Monthly Archives: March 2013

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Best Buds – The “In Just Spring” Contest

I’m joining in the Fun at Susanna Hill’s blog this week.

The Contest:  Write a children’s story, in poetry or prosemaximum 350 words. The story must be about something that really says “SPRING” to you and the only other requirement is that the last line must be “[Character Name] knew Spring was really here!” or “[Character Name] knew Spring was here at last!”

Check out the other amazing entries at http://susannahill.blogspot.com.

Daffodils,18March13Best Buds

Sam skipped across the kitchen. “Squitch! Squitch!” Froggy feet tracked muck across gleaming white tiles. “Mum! Look what I found,” she exclaimed, thrusting out her fist.

Her mother grimaced. “Samantha Ann Davis,” she screeched through gritted teeth, “see what I found, after I spent my entire morning spring cleaning.” “Boots, off! Outside with your mess!”

Cheeks flushed, shoulders slumped, Sam turned towards the door. Even the blossoms in her sweaty palm seemed to droop.

“Woah! Watch where you’re walking, kiddo,” Dad cautioned. “Don’t wanta bop you with this bat.” “Dad! Look what I found,” Sam exclaimed, thrusting out her fist.

“Cool, Sam,” Dad replied, as he rummaged for a water bottle. “See ya later. Gotta run! First team practice. Tim! Hurry up! I’ll be in the car!”

Tim sprinted past, bumping Sam’s arm. Daffodils dropped, crocuses careened, and grape hyacinths tumbled across the floor. “Sorry, sis,” he mumbled through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. “Team’s waiting!”

Sam scrambled to reassemble the bedraggled bouquet. CLOMP! CHOMP! A daffodil dangled between clenched teeth. Pumpkin quivered; her tail thumped; she eyed Sam.

“Pumpkin! No!” Sam hopped towards the hound. Off she bounded. The chase was on!

“One fewer won’t matter,” Sam sighed, tossing daffodil remains into the compost bucket. “The rest won’t last anyway, unless I set them in water.”

Sam stared at the high shelf where vases shimmered in the sunlight. She spied the stepstool on the far side of the kitchen. Could she drag it over, climb up and grab just one tiny vase?

But she could imagine glittering glass blanketing tiles, Pumpkin shrieking in pain, and Mum screaming, “Samantha Ann Davis…”

Sam collapsed on the back stoop. Sun-warmed bricks eased the chill seeping through her worn jeans and torn hoodie. Robins wrestled worms from steaming soil as chick-a-dees chattered.

Sam heard a “tap, tap, tap.” Glancing around, she spotted Mrs. Young waving from her curtained window. She was pointing a gnarled finger towards a plate of steaming cookies.

With a broad grin, Sam raced towards her neighbor. “I picked these for you!”

Sam knew, Spring was really here!

Moolie, Joolie and…

     theGreatFoodFling!  

            (with a LOT of help from my friends…)

Moolie hung her shaggy head.  Long fur shielded her large brown eyes, sheltering tears that plopped softly, one by one, into soft grasses that cushioned her hooves.  She reached down and nibbled a tender blade.

“Why couldn’t Joolie stay here, with me?” she sniffed.  “The turnips over there can’t taste any better than this grass!  And why should a cow yearn for adventure?” she asked the morning doves cooing in the nearby apple trees.

She mooed.  Perhaps if she was listening, Joolie would return to where she belonged, with Moolie.

Hearing noises in the distance, Moolie looked up.  She peered across the stout wooden railing that surrounded McDonald’s Divine Bovine Acres.  “What is it, doves?  Can you fly over and tell me?”  But the doves just continued cooing.

The noises grew louder and more distinct.  “Woof! Woof! Woof!” echoed through the narrow valley.  High-pitched bleats rose in a crescendo.   “Oh, no!” Moolie cried.  “It’s the sheep!  If that lot catches Joolie, she’ll be burger for sure!”

“Mr. Hawk!  Mr. Hawk! Tell me, please, how can I find Joolie?”

Heeding his directions, Moolie galloped towards the bleating to prevent a beating.  She glimpsed Joolie’s large shaggy head, surrounded by a woolly-capped crowd.  Giant turnips hung from the sheep’s bared teeth.  The fiercest of the flock, Sheila, circled round the hapless heifer, pinning her against a rocky outcrop.

“I’ll save you, Joolie!” Moolie cried. She pawed the ground, lowered her head, and charged towards Sheila.

But she wasn’t fast enough (being a cow) to get there before the turnips flew! Joolie let out a moo-ow, as the veggies rained down upon her. Moolie realized she would need a weapon, she looked down, and round, and saw…

Moolie POPPED Sheila in the tush with such force that Shelia couldn’t help SQUISH the turnips in her mouth, spitting drooly bits all over her fellow meanie sheep as she shook off the hit.

But then quickly Moolie stopped short, when she decided she needed more ammunition. She then turned and ran under the apple tree. All the sheep started laughing, thinking Moolie had run away scared. But moments later KIR-SPLAT!, SWOOSH, SLAP came a barrage of apples pummeling the sheep. Sheila used her own ‘devices’ and squirted Moolie right into her ear -SHSHHHTT!

“AAAAGGHH!” wailed Moolie, shaking her big head! As Joolie watched from the sidelines she knew it was the perfect opportunity to jump in and – PLONK – knock away Shelia’s cooking baster so she couldn’t blind them with sheep saliva. Joolie looked around. “Not enough apples or turnips,” She said.

Still shaking her head and spluttering, Moolie said, “There are too many of them. We need something bigger. Follow me.”

The two cows ran as fast as they could with the whole flock of sheep chasing them across the turnip field.

“You can’t get away from us,” Sheila shouted.

The cows reached the barn and turned a corner.

“There,” Moolie pointed at piles of fruits and vegetables. “The melons are perfect.”She hefted one and lobbed at the herd of sheep. WOOSHOOP! CRACK, CRASH, KERPLUNCK – Melons began rolling past Moolie and Joolie, dropping sheep like bowling pins.

They turned to see Gussy goat, whose herd stood behind him at the ready. “They’re such bullies. We’ll help you stop ‘em girls!”

Being great climbers, Gussy and his herd scrambled up the boxes stacked high next to the barn. From there, SHWING and SPLUNK- they flung the tomatoes, they found in the top boxes, with their horns and blinded the stampeding sheep.

Gussy picked up a vine of juicy melons, and SCHWING, SCHWING, SCHWING, swung them around and around, building momentum. SWOOSH and BLAM! Gussy let go and the entire vine with ripe melons flattened the group of sheep. Sheila struggled to her feet, and…

With a BAH and a BLEAT, beat a rapid retreat.

“You’re back,” mooed Moolie to Joolie, “Right where you belong.”

“And if I ever try to leave again,” replied Joolie, “Please, stop me.  Convince me that I’m wrong!”

Food Fight for a Cause!

My friend, Marcie Colleen, is hosting a Food Fight for writers over at her blog, The Write Routine.  As summarized over on Donna L Sadd’s blog:

In celebration of World Read Aloud Day on March 6th, I’m taking part in fellow 12×12′er Marcie Colleen’s Food Fight Challenge. Here’s what Marcie says:

“What says “read aloud” more than onomatopoeia?  Maybe it’s because I grew up with Adam West’s Batman on TV and would live for the fight scenes when onomatopoeia would cover the screen.  POW! ZING!  WHAP!  But I do have an absolute love for onomatopoeia. What a tool in children’s books.  So much fun to read aloud and play with.

I therefore declare the week of March 4th, 2013, Onomatopoeia Appreciation Week.”

Visit Marcie’s blog here for all the info.

Thanks to Jennifer Young for the summaries below!

The Competition Rules
1. Create a post in which you start a story.
2. The story should have a clear setting and at least one clear character.
3. Set the scene. Be creative. It can be anywhere.
4. Write the story up to the moment when a food fight breaks out. And then stop.

You can add to my story below until March 8th:
1. Read the posted story and all of the comments that precede you.
2. Post your comment.
3. Be sure to build on and further the existing story. Your comment should flow.
4. The story should read as if it was written by one person when read from beginning to end.
5. ALSO, your comment needs to include at least one word of onomatopoeia and one thrown item of food.

NB:  Your onomatopoeia must be a word that has not been used already in that story.

May I present (drum roll, please):

Moolie, Joolie and…        theGreatFoodFling!

Moolie hung her shaggy head. Long fur shielded her large brown eyes, sheltering tears that plopped softly, one by one, into soft grasses that cushioned her hooves. She reached down and nibbled a tender blade.

“Why couldn’t Joolie stay here, with me?” she sniffed. “The turnips over there can’t taste any better than this grass! And why should a cow yearn for adventure?” she asked the morning doves cooing in the nearby apple trees.

She mooed. Perhaps if she was listening, Joolie would return to where she belonged, with Moolie.

Hearing noises in the distance, Moolie looked up. She peered across the stout wooden railing that surrounded McDonald’s Divine Bovine Acres. “What is it, doves? Can you fly over and tell me?” But the doves just continued cooing.

The noises grew louder and more distinct. “Woof! Woof! Woof!” echoed through the narrow valley. High-pitched bleats rose in a crescendo. “Oh, no!” Moolie cried. “It’s the sheep! If that lot catches Joolie, she’ll be burger for sure!”

“Mr. Hawk! Mr. Hawk! Tell me, please, how can I find Joolie?”

Heeding his directions, Moolie galloped towards the bleating to prevent a beating. She glimpsed Joolie’s large shaggy head, surrounded by a woolly-capped crowd. Giant turnips hung from the sheep’s bared teeth. The fiercest of the flock, Sheila, circled round the hapless heifer, pinning her against a rocky outcrop.

“I’ll save you, Joolie!” Moolie cried. She pawed the ground, lowered her head, and charged towards Sheila…