Yikes!

  So this next story may be difficult for me. I was challenged to write a more exciting, edge-of-your-seat story and I was given a very simple story suggestion: writing about a sofa that eats everything put on it.

  I'm accepting both of these suggestions so my next story will be a very enthralling, nail-biting story about a sofa that eats household items!

 This should be a new and exciting challenge for me and I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out and I hope my readers are too!
 Hopefully I'll have it finished by Saturday or Sunday night. Check back at the end of the week to see what I come up with. :)

Ideas, anyone?

I hope all of you enjoyed reading my last couple stories. I've been a little lazy about posting them on time but I'm going to do better, I promise!

Today I'm accepting story ideas for my next story that I will write. For first time readers I'll let you know the guidelines for suggestions:

My stories are about 1-2 pages on Microsoft Word so the suggestions should be about 1 or 2 sentences long. Please do not ask me to write a story on a very in depth topic.

Story suggestions can be about almost anything. They can be funny, serious, sad, happy, silly, goofy....whatever you want. If you want to get ideas of what I've already written you can browse through my past posts.

I always love to write stories on new topics so start posting ideas! If I don't pick your idea this time around please post it again next time I ask for suggestions!

I look forward to reading all your ideas. :)

Ack!

So I did it again. I got busy (and a little lazy) and didn't post my story when I said I would. But after a reminder from "Anonymous" I got it done just now and am pleased to be posting it! It's not as refined and polished as I would like but considering I'm half asleep right now I think it's pretty good.

I hope you agree after you read it. The topic is...well I'll let you figure it out for yourself.

The Morrison’s lawn was one of the nicest greenest lawns on Fair Oaks Drive. Mr. Morrison would wake up every Saturday morning, drink his coffee, read the paper then head outside to cut the grass. His lawnmower was one of the more expensive kind. He couldn’t just have any low quality mower cutting his grass. After mowing he would trim the hedges and then bag all the clippings setting the bags neatly on the curb. Mrs. Morrison would come outside at exactly twelve o’clock to bring her husband an ice cold glass of lemonade while they both stood back and admired his hard work. The freshly cut green grass looked dazzling in the afternoon sunlight. After a few minutes the sprinklers would come on and gently shower each blade encouraging healthy growth.

  All the neighbors loved the Morrison’s yard. Mr. Johnson from next door would walk by and admire it shaking his head in amazement. The neighborhood children never let their soccer balls stray to the Morrison’s yard and even the dogs would not soil the healthy green grass.

  In fact the only ones who did not like Mr. Morrison’s dedication to mowing his lawn were the blades of grass themselves. Now you might be thinking that grass blades have no thoughts or feelings but that would be your mistake. People often hear their chattering but assume it’s the sound of locusts or crickets. However, if you really got down on their level you would hear them unmistakably conversing with each other. They had been discussing for a while now what they could do to stop themselves from being trimmed every week. You might wonder why the grass did not like to be trimmed. Think of it like a haircut. A haircut is necessary on occasion but if someone cut your hair every week you might become annoyed after a while.

  And so this is the state the grass found itself in. They were beginning to think they had no hope of overcoming the giant mower until one of the blades had an idea.

  “Why don’t we all duck when the mower comes to trim us?” he said to the other blades immediately around him. Obviously he could not speak loud enough for every blade to hear and so the idea took time to spread across the lawn. Slowly but surely each blade got to hear this new idea and they all agreed it was their best shot at stopping themselves from being trimmed.

  “We have to lay really flat on the ground so the mower blades can’t reach us at all,” one of the younger grass blades squeaked.

  Over the next few days it was agreed that the next time Mr. Morrison came out to mow his lawn, the blades would lay themselves flat on the ground as the mower  passed over them and then spring back up completely unharmed and untrimmed. The blades’ excitement grew more and more as Saturday got closer and finally it was the dawn of that fateful morning.

  Around eight o’clock, Mr. Morrison woke up, got dressed and went downstairs to read his paper and drink his coffee. After the last sip, he laid the paper down on the table and went outside to tend to his lawn. The grass blades quivered with excitement as they watched him pull out the mower. To a casual observer it would seem as though they were just blowing in the wind but really they were just too excited to keep still. This was the moment they had all been waiting for.

  Mr. Morrison wheeled the mower out onto the grass and started it up. All the blades watched carefully as the mower began to carve its path of destruction past the front porch. Holding their collective breath, they waited to see if the grass blades would spring up once the mower had passed over them. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then one brave blade poked its head up. He had been untouched by the mower and was as tall as ever. One by one the other blades began popping up as well. The grass cheered itself on watching happily as the mower passed harmlessly over each blade. This went on for about an hour as Mr. Morrison went back and forth down the lawn meticulously covering each foot apparently unaware that the grass he was mowing was no shorter than when he started. 

  When he had gone across the entire lawn, he turned the mower off and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Another perfect cut,” he said out loud, congratulating himself on a job well done. As he turned to look at his work however, the delight on his face changed to confusion. The grass looked no shorter at all. Lifting his sleeve to his eyes he wiped them thoroughly to clean out any sweat or dirt that may be affecting his vision.

  At second glace however, the grass looked the same. It was all just as long as it had been when he started. He glared at his lawnmower instantly blaming it for this horrible occurrence and set about finding the problem. After several hours of taking it apart and putting it back together, he could find nothing wrong with it. The sun was getting hotter, he was becoming sweatier and the grass was still no shorter.

  Though this was a stressful situation for Mr. Morrison the blades of grass were delighted with themselves for solving this dilemma. They watched with spiteful glee as Mr. Morrison fought with his lawnmower insisting there must be a problem with it but finding nothing. Finally he decided to test it out again and set about mowing a strip of grass next to the curb.

 “Duck!” the grass blades would squeal as they saw the mower blades approaching them. And Mr. Morrison would look behind him astounded that the blades were still standing. Feeling dejected, he turned off the mower and left it standing alone in the yard.

  Walking over to the porch he sat down on the stairs, put his head in his hands and stared at the lawn wondering what he had done wrong. The door opened just then and his wife came out with her customary glass of cold lemonade.

  “Here you go, darling. Your lemonade is ready,” Mrs. Morrison said. She held the glass out for her husband to take but quickly retracted it as she noticed the condition of the grass.

  “Oh I thought you had mowed the lawn by now,” she said, looking very bewildered. Mr. Morrison had never worked on the lawn past noon.

  “I did cut it,” he said, still staring with a dazed expression. His wife shook her head.

  “No, darling. The grass is just as long as it was this morning. It has not been cut at all. No lemonade till you finish the job,” she insisted, turning and walking away with the ice cold glass. Mr. Morrison sighed as he heard the door shut behind her.

  “I cut the grass,” he told himself.

  Mr. Morrison spent the rest of the day pouring over the owner’s manual for his lawnmower and checking each part for the tiniest flaw. He stooped down to observe the grass which of course held very still and didn’t utter a sound. Mr. Johnson from next door walked by and his usual amazement was replaced by a look of disdain.

 “You should cut your grass,” he yelled out to Mr. Morrison who pretended not to hear. Mrs. Morrison finally called her husband in for dinner but refused to give him lemonade.

  The grass blades rejoiced all night in their victory chattering freely and relishing the chance to grow taller over the next week. Things were finally looking up.

 For Mr. Morrison however, things only got worse.  The grass blades enacted their clever plan the following Saturday and the one after that so that after several weeks they had almost tripled in height. Mr. Morrison’s wife no longer brought him lemonade, Mr. Johnson looked the other way when he walked past the Morrison’s lawn, children carelessly kicked their soccer balls onto the grass and dogs went out of their way to soil it. Of course Mr. Morrison never figured out the grass’s secret and it’s said that if you walk by the Morrison’s front lawn on any given Saturday chances are you’ll see him kneeling next to his perfectly functional expensive lawnmower looking for a broken part and swearing that he cut the grass.

Writing time!

Ok so I received one story suggestion that I write about blades of grass putting up a fight against a lawnmower using flexibility and superior numbers.

I have never written a story even remotely similar to this one so it'll be a challenge but one I'm excited about. It's always fun to try new and different things. Because I'm a little behind on schedule I'm going to give myself  a week from now to publish the story here. So next Wednesday *hopefully* I'll have it done.

So check back in a week and be thinking of a story idea for my next round of suggestions.

It's that time again.

Hello again, readers.

I've been gone for a while but I'm back now and ready to write! Today is the day of the week that I take story suggestions.

For first time readers here, the story suggestions need to be just one or two sentences so I can write a one to  three page story.

I'll pick one of the story suggestions and write a story on it that I'll post on Saturday. It'll be open for comments and constructive criticism.

So now it's your turn. Let the story suggestions flow. :)

I'M BACK!

Did ya miss me?!

So after a few weeks of busy-ness, procrastination and laziness I have finally finished my story and am happy to present it to you!
If you haven't read the first part please go back and read it first! Here is a link to the post with the first part of the story:  http://melswritingcorner.blogspot.com/2012/07/sundaaaaay.html 

 I'm going to post a little bit of it with this second part for those who already have read it but might have forgotten.

For anyone who's completely new to the blog, this is my third or fourth story and the topic is telling the story of a slave in 19th century Louisiana from the point of view of a white person who is neutral on the topic of slavery.
Since it's hard to write a story about absolute neutrality, I made the "white person" struggle with the topic of slavery in his own mind trying to figure out if it's morally right or wrong.

Anyway, here's part two. I hope you enjoy it and please please leave feedback!

“Were you singing negro songs to my little girl this morning?” Mother asked succinctly.

 Hannah nodded, still refusing to look up.

“I do not want my child’s head full of your nonsense songs, understand? You will go the rest of the day without eating and if I ever hear you sing around my little girl again your punishment will be much more severe.”

 “Yes, missus,” Hannah mumbled, sinking into a deep curtsey. She scurried from the room and Mother looked down at Louise who seemed completely unaware of what had just occurred.

“You must never sing that song again, darling. It is quite bad and you must put it out of your mind. Can you do that for me?” Mother asked, in a sickeningly sweet voice. Louise looked up at her and nodded.  Mother continued eating muttering something about having words with Sarah later on.

  I stabbed at the peas on my plate and thought about what had just happened. Were the slaves in fact abused and downtrodden as the Israelites had been?  Hannah had just been told not to eat for the rest of the day which was surely a form of torture. Mother had always said the slaves were lesser humans so perhaps they needed to be trained by harsh punishments and beating as one would beat a horse or a mule into submission. Sighing, I tried to put these confusing thoughts out of my mind and focus on eating my peas.

  For the rest of the afternoon I sat in the parlor with my mother and sisters while Emilie worked on her needlepoint and Louise practiced writing the alphabet. Mother had bought her a small chalkboard where she could write each letter over and over until Mother decided it was perfect.

  I sat at the table by myself fiddling with my chess set. It was not as much fun now that Father had passed on and Mother did not know the rules of chess nor was she interested to learn. Emilie had asked to play but Mother insisted it was a man’s game.

  Twiddling a pawn between my fingers, I looked across the room where to see Emilie sigh and drop her needlepoint in her lap in frustration. Mother looked up from her lesson with Louise.

  “What is wrong, my dear?” Mother asked.

  “Mother, I hate this needlepoint work. It is a nice day outside, I want to take a walk.”

  “Do not say “hate”, Emilie. It is not ladylike. And your needlepoint work is beautiful,” Mother complimented, walking gracefully across the room and looking over Emilie’s work.

  “It seems to go on endlessly, Mother. But if you wish me to finish I will.”

  Emilie picked up her work again and began stitching in a leaf.

 “What letter are you working on now, Louise?” Mother asked, walking back to the couch where her youngest daughter sat earnestly trying to write her letters.

  “E, Mama. It is so difficult. Will you help me?”

  “You have drawn too many lines, my dear. The letter E has three lines. Let me show you,” Mother offered, taking the piece of chalk in her hand.

  “What words begin with an E, Louise?” Mother asked.

  “Egypt,” Louise piped cheerfully. “Like Hannah sings about in her song.”

    My eyes shot up from my chess game to Mother whose face was turning red.

 “Louise I told you to never mention that song again,” she said, a slightly angry tremor in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Louise said, looking at Mother with wide pathetic eyes. “I was only trying to think of words that began with E.”

“Yes of course you were, darling,” Mother conceded, patting Louise absentmindedly on the shoulder. “I believe supper will be ready soon. Let us find our seats in the dining room.”

   Supper was not usually served so early in the evening but I was glad for any excuse to escape my lonely game of chess as was Emilie to get away from her needlepoint. However I could not help wondering why Mother was so upset about Hannah’s song. Was she afraid Hannah would flee our house as the Israelites fled from Egypt?

  These thoughts stayed with me all evening and continued when I went to bed. I lay awake staring at the ceiling remembering how angry Mother had looked when Louise mentioned Egypt. Eventually my recollections turned into dreams where Emilie had sewed a quilt so long it stretched into the yard and Hannah stood in the middle of it singing her songs. Mother sat in a rocking chair under a tree and cradled Louise in her arms covering her ears against the singing.

  I awoke in the morning to the rumbling of hunger in my stomach. Hurriedly I dressed and went downstairs to the dining room where Mother and my sisters sat talking.

 “Oh, Mother I am so looking forward to the dance next month. I hear that American boys will be there and they are the most handsome.”

  I rolled my eyes as Emilie got a dreamy look on her face.

  Melinda came in then from the kitchen outside with a tray of fresh biscuits. My mouth watered as she set them on the table. Hannah followed close behind her with a bowl I was hoping held gravy. As she approached the table I noticed her eyes had a faraway look and she seemed unsteady on her feet. Then suddenly in an instant she wobbled too far, lost her balance and collapsed on the floor spilling the gravy and shattering the serving bowl.

  Shocked, Mother and Emilie screamed and jumped up from their seats. Louise seemed to think the whole thing was an act and sat at the table laughing and pointing at Hannah’s collapsed figure. Melinda seemed frozen to the spot too terrified to move and her eyes were glued to Mother who looked as if she might fly into a rage at any moment.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, gesturing at Hannah’s limp body that still lay at her feet. She had not moved yet but I could not tell if she was unconscious or too afraid of Mother.

  Melinda jumped into action suddenly, shaking Hannah to wake her up.

“Hannah say she not feelin’ well this mornin’ but I don’t have nobody else to help me so I tell her she has to help. I get towels to clean the floor,” Melinda assured her, suddenly deciding the floor was more important than waking Hannah and leaving her there to awaken on her own.

  Mother sighed and sat back down in her chair.

“The girl is here only one day and she is already causing trouble,” she mused, shaking her head in disappointment. Emilie shook her head as well though she did not seem genuinely bothered.

“Why did Hannah fall down?” Louise wanted to know.

“I do not know, Louise. Perhaps Melinda could tell us,” Mother suggested as Melinda scurried back into the room carrying an armload of towels.

“I cannot say for sure, Missus,” Melinda answered, using the towels to clean up the mess Hannah made.
Hannah started to wake up just then and sat up shakily.

“What happened to you, girl?” Melinda snapped, gathering up the towels that had soaked up the mess on the floor.

 “My head feels dizzy and next thing I know I is on the floor,” Hannah explained simply.

“Are you ill?” Mother snapped again as Melinda helped Hannah up from the floor.

“No, Missus. I is hungry, that’s all,” Hannah explained. I looked at Mother who suddenly seemed uncomfortable in her seat.

“Mamma, did Hannah fall down because you told her not to eat?” Louise piped up curiously. Mother’s lips pursed together and I saw a vein in her forehead throb. She seemed to be struggling with the thought that Hannah’s accident may have been her fault.

 “Take this girl to the kitchen and see that she eats. After we eat she will return to the dining room and scrub this floor until it shines.”

 “Yes ma’am,” Melinda and Hannah said in unison. Melinda took Hannah’s hand then and half dragged her out of the room.

  Mother sat silently in her chair refusing to make eye contact with any of us, Emilie looked equally uncomfortable and Louise played innocent little games with her silverware.

  I thought about everything that had just happened and how Mother did not even apologize to Hannah for depriving her of food for so long that she fainted. Mother had always taught us to apologize when we did wrong to others and yet she felt no remorse for what she had done to Hannah.

  As I ate the food that Melinda brought in minutes later, I wondered what made the slaves lesser people. Mother said it was because their skin was dark colored but could the color of one’s skin honestly make them inferior to others?

  These thoughts went through my head as I walked through the yard after breakfast enjoying the cool breeze on this hot morning. A frog hopped across my path and I grabbed at it absentmindedly but it hopped away quickly with a relieved croak.

  As I walked I thought about Hannah and Melinda and the looks on their faces as Mother shouted at and reprimanded them. They had the same emotions I experienced: fear, sadness, and disappointment. Surely we were not so different.

  Rounding the corner of the house, I heard a strange noise coming from behind a small tree. It sounded like crying and I approached the tree to see who it was. As I got closer I realized Hannah was the one sitting on the ground behind the tree with her knees pulled up to her face crying into her hands.

  When she heard my footsteps she looked up and upon seeing my face, leaped to her feet and quickly wiped her eyes.

 “I am sorry, Mister,” she said, holding out her hands and looking down at the ground. I looked at them clueless as to what I was supposed to do. Hannah’s eyes glanced up at me and then quickly back down.

“I is ready for my punishment, Mister,” she said bravely, bracing herself. I looked again at her hands and noticed scars all over them as if they had been whipped several times before.

“I am not going to hit you,” I told her.

  Hannah held her hands up still for a few moments as if not sure whether to believe me. Finally she lowered them and curtseyed awkwardly.

“You are kind, Mister. I go back to work now,” Hannah said, and started to walk away.

“Why were you crying?” I asked, wondering what Mother would say if she saw me speaking to a slave. Hannah seemed to think it odd as well and for a second I saw a look of confusion in her eyes. She sniffed and wiped her nose still not allowing herself to meet my eyes.

 “Mister Joseph beat my brother somethin’ fierce today. Say he not workin’ fast enough and hits him more and more with a switch till he can barely stand. Then Mister Joseph tell him to wash off and get back to work. Not even lettin’ him rest,” Hannah explained, and I could hear the pain in her voice.

  I pictured a dark skinned young man who looked similar to Hannah kneeling pitifully in the dirt while Mister Joseph whipped him mercilessly with a switch. Mother sometimes used a switch on me when I was rebellious but she had never hit me till I bled.

  Feeling pity for Hannah, I opened my mouth to say how sorry I was but I was distracted by Melinda hurrying up to us. She grabbed Hannah by the arm and smacked her hand.

 “You lazy girl, get back to the kitchen and get on with your work,” she ordered, frowning at Hannah.

“’Scuse her, Mister,” Melinda said to me, keeping her eyes on the ground as Hannah had done. I nodded, still troubled by the picture in my head. 

  As Melinda dragged Hannah away once again, the young girl’s eyes met mine and in them I saw a look of pain and utter sadness. In that moment I thought of everything that had happened the past two days; Mother’s anger and scolding, depriving Hannah of food, yelling at her when she fell, the scars I saw on her hands and the beating she had witnessed her brother receiving. None of it seemed to make sense. Why should a girl so kind and soft spoken have to suffer so much? Did she deserve it for being a lesser human? Mother always said people have a guilty conscience when they do wrong but she never seemed to feel guilty for how she treated slaves. Did that make it right?

   I watched Hannah follow Melinda back to the kitchen and continued my walk, the picture of her sad eyes burned into my memory. It was obvious she felt real pain and cried real tears, things that I had done many times. It did not seem right that she should be treated differently than me. Frustrated with these thoughts, I trudged on trying to enjoy the nice breeze and beautiful sunshine hoping someday someone would be able to answer all my questions. 

Sorry!

Hey guys! Just wanted to let you know that I am still alive and haven't forgotten about this blog. I've had a very busy last couple weeks and I've also been lazy in writing the end of my story. I am working on it and have finished all but the last paragraph. Hopefully it will be posted tomorrow or Tuesday. If you haven't read the first part yet, please do. I really want some feedback on this story!

The reason I've been busy is because I finally got a job (thank God!) working as a childcare provider at my church's school. I worked three days this last week and though they were challenging I like finally having something to occupy my time.

Anyway, that's just a quick note and I'll write more later...hopefully the ending of this story. :)

Have a good week and pray that I will do well and serve God at my new job.

Almost August!

Hey guys! I've been really busy and yet really lazy lately and haven't finished the second part of my story. I am still planning to finish it as soon as I can...hopefully by this Saturday.

In the mean time, I'd love to hear your opinions about the Olympics. What are your favorite events to watch? I like the gymnastics and the diving. The swimming can be interesting sometimes too though I don't understand everyone's obsession with Michael Phelps. Especially the girls who swoon over him. I would say he's an 8 at best. ;)

Also, I posted about this last time and I'm still hoping some of you will check it out. While I've been unemployed I've used a website called Cash Crate.com to earn some extra cash. There are many different ways to earn money on the site: taking surveys, watching videos, and doing Cash Tasks which is my main source of earning.

Most of the tasks or surveys pay between 5 and 80 cents but the money adds up depending on how much you do each day. You have to earn at least $20 in a month to get a check the next month. I got a check last month for $23. In August I'll receive a check for over $40 but that was 2 months worth of work.

If you wanna check it out and sign up here's the link: http://www.cashcrate.com/3689544

It's a safe website as long as you don't give out too much personal information. I'd use an old e-mail to sign up for it in case you get some spam e-mail.

If you're looking for extra spending cash, please check out this website! You *will* get paid with legitimate checks.

So check out my link and eagerly await the second half of my story!

Sundaaaaay!

So I got busy/distracted yesterday and didn't post my story. So I'm posting it now. Well part of it. I was very excited about this topic and the more I researched and thought about the direction I wanted to take it the more I realized it could not be covered in just 3 pages.

So today I'm posting the first part of the story and I will hopefully finish the second part soon and post it sometime this week.

For anyone who didn't read previous posts, this story is on the topic of the life of a slave girl in early 19th century Louisiana told from the perspective of a white observer who is neutral on the topic of slavery.

I did research the topic of slavery and this time period so everything should be pretty accurate historically. If you have any questions about that, please feel free to ask.

Anyway, here is part one:

It was a hot Louisiana morning in the middle of August.  I was awakened as usual by the rooster’s crow and wished like anything I could go back to sleep. A light breeze blew in through my open window as I rolled out of bed to get dressed. I pulled a clean white shirt over my head and tucked it into a pair of black trousers. Pulling on a pair of socks and shoes, I checked my appearance in the mirror. Mother would have a fit if I came down with my hair sticking up as it was. Using a comb I tamed it so it lay flat on my head.

  As I left my bedroom I could smell the sweet scent of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen outside. My stomach rumbled hungrily as I tumbled lazily down the stairs and into the dining room. Mother was already sitting at the long wooden table showing my five year old sister Louise how to sit properly like a lady and use her fork and knife. My older sister Emilie sat watching them and giving bits of advice when she felt it necessary.

  “Good morning, Armand,” Mother said, looking up from her lessons with Louise. She gave me the once over to insure that I was properly dressed and groomed. Ever since I turned fifteen, Mother had treated me like a grown man and insisted I dress and act as a gentleman.

 “Good morning, ladies,” I said, with the polite bow that Mother had taught me. She smiled and motioned me to my seat. Since Father had passed away at the beginning of the year I had taken his seat at the head of the table. It felt wrong to sit there, I was not the head of the house. But Mother insisted.

 “What will you be doing today, Armand?” Mother asked, her large blue eyes prominent in her small round face.

“I thought I might go for a swim in the lake after breakfast,” I said, imagining how good the cool water would feel on my already hot and sweating skin.

“Mary and I are going to ride into town today, Mother! There are rumors of a new shop with the finest fabrics around and I need a new dress for the dance next month,” Emilie interjected.

  Mother smiled.

“That sounds delightful but be sure you are back before dinner. This afternoon I would like you finish your needlepoint.”

 “Yes ma’am,” Emilie said, rolling her brown eyes. She was excellent at needlepoint but despised it. Emilie was full of energy and life and sitting still for hours at a time was torture for her.

“Mama I am hungry,” Louise’s soft childlike voice said. “When is the food coming?”

“Soon, my dear,” Mother assured her.

  And it was just then that Melinda, our cook came in followed by a young black girl who I did not recognize.

“Good mornin’, missus,” Melinda drawled, holding a steaming pot of porridge in her hands padded by several towels and her apron.

“Melinda,” Mother acknowledged with a slight inclination of her head.

“Who is this girl with you this morning?”

“This be Hannah, missus. She came here jus’ yesterday and this be her first day in the kitchen.”

  Prompted by Melinda, Hannah sank into the best curtsey she could while holding a skillet of cornbread being careful not to make eye contact with any of us at the table. She looked unhealthily thin and her hands seemed to tremble slightly as if she had never before been presented to people.

“You say she is new as of yesterday?” Mother repeated.

Melinda nodded.

“Mister Joseph bought her yesterday in the town. Paid a good price too,” Melinda told her. Mister Joseph was our neighbor who had been helping Mother tend to the plantation since Father passed on. He would often go into town to buy us slaves or ride across the plantation to ensure the field hands were working hard and our crops of cotton and tobacco were healthy and growing.

“Well I hope she was worth it,” Mother said drily, giving Hannah the up and down look that she had given me. Hannah nodded her head slightly as if to say that she was worth the price and then followed Melinda around the table serving us each a piece of fresh cornbread with our meal.

“Armand will you say the blessing?” Mother asked. It felt strange for me to say the blessing; that had always been Father’s job. I said it just the way I remembered him doing it and Mother smiled at me as we finished by crossing ourselves.

“Mother, Mary says that she and her family do not cross themselves after prayers or pray to the Blessed Virgin,” Emilie commented as we began eating.

“She is an American, she does not practice our faith,” Mother explained. “Do not let her strange practices influence you. Our territory is owned by America but our souls are not.”

  Emilie nodded and continued eating.

   When breakfast was over, Emilie hurried from the table, eager to meet up with Mary and go into town. Mother told her to be careful and then looked to me.

“Armand I want you back from the lake before noon. And stay on the path. There are unwelcome creatures in the woods.”

  As I got up from the table to leave, Sarah, one of our young house slaves, came into the dining room to collect Louise. She was like a nanny to her and kept her out from under Mother’s feet as she and Mister Joseph took care of the house and plantation.

“Sarah I would like Louise to play outside today but keep her in the shade of the trees so the sun does not darken her skin.”

“Yes, missus,” Sarah said respectfully, careful as Hannah had been not to meet my mother’s eyes. Louise ran to Sarah happily, took her hand and began pulling her from the room. At that moment, Hannah walked in still looking shy and began collecting dishes from breakfast. Mother looked at her contemplatively for a moment and then said,

“Sarah, take this girl with you this morning,” as if she had already forgotten her name.

“She is new and I want her to learn all aspects of working in the house.”

Sarah nodded her head and motioned for Hannah to come join her. Hannah looked up helplessly, a pile of dirty dishes already in her hands.

“Take those to the kitchen and then send Melinda to collect the rest,” Mother said, sounding exasperated. With that last order she swept out of the kitchen, her long powder blue dress swishing back and forth on her hips.

  Relieved to no longer be under the scrutinous eye of my mother, I hurried upstairs to fetch my hat and then back downstairs and out the front door toward the lake. It was only a half hour’s walk and with it being such a nice day I decided not to take a horse. Grabbing a long stick I let it hang from my hand as I walked leaving a small weaving trail in the dirt behind me.

  I could see Sarah and Hannah watching Louise play under one of the many big trees that dotted the yard. Detouring from the path, I stooped to pick a buttercup and hurried over to my little sister. She looked up when she heard me coming and was delighted to see the beautiful yellow flower in my hand. I slid it delicately into one of her two little braids and she smiled.

“Am I pretty now, brother?” she asked, looking up at me expectantly.

“Beautiful,” I told her, with a smile as big as her own. She turned back to her playing, pausing every few moments to look at her flower.

  I turned to walk back to the path and as I went I could hear a voice singing. It was unfamiliar and so I knew it must be Hannah’s voice. The words of the song were difficult to make out but she seemed to be singing of Moses and the Promised Land. I had heard this song from other slaves singing in mournful voices as if they too were suffering a fate as horrible as the Israelites’. I wondered if they thought we, the white folk, were like the horrible slave masters in Egypt who beat and tortured the Israelites.

  I shook my head as if to convince myself that we were not. Our slaves were treated well. They all had food, clothing and shelter. Satisfied with this answer to my own question, I continued along the path eager to relax in its cool water.

 

  As mother instructed, I was home by noon and we had dinner together. Emilie babbled on and on about her trip into town and all the beautiful fabrics she had found. She had picked a dark green fabric for her new dress and Mary picked a pale yellow. Mother talked about her tasks of the morning and as she spoke, I heard Louise muttering the words of the song Hannah had been singing hours before.

  Mother heard her too just then for she stopped mid-sentence and put her fork down on the table. We all stared at Louise who was oblivious to us as she twirled her fork through her potatoes singing about Moses leading his people from Egypt.

 “Where did you learn this new song, Louise?” Mother asked, trying to sound gentle but there was still a hint of anger in her voice.

“Hannah was singing it this morning, Mother,” Louise answered innocently. “She said her mammy taught it to her when she was a girl.”

  Mother sat up and looked straight ahead, her lips pursed together. I could tell she was struggling to control herself. Turning to one of the slaves who stood in the corner to attend to us, she ordered,

“Go and fetch this new girl Hannah.”

  The slave disappeared immediately and returned moments later with Hannah in tow. The slave must have told her that Mother was upset for Hannah came in shaking even more than she had that morning and stared silently at the floor.

“Were you singing negro songs to my little girl this morning?” Mother asked succinctly.

 Hannah nodded, still refusing to look up.

“I do not want my child’s head full of your nonsense songs, understand? You will go the rest of the day without eating and if I ever hear you sing around my little girl again your punishment will be much more severe.”

 “Yes, missus,” Hannah mumbled, sinking into a deep curtsey. She scurried from the room and Mother looked down at Louise who seemed completely unaware of what had just occurred.

“You must never sing that song again, darling. It is quite bad and you must put it out of your mind. Can you do that for me?” Mother asked, in a sickeningly sweet voice. Louise looked up at her and nodded.  Mother continued eating muttering something about having words with Sarah later on.

  I stabbed at the peas on my plate and thought about what had just happened. Were the slaves in fact abused and downtrodden as the Israelites had been?  Hannah had just been told not to eat for the rest of the day which was surely a form of torture. Mother had always said the slaves were less than human and more like animals so perhaps they needed to be trained by harsh punishments and beating as one would beat a horse or a mule into submission. Sighing, I tried to put these confusing thoughts out of my mind and focus on eating my peas. 

Story topic

I'm going to close the comments for a story topic a little earlier than usual because I love the topic that's been suggested already. An anonymous reader has suggested I write a story about a slave girl in early 19th century Louisiana told from the perspective of a white family member who is neutral about the issue of slavery.

I like this topic for several reasons the first of which being that I love history and have always wanted to write historical fiction. Secondly, this is a topic/era that I do not know a lot about so I'll have to research it and I need to get in the habit of researching for stories.
Thirdly, my dad's side of the family is native to Louisiana and so it's a place I've visited many times and one that's important to me.

So I'm going to work on this story topic this week. Check back on Saturday and hopefully I'll have it done by then!

Monday already?

Alas the weekend is already over. There should be one week a year where it's weekend the whole week.

Oh well. If this is your first time reading my blog, welcome! I'm glad you've stumbled across (or been linked to) my page.
The purpose of this blog is to help me improve my writing skills by writing one short story a week inspired by my readers and posting it on this blog for compliments and constructive criticism.

On Mondays I usually ask for ideas from my readers about a story to write. The stories need to be short, around 1-3 pages on Word, so that readers can actually make it to the end in one sitting.
Since today is Monday I'm opening up the comment floor to suggestions of a story. Anyone can respond so if you're new to this blog or you don't know me very well or at all, feel free to still suggest a topic.

Since I'm only writing one story a week right now, obviously not everyone's story topic will be picked. I'll pick the one I like best, the one I think would be easiest, or sometimes the one I think will be the biggest challenge.
I'll write it during the week and post it on Saturday for people to comment on.

There are some rules about the topic suggesting/commenting.

-Since the stories are short, the suggestions have to be short. A topic between 1 and 2 sentences is best. Please no paragraphs or deeply developed plots. 


-The topics have to be G-rated. I want this blog to be enjoyed by everyone and comfortable for everyone. 


-I am a Christian and occasionally there may be a religious bent to my stories. I won't write on anything that goes against my faith and I won't accept criticism about my faith or views in any story comments. I understand that not everyone will agree with me but this is not the place for religious argument or debate. Please keep any such comments to yourself.

-If you comment on a story and give feedback I do need honesty but keep it polite and constructive. I love to hear compliments but I *need* to hear criticism. I'm a big girl so don't hold back telling me if you see something in the story that's horrible or needs fixing.

- No one reading this has my permission to copy, change, or re-post these stories elsewhere without speaking to me FIRST. If I found that someone was trying to get my story published or claim undue credit, I would pursue legal action against that person.

-Since I'm setting up rules for readers, here's my promise to you: These stories are inspired by my readers and so I will never try to publish them or sell them without the explicit permission of the person who suggested the topic. 


Reader, I hope you're still with me after that unpleasant block of bold. I feel like a mean old schoolteacher writing up rules but sometimes it's good to set out your goals and desires so everyone's on the same page.

So....now it's your turn. Think of a G-rated story topic about 1 or 2 sentences long and post it in the comments. Like I said, I can't pick everyone's topics every week but if I don't pick yours you can always suggest it next Monday.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and please comment below!

Thursday!

Hello everyone! I hope you had a good 4th of July. I've been lazy about this blog lately but I'm back....for a little bit. Next Monday I'm going to start asking for story suggestions again. But today I'm here to tell you about a site that I've been using called CashCrate.

I'm sure that you all know how companies like to survey their consumers to see what's popular and what's not. CashCrate is kind of the middle man where you can find these surveys and be paid small amounts for taking them.
Most of the surveys pay about 50-80 cents. It doesn't sound like much but it adds up slowly. Sometimes the surveys are even fun to take and you get to help decide on company's future advertising or slogans!

That being said, I should explain that CashCrate has *not* made me rich by any means and unless you're one of the few people with incredibly good luck it won't make you rich either. But it has helped me out during my time of unemployment and it's always satisfying to be paid for your work!

I'll explain a little bit about how it works and then you can decide if it's right for you or not.

Like any other website, you have to sign up with your information and part of that is because CashCrate needs to know where to mail your check. Yes, you get a paper check in the amount of your monthly earnings. Here is one of mine:

Yay! Moneyz! (Dolphins not included)

So after you sign up, you'll be asked to confirm your e-mail address and that will credit you $1. I would recommend using an old e-mail that you don't check often because you will receive spam mail if you use this site. Next you'll go to the homepage and have an option of different activities to earn money. 

Homepage! 

So as you can see from this picture, I've earned $21.02. This is combining June and the first couple days in July. You get a check like the one above^ sent to you once you hit $20. I didn't make it to $20 in June otherwise my check would have come this month. Since I'm over $20 now, my check will come next month around the 15th-20th. 

There are several different tabs you can click on such as "Offers." The offers can sometimes be tricky and I wouldn't recommend filling out any offer that requires a telephone number. Most of my earnings come from videos and surveys. The videos you watch will automatically credit you a couple cents on your account. The surveys usually take a little longer since the survey website has to send CashCrate confirmation that you took the survey. 

Sometimes the surveys can be frustrating and at times I've wanted to quit trying. You might be denied the opportunity to take some of them based on certain criteria the surveyors are looking for that you don't fit. Occasionally I've taken surveys and not been credited for them. But in my present situation of unemployment, I feel that the occasional frustration is worth it to bring in a little money. 

There is also a tab on the right side of the page that says "Check In". When you click this you'll see a little pop-up that says "Check In and View this Offer." You click that and are automatically credited 3 cents. You don't have to fill out the offer you just have to look at it and then close the window.

I have not explored the "Shopping" tab since that usually requires credit card information which I don't like to give out online unless I have to. The "Referrals" tab is where a lot of people have said they make their money on CashCrate. And that's what I'm experimenting with right now. 

If you would like to sign up for CashCrate and be my referral simply click this link:
http://www.cashcrate.com/3689544 

and check it out for yourself. You can start making money and help me out by adding to my earnings!

I've given you a very brief overview of the website and how it works and CashCrate has a FAQ page that will help explain everything better. Once you've used the site for about a week you'll get the hang of it! 

To sum up:

-CashCrate is a legitimate site and you will receive a check in the mail to pay you for your time and effort.

-Do not sign up for CashCrate with your main e-mail.Use an old account, one you still know the password for but that you don't mind getting spam sent to. You will receive spam if you give your e-mail address.

-Sometimes it can be frustrating if you don't qualify for a survey or get credited for one. You have to decide for yourself if the occasional frustration is worth it in your situation. 

-Do not ever give out your telephone number. You will receive spam calls. Just don't do it! 

-You will most likely not get rich off of CashCrate. Like anything, there are exceptions and success stories of people who hit it big. Most likely you will make between $20 and $30 a month depending on how much time you put in to it. 

-That being said, what your earn depends mostly on your efforts. If you only want to watch one video a day and earn about 2 cents, that's fine. If you want to spend a couple hours trying to qualify for surveys, that's fine too. There is no requirement of how much or little time you have to spend on this site.

So, if you're interested in a very easy way to make some extra cash in your spare time (cause let's face it, you're online all day anyway) check out CashCrate by going here:
                                      http://www.cashcrate.com/3689544 

You don't have to know me personally to sign up as my referral. I will not be able to contact you or see your personal information! 

Thanks for reading and check back on Monday!

Saturday story time!

Hello, readers. This week has been difficult and long for me and I could certainly use your prayers. I was able to finish my story about a princess facing her mortality during a raid on her castle. It was suggested by an anonymous reader so thank you, anonymous for this suggestion. Here's what I came up with:

  Princess Alyssa ran up the stone stairs as fast as she could. The screams of the peasants outside pierced her ears and sent chills down her spine. She ran breathlessly to her room and threw the door open. Inside, she saw her head lady in waiting huddled in the corner her eyes wide and frightened.

 “Princess, thank goodness you are alright,” the lady, Isabel, said, rushing forward and embracing Alyssa.

 “I was in the gardens when I heard the ruckus,” Alyssa told her, trembling slightly. “The guards came and told me to go inside and lock myself in my room.”

“Their screams are so loud, there must be hundreds of them out there,” Isabel said, leading the princess over to a chair and helping her sit. “Thankfully the rest of your ladies are off in the fields picking flowers and safe from this madness.”

“What do you think they want?” Isabel asked.

“Our lives,” Alyssa replied, slumping down in her chair and putting her face in her hands.

“My father has pushed them too far. He has been raising taxes for months and taking more and more of their food. He has even sent his soldiers out to scout for strong young men who they will force to be part of the army.”
 Isabel gasped.

“What a horrible thing to do,” she said, then covered her mouth and blushed realizing she was speaking against the King.

“I am sorry, my lady,” she quickly apologized. But Alyssa shook her head.

“You are right, Isabel. It was wrong of him to do those things. He has become so greedy. All of us have. It seems as though the royal family seeks nothing more than riches and wealth.”

  The princess looked up at Isabel with despair on her face.

“What if I die today, Isabel? I have always avoided thinking of death because I could not bear the thought of parting with such a luxurious life. Now it seems it will be forced upon me.”

“That is not certain, my lady,” Isabel soothed, gently rubbing the princess’s back and shoulders.

“But what if I do die?” Alyssa squeaked, her voice choked with sobs. “What do I have to show my Maker other than riches and wealth I cannot take with me? That will not impress Him.”

“None of us can take those things with us. That is why we cannot live for worldly possessions. We enjoy them for a time but then they are gone.”

  There was a loud crash from downstairs and Alyssa gasped and jumped out of her chair.

“The peasants have made it through the front doors,” she said, horrified.

  Isabel stood next to her and took her hand, struggling to remain calm for the princess’s sake.

“We should go into your bedchamber, my lady. You will be safer in there,” she insisted. The princess allowed herself to be led into her bedchamber and watched numbly as Isabel quickly closed and locked the door behind them.

“Why are you not frightened, Isabel?” the princess wanted to know.

 Isabel smiled and helped the princess take a seat on the side of her bed.

“I am frightened, my lady. But I wish to be brave for you. And I know if I die I will be with Jesus.”

“I am not sure that Jesus wants me anymore,” Alyssa admitted, looking guiltily at the floor.

“My life has become a quest for riches and even though I knew my father should not tax the people as he did, I said nothing to him or my mother because I wanted more and more wealth. God cannot be pleased with such selfishness.”

“God is always willing to forgive if one is truly sorry,” Isabel explained comfortingly.

“I am truly sorry,” Alyssa insisted. “And I am thankful for his forgiveness but I still do not wish to die.”

“No one wishes to die, my lady,” Isabel told her. “But all of us must leave this world someday.”

“I am only seventeen,” Alyssa sighed. “I have barely had a chance to live my life.”

“That is not true,” Isabel insisted with a smile. “You have done many exciting things and have many happy memories.”

“Will anyone remember me?” Alyssa wondered.

“Of course they will, princess. But you must stop talking like this. The guards will protect us and the peasants will be sent home.”
“I hope so,” Alyssa said, wincing as she heard more screams from downstairs. They were getting closer and the princess imagined it was only a matter of minutes before they would be right outside her door.

“Would you like some water, my lady?” Isabel offered.

“No thank you, Isabel. My stomach is in knots and I do not believe I can eat or drink anything till this is over.”

  Isabel nodded and sat back down next to the princess.

“If I live past today I will strive to live a life more pleasing to God,” Alyssa decided. “I do love all my fine things but I do not wish them to be my idol. And I do not wish to be remembered as a princess who boasted in her wealth while the people of her realm starved.”

“Perhaps you can return some of their money to them,” Isabel suggested.

“My father has been quite generous to me these last few weeks. I am sure I do not need all the money he has given me,” Alyssa mused aloud.

 “I can visit the peasants and show them that I do care for them by returning the money my father unjustly stole.”

 “That would be a very kind thing to do,” Isabel agreed with a smile. “The people will be encouraged to know they have an advocate in you.”

“They will never know such things if they kill me however,” Alyssa whimpered, straining to hear exactly where the fighting and yelling was occurring.

“My lady, be at peace. God is watching over us.”

“I do not wish to die,” Alyssa squealed. Isabel took the princess’s hand in her own and squeezed it tightly.

“Pray, my lady. Pray for peace,” Isabel encouraged.

 Alyssa closed her eyes and Isabel could see her lips moving but her body still trembled. Suddenly there was a loud pounding on the door of the princess’s outer chamber. Alyssa’s eyes flew open and she screamed.

“They are here. They’ve come to kill me!” she cried hysterically. Isabel wrapped her arms around the princess feeling tears forming in her own eyes.

“Do not fear, my lady. It shall all be over soon.”

 They were both silent listening to the ruckus and pounding outside. Alyssa was convinced at any moment the peasants would flood into her room eager to punish her for her misdeeds. Then, just as she had lost all hope she heard a familiar voice calling to her.

“Princess Alyssa, are you well? The peasants have surrendered and are being sent home. The castle is secure.”

 Alyssa squealed with delight.

“The captain of the guard! He is safe and we have won,” she exclaimed.

“Praise God!” Isabel breathed, embracing Alyssa in an excited hug.

“I must ensure my parents are safe,” the princess decided, sliding off the bed. “And I must speak to my father. I should like him to reconsider his heavy tax on the peasants.”

“I am sure after today’s events he will not need much convincing,” Isabel said.

 Alyssa nodded in agreement and left the room with Isabel right behind her, both thankful God had spared their lives. 

Thanks for reading and feel free to comment and tell me what you liked/disliked and why. Keep the comments focused on the writing and not what you thought of the topic/subject matter. 

Happy weekend!

Avon anyone?

    -We interrupt your regulary scheduled blogging to bring you this public service announcement!-

I've been unemployed since last October and have been looking for ways to make money while I continue job hunting. I decided to try my hand at Avon but I've had a hard time getting the word out. So I figured I would post the link to my website here and encourage my readers to check it out!

www.yourAVON.com/msessoms

If you go to that link and click on "Shop Now" you can browse Avon's online store. I used to think Avon was just make-up but it's much much more! They have everything from lotions to handbags, bubble bath, body wash, nail polish jewelry, shoes, dresses and tops, even bugspray!

Avon recently opened up a new line called Tiny Tillia that is all about the little ones! You can buy clothes for your little guy or girl, bibs, totes, nursery furniture and toys. It's all super adorable and very affordable!

The best part of the website is that you can order from anywhere in the country and have products shipped directly to you instead of waiting for an Avon rep to deliver them.

Avon has been around for a while but it's making new and exciting changes all the time. Check out my website via the link above and I guarantee you'll find something that you will love. And spread the word to your friends so they can discover exciting new products from Avon too!

       -We now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.-

Tuesday?

I don't usually post on Tuesdays but I didn't get story suggestions till late last night after I had gone to bed. My two suggestions were:

Write a story about a reporter interviewing a political candidate. (HenryJackson)

And

A young princess faces her own mortality as a mob of angry peasants storms her castle. (anonymous)

I like both of these story topics a lot! Since I've had more experience writing stories about princesses, I'm going to try that story first and if I'm not busy this week I'll try to write on the other one also. If I don't get to it this week, maybe Henry will suggest it again next time!

Thanks to my few followers on here who continue to suggest topics for me. Hopefully these exercises will help improve my writing!

Monday again!

Good morning, all! I hope you all had a great weekend. Since it's Monday I'm taking suggestions again on a story to write this week.
Last week I wrote two stories but that won't happen often. I'm hoping to get more suggestions than last week.
Anyone should feel free to make suggestions, even someone who might be reading this and doesn't know me personally.

Remember, I'm writing short stories so keep your suggestions short, about one or two sentences and keep all the suggestions G rated! Start suggesting and I'll pick a story topic by the end of the day!

Here is the other story I wrote this week suggested by HenryJackson about a girl who struggles with peer pressure at church.
Enjoy and comment!

  Amy stood in the pew singing the final hymn of Sunday morning’s church service. She had tried to pay attention to the message but she kept thinking about her new Sunday school class. She was finally old enough to be in the teen class and would get to sit with the older girls that she had looked up to for so long.

 As soon as the hymn was over, Amy gathered her things and hurried out of the sanctuary and down the hallway to the Sunday school room. Many of the other teens were filing into the room talking and laughing with each other about the events of the week. Amy spotted a group of the older girls that she had been hoping to make friends with. They had talked to her a few times before in church but never seemed interested in being her friend. Amy was sure now that she was in Sunday school with them, things would change.

“Good morning,” Amy said cheerfully, walking over to the girls and edging her way into their circle. They stared at her for a moment looking confused. Then one of the girls whose name Amy knew to be Dana, smiled and said,

“Good morning. You must be new in this class.”

 Amy nodded.

“This is my first time here. I’ve really been looking forward to being in your group,” she told them.

“Well let me introduce you to everyone,” Dana offered. “My name is Dana, this is Natalie, Emma, and Kristin.”

“My name is Amy,” said Amy, shaking hands with all the girls. She admired their designer handbags, stylish dresses and cute delicate shoes and was suddenly aware of her plain green dress, simple purse and clunky brown shoes.

“The girls and I are going to get some coffee and pastries before class. Why don’t you pick out a table and we’ll get a cup for you,” Dana suggested. Amy agreed and watched the girls walk away. She was so excited to be in Sunday school with these girls. Not only were they nice but they were older and would no doubt have a lot of advice and wisdom to give Amy as she started on her teen years.

 Scanning the room, Amy looked for a table that with five open chairs. She spotted one in the corner of the room where only one girl was sitting. Amy walked over to it quickly before anyone else could claim it and laid her Bible and purse down.

 “Are you saving these seats?” she asked the girl who was sitting at the table.

 The girl shook her head but didn’t say anything.

“Do you mind if I sit here with my friends?”

The girl shook her head again but still did not speak.

“Thanks,” Amy said, feeling a bit uncomfortable with this girl’s silence. Sneaking a quick glance at her, Amy noticed this girl’s dress was even plainer and simpler than hers and the Bible she carried was worn and discolored. Amy was about to ask the girl her name but before she had the chance, Dana walked over and tapped her on the shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, leaning down close to Amy’s head.

“I picked out a table like you said,” Amy explained.

“No, honey, we already found a table over there,” Dana told her, pointing across the room. “Grab your stuff, I’ll take you there.”

  Amy was confused but she picked up her Bible and purse and followed Dana over to the table where the rest of the girls sat.

“Why were you sitting with Josephine?” Emma wanted to know as Amy sat down at the new table. She looked back across the room at the girl who sat alone.

“She said the seats were empty. I thought it was a good table,” Amy said with a shrug. “Is something wrong with her?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kristen asked. “She dresses horribly, she doesn’t talk to anyone and her family is practically homeless.”

 Amy frowned.

“So what? She seems like a nice girl.”

“She’s a bad influence,” Dana insisted, without explaining why. “If you want to be friends with us, you won’t hang out with her.”

  Amy looked up at Dana whose face was completely serious. She wanted to argue but the bell rang for class to start and Amy settled in with her coffee to listen.

  During the week, Amy thought often about Dana and her insistence that Amy not spend time with Josephine. She still could not understand how Josephine would be a negative influence. Maybe Dana knew something about her that Amy did not.

  When Sunday morning came, Amy picked out the nicest church outfit she could find in her closet and carried her nicest purse. It wasn’t designer like the others girls’ purses but it looked fancier than the one she had carried last week.

  After the main service was over, Amy made her way back to the Sunday school room and looked around for Dana and the other girls. They stood by the refreshment table chatting and sipping on their coffee. They welcomed Amy into their circle and complimented her outfit and purse. She smiled and graciously accepted all their compliments happy to finally be accepted into this group of older girls.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Josephine walk into the room and look around. She walked over to the refreshment table and grabbed a scone and a napkin.

 “I like your hairdo today, Dana,” she murmured shyly approaching the girls. Dana looked down at her from atop her high heels as though she were a queen gazing down at a peasant.

“Thank you, Josephine,” she said with a forced smile. Josephine smiled back, then walked away to find a seat.

  Dana and the rest of the girls looked at each other and giggled.

“Of course she liked your hair. It’s actually washed and brushed unlike hers,” Natalie said quietly.

“Why are you all so mean to her?” Amy wanted to know. The girls stopped their gossiping and looked down at Amy as if they didn’t understand why she would ask such a thing.

“The Bible says we’re supposed to be kind to everyone. And she was really nice to you just now.”

“We aren’t being mean to her, we’re doing her a favor,” Emma explained. “By avoiding her, it shows her that she isn’t going to make friends while she comes to church looking and acting like that. Once she cleans up a little bit and stops being so shy we’ll consider making her part of our group. Until then she will just have to sit by herself.”

  Amy stood there thinking about Emma’s reasoning and could not help feeling that something was wrong with it.

“We’re going to run to the ladies room, Amy. Find us a table again will you? Except this week, find one that doesn’t have Josephine at it,” Dana said, and they all laughed again as they made their way to the bathroom.

Amy turned around and looked over the tables. Josephine sat by herself eating her scone and watching the other teens talking together. Making her way to the table, Amy set her stuff down across from Josephine and smiled at her.

“Good morning, Josephine. My name is Amy.”

Josephine looked up at Amy blankly.

“Won’t you get in trouble for talking to me?” she asked.

“The girls are in the bathroom right now. I wanted to ask you why you were nice to Dana just now when she dislikes you so much.”

  Josephine shrugged.

“I liked her hair style and I wanted to be nice. The Bible says to be kind to everyone even when they are unkind to you.”

 Amy nodded at the familiar words.

“Dana said they would let you into their group if you dressed better and acted more outgoing. Wouldn’t it be worth doing that to have some friends here? You wouldn’t have to sit alone anymore.”

  Josephine smiled.

“I am the way God made me. I’ve always been shy and never wanted fancy clothes. My family doesn’t have money for them anyway. And besides, I want people to like me for who I already am, not who I could change myself into. I want to be accepted by God more than other people. If He is happy with me, then I am happy.”

 Amy thought about Josephine’s words and was aware of how she tried to change herself with the new outfit and purse. She should not have to change herself to be accepted by other girls. Christians were called to love all people no matter how they looked or acted. Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder. She knew who it was without looking.

“I thought we went through this last week,” Dana whispered through gritted teeth. Amy turned around to face her.

“I’m going to sit with Josephine this week,” she told Dana.

“You can’t have this both ways,” Dana said, a little louder now. “You are even friends with her or friends with us.”

“A real friend wouldn’t make me choose,” Amy said. “You want Josephine to change herself to fit your personal standards but God made her who she is. You might not like how she dresses but you should still be kind.”

  Dana shook her head and looked disappointed.

“You just don’t get it,” she told Amy, and walked away to join the other girls.

“I guess I don’t,” Amy agreed. “You’re right Josephine. I should care what God thinks of me, not other people.  I was wrong to ignore you last week and I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Josephine said smiling. “But are you sure you want to sit with me if it means upsetting Dana?”

“I’m sure,” Amy told her, confident that she had found a real friend in Josephine.

Story time!

It's Saturday and that means it's time for me to post my first round of stories. Usually I'll only do one story a week but since I only received two suggestions this past Monday I decided to write two stories.

Today I will post them and open them up for comments from my readers. Here are a few guidelines for the commenting:

-The purpose of this blog is to improve my writing so I need constructive criticism as well as compliments. Don't be afraid to tell me about something you didn't like or that could be improved.


-Try to keep the comments aimed at me. If you like something about the story and someone else hates it, don't get into a big discussion about why they're wrong. Just agree to disagree.


-If there is something you don't like, be specific. Don't just say "I didn't like that part" tell me why you didn't like it and if you know how I could make it better, say that as well.


-The purpose of this blog is to improve my writing. If you disagree with any of my views expressed in the stories be they religious, social, political or whatever, this is not the place to comment on it or have a discussion. I moderate all comments (to avoid spamming) and if you try to comment about my views or start a debate I won't post your comment. Save the soap boxes for another day.


All that being said I'm going to post the first of my short stories. As I said before, it is a very rough draft so keep that in mind as you read it. This story was suggested by Elaienar and is about a girl who has a talking mouse in her mattress.

  Rachel ran up the stairs into her room and threw herself face down on the bed. Her cell phone in her hand was still vibrating with received text messages. Wiping her eyes she looked down at her phone. Five new messages from Tyler. What could he possibly have left to say?

“It’s not you, it’s me. I need to focus on my schoolwork right now. Parents say I need better grades to get into college. Don’t be mad at me.”

“Don’t be mad at me?” Rachel repeated incredulously. “He breaks up with me a week before prom and the best he can say is don’t be mad at me?”

  Down the hall Rachel could hear her sister’s music playing loudly in her room. She slid off the bed, walked across her room and shut the door. The last thing she needed right now was to hear her sister singing love songs at the top of her lungs.

  Sitting back down on the bed she deleted the rest of Tyler’s text messages unread. He would have plenty of time to concentrate on his grades now but she was without a boyfriend and a prom date.

 “Whatever, I give up on love,” she decided, laying back on her pillows and staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t give up yet,” said a small voice.  Rachel sat up and looked around the room. She checked her cell phone to make sure she hadn’t accidentally dialed someone’s number.

“I’m not on the phone, I’m over here,” said the voice again. It was coming from somewhere on the bed. As Rachel scanned the blankets she spotted a small mouse sitting calmly at the foot waving at her. She screamed and hopped off the bed pointing at the mouse and shaking her head.

“You’re a mouse. You’re not supposed to talk,” she babbled. The mouse laughed a tiny yet disturbing laugh.

“Everyone assumes we can’t talk but no one really ever stops to ask,” he said. “I’ve been talking most of my life as have all the other mice I know. My name is Henry.”

  The mouse held out his paw as if to shake hands.

“I’m Rachel,” said Rachel, frowning confusedly and holding out her own hand.  The mouse took hold of her pinky finger and shook it enthusiastically.

“Why are you in my room?” Rachel asked, still not totally believing she was conversing with a rodent. Maybe her break-up with Tyler had affected her more deeply than she realized.

“It was the most comfortable out of all the rooms in your house,” the mouse explained. “I like making my nest in beds and you had the nicest mattress.”

  Rachel looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“You live in my mattress?”

“Yes and I quite enjoy it. Except when you fling yourself upon it so violently as you did moments ago. I was planning to talk to you about it which is why I made an appearance. I only do so under the most extreme circumstances since many humans react as you did when they discover a talking mouse.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I suppose not. But now that we’ve established that I am a mouse who can talk I feel like we can move on to the heart of the issue. You and I are sharing this bed and I feel like we should agree to some rules of conduct.”

  Rachel gave the mouse a confused look and walked cautiously back to her bed. She sat on the edge watching the mouse’s every move ready to flee again should it become necessary.

“I’m not ok with sharing my bed with a mouse,” she told him. The mouse looked offended.

“I don’t see why not. I barely take up any room and it’s obvious that before a few moments ago you were not even aware I existed.”
“You’re a mouse,” Rachel said, as if that explained it all.

“And you’re a human who is talking to a mouse. I don’t see a problem,” the mouse said cheerfully.

“So back to the topic of your bed,” the mouse began. “I think we should agree on some ground rules.”  Rachel interrupted him.

“I don’t want to make ground rules. If you don’t like my bed you can move. Go live in my sister’s mattress. I’m sure she would love that.”

  The mouse smiled and puffed out his chest.

“I’m glad you think we would get along. What kind of mattress does your sister have?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I have no idea. And I was being sarcastic anyway. My sister would freak out if she found a talking mouse in her bed. You’re safer with me. For some reason, I’ve accepted the fact that you’re talking and I’m actually talking back. I must be insane.”

“Not insane, just open-minded,” the mouse assured her.

“Tyler would think I was crazy for talking to a mouse,” Rachel said.

“Well he sounds like a quite unadventurous young man then,” the mouse observed. “It’s probably for the best that you got rid of him.”

“I didn’t get rid of him, he got rid of me,” Rachel cried, throwing herself on the bed again so violently that it catapulted the mouse off the bed and onto the floor. He lay there for a second, dazed, then got to his feet and climbed back up on the bed.

“You really should be more careful. You could have squashed me,” he told her.

“Sorry,” Rachel muttered, not totally believing that she was apologizing to a mouse.

“Don’t let yourself be so upset about this boy,” the mouse said comfortingly, crawling over and putting a sympathetic paw on her hand.

“You are young and there are other mice in the sea.”

“I think you mean fish,” Rachel corrected. But the mouse shook his head.

“Fish are notoriously bad at relationships.”

Rachel laughed feeling slightly better.

“I guess you’re right. There are other guys. Gary in my algebra class is kinda cute and sometimes he sits with me at lunch. Maybe I can get him to ask me to prom,” she said dreamily.

“But I still miss Tyler.”

The mouse nodded and patted her hand consolingly.

“You will feel better over time. And you always have my shoulder to cry on. Figuratively of course,” the mouse clarified. Rachel smiled surprised that a talking mouse could be so delightful.

  Just then there was a knock on the door and Rachel’s sister Sarah came in the room.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, looking around to see if anyone else was there. Rachel looked down at the mouse who was crouching near the foot of her bed under some folds in the blankets.

“Um…would you believe a talking mouse?” she asked Sarah. Her sister laughed.

“Don’t be silly, Rachel. Mice can’t talk. Just admit you were talking to yourself.”

Rachel looked down at the mouse again who appeared to be silently laughing.

“Alright, I was talking to myself,” she admitted.

“Well stop being a weirdo and come eat dinner. Mom made lasagna.”

Rachel slid off the bed and the mouse slipped back into his hole.

“Did you really think I’d believe you were talking to a talking mouse?” Sarah asked as they made their way downstairs.

“Of course not, I was just kidding,” Rachel said. “Everyone knows mice can’t talk.”

  Sarah nodded and Rachel knew no one would ever believe there was a talking mouse in her mattress. 

I hope some of you made it to the end. Feel free to comment on the story. I will post the other story I wrote this week, later on tonight!