Every year I seem to do several versions of my entry for the SCBWI Tomie Depaola award Contest. this year was no exception. I did two completely different settings for Little Red Riding Hood prompt. The passage I used was “Her grandmother lived in the woods, about half an hour’s walk away. When Little Red Riding Hood had only been walking a few minutes, a wolf came up to her. She didn’t know what a wicked animal he was, so she wasn’t afraid of him.”
In the end I sent the Central Park Little Red Riding Hood, but I always wonder if I should’ve sent the other one/ones. Which one?
You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout, I’m telling you why,
Santa Claus is coming to town!!
It’s… a… difficult responsibility
That he extract from the number-one law keeper, me
Be it known throughout the land from sea to sea
There’ll be no more.. toy… makers… to the King!
All the little cares picked along the way
Suddenly have disappeared with yesterday
My world is beginning today!
You wish to give me… a present? A… a toy?
No one ever gives mean old Warlock a toy.
I’ve always wanted one.
And that is the story of Santa Claus.
Hey, it’s getting late, and I’ve got these letters to deliver. You better be getting home, too.
And remember, behave yourselves, because Santa can still look into his magic snowball
and see just what you’re up to. And now that you know all about him, you can be darn sure that
come snow or high water, Santa Claus is comin’ to town!
“Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving.”
Poor, misguided folks. They missed the whole point. Lot’s of unhappiness? Maybe so. But doesn’t Santa take a little bit of that unhappiness away? Doesn’t a smile on Christmas morning scratch out a tear cried on a sadder day? Not much maybe. But what would happen if we all tried to be like Santa and learned to give as only he can give: of ourselves, our talents, our love and our hearts? Maybe we could all learn Santa’s beautiful lesson and maybe there would finally be peace on Earth and good will toward men._Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town_ Movie
Look, sir, look what was discovered on your front stoop.
What, Grimsby? The milk? The daily paper?
No, sir, a baby.
Oh, is that all?
[gasps and chokes]
This is the only clue, sir. It says, “Claus”.
Ah, take the little, er, baggage to the orphan asylum. That’s the proper place for foundlings anyway.
[the baby starts to cry]
Get that brat out of here!
It’s a difficult responsibility
When you an accept an appointment from His Majesty
You must strive for just the perfect quality
When you’re the first toy maker to the king!
Who nears my mountain! Go back or you are doomed!
Well I guess they’re all pretty nice!
I hate toys! And toys hate me! Either they are going or I am going and I definitely am not going!
Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the City of London, even including — which is a bold word — the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley, since his last mention of his seven-year’s dead partner that afternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change: not a knocker, but Marley’s face.
Marley’s face. It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up upon its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot-air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression. ~Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
Sub It Club is a blog/community that supports writers and illustrators to get their work “out there”. Whether you create illustrations or are a writer of kidlit, adult novels, non-fiction, screenplays, or poetry, Sub It Club provides the knowledge and inspiration to keep going strong.
In my interview, I get to talk a little about the process of creating a promotional postcard. If you’re interested, here’s the link! https://subitclub.wordpress.com/2015/01/19/the-postcard-post-roberta-baird/
“Underneath this little stone
Lies Robert Earl of Huntington;
No other archer was so good -
And people called him Robin Hood.
Such outlaws as he and his men
Will England never see again.”
_Roger Lancelyn Green
I was delighted to receive this new edition in the mail from the publisher Dawn Publications. What a joy to see that children all over the world are reading and learning about alligators and other swamp creatures in The Swamp Where Gator Hides written by Marianne Berkes. This book is available on Amazon.
I’ve been working on some readers that have kept me pretty busy. Mostly fairy tales which I really enjoy creating. But when work is done and I have a few spare minutes, I let my pencil wander. This is where it goes, to the land of little creatures, where fairies collect the things that go missing in the house, and whose friends are the crickets and the mice in the woods. Won’t you join me?
“Did you ever grow anything in a vegetable garden, or a flower garden? Do you ever grow anything in the garden of your mind? Sure, you can grow ideas in your mind. You can think about things and make believe things. That’s like growing something of your own. You have wonderful ideas, all you have to do is think about them and they’ll grow.” _Fred Rogers
If we all thought like Mr. Rodgers….what a beautiful world it would be.
There once was an old woman who possessed a remarkable “green thumb.” Flowers bloomed, trees bore fruit, the grass was always green on her small half an acre lot…. and yet the land that surrounded her oasis was barren, dry and void of life. The only interruption in the landscape was the lifeless and cumbersome machinery poised to devour the small Eden she had tenderly cared for.
The man who spearheaded the conspiracy, had many times been dismissed. In his gluttony, he conceived a plan to torture the woman by detaching a part her anatomy each time she denied him access to her property. The intent was not to kill, but to terrify.
The first surprise encounter resulted in the loss of a thumb.
When the ambulance arrived to hasten the woman to the hospital for medical treatment, they found her drenched in blood still tending her garden amidst her great pain. Sadly, the woman died en route to the hospital.
While the villain in this evil ambush remained anxious about the woman’s death, the glee in his victory absorbed any thoughts of humanity he had left.
As he surveyed his newly acquired property, he became aware of a sound. A familiar mumbling, a quiet sing song voice of adoration. As he moved into the garden he found her… busily tending to herself in the garden. “You see” she said “Everything I touch grows…. even me ……..”
Adapted from a story first shown on the television series The Night Gallery, to read the original story, Green Fingers, which is so much better, by RC Cook go Here
Beware it’s a spooky one!
To view the Night Gallery Episode go HERE
This is a piece I did for a Educational reader a little while back. It’s interesting how the original story differs from the Disney version that so many of us are familiar with. It’s much darker.
Miranda Mummy groaned in despair…
“When I open my coffin, I’ve nothing to wear!”
Then she looked in her mirror and said with a pause….
“Does my bottom look bigger when wrapped up in gauze?”
Her very best ghoul friend knew just the right trick.
“I’ll pull on this string and you’ll soon look less thick….”
~by Roberta Baird