Today I did something that I haven’t really thought of doing before. I wrote my first children’s story.
It all came about in a strange and unpredictable way. I was in my kitchen making coffee when I heard a rustle in the garbage bag. I tapped it lightly with my foot and not one, but two mice came scurrying out of the bag. I wanted to scream and tell my husband to get these mice out of the house. I didn’t though, because I’d just had a light bulb go on above my head. I had the title to a children’s story.
“Get This mouse out of my house!” That was the title, and still is. I sat down at my desk and began writing in the voice of a house cat named Spitz (I was eating sunflower seeds at the time). Three pages later I had my first children’s story. I took it over to my next-door neighbor and read it aloud to her foster children. It was a hit for most of them.
The only one who didn’t like the story was a little girl who prefers to read about princesses. So she is going to be the princess in my next story. After it’s all typed up, her foster mom is going to put a copy of it in her life-book so that this little girl can take this story with her wherever she goes.
Even though I never really thought of myself as a children’s story teller, I can’t say that I’m surprised. My love of storytelling began when I was a child. It makes sense that the child in me still has some stories left to tell. I’m excited about the possibilities, and I’m hopeful in this adventure. When I see the smile on that sweet little girl’s face, I will know there’s nothing more worthwhile.