Writing For Children Part 6, And A Book 'The Photograph' Continued Live On Ezine Articles

I couldn’t leave it there.

Writing doesn’t have to be the lonely process some writers make it. ‘Life’ needs to continue, particularly the social life.

Some people don’t have the luxury of a rich social life, but through the Internet do enjoy meeting a range of people throughout the world, in forums, chat rooms, via e-mail and even on the phone.

If your children access such areas make sure it’s safe. Monitor everything they do there.

That said, this is the first time in our history that not only adults but children too can gain a unique insight into the lives of other people around the world. What an exciting time to be alive, and what an opportunity to share our imagination and dreams.

One throwaway line can create a story that will be read by millions.

The Photograph is a story I started in the last article. I needed to continue it quickly to see where it was going, if there was a future in it or whether it would peter out.

Let’s find out.

I just read the last line, switched off as much as the brain can, and now begin the next line:

I raced off to the oval where it hadn’t stopped raining since I started school. It didn’t matter how hot it was the rest of the week, sport meant rain. Usually hail too, and a wind that blew through your head and came out your feet. Today it was hot.

REALLY hot! I was sweating when I got there and passed-out after the first lap.

“That’s pathetic” Mr Peters the sports teacher said, coming over and pouring a bottle of warm water on my face. “I thought you were fit.”

“I was” I said, sitting up. “I’m not used to the sun that’s all. It’s always raining at sport.”

Mr Peters shook his head and walked off. I don’t think he likes me anymore. He looked over his shoulder. “Where do you live Emily?” he asked.

He does like me.

“Over there Mr Peters, the blue house, next to where they’re digging up the road” I started. “No, what country do you live in?”

Mr Peters is having a mid-life crisis.

“Australia Mr Peters.”

“And what’s the weather like in Australia, where you are?” he asked.

Ah, sarcasm. I recognised this. A lot of people use this on me, so I’m told, but I don’t usually get it. This time I did. “Hot” I said. He walked further away. “But it’s usually freezing” I shouted at his back. He waved a hand at me and didn’t turn around.

The bell went. I’ve always thought that’s a funny thing to say. ‘The bell went’. Where did it go, and why, when, who with, what did it do wherever it was it went and how did it get there.

‘The bell went’. ’That’s dumb that is. It must be a dumbbell. I said so, but the only one who heard me was a year three and he looked at me, screwed up his nose and rolled his eyeballs.

The bell rang. Sport finished, not that I’d done anything sporty. I went to afternoon recess in the library, took out a muesli bar and looked up at my friend in the photo.

She was still smiling gently down at me, as if she knew something I didn’t. It was more likely the other way around. The librarian looked friendly today. She wasn’t always. Libraries must be stressful places to work because sometimes people who work in them get very grumpy and snap your head off for no reason.

Today Mrs Book was being nice.

Yes, I know, Mrs Book. It sounds like a silly joke, but that’s really her name. Some people look for jobs that suit their names.

“Mrs Book”.

Mrs Book carefully placed her finger on the bridge of her glasses and tipped them down over her nose. She looked at me over the top of them. “Yes, what do you want Emily” she said with a posh voice. I don’t know if she is really English or just puts the voice on because she works in a library. Maybe being surrounded by books gives you a posh voice.

“You know that photo?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that Emily, I’m not a mind reader you know.”

There was that sarcasm again. I’m getting better at spotting it. “That one” I said, pointing at the picture stuck on the wall behind her. “Can I have it?”

I don’t know why I asked. It just came out. Mrs Book was so surprised she couldn’t find a reason to say no. Instead she found a reason to say yes.

“Well, I suppose. We’re having Book Week next week and I’ve been sent so many posters to hang up on the wall, but heaven knows where I’m going to put them.”

That posh voice again, and a strange expression to go with it. ‘Heaven knows.’ I wonder if heaven really knows, and if it does will it tell Mrs Book what she wants to know.

“Can I have the photo then Mrs Book, I’ll look after it.”

Mrs Book reached up and pulled the picture down, tearing blue tac off the wall with it. “There you are” she said, rolling it up tightly. “It’s been there for ever, I don’t even know who put it there.”

Wow, for ever. That is a long time.

I pushed the prize up my sleeve and found a quiet spot away from computer games and other kids mucking about. I took out the magnifying glass from my bag. I always carry a magnifying glass now, and a digital camera, since I found a strange creature crawling across the playground which had six legs, scales, sharp teeth and a horn sticking out of its head. It disappeared down a drain, and when I told everyone about it they just laughed at me. Now I’m ready for weird stuff like that.

I unrolled the photo and studied it closely. She was pretty, the girl in the picture. Prettier than me I thought. I looked closely at the other people too, taking in all the detail in their faces, what they were wearing. A couple of the men had bulges in the jacket pockets. What could they be carrying?

Then I looked at the mug the girl was holding. That just wasn’t right.

I peered through the magnifying glass at some printing and the logo on the mug. ‘Albany Primary School’ it said. That was impossible.

The girl smiled serenely at me. She’d changed her hairstyle since yesterday. It looked nice, cropped short like that. Changed her hairstyle!?

People in photographs don’t change their hairstyles. They don’t change anything, they’re photographs! I must have made a mistake.

The bell went. “Go on, hurry up or you’ll be late” the girl in the photograph said.

I didn't expect the story to go there, and I have no idea how the imagination is going to justify it all. Sometimes you do need to work at that, sometimes it comes out first time if you let it.

This is a first draft too. The raw material that will need to be cropped, adjusted, tinkered with. That's the real fun part. Or, it will just come out in one go and just work.

Or not.

The important thing is not to worry and panic about it, and once it's finished let it go, send it to wherever you're sending it, give thanks to whatever higher authority you give thanks to and move on to the next project.

If people like it, that's nice. If they don't, so what?

Traveling is all about the journey, as is life, and writing, and the destination isn't important. Nice if you get there, but if you don't, look at where else the journey took you.

And where next with The Photograph? No idea, but I will let you know, so keep watch..

Article Source: http://www.content.onlypunjab.com

Rob Daniel is a children's author, creative writing, memory and self-esteem teacher. He lives in beautiful Albany on the south west corner of Western Australia, has a passion for mangos, the Greek Islands and bringing the best out of young people. He has been booked to go on a creative writing tour of primary schools around the south-west in September, and is very excited about the adventures he's about to have! 'Rob Daniel's Magical Mystery Tour Of The Imagination' is calling at Esperance, Boulder and Perth, eight one hour sessions in five schools. Rob creates 'turn the page' children's e-books with illustrators from around the world. You can check out and buy these books instantly from www.chocmint.com You'll also find an opportunity to join the chocmint adventure yourself, if you have a passion for writing and illustrating for children. LATEST book published 'A Tail's Tale', illustrated by UK artist Elizabeth Stringer. Part proceeds from books go towards sponsoring children at the Bear-Care orphanage in Kitgum.

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