Disney has long enchanted us with magical animations and films, such as Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, and Tangled (Rapunzel). Their back catalogue is extensive and includes familiar fairy tales, original stories, and stories born of historical events.

But I began to wonder why some of the more popular and well-known fairy tales were never given the “Disney treatment”. Stories such as Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks, and Hansel and Gretel. It turns out the answer is actually more surprising than you might think.

It’s not that Disney overlooked these stories; rather, they kept trying to make them, but kept failing to get them made.

My research found that Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks, and Hansel and Gretel had all been in development multiple times but were always cancelled.

Red Riding Hood:

According to Fairytalez, Walt Disney’s very first official animated storytelling project was actually a Little Red Riding Hood short film in 1922, made at the Laugh-O-Gram Studio in Kansas City. It was assumed lost for decades until it was rediscovered in 1998. So Red Riding Hood was arguably where Disney started.

ScreenRant also tells us that Disney considered making a full-length feature film of the story during the 1960s, but it never resulted in anything. The reason for cancellation remains unclear.

Hansel & Gretel:

The tale of Hansel and Gretel has an equally tangled history. Disney tackled the story in the 1932 Silly Symphony Babes in the Woods, where they significantly altered the original tale. It became the first attempt by Disney to do a “serious” adaptation of a classic fairy tale, according to Mouse Planet. Then, sometime in 1967, Walt Disney Productions was planning a full feature adaptation with songs written by the Sherman Brothers. But it was abandoned, and one of its songs, “Chin Up,” was later recycled for the 1973 adaptation of Charlotte’s Web.

So why does Disney struggle with these stories, and why do they keep getting shelved? A few theories worth considering:

The darkness problem. The Hansel and Gretel project was possibly abandoned due to its darker themes. A cannibalistic witch fattening up children for the oven is genuinely difficult to soften without gutting the story entirely, and Disney has historically struggled to find the right tonal balance for it.

Red Riding Hood’s ambiguity. The story is deceptively short and has very little in it. It is essentially a little girl, a wolf and her granny. There is no romantic arc, no transformation, no obvious “Disney formula” to hang a 90-minute film on. Its power lies in its menace and ambiguity, neither of which sits comfortably in the classic Disney mould.

Competition from other projects. Both stories kept losing out to whichever film was in active development. Disney’s pipeline is finite, and when a safer bet was on the table, these got shelved.

Fairytalez also provides us with an interesting footnote: in 1997, Disney produced a short called Redux Riding Hood. This was a comedic, adult-skewing reimagining of the story in which the wolf attempts to travel back in time to fix his earlier failure. It was nominated for an Academy Award. So, even in its most recent treatment, Disney turned Red Riding Hood into a meta-comedy rather than committing to a straight adaptation.

Goldilocks:

Goldilocks has actually had a remarkably similar fate to Red Riding Hood, in that Disney kept trying and kept failing to make it work.

Disney’s very first Goldilocks project dates back to 1922, when the Laugh-O-Gram Studio produced a short called Goldie Locks and the Three Bears. This was the same year they made their first Red Riding Hood. So both stories were there at the very beginning.

Disney then proposed Goldilocks as a Silly Symphony in 1936, at which point Goldie was designed as a caricature of child star Shirley Temple. After that version failed to materialise, they considered casting Mickey, Donald and Goofy as the Three Bears instead! That didn’t happen either.

Disney had been developing a Goldilocks story for most of the 1930s, but couldn’t find a satisfactory storyline, and eventually, they subcontracted it out. The resulting 1939 short was produced by MGM rather than Disney proper.

Then, in the 1960s, Disney considered making a full animated feature of Goldilocks, but it was permanently cancelled for unknown reasons. The closest Disney has come since is a Disney Junior children’s series called Goldie & Bear, which launched in 2015 and reimagines Goldilocks and the bear as best friends.

This pattern of failure and cancellation is bigger than you might think

The list of famous fairy tales that defeated Disney is actually quite long:

Rumpelstiltskin: Disney considered a twist on the story called Uncle Stiltskin, but nothing came of it. Why? Well, the problem is fairly obvious: the story revolves around a small, imp-like character, portrayed as villainous, who, in the end, tears himself in half in a rage after the queen correctly guesses his name. This is both politically fraught and tonally impossible to soften without gutting the story entirely.

The Nightingale (Hans Christian Andersen): Disney attempted an adaptation in 1960 with a distinctive paper cut-out animation style, then revisited it in the 1980s as part of what became Fantasia 2000. They then tried again in 2002 before cancelling it around a year later. In short, three separate attempts at the same story, across four decades.

Puss in Boots and The Bremen Town Musicians: both stories were discussed as possible projects but were ultimately abandoned, though DreamWorks eventually claimed Puss in Boots entirely.

What does the pattern tell us?

There seem to be a few recurring reasons why certain stories keep slipping through the net:

• No obvious protagonist arc. Goldilocks breaks in, tries some things, then runs away. Red Riding Hood gets eaten (or rescued, depending on the version). Neither has the internal transformation that Disney’s formula needs.

• Unresolvable darkness. Hansel and Gretel involves child abandonment and attempted cannibalism. Rumpelstiltskin ends in a small figure, literally destroying himself.

• Too short and too simple. The stories that work as Disney features tend to have enough plot architecture to sustain 90 minutes. Goldilocks has three sequences of “too hot / too cold / just right” and then she legs it.

But What About “The Princess & the Frog”?

Disney’s 2009 adaptation of The Princess and the Frog is an interesting one. It doesn’t resemble the original fairytale; instead, they reimagined it as set in New Orleans, with an ordinary girl (not a princess) and several layers of Voodoo magic! If they could do this with a story like “The Princess and the Frog”, it begs the question, why did they find other, more familiar tales such a struggle?

What Disney actually did to The Frog Prince

The original Grimm tale is, frankly, a mess. The story goes: a princess loses a golden ball down a well, a frog retrieves it in exchange for her companionship, she abandons her promise, her father shames her into honouring it, and she eventually becomes so irritated by the frog that she throws him against a wall, and that is what breaks the curse. Not love, not a kiss, but instead a combination of exasperation and annoyance. The lesson, such as it is, dissolves entirely if you squint at it. There’s no transformation arc for the heroine, no real romance, and the moral is roughly “keep your promises, or failing that, throw things.”

Disney’s adaptation actually began as two completely separate projects, one based on E.D. Baker’s novel The Frog Princess, and another that was originally pitched as The Frog Prince set in gangster-era Chicago. Disney essentially merged them, relocated everything to 1920s New Orleans, replaced European fairy godmother magic with voodoo, and built an entirely new protagonist from scratch. The head of story described the result as “twisted enough that it seems new and fresh”, as it reimagined a modern city as the kingdom, a prince reimagined as a “knuckleheaded playboy”, and a voodoo priest standing in for the fairy godmother.

So why could they do this with The Princess and the Frog, but not with Red Riding Hood or Goldilocks?

Here’s the thing that makes this question so sharp: The Princess and the Frog succeeded precisely because it wasn’t beloved in the way the others are. Most people couldn’t tell you the actual plot of The Princess and the Frog. It exists in the cultural memory as a vague impression: frog, kiss, prince. This gave Disney enormous creative freedom. Nobody had strong feelings about what it was supposed to look like.

By contrast, Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks and Hansel and Gretel are a different matter entirely. Everyone knows them. Everyone loves them, or at least has an opinion! The wolf, the grandmother’s cottage, the red cloak, the basket; these images are so deeply embedded that any significant departure from them feels wrong. Yet staying faithful to them leaves you with a story that is either too short, too dark, or too structurally thin for a feature film.

There’s also a subtle but important point about what the story is for. The Princess and the Frog is about transformation and unexpected love, both of which work beautifully within the Disney formula. Red Riding Hood is about predation and danger. Goldilocks is about transgression and consequence. Hansel and Gretel is about child abandonment and survival. These themes resist the transformation-arc-plus-happy-ending structure at a fundamental level. You can’t really give Red Riding Hood a romantic subplot without it becoming deeply uncomfortable.

The irony

One of the film’s co-writers described it as “a princess movie for people who don’t like princess movies”, which is rather telling. Disney found its way into The Princess and the Frog by essentially leaving it behind and building something new on its foundations. The stories that remain stuck in the archive are the ones so iconic that Disney can’t abandon the original, but so structurally awkward that they can’t commit to it either. They’re caught between fidelity and reinvention, and that’s exactly where development goes to die.

The crux of it? The stories Disney couldn’t make are the ones that are too famous to ignore and too strange to fix.

I’ve had a slow start to this year, it has to be said. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s having far too many ideas permanently revolving in my head! The problem is, I like writing, I like world and character building, I like crafting and creating, I like creating art, and I spend far too long trying to bring them all together into one offering.

And, then there’s shiny object syndrome - too many hours spent doom scrolling through Pinterest, looking at what others are creating and thinking “that’s nice. I could do that!” Before I know it, I’ve fallen down a massive creative rabbithole and I’m off chasing some new creative outlet that will never really amount to anything!

That is what happened when I originally set up Kobo Moon on Substack. I loved the idea of Kobo Moon being at the centre of a creative writing universe, one where my own fiction mingled with activities and other physical products, designed to inspire others and help them along on their own creative journeys. But it was too much and too confusing.

At the beginning of this year, I started thinking about what I would post, create, and write. The writing part was easy; I have a long list of projects in the pipeline. They will look after themselves. But I couldn’t think of what to post under the Kobo Moon section, which products to create, or how best to present them.

That’s when the overwhelm set in. And, something had to give.

I’ve spent hours brainstorming ideas, deciding what to keep, where to put my energy, and how best to present it all. In the last few weeks, I’ve reviewed this site and streamlined it to create something more cohesive, as well as refocusing it on where I’m strongest - my writing.

So, I have decided to drop the Kobo Moon name and World of Whimsica.

As you may have noticed, this site is now simply KH James, my pen name. My posts will now be about my writing projects, my processes, along with some behind-the-scenes, and I’ll wrap it all up with some cosy photography (and maybe the odd video) from where I live, here by the river, in sunny Cornwall.

Alongside these posts, there will be a Story Vault section, where you can discover my books, short stories, and the occasional creative activity pack. None of this will be hidden behind a paywall, except my books - you’ll have to pay for those 😉

Later this year, I plan to introduce a new members-only section, but more about that as we get closer to the time. For now, I hope you will join me on this journey by becoming a subscriber, but if you want to just come back now and again, that’s fine too.

Here’s to keeping things simple!

(And getting a new chair for my desk, because this one is not good for my back!)

In the perpetually fog-wrapped town of Brineford-on-the-Moor, where the air smelled permanently of vinegar, and every resident had fought at least three arguments about proper ham etiquette, two brothers had built rival pickle empires.

Well, “rival” was generous. One was an empire. The other was more of a principality. A very cheerful, slightly broke principality.

Bartholomew Bragg owned the largest pickling operation in the Midlands. His factory, Bragg’s Premium Pickling House, gleamed like a cathedral devoted to preserved vegetables. His offices sparkled. His profit margins were extraordinary.

His soul, however, was somewhat under-marinated.

And here’s the kicker: Bartholomew despised pickles. Couldn’t stand them. Would rather eat his own hat than a pickled onion. Which raised the obvious question of why he was in the pickle business, but Bartholomew had never been troubled by things like “logic” or “joy.”

His younger brother, Timothy, ran a much smaller operation with approximately twelve employees, four of whom were named Dave. His factory was modest, his profits were slim, but his pickles? Legendary. Word on the street (and by “street” we mean the High Street, where Mrs Puddington sold artisanal cheese) was that Timothy’s chutneys could make angels weep with happiness.

Timothy paid fair wages. He bought premium ingredients. He donated jars to the local shelter. And every Christmas, he created his masterpiece: Winter Wonder Pickle, made from a secret recipe he guarded more carefully than the crown jewels.

Naturally, Bartholomew wanted that recipe more than he wanted functioning kidneys.

THE ROYAL PICKLE CRISIS

Both brothers had entered the Royal Household Christmas Supplier Competition, the Oscars of British pickledom. The winner’s pickle would grace Her Majesty’s Boxing Day table, alongside the coronation chicken and the disappointment of extended family.

Timothy’s entry was the bookmaker’s favourite.

Bartholomew’s entry had been described by one brave taste-tester as “aggressively mediocre” and “what sadness might taste like if you boiled it in vinegar.”

This would not stand.

Bartholomew, in a fury that could only be described as “pickled rage,” made a plan. He would steal Timothy’s recipe on Christmas Eve. Simple. Effective. Morally bankrupt.

To ensure maximum factory output, he also ordered his entire workforce to labour through Christmas Day.

“Christmas?” he barked at his terrified employees. “CHRISTMAS IS CANCELLED UNTIL I WIN THE ROYAL PICKLE CROWN!”

A worker timidly raised her hand. “Sir, that seems a bit…”

“SILENCE! If the Royal Family wants pickles, we make pickles. Now someone fetch me the spice inventory for tomorrow’s batch of pick…”

DING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LIIIIIIIING!!!

The bells were apocalyptic. Sleigh bells, church bells, cow bells, bells that had no business existing all clanged at once with the enthusiasm of a thousand over-caffeinated carollers having a collective breakdown.

Bartholomew catapulted backwards into a crate of cabbages.

THE CURSE OF THE P-WORD

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF QUEEN VICTORIA’S CORSET WAS THAT?!” Bartholomew shrieked.

The workers looked around nervously. A crowd was forming.

“New alarm system?” someone suggested.

“GET BACK TO PICKLE-MAKING!” Bartholomew roared.

DING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LIIIIIING!!!

A brave soul stepped forward. “Sir? I think... I think the bells ring every time someone says... you know... the P-word.”

“What P-word?”

“Pickle, sir.”

DING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LIIIIIING!!!

“DON’T BE ABSURD! It’s one of you playing tricks! Until the culprit confesses, NOBODY GETS PAID!”

And thus began the worst day in pickle-production history. Every time anyone mentioned the word “pickle”, which, in a pickle factory, is roughly every forty-five seconds, the bells would erupt like a brass band falling down the stairs.

Workers started using code words:

• “Vinegared items”

• “Spiced blobs”

• “Jars of regret”

• “He who shall not be named (the vegetable edition)”

Production efficiency plummeted 86%.

Morale was found dead in a ditch.

Bartholomew blamed everyone except himself, which was very on-brand.

ENTER TWINKLEBREEZE: BUREAUCRAT OF THE SPIRIT REALM

That night, Bartholomew lay in bed snoring like a wounded accordion when a tiny spark of light appeared.

A minuscule winged creature in a smart waistcoat, clutching a clipboard with the dedication of a particularly officious librarian, flew directly into his face.

“Good evening!” the creature chirped.

Bartholomew bolted upright, swatting wildly. “WHAT ARE YOU? A sparkle with a to-do list?!”

“I,” said the creature, adjusting tiny spectacles, “am Twinklebreeze, Junior Enchantment Clerk, Magical Seasonal Oversight Division, Joy Enforcement Department, Brineford Branch, certified under the Magical Union of Seasonal Spirits.” He showed Bartholomew a laminated badge.

“Oh no,” Bartholomew groaned. “It’s one of those Christmas Carol things, isn’t it?”

Twinklebreeze consulted his clipboard. “Technically, it’s a legally distinct intervention. You’ve been cursed for extreme anti-Christmas sentiment, appalling management ethics, and general vinegar-based villainy.” He ticked a box labelled Subject is grumpy.

“I have EXCELLENT ethics!”

Twinklebreeze ticked another box: Subject is delusional.

“Come along,” he said, tapping Bartholomew with the clipboard. “Time for your retrospective ethical review.”

THE GHOST OF PICKLE PAST (SECTION 7B: HISTORICAL WICKEDNESS)

In a blink, they stood in Bartholomew’s factory ten years earlier.

Bartholomew watched his younger self bully a supplier. “Take this discount, or I’ll sue you into the Stone Age!”

Another scene: workers begging for Christmas bonuses.

“Bonuses?” Young Bartholomew laughed. “You’re paid with the HONOUR of employment! The prestige! The joy of making pickles you’ll never be able to afford!”

Then the vision shifted to Timothy’s tiny workshop. Younger Timothy was handing modest envelopes to his workers.

“I haven’t much,” he said warmly, “but you’re the heart of this place. You deserve your share.”

His workers beamed. Someone brought out homemade biscuits. There was laughter. Actual, genuine laughter in a workplace. Bartholomew had forgotten that was possible.

He felt a strange pang in his chest. He decided it was indigestion, down to breathing in pickle vapour all day long.

“Seen enough?” Twinklebreeze asked.

Bartholomew folded his arms. “Kindness doesn’t pay bills.”

“No,” Twinklebreeze said softly. “But it pays people.”

THE GHOST OF PICKLE PRESENT (THE BIT WHERE THINGS GET AWKWARD)

Now they stood in Timothy’s workshop at that very moment. Timothy was cooking his Winter Wonder Pickle, humming cheerfully, surrounded by workers sharing festive jokes and discussing their families’ Christmas plans.

He was poor in pounds. Rich in everything that mattered.

Then Twinklebreeze pulled Bartholomew forward through time, not far, just to tomorrow night.

There was Bartholomew, sneaking into Timothy’s workshop on Christmas Eve, reaching for the precious recipe book...

A worker wandered past in the corridor. “Has anyone seen the latest batch of pick…”

DING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LIIIIIIIING!!!

Timothy appeared instantly, catching Bartholomew red-handed.

The vision fast-forwarded: Police. Handcuffs. Headlines.

LOCAL PICKLE MAGNATE ARRESTED FOR CHRISTMAS EVE THEFT “THE BELL-RINGER OF BRINEFORD” SENTENCED

In court, the prosecutor dramatically asked, “Why would you steal your own brother’s pickle recipe?”

DING-A-LIIIIIIING!

The gallery collapsed in laughter. The video went viral. Bartholomew’s moustache wilted from shame.

His sentence: Life in his own factory, eternally stirring vats of pickles while the bells mocked him.

His workers: Jobless and hungry.

His factory: Shuttered and seized.

Timothy: Dining with royalty, celebrated as Britain’s finest pickler.

“NO!” Bartholomew wailed. “This can’t be my future!”

“It will be,” Twinklebreeze said sadly, “unless you change.”

THE GHOST OF PICKLE FUTURE (THE NICE ONE WHERE EVERYONE LEARNS SOMETHING)

One final vision shimmered into view.

Two elderly brothers, greying but grinning, stood together in a renovated factory. Above the door: BRAGG BROTHERS’ BRILLIANT BRINERY.

They were arguing cheerfully about nutmeg ratios.

Their combined workforce was thriving. They were happy, well-paid, telling jokes around the mixing vats.

Charity jars lined the walls, ready for donation.

And there, Bartholomew saw himself laughing, actually laughing! His face was pink with joy rather than rage. He was eating a spoonful of chutney and not gagging.

The curse was broken. No bells rang.

The Royal Household had awarded them both the prestigious Pickle Crown for their collaborative masterpiece.

Bartholomew felt warmth bloom in his chest—actual warmth, not the usual cold void where his heart was supposed to be.

When the vision faded, he was back in his bed, gasping.

CHRISTMAS MORNING: THE GREAT PICKLE REDEMPTION

Bartholomew didn’t walk. He didn’t jog. He sprinted through Brineford-on-the-Moor in his nightshirt, hair wild, shouting:

“TIMOTHY! DEAREST BROTHER! PICKLE PRINCE! CHUTNEY CHAMPION!”

DING-A-LING! (He didn’t even care.)

Shoppers stopped and stared. Mrs Puddington nearly dropped her cheese.

Bartholomew burst into Timothy’s factory, breathless and glowing.

“Brother! I have been a fool! A brined, vinegar-soaked, morally bankrupt fool! I’ve been horrid! I’ve been cruel! I’ve been…”

“Are you all right?” Timothy interrupted, genuinely concerned. “You look feverish.”

“I AM BETTER THAN ALL RIGHT! I want to work WITH you! Share recipes! Share profits! Share CHRISTMAS SPIRIT!”

Timothy blinked. “Have you been replaced by a festive body double?”

“I WANT TO EAT A PICKLE!”

He tensed, anticipating the cacophony to come. But there was nothing. Just... silence.

The curse lifted like fog in sunshine.

Bartholomew laughed. Actually, properly laughed. Timothy tentatively joined in. Then they hugged while confused workers whispered:

“Is this happening?” “Should we document this?” “Has Mr Bartholomew finally lost it?”

THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER (WITH PICKLES)

That Christmas Day, the brothers combined their operations.

Bartholomew reopened his factory, with paid holiday leave for all.

They created new recipes together, bickering good-naturedly over spice levels.

Their joint entry won the Royal Pickle Prize unanimously. The Queen herself declared it “criminally delicious.”

Every December thereafter, Bartholomew hung bells in the factory, cheerful ones this time, to remind himself how close he’d come to losing everything that mattered.

And though he tried his best, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to love pickles.

But he loved his brother.

He loved his workers.

He loved Christmas.

And in the end, that was the most important thing to preserve.

🎄 And they pickled happily ever after. 🎄

(Twinklebreeze was promoted to Senior Enchantment Clerk and now handles a lovely portfolio of hauntings in the Lake District.)

Originally published under my Kobo Moon brand.

I saw my first robin today. And, yes, I know they exist all year round, but as December approaches, his appearance suddenly felt “festively appropriate”. He landed on a huge rose shrub growing not far from our back door. A rose shrub that is magically still producing beautiful white blooms, even though the temperatures have fallen into single figures and there is a hint of frost in the air each morning.

The sight of this little red-breasted bird had me thinking that spotting him at any other time of year would make him seem rather out of place. I guess the same could be said now about the rose shrub!

This festive vignette made me think about inspiration and the innocuous sparks that often ignite it. When I first dreamt up Kobo Moon and its associated worlds, it was with the idea of taking stories and characters we took for granted and flipping them on their head. Twisted Tales was born out of an idea of presenting an alternative narrative, but with humour and lots of chaos.

As I touched on in my post, Twisted Tales: Where Stories Come To Play, the Brothers Grimm and others have already done this, taking very gruesome folk stories and rewriting them as something more charming and wholesome. In doing so, they have provided characters and narratives that have inspired generations and provided the building blocks for multi-billion-dollar businesses. (I may harbour delusions of achieving the same!)

For these guys, stories passed down through the centuries proved to be the spark they needed. So where does my inspiration come from? Here are a few examples, and they might surprise you!

Apples: In the summer of this year (2025), a film was released about William Tell. After seeing the trailer several times over a few weeks, my brain suddenly floated the idea that apples feature often in history and folklore! Random, I know, but think about it. Issac Newton reportedly had one land on his head and discovered gravity, the aforementioned William Tell shot an arrow through one on his son’s head, and in fairy tales, apples are forever being poisoned and offered to innocent young women.

Cue two apple-influenced short stories, written but as yet unedited, and a card game. I spent hours creating the artwork for the cards, refining the game play, designing a card box to keep them in and printing, cutting and glueing everything into a “finished-if-rough-around-the-edges” prototype! For the past three months, this game has sat on my desk, waiting to be “refined” into a photo-worthy product and presented for sale.

Boredom: Many, many years ago, when my children were still little, I created a “Bored Bucket”. Essentially, a bucket filled with wooden lollipop sticks on to which were written various activities intended to ward off the inevitable cry of “I’m bored” during the long school holidays. The activities weren’t particularly challenging - ‘read a book’, ‘watch a movie’, ‘play dress up’...but surprisingly they all seemed to love the idea and regularly consulted “the bucket”! It did help cure boredom for a time and had the added benefit of getting them to play together and inspire their own play.

Recently, I rediscovered the Bored Bucket, packed away in a basket full of long-forgotten games. And it got me thinking about creating a new, more challenging version. So, instead of a bored bucket, we now have “Bored Buttons”! I’m quite excited by these; there is a lovely mix of challenges, as well as physical and creative activities. They are currently at the pre-production phase, with all the design work done. Unfortunately, my cat has decided that for this month at least, the spare space on my desk is his new bed, and taking up what little space I have available to “craft”! These will have to wait until he decides to move on elsewhere.

Enid Blyton: A perennial source of inspiration, Ms Blyton filled my bookshelves as a child, with many of these books managing to survive long enough for my own children to read them too. My eldest daughter messaged me a couple of nights ago to tell me there is a film based on The Magic Faraway Tree coming out next year. These books were their favourite when they were little, with each book being read and re-read countless times. Just as I did growing up. It’s wonderful that the adventures of Silky, Moonface, the children, Saucepan Man and Dame Washalot continue to delight audiences, especially when you consider The Enchanted Wood was first published in 1939.

For a long while, the Faraway Tree series and The Magical Wishing Chair books have served as story sparks for me. They have inspired elements of my upcoming Yume World, and I think I have come up with a short story for my Twisted Tales series that follows in a similar, magical vein. I won’t give away anything more, but I’m excited to get started on these new projects come the New Year.

So there you have it. Three examples of inspiration coming from very different sources. Let me know in the comments below where your inspiration comes from. Is it real-life experiences? Your surroundings? History (or the future)? Or is it life’s little absurdities, sent to challenge and annoy you!

Originally published under my Kobo Moon brand.

There are nights in Whimsica when winter behaves. The snow settles politely, the stars shine lullabies, and the night air is crisp as Jack Frost sets to work.

This was not one of those nights.

It began with a sound, a soft, hollow snap, as though someone had cracked open a secret they had no business knowing. The wind held its breath, the lanterns flickered, and every creature with whiskers twitched a nervous response.

Something was missing.

Not missing. Taken. And not just any something. Not a trinket or treasure, not even anything you could hold in your hands. What vanished that night was far more precious: the Magic of the Season itself.

In Whimsica, the Magic of the Season isn’t a single sparkly thing, despite the rumours. It’s a tangle of small wonders woven together—the laughter that fogs in the air, the crackle of stories told by the fire, the gentle whisper of snow deciding where to fall. It’s that warm, tingly feeling that anything, yes, absolutely anything, might happen.

That night, all of this vanished.

Whimsica didn’t go dark. It simply… dimmed. Candles burned without warmth. Snowflakes fell without sparkle. Even the mischievous mitten in the third drawer stopped purring.

And when the Winter Court gathered to investigate, they discovered something far more troubling: the Keeper of the Season was missing too.

Now, the Keeper has many unofficial names; some respectful, some whispered, some that sound suspiciously like affectionate complaints. But their actual identity remains a closely guarded secret. And for good reason.

They are the one who stirs the first swirl of December, who measure out the correct dose of winter mischief, who keep the snowmen on speaking terms and ensure your Christmas lights twinkle in just the right key. Without the Keeper, everything becomes slightly… off. Snowflakes rise instead of fall. Carols lose their melodies. Cookies bake too much or not at all. One unfortunate pine tree keeps redecorating itself. And worst of all? Mariah Carey doesn’t get defrosted.

The Winter Court suspects foul play, of course. After all, magic doesn’t simply wander off on its own or ask for time off. Not even in Whimsica, where “holiday” is a slippery concept.

Someone took it. Someone who didn’t want sparkles or candy canes. Someone who wanted power, or silence, or perhaps just attention. (There were rumours of a sulking snow-dweller who once tried to outlaw twinkle lights. But as the Snow Queen mused, “Surely they wouldn’t dare try that again?”)

No footprints led away from the Keeper’s cottage. No broken locks, no shattered charms, no singed woodwork. Just an echo, faint and uneasy, like laughter that tried to hide in the cold.

Whatever happened was deliberate. It was clever and entirely too bold, born from a long-held grudge, perhaps, or a wish to keep the Magic for oneself (the Keeper being an unforeseen complication).

So the creatures and citizens of Whimsica do the only thing they can when their world tilts sideways: they look for a storyteller. Someone who can follow strange clues, puzzle out unusual riddles from unexpected places, and notice the small details that others overlook. Someone who can step into the darkness with a lantern and an imagination that isn’t surprised by anything.

Someone like you.

But more on that soon.

For now, keep your eyes on the snow.

It’s been acting… suspicious.

💜 Georgina — Kobo Moon

Hello, adventurer and welcome to the Advent Adventure Club, a cosy winter corner of Kobo Moon where stories grow like icicles and December behaves… unusually.

If you’ve found your way here, it means one of three things:
🦌 A reindeer delivered a letter of great importance
🦉 You followed a very busy owl
❄️ Or you simply love stories and festive, winter magic

Whatever the path, I’m so glad you’ve arrived.

What is the Advent Adventure Club?

Throughout December, we’re on a magical mission through the World of Whimsica. Here, we discover a place full of peculiar reindeer, purring mittens, wandering snowflake ghosts, and other festive oddities.

For 25 days, you’ll be guided by daily prompts, riddles, characters, mysteries and gentle creative nudges to help you craft your own Whimsical December Tale.

This is a space for:

• children

• adults

• families

• teachers

• journalers

• anyone who loves imagination with a little frost on it

Write daily, write sometimes, or write whenever life lets you. There’s no “falling behind” in Whimsica.

👇 Download Your Advent Adventure Journal

Your printable journal is ready for you below.
It includes 25 days of prompts, writing pages, colouring and activity pages, and surprises.

A Whimsical December Tale

16.3MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

You can print the journal, or simply use the prompts with your favourite notebook.

If a child is taking part, feel free to write alongside them; the magic works at any age.

How the Club Works

❄️ 1. Read the daily prompt

Every day from December 1st–25th, read the next prompt in your journal. If you need to, you can find further prompts, clues and hints in the Story Seeds & Secret Clues section.

❄️ 2. Write your story in your journal

You’ll gather clues, meet characters, and discover a new piece of your December mystery each day.

❄️ 3. Check in with the Advent Adventure Club

Throughout each week, I will share my own Advent Adventure, add origin stories about characters and magical items you will meet on your journey, and provide further prompts and ideas to inspire you.

❄️ 4. Share if you want to

Comments are open, so feel free to share your story snippets, drawings, questions, or character ideas. This is a warm, gentle space. Curiosity is encouraged. Perfection is not required.

❄️ 5. Go at your own pace

No pressure. No deadlines. Just magic.

A Little Winter Welcome from Me

Thank you for joining this small, handmade adventure.
The Kobo Moon Universe is a quiet, mischievous place, but it grows brighter with every new storyteller who comes to explore.

If you have questions, thoughts, or want to show me your creations, just leave a comment or reply to any post. I love seeing what unfolds in this world through your words.

Now gather your cocoa, sharpen your pencil, and follow the reindeer…

Your adventure begins.

With warmth and wonder,
💜 Georgina - Kobo Moon

Stories don’t always behave.
Sometimes they slip out of history, the cat brings them in, or words whisper things the author never meant to write.

That’s where my signature offering, Twisted Tales, begins. Born from the idea that in a single moment, a familiar story takes a wrong turn and ends up somewhere entirely unexpected.

Maybe the fairy godmother’s wand starts arguing with her.
Perhaps the villain has a valid point.
Maybe the hero isn’t who you think they are at all.

In reality, the fairytales, stories and nursery rhymes we all grew up with, and know and love, are in and of themselves, Twisted Tales. The Brothers Grimm, for example, spent years collecting tales from German Medieval folklore.

None of them ended with a happily ever after!

Indeed, it could be said they were the “PSA’s” of their time, warnings about the adverse effects of greed, power, influence, and beauty. In that day and age, you didn’t want to be “the fairest of them all”.

The Brothers Grimm didn’t fundamentally change these stories, but instead ‘reworked’ them to offer broader appeal. By contrast, the Disney-fication of many of these stories completely sanitised them, often to the detriment of step-mothers!

Twisted Tales is not really any different to the Brothers Grimm or Disney, for that matter. It’s just another form of “fan-fiction”, but one which leans into the ridiculous, the humorous, and the unexpected.

The Mischief of Storytelling

At World of Whimsica, we believe storytelling should be as mischievous as it is magical, a place where curiosity is rewarded, clichés are turned upside down, and imagination is allowed to run amok in its socks.

Our products grew from that belief: part story, part game, part creative experiment. Each prompt, card, or journal page is an invitation to play, to discover the story hiding between the lines, or to rewrite a legend in your own voice.

Because stories aren’t static things; they evolve, giggle, and occasionally plot mutiny.
And that’s exactly how we like them.

💜 — The World of Whimsica
(Watched over by Kobo Moon - where imagination never takes a holiday)

Originally published under my Kobo Moon brand.

Follow for more Twisted Tales, story prompts, and magical adventures.

Subscribe now

On a dark and stormy Halloween night, players from Bones United and Zombie FC met at Rottingvale Graveyard for the Annual Rottingvale Halloween Cup. The news spread far and wide, and every monster, ghoul, ghost, vampire, witch and many more were there to watch.

From his viewpoint in the trees, our commentator, Macabre Shiver, got ready for the game ahead. As the mist cleared and the moon shone down, the match referee, Doug Upp, summoned the players to line up.

And as the players appeared on the pitch, Macabre Shiver began his commentary.

“Welcome, everyone, to this, the 600th playing of the Rottingvale Halloween Cup. This year, our two finalists come from Bones United, currently topping the league, and Zombie FC, who are currently 4th behind Weir Wolves and Vampire Rovers.”

“And, yes! I can see the players beginning to appear on the pitch now. Here comes the defender, No. 3 Chopper, for Zombie FC and alongside him is his goalkeeper, Stucker, who is enjoying a run of 15 clean sheets this season. And for Bones United, the starting line-up includes the league’s top scorer, Skullkin and the keeper, McRibs, who saved two penalties in the semi-final shootout to help Bones United reach the final.”

“Before the referee blows the scream to start the game, let’s get a final word from our pitchside man, Howler Freak. What’s happening down there, Howler?”

“Well, Macabre, I can see Dribbler will start on the bench for Zombie FC, while United will start with the out-of-form Rattling. Bones have won the toss and play will shortly get underway. This should be a close game.”

“Thanks, Howler, and yes, play is underway.”

“And there’s an early tackle by Slider on United’s Bony. And, oh dear, yes, Referee Upp has had to stop play because the United player is spread all over the pitch. So there will be a short stoppage while we wait for him to be put back together again.”

“And play is back underway. Bony has moved over to the wing now and is replaced in defence by Skinny, who is not a natural defender.”

“Bones United have the ball, which this year has been provided by Jack O’Lantern Pumpkins, and are playing forward with Deadison.”

“Deadison passes to Skully outside the box. Skullkin is waiting by the penalty spot, but Skully passes to Rattling, who shoots. Oh, and it’s a wonderful goal, which may go down as an own goal against Sludge, who has lost a leg in the chaos inside the box.”

“VAR (Vampire Assistant Ref) has checked the goal, which will stand, unlike Sludge, who has been substituted for Dribbler on account of him having only one leg.”

“And there’s the halftime scream. Both teams retreat to their dressing tombs with the score at 2-2 and the game finely balanced.”

“And we are back. Referee Doug Upp signals play to begin, and Zombie FC get us underway. The ball is with the Zombie player, Chaser, who at this moment is actually being chased by the United combo of Rattling and Skinny. Chaser passes one defender, then two. He shoots! It’s a goal, and it took the head of the keeper, McRibs, clean off! Let’s hope it can be put back on, as Bones United are running out of substitutes. The score is now 3-2 to Zombie FC.”

“What have you got to tell us, Howler?”

“Well, Macabre, that shot came in so fast it was difficult to tell which was the ball and which was the keeper’s head!”

“We have resumed play here at Rottingvale with only 5 minutes left on the clock. Bones United need another goal to take it to penalties. United have the ball with Deadison. And there’s the equaliser. That’s really poor defending from Zombie FC, who seemed to have been distracted by the appearance of several Werewolves in the crowd.”

“There’s the final scream, and referee Doug Upp signals the teams to prepare for a penalty shootout to decide the winners.”

“Zombie FC will go first with Chaser against McRibs. He steps up to the ball, and...scores! The ball seemed to pass straight through McRibs. 1-0 to Zombie FC.”

“Skinny steps up to level the scores for United. He shoots! And he hit it so hard it has stuck Stucker to the back of the net. 1-1.”

“So it comes down to this final penalty, and with the scores at 6-5 to Zombie FC, Skullkin must score to keep their hopes alive, or should that be dead? Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. He’s running up now. Oh no! Just as he struck the ball, his foot flew off! The ball didn’t move, but his foot sailed past the keeper and into the back of the net! I don’t think that will count!”

“And there we have it. Zombie FC are the winners of the 600th Annual Rottingvale Halloween Cup. The United fans are not happy. They are invading the pitch. It’s carnage down there!”

‘“From myself and Howler, thanks for joining us for what has been a thoroughly entertaining match. It’s time for us to go, and quickly. See you next year.”

And so our story ends. As the witching hour comes to a close, the mist blows through the graveyard once more, and all is quiet. By morning, there is no sign that anything happened here, except for a bony foot sitting alone on a grave marked “Al B. Back.”

The End