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Toad Words

Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl's lips, and I started thinking about what I'd do if that happened to me.

            Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.
            It used to be a problem.
            There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up with parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold and gems fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.
            So I got frogs. It happens.
            “You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”
            I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.
            Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.
            Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.
            I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening.  I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.
            Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.
            Toads are masters of it.
            I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible--fungus and pesticides and acid rain.
            When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.
            I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.
            I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.
            But I can make more.
            I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.
            Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.
            It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.
            I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)
            The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.
            My sister--the one who speaks gold and diamonds--funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.
            I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.

This may be the best thing ever to actually grace the internet.

That is fantastic and it should be up for a Hugo.

I was thinking *exactly* the same thing, and I bought a membership after the Sad Puppies got my attention and so I am eligible to nominate next year.

But it will take more than one of us.

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So, about this "reimagined fairy tales anthology by Ursula Vernon(ith cute or not cute critters... when it is coming up?

That said, I love the little addendum to the Good Sister who still love and help her sister. Too many times, sisters are put against each other. Not here.
Thank you.

Soon, actually! The novella anchoring it is being edited as we speak!

I *love* hearing the other side of that story! <3 (and I fully believe toads are good at sarcasm; they certainly excel at Eye-Rolling at the Humans Overwatering Their Plants!^^)

This is beautiful, and I cried.

That said, typo: "fed up parental expectations." is probably supposed to be "fed up with parental expectations." Yes?

Thank you! Yes, fixed!

wow. Awesome! I can't find a better word, though it deserves more.

I really, really love this. A whole lot.


That's gorgeous. Thank you.

That was glorious! I love the associations between the types of frogs/toads and their words.

If only there were such a person that could help our troubled amphibians!

I... cannot say how much this moved me.

I will buy any book that has this in it.

Now I'm off to Amphibian Ark for a new donation. I can't make more, sadly. But we make do.

It's so poetic. Love it.

*worries about devaluation of precious gems and metals due to sister going on a cussing streak*

There was a short story I remember reading in one of the fairy tale retelling anthology series (the one with titles like "Ivory Bones, Ruby Lips") that addressed this issue. Gold and gems became so devalued that they were considered worthless, and the kingdom moved to a reptile and amphibian based economy (I guess because they were so much rarer), and the "bad sister" became rich with her frogs and toads and snakes.