Mulberry Street Became Famous 76 Years Ago

Seventy-six years ago today Dr. Seuss's first book, "And to Think I Saw It on Mulberry Street" was published.

It almost didn't happen though.

After a 27th publisher rejected his first manuscript "And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street," Theodor Geisel considered burning the book in his apartment incinerator. As he walked dejectedly along Madison Avenue in New York City, he bumped into Dartmouth friend Mike McClintock. McClintock was brimming with some very good news. That morning he started a new job as an editor with Vanguard Press in the children’s section.

When Geisel told his sad story, the new editor took the manuscript and said, “I’ll publish it!”
“Don’t you want to read it first?” Geisel asked incredulously.
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” the editor replied.
“Heck, I don’t know anything about children’s books.”

Vanguard published the book in 1937 and  launched the extraordinary career of Dr. Seuss. “If I had been going down the other side of Madison Avenue, I’d be in the dry-cleaning business today,” Geisel later said.

Related articles And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street

 

The Witch and the Ice Cream

[An exercise write something, beginning with the first line of a book]

The witch had a cat and a hat that was black, and long ginger hair in a braid down her back.**

Everything about her said, 'Witch," except for the three kids tagging along behind her. I knew one of them. He was Jacob, a kid in my class.

"Hey, Jacob!" I shouted as they walked by.

He looked at me, but didn't say anything, didn't even act like he knew who I was. That made me wonder if maybe she was a witch and she did something to them and she was taking them home to cook them. That's what witches do to kids you know. If the kid's lucky, the witch will make them a slave and make them wash dirty witch stuff. Usually, the kid isn't lucky and gets stuffed in a big oven, the size of a pizza oven, only the witch isn't making pizza.

I thought maybe I should follow them. After all, if she was going to eat them, she had to have a house someplace. Maybe I could follow and see where she went. Then I could call the police. I didn't want to follow too close, though. Last thing I wanted was to be part of a witch sandwich.

They went down a block and turned the corner. By the time I got there, they were gone.

She must have seen me following and made them disappear, I thought. I hurried down the street thinking maybe there was an alley, but as I was passing an ice-cream shop, I saw them all inside. She was handing each of them an ice-cream cone. Oh no, just like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, she was fattening them up. When they came out of the store, I said, "Hi Jacob."

He mumbled, "Hi." as he licked his ice-cream.

"Are you one of Jacob's friends?" the witch asked. I couldn't tell if she sounded like a witch, but I think she did.

I nodded, yes.

'Would you like some ice-cream, too?" she said, and I think she cackled.

"No, thank you very much," I said as I turned and ran. Maybe Jacob was going to stand there and let an old witch fatten him up, but I wasn't. I didn't stop until I was in my yard in front of my house.

** From the first line of "Room on the Broom" by Julia Donaldson

Haunted Houses... Really?

Haunted houses are not my thing.

The real thing, an old spooky looking house. Those are fun, at least to imagine the possibilities. The 'just for Halloween' haunted houses might have been fun when I was ten or eleven, but once you approach adulthood... well I see no reason to spend any amount of money to go inside a dark building expecting attempts to be made to frighten me. I could consider joining the T-Party if I really wanted to frighten myself... and all it would cost me would be a little of my dignity.

Okay, now I've done it, haven't I, lost a couple readers because of my misdirected and blatant attempt at humor (I could have said, 'misguided,' but there was no guiding involved). I guess I frightened myself a little after all.

Okay, let me cross that out and try again. If I really wanted to frighten myself I could rent a Hummer to drive to the gas station. No? How about: If I really wanted to frighten myself I'd audition for America's Got Talent (If you ever heard me sing, you'd know how frightening that could be).

What is really frightening to me is the things people spend their money on and so-called 'haunted houses' is just one of them. When I was a kid if somebody jumped out from a dark place or even from behind a corner and shouted, "Boo," they better be ready to be chased, unless they got punched good and hard right then and there. I'm sorry, if you love Halloween's haunted houses, but I'm not going to spend money for something I would have punched some for years ago.

Nonsense or ...

Review: Lost and Found

Imagine this: you open your door and find a penguin there. It's a very sad looking penguin. What would you do? Take it to lost and found? Maybe. Ask some birds? Maybe. Help it get home? Maybe.

Let's say you decide to help it get home. You head down to the docks, but the last boat to the South Pole just left. That means you'll have to take the penguin there yourself. So you find a row boat, load the penguin in, and start rowing. Many days later you arrive. You leave the penguin and the two of you wave good-bye.

Now, let's say you really got to like that little penguin; after all you two were together a long time through storms and deep, dark nights. What would you do? That's what this delightful book, Lost and Found by Oliver Jeffers, is about. But even more, it is about friendship, the friendship that can develop between two unlikely friends, and the feelings we have when those friends go away. The story really begins when the boy realizes the penguin wasn't sad because it was far from home. It was sad because it was lonely. I also enjoyed Oliver Jeffers lovely, simple illustrations that add immensely to this story.

A Description Doth Not a Story Make

There are many keys to fiction.

One of the most difficult is to create conflict.

It is easy to describe an event.  It is difficult to turn that event from an announcement into a story.

I can easily picture a cat sitting on a mat, looking around, staring at the walls, looking out the windows, and waiting... waiting for something to happen. It can be a pretty cat, an old cat, a battle weary cat. All of this can hint at, sort of dance around the edges of a story, but until something happens it is not a story. Until then, this is just a scene or a character synopsis.

Review: Knuffle Bunny

Little Trixie goes to the Laundromat with her father. She delights in helping him load the machines and is having a great time. On the way home though, she notices something is missing. her Knuffle Bunny. She tries to tell her father, but as is the case with most parents, he doesn't speak 'baby.'

By the time the two get home both daughter and father are terribly frustrated. Trixie because her stuffed bunny is missing, Father because he doesn't understand why she is upset. Mother, however, has a better understanding of Trixie's language.

The family rushes back to the Laundromat. Whew, Knuffle Bunny is still there. “Aggle Flaggle Klabble!” Trixie squeals.

I remember the torment my little brother went through when one of his favorite toys was lost. Unfortunately for him, there was no happy ending. We never did find his little stuffed bear. For a child it's like losing a best friend.

I loved the innovative use of black and white photographs and cartoon-like drawings. In fact, there are enough clues in the photos that, if you want, you can track down the exact location of the story in New York City.

Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems, Winner of the Caldecott Honor Award in 2005.

 

Review: Someday

Someday I am going to be...

It’s hard to be content with the present moment when you are little. The future has infinitely more possibilities! Eileen Spinelli has written a story, simply titled Someday, about a young girl with an extravagant imagination. She dreams of going beyond the common events of her day-to-day life and imagines them as exciting moments instead.

She feeds the fish, but pictures heself making friends with a dolphin. The sofa turns into an archeological site and lunch becomes tea at the White House.

Someday encourages children to go beyond what they know to imagine what could be. It assures them that while their everyday life may seem boring, the future is there for them to create.

With the assistance of Rosie Winstead’s utterly lovely and adorable artwork, this becomes a tale that goes beyond daily events and into the possibilities of someday.

Picture Book: Someday by Eileen Spinelli','

Just Another Bloody Nose

So I'm sitting here with a half a sheet of toilet paper stuck up my nose. No I did not make a mistake and no, I am not trying to make any kind of fashion statement.

Forty-four months ago (3.6 years), I had an operation that three of the four doctors I saw before the operation said was common, not to worry about, and 'a piece of cake.' The doctor performing the operation said, "And you could, heaven forbid, die." Of the four, he was the one who was right. I almost died. He said he was afraid he was going to lose me. Obviously, he didn't.

The short version. I had a tumor. They went up my nose to get it. They didn't get it all - because of the almost dying bit, but some damage was done. That's why I wear an eye-patch and that's why, every year, about this time of year when the Santa Anna winds blow and it gets very dry here in Southern California, my nose starts bleeding... and I don't mean the little trickle most people see when they have a nose-bleed. This stuff pours like sweet wine into a magnum sized glass.

The first time it happened, I panicked. I thought I was going to bleed to death. I called 911, then I sat in the emergency room (hidden away because they didn't want to disturb the other people waiting), while holding my nose for almost four hours before it stopped. An eye, ear, nose, throat doctor cauterised it, and I didn't have a problem for a year or so. That's about it for the details, probably more than you wanted to know anyway.

Anyway, now I know what to do. I stuff paper up my nose and wait. It usually takes 2 - 3 days before it stops completely. During that time though, I'm afraid to go anywhere. Either I look strange or I suddenly run away from where ever I am rather than look like I spilled ketchup.

So, here's the thing. Is there a story for children in this?

Prompt: The Night Before Halloween

 

From your bedroom window you can see an abandoned old house. You've walked past it many times before. Once it was a beautiful house, but now the roof sags, the paint is peeling, the windows are boarded up and all your friends say it's a 'ghost house' even though no one's ever been in it.

 

The night before Halloween you happen to look out at the old house. It seems to be glowing, as if the entire house is lit up. You get a pair of binoculars. You can see that the boards have been removed. There is light coming from every window and it looks like the roof isn't sagging anymore. You don't see any sign of any people. There are no cars in the driveway, no one appears to be in any of the rooms.

 

What will you see when you go trick or treating there tomorrow? Will you knock on the door in the first place?

 

Prompt: Follow That Bus

You are at a bus stop. There are also two children standing there. A school bus pulls up. The two children get on. As the bus starts pulling away you realize that the bus is empty. It doesn't even have a driver. Curious, you hail a cab and follow the bus. It makes three more stops, picking up five more children. There are no children to be seen anywhere on the bus, not even looking out of the back windows. The bus turns a corner and...

Review: Interrupting Chicken

Interrupting Chicken by David Ezra Stein is positively one of my favorite children's books. A little chicken needs a bed-time story. Papa Chicken is reluctant to read it because the young chicken is always interrupting.

The little chicken promises he will not interrupt, but Papa barely starts reading, before the little chicken stops the story to help the story's hero from doing something dangerous or stupid. Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood, and even Chicken Little end abruptly.

Finally Papa Chicken suggests the little chicken read a story, but this time it's Papa Chicken who has a problem.

Stein's illustrations are funny and delightful, turning two chickens into real and loveable characters. The illustrations - stories within a story - mix pictures of the stories being told with drawings of Papa and the little chicken.

Perhaps the best thing about this book is that it is not just fun to read, it is especially fun to read out loud.

Exclamation Points

Wasn't it Terry Pratchett who said, "Five exclamation marks are the sure sign of an insane mind"?

Then again, if I was stuck in a hospital I'd probably want a few more exclamation points, too... and not worry about my sanity.

Review: Whose Mouse Are You by Robert Kraus

Cute story, especially for toddlers. The little mouse of Robert Kraus's picture book, Whose Mouse Are You? is asked just that: 'Whose mouse are you?'

The answer is that it is nobody's mouse because its mother was swallowed by a cat, it's father is in a trap, it's sister is far away, and it does not have a brother. Nevertheless it is a brave and clever little mouse who saves its family and brings them all home.

My favorite part of this book was not the rhyming story, but the pictures. The mice are cute, the cat and trap are colorfully scary, and the book barely needs the limited number of words (101).

While I think the story might not be exciting for a six-year-old, the pictures would be delightful for a three or four-year-old.

 

Beginning, Middle, End

If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book. In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle.**

You may be asking how could this be, surely there must be some happiness in this book. Well, there isn't. The reason is that this book has no ending and not much of a middle. You are in the middle of the middle and not far from the end. Does that make you happy? It shouldn't especially since you either spent some good, well-deserved cash on this thing, or you spent some time deciding whether or not to read it and it is obvious you have decided to read it, which means that now you are either wasting some of that cash you could have spent somewhere else, or some of your good,but rather limited time and... he says with a pause that is intended to raise your curiosity, but probably will not... there is a very good chance (although not a chance worth putting odds upon) you are doing both.

Now, you probably see why I've said this has no happy endings, beginnings and not very much happiness in the middle. Please don't tell me you don't see, because you've already reached the end.

** beginning of Lemony Snickett's 'A Series of Unfortunate Events'

 

Epithets and Epitaphs

I look in many places for inspiration and save all sorts of interesting and odd things that I look at every now and then when I need to motivate my muse. I don't know where I found this. I have a bad habit of finding things on the Internet and saving them, but not adding a citation so I'll know where it came from if I ever decide to use it for something other than my amusement of inspiration.

I used to live a block away from one of the cemeteries in Wausau, WI. It was a great place to walk the dog, but it was a little spooky at night, especially on a cloudy, drizzly night near the back where there wasn’t much light. I think the spookiness came, not from the cemetery residents but from all the cemetery stories I saw, read and heard when I was growing up.

Here are some fascinating inscriptions found on old tombstones:

Harry Edsel Smith of Albany, New York: Born 1903--Died 1942.
Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the
car was on the way down. It was.

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On a gravestone in a Georgetown, Washington, D.C. area cemetery
Katharine Phelps Brown Ivison 11/25/17 - 6/12/97
Sterling Hollinshead Ivison, Jr. 6/26/19 - 8/16/08
We finally found a place to park in Georgetown.

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In a Thurmont, Maryland, cemetery:
Here lies an Atheist, all dressed up
and no place to go.

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In a Ribbesford, England, cemetery:
Anna Wallace
The children of Israel wanted bread,
And the Lord sent them manna.
Clark Wallace wanted a wife,
And the Devil sent him Anna.

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On the grave of Ezekial Aikle in East Dalhousie Cemetery, Nova Scotia:
Here lies Ezekial Aikle, Age 102.
Only the good die young.

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In a London, England cemetery:
Here lies Ann Mann, who lived an old maid
but died an old Mann. Dec. 8, 1767

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John Penny's epitaph in the Wimborne, England, cemetery:
Reader if cash thou art
In want of any
Dig 4 feet deep
And thou wilt find a Penny.

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In a Uniontown, Pennsylvania, cemetery:
Here lies the body of Jonathan Blake,
Stepped on the gas instead of the brake.

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In a Ruidoso, New Mexico, cemetery:
Here lies Johnny Yeast.
Pardon him for not rising.

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On Margaret Daniels grave at Hollywood Cemetery Richmond, Virginia
She always said her feet were killing her
but nobody believed her.

---------------------------------------------
In a Silver City, Nevada, cemetery:
Here lays The Kid,
We planted him raw.
He was quick on the trigger,
But slow on the draw.

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A lawyer's epitaph in England:
Sir John Strange.
Here lies an honest lawyer,
and that is Strange.

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In a cemetery in Hartscombe, England:
On the 22nd of June, Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune.

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Anna Hopewell' s grave in Enosburg Falls, Vermont:
Here lies the body of our Anna,
Done to death by a banana.
It wasn't the fruit that laid her low,
But the skin of the thing that made her go.
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On a grave from the 1880s in Nantucket, Massachusetts:
Under the sod and under the trees,
Lies the body of Jonathan Pease.
He is not here, there's only the pod,
Pease shelled out and went to God.

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The grave of Ellen Shannon in Girard, Pennsylvania is almost a consumer tip:

Who was fatally burned
March 21, 1870
by the explosion of a lamp
filled with “R.E. Danforth’s
Non-Explosive Burning Fluid”

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In a cemetery in England:
Remember man, as you walk by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so shall you be,
Remember this and follow me.
To which someone replied by writing on the tombstone:
To follow you I'll not consent, Until I know which way you went.

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Most celebrity gravestones are well known, but this is my favorite, Winston Churchill (1874-1965):

I am ready to meet my Maker,
Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter!

I Will Write, Just As Soon As...

There are so many distractions, especially when the computer is also the word-processor, pad of paper, napkin, envelope back, pen, and pencil.

There aren't as many games available on a pad of paper as you can, with just a tap or a click take out and play. It's not as easy to wander off and read the latest stories about your favorite sports team. And that funny story about what's-her-name. You'd probably have to turn a number of pages just to locate. On the Internet, though, it all just jumps out at you.

Writing a book is a form of bleeding and who wants to bleed when you can much more easily empty your brain into an empty container.

 

The New Old House

Every Tuesday during Halloween month I'll post a Halloween related prompt. Here's the first one. See if you can get a creepy, spooky story out of this.

You are visiting an old mansion. It is three stories high and has 13 rooms. You have to climb 13 stairs to get to the second floor and 13 more to get to the third. Sometimes you're sure you see a face looking out of a third floor window. Your first night staying there you here a squeaking out on the stairs near your room. You are afraid to go out there (maybe you've heard stories about this place). The squeaking does not stop. Eventually you can't stand it anymore and creep out of your room to look. There is a mouse sitting on one of the steps. What happens next?

Every Child Could Be a Genius

Go to any baby ward. Look at all the babies. You are looking at a room full of potential geniuses. Given the opportunity almost every one of those newborns can be an 'A' student. Almost everyone can be successful in life, but most likely only a few of them will be "A' students and most of them will not be anywhere close to as successful as they can be.

You did catch my key phrase there: 'Given the opportunity.'

Most children are saddled with two problems the first day of school. First, they are not ready for school. Generally children are expected to begin school the same day all the other children their age in their school district begin school. Their maturity is not the same age, though.  Some were ready months before, some will be ready very soon, and others will not be ready for as much as a year of more. I wasn't really ready for school until I started third grade. That's when I learned how to read. Until then I had no idea what was going on.

Second they will not all be at the same grade level. Some of them will know how to read already. Many will know how to count. Some will know their ABCs and how to tell time. Some will have travelled extensively; others will have never been very far out of their own neighborhood. Some will have a number of friends and be socially receptive. Others won't know how to relate to their classmates.

Most of those children who were ready for school the first day as well as most of those who were already educationally and socially adept will finish the school year ahead of their classmates and ready for second grade. Some will stumble into second grade but will be able to stay with the material being offered, but many will be falling behind and will continue falling behind unless something fortunate happens to them. I was fortunate to have concerned parents and an especially good third grade teacher. By the end of third grade I had joined the children who were stumbling into fourth grade, but I was in a position where I could catch up and I did.

When I was student teaching, one of my students could barely read. Whenever anyone talked with him, it was obvious he was very bright. In fact he had once tested as highly intelligent. His real problem was that everyone in his family worked in one of the local factories. That's all he really knew. When he got to third grade and couldn't read, even if there was a teacher who wanted to take the time to teach him how to read, she was getting little or no support from the boy's family. It's likely none of them knew how to read very well either.

Children are born learning. Perhaps if that boy had been able to start school when he was ready, even if it wasn't until he was nine or ten, he might have had enough success to be able to buck that innate resistance provided by his family.

Perhaps if our educational system did not demand that every child be at the same place educationally as every other child in the same grade, that boy and the many, many children like him would have a chance to succeed. Our school systems need to be adapted to the needs of the child, not the needs of the educational system.

Our educational system was designed to create factory workers. It was designed to meet the needs of the industrial age and its factories. It is still that way, even though the needs are different. We need people oriented toward success, not an assembly line. We need students who can create and solve problems, not students who can be cogs in the wheel. In short our educational system needs to be adapted so every student can succeed according to his or her current ability, not according to the perceived ability of the grade level as a whole.

Sometimes Is Always

I think every writer has moments of inspiration, moments of exciting creativity when the story or the characters take over. The writer might feel as if the words are being dictated. Of course that will be only the first stop for those words, that creativity. Every great writer wants whatever is put on paper the first time to be the final version, but that only happens sometimes. Very often much of what 'fell' onto the paper is going to be rewritten and reshaped. In the end those 'sometimes' when the words come so fast end up in the same place as the words that have to be extracted from the writer's mind.

'Sometimes' is really all the time and speed is merely a momentary perception

 

Review: Black Dog

Sometimes our imaginations make our fears bigger than they actually are. That's what happens in Levi Pinfold's, 'Black Dog.'

A black dog shows up on a snowy morning in front of the Hope family house. One by one each family member - father, mother, and the older children - look out the windows and see the dog which seems to grow with each sighting. Mr. Hope calls the police and tells them it's as big as a tiger. For Mrs. Hope it's as big as an elephant. As the dog continues growing and is as large as the two-story house when the whole family, with one exception, go into hiding, cringing beneath the covers.

The exception is “the youngest member of the Hope family, called Small (for short).” Small Hope (I love that name and image) goes outside to confront the black dog who appears to be huge. Showing no fear the child leads taunts the dog to chase her saying, “You can’t follow where I go, unless you shrink, or don’t you know?” As the two run the dog shrinks until it is the size of a small terrier.

Black dog is a remarkable story about being courageous and facing fear. You don't have to be big to be brave. Size doesn't matter.

The illustrations are special, not just because they almost tell the story by themselves, but because just like day-to-day life, they have secrets that no one notices.

The Joy of Reading a Picture Book

Every time I pick up a picture book I relive the joy of being a child.

Reading a picture book is very different from reading an adult book. With almost any book other than a Picture book (any book where there are many pictures and they are as important to the book as the words are). When I pick up an adult book I am most interested in the story (or stories) inside. It is the text that is most important.

When I pick up a picture book, it is the book I am most interested in. The entire book is the experience, not just the story. That is not to say that the story is unimportant, of course it is. A poor story usually means only one reading and loneliness on a shelf. But picking up a picture book means pondering the title, examining the jacket - both sides, then the cover, the inside flaps, and every single page thoroughly and if it's a good book that will be done over and over again.

Every good picture book has at least three stories. There is the book itself and the child's reaction to it, the feel of the book, its weight, its size, its paper, its colors and how the child feels about having the book in hand. Parents often despair when their child damages a book, colors in it, chews on it, tears or crumples pages in it. For a child, though, that's part of the fun. A book is to be enjoyed, completely  in every way that it can be enjoyed. I think that's the goal of life for a child and their books help them fulfill that goal.

Then there's the story told by the pictures, all the pictures - cover to cover. Sometimes each picture tells another story. Sometimes a picture might have more than one story to tell. Each picture deserves careful examination. That's why a child will often stop the person who is reading a book from turning a page - the pictures are still being read. Sometimes the pictures are so compelling that words are not needed. A picture is worth a thousand words can be especially true in a picture book.

Then, of course, there is the text. The text is often the most important part of the book for an adult, because it's the story that attracts an adult. I like to think the text is the most important part of a picture book for children, too. I like to think it's the part of the book that causes the child to return to it, but it's not. It's the part of the book that can cause a child not to return, but it could be any of the three elements of a picture book - the book, the pictures, the text - that causes a child to want that particular book to be read again and again.

If you can step back into your childhood. If you can bring out that inner child and pick up a good picture book, you'll have so much fun, fun that you might not have had for years.

Playing Dodge the Raindrops

This is an exercise where I thake the first line of a book and start writing. The goal is to write a complete scene.

The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day.**

We really, really wanted to play 'Dodge the Raindrops.' It's one of our favorite games. The rain has to be just trickling, usually that's when it starts or when it ends. We had the boards all ready. We had our rain coats and hats. It was raining too hard, though. It rained all day and didn't stop until the next day when we were in school. I was taking a geography test when I looked out the window and saw the sun shining.

I didn't make up the raindrop game. My brother's friend, Eddie, taught us how to play. It's easy. When the first drop falls we run outside, holding our boards over our heads. The boards are pieces of cardboard wrapped in paper to show the raindrops. We have to run to the corner, touch the light post and run back home, twice; round one and round two.

The game is hardest when it's windy because it's tricky keeping the cardboard flat. Dropping the board or running more than two steps without it being flat right over your head means you have to go back to the beginning and start over. Also, if the cardboard gets blown sideways you’re in even more trouble, because there will probably be raindrops on both sides of the board when you start round two. Round two is just flipping the board over and running to the stop light and back to the garage again.

When we’re finished we count all the raindrops on each board. If it’s not raining heavy yet, we put new paper on and do it again. Every now and then we get to play three or four times.

When it really starts raining we go inside and mom fixes us a treat, cookies or ice cream or something. The winner is the one with the fewest raindrops. I think the winner should be the person with the most dry space on the board, but nobody has figured out how to measure the dry space yet.

Sometimes when we play the rain turns into a real gusher before we even finish the second round. That's when it's the most fun we usually all end up in the garage soaking wet and laughing. If anyone still has a dry spot on their cardboard, they automatically get to be the winner. The winner always gets an extra cookie or scoop of ice cream. That's why we wanted to play so much. Mom made pecan chocolate chip cookies, which she hardly ever makes. If we're lucky it will rain again Saturday before the cookies are all gone.

** The first line of The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss

 

There Are Dreams and Nightmares and...

Most people have dreams, some have two or three a night. I hardly ever dream. Maybe I sleep too soundly, maybe I just don't c are.

When I was ten years old I was waking up just about every night in the middle of a nightmare. The night after I had a particularly scary nightmare I decided to try stopping the nightmares. I fell asleep saying over and over, "I will not dream anymore." That worked. Not only did I stop having nightmares, I had almost no dreams at all. Now, I know that's not true, at least that's what the dream scientists tell us. According to them, everybody dreams. Some people, like me, just don't remember them. However, about ten years ago I started occasionally remembering my dreams, about once or twice a month.

Some people have fairly exciting, often quite scary dreams. Mine, however, are always rather mundane. Once in a while I dream about one or more of the dogs I've had over the years. Usually, though, they're not quite as much fun.

This is the kind of thing I usually dream about: last night I dreamed about the bathroom, the shower specifically. Someone, a woman, I no longer remember who, maybe my mom, was trying to get the soap scum off my shower walls. She got most of it, but there were a couple pretty obvious bands of it that marred the otherwise shiny walls.

I went and rummaged through my cleaning supplies and found one 'guaranteed' to remove soap scum. It might have worked on TV, but it didn't work in my dream bathroom. The dream ended when I left to find a paint scraper.

See, exciting. Now, I think for most people who have interesting dreams that dream would have continued. They would have encountered a monster of some kind - a dinosaur, the thing from 'Alien,' King-Kong - who would have been guarding the paint scraper. A battle and chase would have ensued. Maybe the paint scraper would have been liberated, maybe the chase would have led to a hardware store, maybe to a factory where they make paint scrapers, maybe to a supply closet at the White House. The dream would have become more and more exciting or frightening.

Tomorrow, maybe I'll tell you about the dream I had about the time I made a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Oh, and then there's the one about the coffee. I'm sure you'll want to hear about that one.

It's Not Much

This is about the way I feel when I finish most of my first drafts.

On the one hand I think I've got a good story, on the other I know it's not much of a tale... yet.

I know I'm attached to it, otherwise I wouldn't have finished the first draft. I've got a drawer-full of ideas and not-yet-finished stories. So far I haven't been attached to them enough to finish them. Once that first draft is finished, though, there's something real to go on. It might not be much, but it can be. The entire story is there. It just needs to be groomed, be washed, combed, dried, and have that bow attached to it.

 

Prompt: There Was an Old Woman

Picture this: An older woman is washing the dishes, or reading, or gardening, or just sitting on her front porch, or...whatever you like.

She sees a child doing something which triggers a memory of her own childhood. Perhaps it is what the child is doing that triggers the memory, perhaps it is where the child happens to be, perhaps it is simply the child.

Write a story about this.

Dr. Seuss

Today marks the 22 anniversary of the death of Theodore Geisel, Dr Seuss.

Here are a couple things I found interesting about him. Although he was stepfather to his second wife, Audrey's, two daughters, he fathered no children of his own. He didn't really want any children. In fact, he didn't even like to spend any time with them.

In an interview a few years ago his widow, Audrey, pointed out that he was a little afraid of them. She said he was always thinking: "What might they do next? What might they ask next?" She added: "He couldn't just sit down on the floor and play with them."

When Dr. Seuss was asked how he could connect with children in spite of not having his own, his stock answer was, “You have ‘em, and I’ll entertain ‘em.”

Dr. Seuss had permanent stage fright because of Teddy Roosevelt.
During World War I, 14-year-old Ted Geisel was one of Springfield’s top sellers of war bonds. Because of that he was to be given an award by former president, Theodore Roosevelt. Standing on stage in front of an audience of thousands, Ted was the last of 10 Boy Scouts waiting for the reward. A mistake was made and the president was only given nine medals. When he reached Geisel, Roosevelt gruffly bellowed, “What’s this little boy doing here?” Ted's smile turned to shock as he was quickly ushered off the stage. From that day on Dr. Seuss dreaded any public appearance.

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