Writers are in constant struggle to come up with the new and unique. Keeping our long history and language boundaries in mind, this is no easy task and only adds more to the daily doses of writers’ anxiety.
It’s especially true in moments when you’ve just had “the idea” – the one you were convinced was radically new – and after a quick research you realized it’s as old as your town square.
Thankfully, there are many ways to be ‘new’. Form, style, topic, voice – all these matter; however, sometimes only one of them will do.
Recycling ‘Old’ Into ‘New’
The classics are classified as such for a good reason: they’re extraordinary. Yet, this doesn’t mean that the work couldn’t have turned out differently should the author have made a slightly (or bigger) shift here and there.
Photo by Nozomi Suzuki
It’s not uncommon for great works to be later reproduced by others – usually admirers of the original – into ‘new’ versions.
Reworking of the classics mostly happens in theater (many versions of the same play directed by various directors) and film. Another instance of this is the proliferation of ‘new’ translations of the classics. Madame Bovary has been translated in English a dozen times in the last 50 years.
Rewriting the Classics
Obviously, the above examples in translation, theater and film are quite distinct from an actual rewriting of a classic; the distinction being not only a different ‘execution’ per se in another art or an interpretation, but a completely new version of the original.
You’re given the source – the original – and your freedom in reworking the whole is limitless. It’s a chance of changing the assumedly unchangeable, which is both creative and fun.
What if Romeo and Juliet didn’t die voluntarily; what if there was another character in Pride and Prejudice, a dark force that would have transformed the ending; what if Ana Karenina didn’t commit a suicide or was a short story instead of a novel; what if Oliver Twist was set in Mexico, what if, what if…
There’s quite a movement in the rewriting of fairy tales. The enthusiasm behind this movement is the multiple interpretations of their ultimate wisdom and trying to fit them in a modern context. Thus, you have modernized versions of the Beauty and the Beast from a feminist perspective.
Avatar was a modern retelling of Pocahontas, and therefore very compelling to today’s audience.
Having the substance – the tale, the story – your creativity is free to roam in other areas, such as the writing itself, the voice, the details, and much more if only you allow yourself.
Some translations are believed to be better than the original texts. Imagine if you end up with a better version of the classical story. Enough of a challenge?
PRACTICE
Write a new version of your favorite fairy tale. You can change characters, the plot, or the point of view – completely up to you. When you’re done, post it in the comments.
As always, show support to others’ practices.
It had been another hard day in the woods. Mama and Papa had been shouting at each other a lot, and it makes me very sad when that happens.
I’m sure they don’t mean it, but I’m afraid that one of them is going to hit the other a bit harder than they should, and then we would be in big trouble.
We went to the usual places where we might expect to find food, but there wasn’t very much there: the birds had beaten us to all the fresh berries, and Mama had to stop me from grabbing some unusual ones that she said would make me very ill if I ate them.
So, with light starting to fail, we went back to our house. It’s not much, but there is just enough room for the three of us, and we can make it very cosy during the winter. Without having found any fresh food, Mama had to make do with what she could find in the store. I knew this wasn’t good news: the food in the store was intended for when winter meant that there was no food at all, and by having some now we were using up our precious reserves. Papa grumbled, but he knew we had no choice – it was either that, or go hungry.
When Mama had prepared the dinner, she suggested we go for one last scout outside to see if there was anything tasty to be found, perhaps something sweet to have for pudding. So we trudged out, Papa going first to look for danger, then me, then Mama making sure I didn’t get left behind.
I didn’t think we’d been gone all that long, but when we got back we could see straightaway that something wasn’t right. The food, which Mama had carefully set out for us to eat when we returned, had been raided by an intruder. Some of it had just been messed about with, but mine was all gone. I cried when I saw that, but Mama comforted me and said that of course I could have some of hers and Papas. It wasn’t right, though.
We needed to be sure that the intruder wasn’t still around – they might attack us in our sleep, and it would be a dreadful thing to have that happen. Again, Mama tried to tell me that everything would be all right, but I insisted that Papa search the house properly before we did anything else.
The rest of the living area was clear, so we followed Papa into the sleeping quarters. His bed had been disturbed, but there was no-one there. We went to Mama’s bed and that too was not as she had left it. Then we went into the last room, which is where I sleep.
There was the intruder! A little girl, asleep in my bed! She must have heard us coming in, because she woke up and screamed, which I thought was a bit of a cheek considering that she’d broken into our house in the first place.
Of course, the rules of the forest apply in our house just the same as everywhere else, so Papa killed the little girl with one swipe of his paw, and we had a really great dinner instead of that awful porridge.
Haha, i loved the last paragraph!
As I was reading I wasn’t sure which fairy tale this was based on. The suspense kept me going. The home invasion made it clear, and then that twist at the end. Never expected that! Nice job.
Hooray! The bears are saved.
Good ending. Whatever did happen to the girl in the original story?
The little bear will have its food – hooray! Hilarious twist.
“Kidnap the prince? Cid, are you crazy?” Annie leaned over the table and stared me in the eye. She asked me that question everyday.
“No. I’m not crazy, Annie. I’m serious.”
She leaned back in her seat and studied me. The steady breathing of Drizzy and Jezebel was the only sound.
“Why?” She whispered.
“Are you seriously asking me that question?” I gestured to the shack we lived in, to the woods outside the window. “Think about it, Annie.”
Gosh, she was so slow!
“Oh… You want to get the throne back.” She stuck her lip out, but her puppy dog faces wouldn’t make me change my mind.
“Correct.” I crossed my arms and tipped my chair back.
“You want to leave us here? We’re your only family, Cindy,”
No, I wanted to tell her. I’m not related to you at all, nor your mother or your sister.
“It’s my throne, and i want it back. I haven’t been in my palace in eleven years. I’m tired of traipsing the woods with you and the stupid cat, and i’m tired of being covered in soot because i have to clean my own fireplace.”
The words hit her like a whip, i realized when i saw her trembling lip and filling eyes. Pathetic girl.
“Cid…”
“And I don’t want to be just ‘Cid’ anymore. I want to be Her Royal Highness Cinderella Regine Lucille Damask the third.”
Annie dropped her head on the table. In the gloom of night i could see her shoulders shaking.
They were sort of my family, I guess, since i’ve lived with them for more than half my life. But I was a princess, and princesses live in palaces, not shacks in the woods. Princesses change their clothes three times a day and don’t stay in the same outfit for weeks. Princesses wear glass slippers and pearl necklaces, not tattered bandanas and handed down boots.
I was a Princess, and i needed luxury.
“When?” Annie looked up with swollen eyes.
“The night of the ball. I plan to lure him from the party by my good looks and air of mysteriousness. Oh, and I’ll need to fix up your old dress.”
“How will you afford the fabric?”
She was so clueless, I thought and smirked.
“Magic, my dear Anastasia.”
Cinderella’s revenge! “I was a princess, and I needed luxury.” Love that line.
A very nice re-invention. I especially liked the princesses full name – you wouldn’t want to mess with her!
A great recycle Emma, very creative. Couldn’t have imagined Anastasia in a good light before.
A signal flare. A sign of fire and blood. The dragon roses to take his toll upon
the land. Darkening wings passed over the land. The dragon worm was pleased. He loved the suffering of men. Returning to his cave, he curled around treasures
new and old.
From his castle, Prince Valiant heard of the citizens’ distress. He rode his high horse to Smeganville, his dark eyes shining, his gold locks flashing. As he approached the town, he passed the home of the miller. Villagers in tatters surrounded the manner.
“Please, great prince, speak to the miller. We have lost all in the dragon’s attack. We ask only that the miller share his store of grain. Without his help, we are sure to starve.”
“I will speak to him, good people.”
Bold and brave, Prince Valiant approached the miller. “Sir, will you feed these men and women? Without your grain, they shall surely starve.”
“I am a kindly soul, Prince Valiant, but I cannot help,” said the miller. “The dragon has stolen my grain, and I have nothing to give.”
“I shall retrieve your grain,” spoke Valiant. He mounted his horse and continued
into the town, there to be met by the cobbler’s son.
“Hail, good child. Come with me and be my paige. Together, we shall free your land of this fearsome beast.”
“Would that I could, great Prince. Alas, the dragon has stolen my shoes. I cannot go.”
So, Prince Valiant continued alone to the castle. There he was met by the most
beautiful creature he had ever seen. The Princess Persephone was known far and wide for her lovely looks, and she did not disappoint. Her lips were red as
blood, her skin white as snow, her hair as lustrous as gold, and her gown
sparkled like diamonds. Prince Valiant was immediately smitten with love.
“Sweet lady, I had come to free your land from the dragon’s curse, but now I see there is more for me here than the winning of honor. Please, sweet lady, what must I do to win your hand in marriage.”
“It breaks my heart, Prince Valiant, but I cannot become your wife. I can no longer rust, for the dragon has stolen my jewels. My heart is filled with fear,
knowing that the jewels of my ancestors are in that foul beast’s layer.”
“Lady, trouble yourself no more. I ride immediately to slay the dragon. Have no fears.I will return your family jewels, and then we shall be wed.”
Prince Valiant was as good as his word. He left that very moment for the lair of the dragon. It was fearsome combat. The dragon rose on wings of black. Prince
Valiant charged, his armor bright, his lance trained on the dragon’s heart. A
burst of flame, and it seemed that all was lost. Brave Valiant caught the fire
on his shield and drove his point home. The dragon died in agony, its blood
mixing with its gold.
Valiant searched the cave, taking nothing for himself but the miller’s grain, the boy’s shoes and the princess’ jewels. A brief rest, and he returned triumphant. The miller, the boy and the princess all recovered their treasures.
As he rode past the miller’s house, he noticed again the crowd of tattered villagers. He paused to investigate. “Good miller, why do you not feed these men and women? Your grain has been returned.”
“Prince, you have returned my grain, but the dragon has opened my eyes. I cannot spare any grain when I may fall into need again.”
Passing the cobbler’s boy now shod, he hailed him. “Dear boy, it is good to see you back on your feet. I offer you again the chance to ride with me.”
“Prince Valiant, I thank you for my shoes, but I cannot go with you. If I follow you, I must walk, and my shoes will wear out. Without my father, there will be no one to repair them.”
Empty-handed and alone, Prince Valiant returned to the palace. Princess Persephone was resplendent in her family jewels. The Prince’s heart skipped a beat as he approached his love.
“Sweet lady, your jewels are returned. Will you now accept my hand in marriage?”
“It cannot be, good Prince. If I marry you, our goods will be common. I cannot bear to share my jewels.”
The village still starved. The boy still hid. The princess still refused him.
Valiant’s bravery had changed nothing. Head hung low, he left Smeganville. The
town was better off with the dragon.
Ouch! An ending sad but possibly true – potentially a metaphor for all sorts of things in this crazy world
Is there a moral hidden there, or what? Nice twist to the knight-and-dragon story.
This is definitely a modern fairy tale version, full of irony. Love it.
“Time to get going, Will.”
The lanky man looked into the mirror again, adjusting his coat and
cravat a last time.
“Come, we’re not going to meet the Queen.”
“Not today perhaps.” He grinned. “When it does happen, imagine your picture in the new paper.”
“Newspaper, it’s called a newspaper.”
“I’m still getting used to these new inventions.” He stole a last glance at the mirror over his shoulder. As he donned his top hat and closed the door behind us, I shook my head.
Had I done the right thing with him? So far we hadn’t put a foot wrong.
The welcoming dinner for the new French ambassador was a grand banquet. Liveried waiters flowed in and out of the kitchen, bearing plates piled high with generous helpings of the finest dishes.
Next to me Will pecked at his food. His mind was busy again.
“Now’s the time to get the ambassador to sign the new trade agreement,” he murmured in my ear.
“Once I’ve finished the entrée.” I couldn’t get enough of the caramelised glazed pumpkin. “How can you tell?”
“Trust me. Have I ever been wrong?”
That’s why I’d appointed him to my side, to appraise everything going on around me. Sometimes his advice was not strictly according to the book. But together, we’d managed very well so far.
I glanced up expectantly. A hovering waiter obliged, placing a dish of stuffed partridges before me.
The meal was better than I’d expected. Pure bliss.
“Some more, Sir?”
The waiter pushed another full plate before me as soon as I’d finished. “Leave
some room for the sweets, sir. It’s your favorite.”
Will nudged me. “How do you think he’s getting on?”
“The more I think of him, the more I enjoy the food.”
Towards the end Will had a word with the Master Chef. My popping into the kitchen afterwards was part of the protocol at every banquet.
Under the guidance of my canny mentor I’d moved from an apprentice-pickpocket to Lord Mayor.
As we walked in I punched him playfully.”Watch this, Mr. Sykes.” We strode to a far corner of the kitchen. At the scullery I confronted a man dejectedly cleaning pots.”Enjoy your supper, Mr. Bumble.”
His was yet to come – a thin soup and a dry crust of bread.
That, and nothing more.
You got me puzzled about the story source, Winnie. 🙂 I love the writing, flows great.
Thanks Sophie. It’s meant to rewrite Dickens’ “Oliver Twist”. whose famous last words were “Please, Sir, can I have some more?” Next time I’ll drop a few more hints.
Oh, right, “Oliver Twist”. I read it such a long time ago that I only remember the theme and the tone. Great choice though.
old become new, so good. recycle paper is a typical example. it helps save up money and the resourse, protecting the evvironment
Granny’s, the old watering hole. People used to flock to her dilapidated corners all hours of the day and night when I was a kid. I used to watch them stumbling in and out with one date and then another on their arm. The arbitrary bonds of alcohol determining every word, every sloppy move. Families would eat dinner there, too. After a long day out in the woods chopping and hauling logs most people were too tired to talk to their families and instead found a comfortable mix of the familiar alongside the gossip worthy to amuse themselves with during evening hours. Mostly, I remember it being fun. I remember when Charlie Overwater got kicked out for fighting with Ruby Sutton after she turned him down for a dance; she won the fight, hands down. I remember when Teach Carson got stuck in the mud after falling down drunk outside, fortunately he’s a backside sleeper. And I remember when Preston Willicomb proposed to Margaret Dearheart while the whole Blakely family, all nine of them, played her favorite song on violins and tuba behind him. I wouldn’t have thought “What a Wonderful World” would take to tuba, but it sounded pretty good. But that was the old days.
Our neighbor Wayne Sheerfeather was the first one to be attacked by The Wolf. Amazingly he survived, though he lost his legs below each knee and the use of his left arm. Pretty gnarly stuff. But at least he has his life, the thirteen attacked since then do not.
I go over to Wayne’s house every week or so and cook him some dinner, a lot of people do since he’s got no one but him at home but he always says my cooking is the best. Once after such a compliment I told him how I know of a secret place where the most plump and delicious artichokes are growing and that I would be sure and bring some for next time. The happy clink of his silverware dropped into silence and when I turned his expression had shifted into bewilderment.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, all too aware that I may have over glazed the glazed parsnips. He put his palms on the table and his bright eyes sharpened against my face.
“You foolin’ with me here? Where’s this secret patch you mention?”
“Well if I tell you then I imagine the whole town will be out there traipsing all over it.”
“Why would you go out there? What are you thinking? You’ve forgotten what your old friend here looks like out from under this damn dinner table?”
My throat was suddenly tight. “No.” I managed.
For a moment he just stared at me. I could only look at the beans I had been inadvertently smashing with the back of my fork. When his voice came next it had softened just as severely as it had been harsh. “You just can’t go out there. Not for anyone or anything.”
“But, Wayne a lot of people think … ”
“I don’t want to hear what people think. I know!” He said, almost rising out of his chair.
Then he sighed deeply letting his hands go back to the work of eating. “Promise me you won’t go out there anymore, okay Red?”
“It’s been five years since the last attack.”
“Well then–he must be gettin’ hungry.” Wayne said and popped a charred piece of lamb into his mouth and chewed it with renewed enthusiasm.
Very good and has many improvements and exciting new.