My Shadow, Love, and First Publication Rights

First off, sorry about the late post. The sub-zero temperatures iced over our ISP's satellite tower and the world almost ended from lack of Internet. I couldn't even check my e-mail. Shudder.

Well, on to the post.

It's that time again. You know, parent teacher conference time. I took Kid D last night. It turned out well, and once again the first grade wrote stories. Last time I had buy the first publication rights to get Kid D to let me post one of her stories on my blog. This time she was ready for me. It went like this.

Me: You did awesome!

Kid D grinning.

Me: Can I put a story on my blog?

Kid D: Sure. How much are you going to pay me?

Me grinning, too: Two dollars for two stories.

Kid D: Deal.

I laughed and paid her. I think she's liking this write and get paid thing. Who can blame her? I'd really like to try it some day soon.

So, here are her two stories with translations attached. Enjoy.

My Shadow





Translation:

I am jumping on the trampoline with my shadow in the sun. It is fun. If the sun is up very high, your shadow is low.

And the second masterpiece:

Love





Translation:

I love to eat ice cream. I love Mrs. Tingey!!! I love school. I love me!!! I love my mom!!! I love my dad!!!

I love this story. Who wouldn't? Ice cream--yum. A beloved teacher--awesome. Love for Mom and Dad--bonus. But love for herself--ahhh a mother's dream come true. I'm so glad she let me buy these.

I'm off to write. I have big shoes to fill. Who knew I'd be trying to keep up with a first-grader. :)

Leisha Maw

The Corn Maze

Last night I took Kid D to parent teacher conference. She sat and giggled as her teacher praised her and her work. They've been writing stories, cute little first grade stories. The three of us, Kid D, the teacher and I, spent a few minutes reading them. I smiled and hugged her a lot. Kid D, not the teacher. That would have been a bit awkward.

Anywho, I asked Kid D if I could share one of her stories on my blog. She turned me down flat. I begged, I cajoled, I gave her puppy dog eyes. Nada. Her decision was firm.

I sat and pondered her cute little face and asked,"Why not?"

She said, "I'm embarrassed."

I told her I wouldn't use her name.

She shook her head, still firm.

I was stumped. After all, intellectual property is serious business, and she owned it. I complained to my hubby that his daughter wouldn't grant me usage. He urged her to let me post it. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

I told Kid D that I wanted people to read my stories. Heck, I wanted people to pay me for my stories.

A small smile tickled the corners of her mouth, and a glint appeared in her eye as she said, "No one pays me for my stories."

You guessed it, I bought her story. She's walking around the house two bucks richer, and I have the goods.

Here it is complete with illustrations. The light pencil scrawl is hard to read, so I'll provide a typed translation. (Without the 1st grade spelling. )

The corn maze was tricky! In one path there was a dead woman! There were scary decorations! The corn maze was scary!

Don't you love the dead woman in the box? And, yes, I asked about that. There really was a "dead" woman at the corn maze they went to for the class Halloween field trip. Personally I'm relieved because that means I don't need to get her counseling.

I'm also proud as a bag full of onion rings over my youngest's first published story. I can see great things ahead for this budding writer. Can't you?

Today is really Tuesday and We have a book problem.

Today is Tuesday. I know, because this is my first post this week, and according to my Iron Clad Blogging Schedule that means it must be Tuesday, or possibly Monday, but certainly not Wednesday. I know your calendars might say otherwise, but don't listen to them. They are sneaky and devious tricksters that will try to deceive you. It is Tuesday. I'm sure of it.

Now on to Tuesday's post.

We have a book problem.

They're taking over the house, spilling from shelves, piling in corners. Stacked in heaps. We all love them, everyone of us. We can't stop buying them. Reading them. Smelling them. And, yes, books have a smell. A yummy ink and paper scent that promises fabulous adventures. Ahhh, how do you say no to lovely words wrapped in shiny covers?

Kid A and I cleaned out her bookshelves this week in preparation for her move to the basement. (It is almost finished. Woot. Woot.) In the vast stacks, I discovered some of my books. Here is a replica of our conversation:

Me: Hey! Those are mine!

Kid A: I don't think so.

Me: Yeah, they are. You can't have The Death Gate Cycle. Give them back.

Kid A, avoiding eye contact and acting guilty: Can't I just keep them in my bookcase?

Me: Are you kidding? It's The Death Gate Cycle. They're so mine! I need them by my bed to comfort me at night . . . and during the day. Besides, Tracy Hickman hugged me. His sweat is part of my DNA now.

Kid A, laughing: Well, that is true, but you have too many books in your room. I'm just trying to help you out.

Me, pointing at the piles of books on her floor: But this will help you have more room for these in your shelves--Hey! You can't have Inkheart. That's mine, too.

And so it continued until I left her room with a giant stack of books. It was like Christmas, but not for her. Don't feel bad for her either, she got to keep Goose Girl, and Shannon Hale rocks.

I think we need to establish a support group, or go to therapy. Something to help us control this addiction. Nothing radical like book removal therapy, or a forced book relocation. Even worse would be, gasp, shudder, self denial of books. I couldn't survive it.

I'm thinking more along the lines of an additional wing to house the books. We'll call it, The Official Rehab Wing. I'll sign myself up as soon as it opens. Does anyone want to join me?