by Steven Wittenberg Gordon
chamber. Within, a lady stood with her back
to him. The knight bowed low his head and said,
“My lady, I have traversed many hostile lands,
endured terrible trials, and have slain the dragon of
this castle in a relentless quest to rescue you.”
“You’re a little late,” she said, as she turned to reveal
the face of an old crone. “My youth is gone.”
“As is mine,” said the knight, removing his helm to expose
the lined and weathered face of an old man.
* * *
What advice do you have for other fantasy writers? Follow Heinlein's Rules.