I’ve loved fairy tales for most of my life. From the moment I discovered Andrew Lang’s Color Fairy Books, I’ve been completely hooked. The magic, the mystery, the intrigue, the dragons, the love stories at the heart of the tales – all of it captured my imagination as a child, and still does.
Which is why, when I came across Liz Braswell’s Once Upon A Dream: A Twisted Tale in my neighbor’s lending library, I took it home. Across the top of the dust jacket is a fascinating question: “What if the Sleeping Beauty never woke up?”
Well, that would be a plot twist, wouldn’t it…
There are two kinds of really good books. There are books that are so good you just can’t put them down, and you find yourself reading into the wee hours of the morning to find out what happens. And then there are books that are so good you read them slowly, a chapter or two at a time, because you don’t want the story to end. When it does, it will feel like saying goodbye to a very dear friend. Once Upon A Dream is the second kind.
It wasn’t an entirely pleasant story – most fairy tales aren’t – but it was riveting. Using the basic roots of the original fairy tale as a framework, the author completely reframes the story, creating a layer of complexity that mirrors real life. Aurora grapples with depression and insecurity, and what it means to grow up and take responsibility for her own life, rather than mindlessly following the script she’s been given. Philip becomes a good friend, an affable source of encouragement with his own set of problems, and steps back to let Aurora become the hero of her own story. Reframing the story allowed the author to give all of the characters new depth (even Maleficent).
Would reframing your story change anything?
We all have a story – places we’ve been, people we know, things that have happened to us, things we’ve done. And how we think about our story matters.
I began writing in earnest about sixteen years ago. I’d been blogging off and on for a about a year, but up until that point, it was more of an online diary than anything else. Over the course of that year, I’d met a lot of amazing people through their own blogs, and we began talking – in our posts and comment threads – about life and faith and church and theology. We came from different backgrounds and different schools of thought – some of us were deconstructing our faith and others were trying to reshape it into something that felt more… well, authentic. Our little corner of the internet was a microcosm of a conversation that was happening on the broader evangelical stage, and it felt (and was) important.
In time, I shifted my writing from blogspot to a real url. I was on staff at a church at the time, and we talked a lot about leadership and influence. I had a platform with a built-in audience, and my blog was doing well. I’d found my voice, and writing brought me so much joy. I continued to write even after leaving the church, and did my fair share of deconstructing for a bit. And then a day came when someone decided I’d become a heretic, and tried to silence me.
Sadly, I kind of let him.
I’ve written a handful of things over the past few years, but so much of it has been a reversion to where I started. What used to be a platform for the sharing of ideas became more of an online journal about my adventures in Brooklyn, with an occasional post of a more thoughtful nature thrown in. The trauma of that experience, the resulting drop in readership and support, and a complete relocation of my entire life to a new city left me feeling a little lost and directionless. I wasn’t sure what it was that I had to say, so eventually I just stopped saying anything at all. I’ve been creatively stuck for what feels like ages, with no idea where to go next.
I was sharing this with a good friend over coffee a few weeks ago, and he completely reframed my story. “Happy,” he said, “you’ve already arrived! You went on a great adventure; you packed up and moved across the country, and now you’re a writer in New York City, where thousands of writers and artists have gotten their start. And yes, once you had a successful blog, and enough influence that someone tripped up on his own power tried to silence you – but you’re still a writer. And you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Everything else is just gravy.”
That reframing was everything. I can’t stop thinking about that conversation. I’m not a victim of a traumatic experience; I’m the hero of my own story. I’m an adventurer on a quest, and anything can happen. It’s only Wednesday. Everything could be different by Sunday. There might be a dragon or two, but that’s okay. I can handle a dragon.
I’ve already arrived.
photo credit: Marko Blažević on Unsplash
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The statements made and opinions expressed here are solely those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of any current or former employers.