U is for Una

Time for Una’s own personal little article. She has been mentioned on numerous occasions throughout this series, but as the heroine, I think she does deserve a little special mention. So here we go!

Poor Una tends to get a bad report from fans. And understandably so, of course, there’s no point in trying to defend her. She is sweet enough, but immature with a naïve perspective on love and a healthy dose of selfishness to boot. In fact, she is very like your average teenage girl thinking that romance and marriage will solve all her problems and forgetting to focus on big picture stuff . . . like character and growth and concern for other people.

Una is a very real person, for all she is a princess. She has a distinct personality, but she also acts as a fine universal representation, not only of girls in general, but also of humanity. You see, the thing with Una isn’t that she is overtly evil. She doesn’t, on the surface, look like the sort of person the Dragon would want for his brood of transformed children. She’s just a silly, somewhat emotional, slightly nervous-tempered girl.

But look around you. How many people in your life do you know whom you think of as evil. We’re all just people, struggling through our daily lives, tending to put more emphasis on ourselves than on others, but then everybody does it, so what’s the big deal? And if we want our fair piece of the pie, well, we only want what’s fair, right? Don’t we all deserve to have our own personal Dream Come True?

The answer is no. For even by insisting on our own way, our own will, we demonstrate the sordid nature that hides just beneath our everyday veneer. We really are selfish to the core. Even our most unselfish acts are motivated from selfish desires . . . the desire to feel good about ourselves because we’ve done our good deed for the day. And perhaps the hope of seeing someone reciprocate because we deserve it, right?

We human beings are all about our rights and our just desserts. And we fail to look at ourselves—to look truly at the reality of our nature—and see the dragon inside.

Una is just a simple girl with a simple wish. She’s a princess and she wants her prince. What’s the harm in that? But by her consistent insistence on her own will and her own way, rejecting the truth of real love when it is gently offered her, Una opens herself up to the Dragon’s work and poison. And after the Dragon arrives, it is a matter of mere days before Una gives in to him and takes his kiss!

For Una is a young woman without foundation. Her own strength of will can only carry her so far. Then it must crumble, and she must face the consequences.

I love this story. When I wrote it originally, it was a very personal endeavor. I really felt that I was going through many of Una’s struggles . . . an outwardly picture-perfect, church-going, Sunday-school teaching girl, but with inner sins and struggles that were tearing me apart. I have been the dragon. Many of you have been the dragon yourselves. And if you haven’t yet, be sure that you will someday.

But True Love is ever ready to step in and save the day. Not in the form of Prince Charming the way we think of him. Romance, no matter how sweet, will never solve the deepest problems of the heart. Nor will success or “good works” or any of the things this world looks to as most important. Only the grace offered through Christ’s sacrifice. And that grace is completely undeserved. There is no “good deed” we can do to earn ourselves a place in Christ’s love. That love is a free gift and must be accepted freely.

No more than Una was worthy of Prince Aethelbald’s love. Even after Una realizes that she loves Aethelbald, as we hear her saying on the shore when she speaks to the Ocean Sprite, she still thinks it is up to her to make things right. She thinks to be worthy of his love, she must face the Dragon and solve her problem of sin. Then she will have earned her place, she will deserve to be Prince Aethelbald’s bride.

But this is impossible. Una cannot kill the Dragon. She cannot work out her own salvation and transformation. No matter how sincere her intentions, her own strength and power are not enough. Instead, she must come to a place of absolute humiliation. Only there can she finally see Aethelbald’s offered love for what it is . . . an undeserved gift that can only be accepted as a gift, never earned. Only then can she face the death of her old self and the renewing of her spirit and body.

Poor Una. She really is the most humiliated of all my characters. Which is difficult in a storybook heroine. People want strong heroines who can solve their own problems . . . I do too! But this is no more than wish-fulfillment. It isn’t truth. We cannot solve all our own problems, we cannot fight all our own dragons, and we certainly cannot earn love.

Love must be a gift freely given. It can never be deserved.

On a side note: Una’s name comes from Edmund Spenser’s epic poem Faerie Queen. The Princess Una in that story represented the Church in a highly allegorical context. My Una plays the same role, representing the Church or the Bride of Christ. Unlike Spenser’s Una, who is serene and brave and lovely, my Una is a representation of the contemporary church, easily distracted from the truth of the gospel, looking for quick-fixes, running after the next new and exciting idea, and falling into traps of worldly thinking, forgetting the truth of grace and love.

That’s a tough role for one little heroine . . . not only serving as the main character in a story, but also bearing the weight of that much symbolism! So thanks to you, dear Una. I appreciate your efforts within this debut novel of mine. May you find a readership that understands your role and appreciates the purpose you serve in the story! And in the meanwhile, I love you dearly.

T is for Torkom

Torkom is a goblin. But he doesn’t always look like one.

Torkom’s role in this story is not large, but it is important. We meet him in chapter 1 and see him again only briefly in chapter 2. He is a fortune-teller, a merchant of predictions . . . and he deals in dark practices. Torkom owns one of the Dragon’s scales.

With it he gives Una a glimpse of her future. Not a scene from her future, so much as a glimpse of the future coming to her. When she agrees to let Torkom show her his wonders, he leads her into a perfumed tent, opens a secret box, and tells her to take hold of the “shield” she sees there. Una, demonstrating one of the great hallmarks of her character, trusts the dealer and does as he bids her.

And the Dragon momentarily storms her mind.

Thanks to Torkom, Una is plagued by dreams through much the rest of the story, nightmares of the Dragon and his Dark Sister as they search for her. But what does Torkom hope to gain from all of this?

Una’s ring.

“My lady must pay,” he said. “My lady must pay for the vision.” He lifted her hand toward his face, licking his lips as she drew her fingers toward his mouth. Her ring gleamed in the rose-colored light, reflecting back into his white eyes. “Worth so much,” the fortune-teller said. “Worth so great a price—”

Torkom recognizes the value of Una’s ring. He realizes what it represents. And perhaps he too knows that the Dragon seeks it? Who can say. Either way, Torkom is more than happy to accept any payment that will give him control over his clients . . . as we will see demonstrated yet again in Moonblood, so watch for the return of the charlatan Faerie dealer!

Do we know any more practical information about Torkom, however? He calls himself, “Torkom of Arpiar.” Later in the story, Felix mentions Arpiar, calling it the kingdom of goblins. So Torkom is a goblin after all, though his face doesn’t always reflect this truth. Why the half-hearted disguise, we must wonder? It’s not a very useful one, considering it only works in little flashes. Is Torkom disguising a face that is truly beautiful and it keeps slipping through the cracks? Or is he wearing an ancient beautification spell that hardly works anymore, so we only see flashes of beauty?

And for some reason, Torkom does not want to return to Arpiar, the land of his birth. See what Prince Aethelbald says to him:

“If you dare lure another into your lair, Torkom, I will personally see you returned to Arpiar. And this time you will not leave.”

This threat works a swift result on the ugly dealer. He bows them out of his tent and tries no more to wrest Una’s ring from her. The damage is already done, however. Una’s dreams are forever more plagued, and on many dark nights she suffers burns on her hands from where she grabbed the Dragon scale . . . burns that she forgets by the next morning.

Torkom has his own name for Prince Aethelbald. “Eshkhan,” he calls him. This means very little to us in the storyline of Heartless . . . but watch for it in Veiled Rose. The person who uses that name for the Prince of Farthestshore must have some connection to Arpiar and the kingdom of goblins.

And the strange enchantments which are either disguising beauty or ugliness. Which? We do not know.

Thank you, Torkom, for lending an air of mystery and creepiness to the opening of Heartless! We look forward to seeing you again come Moonblood.

S is for Sacrifice

Ultimately, Heartless is a story about undeserved grace. This is the theme at the core of all Una’s adventures and perils. It is impossible to tell a story of undeserved grace without the theme of sacrifice playing a dominant role.

To sacrifice is to give up something, something we value highly, usually to gain something we want more. It isn’t quite the same bartering or bargaining, though it is similar. Think of the Old Testament sacrifices of long ago. The people of that day and age would sacrifice their best lambs and goats on God’s alter as a demonstration of honor and love. This was often in hopes that God would respond to their gift with blessing . . . but the proper form of sacrifice wasn’t this “scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” deal. It was an outpouring of thankfulness. Gratitude for God’s bounty, for His provision. They were willing to give up valued livestock in order to better express their thanks.

We don’t usually think of sacrifice in this context, however. It is much more natural for our selfishly human minds to think in terms of, “Well, if I give this up, do I get something better in return?”

But the sacrifice that is made purely for love, with no expectation of return, is the rarest and most beautiful.

We see sacrifices being made on a lot of levels throughout the tale. Almost all of them are selfishly motivated. Lionheart sacrifices his honor in return for safety. Una sacrifices her heart in hopes of gaining a forlorn dream. The yellow-eyed dragon, Diarmid, sacrifices his freedom for the sake of choosing his own form of slavery.

In the end, only one sacrifice makes the difference. Aethelbald offers his life in the very jaws of the Dragon in order to reclaim Una’s heart. Not for himself! No, for when Aethelbald comes to Una in the second-to-last chapter, he has the opal ring that represents Una’s heart in his possession. But he does not keep it. He gives it back to her. He has fought the good fight, reclaimed what Una so foolishly tossed away, sacrificed everything for the sake of giving her back what no longer is truly hers.

Una knows it. That is why, she is the one to make the final sacrifice. She gives Aethelbald her heart. And here, we see her giving a sacrifice in the old context. Not in hopes of getting something she wants . . . no, for she has finally learned to forgo her stubborn self-will. She gives Aethelbald her heart because she knows it is what he longs for. And out of gratitude, out of love, out of pure joy in the goodness that is the Prince of Farthestshore, she offers him her heart.

What a long journey my foolish young Una went on. But I believe, to learn the true meaning of sacrifice, it was worth every painful step.

Hebrews 13:15: “. . . let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise – the fruit of lips that confess His name”.

R is for Rogan

Oh, dear! If I don’t get cracking, I’m not going to finish this series by the end of the month, am I? Well, I stalled a little on this one because I couldn’t think of a fantastically good “R” to do. But at last I settled on a character with as little role or good luck as he can possibly have . . . Sir Rogan, knight of Farthestshore, one of Aethelbald’s entourage.


Poor Rogan. He really doesn’t get a whole lot of page time. And then he appears to serve no other purpose than that of ‘Red Shirt.’ He’s there at a battle to die dramatically, and everyone (except the reader) sheds a tear because everyone (but the reader) cares.

But when you’re fictional, you really want your readers to care whether you die or not. I mean, it’s a lot of work, taking part in a book . . . probably took him years of training and applications to get accepted even in such a minor role! And then, pfffff. Dead. Years of training and preparation, all eaten up in one ill-fated moment with a Dragon. And nobody even cares!

So I’m going to give Rogan a bit of credit here on my blog so that he can feel better about himself, poor man.

Rogan hails from Rudiobus, same kingdom from whence the famous Bard Eanrin sprang. As such, Rogan is bright and golden (he has red-gold hair, if I remember correctly) with green eyes. I get the impression that he’s a bit devilish in personality, ready for a fight. When he and his companion, Sir Imoo, are guarding King Fidel in the Northern Mountains, Rogan gets the first sense of approaching danger. He “smells it,” he says. And the notion seems to excite him! He hums to himself and even begins to sing a battle-song.

There is some implication that he, like Eanrin, might also take cat-form upon occasion. But he is no housecat like Monster . . . I imagine Rogan is much more of the alley tomcat, looking for a scrape!

This doesn’t mean that he is a particularly brilliant warrior. Earlier in the story, we see him and Sir Oeric sparring together. Rogan uses steel since his sword cannot hurt Oeric’s stony hide. Oeric uses wood, but it is still poor Rogan who seems to come out the worse for wear. Not that anyone cares . . .

Poor Rogan.

Well, someone at least seems to care a bit when Rogan meets his fiery end. Sir Imoo and Sir Oeric witness the brief encounter between the young knight and the Dragon. And Imoo is so distraught by what he sees that he nearly gets himself burned to a crisp swiftly after! Instead, the Dragon sweeps him away with his arm, and Imoo, though probably bruised and bloodied, survives the night.

Imoo and Rogan are friends, obviously. Two very different people, but friends even so. We know little about them in Heartless, and next to nothing is said about either of them or their history. But perhaps one day I’ll have the opportunity to tell a story . . . a story about a lost slave with no memory, a band of minstrel-spies, a secret passage, and a ruthless queen . . .

Someday. And perhaps after reading that story, poor Rogan will find some sympathy among the readers and move up from “Red Shirt” status into that place reserved for legitimate characters!

Interrupting Briefly:

Let me interrupt my A-Z postings briefly to alert you to a new interview I recently did over at this blog! Fun interview and a giveaway for both Heartless and Veiled Rose. Be sure to check it out!

Q is for Queen

While planning my course of action for this series of posts, I came to “Q” and went, “Oh, that’s easy! I just did ‘Princess’ and now I’ll do ‘Queen.’”


Then I realized . . . there is a distinct lack of queens in Heartless. They all seem to be dead! Una has no mother, no Queen of Beauclair is ever referenced, and Lionheart goes home to a crippled father, but there isn’t a queen in sight!

Not that there aren’t references. In the perfumed tent of Torkom the fortune-teller, we get our first glimpse of Una’s opal ring. Torkom admires it, recognizing something in it that Una’s probably hasn’t yet.

“Such a lovely piece,” he said. “Opals, yes?”
Breathing in roses, Una nodded. “My mother gave it to me. Before she died. I wear it always.”
“Ah!” Torkom’s smile grew. “Such a gift. A gift of the heart. Not one to part with too soon.”

I love the symbolism here. Later on, it becomes clear that this particular ring is a physical representation of Una’s heart. I love that it was her mother, the most powerful influence of love in her life, who gave it to her.

Not that King Fidel doesn’t love Una. He obviously does very much with a fiercely protective love. And Felix adores her, albeit from a little-brotherly perspective. But there is no love in this world quite like Mother-Love. Self-less to the point of death, giving so much of her body for the sake of the child, nurturing and loving even when the object of that love deserves nothing . . . no, there is nothing like Mother-Love.

It is one of the great tragedies of Una’s life that she has no mother with her during this most formative stage of her life. One wonders what different guidance she might have received. Her father gave her good advice, but it would be easy to brush that off saying he “doesn’t understand.” But a mother would be different. The Queen representing everything Una is striving to grow into would have had more influence, perhaps, on Una’s strong-willed decisions.

But the Queen is dead. Still, she gave Una the ring, a most beautiful and powerful gift that has the ability to change the fates of entire nations, though Una does not realize it. She wears it so thoughtlessly, never considering the value of what she holds.

How often do we do that with our own hearts? How often do we value the valueless with never a thought for those beautiful things in life that truly matter? I, for one, more often than I like to admit!

So Una devalues her mother’s gift by passing it off with scarcely a thought to Prince Lionheart, who trades it to the Dagon in exchange for his own life.

The only other role the dead Queen of Parumvir plays is to have stitched a canopy for Una’s bed years ago. I like this little bit as well, for she stitched Lord Lumé, the sun, and Lady Hymlumé, the moon. These figures play little role in Heartless, but as the series progresses, we see more and more what a huge influence they have upon the Near World and the Far, singing the Sphere Songs with the chorus of stars.

I think Una’s mother was trying to convey to Una a sense of bigger things. Of a world more important than Una’s small conception. She did not live to tell Una of these things herself, but she left behind hints to guide her daughter in that pictures of the Sun and the Moon.

I think the Queen of Parumvir was a good woman, a wise woman, though she must have died young. And perhaps silly Princess Una, given time and maturity and a couple of hard knocks (which she receives in plenty through the course of Heartless) might become a wise queen herself.

Interesting Notes: There WILL be a queen in Veiled Rose, so watch for her. She doesn’t have a large role, but she has an important one.

Also, in Moonblood, we will learn that Una’s mother’s name was Estara.

P is for Princess . . . or Prince, if you like!

Would you believe me if I told you that, not all that long ago, I determined to never write a story about a princess?

I didn’t think so.

It’s true, though. Back in high school, in particular, I was very against the notion of making my storybook heroines princesses. I always thought, “Hey, why does she have to be royalty? Can’t ordinary girls have fun or adventures?”

I still think this is a legitimate point. And I have every intention of writing many novels that do not feature princesses (or princes) as the main protagonists. But what made me change my mind for my very first novel?

Easy. It’s a Fairy Tale.

Granted, not every Fairy Tale features as princess heroine. There are those precious few that don't (though, I’m racking my brains right now and can’t think of a single good one). All the best Fairy Tales have princesses or Deserving Merchant’s Daughters who become princess in the fullness of time.

I, in my early excursions into the realms of Fairy Tale writing, did not at first understand the reason for this. Why princesses? I mean, think about all those great Fairy Tales . . . Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Glass Mountain, Twelve Dancing Princesses (TWELVE of them, no less!), The Goose Girl, The Little Mermaid . . . all princesses.

And when I sat down to pen the first short-story version of Heartless, it didn’t make sense to write: “Once upon a time, there was this girl.” It was meant to be: “Once upon time, there was a princess.”
I broke my anti-princess vow that day, and the rest is history.

But still, I have to ask myself: Why princesses? What makes them so special?
Here is my current theory on the topic, and granted, it’s just a theory. But I think it’s because Princesses are on their way to becoming Queens.

It’s a subconscious connection. We know that a princess is in a state of transition. She is born into this position, but she is not meant to remain there. She is a idealized representation of Girlhood growing into Womanhood. We put it in romantic terms like “Princess” and “Queen,” and our imaginations can immediately latch onto the concept.

A princess is automatically associated with growth. It’s not that she isn’t interesting and beautiful and romantic as she is. But despite everything she is now, she will have to grow into completion.

Fairy Tales are all about symbols. I’ve already written about the importance of True Loves First Kiss . . . Princesses are another symbol kind of like that. The idea of a princess is very little like reality. The idea of a princess is a girl who is the center of her world, just as we are the center of our perceived worlds. Everyone in the story revolves around the princess, but she is the core. So we relate to that. But to be a princess means to be in a transition of youth to maturity. A princess must grow to become a queen. We relate to that as well.

In the case of my Una, she has to grow out of herself, out of this fixation on her own desires. When she finally reaches that point of humility, she steps out of childish girlhood into the beginnings of real womanhood. She empowered by means of humility.

Technically, Una’s story would work well in the context of any strong-willed young lady wanting her own way. But by making her a princess, I grabbed hold of the universal connection we feel to Fairy Tale princesses. I felt the bond myself as I wrote her. I hope my readers will feel that bond too and recognize the ways the Una, while a distinct personality, represents all of us.

So there you have it. Princesses = Growth Symbol. It’s a theory anyway!

Note: I think this theory works pretty well with princes too. They, too, are in a state of transition and growth. But for some reason, I never really minded writing about princes like I used to mind writing about princesses . . .