Val Muller

The Electronic Wordsmith

Flash Fiction: Dino Express by Dorothy Colinco

April 20, 2017 No comments

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This week’s post comes to us from Dorothy Colinco.

This month’s prompt: These objects should appear in your story: a train, a pink post-it note, and keys. One of your characters must be an animator. One of your characters (it doesn’t have to be the animator), must share a name with a famous public figure, and this coincidence must come up in the story.

Dino Express

by Dorothy Colinco

He stared at the preliminary sketches of the scaly cartoon dinosaur, one that admittedly looked too scary for a children’s show. As he transferred those images onto a digital sketch pad, he mused, not for the first or last time, how his name had once again dictated his path in life. Though the actor Jeff Goldblum starred in many films, the one most people remember is Jurassic Park, as they liked to remind him, Jeff Goldblum, the not-actor.

“This is my friend, Jeff. Jeff Goldblum, actually. Not the actor, obviously. Ha ha.”

“Let me introduce you to Jeff Goldblum. The one who wasn’t in Jurassic Park.”

He had to give them credit for finding different ways to use the same idea multiple times, kind of like the folks at the cough syrup companies, who created lots of different coughs and offered the same syrup, marketed as different blends, to treat them.

He thought about how strange it was that while he was so aware of the other Jeff’s existence, the actor had no idea about this Jeff, let alone how their lives were intertwined.

On this particular occasion, Jeff the animator for the producer Imaginext, gave the creative team, who had yet to live up to their name, a great idea. It was decided that since Jeff Goldblum shared a name with an actor on Jurassic Park, what better for him to illustrate than the very prehistoric subjects of the film? But the show couldn’t just be about now extinct dominators of the Mesozoic Era, it also had to feature locomotives. The creative idiots had looked at one graph indicating that trains were back “in” with the tots these days, so they decided to kill two birds, descendants of prehistoric reptiles, with one animated stone. Thus, Dino Express was born, and it was up to not-actor Jeff to bring it to digital life.

How was he going to pull this off? Dinosaurs didn’t exactly bring to mind inventions of the Industrial Revolution.

He needed a break. Some coffee, maybe a croissant. He usually didn’t let those flaky pastries around his sketches – grease stains were his mortal enemy – but he deserved one with chocolate oozing out as a bonus. He scanned his cluttered desk for his phone and keys. Sketches covered every square inch of the table, dotted here and there by fluorescent green and pink Post-Its where he left himself notes and comments. “Teeth are too pointed” and “no – Mickey Mouse” they said. He found his keys, and he noticed the way the metal glinted right below a stegosaurus’s neck. He slowly lowered himself onto his chair with the weight of a new idea. Once again, his name inserted itself into the narrative.

Later, he pitched the idea with the new sketches fueled by coffee and a splendid chocolate croissant.

“So,” the most creative of the creative team said, “the dinosaurs… BECOME trains?”

“Yes,” said Jeff Goldblum, “precisely.”

“But the two are separated by millions of years!” said another very creative person, as though it was Jeff’s idea to pair terrible lizards with 19th Century transportation in the first place.

“Life,” he said, with a contemplative pause, “finds a way.”

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

 

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

 

Dorothy Colinco. www.dorothycolinco.com

 

CaraMarie Christy: https://calamariwriting.wordpress.com/

Dorothy Colinco, flash fiction none

Book Review: Leaf and the Sky of Fire (Twig Stories Book 2) by Jo Marshall

April 17, 2017 1 comment

Last June, I reviewed the first book in the Twig Stories series. In honor of Earth Day, I read the second.

The Twig Stories series follows stick creatures that I think of as elves or sprites (but more wood-like), with a focus on descriptive language and environmental issues.

Twig-Stories-Leaf-the-Sky-of-Fire-front-coverIn this book, Leaf (who is always eager to take on adult responsibility) takes a big risk to save a group of stranded creatures (fellow Twigs, salamanders, a chameleon) from a dangerous situation: their forest has been destroyed by bark beetles that have browned-out all the trees. But a forest fire starts, sending all the wildlife into a panic.

In my review of Book 1, I mentioned that as a kid, I would have adored these books. I’ve always been fascinated with nature, and I would often daydream in the same way the book’s description takes the reader on a journey through nature. Because the stick creatures are smaller than humans, they notice things in more detail than we do. In this way, the reader is taken on a journey that allows them to appreciate nature.

The book also includes amazing illustrations by D. W. Murray, and these really help capture the spirit of the setting.

My favorite part is the wand that Leaf has (it’s a really cool tool) and the humor injected in the description of the very, extremely, inconveniently slow chameleon that just happens to be traveling with the group. I also like the description of the bark beetles. I have my own battle every spring with a swarm of Japanese beetles that are trying very hard to kill one of my trees. They have already taken out a branch, and I’m hoping they don’t take away the whole tree. There is a note in the back of the book about how invasive species are harmful and have repercussions that we should all care about. This book helps young readers to ignite that spirit of care and concern.

The book focuses on plot and description, so I would recommend this to readers who want to be captured in a world that takes them deeper into nature and readers who want to turn page after page in order to find out what happens next. I have the last two books in the series, and I look forward to reading them as well. In fact, once my daughter is old enough to understand chapter books, I can see myself reading her a chapter each night before bed to help foster her imagination about nature and the world outside.

* * *

 

The Girl Who Flew Away coverHave you read my latest book? The Girl Who Flew Away is about a freshman who used to love nature but now isn’t sure what she loves or who she is. You can read the first four chapters free and receive a 35% off coupon here.

book reviews none

Fantastic Friday: The Great Outdoors

April 14, 2017 No comments

Okay, so it isn’t Friday. The weather has been so amazing that I’ve been spending my time outside. But now that it’s raining—and 11:30 at night—I decided to sit down and write this post.

Anyone who knows me knows that I dread winter. I remember distinctly the moment when I fully realized how much winter impacted me. I was standing outside with the dogs, and something felt off. I looked around, half expecting an intruder to show up in my periphery. That’s the kind of creepy I felt.

I looked left.

No one.

I looked right.

No one.

But it wasn’t just no one. It was nothing. No birds. No leaves. No life. Not even an airplane or a car disrupted the silence. It felt unnatural, the way I imagined life on a barren planet would be.

That was when I realized I missed the sound of leaves rushing with the wind (since I teach etymology, I know a fancy word for the rustling of leaves: psithurism). Even now, as I sit typing with my window open, I hear the wind rustling through the early spring leaves and the peepers in a nearby pond. I hear life.

This week, I was blessed with fantastic weather and spring break. I spent much of my time working on “Phase I” of a clubhouse I am building for my daughter. Phase I involves a sandbox and the base and roof of the clubhouse structure.

In high school, I volunteered to help build the sets for my school’s musicals. They were extensive, often involving multi-level structures with stairs, doorways, and the like. I put that knowledge to use and took advantage of the nice weather. It was the perfect excuse to spend hours outdoors with the corgis.

It started with a few sketches.

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And then some framing.

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And finally, the finished structure… until Phase II.

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My daughter loves it and has already spent several hours playing in the sandbox.

Phase II involves walling in the back half of the structure, including doors and windows, and shingling the roof. But that can wait. For this week, I enjoyed my accomplishment by eating lunch by the sandbox with my favorite person in the world and my two corgis by my side.

I’m thankful for the time and resources to make this project, and for the opportunities I took advantage of in volunteering for set construction and helping my dad with various projects in order to increase my knowledge and abilities. As my favorite movie, Back to the Future reminds us, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.

And beautiful weather certainly can’t hurt.

Fantastic Friday none

Flash Fiction: Courage by Val Muller

March 30, 2017 No comments

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This week’s post comes to us from Val Muller. Check out her brand-new release: The Girl Who Flew Away is a coming of age tale of a freshman prone to keeping secrets. Follow this link to receive a free four-chapter preview + 35% off coupon!

This month’s prompt: These objects should appear in your story: a train, a pink post-it note, and keys. One of your characters must be an animator. One of your characters (it doesn’t have to be the animator), must share a name with a famous public figure, and this coincidence must come up in the story.

Courage

By Val Muller

As soon as he came through the door, he made for the chair in the corner. “The lighting here is best,” he said. He spoke with as much purpose as he walked. As soon as he opened his satchel, I could smell his charcoals, his erasers. He smelled like an artist.

Of course he did. Meagan only knows artists. It’s like she’s a lightning rod for creative types. How she came to know a world-class animator is a story best left for a soap opera. That’s how her life goes. Ex-husband of a college roommate, but not as simple as that. Meagan was part of the reason he’s an ex. Cheated with him. And with her. That’s Meagan for you.

Not like boring old me. There I was, taking a sick day off work and letting Christopher Lloyd play hooky from school so that he could do gymnastics on the living room floor for a famous animator, who hoped to become lead animator on some new film that apparently featured a kindergartener gymnast. It was the most exciting thing that would ever happen to us.

“Christopher!” I called. Christopher was still upstairs. I turned back to my guest. “Can I get you a drink, Mr.—”

“No,” he said. “And call me Mike.” He looked down at his art supplies, and the sun from the window danced in his perfectly-sculpted hair. Bed head, accented with the perfect amount of stubble. Rustic and artsy. Not like clean-shaven James, who looked as vanilla as a member of the military every day of the week.

I smiled. “Mike. Christopher’s a little shy, but he’ll warm up to you.”

“Christopher Martin Lloyd,” I called up the stairs.

“Coming,” came a muffled reply.

“Christopher Lloyd, huh?” Mike asked, laughing.

I smiled. “We could barely resist. Maybe we’re raising a future mad scientist. Doc Brown was always a favorite character of mine.”

Mike flashed a smile. “Mad scientists are fun to animate.” He flipped open his sketchpad, and charcoal raced across the page. Before long, he’d drawn a mad scientist that looked like Doc Brown.

“That’s amazing,” I said. I tried to remember whether I’d ever been that passionate about, or talented at, my job. Or any job. Ever. I began to understand why Meagan had chosen him for an affair.

“Christopher!” I called a bit too loudly. The poor boy was already descending the steps. “Oh, there you are. Chris, this is Mr. Mike. He’s going to draw some sketches of you while you go through your gymnastics routine.”

Christopher turned to Mike. “Am I gonna be in a movie?”

Mike shrugged. “Hope so. If they choose my drawings, then the things I draw today will be used to create a character—” The man was already at work on a fresh page, sketching Christopher. He perfectly captured my son’s shy, strong demeanor.

I watched the tendons in his arm work like magic, rippling and tensing and helping his fingers dance around the charcoal as he made my son look more like my son than he did in real life. I brushed away goosebumps and tried to breathe. I glanced into the kitchen. “Looks like you left your toy trains out again,” I lied. “I’ll go put them away. In the meantime, do your warmup for Mr. Mike.” I flashed a smile. “Maybe you’ll be in a movie, Chris.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I hurried into the kitchen and then through to the living room, where I dug through Christopher’s toy chest and pretended to put away the trains. On the wall, a picture of me, James, and baby Chris looked down at me. Why did James’ eyes make me feel guilty? He knew about the appointment today. Heck, he was prouder of Christopher’s gymnastics than I was. Why did I feel guilty?

I could hardly deny it. I’d never done anything glorious like have an affair. And never with a renowned artist. But based on his past with Meagan, Mike was fairly open to possibilities, right?

My body moved without my permission. I barely recognized my feet as they padded into the kitchen. I barely knew my fingers as they grabbed a pink sticky note from the kitchen desk and picked up a purple pen.

Megan told me that—

No, that was stupid. I crossed it out. Pulled off the sticky note.

I thought maybe—

What am I, in middle school?

My fingers smiled and danced as they decided to write on a fresh note:

James works late on Thursdays, and Christopher is away at practice.

Blushing, I pulled off the note and stuffed it in my pocket. My hands might be able to write it for me, but I’d never work up the courage to give him the note. I stood in the kitchen for an eternity, watching him complete sketch after sketch of my boy. His eyes lit up as he discovered the best of my son. He filled up two entire sketchbooks with Christopher’s essence. He was like a father discovering his newborn son for the first time.

I stayed frozen in the kitchen, just watching like the passive person I’d become. I stayed as he flipped through the pictures with Chris. I stayed as he got up to leave. Chris led him to the front door, and I watched him clutch the two sketchbooks like precious relics. But my eyes travelled to the chair in the corner. He was about to forget his satchel. I hurried to grab it for him, and once again my fingers worked without my consent. They were too afraid to reach for the sticky note, but they swiped my keys on their way past the counter. And as they retrieved his satchel, they tossed the keys inside it. And then, while Chris was taking one last glance at the drawings, they even threw in the sticky note. One of those items, at least, would force a return trip.

“Oh, my satchel!” Mike said, looking up at me. “I would have missed that!”

He took two steps toward me—he was still a lifetime away—but I panicked. I did the only thing I could think to do. I upended the satchel, and the world exploded in a blur of charcoal and pastels, pencils and kneaded erasers. And of course, a set of keys and a sticky note.

All manner of art supplies cascaded down on the kitchen floor. Christopher giggled.

“I’m so sorry,” I lied as I bent down to snatch the keys and note. In an instant, he was there next to me, picking up his supplies. He smelled like an artist.

I stuffed the sticky note back into my pocket and put my keys on the counter while I watched him put away the rest of his supplies. Before he left, he pulled off one of the sketches: Christopher jumping in the air with his fist out like Superman. I tacked it up on the refrigerator, a testament to the most exciting day of our lives, and to the day my courage failed.

 

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Dorothy Colinco. www.dorothycolinco.com

CaraMarie Christy: https://calamariwriting.wordpress.com/

flash fiction none

Writer Wednesday: The Girl Who Flew Away

March 22, 2017 No comments

I’m pleased to share my latest young adult novel with you.

The Girl Who Flew Away coverThe Girl Who Flew Away continues my love of young adult literature. As a high school teacher, I have seen the power of literature to inspire young readers and empower them to take control of their lives by accepting who they are and living authentically, rather than allowing themselves to be bullied or coerced.

In some ways, the novel is inspired by my father’s joking around when I was little about how I always seemed a little different from the rest of our family. Sure he was joking, but his words were enough to make me consider the definition of belonging and what it meant to be part of a family. I wondered: what if a young person had to confront identity issues while trying to balance everything else that comes with being a teenager?

I have also been watching over the years as technology makes it easy for students to ignore each other, even when in the same room. It allows human beings to detach themselves from others. Taken to an extreme, I wondered, how far might a teenager go to ignore the existence of another human being if that existence were somehow dangerous or inconvenient?

And, of course, the book was in part inspired by my mother, who used to sing a little melody to me and my sister: friends and sisters… In the novel, the main character learns the true meaning of what it is to be a sister.

So I present to you: The Girl Who Flew Away. Following the link here, you can receive a free four-chapter preview as well a coupon for 35% off. It’s also available for Kindle or your favorite e-book platform.

No good deed goes unpunished when freshman Steffie Brenner offers to give her awkward new neighbor a ride home after her first day at school. When her older sister Ali stops at a local park to apply for a job, Steffie and Madison slip out of the car to explore the park—and Madison vanishes.

Already in trouble for a speeding ticket, Ali insists that Steffie say nothing about Madison’s disappearance. Even when Madison’s mother comes looking for her. Even when the police question them.

Some secrets are hard to hide, though—especially with Madison’s life on the line. As she struggles between coming clean or going along with her manipulative sister’s plan, Steffie begins to question if she or anyone else is really who she thought they were. After all, the Steffie she used to know would never lie about being the last person to see Madison alive—nor would she abandon a friend in the woods: alone, cold, injured, or even worse.

But when Steffie learns an even deeper secret about her own past, a missing person seems like the least of her worries…

Thank you, as always, for your support, and happy reading!

sale, Writer Wednesdays, writing none

Fantastic Friday: Fairy Doors of Ann Arbor

March 10, 2017 No comments

I’ve always loved imagining the fantastical within the realm of everyday life. As a child, I became intrigued by The Dark Crystal¸ a movie in which a main character harbors hidden wings. For several months—if not years—I checked my back every morning to see if my wings had sprouted yet. I’ve always been fascinated with the outdoors and with cultures who believe in fairies and other mythical beings. I suppose as an author, I’m attuned to imagining possibilities beyond the ordinary.

In my Internet wanderings, I came upon an interesting article about a phenomenon in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where tiny “fairy” doors have been showing up in homes and stores. These are literally tiny fairy-sized doors. Some of them even contain windows allowing us to see inside.

My favorite part about the phenomenon is that children have been leaving little gifts for the fairies, including coins, drawings, and other trinkets. It makes me happy that the adults who own and build these stores still see the need for magic in the world. The article referenced above features a video that explains the doors a bit:


I’m not sure what a fairy door would do in terms of resale value, but if I ever have to renovate a wall in my house, I may just see if any fairies want to put in a door or two. Realtors may cringe, but that type of magic is priceless.

Fantastic Friday none

Flash Fiction: “The Trophy” by Cathy MacKenzie

March 9, 2017 No comments

Welcome to The Spot Writers. March’s prompt is to use these five words in a story: builder, chance, trophy, glory, unexpected.

Today’s post comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Her one-woman publishing company, MacKenzie Publishing, has a submissions call for stories for an upcoming anthology titled TWO EYES OPEN, which call ends March 31, 2017. The theme: thriller, mystery, horror. Check out MacKenzie Publishing’s website for further particulars.

***

“The Trophy”

by Cathy MacKenzie

Pete stared at the unexpected snow piled outside the window of his front-room office. The wind had abated, leaving huge drifts. Could he even open the door? Although he detested winter, he’d take a chance at the snow, which was preferable to staring at a blank screen—though both were glaring white canvases, daring him to choose: write or shovel.

Once a builder, Pete had aspired for his own construction company but had given up on that dream.  The glory he sought would surely come when he wrote a Pulitzer-prize winning novel, but that dream had never materialized either. Suddenly, he was left with nothing: no job, no novel.

Even his wife had left him. “You’re too much a dreamer,” she had screamed before slamming the door in his face.” Later, he laughed. Good thing you had an escape. His belly would have hurt even more watching her fat butt waddling through a tunnel of packed snow, which had been the case the previous year when there’d been so much snow they’d only been able to access the side door. And even then, it had been a literal tunnel. Truth be known, he was glad she left because, by leaving first, she had voided the pre-nup they’d signed several years previously. Not that he had anything to give her in a settlement.

When he stepped outside, he found the snow to be light and fluffy. The newscaster had forecast colder temps, so the snow would harden overnight, but he’d worry about that later. For now, he needed a drink.

He ambled to the local bar, a place he frequented often. The guys there knew him. No one admonished him. No one nagged. No one made him feel guilty. Yes, he was glad for the umpteenth time that Alice had left. And of her own free will, too. He was one lucky man!

He and Joe commiserated while they drank. Joe, on marriage number four, had one too many whiskeys while Pete consumed several beer.

A shadow covered Pete before he realized the room had darkened. Joe, in his stupor, was oblivious to the change.

A voice bellowed. “What are you doing?”

Pete looked up. Alice. “What are you doing here? This is a men’s establishment.”

“You’re my husband. I have a right to be here.”

“No, you don’t. You left, remember?”

Alice held firm. “And now I’m back. Like Arnold.”

“Arnold?”

“Schwarzenegger. The actor. The governor of California?”

“Right. Him. Yeah.”

“Come home now, Pete.”

“I need another drink.” Pete slammed down the empty beer can, motioned to the bartender for another, and eyed his friend. “Joe, you awake?”

Joe tilted his half-empty glass on the counter. “What do you want?”

“Are you awake?”Pete repeated.

“Of course I’m awake. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“And Alice is here, too.”

Joe glanced at Pete and then at the hovering figure. “Hey, Alice. How’re you?”

“Fine, Joe. You?”

“All’s good.” Joe slugged another mouthful. “Yeah, all’s good.” He stared at Alice a moment before speaking. “So, what’s this I hear? You left Pete?”

“No, I did not leave Pete.”

“Pete said you did. He’s been gloating about his freedom.”

“Oh, you don’t say. Pete? What say you?”

Pete gripped his beer. “Hmmm?”

“Come on, Pete. Time to go home,” Alice said.

Joe giggled. “Pete, you have a trophy. Hold it high.”

Pete frowned.  “Trophy? Alice?”

“Alice is a trophy, yes. She’s twenty years younger than you. Isn’t that a trophy bride?” Joe snickered.

Pete stared at his drink. Trophy? He didn’t think so. But he hadn’t much success at a job or a novel or…nothing. Yeah, he’d better grab a trophy—any trophy—while he could, even if she did have a fat butt. “Alice, sweet. So good to see you.” Was that enough? “I’m sorry. I appreciate you so much. Let’s go home.”

Alice smiled and latched to his arm. “Come on. Home it is. Snow is in the forecast. You may have to shovel in the morning.”

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Dorothy Colinco. www.dorothycolinco.com

CaraMarie Christy: https://calamariwriting.wordpress.com/

Catherine A MacKenzie, flash fiction none

Fantastic Friday: Humanity at the Checkout Line

March 5, 2017 No comments

I had another post planned for this week, but I procrastinated on my research. Good thing because something fantastic happened to me today I thought I’d write about.

My toddler, online known as the CLK (Cute Little Kiddo), had an early morning. Teething woke her, and despite my attempts at comforting/bribing/consoling her with food/cartoons/cuddles, she would not go back to sleep. So I figured: why not hit the supermarket before it gets crowded?

So I packed her into the car, and not half a mile down the road, she was out.

It was one of those deep sleeps in which even being taken from a car seat on a very sunny, very cold, and very windy morning did not wake her. So instead of sitting attentively in the shopping cart and trying to pull things off the shelves, she slept soundly on my shoulder while I shopped.

If you’ve never done it before, I challenge you to go shopping with a snoring twenty-pound toddler slung over your shoulder. If you don’t have a toddler handy, you can pick up a large bag of flour/rice/potatoes instead. Real sleeping toddlers are just as limp, though you may want to add (or imagine) snoring and the occasional tossing and turning. The experience will definitely prove to you that time is, indeed, relative.

After one-handedly navigating a cart through the aisles and picking items as gingerly as possible, I headed for the checkout line. I’d been getting sympathetic glances the entire time, people looking from me to their carts with a look of relief washing over their face that at least this element of their lives, the trip to the grocery store, was unencumbered. At least I could be their foils for the morning.

At such an hour, only two lines were open, and I wasn’t going to attempt a self-checkout with one hand. A woman with a super-loaded cart arrived a second or two before me. She glanced sympathetically at me, looking from the CLK to her own ten-ish-year-old daughter.

“I remember those days,” she said. “Why don’t you go in front of me?”

I thanked her, but I declined. She’d probably finish faster, anyway. I chose the second available checkout—the slightly longer line.

“Okay,” she insisted, “but I’m sending my daughter over there to unload your cart onto the conveyor belt for you.”

I watched in amazement as her daughter unloaded the cart onto the belt and even took the reusable bags up to the cashier for me. It was a small gesture, but it brightened my morning. I was reminded to cherish the sleeping toddler on my shoulder—because I know this stage doesn’t last long. I was encouraged that one day, the CLK would be old enough to help load up groceries with/for me. And I was inspired that one day, when the CLK is old enough, perhaps I’ll be able to show her the value of helping others by lending her services to another mother in need.

Fantastic Friday none

Flash Fiction: Toddler Glory by Val Muller

March 2, 2017 No comments

Welcome to March! This month’s Spot Writers’ prompt is to use the following words in a story: builder, chance, trophy, glory, unexpected. This month’s post comes to us from Val Muller, author of the YA novel The Man with the Crystal Ankh, a story about the power of music to tap into our subconscious side—even if it means opening our mind to the supernatural.

This month’s story, however, is inspired by a toddler, who came to mind immediately with this particular combination of words.

Toddler Glory

By Val Muller

There’s Mom. Sitting at the This-Is-Not-For-Babies again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Those keys are so cool when Mom presses them. She’s so fast. They sound like this: TapTapTapTap. TapTapTapTapTapTappedy Tap.

They make an even funnier noise when I press them because Mom screams in between each tap. Like this: Tap. This. Is. Not. For. Babies. Tap. Tap. Tap. WaitINeedToSave! Tap. Tap. NoUndoUndoUndo! Tap. Tap. Tap. NotWithStickyHands! Tap.

See, I have to pause in between each tap for dramatic effect.

And then I usually get placed on the carpet with some crunchy snacks. Crunch. Crunch. They make a funner sound than the keys, so I eat them for a while.

But only just a while.

Because Mom is back at the This-Is-Not-For-Babies.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Mom keeps eyeing me, like she knows what I’m thinking. I have to throw her off guard, so I pick up my Mega Blocks. I squeal and smack the blocks against each other. Then I stick two together. Mom smiles. “Good job, my lil builder,” she says.

Motor skills. They always manage to impress parents.

We make eye contact. The room is all smiles.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her guard is down. Now is my chance. Going on two feet is suspicious, so I crawl a little bit, then sit down again. Mom raises an eyebrow. I smile and coo. I’m still holding the MegaBlock sculpture. I wave it in the air like a trophy. Nothing to see here, Mom. Nothing to see here.

She lowers her guard. Something in the other room attracts her attention, an unexpected ringing. I like the sound, but I like an unguarded This-Is-Not-For-Babies even better.

I toddle to Mommy’s table and pick up the glowy mouse that Daddy taught me how to use. Daddy is always so proud when I learn to use technology. Glowy mouse has its own sound: Click. Click. Click. The screen changes with each Click, and I squeal. Click. Boring. Click. Boring. Click. Finally, there it is. The red and white picture. Daddy calls it the “YouTube.” Mommy calls it the “Not now.”

I click click click until I see her. My hero. My love. Now I push some keys. Tap. Tap. Tap. And she starts singing.

Peppa Pig.

The familiar bars of her theme song come on just as Mommy re-enters the room. She takes one look at me and shakes her head. But it’s okay because she’s smiling. She’s smiling because she knows:

The This-Is-Not-For-Babies is for babies after all. Just like Peppa Pig. And just like everything else.

And that’s why the room is all smiles.

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Dorothy Colinco. www.dorothycolinco.com

CaraMarie Christy: https://calamariwriting.wordpress.com/

 

 

flash fiction none

Fantastic Friday: Chocolate Hummus!

February 24, 2017 No comments

Chocolate. Hummus.

Stay with me, here.

I didn’t know this was a thing.

I really wanted to write about the 75-degree weather for this week’s Fantastic Friday post. In fact, the reason I’m late (posting this on Sunday instead of Friday) is that I was out enjoying the unseasonable weather while it lasted. Today is cold again, so I’m sitting by the fire at my laptop, catching up on the blog.

But I think chocolate hummus is much more unique than the beautiful weather we’ve all been enjoying.

To understand the significance of chocolate hummus, I have to share my “chocolate frosting” dreams. A while back, when my husband and I decided to collectively lose 100 pounds, one of the things that helped was cutting down on desserts. As I decreased my sugar intake, I found I didn’t miss it that much. Ever since I was a kid, I haven’t really been super interested in food (just ask my dad about the tricks he had to do to get me to eat). I prefer just to eat quickly and efficiently and then move on.

Except for chocolate frosting. It’s my Achiiles’ heel.

As I lost weight, I literally had dreams that I was eating a spoonful of chocolate frosting.

Multiple dreams, over days, weeks, and months.

And it’s not like I used to eat tons and tons of sweets. It’s just that I really love chocolate buttercreme frosting. So every once in a while—and this still happens—I will have a dream in which I am about to eat a spoonful of chocolate frosting. And then, just as I’m about to take a bite, I wake up.

And there is no chocolate frosting to be had!

Enter chocolate hummus. I was at Giant picking up my weekly package of hummus (hummus and veggies for lunch helped me lose 50 pounds two years ago), when I saw “Twisted Chocolate hummus.” I figured, what the heck? Give it a try. The package suggested it would be good for dipping fruit or pretzels.

I packed some strawberries the next day for lunch and hoped for the best. And I wasn’t disappointed. It’s not quite buttercreme frosting, but it hits the chocolate spot without doing too much calorie damage. It’s chocolatey and creamy with a bit of cinnamon/heat to it. I could imagine it topping cupcakes and cookies, as a matter of fact.

When I went to Google it, I was startled to find so many recipes for it. In fact, there are numerous recipes out there for dessert hummus, including peanut butter and cookie dough versions! So as I continue to make choices and substitutions in what I eat in an attempt to be as healthy as possible, it’s always exciting to discover alternatives to something as unhealthy as chocolate buttercreme frosting.

Because what would the world be without chocolate?

 

Fantastic Friday none
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