Sunday
Oct092011

The Worst Writing Advice We've Ever Gotten

Ever gotten bad writing advice? We have. Honestly, we've had way more GOOD advice than bad, but we thought it would be fun - and enlightening - to look back at the clunkers. Here is the worst advice we've ever gotten. We were lucky enough not to take it. Read it and shudder! - Anne and Ellen

 

Ellen Potter

 1. Really, this one isn’t bad writing advice; it’s just plain bad advice, period. One of my college creative writing teachers advised us to walk in dangerous neighborhoods at night. She said that, “One can only feel genuine emotions when one is out of one’s comfort zone.”

That may be true, but I would also argue that being robbed and beaten to a pulp may interfere with one’s writing schedule.

Okay, okay. I’ll admit she does have a point about comfort zones. When you’re in them, your senses don’t have to operate on high alert. When you’re out of them, you tend to notice more, hear more, feel more, which can help you to produce good writing.

Personally, though, I’d rather get out of my comfort zone by pony trekking on the Yorkshire moors than getting mugged in a 7-Eleven parking lot.

2. And then there was this little gem, from that same professor: “If you can manage it, have a lousy childhood.”

 Apparently, feuding parents, severe corporal punishment, and frequent public humiliation are a surefire recipe for literary greatness. Actually, I understand her point. Early trauma can certainly help you understand peoples’ complicated, and often ugly, emotional and psychological  layers; but if a writer is perceptive and sensitive, I believe they can achieve the same results, and still have a Thanksgiving dinner that doesn’t end with a food fight and triple restraining orders.

 3. A while back, the rule of thumb for picture book writers was, “No one wants to read books with talking animals anymore.”

 Olivia the (talking) pig, Mo Willems’ (talking) elephant and (talking) pigeon, and Martha (the talking dog) have two words for that little piece of advice: “Um, Really?”

 

ANNE MAZER

Although I’ve received a lot of great writing advice over the years, here’s some really bad advice that I’m glad I didn’t listen to. It’s always good for a writer to have a streak of stubborn rebelliousness.

 1. “You can’t write that.”  I was shocked when a well-respected professional told me not to write a story I was committed to. I don’t remember her reasons, except that she disliked my idea, but I wrote the story anyway and published it. 

Conclusion: Even the best of writers can steer you wrong sometimes. Evaluate the advice you receive and make sure it serves you well.

2. “It’s been done before.” I made the mistake of telling my idea to someone who didn’t know much about writing or creativity. After he dismissed my idea, I went ahead and wrote my book, which was eventually published.

 Conclusion: Be careful whom you share your ideas with. Some people don’t understand the writing process. That doesn’t make them bad people; it means you shouldn’t confide your ideas in them.

3.  “It’s just a dream.” A well-intentioned friend, on hearing that I planned to become a writer, tried to talk me out of it. He thought that I lived in my head and didn’t have a good grip on reality. Fifty books later, I now have a (slightly) better grip on reality, and all that living in my head proved to be good for something, after all. 

Conclusion: Only you get to decide whether to pursue a dream or not. No one can predict what you can or can’t do. You have to find out for yourself.

 Okay, we've told you our writing horror stories. What about yours?  

Monday
Sep262011

Got Books?

Lately, lots of kids have asked us for book recommendations. So here it is. Ellen and I read mostly for our own enjoyment, so this isn’t any kind of official, comprehensive list. It’s whatever caught our eye and interest. There are a lot of other great books out there that we have yet to read. If you know of any that we missed, write them down in the comments!  Happy reading! – Anne and Ellen

 

 

 

Ellen’s Mostly Middle Grade List

 

Enola Holmes mysteries by Nancy Springer

 Girl Power in Victorian England! Sherlock Holmes' kid sister solves mysteries that baffle her brother. These books are fantastic! Get a bunch of them and tell everyone you have the flu and have to stay in bed for a week.

 

Gilda Joyce, Psychic Detective series by Jennifer Allison

Word of warning about these books: be ready to stay up all night to read them. Seriously, they are un-put-down-able. These books are the whole package: great storytelling, quirky characters, and a genuine, hard-to-solve mystery. And of course there are the ghosts. Sort of.

 

 

 


The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place by MaryRose Wood

Oh yeah, this woman can write! Clever and atmospheric, although it may be a book adults would enjoy more than kids.

 

 

 Secret Letters from Zero to Ten

A sweet young romance set in France . . . what could be bad?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

A gorgeous puzzler of a book. Crazy characters, bruised shins, and an airtight mystery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amazing Grace by Megan Shull

A great romantic YA set in Alaska, featuring an unforgettable teen tennis sensation.

 

 

 

The Beastly Arms by Patrick Jennings

This one is weird and wonderful with unforgettable characters.

 

 

 

 

Any Which Wall by Laurel Snyder

This is the sort of book you want to read in bed on a rainy day (don’t forget the milk and Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos)! It’s a lovely throw-back to those great children’s classics where magic is always lurking next door.

 


The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

I resisted this series for a long time because it was so popular (I’m almost always disappointed by the best-sellers). But like the Harry Potter series, The Hunger Games lives up to the hype and then some. It will haunt you for months after you finish.

 

 

Holes by Louis Sachar

One of the most perfect reads, in my opinion.  The kids in this book are digging and the readers are traveling down, down, down through the book’s layers. I have read this countless times just to figure out how Sachar manages this (I still haven’t quite figured it out).

 

 

 

 

 

Anne’s Mostly Fantasy YA List

 

Carpe Diem by Autumn Cornwall

Most of the books on this list are fantasy, but here’s one for the realists out there.  It’s been a while since I’ve read this, but I loved it! As I remember it was funny and touching.

 

 

Anna of Byzantium by Tracy Barrett

I hate when authors plunk a modern character down in a historical setting. But Tracy Barrett is brilliant at capturing a character who truly seems of her time. I’m planning on reading all her other books as soon as I can.

 

 

Zahrah the Windseeker  Nnedi Okorafor

Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor

The Shadow Speaker by Nnedi Okorafor

Nnedi Okorafor creates worlds that you can almost touch, and that you’d love to enter, if they weren’t so convincingly scary. Imaginative and compelling storytelling.

 

 

Cecilia and Sorcery, Or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot  by Patricia Wrede and Caroline Stevemer 

The two authors wrote this book for fun, not realizing they’d end up with a published work. The book practically fizzes with humor. A funny, romantic romp in a magical world.

 

 

A Fistful of Sky by Nina Kiriki Hoffman Loved this book. Lyrical, magical, wonderful writing.

 

 

 

 

The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer

Brilliant and disturbing.

 

 

 

 

Shipbreaker Paolo Bacigalupi 

A dystopian fantasy. How many times can I use the word brilliant in this post? 

 

Here are a few more books. Read them! You won’t be disappointed.

Quest for a Maid Frances Hendry

 

Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin

 

 Wise Child by Monica Furlong 

 

Do you have a favorite book or books? Let us know in the comments. - Anne and Ellen

Monday
Sep122011

Ooooo.... Spooky Story-Starters

Are you ready for more Spilling Ink Story Starters? We dare you to conjure up stories from these spooky pictures. Have fun and remember to keep the lights on at night! -- Anne and Ellen

 

wizard/Anne MazerIs he a good witch or a bad witch? Has he just cast a spell, or is he only thinking about it? You tell us. - Ellen

 

scarecrow/Anne Mazer

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble . . . is this a secret coven of pastel-loving scarecrows? And what the heck was that thing in center of the circle before they turned it into a tricycle? Or perhaps you have your own take on this weirdness. - Ellen

 

Doll in Wedding Dress/Anne Mazer

 Was this poor bride cursed on her wedding day by her jealous sister and turned into a creepy one-armed doll? Or was it something even more sinister . . .  -Ellen

Wednesday
Sep072011

The Best of Ask Us Anything

 

Over the last year, we've answered hundreds of writing questions on our Ask Us Anything feature. Because it's no fun to scroll back over dozens of pages in search for answers to questions you might have, we decided to repost some of the highlights here. Enjoy! And... keep those questions coming! - Anne and Ellen

WHAT DO I WRITE ABOUT?

 I am 10, and I keep a writing notebook. The problem is, I don't know what to write about!!!!!! i don't have a spilling ink book, (yet!) so I have no idea. HELP!

  Well, for starters, you could write about not knowing what to write about.... Or you could write down your dreams, a conversation with your best friend, a fight you had with your sibling, something you've always felt strongly about, an strange thing you saw on the way to school, the best/worst joke you've ever heard, or a story based on your favorite book character. Take a look at some of the I Dare You's on this site for more ideas (under Teacher's Kit), or enter our contest. The possibilities are endless. Don't worry; just start writing. You'll be surprised. Happy writing. –Anne

My English teacher gave my class an assignment to write a personal narrative but nothing exciting ever happens to me, I'm stuck.

  You don't have to have earth-shattering drama for your life to be interesting. Sometimes, the most interesting thing about someone's life is the way they think about everyday events. Anne told me about this cool exercise where you re-examine what has happened to you over the last 24 hours. Give it a try. Remember what you thought about different events--people you met, conversations you had or heard, the bus ride to school. Take your time and really delve in.
 Or you could write a narrative on a very emotional time for you. It might be something as simple as a friend moving away or how you felt on the first day of school. Your life is much more interesting than you suspect!
--Ellen

 

MOTIVATION

 When you write do you wait till you get an idea or do you sit down and force yourself to work?

 Great question. The answer is yes and yes. Sorry if that's confusing, but really I do a bit of both. Sometimes I wait (a little) for an idea. But if no ideas are stepping up and waving at me, I force myself to sit down and work. Often, just the act of putting words--any words at all--down on paper will get my motor running and the ideas will appear.
--Ellen

Do you ever do "warm-up" writing exercises before you begin writing on your story? Does it help you "get into" the writing? I often want to write but can't seem to make my hand pick up the pen and start. Do you have any advice to help me with this?

 A warm up is a great idea. Use any of the "I Dare You's" or Story Starters on this website, for instance. Or put a bunch of words in a bowl, pick one out, and write a paragraph about/with it. I used to write poetry before starting work on my novels. Sometimes I write down dreams, or write a letter to get my brain going. Another thing that works for me is to read over what I wrote the day before. Then I start re-writing, and before I know it, I’m deep into my story. Hope one of these suggestions works for you! –Anne

 

ROADBLOCKS

 I have written the first paragraph to what seems like an incredible story. I can't seem to get any further. How do I pick up where i left off?

 Ideas always seem great in your head, but it's just plain hard to write. The only way to get past that first paragraph is to make up your mind to keep writing. Don't worry if it doesn't seem to measure up to your visions; just keep going. Having a real, but not so incredible story on paper is WAY better than having an incredible one in your head. How else will you get stronger as a writer? This is everyone's #1 problem; you're not alone! -- Anne

 Have you ever gotten stuck right at the beginning of a story? Like you just don't know HOW to start it? I just don't know where to start! Help?

 

 Yes, that JUST happened to me with my latest book. You can try to change the narration (from first person to third or omniscient) or try a different setting. Sometimes I just step back and give myself time to rethink things. I try to get a very strong mental image of my setting and that often helps me to anchor the story's beginning.
I hope that helps!
--Ellen

I have a bad habit of getting really excited about an idea, writing a few pages with everything going great...but I lose interest and I just can't keep writing it as soon as I get a new idea. Any ideas to help with this? Thanks!

 A lot of people have this same problem! My advice is to commit to one idea at a time. You have to LOVE it. If you get enticing new ideas along the way, simply write them down in notebook for later use. Then finish your story. It might be hard, but I think you'll feel really good when you're done. Anne

 

JUGGLING!

I'm in the middle of writing 4 books- 3 by myself and 1 with my friend. Do you think that's too many? Whenever I get ideas for one book I write in that book, and I feel like I balance the books pretty well... but do you think 4 books are too many?

  Wow, I'm in awe of writers who can handle several books at once. I think that's great. Each writer works differently, and some are better multi-taskers than others (I am NOT one of those types of writers). You'll know if 4 books are too many if you see that none of them are getting finished. 
Happy book juggling!
--Ellen

 My mind has, somehow, been churning out ideas at a record pace--for me, anyway. I'm juggling writing two different stories and have a third idea--a thing I'm usually short on--that I could pen several chapters on at any time. What should I do?

 First, if your mind is churning out ideas, be sure to write them down, because sometimes those fertile periods end - and sometimes you can't remember your ideas a week or two later! (I can't at least.) Write down ALL your ideas, in rough form. Don't worry about polishing them or making them into anything "good." Just be sure to get them all down. Then choose the idea you're most excited about to work on. If you get more ideas while you're working on your story or book, keep writing them down in a separate notebook or journal or file. Then go back to your story... Good luck! Enjoy the ideas! –Anne

 

SHOWING YOUR WORK TO YOUR FRIENDS: YES OR NO?

 Ellen & Anne, Whenever I write a poem, story, draw, ect, my friend just makes fun of me, and just comments on how "bad" it is and how it could be WAY better if she did it. What should I do? I'm really nervous to stand up to her, because then she gets all

 Personally, I only show my works-in-progress to a few select friends. You don't need to show your work to everyone, especially if you know someone is not going to be kind and supportive of you. If you want to share your work with people, choose those people carefully. Writing takes a lot of guts, and you don't want a few unkind words to discourage you.
--Ellen

 

STAYING ORGANIZED

 I have tons of writing notebooks for different stories, different ideas, etc. How do you recommend I organize these writing notebooks? Or do you just keep one big notebook?

  I'm smiling because I have the same problem. If you saw my office, there's a mess of notebooks on the top shelf. What I do is try to copy everything into computer files. That kind of keeps me organized. If you keep files on a computer, be sure to back them up. Or, keep them all in one place, so you can easily find them. You can file them by date or by category of idea. –Anne

 

 FINISHING

 I love to write and I do every day. However, I never finish a story I have started. Do you have any advice or tips for me?

  Starting a story is always so much easier than plowing through the middle of a story. I find that keeping my interest in the story is key to finishing it. When I start to lose interest in what I am writing, I'll try to write a scene that is really juicy; one that reconnects me to the sense of excitement I had when I first started the story. Or sometimes I spend some time thinking about my characters and if I am forcing them to do things they wouldn't really do, just to keep the storyline going. Let your characters do things that surprise you, and it's impossible to get bored with them.
--Ellen

 

Wednesday
Jul272011

Our contest winners!

At last! Here are the winners of our 8-12 year old Spilling Ink Writing Contest. We received many, many excellent entries and this contest was one of the hardest to judge. We hope you'll love the winners as much as we did. Because there were so many good entries, we added a long list of Honorable Mentions. Thanks to everyone who entered! Even if you didn't win, we hope you'll try again! - Anne and Ellen

 

FIRST PRIZE:

 

SHE * IS * CREATION

By Ruby G., age

 

 

IN THE BEGINNING, She was the only one. She walked upon her earth, a terrain of dirt, grass, and puddles of water. She did not have a body, but a mere soul, the first human to ever be. The Whispers did not name her, that was only for the modern day human society-but called her, She.

She had a simple mind, only what was brought out to her. The wind was cold, the sun was warm, these were little things She had been taught of. She learned to live amongst things, the Whispers telling her what to do and She did them. She liked the Whispers, but they had told her some things that She did not favor.

She crawled up to the fog as her bedding, and tucked herself into its serene, shadowy whiteness. Above her, was a sky of blue, shining with burning, twinkling stars and a silver crescent moon. She looked to where the sky lined from blackness to the light blue still fading from day, wanting to be right alongside it, to blend.

She could not sleep.

She floated down from the shipment of fog, and dropped on the dusty plain. A branch of some tree hung in her way, but She tread past it, slipping across the water. She didn't move it, and it stood still in its obscure posture. She was there, but as a bodiless soul, She never seemed to be.

She lightly made her way to a pool, and looked down, knowing she would never see her reflection peer back from the surface of the water. She remembered this, from her last life. She had been so pretty, that people looked at her forever. The Whispers told her not to think of that life, but She remembered things. She remembered how She had died, when her friend Kelle had rammed them into a tree. She knew Kelle was gone too, but She didn't even know where to look.

She hovered above the ground, remembering the first things the Whispers had said. They had taught her the ways of this land, the real structure.

 "We are the Whispers. We aren't human, you must remember that, so we cannot converse with you, but simply give you instructions on certain things. We roam too, we are bodiless like you. Do not try to return to your past life, you have been brought here for a purpose, the first human. You were brought to the past, a past life from the future. It's a bit confusing, but you don't need to know that yet. Please try to vanquish any thoughts of your past life, you'll never return anyway."

She thought of it anyway.

 

My name was Lisi, but the last name remains unknown. I loved the early morning and golden was my favorite color. I thought the smell of Juniper was pretty, and very earthy. I was the most beautiful person anyone in my school had ever seen. I loved Venus the most out of all the planets, and I had no siblings. I was a loner, but everyone loved me anyway.

The voices yelled not to think, but she did, she thought of everyone. Everything. She thought of the Golden, the Juniper, and she imagined holding hands, the thing humans called Love.

A Whisper's voice struck out, "Your time is up!"

Suddenly, everything was black for She. All the words she could never speak came flooding, but the darkness was everywhere. She could not see anything, all alone in a cloaked world. She couldn't feel, so she listened to her voice, as it thundered through her new world, black and dark with only one small thing for comfort; speech.

She was being reincarnated.

*   *    *

The world blurred and She felt herself fall into place. The velvet interior of a car was around her, and she saw Kelle, smiling. Where was She? Her body was back, and she felt her lips move.

“Where are we?” She asked. She felt the strange sensation of fingers, and moved them on the glass of the car, feeling the newborn touch. They hadn't gotten hit by a tree, and she was still alive. Had the Whispers changed her death? Were they like modern Fates?

“I'm driving you home Lisi. Did you black out or something?” Kelle was there. Lisi was there. The fate had come back, she had her old life. No longer, was She the first organism. The blackness of night was again, the same sky pallor as in the land of She. It was really true, and she didn't know what would come next, but she knew She was gone. This was Lisi's hope.

“I'm back.” Lisi said.

Her paradox was done.

 

THE END

 

 

 

SECOND PRIZE:

BLUE

 by Isadora L.,  age 12

 

Moonlight fell through Nancy’s bedroom window. It came to rest on her last birthday present.

 “Today I am ten,” Nancy thought to herself. “Double digits!”

Nancy had gotten some very sad news, which had eaten away at her excitement.  She started to wonder if she’d ever remember these thoughts. Her hands traced the quilt that her Grandma had made for her when she was a baby. Grandma had given every color on the quilt a number. Orange was one, yellow was two, and purple was three, and so on. Last year she had been nine, which was red. This year she was ten, which was blue, like the ocean.

Frost clouded the window, and outside snow lined the streets. Car’s headlights cast shadows across Nancy’s bedroom walls as they drifted down Elm Street.   Headlights illuminated her tidy, small room. The walls were painted blue, and the floor was wooden with a little, oval gray carpet next to her bed. On the windows were little white curtains with a rose design. Nancy’s bed was plain and wooden with yellow cream bed sheets covered by her Grandma’s quilt. In the far right of the room was a little desk with a chair. Also there was a little bedside table next to her bed and in front of the window.  The room was tiny but Nancy felt safe and cozy in it.

Nancy turned to look at the last present, enclosed in a plain, wooden box. It was the only one from her Grandma. A sob rose to her throat, her grandma had died just today, on her birthday. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and tried to blink back the rest of the tears. Grandma’s doctors told them that she had died of a heart disease. She imagined her energetic grandma lying on the floor, frail and helpless unable to move. A shiver went up her spine; she didn’t want to think about it.

Uncertainly, she reached towards the box. Her fingers swept gingerly over the rough wood. Did she dare open it? Her hands clasped the lid and slowly lifted upward. Nancy drew in her breath as she saw what was inside. A beautiful conch shell lay nestled at the bottom of the box.

A vivid memory came flying back to her. Suddenly Nancy was a five year old, walking at Hanson beach, staring admiringly up at her Grandmother with devoted love. Her Grandma had a young look about her that Nancy had never seen before. Her name was Hillary; it seemed to fit her, the little girl had thought, while looking at her Grandma’s round blue eyes, gray bouncy curls and rosy cheeks. Her Grandma leaned over and picked up a big shell and handed it to Nancy. “This is a conch shell when you put it to your ear you can hear the ocean,” she had said.

 Back in her room, Nancy carefully picked up the shell and put it to her ear. It did sound like the roar of the ocean. Nancy ran her hands over the shell’s rough grooves. Inside it was shiny pink and twirled around like the inside of a human’s ear. Nancy dipped her nose toward the pearly pink inside of the shell. It seemed to smell like her Grandma’s perfume mixed with the salty smell of the ocean.

Why had her grandmother given this to her as her last present? She twisted her hands together and tried to think. Gingerly she turned the shell over in her hands repeatedly. Soon Nancy came to a conclusion; this was the conch shell she and her Grandma had found on Hanson beach. The answer hit her like a punch to the chest. Tears of happiness and sadness poured down her cheeks. This was her grandma’s goodbye present to her, a souvenir of a memory they had shared together.

 

THE END

 

 

Third prize:

Pickles

By Rebecca G., age 11

 

I’m pretty sure my parents wrote the manual on how to NOT raise your child. From the name, to the food, to the car, everything is just . . . wrong! I know they mean well, but all they do is completely ruin my social image.  And it’s because of my parents that my middle school life will be ruined. It’s only the first day of middle school but I know, after The Moment, well, let’s just say I'll be at the lower end of the popular list.

“Ahem,” a well dressed lady says loudly. Oh no.

“My name is Miss Blackwell. I will now take attendance.” I listen, scared.

“Madeline Laker,” Miss Blackwell barks out.

“Here.”

Here it comes.

“Pickle Leonard.” The class erupts in laughter.

“Is this some kind of joke Mr. Leonard?”

“No. It’s my real name.” I hide my head. Miss Blackwell raises her eyebrows and continues.

When the bell rings for lunch, I sigh. Lunch is another obstacle in surviving middle school. My parents always pack my lunch and any money I get gets spent right away. And if I don’t eat, after school I’m hungry and my parents get all concerned. So in short I have to eat the lunch my parents pack for me.

And their lunch is gross lunch. They just don’t understand real food. Like if I ask for Fruit Roll Ups they take rice paper and fruit and they stick the fruit on the rice paper with peanut butter. Then they roll up the rice paper with the fruit still on it.

I find an empty table at the back of the room and sit down. As I open my lunch, a girl sits down at my table.

“You’re Pickle, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is your middle name Dill?” I get this a lot, but this girl seems sincere.

 “No its Orion.” I start picking at my lunch- a sardine sandwich, onions, and a “fruit roll up.”

 “How did they pick your name?”

“The last thing my mom ate before she gave birth were pickles.”

 “Oh. My name’s Nalia. I have to go back to my friends now. We were curious about your name.” Nalia leaves and my heart sinks. I thought she was nice.

When the bell rings for the end of school I brace myself for interrogation. From my parents of course. And the usually chatter and arguments about what to name my little-soon-to-be born sister. The first name will be decided on her date of birth but the middle name is going to be picked out before hand. I avoid the crowd of people and walk 3 blocks home. I walk in and hear voices.

“Jenesis!” my mom cries out.

 “Silver,” my dad counters.

“Freedom.”

“Mellana.” I groan and sneak upstairs. Without luck.

“Is that you Pickle?” my mom asks.

“Yeah. I have, umm, a lot of homework,” I fib.

“All right.” I continue heading up and lock myself in my room, the only place I can be alone. I actually have no homework tonight, so I pull out the model airplane I’ve been working on.

“Time for bed!” my mom calls up to me. After a delicious dinner of something I couldn’t identify, I hid in my room, undisturbed, drawing. Until now.

“But Mom it’s only 7:30!” I say, glancing at my clock.

“Yes and you have to wake up at 7:30 tomorrow so set your alarm clock Pickle.”

“7:30! But school starts at 9 and we live 3 blocks away,” I protest.

“Good night Pickle,” my mom says more firmly. I make a face when my mom’s back is turned, but get into my pajamas anyway.

"Say good night to your sister,” my mom says. I awkwardly stroke my mom’s stomach. My mom tucks me in, kisses me, and sings me a goodnight song. Yes I’m in 6th grade.

After she left, I turned on my lamp and took out my notebook. I started designing my dream parents. At 10, the time my dream parents would put me to bed, I turn off my lamp, switch my alarm so it will go off at 8, and take a trip to dream world.

THE END

 

Fourth Prize

The Rainbow

By Karsyn L., age 12

 

Once there was a little girl named Meg and she loved to play in the puddles after it rained. It was her absolute favorite thing to do. She would put on her light pink rain coat and shiny galoshes then dash outside to splash in the muddy puddles. She was never alone because her dog, Kit, loved to play in the puddles also. One day while Meg was playing in a puddle a rainbow began to form at her feet. She froze in shock as it grew. It grew high into the sky, growing taller than anything she had ever seen before. Many beautiful colors soared through the cloudy sky.

Curiously, Meg began to climb up the rainbow and Kit reluctantly followed. Soon, she could see the neighbor’s backyard and in no time at all she was high enough to see her whole neighborhood, but she hadn’t reached the top yet. They hiked up the rainbow until they reached the very tip top. And when they reached the top, it was magnificent! The houses looked like dollhouses and the people looked as small as ants. Meg wondered if the people below could see her all the way up there. She didn’t care though. She was tired so she sat down and let her feet dangle off the edge. A soft breeze floated by her legs as it drifted under the rainbow. Kit must have been tired too because when he lied down next to Meg he let out a big sigh.

For a long time, Meg and Kit just sat there, silently, enjoying the view. Meg stroked Kit’s soft black coat and Kit would watch the cars and people down below. A few birds flew right over their heads and Kit would occasionally bark at them. Meg noticed the sky had become a shade of orange which meant it was getting late and dinner would be ready soon, so she started back down the rainbow, only this time she was sliding down it. Kit wasn’t too fond of the idea but followed Meg like a loyal friend.  Once they both reached the bottom, the rainbow began to slowly disappear, fading into thin air with only parts of the colors still remaining. Meg and Kit went inside to have dinner but Meg never told her mom or dad about the rainbow. She figured it was her and Kit’s secret. Meg went to bed that night, hoping that tomorrow would bring her another rainstorm, and hopefully, another rainbow.

 

THE END

 

Honorable Mentions

 

Sonya’s Story by Azaria H.

Hero-Girl by Kylie H.

The Old Script by Anne K.

Sugar Maple Lane by Simone L.

Devilish Little Angel by Maria R.

Blue by Alyson W.

A Day with Nature by Kelly Z.

 

Give the winners some love! Add a comment here! 

 

 

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