“Three strikes you’re out” is a well known American expression; but there is also “third time’s the charm” and “good things come in threes.”  In storytelling, three is a good thing, a bit of a magic number as we first touched on in the last post.

Two posts ago, I suggested that there were three vital parts to any and every story: setting, character and plot.  Last time I suggested that a story is best told in three movements which I called, the trigger (appetizer), the meat (main course) and the end (coffee and dessert).  These are not technical literary terms, to be sure, but I hope they may be easy to remember.

The trigger is the set-up/motive that at least suggests what the main character wants/needs/intends.  The meat of the story shows what obstacles stand in the way and what the main character does about them in order to obtain their intention/objective.  It is where all the action takes place, whether that is external action or internal action in the mind or heart.  The end comes at the climax, success or failure, and again it at least suggests some consequences.  The end shows the results.

Now, there are two other ways in which three (3) parts in a story is generally a good idea.

First, there are the obstacles themselves.  Aristotle, and most academics since his day call them reversals.  As the character strives for their intended objective, something invariably gets in the way and causes a “set-back”.

In every story, something must stand between the character and the achievement of their intent or objective.  Why?  Because that is the way life works, and also, for the story to work, it is best that the objective not be achieved too easily.  Only one obstacle overcome may make a point, but it will leave us inevitably dissatisfied, and in fact make the story into a parable.

If Cinderella starts with once upon a time…her mother died.  The first reversal comes when her father dies and she finds herself in an untenable position.  The Stepmother controls the house.  The money and servants are all gone and Cinderella finds herself as the servant in the house.  If we consider her objective to be “happiness” or something like that, her position makes that most difficult.  To her credit, she does not let that get her down.  She refuses to give into despair, and if the story ends here, as a parable, we might say it is telling us to find happiness inside regardless of the outward circumstances in which we find ourselves.  All fine and well, but to make the parable a story, Cinderella refuses to give up.

A second reversal is required to make a story…so there is an open invitation to a royal ball, and Cinderella jumps at the chance for even that brief moment of happiness.  What does she do?  She rummages through her mother’s old clothes (the mother who died and started it all) and fixes a dress; but then the obstacle steps in.  The Stepmother shreds the dress, and Cinderella’s hope is suddenly all gone.

This second reversal makes a parable into a story, but it is no place to end the story.  (The second reversal never is).  Somehow, we already side with the girl and feel that Cinderella should get to the ball.  This is the tension, and it is building and it needs to be resolved.

So, in comes the fairy godmother, Cinderella goes to the ball only to run at the stroke of twelve.  She returns home to her servitude, and might we end the story there?  Yes, but would it satisfy?  No.  With a taste of her objective still in her mouth, we are thoroughly on her side.  Now we want to see her out of her terrible situation.  We want justice.  We want her to succeed.

There needs to be a third reversal.  Why?  Because now we are rooting for her and a reversal at this point will build the tension in a way that will make the resolution most satisfying (something the second reversal cannot do).  If the second reversal makes a parable into a story, the third builds the tension to make the climax/resolution of the story worthwhile.

The Prince comes with the glass slipper, and if the story is told right, we think, great!  Now Cinderella will get her wish and the Stepmother will get her deserved come-uppance.  So what happens?  First, Cinderella is locked into her room, and when she escapes, the stepmother breaks the glass slipper in a kind of double whammy.  (Boo!  Hiss!)  How impossible for poor Cinderella…but slippers run in pairs.

Ta Da!!!!!  The Prince has no reason to doubt that this is the one he has been seeking.  No dubious slipper try-on scene.

There can, of course, be more than three reversals, but for a real story, it is hard to imagine less.  Third time is the charm.  With four reversals, the story might drag.  With five, it might start to get boring.  With six, a listener or reader might get frustrated.  Seven?  I think it is a sign of mental illness to try the same thing over and over and expect a different result.

There is another way in which good things come in threes.  That has to do with character formation and the relationships between characters that drive stories…but that will have to wait until the next post.

The story begins when the trigger is pulled.  I am not going to repeat my last post, but I want to underline this because this is the opening part of any story which might best be called part 1.  Part 2 is the meat of the story, and that begins when the main character (s) intentions/objectives are clarified, something that should be done ASAP.

Think of a good meal at an expensive restaurant.  Part 1, the trigger is the appetizer.  It gets the juices flowing in anticipation of what is to come.  Part 2, the meat, is like the main course and it may be gourmet sparse or American obese, but it should taste good to the end,

Once Again:  The primary purpose in telling a story is to get the audience to pay attention (the reader to keep reading) right to the very end.

With that in mind, it is important to point out a couple of things. 

First, with the conflict/dilemma/situation established in the trigger, now the main character must do something.  They may have to decide something, want or desire something, or they may be forced or feel forced into something or have to make a choice.  All potentially true descriptions of the options, but at some point, the main character has to do something—they have to act on their intention in order to achieve their objective

Second, every action, event and situation in the story after the trigger must relate to the main character (s) intention/objective (goal), either to help or hinder.  Anything extraneous must go. 

Consider Cinderella:  Once her father dies and she finds herself in servitude, all she can do is dream of a chance to be free—to be happy.  The situation is unfair.  She wants a better life than the one fate has dealt her (as maybe we all do—another way of drawing a person into empathy with a story).   So she waits, looking for her chance, and it comes in the form of an open invitation to the ball.

All through the meat of the story, everything Cinderella does relates to her escaping her situation, even if only for a little while as she supposes the ball to be.  Everything that everyone else does either helps her or hinders her—either moves her closer to her goal or stands as a obstacle that somehow must be overcome.  Her mother’s old dress is shredded in some versions.  Her workload is tripled in others.  Everything appears impossible short of divine intervention; and that is what she gets in the form of a fairy godmother. 

Note:  Cinderella’s divine intervention consists of giving her a chance, nothing more.  It solves no problems.  It is still up to Cinderella to go to the ball and do well or poorly on her own.  Some stories that allow for this kind of divine intervention go too far…but that may be another post.

Part 2, the meat of the story is where all of the action takes place.  And it ends, as I see it, with the climax: success or failure.  Just when everything once again looks impossible, Cinderella has the other shoe.

Part 3, then, is coffee and dessert.  The evil stepmother is defeated, the wicked stepsisters are left in their jealousy and rage.  Cinderella will marry the Prince and effectively leap-frog over their heads.  She will one day be their Queen. 

These three parts are essential to any story.  1.  There must be a trigger.  2.  The main character (s) must act and overcome obstacles to attain their goal.  3.  In the end, they must succeed or fail.  Three parts, and in my next post I want to talk a bit about the magic of three…

No story begins until something happens.  I call this the story trigger.  Others use other names, but all will agree that until the trigger is pulled, the story cannot begin.  In a way, that may be like saying water is powerfully wet stuff, but plenty of would-be storytellers/writers (and some professionals who should know better) don’t seem to get it. 

Beware the buildup:  Some writers want to write a prologue and give oodles of background before getting to the trigger.  In a real sense, they see the story trigger as a kind of mini-climax rather than a beginning point.  Not a good idea.  20 pages of murderer motivation before the murder or 20 pages of victim life before getting killed is nonsense.  Either the information is that fascinating so that it should be the story, and the murder is in fact the story climax, OR it has no business getting in the way.  There is a reason why a murder mystery begins something like this:

“Mrs. Harwich followed the trail of blood across the rug to where she found the body of Mister Harwich crumpled behind the desk, dead eyes staring up at her, and she screamed.”

The same idea holds true for any story, whatever genre, literary or otherwise.  Start with the trigger.

I call it a trigger because it is not necessarily a conflict as it is often called, for example:

“Jim Doonun sat in the outhouse scratching his nose, not thinking anything in particular which was typical for the man, when he had an idea.  The thought just occurred to him out of nowhere.  He turned it over and under and inside-out, and then he smiled.  In that moment, Jim Doonun knew the meaning of life, the reason for life, the universe and everything, and he couldn’t wait to tell somebody.”

Story begins.

Remember:  The primary purpose in telling a story is to get the audience to pay attention (the reader to keep reading) right to the very end.

A story trigger is often the revelation of conflict, but it can also simply raise questions in a reader’s mind, or even, and perhaps better, elicit sympathy for the main character. 

Cinderella begins (after “Once upon a time” which is more background than needed) there was a good little girl whose mother died.  BINGO:  “good girl,” “mother died.”  Immediate sympathy.

A few years later, her father remarried and thought it a good arrangement because the woman had two daughters about the same age as his own.  Then he died.  Double BINGO.  What is going to happen next?  In three short sentences we have everything needed, empathy for the main character, events that lead to a questionable situation and the curiosity to see how it is all going to work out.

The point:  Every story needs a trigger and should begin with the trigger: Something has to happen, some event, some sudden conflict, something unexpected, a situation revealed, something that shakes the character and takes them out of their comfort zone.  The story is about how people deal with it.  That is what story, any story is all about:  people dealing with it until they find a new comfort zone or until they die (or until they finish the first leg of a journey if you are aiming at sequels).

Having butchered the ideas or purpose (theme) and perspective, I feel it is only fair to dissect the idea of story itself.  I am not talking about writing.  There are plenty of great books on that already: The Elements of Style, On Writing Well, King’s On Writing…well, you make your own list.  I would not dream of touching style, voice, tone, mood, and certainly not grammar.  Others are far more qualified than I.  Instead, I hope to talk about CONTENT, and to that end, I see three elements that are vital parts of any story:  Setting, Character and Plot.

Now, having stated my intentions, let me tell you what I don’t intend:  I don’t intend to start an argument with all of the teachers of creative writing out there in academia land, but I do want to take a couple of common analogies and turn them in a new direction.  I do so, because I suspect at least some of you have been subjected to these ideas:

The body:  This is a common analogy with regards to stories, and generally it speaks of plot (specifically) as the skeleton that holds the story up and holds it all together…WRONG!

Setting is the skeleton that keeps it all together, character is the person, themselves, but plot is like the blood: it seeps into every cell bringing the vital nutrients and oxygen without which the body dies.

The house:  In this scheme, plot is often said to be the frame…FAIL!

Setting is the frame, the house itself and everything in it.  Characters are the people (and sometimes animals) within the house that move around and interact.  Plot is the air.  It fills the house in “every nook and cranny” and it is the medium through which all action occurs.  Without air, all die. 

Air also has two more virtues  First, it makes dialogue possible (there is no sound in the vacuum of space) so everything the characters say must pass through the air of the plot to be heard.  Second, like the air, the plot should be invisible.

Look for posts:  I’ll be saying a lot about plot in the coming weeks along with some about character and some about setting.  For now, though, I just want to impress these three elements firmly in your mind, because it is virtually impossible to tell a story without these three.

If you don’t understand the importance of all three (and three is the charm which is another future post), you will be missing out on story potential; and I don’t specifically mean just your particular story.  I am speaking of stories in general and the best use of all three elements to full advantage.

 On the other hand, if you do understand the importance of setting, how to build real characters, and above all, what plot is and how it works, I believe you may never suffer from writer’s block again.  A promise?  No, but near enough.  If, however, you don’t know how to get there from here, read on…

In my last post, I spoke about worldview as the unavoidable lens though which all tales are told.  Among other things, worldview is why anthropologists so love folktales and myths: because they can reveal so much about the culture, society, lifestyles, and overall shared views of a people.  They can reveal how those people viewed the universe and their place in it.

The same can be said for any modern work of fiction (and non-fiction).  Any modern tale will inevitably reflect something about our current culture, society, the world we live in and in particular, the author’s understanding of it all.  But here, to make it a good story, I offer these cautions:

Beware of showing the extremes:  A book, for example, about “how God is an idiot and how a brave soul can dethrone God and set the universe free” tell us more about the blinking atheist who wrote it than about the universe.  (Likewise, much “Christian” fiction does the same in reverse).  Be aware.  Our stories will reflect our perception of reality, but extreme positions don’t help others understand and deal with reality better, they simply reveal the author’s prejudices.

It can be a temptation to take a thought to its extreme limit and tell that story to express this “great truth.”  As often as not, though, I have seen that backfire, where readers find it hard to take anything the author says seriously, if they even bother to finish reading or listening to the story.  It can be a bit like being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. 

Beware of oversimplification:  Likewise, the desire to simplify the story down to protagonist (good guys) and antagonist (bad guys) can be very strong.  My advice:  don’t give into the temptation.  It is the same temptation journalists give into daily:  to present their side of the story brilliantly and to find some blithering doofus to represent the other side. 

The truth is, life is complicated.  As many have said, sometimes the best stories are not even about the struggle between good and evil, but between two goods (or the lesser of two evils).  To be fair, the best stories consider two irreconcilable differences, like Kramer vs Kramer.  This is a messy world, and while the storyteller/storywriter has some compunction to bring order out of chaos, I feel it is best done in a careful way: a way that is “fair and balanced” as one news organization suggests; at least as far as our worldview will allow.

Remember:  The primary purpose in telling a story is to get the audience to pay attention (the reader to keep reading) right to the very end.

In sum.:  Many, if not most stories are told/written without any conscious examination of purpose (theme).  Mark Twain at the beginning of Huckleberry Finn was clear about that:  He said, “Anyone attempting to find a plot will be shot.”  Understand, though, that does not mean the story has no theme.  It may end up the result of muddled thinking, and sadly, many stories that line the bookshelves in the bookstores are exactly that: muddled and confused.  But the best are not.  They speak clearly to the author’s purpose in telling the story, whether the author did so consciously or not. 

Likewise, your story will say something, perhaps something unintended, but it is not a bad thing to consider what it is you are actually saying in the story, and why, and it may even suggest the best way to approach telling the story in the first place.  Something to think about.

The purpose of telling or writing any story is to keep the audience/reader interested until you reach the end.  To keep the reader reading…Having said that, though:

What is your purpose in telling/writing your story?  You may think you simply have a good story idea, but I would argue that every story has a purpose.  To understand what I mean, we need to do a little self-examination.

What is your worldview?  Don’t say you don’t have one.  Everyone does.  It is the lens created by nature and nurture through which each of us perceives the world (lives, moves and have our being).  You may not know what it is.  It is most nearly subconscious, but it stands behind our every motivation, determines our faith (what we believe to be true) and morality (what we believe to be right and good), drives our behavior, makes and breaks our relationships, and creates our social systems and cultures which in turn help drive the worldview of the generations that follow.

Everyone has an unique and independent worldview, and there is no escaping it.  This is the reason that journalists, some years ago, gave up on the whole idea of objective reporting (a mistake in my opinion).  Today, journalists attempt to present both sides of the issues.  Of course, the reality is those on both the right and the left present their point of view most eloquently and find the dorkiest idiot to present the other side…but that is another story.

As far as storytelling/storywriting goes, it is enough to recognize that we all have a worldview and every story we tell and write will be filtered through that lens and reflect that view.  It can’t be helped.  We cannot avoid telling how we perceive the world to work and either propose how it ought to work or suggest our fears if not hopes about where it is headed.  That is a lot of what storytelling is all about.

This is the make you think stuff, the theme if you will, and even the most “deliberately entertaining and shallow, anti-thought” work will portray something about the world and the author’s view of it.  It is inevitable.  It would be easier to separate ourselves from our left ear in Van Gogh style than eliminate our worldview from our tales.

The Point:  Every story will say something.  What will yours say?  What is your purpose in telling the tale?  Take a good look in the mirror.  They say writing can be good therapy.  This is why: because it can help us get in touch with our worldview: what we truly think, feel and believe, and why we do the things we do.

In this universe, there are only two ways to tell a story: cause and effect, or what I call:  Internal and External.  These two story types are the focus or perspective from which the story is told, and there really are no others.  Even Aristotle, the Philosopher understood this way back when, and many authors since have concurred.

Do you remember the story JAWS?  It was about a shark, an External story about a monster in the deep, and the characters struggled to deal with this threat to swimmers, everywhere.  But what if the story JAWS was about a man’s suffering and inability to deal with his mother-in-law?  What if his wife left him, and he spent a chapter in agony, and then designed plans to win her back?  This would be an Internal story.  Let me explain:

External stories focus on action, what happens, and the reader’s primary question is “What is going to happen next?”  The bookstores are full of external stories: Science fiction, Fantasy, Thrillers, Mysteries, many of the books called “mainstream,” and romance (not love stories necessarily, which like Romeo and Juliet may well be internally focused).  People love a good read, a “beach read,” and are naturally drawn to stories of effect, where one action, event or situation leads to the next in a building kind of tension that finally comes to a climax.

Consider the movies.  The blockbusters are all External: event, (action oriented) films like Star Wars, Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, Transformers, Avatar, Indiana Jones… Jaws.

Internal stories, by contrast, focus on the mind and heart of the main character (or characters) and the action, events or situations only give an opportunity to look inside and see the internal dynamics.  These are stories that academia calls “literature,” as they profess to speak not about what happens (happenings may be incidental, mere triggers) but about human nature, ideas, ideals, and ultimately the search for meaning,  The primary question the reader asks here is “Why?”

Remember JAWS, the mother-in-law.  We look for the mother’s reason for manipulating the break-up of the marriage and the man’s motivation for wanting to win back his wife.  In movieland, these stories make up the so-called “artsy” films which never do very well at the box office, but which often win awards… Go figure!

Balance:  Hopefully, no story will be entirely one way or the other.  To be successful, a story needs some balance between these two perspectives, between the entertaining External and the understanding Internal.

A purely external story would invariably have cardboard, stereotypical characters and after the third explosion or car chase would dull us to death.  Hollywood has come close, at times, but even the most blatant action-adventure story has traditionally included the “love interest” in order to at least move the characters a little.

A purely internal story, on the other hand, would be little more than a philosophical essay; contemplating the naval in the extreme.  Some authors have tried this, and some works have even been called “great works of art” by the academics.  (I won’t name any to avoid arguments, but I will say, most of us know better).  Such stories are dull, dull, Dull!

Having said a word about balance, however, I must also say that any story (told, written, novel, screenplay or whatever) will primarily focus on one perspective, approach or the other.  It will be for the most part an External story or an Internal story.

Now the question:    Which perspective is best for your story?  To make that decision, it may help to look at your purpose in telling/writing the story.  You may think you simply have a good story idea, but I will argue that every story has a purpose in being told.  “Ripley’s” I say (believe it or not), but that will have to wait until my next post…

I spent the day listening to stories.  Not unusual.  I do this every day, and so do you.  Stories are pervasive and integral to being human.  Stories are the way people convey all sorts of information, advice, suggestions, and explain love and hate; and they have been doing this since the days when we sat around the campfire and did not complain about doing dishes because dishes had not yet been invented.

Today, I heard stories about corporate indifference (regarding expense checks), boyfriends in New York (and eating Monte Christos), how one fellow lost his car (it broke down on the interstate), how another got a surprise check (and what he spent it on), etc. etc.   I even heard a retelling of the urban legend about the man who went to coke all those years ago and cut a deal for his idea.  “Put it in bottles,” the man said.  And now his descendants are multi-bazillionaires.

Stories are pandemic among us all.  How many stories stacked up in your home over the holidays?  Did you hear about Aunt Lorraine?  It is a joke, which is to say a funny stor  I heard some jokes today as well, like the underwear bomber was wearing fruit of the boom…

Everyone tells stories.  We are natural storytellers, and to those who say, “everyone has a story to tell,” I would rather say, “everyone has a thousand stories to tell.”  To do it well, though, may be a different story.  To be like a shaman or wise woman of old and tell stories “professionally” may require some study and practice.  You are on your own for the practice, but I think I can help a little with the study.

Over the next few weeks or so I want to look at what separates a good story from a bad one.  I want to dissect the whole idea of stories and examine the elements that make up the art, craft, tradition, or instinct (and I do believe storytelling is something akin to instinct).  In particular, I want to focus on that often misunderstood element called plot, because there are some, dating back to Aristotle, who claim that there are only two plots in the universe…  Next time.

-Michael

Ah, vacation!

I am back, but before I start writing about writing again, I am wondering about resolutions, or perhaps we can call them New Year’s Revolutions.

If you don’t make them, and I know some don’t, I feel sorry for you.  Resolutions can be good goals, they can offer hope, something to strive for, but they do have to be made in the right way.

If you do make them, how many have you already broken?  See, they need to be made in the right way…

My general resolutions are these:  To read something worth reading, to write and then submit until sold, followed by more reading, more writing and more submitting.  To be clear, I am resolved to the reading and writing part during the submitting part so there is no lag time.

How about you?

I also have specific resolutions, some of which are as follows:

1.         To sing a song worth singing to the end, every verse, in public.  (Think church).

2.         To accompany my wife to the Symphony.  (Something to look forward to).

3.         To hope that my blog is positive and helpful for many.  (I can always hope).

4.         To stop listening to all the negative, critical, badmouth gossips in the world.  (A worthy goal, even if I stop hearing everyone).

I think you get the idea.

So how about you?  Any resolutions?  Any revolutions?

I posted a snippet from my Time Travel Fantasy in my last post and since there was some interest, I thought I might offer another nibble. 

This is from the same book: Light in the Dark Ages, but this bit is from the tale of Gerraint, son of Erbin

Time: around 510 AD, in the days of King Arthur.

Place: The no man’s land that divided the English kingdoms from the Scottish immigrants.    

Gerraint and his crew have escaped their captors, but they are being pursued and it is snowing:

            Gerraint came back, even as Gwillim nudged him and pointed.  There was a face in the distance sticking out from behind a tree, and it seemed to be beckoning them.  “A Scot.”  Gwillim sounded afraid.

            “No.  A friend.”  Gerraint said, and Uwaine saw it, too.  They hurried as well as they could and carried poor Trevor between them.  The face appeared again, just as far away as the first time, but in a slightly different direction.  They changed course, and a third time made them change again.  At last, they came to a place where the whole world changed.  The shouts of pursuit were cut off as suddenly as if someone had closed a door.  They stood still, and listened.  Even Trevor stood up, carefully.

            There was no sound and no wind in this part of the forest.  Curiously, it was not snowing in this place, though the ground was covered in a white blanket, and more.  A mist was rising from the surface of the snow because the ground beneath was warm enough to cause some melt.  The mist obscured their sight, but it did not entirely blind them.

            “A man could get lost in here and never find his way out,” Gwillim said.  His voice sounded strange as it broke the quiet.

            “This way.”  A man’s voice echoed amongst the trees.  It was hard to tell where he was, but Gerraint started out and the others were obliged to follow.  There were lights of a sort to their left and right which seemed to flutter about, almost like floating light bugs only much bigger, and their makers always remained shrouded in the mist so they could not see exactly what they were.

            “A little further.”  The man’s voice spoke.  After a moment, it spoke again.  “Just a little more.”

            They came to see a light in front of them, much stronger than the lights that danced through the trees.  The ones around them were pale lights as white as the snowflakes.  The one before them was warm amber, the light of a warming fire well lit.  Gwillim pushed ahead, and even Trevor tried to hurry up, though he could only go as fast as Uwaine on whom he was leaning.

            It was indeed a fire, deep inside a cave, and it was warm and so home like in their hearts, it was all anyone could see at first.  Gerraint, alone, noted that the door closed behind them and shut them in as they gathered around to warm themselves.

            “Ought to find some tepid water for Trevor,” Gwillim said.  “He looks frostbitten.”

            “Already taken care of.”  The voice came from above them, but only Gerraint and Gwillim looked up.  Uwaine was watching the elf maidens who brought shallow bowls of water to soak Trevor’s extremities.  Trevor looked frightened at their appearance, but he did not resist them.

            “Macreedy.”  Gerraint named the Elf Lord who looked at him with curiosity.  “Thank you, and be sure and thank Lord Evergreen, Queen Holly, Princess Ivy and their clan for guiding us to your safe haven as well.”

            “So it is true.  You are the one.”  Lord Macreedy needed no other evidence.  He started to rise, but Gerraint waved him back to his chair.

            “Right now I am simply a man, half frozen and starving.” he said.  “But tell me.  How did you know to look for us.”

            He could see Macreedy wanted to tell some lie about the magic and mysteries of the Spirits of the world, but that would not have impressed Gerraint at all, and Macreedy knew it.  Instead, he looked aside and looked a little embarrassed.  “Runabout does tend to talk,” he said.

            “Quite all right.”  Gerraint assured him.  He went back to the warming fire while Gwillim began to look around the room.  Gerraint was sure that Gwillim was completely taken in by the glamour that surrounded him, making the cave appear like the most lavish of manor houses, with great tapestries lining jewel encrusted walls, and even glass in the windows.

            “A mighty fine home you have, my Lord, for one so deep in the wilderness and in the wilds of the North.”  Gwillim also saw Macreedy as a plain noble Chief rather than the elf he was.  For that matter, Gerraint looked over and noted that Trevor’s discomfort was because of the idea of being attended by a half dozen beautiful young women.  Gerraint was sure Trevor did not see them as elves at all.  “Are you sure the Scots won’t find us here?”  Gwillim finished on the practical note.

            “The Scots won’t come here,” Macreedy reassured him.  “In fact, would you like me to call the Slaugh to visit them in the night?”  That question was for Gerraint.

            “Heaven forbid,” Gerraint responded.  “They have two deaths now to mourn and were just trying to defend themselves, even if they don’t know that revenge is never an answer.  Let them be.”

            “Very gracious of you, my Lord,” Macreedy said.

            “Yes,” Gwillim added.  “Especially since we just avoided being whipped half to death and thrust naked into the frozen wastes.”

             Gerraint simply coughed, and there was a moment of silence.

            Macreedy stood and walked down to them.  He slipped his arm around Uwaine’s shoulder and turned him toward another part of the cave.  “You seem a man of wisdom.  You hold your tongue well,” Macreedy said.  Gerraint was simply not sure how far Uwaine was taken in by the glamour.  “I suspect, though, you may just be hungry.  What do you say we repair to the dining room.  The feast is all prepared.”

            “Food!”  Gwillim shouted, but then remembered his manners.  “With the Lord of the house’s permission, of course.”

            Macreedy stared hard at Gwillim for a moment.  Some Little Ones could be sticklers for the most miniscule bits of propriety, but then he laughed.  “Permission granted,” he said, and he waved to the ladies to make sure they did not let Trevor leave the fire.  Instead, two of the women pushed passed the men and came back with a plate full of delights.  They appeared to be thrilled with cutting and spoon feeding Trevor, and then wiping his chin with the softest elf cloth, laughing merrily most of the while, and Trevor did not mind that at all.

            “For you, my Lord, we killed the fatted calf,” Macreedy told Gerraint.  Uwaine, who had glanced at Gerraint once or twice, looked fully at his Lord when they came to their seats.  Gerraint explained.

            “The food of the light elves is normally very light and delicate, like gourmet food.  Not much substance for flesh and blood.  Macreedy is saying they cooked up some real food for us, and don’t worry, I have decided the food of the Little Ones will not affect you, Gwillim or Trevor to any harm.  So eat, and enjoy.”  That was all Uwaine needed to hear.

            “Pork loins!”  Gwillim was shouting again in his excitement.

            Gerraint certainly ate his fair share, but by then, his mind had turned once again to Cornwall, his home.  He imagined poor Enid fretting away, with no word from him to hold on to, and sweet Guimier sleeping in his place beside her mother until he could again be with them.  He stood, letting the others remain seated, and stepped to the door.  It opened without his thinking about it, though an invisible barrier remained in place so neither the wind nor cold could penetrate the cave.  Outside, it was snowing again, obliterating their tracks. 

            As Gerraint looked out on the beauty of the white upon the northern forest, his heart began to sing, and his mouth whispered at first.

                        What child is this who laid to rest,

                        on Mary’s lap is sleeping?

                        Whom angels greet with anthems sweet;

                        While shepherds watch are keeping?

                        This, this is Christ the King

                        Whom shepherds guard and angels sing.

                        Haste, haste to bring him laud,

                        The babe, the son of Mary. 

            He let his voice trail off as he found the others gathered around his back.  The elf maidens were all on their knees.  Gwillim was smiling with a serious smile.  Even Trevor was standing, staring at the beauty of the world.

            “Must be Christmas.”  Gerraint said, turning to Macreedy, who had a tear in his eye rather than the great anger he would have had with anyone but Gerraint, his Lord.  “Remember this word,” Gerraint told the elf, putting his hand gently on the Little One’s shoulder.  “That the whole world might be saved through him.”  Gerraint felt better saying that, and a little less alone.  “Remind Manannan of this, will you, when his time of sorrow and dejection comes on him because of the monks.  I worry about that boy.  And as for us, I suppose a bit of sleep would not hurt…”

Merry Christmas to all…  Michael.