Taking another stab at Writing for Children
Pete and Repeat sat on a wall
Repeat fell off
Now Pete can finally move on
writing for children
Childs Play (Dino Wars)
There’s no school today and the natives are restless.
I’m not really sure why the children are getting a holiday. They had last Monday off in honor of Martin Luther King Jr.! How many holidays do these kids need?
Maybe this is for the teachers?
Or maybe it is the day of the Dino Wars. Where dinosaurs and Star Wars meet in the mind of an eight year old boy.
Yes, the same grandson that shunned my attempt at writing for children has Tyrannosaurus Rex pooping a Raptor. Go figure….
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When a Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
The Ants and the Grasshopper
THE ANTS were spending a fine winter’s day drying grain collected in the summertime. A Grasshopper, perishing with famine, passed by and earnestly begged for a little food. The Ants inquired of him, “Why did you not treasure up food during the summer?” He replied, “I had not leisure enough. I passed the days in singing.” They then said in derision: “If you were foolish enough to sing all the summer, you must dance supperless to bed in the winter.”
That cautionary tale from Aesop’s Fables [as we all know] is intended to discourage slothfulness. It does not however go on to tell children what happens to lazy, good for nothing, don’t want to work and can’t even sing worth a damn beggars. That’s when a picture is worth a thousand words.
Ant #1: I’m really looking forward to vacation.
Ant #2: Yes indeed. Ah, the rewards of labor.
Yo, I been so busy singin’ I ain’t had time to tend to business can you little dudes help a hopper out?
Sure we’ll help you out- out of your wings and your legs. Now dance you lazy bum!
More and more I am entertaining the idea of writing for children. With that in mind I added a few captions. Children like that sort of thing. 😉
Credits: The Ants and the Grasshopper: Aesop (2012-05-17). Aesop’s Fables Translated by George Fyler Townsend. Kindle Edition.
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Switched at Birth & Writing for Children
Have you considered writing for children?
That is a question I have heard more than once and the answer is always yes. Yes indeed I have considered it but considering is a far cry from accomplishing.
I wrote a poem last year for my grandson when our fancy goldfish died because (as I explained to him) this sort of thing gets the creative juices flowing and writing can be very therapeutic.
Shubunkin
(From Interior Verse PLUS Pose Prose & Poems)
Little shubunkin all silver and pumpkin
with calico dotted on scales
You streak through the water
no teeter or totter fanning your cute tiny tale
You race and you turn but the water don’t churn
never so much as a swish
I’ll miss you shubunkin, your dashin’ and dunkin’
but oh what a sweet taco dish
I thought he would find it entertaining instead he cried and said “that’s not funny Nana and I don’t feel better.” Oops, my bad.
This same grandson loves the Skippyjon books by Judith Schachner so when he had finished mourning the goldfish he asked, “Can you write something like Skippyjon Jones and make him be a pirate?” I of course wanted to rectify the damage I had done so I quickly penned him another little poem.
Skippy Red
In the house where he lived void of laughter and kisses
In the room where he smoked and the little dog pisses
Where the ghost of a bloke stirs a foul reminiscence
Lies the frame of a maimed Skippy Red
…
Go down, go down poor Skippy Red
Alas, alas no water to tread
No ropes, no planks, no breaking of bread
In your world of endless abysses
…
Go on, go on let sleeping dogs lie
A new crib for you, twas a good day to die
Hoist a fresh cup, here’s spit in your eye
Abaddon is better off dead
…
Farewell, farewell Skippy Red
Well… Dang it!! I struck out again! Being scolded by a seven year old for saying piss is a shameful experience but at least he didn’t cry.
I wanted to impress him with my literary accomplishments be a good grandmother so I scribbled a few more verses. Judging from the look on his face each one was worse than the one before so after a few hours I untied him. He rubbed his little wrists, shook his head and walked away. At that point I had to be honest with myself and admit …
My grandson may have been switched at birth.
The Real Janna Hill in 