We believe in the indispensable value of good literature in the lives of children. Our mission is to foster the professional development of the creators of children’s literature, promote connections between children’s authors and other members of the literary community, and nurture an environment in which children’s literature can be appreciated by the widest possible audience.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Query Tips for 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Rain Rain Go Away!
Rain, rain go away
Seriously! Go Away!
Enough is enough!
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Haiku by Deb Dudley
May the words be with you.
Patriot Day
Leaves yet to descend
Four birds doomed by evil thoughts
Scar sleeping eagle
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Bob Frost
I love Hazel's idea to create new Haiku this month (as well as her own original Haiku!) I hope our Richmond area writers will heed the call to create. They're all so talented, I can't wait to see what they come up with. In the meantime, here's my own humble Haiku:
Frost on winter's lawn
Glistens in the morning sun
Unsigned masterpiece
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Haiku to you!
Happy New Year, all!
I feel like I slid at top speed into 2013 and buzzed
by several bases, so here we are into the second week of January already.
I swear, it wasn't procrastination....
Here's the obligatory question: New Year's Resolutions,
anyone? For myself, I have only a couple, one of which has something to do
about not being late... how am I doing with that? LOL!
Anyway, here's a resolution I am much more excited
about: haiku!
This little verse form takes many shapes, but a
common English form is 17 syllables in three lines of five, seven, five.
Wikipedia has a great discussion of haiku:
I'm challenging myself to write one a day -
impossible, you say? Probably, but it's good to have a goal.
The value of this challenge is that I'll be writing,
or trying to write, something every
day. And because the best haiku is concise, meaningful and rhythmic,
emphasizing sound and visual imagery, it will push me to be imaginative and
efficient in my writing. I can't think
of a better exercise to push my writing forward.
I admit to an ulterior motive: I will be
illustrating each haiku in a small nature journal. So this exercise will also require
me to draw a little something each day. Great multi-tasking!
So, I challenge each of you to haiku (drawing
optional)! Here's one to start us off, inspired by holiday memories and faded bouquets:
Not
all remainders,
Detritus
of revelry,
Are
bones left on plates
Thursday, January 3, 2013
New Opportunity for the New Year!
Virginia, and the Richmond area in particular, is home to many talented children's writers. For any of you talented writers who happen to have a book coming out in 2013 and would like to receive a review of your printed brilliance on the JenningsWire website, please send me a review copy. Just email me at BrianRock@brianrock.us with a description of your book, and I'll reply back to let you know how to send me a review copy. I believe Virginia is often underrated in the New York dominated world of publishing and I'd like to do my part to help promote my fellow authors from the commonwealth. I look forward to seeing many great books from area authors this year!
Sunday, December 23, 2012
The Convenience Store Imp
An H C Andersen tale newly told by Troy Howell
On the top floor of a convenience store, right under the roof, lived a college student who loved literature. He tended to read more than eat. On the bottom floor lived the grocer, who tended his store. Somewhere in between lived an imp, who tended to eat more than anything, and loved sweets in particular. Candy, cakes, cookies—it didn’t matter, as long as it was sweet. He would steal into the store at night and snack himself silly.
So the imp approved of the grocer.
One evening, the student came down the stairs to buy light bulbs and cheese, and the imp was watching. The student greeted the grocer’s wife, who switched from gabbing to gawking, for she had the gifts of both gab and gawk. As the grocer was wrapping the cheese, the student noticed the wrapper was not a wrapper at all, but a page from a poetry book.
“Sir!” said the student. “You’re a good grocer, but you know less about poetry than that recycle bin!”
The grocer laughted it off. "You can have the book for a price."
“Know poetry!” cried the tongue. “Huh! It’s the blurb they stick at the end of a page to fill in the
blanks! Blah, blah, blah! That’s what it is! I’ve got more in me than that arrogant kid!”
"Just as I thought," said the imp.
He put the tongue on the coffee grinder and it chattered nonstop. He put it on the cash register and the dairy case, and each one repeated what the recycle bin had said. The word was unanimous: Poetry filled in the blanks.
The light was out, but the vision glowed in the imp’s mind. He approved of the student now. “I never would have imagined!” he whispered. “This is the place for me! I must move into the loft!”
He crept back down the stairs, wondering how to do it. But then his stomach growled, and his sweet tooth ached, and he knew it couldn’t be. The student had little food, and nothing sweet at all.
He returned just in time to save the tongue from wagging itself limp, for it was back on the
recycle bin, babbling the news backward. And from that time on, all the merchandise had the same opinions as the bin.
But from that time on, the imp got no pleasure from gossip. Whenever the light shone from under the student’s door, he’d peer intothe keyhole, amazed.At times he would cry and would not know why. He would smile,
he would sigh. He felt as if a mighty sea rolled before him, basking in sunlight, shifting
under clouds. It warmed him and comforted him; it made him feel both strong and small.
Winter came, and still he would peer, though the wind in the stairs shook his bones. When he could stand the cold no longer, back down he would go, shivering but happy.
Christmas came and there were plenty of sweet things to eat, so the imp liked the grocer again.
But on New Year’s Eve he woke in a heat. What commotion there was outside! Shouts and sirens and smoke! Fire! A building was burning! Whose was it? Theirs? He couldn’t tell for sure.
But one thing was sure: Each person would save what each treasured the most. The grocer leaped out of bed and grabbed his accounts. The grocer’s wife took off her earrings and plunged them into her gown. The imp darted upstairs and into the loft, where the student stood calmly at the window, gazing at the fire next door.
Now he knew what he treasured the most.
The firemen came, the flames were put out, and still he gripped the book.
But then his stomach began to churn, and his sweet tooth began to yearn. Sugar! Sugar! He hung his head, got down from his perch, returned the book, and slumped down the stairs.
He favored the grocer after all.
art & text © 2012 by Troy Howell
On the top floor of a convenience store, right under the roof, lived a college student who loved literature. He tended to read more than eat. On the bottom floor lived the grocer, who tended his store. Somewhere in between lived an imp, who tended to eat more than anything, and loved sweets in particular. Candy, cakes, cookies—it didn’t matter, as long as it was sweet. He would steal into the store at night and snack himself silly. One evening, the student came down the stairs to buy light bulbs and cheese, and the imp was watching. The student greeted the grocer’s wife, who switched from gabbing to gawking, for she had the gifts of both gab and gawk. As the grocer was wrapping the cheese, the student noticed the wrapper was not a wrapper at all, but a page from a poetry book.
“What a shame!” he said. “This page should not have been torn!”
“Here’s more,” said the grocer, producing a battered book. “It’s perfect for wrapping cheese.” “Sir!” said the student. “You’re a good grocer, but you know less about poetry than that recycle bin!”
The grocer laughted it off. "You can have the book for a price."
“Give me the book for the cheese, then. I’d rather feed the soul than the stomach.”
The exchangewas made, the student returned to his loft, and under the stairs the imp stamped. Who does the student think he is? To insult the grocer and snub the recycle bin!
That night when the household slept, the imp crept out. He borrowed the tongue of the grocer’s wife, who snored with her mouth open wide and had no need of it then. The imp placed the tongue on the recycle bin, asking, “Do you know poetry?”
That night when the household slept, the imp crept out. He borrowed the tongue of the grocer’s wife, who snored with her mouth open wide and had no need of it then. The imp placed the tongue on the recycle bin, asking, “Do you know poetry?”
“Know poetry!” cried the tongue. “Huh! It’s the blurb they stick at the end of a page to fill in the
blanks! Blah, blah, blah! That’s what it is! I’ve got more in me than that arrogant kid!”
"Just as I thought," said the imp.
He put the tongue on the coffee grinder and it chattered nonstop. He put it on the cash register and the dairy case, and each one repeated what the recycle bin had said. The word was unanimous: Poetry filled in the blanks.
“Ha!” muttered the imp. “I’ll show that sorry student!” And he rushed up the stairs.
Light was shining from under the student’s door. The imp peered through the keyhole and— Glory! The room was luminous! There sat the student, bent over the book, and from its pages grew a wonderful tree, full of sunrays and spirits who sang enchanting songs. The imp could hardly believe his eyes, could hardly believe his ears. Never had he seen such a sight, never had he heard such singing!
He stood on tiptoe until his limbs went numb, far into the night, until the student closed the book
and climbed into bed.
and climbed into bed.
The light was out, but the vision glowed in the imp’s mind. He approved of the student now. “I never would have imagined!” he whispered. “This is the place for me! I must move into the loft!”
He crept back down the stairs, wondering how to do it. But then his stomach growled, and his sweet tooth ached, and he knew it couldn’t be. The student had little food, and nothing sweet at all.
He returned just in time to save the tongue from wagging itself limp, for it was back on the
recycle bin, babbling the news backward. And from that time on, all the merchandise had the same opinions as the bin.
Winter came, and still he would peer, though the wind in the stairs shook his bones. When he could stand the cold no longer, back down he would go, shivering but happy.
Christmas came and there were plenty of sweet things to eat, so the imp liked the grocer again.
But on New Year’s Eve he woke in a heat. What commotion there was outside! Shouts and sirens and smoke! Fire! A building was burning! Whose was it? Theirs? He couldn’t tell for sure.
But one thing was sure: Each person would save what each treasured the most. The grocer leaped out of bed and grabbed his accounts. The grocer’s wife took off her earrings and plunged them into her gown. The imp darted upstairs and into the loft, where the student stood calmly at the window, gazing at the fire next door.
The imp found the book of poems, snatched it away, and climbed onto the roof. There he sat, sheltering this marvelous work.
Now he knew what he treasured the most.
The firemen came, the flames were put out, and still he gripped the book.
But then his stomach began to churn, and his sweet tooth began to yearn. Sugar! Sugar! He hung his head, got down from his perch, returned the book, and slumped down the stairs.
He favored the grocer after all.
art & text © 2012 by Troy Howell
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)