is the ‘stronger’ name. The fact is though, I like both of them, even though I far more fit the description of my actual name. I envy Alexis, I really do, but I also think some softness is required, particularly with the harsh traumas being inflicted on the world at the moment. So I will be content with Sarah, whilst taking my adventuring one step at a time as always. Sarah is good, Sarah is solid, but there’s another thing to remember too.

The middle name, so often secret, hidden away like a constant embarrassment. I’m not embarrassed of my middle name, rather, I think of it as a secret strength to use when times are tough. Una. That’s my name, Sarah Una, which brings yet another element to the softness of Sarah. Una brings strength, but a more magical, fantastical power, I think. Una brings majesty and brightness; a different type of adventure than Alexis, but adventure none the less. Una lifts Sarah, and Sarah keeps Una grounded, together creating a fusion of fantastic soundness.

So what does make up the fabric of a name? I guess only us as individuals will know, as they do become so closely intertwined with our personality. Regardless of that, it’s interesting to think about. Maybe in a few years Sarah won’t mean sanctuary any more, maybe Una will take the helm and steer her across new realms of strength and weakness and open up a whole world of experience. Maybe, or maybe not. Either way, Sarah Una is solid; Sarah Una is an entity in herself, and Sarah Una is determined to explore, achieve and drive herself to write her own outstanding, sparkling story.

Snippets

Here’s the thing, as much as I love to write, write, and write some more, I don’t have as much time as I’d like to bash out all my thoughts and wonders. There are SO MANY things I want to write about, mostly places I’ve travelled to, and of course those little bits of magic in everyday life. But at the moment I’m feeling the pressure, as I really want to keep up with my blog and The Fairytale Traveller persona but, thanks to my new full-time job, simply do not have the mental capacity to open my laptop and write when I return home from work. So I’ve had an idea which will relieve some pressure, and that idea comes in the form of ‘Snippets’.

‘Snippets’ will be exactly that. Snippets of writing, instead of longer stories, poems, and general warblings. Instead of pushing myself to write long pieces every time, ‘Snippets’ will enable me to throw a few thoughts onto (virtual) paper every so often, to maintain my blogging regularity without feeling the necessity to write something more substantial or ‘deep’. Also, in truth, not all of the magical moments I witness are set in epic surroundings – often they are tiny and momentary, but still deserve to be captured.

So I will write to you in snippets, and will title each one ‘Snippet: [title]’, so you know it can be read at a glance. At the moment I’m celebrating a four day weekend thanks to Easter, so I have the luxury of stocking up on longer pieces, ready to release as and when, but I will give you a taster of a snippet; a snippet of a snippet, if you will.

Snippet: When Dogs Fly

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The hurdle jumper that never was.

The day was sunny, my camera was primed. I had taken a number of snaps already, but this one absolutely caught the excitement of the day. The sheer joy and exhilaration on Jet’s face as he flew for a millisecond will always be with me. Even if he does spend the rest of his time curled up on the rug, I’ll remember this perfect moment, and i’m pretty sure he does too as he snuffles away, paws twitching frantically in his sleep.

The universe was hers to hold, little did she know…

The universe was hers to hold, little did she know

Hers to mould and shape

The world would reform at her command

Reform, or crack and break

But she lost it to another, whose hand was mightier still

And he threw the earth to ruin

And spat on the lands until

 

She returned with a force

So powerful and bright

And called it the sun

And the moon at night

To guard the world from all peril

Demons and shadows borne from the devil

 

And the mighty one hid between the cracks

In the lava and smoke above land

But there he was spied, too late to hide

And was banished by her towering hand

 

To a place of hate and sorrow

A place of trickery and blight

Until the day of reckoning

The day he saw the light

When she flew to him from the ashes

Of a war he had wreaked one night

 

She grasped his steely hand

And flew low under skies of red

Soaring over trees and mountaintops

Littered with bodies of the dead

 

This is your doing, this is your world

To the heavens she roared

To the seas she hurled

Words of anger, words to scare

Words to force thought, words to make him care

 

But care he could not, for his heart was stone

And so she saw, he could not be alone

So placing him down on the edge of the land

Staring into the abyss, she took his hand

 

A life like no other, a life like this…

She gestured her arm away

To a land touched by the devil’s kiss

This was your vision, this was your dream

To rule from the skies, to command unseen

But you failed to deliver

Failed to commit

And thus your world is destroyed, and you with it

 

Here now we stand, together but apart

In the hopes of recovery, and a new start

Of building a legacy from an era of pain

But it can be done, as before when I came

And created the sun, the moon and the stars

To watch over earth, and heal its scars

 

Together we can rule, together we can fly

Together we can create and love, you and I

Harmony is all I ask

So, will you accept this task?

 

Know that I am patient, know that I am strong

Know that I will never give up, and that I am never wrong

For I am the goddess of wonder and starlight, of light and majesty and peace

I am the one who guides this world, and all the universe apiece

 

My eye sees beyond this world to the next, and everything within

It sees the war and destruction, and everything akin

It sees you amongst people, walking and building homes

It sees you loving and pleasing, smiling and writing tomes

For you will lead again, my friend

You will shine and dance

Because I can transform you to brilliance

If you would only give me a chance

 

Say yes to me now and the world is saved

Say no and it is doomed

Give me your word and your heart my friend, and the way forward is paved

For I am the goddess of twilight, the goddess of dawn and dew

And I pledge to help, my friend, to remove the darkness from you

 

Slowly he faced her, red eyes gleaming in the dark

A single tear rolled down a blackened cheek

The whispering groan of a breaking heart

The choice has been made, he growled, offering his lethal claw

Do with me what you will, I have a care no more

 

She held his hand gently, like a damaged and fragile thing

And bowing her head low, softly began to sing

The darkness vanished, replaced with dazzling light

The hand was clear, unmarked of any plight

Stand tall my friend, for you are anew

You have changed your ways, you will live as true

 

Tall and proud, there stood he

Made for goodness, made to be free

For the evil was banished, gone, destroyed

Leaving only a shell, a puppet to be toyed

And she took his hand and whispered a word

Then guided him away, to a place unheard

To live once more, in a land of love

In a land of starlight and wonder

Cast down from the universe above

This Blog is Still Finding Itself.

I began this blog with the intention of creating a space for me to record my memories of places travelled, as well as finding the fantastical and magical aspects of seemingly normal, everyday places. The first few blogposts followed that ‘rule’, but since then my writing has taken off in many adverse directions.

I have opened up so much more than I ever imagined I would, just in these first two months. About my writing, myself; things very close to my heart that I barely discuss with my friends, let alone strangers. I guess I loved the idea of having an anonymous presence, where people would only judge the posts as they came and then disappeared into the endless vortex of other blogs. It was to be a completely effervescent lifestyle, where I could live in a single, temporary moment before moving on to something else. That much has remained the same, I still get a wonderful, spontaneous kick of adrenaline writing each post. It’s exciting for a day or so when I see the responses, but then it fades until I begin the next blog, and so on. Apart from that, the rest of the blog seems to have taken on a life of its own – my life – but in a format that only shows the deepest, most heartfelt thoughts, moments, and memories of mine.

I am okay with this, I think, but I will endeavour to continue writing about my travels far and wide too, discovering the magic and majesty wherever I go, and recording those moments in my blog. It may not be implicit where I see the magical elements during my travels but, rest assured, if they have made it to The Fairytale Traveller, there will definitely be some fantastical existence intertwined within the words, no matter how obvious or obscure. I can only hope that you, my fellow writers and readers, will be patient with me, until my words begin to form something greater than themselves, than myself; until the stories flow without restriction, the words dance about the page, and The Fairytale Traveller begins to breathe a life of its own.

Thanks to you all

Kiss

I remember the first, the second, and the third. The first was funny, because my hands were in front of my face. I wore a starry dressing gown and fluffy slippers, because I’d just woken up. It was 9am, and you’d brought croissants and orange juice so we could have breakfast together. You ate, but I couldn’t eat a thing. My stomach was knotted for no apparent reason. You were just my friend, after all. It was a normal Tuesday, and I was set to go to a lecture in an hour, but you had insisted on coming over as soon as possible. I said yes of course, and there you were at 9am sharp (the only time you’ve ever been on time anywhere) with breakfast and a smile. You ate three croissants and I ate three bites, then I went to get ready for class.

You followed me to my room, stood in front of me, looked at me for a long time. I waited, my stomach so knotted it was practically twisted inside out. I turned away. You turned me back. I smiled, and jumped backwards to stand on my bed. You smiled, ready for this, for my awful indecisiveness although there was nothing to decide. I flopped down, tucked my knees up to my chin, curled my arms around to cover my face, eyes gleaming over the top of my arms. You were in front of me, at the side of me, above me, all around me, but I stayed still.

A giggle. A wriggle. That was all it took. Your hands held my wrists and firmly, gently, tried to remove them. I was resilient. No words, just smiles, just playfulness. I would not be won easily. A sudden laugh, and the barrier was broken. My arms parted, and your face was there, inches, centimetres, millimetres, a hairs breadth…

I tensed as the sudden hot pressure became familiar. I relaxed. I smiled, and kissed you back.

***

The second was full of hunger, so much hunger. You were about to leave. We both had places to go, things to do, lives to live. A fleeting hour, and our precious time was gone. Bitter sweetness increased the passion. A year of pent up feeling, all channeled into a moment. The hunger was immense, the yearning, the want, the need, all transferred in one fleeting gesture of affection. Breaking apart left me in a daze. I still wore my starry dressing gown and fluffy slippers. Why had I not attempted to look the part? Because I hadn’t believed anything would happen? Because I didn’t want anything to happen? No. Because I knew you wouldn’t care, no matter what state I looked. I was already yours.

***

The third was almost a whisper, sending me into a momentary lapse of reason. In front of my door we said goodbye. So much had happened in that hour. So few words, but so much emotional release. I don’t remember a word of what was said that morning, only those intense few moments of happiness, of emotional relief. You walked out of the door, and I floated back to my room in a daze. It was only the beginning of a long journey, but already I had seen so many different, hidden sides to you. You were a puzzle, and still are several years later. But I love you for it, and I love the complex passion you bring to us.

Poetry in Disguise

I am not a poet. I write stories – short, long, fragmented – simple pieces of stand alone text. I would even go so far as to say I almost dislike poetry. Almost, but not quite. There is a part of me that wishes to understand poetry with the same fervor and complex appreciation as other writers. I have tried, yet the meaning still alludes me. There are some poems I do enjoy, those that possess a simple layer of meaning before giving themselves up to the riddles of their creators. I have no particular genre preference, rather, I occasionally  happen across a poem and think ‘I get that. I can regard that to a level worthy of the subject matter in question.’

I studied literature at university for four years and, after several valiant attempts to understand a cacophony of poets from Byron and Wordsworth to Eliot and Tennyson, my relationship with poetry has settled into a mutual acknowledgement that the other exists only to be observed and credited from a distance. Of course, what naturally follows from the inability to read poetry, comes the frustrating difficulty to write this rhythmic literature. If I can’t read/understand poetry, I sure as hell can’t write it, can I? Very very rarely have I written a poem, other than ones required during my academic studies. I have to come to the conclusion that I just don’t write it, and couldn’t if I tried. However, over the past weeks (basically since beginning this blog) it has come to my attention that this fact may not be as accurate as imagined.

If you have read any of my other recent pieces, it might appear obvious that there is poetry lurking not so inconspicuously within the realms of The Fairytale Traveller. Only last week I wrote a piece called ‘I Found Him’, which is most definitely a poem, but bizarrely I didn’t realise until the piece was up on WordPress. I had written it as one short block in a word document, thinking it a simple stand alone piece, not really meant for a full story or anything else. It baffles me now, having added more of these short blocks of text from my computer to WordPress, that only once uploaded in a new format have I recognised that these pieces are in fact poetry! Ultimate facepalm. WordPress has given these pieces a new lease of life, taking them from dusty files in the depths of my computer memory and throwing them out to the world in an entirely new style. When writing these pieces, it simply had not occurred to me that I could or should write them in a different style to blocks of text. I genuinely have no idea why… I amaze myself sometimes.

It seems poetry is not as out of my depth as I thought. I think I will still enjoy stories more, but it heartening to know that I could write a poem if I had the inclination. Or perhaps the only times I will write poetry is when I don’t realise I am? Either way, I am glad about one thing, which is that those little, random blocks of text were never simply abandoned or downright bad stories. Instead they were pieces of poetry, waiting like tiny, priceless gems to be discovered and freed by someone who actually knew what they were looking for. It appears I must learn to open my eyes more, to see what actually lies on the paper in front of me!

Eternally Walking

She walks and walks, tirelessly, endlessly, eternally. The places she walks differ, but her stride never breaks. Through forests she treks, leaves brushing her face with every step. They caress her skin, smooth and moist, invigorating her, energising her, replenishing her. She breathes in, inhaling the musky scents of the flowers; sniffs the fragrances of the other plants further away, bringing with them pleasant whiffs of ecstasy.

Only there for a second, leaving her wishing for more, but more pleasurable with each return. The hum of insects and twitter of birds is the sweetest music, and when she opens her mouth and sings with them, her voice is just as sweet to the ear, and equally as powerful. The wildlife stops, listens, and joins in; it is a Forestry Orchestra. She only sees the participants in glimpses, as they dart among the trees in flashes of electric blue, deep red, bright yellow and vivid orange.

She is entering a clearing now, and walks towards a pool of water in the centre. She stops singing, and the Orchestra ceases. Closing her eyes, she balances, her toes on the edge of the pool, pivoting on her heels but retaining her balance. Her arms are outstretched gracefully, and with a deep breath she opens her eyes and stares at the crystal clear water. Sky blue eyes stare straight back at her, determinedly, forcefully, daringly. She blinks, the reflection blinks too. She smiles, and the reflection follows suit. She laughs and waits… the smile falters, disappears. She is alone. Eternally alone in Paradise.

***

He walks and walks, determinedly, unceasingly, and everlastingly. For as long as he can remember he has walked; through icy realms with blustery mountain ledges, jagged spikes of cobalt glacial ice lurking a foot away from where he struggles. The wind makes his face red and raw, then blue and numb. He hears nothing but the howling wind, screaming and wailing in anguish. He makes no sound, never opens his mouth for fear that the icy tendrils will enter and consume him. Onward he treads, slowly but steadily, always walking, never pausing, his eyes squinted against the ferocious gales.

He meets no one; he has not met anyone in many years. Time is nothing but a concept now, eating and sleeping are mere fantasies. His road is treacherous, but he never thinks about turning around. He must continue, through the lashing daggers of rain, the blinding blizzards and the perilous drop over the edge… He is beginning to feel tired; he has never felt tired before, and it scares him that he should feel weaker. But something urges him on; he senses something ahead, something good. He is not sure what he will find at the end of his journey, but he knows it is good.

Then through the suffocating snowstorm he glimpses something. A faint light, but a light nonetheless, shining through the storm. Wrapping his arms closer to his chest he speeds up, determined to reach the light. He turns a corner on the mountain, and the blizzard is gone. In shock, he stops for the first time in forever, and looks up, confused. Ahead is a great plain of dry land, and beyond that a great forest towering high in the sky. He squints at it for a second in the brightness, before raising his hand to block the dazzling sunlight and, never looking back, begins to walk.

***

They walk and walk; she through miles of moist, tangled jungle, him over miles of dust-coated, cracked earth. They have walked for hundreds of miles, never stopping, never looking behind, never wondering what lay at the end of their journeys. Only the feeling deep within, urging them on through any dangers they face, helping them find extra strength when they feel weak, and most importantly, giving them hope and ensuring that they are constantly moving. Days stretch into nights which stretch into days which are once more enveloped by night. Onward they tread, unknowingly and unsuspectingly, but hopefully.

***

Many suns and moons pass and suddenly it is a day like every other. The forest is alive and humid and the sun is up and burning. The two are still walking; her treading daintily over a carpet of grass, moss, and roots, searching for another crystal clear pool. Maybe this time she will find what she has been looking for. The hopeful feeling inside her is growing, and she smiles as she walks.

Him trudging heavily over the sun baked and deadened desert soil. Not even sparing a glance at the tempting shadow-infusing boulders. He is lagging, more now than ever. But he is not far from the wall of greenery; his pores are straining for the damp air between the trees, the elongated shadows of the towering trees, the refreshing spring water he senses, tantalisingly close now, after a lifetime of a journey.

***

The walk is coming to a close. They both feel it, know it. But they do not know what will end their journeys. Another feeling has begun to grow alongside the hope now; apprehension. The climax has begun. She walks faster now, tiptoeing no longer, pacing sure-footedly over bark and pebbles. She is near the next pool. The last pool.

***

He steps into the forest and breathes a sigh of relief, his skin absorbing the damp, hydrating air. He shed his furs and coats weeks ago, at the beginning of the desert. Now he strips off another layer, dropping it where he stands, and walking barefoot and bare-chested, disappears into the beckoning forest.

***

She is hurrying now, gliding through the bushes, paying no attention to the direction she flies, only knowing that it is the right way. Right then left then straight then left again; leaving the Forestry Orchestra behind. An unknown force propels her forwards, and perspiration explodes from her pores as she pushes forwards through a great curtain of leaves. Then she sees it; a shimmering, glistening, iridescent blue. It seems to call to her, summoning her to its calming presence.

He has sped up now, the forest air revitalising him, giving him the last strength he needs to complete his journey. Suddenly, out of the myriad of green he spies a flash of silver. His breath catches in his parched throat and he almost stops in shock. An overwhelming feeling of something unnameable is overpowering him. Perhaps it is the feeling of completion. Cautiously, he slows to a walk, picking his way through the undergrowth, never taking his eyes from the snatch of silver. The shining beacon of hope.

***

She is so close to the pool now, all she has to do is step forward one last time. She stands almost on the edge, but still she cannot see her reflection. One more step. But she does not dare, she cannot be disappointed again. So she stands motionless, tears falling down her cheeks, unsure for the first time in her life.

He can see the pool now, in all its sparkling splendour. Licking his broken lips he pushes aside the final branches of the surrounding trees and steps into the clearing. The pool is there, metres away, but instead of rushing forwards, he stops. His eyes widen, someone is there already.

***

Her back is to him, her shoulders hunched and shaking slightly. She feels the dooming sensation of loss begin to overcome her all over again.

He watches her silently for a minute. Why does she not take that last step? Then he realises what he must do. Padding into the clearing, he moves to her side, not looking at her face, and holds out his hand.

***

She feels his presence immediately as he stands by her side, but she does not look up. She waits, the feeling of loss being taken over by a new feeling of anticipation. His hand moves from his side, angles towards her, and stops, waiting. As if on its own, her hand begins to tilt, palm outwards, and moves away from her side towards him. His hand reacts, and as their fingertips touch, the feeling of anticipation is replaced by a feeling of reassurance. Hands locked together, they take a simultaneous deep breath, and step forwards.

***

Two faces greet them, as they stand looking into the pool. One with bright blue eyes, peering out of a pale, tear-streaked face. The other, sunburned and chapped. Their toes balance on the edge of the pool, millimetres away from the life-giving liquid beneath them. The toes wiggle, and the reflections blink together. Two smiles begin to appear, transforming the life-weathered faces. Their pasts are gone, their journeys forgotten; they have the rest of eternity to live for, together.