What is a fairytale retelling?

A fairytale retelling is NOT a faithful replay of another author or creator’s fairytale. For example, my Beauty and the Beast draw upon several movies, as well as the original fairytale, but also re-imagines the story with my own spin.

For me, keeping the heart of the story (such as the Beast is under a curse and only true love can save him) is important, but the tale needs a fresh perspective for readers to enjoy.

Fairytale themes such as fairy curses and magic (which the how-is-it-done? is never explained), talking beasts, strange beings that aid or obstruct, and how an ordinary person must use their wits to win, is what I like to use in my fairytales.

How is this series different from your other books?

These are more romantic than my other fantasy books, and deliberately so. I wanted them to pay homage to all the Regency and Gothic romances I read way back in the day when I was in school. And it’s always fun to immerse yourself into another historical time period with all the nostalgic romance!

Each story takes place in our world, but at a different time in history.

Yes, I’m a big history lover, and some of my favorite books are in the genre of historical fiction. My father was a devout Civil War history buff. Not only myself, but my brothers all developed a love of history (only different time periods). I personally have interests in the Medieval, Italian Renaissance, the Elizabethan period, as well as the Regency and Victorian periods.

You’ve played with classic fairytales before, what makes this set unique?

Each fairytale is inspired by a classic (Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Thumbelina, etc.), but I think where my stories vary greatly from other authors currently writing in this genre is my quest for historical accuracy (when it can be done – as magic operates outside of that). The fairytale inspires, but it is re-imagined within a certain period in history.

I also aim for my writing style to replicate as much as possible, the feel of the stories written by authors of the time, such as Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, Arthur Conan Doyle, etc.. It really is important to me to get the feel and flavor of life at that time correct.

What challenged you as a writer when developing this collection?

It can be difficult to write a period piece where the heroines can be admired by today’s readers. Especially if you strive for historical accuracy. We are used to the idea of an independent woman who does what she thinks best, who is not constrained by archaic laws, or the lack of available employment due to her gender.

Balancing the needs of a modern reader, but also making an enjoyable heroine, can be a balancing act. I feel I’ve achieved that in these stories.

These are novellas, not short stories or novels. What does that mean exactly?

As novellas these stories are over 20,000 words and usually around 30,000 plus. From a reading standpoint it means a fast reader can finish it in one day, and a moderate-rate reader in two days. I call them my Bon-Bon stories as they are the perfect bite of romance and fairytale without getting weighed down by plots that go nowhere.

Enjoy a slice of fairy magic today!

“I absolutely adored this Cinderella retelling! It’s a magical novella that’s part fairytale, part Jane Austen, and was just what I needed.“

“One of the most unique Cinderella retellings I’ve read. I definitely recommend it to anyone, fairytale and regency era lovers or not.”

“The writing is elegant and so authentic, but without all that dull heaviness that can weigh down traditional classics. It was like a breath of fresh air – I completely devoured it!“

“As a fan of both Cinderella and Jane Austen, this story seemed to be the perfect blend of the two.”

Chipping-Worth, England
1816

The new modiste wasn’t hard to locate, making Melinda wonder why she hadn’t observed her shop before, for it was next to the apothecary. The building had a fresh coat of white paint and a black railing at the step. The tall solid wood door was painted a deep blue, and the brass handle was the shape of a woman’s hand which you clasped to open.

What was the most unusual feature was the front display window. It was not large enough to exhibit a dress. Instead, bonnets and hats, gloves and fans were organized in an eye-catching arrangement.

“Didn’t I tell you it was magical?” Sissy’s mouth pressed so that her breath on the glass fogged the windowpane of the shop.

“For once, you did not exaggerate,” agreed Melinda.

The objects displayed were all enhanced by Glamour, as if there was any doubt of the shop’s fairy license. Each fostered in the heart of the onlooker something different when her eye chanced upon it.

The straw hat with green and white ribbons gave Melinda a vision of spring, lilies-of-the-valley, a sense of something new. From the ivory gloves, she could almost smell the sophisticated perfume and hear a whisper of compliments which would fill your ears if you wore them.

However, it was the fan that opened and shut on its own that displayed the most potent of all magics. No mechanical means moved the image of a boat sailing under a full moon across the fan’s open span.

A pink drape of satin blocked any view past the display into the shop.

“The vicar says it is wicked to love things magical.”

Miss Wychwood made no comment to her cousin’s statements, though she found the sentiment irritating. It was silly words like these that were said about her mother throughout her brief life. Melinda may have only been seven when she died, but she remembered the looks after church and the whispers when her mother walked in the market.

When Sissy displayed no interest in leaving the bewitching display, Melinda said impatiently, “Come along. What if she sells out of all her lace because of your dawdling?”

Those warning words got Miss Davenport moving. The two young ladies entered the shop, but they were too entranced to notice the door closing on its own behind them.

The interior of the shop was a Glamour spell in itself.

It felt like they had stepped inside a jewelry box, lined in pink satin. The drapes on the walls shifted slightly as if an invisible breeze touched them and the distant chime of silver bells played pleasantly in the background.

A half dozen dress stands displayed gowns of such elegance that Melinda wondered if she wasn’t in London.

Tables displayed hats on stands. These were not ordinary hats topped with ribbon, false fruit, or feathers. Each was a masterpiece that promised to make your face unique.

“Wear me and your eyes will sparkle!”

“Wear me and your smile will charm!”

When Melinda approached one of the mirrors to admire a particular bonnet, the reflected image showed her wearing it even though she had not picked it up. More disconcerting was that the reflected pose changed and moved independently of the original.

Melinda hastily moved away.

Soft gloves in every color were laid out, begging for your hand to try them. Sissy dared to pull one on, and as she did so, the material shaped itself around her hand and fingers to make it a perfect size. She waved them under her cousin’s nose.

“Put it back,” Melinda hissed, looking around to see if anyone noticed Sissy’s behavior.

Who knew what this fairy magic could do to the unwary?

Melinda was surprised to see they were the only two in the room, as she had observed three ladies enter while they had admired the contents of the window.

All together an odd type of shop.

Turning in a circle, her mouth agape as she observed it all, Sissy said, quite enchanted, “So lovely, like a piece of marzipan!”

“And we know how ladies love their sweets,” said a tall, elegant woman who materialized behind them. She was a walking advertisement for her business: her gown was perfection in color and form. It showed all the expensive details that only an expert needle could create.

She stood like a queen, with a proud erect carriage.

Despite herself, Melinda found she was fascinated by the dressmaker’s silver eyes. Was this what her mother’s eyes looked like? Mrs. Wychwood had died so long ago, her daughter couldn’t remember.

The woman’s ears were concealed by a swath of blue hair, so Melinda couldn’t observe if their tips were pointed. However, from the woman’s features, the hollow cheeks, pointed chin, and angled eyebrows, Melinda guessed her fairy heritage to be considerable.

“-I just really needed this book. Not dark nor intense but warm and really delightful.“

“– magic, enchantments, curses, beasts, fairies, mystery, danger, hidden agendas, a little humor, a wager, a game, and full of rich historical details. Byrd Nash certainly knows how to tell an enchanting story–

“Nash crafts a tale so enchanting it traps the reader in a world of magic and romance one might never want to leave.”

“Really original and unique take on a well known and loved fairytale. With a mix of historical romance, fairytale fantasy and sweet romance this story had me happily turning the pages and I read this novella in one sitting.”

Woodross, England
1890

“Another poacher trespassing in my garden?”

Rose turned, ready to apologize. She guessed the newcomer was Sir Griffin. How many others with the body of a man and the head of a beast roamed Thorn Hall? His animal muzzle had a snarling lip, showing tusks and pointed teeth.

However, Rose didn’t blink or cower. She was too fascinated to feel fear or want to run away. Instead, she found herself blurting, “You have the most magnificently ugly face I’ve ever seen.”

“Am I to take that as a compliment?” he roared.

“You should. I mean it sincerely,” replied Rose contritely. “Why did you care that my father wanted a rose bush? It does not look like you value them much.”

The lip quivered. “You must be one of the Parker girls. I see the arrogance of your family at least breeds true.”

“Rose Parker, Sir Griffin,” she introduced herself, but Sir Griffin did not take her outstretched hand. After a moment, she dropped it. “I am the middle of three. You have perhaps met my older sister?”

“I have not.”

“Oh. Well.” Rose paused, wondering how to proceed. What was Lily doing? She’d been gone long enough. “I understand from my father there is a sort of debt existing between us?”

“Yes.” Sir Griffin did not add anything more.

My, he was awfully big, thought Rose as she valiantly pressed onward. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement? Something that won’t alarm the sensibilities of our village society?”

Sir Griffin raised eyebrows the size of summer caterpillars. They revealed mossy-green eyes. Rose forgot what she was about to say.

“Woodross? I don’t concern myself with what village harpies cackle.”

“You have the luxury of ignoring them,” said Rose. “But you do not have Mrs. Winston coming next Tuesday, exactly at 11 o’clock, to spend her allotted thirty minutes in your parlor.”

“I do not know Mrs. Winston, so why should I care if she inconveniences you?”

“Be thankful you don’t know her! But it will not be long before she has learned of what passed between Father and yourself. The woman sniffs out secrets like a hound does a fox.”

“I do not see—”

“Servants, Sir Griffin. Servants! When the milk or the meat gets delivered, they gather the news like a squirrel hoards nuts. Instead of burying them, though, people share their discoveries. Gossip spreads.”

During their discussion, the two had come closer. Whether it was Rose or Sir Griffin who had closed the difference, she couldn’t remember.

“What do you propose?” inquired the beast of Thorn Hall. His deep-set eyes were hidden again by the ridge of his brow.

“Why, that I come to help you with this mess of a garden! Everyone in Woodross knows my abilities. No one would doubt you sought my advice.”

Sir Griffin commanded that she show him her hands. Rose held them out, and he turned them with palms facing upward. His claws traced lines upon her skin, the tips tapping her callouses. In his grip, Rose trembled despite herself.

“These are not the hands of a lady who does nothing but sit in her drawing room. Fine. I accept your pledge. See what you can do. But I warn you, the ground is hard and winter does not easily relinquish its grip at Thorn Hall.”

He dropped her hands, removing the intensity of the connection. Released, Rose swayed for a moment.

“Do not remove anything from the grounds of Thorn Hall. I shall know if you do.”

Before Rose could speak, he stalked away.