What follows is the first children's story I wrote. Yes, I had dreams of gradeur that this may in fact, be an actual book someday. And it still might. For now it's just gathering dust in my cyber files, so I figured it would be a good time to pull it out and call it a post. For any of you who might read this and think the story is so fabulous you in fact want to use the whole story as your own, a word of caution. Just because something doesn't have a copyright date on an inside cover page doesn't mean it's not copyrighted. Just so you know.
I'm curious what you all will think and would love to hear any feedback you might have. What worked for you and what didn't. If it was trite. Stupid. Or if you did like it. You can put that too. Of course that's going to require all my lurking fans to actually leave a post. Go on. I dare ya.
It Wasn't a Writing Day
By: Rachel Vidoni
Genevieve loved going to school. She loved her teacher Ms. Macintosh, the big red tire swing and the colorful counting rug her class sat on before lunch. She even loved the cafeteria green beans. But most of all, Genevieve loved to write.
Everyday at 1:45, her class had writing time. Genevieve always had something to write about. Once she wrote about the time her brother flushed her dolls head down the toilet. She wrote about how her cat threw up a horny toad on her mother’s foot while her mother was wearing sandals. She had written about her pet tarantula Harry, her new apple scented lipgloss and her grandmother’s false teeth. But today wasn’t a writing day.
It just wasn’t. The air was still and there weren’t any clouds in the sky and nothing exciting happened on the morning bus. She thought Billy Martin was going to bring one of his pet amphibians to school. He always had some type of lizard or frog hidden in his pocket or lunch box. But today, nothing. Not even a gecko.
When Genevieve got to school nothing exciting happened either. Ms. Macintosh took roll. Everyone was here. She took lunch count. Everyone wanted to buy. They said the pledge and sang the National Anthem and noboby, not even Roberta Parkins messed it up. And she always messed it up.
Yep, Genevieve thought to herself, It just isn’t going to be a writing day.
After lunch she thought her luck might have changed when the Principal Mrs. Rodgers announced that all the popsicles were out and there wouldn’t be any for sale. That would have been a good story! The whole school would have been in an uproar! But the school secretary, Mr. Bill, informed everyone he had found one more box behind some frozen chicken nuggets, so the sale would go on as usual. Everyone was happy except for Genevieve. Sorry ‘ol Mr. Bill. What did he know anyway?
After lunch Genevieve’s class always had story time. Ms. Macintosh read a book about a boy who had an awful day and wanted to move to Australia. I’d like to go with him, thought Genevieve. Maybe there is something exciting to write about Down Under.
When story time was over, everyone went back to his or her desk for daily journal time. Genevieve thought and thought, and no matter how hard she tried to make something up, no thoughts would come to her. It simply wasn’t a writing day.
Ms. Macintosh noticed Genevieve’s plunked head on her desk. “What’s wrong Genevieve? Why aren’t you writing?”
“It isn’t a writing day,” Genevieve moaned. “Nothing exciting happened all day long, and I looked for exciting things, I really did.”
“You have to be inspired,” Ms. Macintosh said. “You have to use your imagination.”
“I tried,” Genevieve whined. “There isn’t a breeze today or anything, and Billy Martin didn’t bring any frogs in his pocket.”
“I can see how that might be a problem,” her teacher said.
“And everybody wanted to eat hot lunch and Roberta Parkins didn’t even mess up the pledge and song today.”
“Yes,” said Ms. Macintosh, “She remembered all the words, didn’t she?”
“And just when I was going to write about the school running out of popsicles at lunch, Mr. Bill found some.”
“You can always count on Mr. Bill,” Ms. Macintosh added.
“See?” Genevieve said. It’s not a writing day at all! I can’t think of a thing!”
“Yes you can,” Ms. Macintosh said. “You just told me a great story.”
Ms. Macintosh got up and walked over to Sandra Grape who was eating her crayons again. Purple was her favorite flavor.
Genevieve thought and thought about what her teacher had said. She opened up her journal.
Page 7, April 12.
Dear Journal,
Today wasn’t a writing day. The air was still and there weren’t any clouds in the sky and nothing exciting happened on the morning bus today…
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