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:
“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…