Jayden was obsessed with zippers almost from birth. The swish of a zipper always turned tears to laughter.
When a toddler, Jayden’s fascination with interlocking teeth equalled the zip-zip-swish. Zippered items were treasured more than any store-bought toys.
When grandparents visited, Jayden targeted Grandma’s handbag. Zip. Zip …
“Is that boy still obsessed with zippers?” said Grandpa. “Has he been tested yet?”
“It’s just a phase,” said Dad.
“Humph,” said Grandpa, opening his Gladstone bag. Swhooosh.
Jayden stopped. What was that?
Grandpa closed the bag. Blonk.
Swhooosh; blonk. Swhoosh; blonk.
Jayden abandoned Grandma’s bag for Grandpa’s.
Zipper phase zipped.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Anxiety can be read at the Carrot Ranchhere.
Anxiety is probably familiar to most of us at some stage of our lives — starting a new job, public speaking, waiting for a medical diagnosis. We all feel it in lesser or greater degrees. Even children feel it. It’s not uncommon for children to feel some anxiety when starting a new school. But children aren’t the only ones. Parents may feel some anxiety about how their children will fare. It may or may not surprise you, that teachers feel it too. Having spent most of my life in schools as either student or teacher, where else could I go with this prompt?
First Day Jitters
“I feel sick.”
“My tummy feels all jumbly.”
“My head hurts.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“You’ll be okay once you’re there. Everyone feels the same on their first day at a new school.’
“But what if they don’t like me?”
“They will. Come on. You’ll feel better when you’re up.”
“But what if I mess up?”
“You won’t. Close your eyes. Take some deep breaths. Relax. You can do this.”
Everyone was already seated when he entered the room. They smiled. “Good morning, Mr Clarke.”
He smiled back. “Good morning, children.”
She was right. He could do this.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt The ’49ers can be read at the Carrot Ranchhere.
Here’s a bit of trivia to introduce my story in case, like me, you weren’t aware of the term forty-niner. Forty-niner refers to miners and others who took part in the 1849 gold rushes in California. Charli does say we can go where the prompt leads, but I hung around looking for a nugget. I hope you enjoy it.
The ’49ers
The history buffs needed a name for the trivia competition — nothing mundane and overused like ‘The No Hopers’ or boringly obvious like ‘Work Mates’ — something meaningful, not overly obvious, but not too obscure.
“How about The ’49ers?” one suggested.
“Perfect!” the others agreed.
No one thought too much about the monikers of others, but was it coincidental that each week The ’49ers scored exactly 49?
Another team scoffed. “Should have been ‘Clueless’.”
“They’re certainly not all 49.”
“Forty-nine and more, I’d say.”
When the night’s theme was the gold rushes, the researchers showed their mettle and panned the gold.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt The Wish I Made can be read at the Carrot Ranchhere.
As many of you know, for the past several years, I have been participating in the weekly flash fiction challenges at the Carrot Ranch. The challenges have begun again with a few changes for 2022. I intend to continue responding to the prompts as often as I can. I hope many of you will join in too. Charli Mills, writer-extraordinaire and convener of the challenges, explains the new format in her first prompt post for 2022. Head over there to check out the details if you are interested in joining in future prompts.
You can read all responses to the prompt in the collection at the Carrot Ranch when they are published each Wednesday. This week’s collection will be published next Wednesday 2 February.
For me, the prompt is an interesting coincidence as I’ve been working on a couple of stories about wish fairies (when I should be writing about a sorcerer’s apprentice — just can’t seem to get these prompts right). This story is nothing like the other stories I’m working on but relates to the warning ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ Spoiler alert — it doesn’t have a happy ending. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
The Wish Penny
Patsy was always wishing for something.
I wish I had a smaller nose.
— luxurious curls.
— a rainbow tutu.
And her wishes always came true. After all, she was a wish fairy.
As soon as one wish was fulfilled, she wished another.
I wish I had pearly white teeth.
— dainty feet.
— a diamond tiara.
I wish, I wish, I wish …
One day, Patsy found a shiny, round, brown object on the ground. She examined it, reading the word engraved, ‘Penny’.
I wish I was a Penny rather than a Patsy, she said; and rolled away silently in the dirt.
Okay. Didn’t like that one? What about this one?
The Wish Penny V2
Patsy was always wishing for something.
I wish I had a smaller nose.
— a warm coat.
— a pair of shoes.
But her wishes never came true. Why would they? There’s no such thing as magic.
But she never stopped wishing and hoping.
I wish I had clean clothes.
— something to eat.
— someone to love me.
One day, Patsy found a shiny, round, brown object on the ground. She examined it, reading the word engraved, ‘Penny’. As she rubbed it, she whispered, I wish I had someone to play with. Suddenly, she heard the children calling, ‘Patsy! Come and play!’
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
When I thought of goats, children and stories, I thought of one of my least favourite children’s stories: The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids. I’ve written about it before, explained why I disliked it, and even wrote another flash fiction in response to one of Charli’s prompts about it.
There was nothing else for it. I had to attack it again in another way, hoping to put it in a more positive light. I hope you like it.
The Littlest Goat
“You’re too little.”
The all-too-familiar chorus stung but he determined to show them size didn’t matter; not the way they thought.
Before long, opportunity came knocking.
The others were too stupid to check before opening the door, too slow to escape the intruder and too big to hide. The littlest one watched from the grandfather clock as the wolf devoured them one by one.
When Mother returned from Christmas shopping, the littlest goat told all. Together, they found the greedy wolf and rescued his brothers.
The littlest goat showed that being clever, quick and brave beat size any day.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Although Charli gave an extended time in which to respond, I wrote my story Mud Cake Recipe in the usually one-week allocation. Some of your lovely comments encouraged me to continue the story a little further, which I have done here.
I hope you like it.
A Muddy Conclusion
“It’s just mud. It’ll wash off.”
“But it’s everywhere. Those children are unruly. My children would never —”
“And where are your children now?”
“Hmpff!” said the neighbour, stomping home, muttering about impudence, inconsideration and downright rudeness. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
“Come on,” said the mother. “Let’s get you and the fence cleaned up.”
With buckets, brushes and rags, the children washed the fence. When it was done, they turned on each other. “Bullseye! Got you!” They tussled and tumbled. Laughter filled the air.
The neighbour glowered at the mud-covered children. “Well, I never,” she said.
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She watched from the side, longing to join in, fearing being ignored. Or worse, banished. Determined to beat her shyness, she’d shuffle one step forward, then the old insecurities would immobilise her, reminding her she didn’t belong. One foot forward. Stop. Another foot forward. Stop. She was almost there when the game paused, and they looked directly at her. She froze. They feigned whispers hidden behind hands. She didn’t need to guess. She ran and hid behind a tree, wishing for invisibility. “I’ll never belong!” Soon one face appeared, then others. “Please come and play with us,” they chorused.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
She wrote a message on each piece of paper and folded them into tiny boats. At the lake, she launched them from the bank, then watched the rainbow flotilla sail across the water. Curious ducks investigated, capsizing one or two, but the rest sailed on. A turtle popped up, knocking one off-course. It smashed on the rocks, but the rest sailed on. A dragonfly alighted on one, enjoying the free ride as the rest sailed on, finally reaching the other side. A child fished one out and opened it to dry. He read the message, then smiled and waved.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Today I am delighted to introduce you to the author and illustrator of The Adventures of Grandmasaurus and The Adventures of Grandmasaurusat the Aquarium Rescue Centre published in Canada by Common Deer Press. While most interviews and reviews I share are of Australian authors and illustrators, it is a pleasure to have this opportunity of introducing you to author Caroline Fernandez and illustrator Shannon O’Toole, both Canadian.
About Author Caroline Fernandez
Caroline Fernandez is an award-winning Canadian children’s author. She lives, writes, and bakes in Toronto, ON.
About illustrator Shannon O’Toole
Shannon O’Toole is a Toronto based illustrator, painter and elementary school teacher. She has illustrated Stop Reading This Book!,The Adventures of Grandmasaurus series, as well as The Math Kids Series published by Common Deer Press. Her playful illustration work is inspired by the unique and humorous characters in her life. Aside from illustrating books for children, Shannon has exhibited her artwork in galleries across Ontario. When she is not drawing, Shannon can be found curled up with a cup of coffee, watching old movies.
About The Adventures of Grandmasaurus at the Aquarium
Grandma is at it again! Moonie and I just want to enjoy our class trip to the Aquarium Recue Centre, but Grandma has other plans.
When dust makes her sneeze and turn into different Mesozoic Era marine reptiles it’s up to us to track her down, stop her funny business, and make sure we still have time to finish our field trip reports.
I always loved writing with my children at school. It was such a buzz as they put their stories and ideas on paper. They loved making books of their stories and reading them to their classmates and other classes. In fact, to anyone who would listen. I always provided them with as many audiences as I could as, isn’t that the purpose of writing — to be read? They would take their books home to read to their family and pets. Sometimes I would type up their stories and compile them into an anthology for them to take home and share.
In my class, we were all writers, all authors. Sometimes, older siblings felt they had to share their ‘superior’ worldly knowledge and burst their happy balloons. My story is about that and about the fact that sometimes a belief in oneself is more important than what anyone else thinks. I hope you like it.
Imposter Syndrome
When Dave revisited his junior school, he smiled to see the chair in its usual spot.
“Get down,” his big sister had said. “You’re not allowed on there. It’s only for authors.”
“I am an author,” Dave said, holding up the book he’d made in class.
“Not a real author. Real authors have real books published by real publishers, and their feet touch the floor. Anyway, it’s time to go.”
This time, when Dave sat in the chair, his feet touched the floor. The audience hushed as he opened his real book and began to read. Imposter no more.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your comments. Please share your thoughts.
Norah Colvin 