Friday, October 16, 2009

I created this blog so that I can record activities relating to "Writing Magic" by Gail Carson Levine. (

WRITING PROMPT: Chapter three, page 13. Turn someone you dislike into an animal. Describe what happens to the animal.

A smell worse than a thousand farting baboons jerked Georgie Boy awake. He looked around and he was angry. There was no fresh-squeezed OJ on his night stand, no marmalade toast with the crusts neatly trimmed and no servants to ask him, "Will there be anything more, Master Georgie?" In fact, there was no nightstand, he wasn't in his bed or even his bedroom.

His anger quickly turned to fear. Where am I, he thought. He rubbed his eyes then as they refocused he saw that he was on top of a mountain of garbage and there were rats scurrying around everywhere. A scream was building from behind his eyes, circling his brain but before it could get to his mouth a monster rat ran up to him and yelled,"Come on, pipsqueak. We ain't got all day."

"Who do you think you think you are?" For a second Georgie's indignation overrode his fear.

The big rat cuffed Georgie behind the ear and said, "I'm the guy who's gonna kick your butt if you don't get a move on."

And the fear was back...twofold. The big rat scared him to death and if he could talk to the big rat, he must be a...RAT! Georgie Boy didn't know if rats were capable of fainting but he was about to. Before he could, the big rat shook him and screamed, "Let's go, twinkletoes!" then kicked him in the butt. He rolled halfway down the garbage heap and landed face down on a fish carcass.

The big rat laughed and said, "Well, look at that. You got the catch of the day on your first try."

Georgie sat up and looked around, trying to gather his wits. What is this place? How did I get here? He tried to remember what had happened the night before. He had supper and went to bed. Before that, he had played with some friends near his private school. Some swarthy boy approached them and asked if he might play with them. Of course, this was laughable to think that this creature, this urchin even dare think he was good enough to consort with Georgie and his cronies. Georgie ridiculed and demeaned the boy in the manner of a true aristocrat. The boy began to cry after Georgie "pantsed" him.

The boy started to walk away, sniffling, then suddenly he stopped. He turned and said, "You're going to be sorry you did this." The look in the boy's eyes gave Georgie a chill. Then he regained his swagger. He picked up a rock and chucked it at the boy. The boy ran away crying, "You'll be sorry. You'll be sorry."

Now, sitting on a rotting mackerel, he thought he heard a faint whisper in the wind, "You"ll be sorry. You'll be sorry."

WRITING PROMPT: Chapter two, page 9. Write a story about an M/C who finds a diamond necklace on a seat in his school bus. (Liberty is given to the writer to change the object and the setting).

This bus smells like vomit, Sherman thought as he walked by the driver. He continued down the aisle past seats filled with kids who looked the other way as he searched for a spot.
He found one toward the back of the bus. A little girl (maybe third grade) sat there alone. When Sherman sat down the girl practically flew across the aisle and scrunched in with two older girls. The girls tried to push her out but she grabbed the rails of the seat and would not budge. She was not about to sit with Sherman Bockskutter.
"Good riddance," he muttered. "I didn't want to sit with some stinky little girl, anyway. Just more room for me" Ever since the incident it seems that Sherman always had more room. More room at the lunch table, more room at the movie theatre and, of course, more room on the school bus.
Sherman wriggled back and forth trying to make himself comfortable. He thought that they must take the cots that are too hard for the jails and install them as school bus seats. He made one last wiggle then, "eeeYYyoooww!" He jumped straight up with both hands on his butt. Everyone turned toward him and laughed...but only for a second. When they saw who it was they turned around and went back to their important conversations.
Sherman looked down at the seat to see what had stuck him. In the crack of the seat (not his) he saw something shiny. He sat back down and pulled the object out. It had tiny stones that sparkled in the morning sun and attached to it was a large was a brooch. It looked similar to one that his grandmother had shown to him when he was little. She said it had belonged to her grandmother.

WRITING PROMPT: Chapter one, page 3. "Be nice," my father said. "After all, he is your brother."

But was he? I mean, was he really? He was noisy, rude and had a host of disgusting habits which I shall not list here. I doubt that we are even remotely related.
I managed a thin smile and said, "Alright, Father." I reached for my brother's hand but he smacked it away. Father missed that because he was busy trying to scrape away some gravy that had crusted on his tie. My God, I'm living with pigs!
I bit my lip then said, "Why don't we go to the rec room and play darts, Bradley?"
"Don't call me Bradley. I hate that name. You call me Bradman."
Bradman. Six years old and already he was Bradman.
"Very well, Bradman, do you want to go to the rec room and play, um, darts?" I was beginning to rethink my choice of games. The "Bradman" with his attitude and sharp projectiles that adults actually allowed you to throw inside the house...not a good combination. But I didn't want to spend a lot of time hashing it over. I was expected to show some "big sisterly love" to the little monster and Rob would be over in less than an hour for our weekly date. I couldn't afford any complications.
The Bradman thought it over for a second then smiled and said, "Okay, but I get to stand as close as I want to."
"Okay, Bradle...Bradman. Whatever you say." And choking back a small scream, I followed him down the stairs to the rec room.