Thursday, January 31, 2013

February Issue of The Scribblers Newsletter

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.


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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  

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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 

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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 
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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. 
 
 She went into my closet and disappeared.  Well, maybe she didn’t disappear, 
 
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...


We welcome stories, articles, suggestions, etc.  Please email these to: colleenweikel@comcast.net

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Happy Writing!



        












                                


 

 


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