Saturday, 28 April 2012

Princess Stories

When I was a little girl, I was convinced that I was a princess. I was, of course, a good princess who loved animals and trees and flowers. Not the mean and nasty kind.

Every since I learned to read, princess books were always at the top of my list. I think I had frequent flyer miles at the small town library where we lived.

After the librarian exhausted all of her efforts to find me more and more princess books, I resorted to other short stories for children that had faeries, elves, gnomes and dragons.

Reading princess books had become my passion at an early age. I could be drawn into this other world that felt so real and magical. I knew I would always be a reader of princess stories, maybe even a writer of a princess book. And my princess stories could have elves, faeries, and gnomes in them.

By the age of eight, my good imagination was already in high gear, writing scripts for my play-acting scenes. I made up the best scenes, or so I thought at the time. I was always a good and noble princess in some kind of strange and horrible situation that I needed to be rescued from. After I was rescued, I always rescued the distraught animals, or elves or whoever else was having a bad trouble.

I only have one younger sister and no brothers. So my sister, being the good sport that she was, was always eager to be my rescuer/prince charming. I did not like the fact that she would only wear her cowboy outfit, with guns in her holster (how barbaric), but nonetheless, she made a good prince and always went along with my ideas (which, of course, is very important when you're the writer of the princess story scenes).

My play-acting, princess dress was a hand-me-down from a older cousin; a simple, white dress with a little crinoline underneath, but to me that dress was the most precious thing I owned, I wore that dress for years. I even tried wearing it to school, no luck, caught by mom, go change.

I wore that dress the day I decided to have a Princess Mud Pie Sale. I spent the day making mud pies and decorating them with rocks, flowers, twigs and the odd dead bee. I set up my booth, with the help of my mom, and anxiously awaited customers.

A few elderly ladies stopped by to pinch my cheeks and marvel at my creativeness, but alas, no sales.

The day was drawing to an end, and I was really hungry, when my dad pulled up in our station wagon. He thought I had a wonderful idea and bought the whole lot of Princess Mud Pies.

Thanks, Dad, for that day, I will never forget it. I know you've already read my real Princess Book from Heaven.

And thanks to my sister, Cindi, for co-operating in all of my Princess Stories.

For the real Princess Story, click on the book on the sidebar, Sir Princess Petra - The Pen Pieyu Adventures or visit: http://www.dianemaerobinson.tateauthor.com