What is your ideal fairy-tale ending to life?  Do you have one?  Did you have one when you were much younger?

Growing up in the seventies, I was more than familiar with the stories like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and Rapunzel.  Maidens, with many moments of distress, who were all ‘rescued’ by princes.  Love conquered the awful situations in which these girls were put – slave to stepmother and stepsisters, 100 year curse of being asleep (coma?), poisoned by stepmother, and locked up in a tower.  The villains in these tales are women, the heroes are men (princes, no less), and everyone lives happily ever after.  Excellent, I thought when I was young, no matter how hard school days are with insecurities over who your real friends are, no matter who is mean to me, no matter how badly I do in a test, life is going to turn out so perfectly.  (WTH!)

So let’s talk about the women who are the villains in these stories, shall we?  Even in Hansel & Gretel, a cannibalistic witch wants to fatten up two children and eat them.  Not to mention the fact that a couple of the culprits in these fairy-tales are stepmothers and stepsisters.  What message have these been giving our little girls for all these years?  How dare someone remarry?  If your father remarries, you offspring are doomed?  What happens if a mother remarries?  Is that a possibility?  I am assuming that they always killed off the mothers in these stories because in those days many women died in childbirth.  But did that mean that the women who survived childbirth, but lost their men, were bitter and horrid people?  Whatever you do, do NOT let your Dad marry any of these women!

Okay, now let’s talk about being saved from these terrible women in these tales.  Along comes the handsome prince, he falls in love with the weak girl, who in turn falls for him, they marry and live in the palace forever in love and happiness.  The end.

What happens when the royal babies are born?  No sleepless nights?  No arguments about who is doing more for the baby?  No financial worries?  No health hiccups?  No domestic quarrels?  Marriage is hard.  Having children is even harder.  I’m not saying that all of this does not bring joy.  It can.  But it doesn’t come easily and there are times of real difficulty.  You have to work at making a marriage work, and if it doesn’t, it is NOT the end of happiness.

Of course, there are many authors re-writing these fairy-tales, giving them more modern and realistic endings, but these fairy-tales are still at forefront of little girls’ dreams.  Princess dolls, princess clothes, princess cakes, princess purses, princess wands and crowns.  You name it, they are all still right there in the shop, on the internet, in books and even on food.  In fact, just this weekend, I made a Sleeping Beauty cake for a friend’s daughter, who turned five.  Yes, indeed.  The year is 2016 and little girls are still ever hopeful that they will have their fairy-tale HEA.

sleeping beauty

Source: A Good Story

What makes for a good story? A hook. Stellar writing. Humour. Pain. The shock-factor. Scandal. Perhaps it is a combination of it all.

I was recently told that a short article I wrote was not captivating, interesting, nor inspirational. There was clearly a story there, but I had written it in a way that only gave the reader knowledge about the autoimmune disease that I have. This was not appealing. I was horrified at first. The editor was unmoved by what I had written? How cold and heartless, I thought. I reread the email, again and again. Then I remembered conversations I have had with a few close friends. All involved the other party encouraging me to tell my story, only to be blanked by me saying, “I don’t want to get emotional about my illness in my writing. It just seems so self-serving and ‘poor me’. I need my story to end well, so that I can write objectively about it.”

Honestly, I have felt so proud of myself feeling this way and verbalizing this. It’s called handling the situation with grace and positivity. People respect you more when you’re not a bubbling mess. I suppose that out of respect, my friends have dropped the subject. It’s my personal journey, so they probably all feel that it’s really none of their business and they can’t make me do something I’m not ready to do.

So why am I so concerned about looking like an emotional wreck? Why don’t I want people to see that I am vulnerable. I am struggling. I am in pain. I am a happy person, that’s why. I mean genuinely happy. Even if I have a horrible argument with my husband, I don’t feel the misery that one has when heartbroken. Even when I am fed up with being sick, it doesn’t take long or much to make me happy once more. This is how I am the majority of the time. Happy. So why on earth would anyone want to see the miserable side? What good does it serve them? In fact, I made a pact with myself that this blog would serve my readers, hence the name Serveyouwrite. It would be a disservice to you all if I was to write about my hardships.

Last night, I was watching the latest Scandal episode, which I had recorded. Mely Grant had dropped off the manuscript of a book she had written at Olivia Pope’s office, pleading with her to read it. Upon Mely’s return, Olivia told her that the book was basically boring. A whole load of facts, but no feelings. That would not appeal to anyone. That would not sell.

This got me thinking. (I know, seriously sad when I’m having a revelation after watching a political soap opera-esque show, but bare with me, because the creator of the show – Shonda Rhimes – she is far from being a fool). Anyway, as I as saying, it got me thinking. People do want to read the dirty, gritty, messy drama which we call life. That’s why these dramatic television shows do so well. That’s what appeals to so many people. We love drama. We love the build up to the drama, we love the moment when someone’s world is blowing up or falling apart, and we love the conclusion – whether it be a happily-ever-after or a tragic end. The story pulls us in, grips us and then gives us some kind of satisfying release. Whether it be a wonderful or devastating outcome, we are inspired in some way – in the former case, to emulate, and in the latter, to find a way for that never to happen to us.  Either way, it makes for a good story.

Do you understand what I mean when I say that I am a girl’s girl?  And I do not mean a girly girl.  The latter implies that a girl, or a woman, is into ‘girly’ things like pink, princesses and ballet.  The former is quite different to this.  A girl’s girl is a female who is not only well-liked by other members of the same gender, but she too relies on this symbiotic relationship.  This is not to be confused with being a lesbian.

I grew up with three brothers and no sisters.  On my Dad’s side of the family there are nine grand-children, seven are boys.  The other girl cousin and I are close – like sisters.  On my Mum’s side there are two girls – both I consider my sisters.  I have five sisters-in-law – three from my side, two from my husband’s.  Love them all.  I have six nieces in total – again, love them like cook-food.  And I have many, many female friends – some I count on more than others, but truth be told, every one of them steps up to the plate at some moment, whether it be a crucial moment or not.  Don’t misunderstand me here – I like my male cousins very much and I adore my brothers, but the relationships I have with them are quite different to the ones I have with the women in my life.  I am extraordinarily close with my Mum and I am sure that she is the reason why I have so much respect and make so much time for all these women.

When I was little, I never for a moment wished that I had a sister.  In fact, I was quite glad that I only had brothers.  I saw how my friends fought with their sisters and I pitied the cat-fights they had and the petty squabbling.  Not that my siblings and I didn’t fight one another, but boy on boy, or boy on girl even, did not hold the same wrenching heartbreak of bitchy behaviour.  If I had an argument with any of my brothers, we got over it instantly.  The boys got into fisticuffs, the tension was blown off with the first blow.  It was simple.  As a result, I avoided any kind of serious confrontation with my female friends, because I was afraid of a bitch-fight – these were not for me!  I saw what girls were capable of and I did not want to be the brunt of anyone’s personal vendetta.  If someone stopped talking to me for any reason, I was shocked.  Holding grudges was alien to me – it still is.

As an adult, who is now forty, I haven’t changed much, but now I do wish that my parents had gone on and tried for another girl.  I desperately wish that I had a sister.  I see the relationships women around me have with their sisters, and I admire these with slight envy.  I’m even more grateful for my Mum, my cousins, my sisters-in-law and my friends.  Women need to have women in their lives.  It is a practical and emotional fact!  Any woman who says that they get along better with men than women has a serious problem.  In fact, I don’t trust any woman who makes that claim.  Why can’t she get along with any of us?  Doesn’t that seem a little strange to you?  Off, even?  She literally prefers to hang out with your boyfriend or your husband over you?  Hmmmm, that doesn’t seem right, does it?  Not when you really sit down and think about it.

We (women) understand our women friends.  We can be ourselves around one another.  We can choose to be intellectual, air-headed, kind, vulnerable, weepy, silly, and so much more, and we will see it all through.  If one of us needs to talk about the same problem over and over again, the rest of us will listen over and over again.  If one of us comes up with the most ridiculous plan, the rest of us think it is an amazing plan and we feed the plan with enthusiasm, citing that we will even join the plan.  If one of us is sick, or has a kid who is sick, the rest of us feel that pain and do everything in our power to be helpful.  If one of us is heartbroken, the rest of us offer just the right words and advice called for, without belittling anyone’s feelings.  If one of us is making a bit of a fool out of ourself, the rest know exactly how to turn the situation into a bloody funny one for us all.  And do you know what this proves?  It proves that every one of us should be a member of a sisterhood of some kind.