Tennyson's "The May Queen"

As it is almost May, I thought I'd post a bit of  poem on the subject. Get you all fired up to host a May Day party. ;) This is part one of Lord Tennyson's "May Queen." Enjoy it!

"The May Queen"

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad [1] New-year;

Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline:

But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say,

So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If you [2] do not call me loud when the day begins to break:

But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see,

But Robin [3] leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?

He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,--

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white,

And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.

They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be:

They say his heart is breaking, mother--what is that to me?

There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,

And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;

For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,

And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still,

And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,

And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year:

To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Prompt Story Contest Winners Announced!

It's time to announce the winner's of the Prompt Story Contest! I had such fun seeing what each of you did with that one little line: 

"When I stepped over the warm, sun soaked threshold I never expected to see..." 

But there you see, not one of the entries was like another!  You surpassed yourselves in originality. That being said, I am here to show you the two winners--I chose these two based on their merits and my own taste. Thus I give to you:

"All in a Morning's Duel"

By Leanna Ozee

    When I stepped over the warm, sun soaked threshold I never expected to see the Earl of Doncaster. He was seated at Sir Godfrey’s table, with his feet insolently propped upon the tabletop, while he twirled in his fingers, a knife.

     My hand went to the hilt of my broadsword. “Forsooth! When Sir Godfrey asked me to join him for a day’s hunt, little did I think to find thee here!”  

  The Earl of Doncaster smiled beneath his mustache. “In truth, I did not expect to be so fortunate as to see thee, Robin of Locksley." 

 Sitting upon the table was an assortment of fruits. The Earl plunged his knife into a pomegranate and watched as the red juice trickled from the fruit and stained the blade of his knife. His glance was full of loathing. “Thou knowest well that I have sought Prince John’s reward for thee.” He was poised as a cat ready to pounce, and I waited, as tense as he.  

Suddenly, he sprang from where he was seated. I was ready and the steel of my blade met his in a fierce clash. 

“Pray thee, stop!” Before we could make a proper duel of it, our host had leapt betwixt us. “Is there need to make such a display upon my very hearth?” 

The Earl and I took a step back from one another. “Thou art right, Sir Godfrey. Let us no longer insult our host by this unseemly behavior in his home.” I waved my blade toward the open door. “Shall we move to a more suitable place?” The Earl bowed his head in prideful consent. I then proceeded through the door ahead of him. 

“Robin!” At the cry, I instinctively dropped to the ground and rolled away. I sprang to my feet again and turned to see the Earl tugging at his sword, which was imbedded in a wooden pillar not inches from where I had been standing. 

I waited for him to dislodge it. “Art thou such a coward, Hewitt of Doncaster, that thou wouldst stab a man in the back?” 

With a vicious pull, he at last freed the blade of his sword. Then the sound of steel upon steel filled the old courtyard of Sir Godfrey’s family estate, as the Earl and I fought up and down upon its crumbling flagstones. 

 I bounded atop a mound of stones, the ruins of some aged structure, and fended off the blows of my opponent. 

“Thou art mine, Robin!” The Earl vigorously swung his sword at my legs. 

I leapt so that his blade harmlessly passed beneath my feet. With a laugh, I sprang down from my perch, giving his head a crack with the flat of my sword. 

The Earl sprawled to the ground and I stood, spinning my sword in one hand. He shook his head, and staggered to his feet. “Thou wilt die for that-Robin Hood!” 

An impudent smile and the blade of my sword were all that answered his challenge.

*    *    *

I loved this because Leanna told enough of a story without telling it all. The ending is deliciously open for imagination, and her action and dialog was done very well. :) The second piece was written by our own Bookworm, and told an entirely different story. It caught my fancy somehow. I liked how sunsoaked the whole piece felt, in keeping with that first sentence. :)

*    *     *

"The End of the Fairytale"

By Bookworm

    When I stepped over the warm, sunsoaked threshold I never expected to see my fate hanging in the balance. Looking past the piles of dirt that accumulated in the past weeks, I see my mother. Her brow is slightly arched and I know I’m done for. What was I thinking, leaving this mess behind me? She had gone into town for a month while I was here keeping the coop. What a great job I’ve done. I try a small smile hoping that her emotions of motherly love will soften her. Obviously not. She’s holding a broom in her hand and I’m wondering if that will be the device to kick me out the door.
    “Well, you have proven just what I said.” My mother tips the broom in her hand sardonically. “But he wouldn’t listen; he thinks you are the perfect bride to be!” Her laugh sends chills down my back. I’m not really listening, just wondering what in the world has gotten in to her. I know we aren’t necessarily the “best of friends” but usually we keep out of each other’s affairs.     Suddenly I notice Baldwin step from behind a canvas to the right of my mother. My face flushes uncontrollably. Why does our business always have to be so public?
    “Sleeping beauty, Rapunzel, Belle, Cinderella…” Mother’s mouth twisted as she called me the last fairy tell name.
    “Mother!” It was all I could say for a plea. Why bring up my stories now, in front of him? I’m a celebrated novelist in our small neck of the wood, but to bring up my dreams now? I look over at the glistening book case and it’s the first time I wanted to tear those precious books apart! I peal my eyes away and look at the man now just paces before me.
    “You are to be my wife.” Baldwin said this with a lot more confidence than he portrayed. “As is the custom.” Yes, that lovely custom where a man comes and tells, not asks, a girl to be his wife. And people wonder why I write what I write. “I’ve read your stories and they are romantic, intriguing, and farfetched but still... good.”
    Out of nowhere, all of the sudden, I feel bold. Inexplicably so. “No, I won’t.” Once I’ve said it I’m sure this is the day I just might die of fright.
    A smile tugged at his lips and he looks at me with a serene, loving look. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Now I’m just dumbfounded. “Would you do me the honor?” Now even my mother looks like she is about to keel over. His hand is outstretched and something within me compels me to take it. Honestly I always did love him, but I just wasn’t going to give in, but now that he actually asked…
     “Truly?” Then I fumble out, “Yes.”
     With one fleeting look at the bookcase I knew this was my fairytale ending.

Well done, Leanna and Bookworm! Thank you for entertaining us so well. :)

April Snippets of Story

Good Grief! I thought I wasn't going to have anything at all to post of April Snippets with Katie, seeing as I haven't written anything all month. But today I managed to begin something. I won't promise anything (as I've learned I hate keeping writing-related promises I've made. :P) but this could possibly turn into my next project. I call it Third Time's the Charm and so far it is a ducky little story with rather a lot of personality. Which is what and how and why I write. Anyway, whatever the outcome, do enjoy these snippets of story!

     “Who are you hiding from?” The governess—or whatever she was—asked. 

 Lord Blythe Halyard did not like that wicked, laughing gleam in those grey-green eyes. Her eyes were exactly the hue of that racing horse he’d lost ten-quid on at the Ascot races. He had thought at the time the horse was green but of course one couldn’t have a green horse so it must have been grey. He’d never settled the matter to his satisfaction. But whatever the outcome, the horse and this young woman’s eyes were the same color, and it irked him. Governesses had no right to look so triumphant and mighty over nothing. “I was not hiding, madam. I was resting. It’s deuced hot in this room and I was tired of standing about like a wax-figure.

-Third Time's the Charm

      He perched on edge of the ottoman like a great gorgeous waist-coated bird and contemplated her face. “You are not very pretty.”      

The woman smiled, and laughter silvered the grey of her eyes—yes, they were grey. “No, I do not have a pretty face. But I have an interesting one, and there are many beautiful women who cannot boast as much.”    

  This was above Lord Halyard’s immediate comprehension. He put up his expensive ocular-device—devil take him, he’d forgot its name again—and inspected her for the second time. Or perhaps her eyes were green. Green or grey? That was the question. They had a peculiar and irking indecision in them. “I thought it was every woman’s duty to be beautiful,” he said with an abruptness born of being conquered by a question of color.      

 “A woman’s duty? And so it is, I suppose, as much as it is every man’s duty to be polite and complimentary. Neither of us measure up to our requirements—I suppose we shall be outcasts of Society by and by.” She laughed again, and to Lord Halyard it seemed she rather relished the idea.

-Third Time's the Charm

  “So you know the Benevolent One?”      

“Know him? I’d still be Blythe Bunting of Tillburrow Topham if he hadn’t gone in and got me a lordship and a house.”    

 “Is that a correct term?” Madeleine Starr asked with a shade of indecision passing over her brow.      

“Is what a correct term?” 

  “‘lordship’ used in that fashion.”      

“I’ll be hanged if I know. But I used it and I think it stands to reason if one uses a term in a sensible way it doesn’t matter what Noah Webster thinks of it.”

-Third Time's the Charm

It had come with a bright red wafer of wax and the address in an elegant hand:          

    Blythe Bunting    

    Tillburrow Topham      

    Shropshire, England    

 He’d thought it was a condolence letter at last, letting him know that Auntie Chaffinch had died and left him his expectations at last. Only it had been pressed upon his intelligence by the stable-boy at the Plow & Onion that such letters were sealed with black wax, not robin-red. After that, he’d not been over-eager to read the letter, as he expected no money from anyone and money was the only thing he wished to receive in the mail at present.

-Third Time's the Charm

There is only one thing I ask and stipulate in this, my latest will and testament. That you will find an American heiress by the name of Madeleine Starr and ask her three questions in the first three years of your acquaintance: 

1.    Can a candle burn when the air is deep?
2.    Who can fathom the paths of sleep?
3.    Where will the trail of the future leap? 

Do this and all will be well. Fail to act in the manner I've noted, fail to help Miss Starr find the answers, and all will be lost.                               

                                               I am yours warmly,                                                  

                                                              The Benevolent One

-Third Time's the Charm

He’d often wondered why his benefactor had not christened himself ‘The Mysterious One’ or ‘The Puzzling One.’ But of course ‘benevolent’ was a much pleasanter and less suspicious word to have on a latest will and testament--whatever that was. As long as the inheritance was sound, that was all that mattered, really.

-Third Time's the Charm

A Man's a Man for a' that.

I am a woman. (Obviously.) Many of my followers are young ladies as well. I have five sisters. All of these are very plausible reasons as to why my posts tend to reference the female population more often than not.

But it recently came into my thoughts (and was subsequently brought to my attention) that we are not all women on this blog. There are a few young men of good taste and even better sense who follow The Inkpen Authoress and all this going on about "have a good day, girls" and "Hey ladies--hope you're having a great weekend" is rather unfair to the poor chappos. I am sorry, gents.

Wyatt Fairlead, a very sensible and judicious blogger at What My Mind Does, wrote me an email regarding this topic. The subject of the email was pertaining to this issue, but the manner and phrasing was what caught me:

"As I am sure you are aware I have been reading, "The Inkpen Authoress"  as a would-be lit. enthusiast and out of interest.  As I have read however I have noticed that you seem to focus on the female audience as you write.  I say this in no way to criticize, and I also realize that the vast majority of your followers are ladies.  In fact, as this realization dawned it occurred to me that perhaps your blog was more intended for ladies and I was in fact unintentionally intruding.  I am writing you to ask if this is the case, and if so, I will of course no longer comment and be a follower only in so much as...etc."

He goes on, but what the rest of the email said is of little consequence. This bit shows the great good sense of this young man. (and I hope the others resemble him in this respect.) Most fellows would have said something silly like, "Why do you talk so much about girls?" but Wyatt showed an honorable mind in wondering if he was, perhaps, the one intruding. Not so, of course, but I appreciated the thought. It showed a careful mind and gentlemanly impulse.
I have often noticed in conversation with Mr. Fairlead and other young men of my acquaintance, this tasteful hesitance to intrude, and yet careful pointing out of a flaw in my logic or behavior. It is the best sort of criticism to receive, for it is meant kindly and received kindly and all parties are the better for it. I hope I do not embarrass Mr. Fairlead by using him as a scape-goat for the thing I have been musing over for some time: A gentleman's point of view is sadly lacking in our girlish writing blogs.


I love girls. I am a girl. I live with girls. And yet I think there are not enough Wyatt Fairleads in our literary world. Think of that famed Inkling Club that Tolkien and C.S. Lewis were a part of. I recall reading a description of it by C.S. Lewis himself wherein he stated that "We were not a mutual-admiration club."
Ouch. Because I love compliments on my writing. You love compliments on your writing. And yet compliments are not excessively constructive. I want my blog to be a place where we can grow as writers. I want you to be able to point out flaws or weaknesses so that I can grow in my craft. If I think I have arrived as a writer, Heaven help me. I don't wish this to be (in its entirety) a mutual admiration club. And I think the gentleman keep if from being such.
I do not intend to portray the male audience as pedantic, dictatorial, and critical mass of men. However, it is a characteristic of men that they are able to distance themselves from the emotion of a situation or piece of writing and see it for what it is--with all it's dangling participles and incorrect grammar. The gents keep us from becoming fan-girls and vain, silly writers.


In fact, I wish I had more followers of the gentleman variety. You are welcome, dear fellows, come pull us out of our complacent, feminine ruts. Whenever I see a chap who has decided to follow The Inkpen Authoress I smile to myself, mentally shake hands with him and say, "Ah! There's a Sensible Man."


So thank you, Wyatt Fairlead. I ow you and every other gentleman (though they are few) a real handshake someday for following this blog. I treasure all of my readers (male or female) and seek your constructive criticism and advice so that I might not make the mistake of being a complacently arrogant authoress. Don't let me become self-satisfied. That is the worst mistake any human being can make. So chaps? Feel free to join this blog and hang your hat on a peg. There's always a place for your sort. :)

"Five-and-twenty, Tattycoram."

...Or ten, rather. I have decided to join up (at least for several of the days) in The Anne-girl's Hero Week over at her blog, Scribblings of my Pen and Tappings of my Keyboard. :) Today's challenge was to list my top 10 favorite heroes in literature and tell you a bit about them. Ready? Set? Go!

1. John Jarndyce. For those of you who have read Charles Dicken's Bleak House, you will realize who I am talking about and why I love him so. He is the epitome of self-sacrifice and generosity. He's loving, gentle, but firm. Plus he never goes off his rocker like some people. *ahem ahem* (Nobody said the hero has to be the lover, right?)

2. Sir Percy Blakeney. Yes, yes, I know. Every girl loves Sir Percy, but it would be positively indecent not to include him in this list, even at risk of sounding like a common fan-girl. :P The French Revolution needs to be relived (kidding) so that we can have a real Scarlet Pimpernel. I was rather dismalized when I remembered there was no such personage in the actual history of the French Rev. Sir Percy is heroism itself--pluck, audacity, humor, compassion, and considerable fashion taste. ;)

3. Arthur Clennam. The hero of Little Dorrit, this man is one of the gentlest and sweetest heroes I've yet to come across in literature. He is humble, loyal, kind, and yet unmoving. His scruples are never moved by any of his circumstances and in the end he is rewarded for all that. :) Arthur Clennam has lived a life of contradictions: unloved, yet loving. Pushed away, yet reaching out. He's a real man. :)

4. Mr. Knightley. We all know who he is. We all know why he's on this list. We all know that words would not begin to describe the depth of his character. Thus I shall borrow his own words and appropriate them to myself: "Perhaps if I felt less I could talk about it more." ;)

5. Sydney Carton. We don't often think of this fellow from Charles Dicken's A Tale of Two Cities when we think of our top ten fictional heroes, but I had to include him. He is a wouldbegood. He has wasted his life for years, is denied the woman he loves, is about to go to ruin, and then he has a conversion. He takes that wasted life and becomes a hero. It's a beautiful picture of our own redemption through Christ.

Haven't seen any film version of this book so I hope this is Sydney. :D

6. Nathaniel Bowditch. I don't think I've read of a more determined man than this fellow. I was inspired by his sheer determination and strength in the face of so many trials. If you ever want a good, easy, rather sad book to read, read Carry on, Mr. Bowditch. :)

7. David Copperfield. Although I was cross for his perversity in marrying Dora, I loved David. His story was pathetic and yet sweet. And he rose up through all those terrible spheres of trial and temptation and came out on the right end. I love him. :)

8. This brings me to Mr. Dan'l Peggotty. (Also from David Copperfield) He is, perhaps, the true "hero" in the book. His love for his niece, Em'ly, and his quest to find her and bring her home brought me to tears several times. He is so blue and brown and sea-smelling that one can't help but love him. :)

9. Jean Valjean. This character from Les Miserables had my sympathy from the get-go. I wanted to  do something awful to Javert myself to get him off of this good man's track. I know Les Miz was written partially as an allegory and I can see why. Jean Valjean is a redeemed man, and yet his past and faith-by-works is hunting him down relentlessly. A marvelous hero.

10. Gilbert Blythe. I had to include him. Gilbert is so ordinary and yet so great. Why do I count him among my favorite heroes? My only answer is a shrug and a "why-not", but I think it has something to do with the fact that he is down to earth. I feel that I have a real chance of meeting my own Gilbert someday. He is practical, generous, funny, and impulsive and that is why he is on my list.

Have a great Monday, girls! :)

It gives one a sense of irony...

Here are some funny writing tips I found today. Enjoy reading them. :)

• Finish your point on an upbeat note...unless you can't think of one
• Don't patronize your reader--he or she might well be intelligent enough to spot it
• Avoid unnecessary examples. e.g. this one
• Similes are about as much use as a chocolate teapot.
• Mixed metaphors can kill two birds without a paddle.
• Take care with pluri.
• If you can't think of the word you have in mind, look  it up in one of those dictionary-type thingies.
• Do you really think people are impressed with rhetorical questions?
• Sarcasm--yes, I bet that will go down really well.
• Less is more. This means that a short, cryptic statement is often preferable to an accurate, but drawn out, explanation that lacks punch and loses the reader.
• Many readers assume that a word will not assume two meanings within the same sentence.
• Some early drafts of this document had had clumsy juxtapositions
• If there's a word on the tip of your tongue that you can't quite pin down, use a cinnamon.
• Strangely enough it is impossible to construct a sentence that illustrates the meaning of the word 'irony.'
• Practice humility until you're really sure you have it down.
• There is no place for overemphasis whatsoever.

....I love irony.... :D

It is a simple question...a business proposition, actually.

I like surveys. I really do. I like hearing statistics and numbers and all that rot. Not that I'm any good and coming up with them on my own, mind you, but there is nothing like a good whump of facts to make me smile.

All that (andacertainlackof ***ahem***writinginthepastfewweeks) has lead to me asking you, dear readers, a question:

 What are you reading?

A simple little question but one that packs a lot of punch when one considers the speculation another could build about your character off of what sorts of books you read. ;) So leave a comment and tell me what literary adventures you've been reveling in or slogging through or otherwise consuming!

As for myself, I've been reading The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James and loving it so far! This could have a deal to do with the fact that I find I resemble Isabel Archer in every single point except that of physical characteristics! :D (So far--I do not know what the end of the book will bring to change that opinion. :)

Comment away! I want to hear all your news.  :D