Many writers have shared their thoughts with the public:

"There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they'll take you." - Beatrix Potter

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." - Anaïs Nin

"Sharing your writing, being enlarged by others' writing, is what makes you feel famous." - Gretchen Bernabei

"Writing is not an amusing occupation. It is a combination of ditch-digging, mountain-climbing, treadmill and childbirth." - Edna Ferber

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." - Ben Franklin

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones to form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment." - Hart Crane

"There are three rules for writing. Unfortunately, no one can agree what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham

Kissing Frogs

You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your handsome prince, they say. Maria knew it well, though she hadn’t met her prince yet. She hadn’t even kissed that many frogs, though she was always trying. She’d wander through parks and vacant lots listening for a frog’s croak, and when she heard one, she’d creep close by, lie down in the mud, and more often than not the frog would stop croaking and she couldn’t be sure where it was. Then she’d drag her belly through the mud and water as she felt through the grass and sludge. “Where the fuck are you, you damn frog?!” she’d curse.

Maria wasn’t a princess or prim-and-proper in any way. She had to do all her own laundering, for one, which was often. She only had two nice dresses and was always getting them filthy when searching for her prince. It’s odd she would even believe in magic, though she obviously did – that some poor prince had been turned into a frog by a witch and could be turned back by kissing it. But where would one even find a witch or even a prince in this day and age? There was nothing fairytale-like about her world or life. She worked in a factory on a production line, mixing and packaging sauce for a fast-food chain.

Maria had many suitors who weren’t princes. One came to her door when she was dressed up ready to go searching for her prince. “Maria!” he said as she opened the door. “You look radiant.”

She did look radiant. Her dress was very nice – green velvet with lace, frills and little bows. Her face, also, was glowing, though it was owing to rage rather than affection. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?!” she yelled. “I told you I weren’t interested!”

“But my dear lady. I only wish to pay my respects, though I do hope that friendship between us might not be out of the question. And who can tell where friendship might lead?”

“I know your game, buster! All you want is to get into me pants!”

“But Maria—"

She slammed the door in his face. She now had to wait till he cleared off before she could venture out. It was nighttime, which it often was when she went in search of frogs. She usually carried a crowbar so she felt safe, though she met neither danger nor frogs this night. Frogs were most active at night but very hard to see.

She’d caught one when there was a full moon. She’d heard it croaking when she was going past a bog. She lay in the mud for ages, waiting for it to start croaking again, and then it did and she saw it as it adjusted its footing. She thrust out her hand and grabbed the little thing. Its legs were kicking and its mouth was opening and closing as it gasped. She thought it didn’t quite have the demeanour of a prince – that it wasn’t looking forward to being kissed – but she kissed it anyway, right on the mouth. It felt wet and clammy on her lips, but that was to be expected. She assumed she was meant to kiss it on the mouth rather than, say, on the top of its head. The fairy tales were never too clear about this, but in any case, if it were a prince, a kiss on the mouth couldn’t fail. As you would have guessed, it turned out not to be a prince or, at least, not one that could be turned back into a prince by kissing.

The evening following the visit by the suitor, another suitor came to her door. He was very well-to-do but he wasn’t a prince either. “Maria! My darling!” he said as she opened the door. “Please hear me out!”

“I’m not your darling! I bloody-well told ya not to come pesterin’ me again!”

“But Maria! I have taken the liberty of providing for us a sumptuous banquet!” He turned around, snapped his fingers, and waiters bearing silver trays came forward.

Maria blocked them from entering. “Clear off, all of yous!”

“If you have already dined,” persisted the suitor, “I have my limousine out front. We can go anywhere you please – to see a show or concert, perhaps. Perhaps you are partial to opera. I have tickets to the State Opera’s production of Tosca.”

“Fuck off!”

She slammed the door. She was again dressed up to go frog-kissing but she had to wait even longer for this one to clear off. He started serenading her, accompanied by a string quartet.

In some ways Maria wasn’t quite equal to the charm and finesse of a prince, yet her suitors obviously saw something in her. A number of villas backed onto a particular pond where she sometimes looked for frogs and these fellows would see her as she emerged from the reeds covered in mud and offer her assistance. Some thought she was like Cinderella, a poor pretty maiden sent out to perform menial chores by her harsh superiors. One such fellow saw her while sipping sherry on his rear balcony and came out to her bearing a blanket.

“Fair maiden,” quoth he. “Allow me to place this blanket about you. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“Give it “ere!” she said. “I can do it,” then she snatched it from him and wrapped it around herself.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Horatio Huttington. And what might your name be, fair maid?”

“It’s Maria. What of it?”

“Well...introductions usually precede conversation. I was hoping I might walk with you. Perhaps I can walk you home, if that is where you are headed.”

“Are you a prince?”

“Er... No, I’m not.”

“Then I’m not interested.” She turned from him and started heading for home.

Horatio followed after her. “But I come from a distinguished family with many connections. I personally have attained quite a level of distinction through—”

“I told you I’m not interested!”

“Well, perhaps I can accompany you, all the same. It is better to have some male company than walk home alone, unprotected."

“I don’t need no protecting. I got me this!” She held up her crowbar and brandished it in his face. (It had been hanging by a cord from her waist.)

He stepped back. “Oh, I see. I mean no offence. On the contrary. But may I still accompany you, just as an acquaintance?”

“Bloody hell. Do whatever the fuck you like, just don’t talk to me.”

Horatio followed Maria home in silence, but once they reached her front doorstep his curiosity got the better of him. “Please, Maria. If I can ask just one question.”

“What?!”

“What chore were you engaged in by the pond?”

“If ya must know, I was trying to kiss frogs.”

“Frogs?”

“Yeah, Frogs! What of it?!”

“Just wondering.”

Maria swiftly entered her house and slammed the door behind her. Poor Horatio didn’t even get to say goodbye, let alone arrange a rendezvous. Maria couldn’t stand him another second but at least she scored a blanket for her troubles.

But why was Maria so intent on finding a prince above any other man? Surely she was a bigot, so completely did she detest any man not a prince. Wedding a prince would have numerous disadvantages, such as all the public appearances, the constant media scrutiny and the strict rules governing decorum. And what if he turned out to be a real arsehole? Was it just the fairytale mystique that appealed to her? Perhaps a prince born of a frog guaranteed a fairytale-type prince. The fact was, she had been so intent on kissing frogs for so long, it had become an end in itself. She might never find a frog that turned into a prince but that didn’t matter. She would continue to kiss frogs regardless. She actually preferred frogs over ordinary men.

Horatio hired a frog costume. He planned to stand outside Maria’s bedroom window and serenade her while dressed as a frog. He spent some time deciding which song to sing and whether he should take singing lessons and whether he should find someone to play musical accompaniment. But in the end he decided that he should just squat there and croak.

That evening he went over to Maria’s place dressed as a frog, but what should he find on his arrival? The lawn outside her window was crowded with around thirty other suitors dressed as frogs, all of them squatting there, croaking. There was even a van parked out front selling frog costumes.

“Get lost, you lot!” yelled Maria from her window. “You ain’t really frogs!”

“I am more a frog than is any ordinary man,” said one suitor.

“I’m more a frog than you,” said another suitor to the first.

“No you’re not!”

“Well, I’m more a frog than all of you chaps put together!” said another.

“Like hell you are!” About ten of the suitors started fighting each other. They weren’t fighting like frogs at all but like men. Horatio, however, stayed true to form. He leapt past the brawling suitors, jumping much in the manner a frog, and stopped directly under Maria’s window. “Croak, croak, croak,” he said.

“Is that you, Horatio? I can pick your whiney voice anywhere. If you get rid of all these idiots, I’ll give you ya blanket back. I might even let ya walk with me for a minute.”

Horatio stood tall and turned to face the brawlers and the rest of the suitors. “All right, fellows!” he called. “The gig is up! It is time to allow the lady some privacy!”

A suitor grabbed Horatio by the throat. “And who are you to tell us what we can and cannot do?”

Just then there was quite a stir. A number of very large men in black suits were making their way through the squatting suitors and those still brawling. They cleared a path right up to Maria’s window, and behind them came a well-dressed, handsome young gentleman. He stood before Maria. “My greetings to you, dear lady. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Maria, whom I have heard tell is seeking to wed a prince?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I am Prince Algernon of Luxenbury.”

“A prince?! Really?!” Maria hardly knew what to do. She climbed out her window and then he took her in his arms. He kissed her on the lips and suddenly he turned into a frog. The prince’s clothes fell to the ground and she was left holding the naked little frog in her hand. She kissed it on the mouth over and over again. She wasn’t trying to turn it back into a man. Heaven forbid. She preferred him as a frog. She knew it was really a prince on the inside, and that’s all that mattered. At last she had found her perfect mate.