This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that “rethinks the hero.” Define the hero, comparing or contrasting to the classic definition. Break the mold. What happens to the hero in the cave? Is it epic or everyday? Is there resistance or acceptance? Go where the prompt leads!
If there’s one thing that writers can do is write their characters out of any situation. What many of them wish they could do is write themselves into a publishing contract. Whatever we choose, we all must be the hero of our own journey.
Nearly every class has a clown who becomes the hero for students by adding a humorous diversion that reduces the stresses of the day. The same student may frustrate the teacher by disrupting the class and not taking the lesson seriously.
While I was never the class clown—I wouldn’t have enjoyed the attention and would never have been considered funny—I always liked to consider alternative possibilities and was sometimes accused of not taking things seriously enough while fending off accusations of the opposite by others. You’ve probably noticed similar in my writing. What can I say? I’m a Gemini.
Both writers and class clowns think creatively, which is perfect for World Creativity and Innovation Week which begins this Thursday.
Not so much in the younger grades in which I mainly taught, but in the older grades, students are often provided with hypothetical situations for which they are required to provide survival strategies. I’ve gone for the opposite of the literal cave, as Charli suggested, but still the literary cave.
I hope you think my class clown/writer has used their creativity to solve the teacher’s survival puzzle. If only it were that easy.
Survival Hero
“Consider this,” said the teacher. “You’re stranded alone in the desert. Your vehicle has broken down about 15 kilometres from your destination. Your visit’s a surprise so you’re not expected. There’s no internet service and your phone is dead. You’ve packed water and a little food in a backpack. What else should you take to be the hero of your own journey?”
The students huddled, discussing options.
“Compass,” suggested one.
“Pocket knife,” said another.
“Flashlight.”
“Mirror.”
“A pencil.”
“Why?”
“I’d just add an ‘s’ — change that desert to dessert and she’s sweet.”
“You’re our hero,” the others agreed, laughing.
Note: ‘she’s sweet’ is an Australian saying for everything’s okay.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Norah Colvin 
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