Post #2

My only tip for writing: Write!




I have already gotten two other submitions that were from my family members, so.. PLEASE SUBMIT

Suzie's poem!

Suzie is 63 years old. This is Suzzanne's, (My grandma which i call Mimi) poem that she wrote for me when i was one year old:

May 1, 2004
Grape jelly stains cover her white shirt
and there is more grape jelly
stuck to her lips and chin.
She smells like peanut butter.
Her blue striped shorts hang way below her belly,
and continue their way past the point where shorts
are supposed to stop.
At the end of her mosquito bitten legs:
dusty new brown summer sandals.
Her hair is slicked down and sticky too
a combination of sun screen and bug repellent.
She looks like a little ragamuffin,
as she heads down the driveway on the first of May.
Suddenly Bella stops in her tracks and crouches down
on the warm pavement.
She is watching an ant
as it climbs over a black stone and crawls across
a lime green maple pod.
Busy, busy, busy.
She waves hello to it, opening and closing her small fist several times.
"Hi" she says to the ant and looks up at me, her grandma, scooting down beside her
trying to keep my balance.
"An ant" I say.
She nods, as if I have only confirmed what she already knew.
She watches the ant for a long time
And I watch too.
We both have the time right now,
and the love
to remake the size of our worlds. 

Thank you, Mimi! 

You can do this too!

 

 

Alisa's poem!

Alisa is 41 years old. Here is Alisa's (My mother) poem: 

Solitude:

a walk in the rain

under dark sky and cold wind

alone with the trees 

Thank you, Alisa! 

You can do this kind of stuff too!

Bella's (Me) Writing excerpt

Here is something i wrote a while ago: 

                            GEORGE

The day George arrived, it was raining. The day George arrived, Mama was chattering with her fiancé, Robby, who smells like dirty socks and draws people with peanut-ears. The day George arrived, Sally and Joe were playing in the neighborhood lot. The day George arrived, I was the only one alert. I was the only one swinging on the old wooden swing on our front porch, stroking Ralph, our mutt, and waiting for something miraculous to happen. That old swing was not rightfully ours, since it was a rental just like the house.

            “Just gotta wait for miracles during The Hard Times.” Mama always said before she tucked me in my stiff, tiny bed and blew out the candles.

            Mama never use the real word for this time, The Depression.

            The day George arrived, I was reading my new Annie comic that Penny let me borrow. It had a few scratches and rips, but I could still read it. Every Wednesday, Penny and I would trade our Annie comics and read them as fast as we could, getting to the good part.

            “And then, Annie saw to her dismay, Sandy had a broken paw! Oh what would she do?” I read, reading as fast as I could, wanting to find out what happened to the poor dog.

            I loved the Annie comics since my name was Annie, too and I always felt like I was the one going on adventures and getting adopted by millionaires.

            “Annie! Come back in here, or you’ll catch a cold!” Mama yelled from inside.

            “But I like the rain!” I yelled back.

            I settled back into my favorite spot on the swing, chewing my hair and reading excitedly.

            “And then, Sandy started sniffing the ground. Could it be the culprit?” I read aloud.

            All of the sudden, I heard bike tires sloshing in the muddy puddles.

            “Probably just the mailman.” I said, holding out my hand to catch the newspaper.

            I heard the tires get closer and…THUMP!

            “That didn’t sound like the news,” I said, bunny-earring the page and bending to look down.

            I gasped; I was right, it wasn’t the mail.

            “Mama!” I screamed.

            “What is it?!” She yelled back, slamming down the phone and wiping her sweaty forehead.

            She opened the door and looked down.

            “Huh!” She gasped, gaping at the sight in front of her. “Get the twins!”

            I ran down the muddy street with Ralph right behind my heels, barely missing muddy puddles.  Droplets of mud fell on my face, staining it with polka dots.

            I jumped over the wooden fence, breathing very hard.

            I ran across the lot, grabbed the seven-year-old twins and pulled them towards home.

            “What is it?” Sally asked, pulling away. Joe would have asked too, but ever since Papa died, he’s been silent.

            But all I could get out was: “Stray…cat.”

            Sally and Joe looked at each other, silently decided, and followed me over the fence and down the street.

            When we got home, Robby was already there. His red hair looked tangled and his pale, freckly face had a look of awe on it.

            “Kitty!” Sally yelled, and she was right.

            In the small, ripped cardboard box lay a thin, dirty, scruffy, helpless little brown and black kitten. It’s eyes were closed, and it’s lashes were big and black. It’s tail was short and fat. It was so thin, you could wrap your fist around it and have your fingers touching.

            That was George. 

Thanks for reading it! You can post stuff like this too! 

Post #1

Hello peoples of the nations! No..................



Yo peeps! No...............




Hi guys! No.................





My name is Bella, and i LOVE to write and eat pickles! Yes!
As you can alreday see, i spend A LOT of my time on word choice. That's why i love to write! (and eat pickles, only dill!) Well, i am an ugly.....no.........stinky......no....... experienced...yes! Blogger, since i already have a blog:     picklesnfun.blogspot.com     CHECK IT OUT!! Well, this is my first "other people adding stuff on it" kind of blog! As you probably can tell, this blog is a writing blog, so if you want to submit something, it has to be a piece of writing. I'd only like fiction stories and poems including haikus, please and the maximum of words is 1,000. First, email me at honeysugarandcandy@gmail.com  
 and send me your story or poem. Then, wait for me to publish it! If it is innappropriete for kids or disresptful to people, i will not publish it. But if it follows the guidelines, (max of 1000 words, no innappropriete stuff, and you are at least nine years old when you right it), I will publish it! I will also publish some of my writing, too!  And, if you forget the guidlines, look beneath the title!!

Please tell everyone about my blog so i get more subbmissions!
Thank you,
ten year old Madam.