March 8, 2018
The Gift of Writing Short StoriesI have no idea where this week went. It seems as if the older I get, the faster my life. Sometimes, I have to remind myself to stop and smell the roses by spending time with my family and friends who are an important part of my life. I had two days this week spending it with three of my grandchildren. We painted, we drew, we played Jenga and more. My grandson who is twelve was even inspired to write a short story and I want to share it with you now. As a grandmother that made me proud. As an author, I beamed because somehow, someway, our youth are encouraged to write which means that they are encouraged to read as well. I challenge anyone reading today's blog to encourage the love of writing and reading to the children in your life.
The Scary Hour
It all began at 2:58 a.m. as a young six-year-old girl named Erin was woken up by a sudden "Woosh!"
"Ahh, what was that?" Erin's eyes darted toward the sound. She screamed as she grabbed the flashlight and a pocketknife she kept on her windowsill.
She tiptoed to the window and opened it. A flash of lightning boomed, but she saw nothing. She turned her head back toward the television. "Help! Help!"
After she bolted to the door, she tried to unlock it, but it wouldn't budge; and no one was ther to help her.
Now 3:30 a.m., she panicked, and she went to the only way out -- her basement. "De-De Demons," she cried. Poisonous snakes surrounded her. She passed out and found herself on Planet D-E-M-O-N 49.
"You can't do this," she yelled. Now it was pitch black in a grave and stuck there for eternity at 3:59 a.m.
Erin woke up and checked herself and her surroundings, but little did she know, there was a horn sticking out from beneath her bed. The End.
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