I have been silent on my blog for an entire year. It both surprises me and doesn’t surprise me at the same time. I knew I had done very little writing this year, but I didn’t realise I had done none!
I have struggled this year to find any head or heart space for writing. I just felt empty. Sadly, I couldn’t rally the energy to sustain any meaningful reading either. So, as well as neglecting my own blog, I have neglected yours too. It’s not that I didn’t think of you or didn’t have the wish (I did). I just didn’t have the will. I apologise and hope that you will forgive me. I hope to slowly make my way back to some writing and reading next year. In the meantime, I wish you
For my story, I used the word blanket to mean cover, obscure or block, in particular, like a cloud blocking the sun. The inspiration came from a recent post called Enveloping Tranquility by blogger friend Annika Perry, in which she mentioned ‘a cloud of butterflies’. If you haven’t done so already, please pop over to Annika’s blog and read her delightful post.
I loved the idea and wondered at the thought of a cloud of butterflies obscuring, or blanketing, the sun. That’s where my imagination took me, perhaps not as far as the imaginations of the children in my story though. I hope you enjoy it.
A Cloud of Butterflies
“I’m gunna dig all the way through the world and come out in China,” said Nathan.
“I’m going to the moon,” said Mandy.
“You can’t get to the moon this way.”
“Can too!”
“The moon’s in space, silly.”
“So?”
Nathan sighed. “Let’s just dig.”
“It’s really deep,” said Mandy in a little while. “We can stand in it now.”
“Yeah!” said Nathan. He continued digging. “I hope it doesn’t rain. Tell that cloud to go away.”
Mandy shook her fist. “Go away cloud!” Then she said, “It’s not a cloud. It’s butterflies!”
“Wow!” said Nathan. “A cloud of butterflies!”
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
A few years ago, 2015 to be exact, I was fascinated by a huge kaleidoscope (swarm) of blue tiger butterflies as they migrated northwards in autumn. I’ve always loved the word kaleidoscope as the collective noun for butterflies, but how appropriate cloud is too. The migrating butterflies may not have blocked the sun like a blanket, but they cast shadows on the sand as they flew over the beach. Magnificent!
If you’d like to read more about the blue tiger butterflies, follow this link and scroll down a couple of paragraphs, or follow this link. In this second article, the migrating butterflies are referred to as a cloud. So, there it was all along.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Insect Nation, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
It was finally time for the event of the year, Spike couldn’t believe it— THE GREAT RACE was here! The other sloths said it couldn’t be done, but Spike didn’t care, she was ready to run!
About the author
Rebecca Young is an award-winning author from Sydney. Her first book, Button Boy, illustrated by Sue deGennaro, was a Notable Book for the 2012 CBCA Awards and has been published internationally. In 2016, Teacup, illustrated by Matt Ottley, won the Patricia Wrightson Prize for Children’s Literature in the NSW Premier’s Literacy Awards.
About the illustrator
Heath McKenzie is an award-winning children’s book illustrator who has written and illustrated countless books for children. Heath lives in Melbourne with his wife, two kids, dog, and a fish that he considers more of a lodger than a family member.
I had a few ideas for this one but couldn’t seem to make any work until I went back to my two young girls Amy and Lucy and their favourite toys. I hope this one works. Enjoy!
The Garden Party
Ellie observed that the table looked delightful. Ollie said he’d never used such fine chinaware before. Teddy commented that the fairy cakes were scrumptious and iced tea was perfect for a warm day. Everyone agreed. Amy and Lucy beamed.
Afterwards, the guests offered to help with the dishes.
“No way,” said Amy. “You’re our guests.”
“We insist,” said Ellie. Swiping swiftly with her trunk, she launched the plates likes frisbees. Ollie deftly caught them and stacked them by the sink. Teddy frothed the soap suds and washed while Lucy dried.
“Many hands,” said Amy, putting cups and plates away.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Optimism, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
I’ve written another episode for Amy and Lucy. I hope you enjoy it.
Amy, Lucy and the Cookies
“I’m home!” Dad crouched at the door; arms outstretched ready to cuddle his girls.
“I’m ho-ome!”
“Shh, in here, Dad,” Lucy whisper-called from the kitchen.
“Oh my,” said Dad, surveying open doors, packets spilling contents on counter tops and floor, bowls, dishes and spoons fighting for space in the sink, and two bright-eyed floury girls.
“What are you making?” he asked aloud. “Other than a mess?” inside his head. “Where’s Mum?”
“Resting. She’s got a headache,” explained Amy. “Chocolate cookies.”
“To make her feel better,” said Lucy. “Wanna help?”
“Can I lick the spoon?”
“Okay,” the girls giggled.
“O-kay!”
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous promptA Story with a Lie, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
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.
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.
As a teacher who also loved to write, I used to love inspiring and nurturing a love of writing in my children. The desire equalled my love of reading and of picture books. We wrote together every day (they wrote, and I wrote at the same time). We often wrote collaboratively, authoring stories, songs, and poems together before they wrote their own. They wrote independently and of their own volition, especially in free time. I, and they, would often say, “That would make a good story.” I loved reading and responding to the messages they wrote to me in a daily diary that gave me a window into their lives and the things that were important to them.
To encourage their writing, there was always a great variety of paper, pens and other essential equipment available to them. While I didn’t ever have a desk such as I describe in my flash fiction (it is fiction, you see), I can just imagine how they would have loved it and how they would have imagined themselves at it while writing in the office (writing corner). I hope you can imagine it too.
Writer in Residence
The large old oak writer’s desk with multiple drawers, pigeon holes, an ink well and leather writing mat faced the room.
Upon it, a multitude of cups stocked with pencils, pens and other writing and drawing tools sat ready. The pigeon holes held a magnificence of paper and cardboard, and the drawers essentials like scissors, glue, rulers, lettering guides, clips and stapler. It was a writer’s paradise — perfect for the daily Writer in Residence.
The children loved it. Especially when they were Writer for the day with freedom to organise, reorganise and create to their heart’s content — growing writers.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Norah Colvin 