Carnival

“A carnival” little Suzy cried, “we can’t go today” her parents lied.

They didn’t fancy walking round, with music blaring out aloud. 

They didn’t enjoy the big brash lights. And all the other crazy sights.

She pestered them until up they gave ” c’mon” said her mum, it’ll be a rave”.

Her father smiled through his clenched teeth, if they don’t go now, they’ll give him grief. 

“OK” he said “then off we go”, his posture hunched and head hung low.

For many years he’d kept it secret, the memory he had, full of bleakness.

For when he was just a little boy, from a carnival he had won a toy.

But this was not just any gift, scary and mysterious, you get the gist.

The toy he won was a big soft clown, wide eyes staring and a firm old frown.

He took it home and in the dead of night, he woke up with an awful fright.

“Come play with me” the clown had said from the end of his wooden bed.

“I’m your friend, come on, oh please, why are you shaking at the knees?”

Then out he let his distinctive laugh, then ‘poof’ he was gone, just like that.

And ever since he’d had this fear, that the clown was lurking oh so near.

Flash forward another thirty years and at the gate little Suzy cheers.

“Come on dad let’s go inside, let’s get candy and ride those rides”

The day was perfect and he was pleased, it was almost time for them to leave.

The last activity, a coconut shy, and Suzy’s throw, boy, it did fly.

The coconuts smashed into the table “you’ve won little girl, and now you’re able

To pick a toy so please pick well” he knew what was coming, he could tell.

The prizes Suzy looked up and down and then she pointed up to the clown.

Her fathers heart, oh it did sink as the clown laughed his laugh and gave him a wink.

Little red fish

There once was a fish, in a see-through bag, who spent his days feeling lonely and sad.

The other guppies, red like him, didn’t seem to mind that they couldn’t swim.

The carnival bags were ever so small, and the little fish could barely move at all.

The bag was tiny, and the water cold.  This fish knew that he had to be bold.

When the kids won a game, all the fish would freeze.  Which of them was next, which would get to leave?

The little fish flapped his fins with all his might, but he mustn’t have been doing it quite, exactly right.

The children’s hands went straight to other fish, leaving this poor guppy with just another wish.

He wished he had a home, a bowl to call his own.

But he knew if he just flapped some more, caught someone’s eye,

His waiting would be over, and out the gates he’d fly.

Day turned into night, lit only by the moon, and the little red fish, well he began to croon.

If you never heard a fish sing, then it’s a shame indeed for you, the little fish’s song came from his heart so true.

“I want to have a bowl, a place to call my own, and I’ll love whichever girl or boy will give me my own home…”

He sang his little heart out, until the sun rose high, the little fish’s words floated right up to the sky.

And then amongst the cheers and woops, with the clatter of some plastic hoops,

The winner’s bell rang loud and clear, but this little fish didn’t even hear.

His song was so loud, his voice so strong and proud, that he didn’t even notice he was sloshing all around.

Only when his world flipped up, and he landed with a splash in a see-through tub,

Did the little red fish realise, that watching him were two big brown eyes.

The little fish looked left and right, and with a panic saw he was alone alright.

In a big round bowl, to call his own, the little red fish realised he was home.

Mystery Megan

Megan always carried a magnifying glass, a travel-sized bottle of talcum powder, a flip-top notepad, a Scooby Doo pencil and a pocket-sized instant camera. She wouldn’t even consider leaving her bedroom without her dark red backpack stuffed with her mystery-solving kit, never mind leave the house. She had an eye for clues, so she believed, seeing things that other people dismissed as trivial details. Not Megan, though, she knew a clue when she saw one, and it was only a matter of time before she strung them all together and solved yet another mystery.

One morning, she thundered down the stairs in her purple Doc Martin’s boots, backpack clanging on her shoulders, full of crime-fighting equipment. “For goodness’ sake, Megan, slow down!” her mother winced as Megan grabbed the bannister and jumped, missing the last three steps of the stairs and landed with a thud. She looked left and right, eyes wide and searching for clues to found, mysteries to be solved. Tipsy the cat flattened to the ground, her belly only a centimetre or two from the tiled hallway floor and darted into the living room and straight under the sofa. She was often chief suspect when Megan was solving mysteries at home, and she’d had her paw prints taken often enough to know that under the sofa was the safest place to be. Megan saw nothing out of place and went into the kitchen, she was often the first at the breakfast table, it gave her the chance to scope out the house without Frankie ruining things first. Teenage brothers were always annoying, her mum told her, but Megan knew hers was one of a kind, often leaving fake clues to throw her off the scent of true crimes.

Megan grabbed the Honey Loops, she’d finished the last box yesterday morning so she knew she would have the pleasure of ripping open the new box and having the crunchiest bowl possible. She’d been looking forward to it last night as she brushed her teeth, and mum had confirmed that they had a new box in the cupboard waiting for her. Soggy cereal was a serious matter. She went to run her finger under the cardboard top, breaking the seal, only to find her hand slipped right under the top. “Mum!” her mother jumped, sloshing her coffee over the sides of her mug.

“Megan, I’m right here, must you shout?” her mother rolled her eyes and started mopping the coffee off her wrist. “The box is already open, Mum, even the plastic packet inside!” Megan could barely get her words out as she was rummaging through her bag, looking to lay her hands on the magnifier. She held it up to the packet edges, searching for finger prints. She took her instant camera and started to set the cereal box up for a picture. “Megan, what have I said about mysteries at the table? Put the camera away, and just eat your breakfast.” Megan continued to her take notes and snap shots of the Honey Loops, brows furrowed as she tried to piece together the events that lead to this moment. Her mind was whipping through the many obvious possibilities. Someone broke in and decided to eat a bowl of cereal. Tipsy was unhappy with her dry cat biscuits and decided she preferred human food. The box was already open when they bought it, and someone at the supermarket had done it to get revenge on the family for something. Megan scribbled frantically, her notes turning into a scrawl on the page. Her mother’s hand reached over and grabbed the notebook from Megan’s grasp, and Megan tugged it back. “Megan, I won’t tell you again. Give me the notebook, or you’re not going to Becca’s party.” Megan narrowed her eyes at her mum, she knew that Becca’s party was the only good thing going on in their countryside village for the next few weeks. She released the notepad and poured the evidence into her bowl. One day, she thought, I’ll solve a mystery, and then they’ll thank me.

On their walk to school, Megan noticed a poster attached to a lamp post and stopped in her tracks. Her mother tugged her hand, keen to pick up the pace but Megan was glued to the spot reading.

LOST

PRIZE-WINNING BORDER COLLIE

TRICOLOUR, GOES BY THE NAME OF JESS

ANY INFO CALL 0168 883 462

There was a picture of a happy-looking dog on the poster, mouth open and tongue hanging out. Megan’s heart started to pound in her chest. A mystery to solve! Just as she placed her hand on the strap of her backpack, she felt her mothers grip around the strap. “Keep it moving,” she said, giving Megan the look that meant she wasn’t in the mood for games. Megan sighed and kept walking. She’d have to come back at the weekend to look at the poster for more clues, maybe take some pictures. For now though, she’d go to school.

Later that day, when Megan had come home from school and was settled down with one of her mystery story books, she heard her mother gasp. She crept into the kitchen to see what had happened, and realised her mum was on the phone. She could only catch bits of the one-sided conversation.

“When did you realise?”

“Did they take anything?”

“Oh Maria, how terrible. Strange nothing’s gone though.”

“Well, it’s only a shed, and nothing’s gone, so it could be worse.”

“The police will figure it out don’t you worry, it’s their job!”

Megan ran off to find her notepad and was quickly scrawling notes: Maria’s house, shed broken into, nothing taken. Tomorrow was Saturday and she could start figuring it out. She’d go up to Maria’s cottage and see if she could sneak round the back and take a closer look. Maybe a picture or two, dust some talc on the handles to see if there were any obvious fingerprints. That night she went to bed extra early, excited for the morning when she could throw on her wellies and go investigate.

The sun was shining the next morning and it was perfect mystery-solving weather, the frost would keep many people indoors in the warm but the light was perfect for spotting hidden clues. By the time she reached Maria’s she had come up with a story to explain what she was doing if anyone caught her snooping around. She’d say she knew daffodils grew round the back, which was true so technically she wouldn’t be lying, and she wanted some for Becca’s party tomorrow. It was a good cover story, so she confidently got to work scouring the grass around the shed for clues. There was nothing jumping out at her, so she checked around herself a couple of times and threw some talc on the handle. Nothing. No prints came up. Megan let out a little huff. This was going to be a tough mystery to solve. The grass around the shed wasn’t trampled down, other than where she’d walked. This must be the work of an expert, she thought, and noted the fact that Maria didn’t have a lock on the door, only a rusty old latch. In the countryside no one had things stolen, everyone knew everyone, barely anyone locked up. This mystery was a real head scratcher, Megan decided to leave before she was found and turned back towards the road and into the village.

When she passed the newsagents’ she saw Pete standing outside talking to the lady who ran the post office across the road. He was shaking his head and looked quite upset.

“I don’t lock it, because it’s in my garden and no one has touched anything in my garden for over 30 years!”

The tone of his voice drew Megan in. She crossed the road and tried to look like she was taking a causal stroll, but really she wanted to walk closer to them and hear the gossip.

“Are you sure Pete? Who breaks in and doesn’t take anything?” The post office lady looked unsure of Pete’s story, but it sounded very familiar to Megan. She didn’t need to hear the rest. She’d start investigations as soon as possible. Pete was Becca’s dad, so it must be her shed that had been broken into, and Megan was going there later in the day to help set up. She rushed home, trying to scribble notes in her book as she ran. When she arrived home and burst through the door, her mother was upstairs bathing the dog after a long, muddy walk. Perfect, thought Megan, if her mum was busy, there was no way she’d notice if Megan left early to help with the party set up.

When she arrived at Becca’s, she noticed a few people deep in conversation, many people from the village lent a hand for things like parties for the kids, mainly for something to do.

“It’ll be those teenage boys from the town!”

“I saw some, I did. Hanging around the pub on the corner last week, very dodgy they looked.”

Megan shook her head, it clearly wasn’t a group, and none of the local boys were streetwise enough to leave not a single trace. Besides, who breaks in without taking anything.

“Something to say, Detective Megan?” Olivier from the farm on the other side of the hill smirked as her asked her. It was no secret Megan liked a mystery to solve, and some people liked any reason to wag their tongues. “Yes, actually. This is not the work of a teenage boy, or even a group. It has to be some kind of expert.” The group within earshot shared a smile, ‘Mystery Megan strikes again’, she knew what they thought of her theories. She turned and made for the shed, desperate now for some concrete evidence.

“Pete, can I have a look inside please?” Megan looked at Becca’s dad eagerly. “Why not, flower.” He smiled and unbolted the door. Megan whipped out her camera and started taking snapshots of the overturned tools and smashed plant pots. A sun-lounger cushion was pulled into a corner and covered by some tarpaulin that had slid off a shelf further up. Megan could feel eyes on her through the shed window as they came to see her in action. She finished taking notes and sighed. She hadn’t solved it and everyone was going to ask now. As she turned around the leave she heard a rustle from the tarpaulin. Her heart skipped a beat. Was the suspect hiding in the corner? The tarpaulin rustled again and Megan grabbed her camera, ready for taking evidence. She crept over nervously and put her hand out to lift the edge of the tarpaulin. As she did something warm washed over her wrist and she jumped so far back she fell back into a lawnmower. What on earth? She stood up and grabbed the plastic sheet again, and there the suspect was. Laying on the floor with four small, tricolour, newborn puppies by her belly was Jess. Just wait until I show the others, she thought, her face stretched into a grin. Two mysteries solved in one day, she was becoming a pro.

Mystery

A pack of lies

“Oh, do you remember that” cooed Lucy’s mother whilst gazing at last year’s holiday snap in Tenerife. “Yeah” came the half-hearted reply from Lucy. Her long black hair uncomfortably covering her left eye as she looked at the screen. “Ohh take me back there right now” joked her grandma, who was perched on the edge of Lucy’s chair, making her feel even more awkward about the situation. They were making their annual family calendar together. Not something Lucy would ever choose to participate in, but was forced upon her by her mother, and grandmother.

“Just use that one then if you like it so much” came Lucy’s spiritless suggestion. She didn’t even like the photograph. She couldn’t help but notice how her pale white body stood out amongst the sun-kissed tanned bodies of the rest of Tenerife.

“Oh, but I’m not sure, I liked the other one of us in the bar as well. What do you think” Lucy’s mother asked her grandmother. “Well, I like the one in the bar because Lucy is smiling there isn’t she.” Laughed her grandmother. Lucy didn’t see the funny side, two hours they’d been musing over photographs. The photographs which portrayed a somewhat happy life. The fake the life. You know, the one you show people to make them think you have had a great time. The photographs don’t show you that the holiday in Tenerife was in fact two weeks after her grandpops had died. Her mother and grandmother had seemed to let that slip their minds too.

“Well, we could use the bar one for July, and the beach one for August” said her mother looking pleased with herself for coming up with a solution. “What do you think Lucy? Do you think the bar one is ok for August, or should we change it for the one at the water park, or maybe the one…”

“I don’t care” interrupted Lucy very abruptly and with a hint of aggression. “I don’t care what goes in the stupid calendar.” Lucy had reached braking point. What wasn’t helping matters was the howling dog that was constantly ringing in her ears, it’d been howling for days now.

“Well, there’s no need to be like that” her mother shot back. Her grandmother didn’t speak, she just sat looking hurt. “We’ll leave it there shall we”. With that, her mother began to shut down page after page of photographs on the computer. And that’s when it caught her eye. The picture. The photograph of her mother and a man Lucy did not recognise.

“Go back one” she demanded.

“Go back, what?” her mother stalled.

“The picture. Go back to the picture, the one of you, and that man”

Her mother and grandmother exchanged glances.

“I, I don’t know which one you mean Lucy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The one of you and the man who was wearing the white shirt. The one that was on the screen literally two seconds ago” said Lucy becoming increasingly impatient.

“Oh, I think that was an old friend from work, it’s nothing. Just an old picture” explained her mother nervously.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” quizzed Lucy referring to her father. She had never met him. Her mother refused to talk of him. She didn’t even know if he was dead or alive. No one would talk of him.

“If you are referring to your father, then no, Lucy, it wasn’t him. Now I think it’s time that I went downstairs and started tea.”

Her grandmother was equally as quick to make her excuses to leave . “Yes, yes, my eyes are hurting from staring at that screen for so long. I don’t know how you kids do it” her grandmother exclaimed.

With that her mother and grandmother rose to their feet and left Lucy sat bewildered. She had never quite understood why her father was such a mystery. What was her mother so scared to tell her? Was she ashamed? Embarrassed? Scared?

 

The photograph had remained etched in Lucy’s mind all evening. As soon as she had seen the photograph, she knew it had to be him. Her mother’s and grandmother’s reaction certainly played a big part in her presumption, but she also had that feeling. Some might refer to it as ‘gut instinct’ or like a sixth sense. She just knew it was him. She couldn’t remember from the photograph exactly what he looked like, but he was handsome. Very dark hair like Lucy and very slim and pale.

Lucy began to make her way downstairs. The dog’s howl was really intensifying and she wondered how her neighbors could possibly put up with that noise all evening. As she approached the kitchen, she noticed the door was ajar. Her mother and grandmother sat across from one another at the dining table. A cup of tea in each of their hands and very stern, low whisper filled the room.

“You’re going to have to tell her” uttered her grandmother “she deserves to know the truth. Besides, it’s only a matter of time now isn’t it?”

“It’s too complicated” protested her mother, “she wouldn’t understand, I don’t even understand. I just know I have done what I can to protect her, and that’s what mother’s do isn’t it? They protect their kids. Not throw them into the danger”. Lucy leaned closer, eager to hear her grandmother’s reply, but she accidently nudged the door causing it to creek loudly. She turned and fled back to her room, her grandmother and mother so engrossed in what they had been talking about were completely unaware of her eavesdropping.

 

That night Lucy tried to process what she had heard. A million questions swimming through her brain. She somehow managed to fall into a restless sleep. By the time she awoke in the morning she felt even more exhausted than when she went to bed. She’d had this feeling before. It usually came after she had experienced the same reoccurring dream. The one where she was being chased. But in the dream she never found who or what was chasing her. Sure enough, last night she had that dream again. She seemed to remember the dog’s howl playing a significant part in the dream, but put it down to the fact that the same dog had been howling constantly now for days.

She yawned and stretched and ran her hands down her face, allowing them to come to rest on her lap. That’s when she noticed her finger nails. They were covered in dirt. She felt the heat rise through her body but at the same time her neck went cool and prickles of hair stood on end. This wasn’t the first time this had happened following that dream. She hurried to the bathroom and began scrubbing her nails.

 

Her mother was downstairs and her grandmother was still here. She could hear their muffled speech as the water rushed over her fingers. She thought about confronting them, but she had learned over the years that her mother would only hide even more information from her. The more she tried to find out about her father, and her past, the less she seemed to learn. She had never really developed a close enough relationship with her mother. She didn’t know why but neither of them allowed themselves to become ‘too’ close.

Lucy decided the only way was to again to attempt to listen in.

“We’ve got to tell her. Today” insisted her grandmother. “You can’t hide this forever, she’s a bright girl, and besides, she might well, be, well like him”

“Don’t say that” cried her mother. “I can’t do it, I won’t do it, I’m just going to have to deal with the other problem. Get rid of it somehow?”

What on earth was her mother talking about thought Lucy. “Who am I” she whispered to herself fighting back the tears.

“I’m going now” said her mother in a panic.

Lucy backed up a few steps on the stairs, out of reach of her mother’s and grandmother’s eyesight, but close enough to listen and follow them if she needed to.

“You’re not thinking rationally” spat her grandmother. “just calm down and we can talk about this. Talk about it with Lucy.”

“No” said her mother “I’m going. It’s going. It’s the only way to deal with it”.

With that her mother grabbed her raincoat from the hook and made a grab for the front door. Her grandmother stood for a moment shuffling from one foot to another, then decided to follow.

Lucy bolted downstairs. It was now or never. Her grandmother had somehow managed to catch up to her mother as they both made their way across the garden and down the steps towards the garage. Lucy had never seen her mother use the garage before. Since she was only a little girl it was a forbidden place, out of bounds. Lucy had never really questioned why. Just looking at the derelict remains, it wasn’t a place a young girl would ever want to venture.

She heard the old iron shutters slide up and that’s when she realised the howls, the barking, the yelping. It was coming from inside her garage.

Lucy didn’t even think about it, she raced towards the open garage door to see her mother and grandmother stood arm in arm over the creature. It was some sort of dog or wolf. It looked to be in terrible condition. She quickly took in her surroundings. On the wall were photographs of her mother, and a man. The man. The man from the photographs. Her father.

Her mother and grandmother gasped when Lucy’s shadow fell on the ground besides them.

“What is this? Why are you keeping this dog here…it’s chained up, look at its hair. It’s disgusting. Why, how, why are you being so cruel?” Lucy was panicking now. Why on Earth would her mother chain up a dog in a disused garage. A creature she was never meant to know about?

Lucy looked closer at the dog. Her mother was reeling off some sort of explanation but Lucy couldn’t hear. Her brain was whirring around too quickly. She recognized the dog. There was something about him. Her dream. His eyes. Those were undoubtedly the eyes from her dream. The one where was being chased.

Her grandmother broke her gaze. “If you don’t tell her, then I will.” Yelled her grandmother. “Lucy. Darling. This is you father”.

Lucy took a step backwards. Such a small sentence but a world of information hit her like a train.

The dreams. They weren’t dreams were they? They were real. She closed her eyes. The dirt under her finger nails. The howling. The lack of photographs of her as a child, as a baby. She was the same as him. She could feel it in her bones. The lies. The deceit. The rage. The anger. The inevitable.

Three weeks after Lucy’s world had been tipped upside down, she overheard her neighbor as she walked passed the window of the cottage. “It’s always the quiet ones isn’t it, those poor poor ladies. And to think no one knows where the girl has gone. It’s tragic.” Lucy smiled and licked her lips relishing the memory of that fateful night. Her father hobbled alongside her as they set out for their new lives together. As they reached the top of the hill where Lucy once belonged, they both let out a long, deep howl.

Word of the week…

This week our word is ‘mystery’. So many options with this word!

Personally, I wanted to try out a completely difference genre of writing this time, with a different style, and aimed at a different age group.

So, the two interpretations of ‘mystery’ will be upon us very soon…

Celine

Like all good snakes, Celine’s name rolled of the tongue with a slick flick. Her skin shone, iridescent, showing cerise scales, some spots of sage, and a sumptuous scarlet shade when the sun’s rays shone down on her slender shape.

The other snakes envied Celine’s mesmerising colours, yet Celine often slithered alone. From afar they watched her rainbow scales catching the light as she slipped amongst the thick grass. Celine was used to being alone, for as long as she could remember her slithers to and from school had been of the solitary kind. 
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Celine must either be a most unpleasant snake, of terrible temper perhaps, too sharp a tongue, you say? Or else, it must be the other snakes that have hearts of stone, leaving poor Celine to take solitary strolls.

Well, most simply put, Celine’s personality shone like the scales on her skin. A polite and delicate snake, Celine had a heart of gold, only it was a heart she guarded fiercely. The other snakes weren’t all that bad, sure, they envied her sparkling scales from time to time; laughed at her loner way, but they too were good snakes at heart. Almost all of them were, at least. Always to be found slithering in the middle, there was one particular young snake with eyes as yellow as his belly and the sharpest tongue of the bunch. His dull brown and green scales noisily scraped the floor as he moved, meaning Celine usually had time to slip away before he saw her at school. Sebastien was his name, and bullying his game. Unfortunately for her, he knew her secret. He didn’t tell anyone else, oh no, he kept her secret. He kept it for himself, for his own amusement, and Celine was not going to challenge him. Her aim was to keep her secret just that: a secret. Snakes are known for their wagging tongues, so this was no mean feat, but the secret started to become heavier every day and yet Celine continued to carry it around with her. Anything to keep the secret, to be a good snake. At school, the other snakes followed Sebastian from pillar to post, followed the scrape and scratch of his pitted, scaly belly. All the while Celine looked on through long, shiny, black eyelashes, praying he wouldn’t slither too close.

It was time for Science of Slithering, Celine’s most detested class at school. The other snakes slipped into the classroom one by one, and Celine realised in her haste, she had slipped into the wrong session. Of course, Sebastien was the first to notice.

“Here she is, it’s silent Celine!” he said, his croaky voice bringing everyone’s eyes to Celine at once. “Which class are you meant to be in, silent Celine?” he said, stifling a snigger.

Celine felt her cheek scales sizzle, they were a sanguine red by now. Mr Sanders, the teacher of Science of Slithering spun around, his tail flicked behind him. “Celine, should you be in this class?” he asked, squinting through his circular spectacles. He was known for his sieve-brain. “Celine, which class are you supposed to be in?”

Celine sucked in some air through her nostrils, “I’m in the, uh, the lecture about…about wriggling…” The classroom erupted into laughter. Snickers and sniggers filled the room. The snakes in the class were splitting their sides. “Silly Celine!” someone cried. Shrieks and snorts continued to erupt through the class. Poor Celine sat still. She didn’t smile. She was known for her silly, superfluous synonyms. Never able to say what she saw, simplify things, or just spell it out. She preferred to be silent Celine. She spoke when she had no other choice, but chose her words most carefully when she did.

Celine slunk out of the class, she heard Mr Sanders settle the students and start the lesson. She disappeared into the shadows and slipped home early, pride bruised again and her secret weighing heavier than ever.

Sadly this day was like most others. A usual experience for Celine. If her class-snake-mates knew what Celine was going through, they’d no doubt be sorry. They’d stop their sly teasing. They’d tell selfish Sebastien to hold his sharp tongue, and take Celine’s side, given the chance. But instead Celine slid home, silky skin bristling with embarrassment, until she saw her sister waiting for her at the door. She saw right away the pool of tears in Celine’s eyes. “What happened Celine?” she said, sad to see her sister in such a sorry state.

Celine swallowed back big, sad, salty tears. “I went to Thience of Thlithering…” she started. You can imagine the rest. Poor Celine, the snake without a hiss.

The Big Blue Snake

The Big Blue Snake

A hiss and a rattle, a slither and shake, this is the tale of the big blue snake.

Now snakes get a name of being sly, but the big blue snake makes me question ‘Why’?

For the big blue snake, so kind and so caring, always helpful, and always sharing.

Before we continue, and I describe his house, I must explain, that I am a mouse!

A mouse? A rodent, and under-grown rat? Tempting a snake, what are you playing at?

But the big blue snake, he seems so nice, not the type to gobble up mice!

 

The big blue snake lives deep underground, so deep infact, nobody around

The legends before had told of this beast, who would make a family of mice his feast.

But it’s important to give the snake a chance, so I set off that night hoping to glance.

 

Off I scurried amongst the trees, out came a Wolf who begged “don’t go, please!”

“You’re crazy and silly the old wolf said, if you visit that snake, you’ll wind up dead”

“Sorry wolf”, I did say, “I don’t believe he’ll act in that way”.

 

Off I carried, ‘til deep in the night, when down flew a bird to give me a fright.

The bird tweeted “no, don’t push your luck, if you visit the snake, he’ll gobble you up”

It didn’t matter, my mind was clear, I’m going bird, despite your fear”.

 

I finally reached the frozen lake, close to the home of the big blue snake.

On the lake stood a beautiful swan, with pearl white feathers, you know the one.

“Don’t go mouse to see that creature, he will not hesitate to eat you.

 

A scratch, a burrow, a scrape and a dig, my fur all shaken, my fear so big

Out of the hole came an almighty hiss, I expected a bite, but instead got a kiss.

The snake’s eyes gleamed so happy and wide, “come little mouse, come on inside.”

 

“No” Said I, “come home with me, meet my family in the great elm tree”

“I can’t” hissed the snake “I won’t fit in, they all believe I’ve committed a sin.

“Please” I cried, “please let them find, you’re so kind, they’ll change their minds”.

 

So off I set, blue snake in tow, towards the river, but then oh no!

“I’m staying” he yelled, “for they wont believe, they’ll hate me and hurt me and cause me to leave”.

“Don’t worry snake, I stand by my man, I’ve got an idea, we’ll hatch up a plan”

“We’ll pretend I fell into the river, then I saw you coming with a shake and a slither,

We’ll tell them you saved me from the water, how I was like a lamb to the slaughter,

They’ll jump up and break out into applause, then they’ll see you don’t have those flaws.”

“OK” said the snake, “it’s worth a try, he gave me a smile, a glint in his eye

 

Back through the forest and back through the lake, back to my home with the big blue snake.

At last we arrive, back at my house, no-one believing a snake with a mouse?

“You silly mouse” my family did yell, I “We know that snake, we know him well”

“He’s cruel, and twisted, he’s a cunning snake, you’ve made such a silly mistake”

“Thanks” hissed the snake, “You’ve lifted my mood, you’ve provided me with lots and lots of food”

“What” I yelled “You evil snake, everything you’ve told me are lies and are fake”

“Silly mouse”, the snake did hiss, “thanks for my food, it’s going to be bliss”

 

So I turned to run as fast as I could, “Come here mouse you’ll taste so good”

With a hiss and bite, a swallow and chew, into the belly of the snake so blue.

So here it ends with a slither and shake, the awful truth of the big bad snake.

 

 

Sorry wordbloggle (again!)

After a year of neglect we have decided it is time to ressurect wordbloggle. This time we are going to have more of a focus. We are only going to produce children’s/young adult texts. 

This is an area of writing we both thoroughly enjoy and it will be great to experiment writing for the different age groups within children’s literature.

I have a 20 month old little boy so it’ll be great to look at writing things for a pre school age and would love for him to enjoy our work as well! Can’t wait to post the first posts for this week’s word which is ‘snake’. 

Will be back shortly with the first contributions!! Exciting! 

Scrambled…a new project

So after Christmas and new year, I decided it was time to kick start the writing (again) and use the last word put forward on wordbloggle which was ‘scrambled’. I sat for a while the other day and brainstormed a few ideas. From the word ‘scrambled’ I have now started a brand new project. A childrens’ book called, wait for it, scrambled!

This was one of the reasons we started wordbloggle in the first place, to take inspiration from a single word and turn it into what ever we want it to be.

We both agreed that our original rules of wordbloggle were somewhat restrictive, sometimes we might just want to write, but not about a particular word, and that’s fine, we also agreed that there shouldn’t be a word count. I associate word counts with writing assignments for university, creative writing shouldn’t be so restrictive. Some of the best pieces of writing are just a matter of lines, others are thousands of words.

So going back to scrambled, I’m not going to give away what the story is about, but I will post extracts in the future once I’ve got the plot totally sorted in my head. My aim with the new project is just to finish the book. So often I start things then another ‘brilliant’ idea pops into my head and the first project is forgotten about! I also need to stop getting ahead of myself about where the book might lead to. After spending just an hour this morning browsing through various wordpress blogging sites, I realise there are hundreds and thousands of brilliant writers out there, who just want to share their work for the love of writing.

I’m currently 3,000 words into the new book and I’m hoping to add a little more each day, like I said my main goal is to finish the book. If its only read by my close family members, that’s an achievement for me.

I will post an extract from a chapter over the next week, please bear in mind it is very much in its first draft form. After that onwards with the next word for wordbloggle. But also expect other bit and bobs to appear on here.

Bye for now!

 

Sorry wordbloggle…

Poor old wordbloggle, neglected and abandoned! Not sure why that happened but it seems life got in the way of writing over the last few months!

The last word we put out there was ‘scrambled’, that’s where we’re going to pick up from.

I’m hoping this time we can be much more regular in our posts, to become a writer, you’ve got to write, a lot, and read- something else which I aim to do more of during 2016. I’m hoping to start a few writing projects this year, and I know my sister is too, wordbloggle is definitely part of our writing goals.

Once again, sorry wordbloggle, and of course sorry to our loyal fans(!) Grandma, AJ, pops and maybe a few more!

Long live wordbloggle!

 

‘Scrambled’ coming soon!