Before you rush out to purchase anything from this noble little company, it’s important to know that, after a few cocktails, he asked if I might be interested in writing a couple of short bedtime stories which would be suitable for kids.
I feel that this writing request speaks directly to the publisher's credibility.
The very nature of this gentleman's proposal reminds me of the time when the local Budweiser representative thought it to be a sound idea for me and my buddies, Mike and Shane, to staff the beer tent at a music festival.
That’s the only job I ever had where I needed a designated driver in order to get home.
As I recall, we violated about 18 local alcohol statutes that night, but we all got dates out of the experience. For the record...Shane ended up with the girl who peed her pants and threw up all over his car.
I emailed my writer friend, Amanda, feeling that she would make a much better candidate for this project. Reminding me that she is far more responsible than I, Amanda insisted that I give it a try…to stretch my wings and expand my horizons...
This is precisely why I hate Amanda.
Amanda
It’ll be fun!!! You can do this.
Jim
I don’t know how to explain things to kids…especially in the form of a bedtime story. What do kids like?
Amanda
Adventure! Excitement. Fantasy!
Jim
Fantasy??
Amanda
Not the kind YOU’RE thinking about.
Jim
Excitement huh? How about this? “The asshole literary editor who picks people apart due to sexual repression...AND locks little children in his mother's basement.”
Amanda
I don’t think so. And, I don't think Mike, The Editor, would like that too much.
Jim
He's an editor...he doesn't like anything.
Amanda
Try this as an exercise…use descriptive phrases to tell a story which holds a moral and teaches a lesson…indirectly. Kids tend to learn things when they think they’re NOT overtly being taught a lesson. They like to “randomly” discover lessons in life.
Jim
Sort of like the way politicians win elections? Or how one talks someone into having a one night stand.
Amanda
Precisely
Jim
Here goes…
…It was a cold, windy evening as Billy slipped into bed.
He wondered if the “noises” would haunt him on this evening as they had so many nights previous.
He heard the same squeaky sound just outside his bedroom door…at first, faint, then growing louder and louder, increasing in cadence with each passing minute as the R. Kelly song blared in the background.
Amanda
Um, I don’t like where this is heading…
Jim
…The squeaks grew violently loud, accompanied by woeful screams from his parents. Billy was terrified, it sounded as though someone was doing great harm to his mom and dad.
His mom could be heard pleading, as though she were fighting for her very life.
“OH GOD! GOD! OOOOOH GOD!!” Billy’s mom screamed. His father screamed back “You’ve been very bad, haven’t you? NOW you‘re reeeally gonna get it good!!!”
OH NO! Billy thought. Dad was punishing mom for something terrible she must have done. What could it be?? Billy wondered.
Amanda
I think I’ve read enough…
Jim
Wait! I’m getting to the M. Knight Shyamalan twist!
…Billy asked his father about the violent episode which he'd heard emanating from the bedroom the night before. His father seemed bewildered. Suspiciously prying Billy for more information, his father grew visibly angry by the minute.
You see, Billy's father wasn't home the night before...he’d been away on a quick business trip at the gun and knife expo.
Amanda
…Uh huh
Jim
Billy now lives with his grandparents and often wonders what happened to his mom and dad after the authorities escorted him to his grandma and grandpa‘s house.
His grandfather no longer speaks. He sits for hours on end in the back yard, staring blankly into space, aimlessly pounding a stick at the ground.
His grandmother cries a lot and simply tells Billy that mommy and daddy had to go away. The End.
Amanda
Please tell me that you NEVER plan to have children. Please?
While Amanda has little faith in my abilities, I found an inner motivation that afternoon and decided to submit a couple of little bedtime stories. What’s the harm in that?
Many children’s stories seem to hold a lesson, cleverly hidden within the plot. Lessons about life, love, civic pride, community service, acceptance, etc. Sort of like the "Fat Albert Show" or "What's Happenin"...only not as racially stereotypical.
I decided to tackle a very important issue which would help parents in potty training their child:
Little Miriam woke in the middle of the night to a foul and horrific odor in her bed. Her sheets and clothing were covered, as though she’d fallen asleep with a gallon of double chocolate fudge ice cream (which had melted) and a rotting dead animal. She began to cry.
Her parents had urged her to do number-2 before bedtime, but Miriam was morbidly terrified of the toilet. In trying to train young Miriam, her parents grew frustrated, using every tactic they could imagine to potty-train her. Including rubbing her nose in her own poo, since it seemed to work effectively with the dog...and grandpa. (He's 98)
Her fear goes back to when her uncle Steve babysat her and told her of the child-eating sewer monster which snatches little children through the toilet bowl, dragging them deep within the depths of the narrow pipes.
The monster never devoured the little children alive, he waited until they drowned in a rancid mixture of organic compounded sludge, feces, urine and contaminated water-- since many people continue to illegally dispose of used motor oil and household chemicals in city drainage lines, causing irreparable environmental damage.
Storyline/Plot Note: Uncle Steve voted for Al Gore. He's also a radical environmental terrorist who spends most of his days plotting to blow up factories and large discount department stores which build on or near protected natural rights of way or near Indian burial grounds.**
**(Not the Indians to which large corporations outsource…the drunken casino owner Indians.)
When Miriam would act up, uncle Steve, never having had children of his own, employed the only method he could devise in order to make her behave. He would dangle her, precariously, above the bowl. Her feet barely met the water line as uncle Steve warned her of the child-eating sewer monster that eats little children who misbehave.
One day Miriam’s parents arrived home early, catching Steve dangling Miriam above the toilet. Steve spent the next 3-weeks in the hospital, eating from a straw. He's also no longer allowed to baby sit, for many reasons. One of which includes his being arrested in a joint FBI and Department of Homeland Security raid for environmental terrorist activities.
Miriam, on the other hand, still poops her pants from time to time but, over the past 26-years, psychological therapy, adult diapers and Xanax** seems to be helping her to make great and positive strides.
**Ask your doctor if Alprazolam is right for you
She is now a successful assistant director of the Municipal Sewer and Water Board and tirelessly works to clean up the city’s watershed pollution problems.
You see, Miriam stayed in school, she “Just said NO” to drugs, she didn’t have sexual relations until she was in a loving marriage and she ate all of her veggies so that she would grow up to be strong and healthy.**
**She steers clear of foods which contain natural laxatives and people who are named Steve...for obvious reasons.
The End.
I figured that I should submit two stories…so that the publisher could gain a better grasp of my writing versatility.
Kids seem to relate better to stories where animals are involved, so I felt it to be wise to include a little story about acceptance and the rewards of pushing forward in the face of adversity which life inevitably serves.
Here’s one such story of a young little girl and her bully next door neighbor. This is the story of Joanna and Geoffrey the Giraffes:
Joanna (Jo) realized at an early age that she was not like all the other giraffes in the herd.
Her growth was stunted and she was confused about her sexuality early on in life…much like the character played by the talented and under rated Nancy McKeon in “Facts of Life.”
Her neighbor, Geoffrey and his friends constantly teased Jo for her small stature and her fondness for playing softball.
Day in and day out, Jo wondered what ridicule would dog her at the hands of her mean, taller bully of a neighbor and his friends. She decided that she would empower herself…refusing to cower to the much taller giraffes.
What they held in impressive height, they lacked in brains. Sort of like Paris Hilton.
A game of softball!! Yes!
She would challenge the bullies to a game of softball. Hoping to finally squelch the hurtful words from the bully-giraffes, Jo figured that this was the only way she could show them once and for all.
It was a hard fought game with back and forth scoring throughout. The game reached the final inning with a tied score. Jo and her team badly needed a game-winning run.
Jo was “at bat.” The pitch was level, sailing perfectly across the plate. She swings and makes contact! The ball soared like a graceful bald eagle (even though there are no bald eagles in the Serengeti Grasslands of Africa.)
The crack of the bat projected the ball like a bullet, piercing the late afternoon sky. The ball sailed just past second base toward Geoffrey and his fellow outfielders.
They anxiously waited-- the cradles of their open gloves pointed upward to the brilliant azure sky as they raced deeper and deeper into the outfield…where a helicopter was landing, carrying a full load of tourists.
As the helicopter softly made contact with the delicate amber reeds which dot the majestic Serengeti, Geoffrey and his fellow outfielders were instantly decapitated by the rotor of the chopper blades, piloted by an old alcoholic tour guide.
Blood, teeth and severed tendons splattered in the punishing, whirling chopper blades, slinging the horrific, bloody mess across the beautiful field...and all over the windows of the chopper.
Terrified tourists screamed and cried, frantically exiting the chopper as a pack of rabid hyenas ravaged the freshly decapitated giraffe corpses.
Geoffrey’s severed head landed squarely against the outfield wall. And so, the price for being tall had been paid in full.
The “short jokes” no longer seemed so funny to anyone on that field on this particular Fall afternoon as Jo and her team won the game; never again to face senseless ridicule for her height or love of flannel shirts, women's league FIFA soccer and Melissa Etheridge Cd’s.
Remember…from the seed grows a root then a sprout. From the sprout, the seedling leaves. From the leaves, the stem. Around the stem, the branches and, at the top, the beautiful flower, which was not decapitated by the punishing blades of a helicopter due to hurtful, narrow-minded mentality.
We cannot say that the seed causes the growth, nor the soil. We CAN say that the potentialities for growth lies within the seed in mysterious life forces, which , properly fostered, take on different forms.
In this case, an aging, drunken helicopter pilot who landed too closely to a herd of giraffes.
The End
It’s been 4-weeks since I submitted the requested samples to my publisher friend.
I haven’t heard anything yet, and he’s not returned any of my calls…but I understand that publishers are busy people. I’ll keep you updated.
In the meantime, I’ve begun my new children’s piece. This one will be geared toward early teens. It’s titled:
“Jennifer and the missed period.”
It’s about a young woman who doesn’t do well in English Composition class. I feel very good about it!
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010
