30 Days: "Dear Teacher"

"Dear Teacher" 

by Mary Ann Duke 

Dear Teacher,

I think you are a good teacher because you never give up on us. You make us think that we "CAN do it."

You say, “I will not go off and leave you. I will give you another example of how to do the problem, until you get it.”

I like that. Knowing that helps to calm me down. It helps my mind 

to be more clear.

Last year I feared, deep down inside, that all the students would "get it" before I did and that the teacher would move on to the next big, gigantic, huge, hard-to-understand problem and leave me in the dust. Chalk dust. Pencil shaving dust. Brain dust. But not this year.

Another reason I think you are a good teacher is because you have a sense of humor. You pull your glasses down on your nose and talk in a funny accent. That helps take the scariness out of math. We like it when you teach math the funny way.

You are nice to me…and to all the students. 

When a student is sick you keep an eye on him or her all day and ask them how they’re feeling. That makes us know you truly care---not just about just about the curriculum, but about the whole person, the real child. US!

You are a big part of my life.

Thank You.

30 Days: "Adventure of the Tumbleweed Travelers"

Check out Heather's book HERE on Amazon. 

30 Days: "Cry"

Last year, I participated in a writing challenge at Throwing Up Words.com, that stretched my writing and taught me a lot. One of our assignments was to write a very short piece of fiction. For me, creating a story in 200 words is daunting, 100 nearly impossible. 

However, this exercise is great practice in making every word matter. I encourage you to try creating a story using only 100 to 200 words. Here's my story at 196 words:

Cry by Rebecca Birkin

Rulekeepers climb our hill.

I drop from the lookout tree to our hut thatches. Flat on the rooftop, I whisper Cress a warning.

Back when Citidoctor first brought his pain-freedom shot Cress and I still played at baby games. He stood on the brick remnants of the village square, loud voice denouncing pain’s curse. But our mams knew better. When the villagers queued up for Citidoctor’s injection, they hid us in the willows, begging our silence.

Citidoctor gave the shot. And took childbirth with it.

Cress and I promised we’d hide our still-felt pain. Lying silent inside the shuttered hut, Cress keeps her promise.

Can I keep mine? I could fight, one man and knife against three, but they carry guns. When Rulekeeper boots stomp our wildflowers, my knife slits my palm. I jump to stand before the men, waving my blood-stripe in their faces. I keen loud, hoping to cloak the tiny wail coming from the hut.

As they drag me back down the path they made in the wild grass, the Rulekeepers hear only me, a painbreaker.

Cress and her secret are safe. So is the baby Citilaws couldn’t stop.

 Pain’s aftertaste is sweet.

rebeccabirkin.blogspot.com

30 Days: "The Starfish"

The Starfish

by Todd Diel

I was walking along the shore down at the local beach early one morning when I came upon a starfish in the sand.  It had been stranded by the outgoing tide.  This is not an unusual circumstance in and of itself; starfish are often stranded on beaches in this way. In fact, a famous story (which may or may not have been published in one of those chicken soup books--I wouldn't know, because I hate that feel-good drivel and wouldn't be caught dead reading such sentimental claptrap) talks about an old man walking down a similar beach where thousands of starfish had been stranded and, one by one, throwing them back in.  Someone observes that with so many starfish littering the beach it will be impossible for the old man to save them all.  He plucks one up and tosses it back in the ocean, replying, "It made a difference to that one."  If I had been there, I would have pointed out to the old geezer that starfish can survive up to five days out of the water and that the return of the tide in six hours or so would have rescued them just fine. See?  Claptrap.

It was, perhaps, because I was thinking of that "story" that I stopped to get a closer look at this particular starfish.  There was nothing unusual about its appearance. I'd seen many such creatures in my daily beach walks, and this one looked much like the others.  I was about to step over it and continue on my way when the strangest thing happened.  It spoke.

"You aren't really going to just walk past, are you?"

"Uhm, uh, what?" I'm very articulate when echinoderms with no vocal chords talk to me.

"You're just walking past."

"Well, yeah. I'm on a 'walk.' It's what I'm in the middle of doing."

"No you aren't.  You're standing."

"Momentarily."  I couldn't believe it. I was getting lip from a starfish.

"Well, then. I'm glad I caught you in your moment of rest. I need your help."

"Wait for the tide."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not throwing you back in.  Wait for the tide like all the others of your kind."  I resumed my walk.

"Wait! Please, that's just the problem. This isn't my kind."

Now that was an odd thing to say.  Odd enough to get me to stop. "Say again?"

"This isn't my kind.  Or rather, I'm not this kind."

"Not what kind? You're not making any sense." The fact I was saying this to a talking starfish made me feel more than a little silly.

"No. I…I'm not saying this right. I'm not a starfish."

I stared at the little creature.  "Five arms, crusty skin, about as big as my hand.  You sure look like a common starfish to me. No way you're going to convince me you're a clam."

"I am not a starfish or a clam.  I am a princess."

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Did you hear? I am a princess, not a starfish."

I finally succeeded in forcing out speech. "I heard you. I…just don't believe it."

"Why is it so hard to believe?"

"I'm looking right at you. You're a starfish."

"You're also hearing me. Since when do common starfish talk?"

I chewed on that. The creature had a point.  If I accepted that this starfish could talk, was it such a stretch to think it may not be a true starfish at all, but a princess in the form of a starfish?  Uh, yeah!

"All right, this has gone on long enough.  Jack, Stan? Where are you guys hiding? You've planted a microphone and got one of your girl pals to act as voice, right?  Where’s the camera?"

I looked around, but there was no one in sight.  The beach was empty.  Maybe they were up on the cliffs in the distance with a zoom lens.  I snatched the starfish up from the sand and inverted it, searching for the microphone.

"Hey, watch it. Don't be so rough."

I ignored the voice, turning the starfish over in my hands. There were no electronics in sight.  Maybe on the inside?  I looked for a seam.

"You know, you're cute when you're frantic."

I paused in my search. "That's disturbing coming from a starfish."

"I told you, I'm not…."

"Not a starfish.  Right."  I turned the starfish over one more time. It moved.  I sat in sudden realization. This was a live creature; there were no seams, no electronics.  She may be telling the truth.

"Starting to believe me?"

I nodded.

"Thank Poseidon," she said. "I was beginning to think you were daft."

I might be, I thought. I'm talking to a starfish claiming to be a princess. "How did this happen to you?"

"I angered a sea witch.  She changed me into this."

"And how are you supposed to change back?"

"A man has to kiss me."

"Figures.  And so you beached yourself in the hopes some poor sucker would come past and you could convince him."

"That's it in a clamshell."

I sighed. "Let's get this over with then."

"You mean you'll do it?" For a creature with no discernible mouth I could practically see her smiling.

"Why not? Either this is a huge hoax and the video being shot is going to go viral on YouTube, or you're telling the truth and I help you out.  Either way, it'll be done and I can finish my walk."

I brought the starfish to my mouth and kissed it.

The change was instantaneous.  One moment I was holding a starfish, its spines poking my nose, the next my hands were cupping an angular face, and soft lips were pressed against mine.

Soft slimy lips that tasted like fish.

"Ewww!" I scuttled backward, dumping her off my lap.  Her hair was the color of sea foam, as were her eyes, but it was the flopping fish tail that held my gaze.

She was a mermaid.

"You said you were a princess!" My tone was all kinds of accusatory, but I didn't care.

She drew herself up.  "And so I am. Princess Oleronna Atalantia."

"You're a freaking fish!"

Her eyes flashed. "And you are an ignorant land worm."  She turned, and with a great flop levered herself into the ocean.  There was a splash as her tail impacted the water, and she was gone.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and spit, trying to get rid of the taste of her.  It lingered.

"Gross. They never showed this part in Splash."

I picked myself up off the ground and resumed my walk.  No way I was ever telling anyone about this. Not ever.

* * * * *

It only took Oleronna a moment to find her two friends.

"Did you get it?" she asked.

Tellerine smiled and held out the image recorder rod. "All right here.  We can upload it to the 'seine' as soon as we get home. I can't believe he fell for that old princess transformed by the witch routine."

"He's a land dweller. They're all as stupid as sea cucumbers."

"How did it feel, Oleronna," Molly asked, "kissing the human, I mean."

Oleronna grimaced. "Like licking a rock out of water. Dry and rough." She shuddered with the memory.

"Oh come on, it couldn't be that bad."

"Trust me, it was."

The three friends swam back into the depths.

"You think this will go viral?"

"I sure hope so."

"Next time, I wanna be the one on land and you can do the recording."

"Can you do a convincing starfish?"

"No, but my hermit crab is passable...."

THE END

Todd Diel

Check out my short story blog:
http://toddsshorts.blogspot.com/

30 Days: "Love, Hugs, and Hope"

Illustrations by Lori Nawyn

Pre-Order the book HERE.

30 Days: "Goldilocks and the Wizard of Oz"

Goldilocks and The Wizard of Oz

by David Hulet

Once upon a time there were three wizards.

The evil witch of the East, Evvamene, the really nasty, wicked witch of the West, Evillene, and
the really good witch of the North, Glinda.

They all lived in a faraway land called Oz.

One morning Evillene tried to take over the world, and got in an argument with her sisters in the
process.

They couldn't agree on anything! Frustrated, they decided to adjourn their debating until they'd
had time to cool off.

Soon after they parted, along came a house with a little girl. The house landed on top of
Evvamene. The girl's name was Goldilocks and she was from Kansas.

She stumbled out of her house, very confused and upset since she'd just lived through a tornado.
Who were all those strange short people? They cheered Goldilocks and ranted about how they
were now free. Goldilocks was shown the body of the evil wizard Evvamene, and given the ruby
slippers off the witch's feet. The Good Witch Glinda came rushing back when she saw the falling
house and was sad for her dead sister.

Goldilocks asked about going home and the wizard pointed her toward Emerald City.

“You just have to decide how to get there.” Glinda said.

“Oh?” said Goldilocks. She looked at the Emerald City off in the distance. Before her were three
roads. A gray road, a lime green road, and a yellow brick road.

She stepped onto the gray road. “These stones are too drab,” she said. Next she moved to the
lime green road. “These stones are too bright!” She said, covering her eyes.

Then she moved to the yellow brick road. “This is just right!” she exclaimed with joy. Waving
goodbye to the tiny people and Glinda, she skipped merrily on her way.

“I'm lonely,” said Goldilocks to herself. “I could use a friend.”

She stopped and rested on a fence. A scarecrow in the nearby field winked at her. “Oh!” she said.

“Would you mind helping me down form this pole?” he asked. “Rather stiff up here.”

Goldilocks obliged and helped the scarecrow down. “Friend, can you help me get back to
Kansas?” she asked. But he had no brain. He was too dumb to help her get home. The scarecrow
decided to follow Goldilocks to the Emerald City since he couldn't think of anything else to do.

Soon after, they came to a wooded area. Among the trees Goldilocks saw a tin man. His axe was
raised, ready to cut down the nearest tree, but he was not moving.

“Please help me!” the tin man cried. “All my joints have rusted and I'm stuck. Find some oil!”
After a moment of searching, Goldilocks found the oil can and with the scarecrow they got the
tin man moving again.

“Thank you so much.” He said, smiling.

“Friend, can you help me get back to Kansas?” asked Goldilocks. But he had no heart. He was
too devoid of emotion to help her get home. The tin man decided to follow Goldilocks and the
scarecrow the Emerald city since he couldn't find it in his heart to do anything else.

The woods grew thicker and darker. With a roar, a lion burst from the trees, bent on attacking the
trio. Goldilocks went right up to the lion and slapped him on the nose. “How dare you roar at us
like that, like you're going to eat us!”

“I'm sorry!” cried the lion, cowering in fear.

“Oh dear!” said Goldilocks. “You aren't really a fearsome lion at all, are you?”

The lion shook his head in embarrassment. “Well, friend. Can you help me get back to Kansas?”
But he had no courage. He was too timid to help her get home. The lion decided to follow
Goldilocks, the scarecrow, and the tin man to Emerald City since he was too afraid to have the
courage to not come along.

Finally they arrived at the Emerald City where they were given green glasses in order to see the
Wizard of Oz. He heard their pleas and determined that he could grant their wishes, but only
after Evillene was stopped in her plans for world domination.

Goldilocks and her friends traveled west and were captured by Evillene. Goldilocks was assigned
to floor scrubbing duty. Evillene came often and tried to get the ruby slippers from Goldilocks,
but to no avail.

One day when she was especially upset Evillene threatened the lion's life, and Goldilocks
stepped up to defend him. Her mind was racing. Evillene laughed at Goldilocks and asked what
she would do. She looked down at her three buckets. One was full of ammonia. The second was
filled with rags and a bar of soap. The third bucket had warm water for scrubbing. Goldilocks
reached for the ammonia. “No, that's too dangerous.” She reached for the rags and soap. “No,
that's too ineffective.” Finally, she grabbed her water bucket. “This should be just right.” And
she threw its contents on Evillene The wicked witch recoiled and began screaming. “Ah! Oh!
Dear! Aiee! What have you done? Water! The only thing I'm powerless against! Help me I'm
melting! Melting! Melting…” and the witch melted away to nothing. For her quick thinking and
resourceful decision, Goldilocks was hailed as a heroine for freeing the captives of the wicked
Evillene.

Goldilocks and her friends returned to the Emerald city to get their reward from the Wizard of
Oz. Only he turned out to be a fraud from Nebraska. Undaunted, the friends ask again for the

Wizard to help them. He opens a box and begins rummaging around. He gives the scarecrow a
box of “All-Bran” and calls it “all-brain.” He gives the tin man a satin heart once given to him
by a girl. He gives the Lion a “courage potion” (made from whiskey and seltzer). Once all her
friends were “just right” Goldilocks squealed with delight in anticipation of her being able to get
home to Kansas. At a loss, the Wizard of Oz confesses that he cannot help Goldilocks get back to
Kansas with anything in his box.

But after some debate, they decide to take the balloon Oz used to come from Nebraska to get
Goldilocks home. Only she takes too long in the morning deciding which dress is just right and
when she gets to the balloon site the wizard has already launched and is floating away.

Goldilocks sat down and cried until Glinda, the good witch of the North arrived to comfort her.
“Dear child, do not despair,” she consoled. “I have seen your accomplishments in ridding Oz of
my two evil and wicked sisters, and in return I will tell you the secret to get you back to Kansas.”
She pointed at the Ruby slippers.

“These?” said Goldilocks in surprise. “They go well with my golden curls and look fashionable,
but how can they get me back to Kansas?”

“My dear child, you just have to click your heels three times and wish.”

Goldilocks' face lit up in delight. “Thank you Glinda!” She hugged the good witch, then turned
to her friends. “Goodbye friends.” She smiled, a tear in her eye. “I will miss you, thank you for
everything.”

They waved back. Goldilocks smashed her heels together. “Oh dear, that was much too hard.”

She tapped them gently together. “Oh! That was much too soft. I could hardly feel it.”

Then she clicked them once more just right.

Goldilocks reappeared in Kansas and was chased by a bear all the way back to her farmhouse.

Copyright 2007© David Hulet. All rights reserved.

30 Days: Unexpected Coincidences (a scene from WIP) by VS Grenier

            I hesitated for a minute before turning the knob to my first period class. I should’ve known the day from hell was upon me the minute Mom let our next door neighbors drive me to school. It just so happens the door to history is at the front of the classroom. Talk about making an entrance. I was hoping to sneak up to the teacher’s desk without having the whole class notice a new kid just started. The heat had returned to my face from early this morning. My ears were on fire. I’m sure if I had a mirror to look into, I would see my face was a brighter shade of red than my hair.

            “Are you lost or looking for someone?”

            I paused for just a moment not noticing where the male voice was coming from. Then I saw two large sized sandals uncross from on top of a desk to reveal a man in his early twenties. At least I guessed his early twenties. He’s crystal blue eyes were so brilliant I could see them

clearly from the front of the classroom. “Mr. Gregory?” I barely stammered. I felt the heat returning to my face once again. “The office told me to give you this.” Mr. Gregory rose, strolled to the front of the classroom, and took my placement slip and schedule from my outstretched hand. I followed him to his desk, which was on the other side of the blackboard at the front of the classroom.

            Mr. Gregory waved his hand in my direction. “Continue.” I looked at him a little baffled. Continue with what I thought. Then I heard a familiar voice start on about the black plague. I looked over my shoulder. There was Brittney giving a report about the 14^th century eruption of the Bubonic plague. Brittney didn’t look at me, but she jerked her head towards the desks. I noticed two empty seats next to each other. One already had a notebook on the desk and a backpack on the floor. The other was empty. No sign of anyone sitting there. I took a guess the desk with stuff had to be Brittney’s. I scanned the class while Mr. Gregory flipped through stuff at his desk. There was another desk further back away from Brittney. I thought about taking that one, but then again, it would be nice to sit next to someone I sorta knew. Plus, maybe she wasn’t so bad. She did gesture to the desks near each other. Maybe she was trying to be my friend in her Brittnish way.

            Once Mr. Gregory handed back my schedule and a history book, I moved my way through the desks to the one next to Brittney’s. After what felt like ten minutes, she joined me back at her seat. “What’s your schedule like?” She whispered over her shoulder. I kept my eyes forward and out of the corner of my eye, slid my schedule onto her desk. Within seconds, she was sliding it back on my desk.

           

I looked down and saw she had circled in purple ink four of my classes: history, physical education, biology, and drama. I turned to look at her. She gave what I became to know as her good-natured sarcasm stare. I tilted my head and considered maybe getting to know Brittney wasn’t going to be half as bad as I thought. 

VS Grenier is an Award-winning children's author, Mom’s Choice Honoree, featured talk radio host on Blog Talk Radio, partner of the World of Ink Network, and the founder of Stories for Children Publishing, LLC. A California girl at heart and former fashion buyer, Grenier lives in Southern Utah with her supportive family and miniature schnauzer Taz. When she isn't busy talking with authors and illustrators on her radio shows, spending time with her children, playing dress-up or having a tea parties, Grenier is busy writing new adventures in the World of Ink. Learn more about her at http://vsgrenier.com or at http://worldofinknetwork.com

 

30 Days: "No. I Won't"

No. I Won’t Journal.

by Marion Steiger

Mama started the journal thing when I was five. She gave me a little book, all pink and shiny on the outside and blank inside. She talked to me about my day, her eyes searching mine as she asked me to draw what I liked best. I lost the book. Mama found it. After the third time she gave up.


My sixth-grade teacher made my class keep a journal for homework assignments. She promised better grades and improved life skills if we listed our goals each morning then evaluated our work each afternoon. I hated that journal. Mama loved it. I quit at the end of the year. Forever I thought.


Our church tried cute ways to inspire us to journal. Some friends wrote letters, saved them in notebooks, and called them journals. They loved writing letters. I hated it. Still do.

When I taught special education, I came closest to journaling. Only because I had to
remember things. When I showed my daily planner to my students, explaining how a planner helped me and how it could help them, their faces said I was crazy. I gave up. But I think journals are stalking me.


On the first night of my nonfiction writing class, the assignment was, of course, keep a daily journal. I did. Once.

Pia’s First Journal Entry

Pia is my nickname, given lovingly because it fits. PIA means pain in the “you know what.” But keeping a journal is a bigger pia than I’ve ever been.

My writing teacher is what I politely call a loose cannon. I know because I am too. She shoots ideas at us. But—keep a journal? That isn’t original. I’ll fail. 

I did before. I’ll try again.

Only because I must.

I just want to write. Instead, I have reading assignments and reports for the class. At home, I have to cook when I can’t avoid it, same with cleaning. And I never miss the grandkids’ soccer and football games. Kids at the games act out and say great story stuff.

To relax my brain, I watch General Hospital. I know the reasons not to watch. Soapies steal time. They’re dumb, addictive and I’m hooked, so I pretend to find funny mess-ups for my stories.

I’m forgetting something important for this entry. Maybe I need to keep a list. No way.

That would be another kind of journaling. 

The End. 

Thank goodness.

For the last class, writing my opinion of journals was fun.

Pia’s Second and Last Journal Entry

This daily journal stuff isn’t exciting. Writing stories is. Writing’s in my head. It wakes me early. Keeps me from reading the morning paper. I write before it’s delivered. It ruins my routines, changes the way I talk, and the way I look. Best not to explain the looks part.

But I don’t care that I see things and hear sounds, stuff I never used to notice. 

I love it when thoughts jump out and land in my head, all potential story topics. During TV shows, my husband catches me staring into space and asks what I’m thinking. My head’s dancing with a new idea for an article, but I say I’m thinking about the show. His frown says he knows better. I squirrel away a notebook and pencil for pop-up ideas. Journaling doesn’t do any of that for me.

So. Goodbye to journals.

My class is over and I’m still not journaling. I’m editing my daughter’s diaries into a
memoir for young people fighting life-threatening illnesses. Unlike me, Shanon loved keeping journals. She wrote about her diagnosis, surgeries, friend problems, and fear of being different at fourteen. I believe writing her journals helped her survive cancer. I know organizing her journals into a creative nonfiction memoir is helping me. Oh. Does that mean I’m writing a journal?

If I am, I refuse to do it every day. Except . . . my writing teacher is now my friend, and she says I must tweet a twitter, pin-my-interests, get LinkedIn, facebook without spilling secrets, and blog. She promises that will put me on a platform.


Oh, no!


I’m terrified of heights.