The Scribblers
February 2013 Newsletter
Welcome to the February edition of the Scribblers! The year is going fast. At this point, we'll be keeping the blog format to simplify layout and file extension issues. If you have any suggestions, please contact me and let me know.
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February Writing Prompts
Pick one of these prompts, or combine them to create a story of your own. It can be a real challenge, but most of all, have fun with it.
1. Ted and Dina signed the settlement papers for their new old house an hour before Ted had to leave on a business trip. Alone in the house
that night, Dina heard footsteps coming from the attic.
2. Norman went past old Mrs. Franklin's house every day on his way to work. Today as he walked by, he thought he heard a feeble cry coming from
the back yard.
that night, Dina heard footsteps coming from the attic.
2. Norman went past old Mrs. Franklin's house every day on his way to work. Today as he walked by, he thought he heard a feeble cry coming from
the back yard.
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Just a thought: “We’re all a little weird. And life is weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.”
~ Robert Fulghum
~ Robert Fulghum
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A look at Rick Riordan
Born June 05, 1964 in San Antonio, TexasRichard Russell "Rick" Riordan,Jr. is from Texas and is most famous for his Percy Jackson and the Olympians series (The Lightning Thief, The Sea of Monsters, The Titan's Curse, The Battle of the Labyrinth, The Last Olympian).
He attended the University of Texas at Austin in 1986, where he double-majored in English and History. He also wrote The Red Pyramid (Kane Chronicles) and, most recently, The Lost Hero (Heroes of Olympus) and the Tres Navarre series for adults. Riordan helped to edit Demigods and Monsters, a collection of essays on the topic of his Percy Jackson series. He also wrote book one of the 39 Clues (The Maze of Bones) and co-wrote book eleven (Vespers Rising) published by Scholastic Corporation.
For Riordan (pronounced Ryer'-dan) a bedtime story shared with his oldest son was just the beginning of his journey into the world of children's books.
Already an award-winning author of mysteries for adults, Riordan, a former teacher, was asked by his son Haley to tell him some bedtime stories about the gods and heroes in Greek mythology. "I had taught Greek myths for many years at the middle school level, so I was glad to comply," says Riordan. "When I ran out of myths, (Haley) was disappointed and asked me if I could make up something new with the same characters."
At the time, Haley had just been diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia. Greek mythology was one of the only subjects that interested the then second-grader in school. Motivated by Haley's request, Riordan quickly came up with the character of Percy Jackson and told Haley all about "(Percy's) quest to recover Zeus's lightning bolt in modern-day America," says
Riordan. "It took about three nights to tell the whole story, and when I was done, Haley told me I should write it out as a book."
Despite his busy schedule, Riordan managed to carve some time out of his daily routine to write the first Percy Jackson and the Olympians book, The Lightning Thief. And in deference to his son, Riordan chose to give the character of Percy certain attributes that hit close to home.
"Making Percy ADHD and dyslexic was my way of honoring the potential of all the kids I've known who have those conditions," says Riordan. "It's not a bad thing to be different. Sometimes, it's the mark of being very, very talented. That's what Percy discovers about himself in The Lightning Thief."
For anyone who would like more information on Rick Riordan here are a few links:
web site: http://www.rickriordan.com/
blog: http://rickriordan.blogspot.com/
twitter username: camphalfblood
blog: http://rickriordan.blogspot.com/
twitter username: camphalfblood
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“I attributed the incidence to temporary insanity, and in my own defense, I'd like to say I haven't run over anyone since.”
~ Janet Evanovich, One For The Money
~ Janet Evanovich, One For The Money
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This is a short story I wrote last year as a contest entry sponsored by ChildrensWriter.com Of course the story didn't win, but I thought I'd share.
The Secret Hallway
by
Colleen Weikel
Some
old lady came into my room tonight and made enough noise to wake the dead. She didn’t try to be quiet even though she
could see that I was sleeping.
but she hasn’t come out. So here I am with my buddy, Keyboard, huddled
under a blanket on my closet floor with just a
little tent shaped open fold
sticking up to look and breathe through.
My name is Stoney
Jackson. Keyboard and I are ten years old
and have
above average curiosity, so if
someone is going to come into my bedroom and
disappear in my closet, we’re
going to find out who and why. And we’re
staying here until either she leaves or my mom calls us for breakfast. Nothing
makes me miss breakfast…or lunch…or
yeah, dinner.
Right
now I’m wishing my other buddy, Catfish was here. There’s safety in numbers, they say. Not
that I’m scared or anything, because she’s a really, really old lady with a
hunched back and a walking stick. Kind
of like the witch in Snow White. Not going
to think about the witch part right now.
We
got bored waiting, so I threw off the blanket and grabbed my old flashlight off
the shelf. In the back of the closet was
an opening and I could see by the light of my flashlight that beyond the
doorway was a long, dusty looking hallway. I wondered if my parents knew about that
little hallway. Keyboard and my dog Baxter
followed me through the opening and down the hallway.
“What
do you think she’s doing?” Keyboard whispered as he crept silently along the
corridor.
“You
got me! But we’re going to find out,” I
said. “Look over there,” I pointed to a
shadow that was getting larger on the far wall, “what is that?”
“I
d-don’t know, but we better HIDE!” He
took a couple of steps forward and disappeared.
“Keyboard? Where’d you go?” I whispered, panicking. Did the old lady get him? Was she really a witch? As I was wondering about those things, a hand
shot out from around a corner and grabbed my wrist. Right then I knew the old witch was going to
boil me in oil or turn me into a frog or something. Just as I realized that I was probably going
to live the rest of my life as a potted palm tree or a garden gnome, I saw that
the shaky hand on my wrist belonged to Keyboard. He pulled me into a dark little room where we
hid until we were sure the old lady wasn’t after us.
“Did
you see that?” he whispered, “I thought we were goners for sure.”
“Me,
too,” I said, playing the flashlight beam around the little room. In the corner near the window stood a rickety
little wooden desk. Above the desk hung
a framed picture of Howdy Doody and Buffalo Bob with the Peanut Gallery in the
background. Carved crudely into the
desktop were the initials VW. In the
single center drawer was a stack of report cards rubber banded together. The student’s name was Vincent Weatherby. The dates were from 1956 through 1968.
“Who
the heck is Vincent Weatherby?” I mumbled as Keyboard pulled his smart phone
out of his pocket.
“Tell
you in a sec,” he said, pounding on the keyboard of his phone. “Aha!” he said sounding like he’d just
discovered the wheel or fire or something just as important.
“Aha??”
I said. “What does aha mean?” Sometimes
Keyboard was overly dramatic and it worked on my nerves. This was one of those times.
“Ok,
Vincent Weatherby, born and raised here.
By here, I mean in this house.
Honor student through high school.
Mother’s name Violet, father William.
William died shortly after Vincent graduated from high school. Violet still lives here? I don’t get it, You live here now.”
“Yeah,
since this morning. Maybe the internet
hasn’t caught up with me yet,” I said, laughing. “Call Bill Gates and let him know I moved.”
Keyboard
looked out the window and motioned to me to look. The old lady was standing on what my mother
called a widow’s walk holding a kerosene lantern and slowly turning in a
circle.
“What’s
she doing?” I asked.
“Let
me read the rest of this to you,” Keyboard said, turning his attention back to
his phone. “Vincent Weatherby
disappeared in 1975 when the fishing boat he was working on capsized 5 miles
from shore.”
“Wow! So his mom is shining that light hoping he’ll
see it and come home?”
A
shadow fell across the window. “Here she
comes! Dive, dive!” I whispered loudly
to Keyboard and dove under the desk.
Just
as Keyboard slid in beside me, the window opened and the old lady stepped
through. She blew out the flame of the
lamp, set it on the desk and walked out of the room. We gave her a head start and followed her
back to my bedroom and out of the closet.
She never looked back, just marched through my bedroom and down the
stairs. I heard the kitchen door close
softly and watched Mrs. Weatherby walk away.
“Are
you gonna tell your folks about her?” Keyboard asked.
“Nah. She’s just an old lady who misses her
son. If she wants sneak into the house
to signal him from here, it’s ok with me.”
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And Finally...
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