The Ordinary Princess and an Overload of Detail

Where last we left our heroine, we couldn’t see the forest for the trees. The whole story hinged on the smallest of details. Without which, we have no story. We had to keep track of what made Princess Amy unique and all the tiny cracks in her universe that serve as proof that it’s all real.

So at this crucial moment of terrible strain—what could possibly be worse?—we as writers should ratchet up the stress of the story and throw in another unexpected twist.

Please, no.

Let’s all calm down, take a deep breath, and step away from the crazy muse beating your head in. I say “yours,” because mine is just fine. I never get sucked into too many details.

 Wait. I’m a writer. Who am I kidding?

As authors, details are one of the biggest pitfalls we face. We can become so fascinated with the level of detail we put into our stories that we can’t tell the story straight. Of course, the other danger is to allow the details to keep you from finishing your story. (And no, for those of you who know who I mean, this is a gentle nudge of encouragement. Not a cattle prod of shame.)

M.M. Kaye, the author of The Ordinary Princess, once said that she first wrote the story in a hurry. Princess Amy, she said, was in a rush to get it told. This is a wonderful example of two things. First, the writer letting the character have a voice. (Which we’ll cover in more detail when we talk about characterization.) Second, the writer allowing the story to have its own speed.

Now, The Ordinary Princess is not a frenzied story. It skips along at a nice pace, completely in keeping with the nature of the fairy tale and the particular charm of the characters. Which is that Princess Amy and King Peregrine love simple, normal things. They are not fancy people who take four hours to dress. They rescue wounded birds and know the names of their servants’ children and love to give presents they made with their own hands.

You see, the details do not have to be repeated over and over, or written in such painstaking terms that their sincerity is unmistakable. The details, however, must be consistent. Find the one thread in all of a particular character that makes him (or her) valuable in your story, and let your details grow naturally out of that character trait. Be it simplicity, or humor, or willingness to sacrifice for others, that most important thing should be the source of all the fun little details. 

Don’t worry. Your readers will connect the dots. You don’t even need to leave a thick trail of breadcrumbs. Just drop a single white stone every few paces.

When the readers turn around, lost in the wonder of the forest you’ve written for them, they will easily see the path home. But that is also a fairy tale for another day...

The Ordinary Princess and...

One of the wonderful aspects of fairy tales comes from their unexpectedness. When we refer to “fairy-tale endings” in the modern context, then we generally comment on how so many of the commonly known fairy tales end the same: Happily Ever After. That’s how we’ve come to understand fairy tales. It’s what we usually take away from the story. A simple, happy ending.

But in between “once upon a time...” and “...they all lived happily ever after” exists uncharted realms of possibilities. A castle, or a hovel? A prince, or a soldier? A good horse, or a bad dwarf? Forest, mountain, desert, sea? Until we start to read, we don’t know for certain.

Surely, we will find characters we know. Boys who want to grow up (or refuse to). Girls who need to be rescued. Good parents. Bad ones. Not every damsel in distress is a weak woman, and not every younger son has the sense the good lord gave him. And on very rare occasions, step-mothers are not all bad. The surprises come in the small details, it’s true, but they give us plenty to think about later.

Which is often the point.

If all the reader takes home from your story is the Happily Ever After, what do you need all the in-between stuff for?

A favorite fairy tale of mine was written as an original almost a hundred years ago. The author was twelve, though she grew up to write historical biographies and contemporary murder mysteries—and a couple historical novels for which she’s still reasonably famous. But The Ordinary Princess was her first, and extraordinarily well done. The fairies in the fairy tale don’t dominate it—they set in motion events that the characters must handle on their own. (As all good fairy tales ought.)

When Princess Amy finds herself in a chilly, lonely forest a long way from home, she summons up the fairy who blessed her with ordinariness and asks, “What shall I do for shelter?” The fairy gives the best sort of answer we can expect from a dear old curmudgeon: “Get a job, just like everybody else.”

Now, once Amy finds a job, she finds a home, and a friend, and eventually her own “fairy tale ending.” What she doesn’t find is an easy way out. That wouldn’t suit any sensible fairy. Neither is it the general intent of fairy tales. Amy isn’t saved from a life of drudgery or a wicked family—she is blessed to find someone who values her for what makes her unique. Her compassion. Her cheerfulness. Her courage. This fairy tale is less about escape and more about discovering how to live honestly.

Like Snow White (among others), Princess Amy doesn’t meet anyone worth following home until after she’s left her own home. So these fairy tale heroines have some things in common. But this time our girl interacts more with her “prince”—specifically about the small, unexpected details that make each other unique.

How many details are too many? What about unexpected twists? Is there a limit, or is it okay to have none at all?