The Little Giving Stream

I've decided that I want to share a story that I have been working on.  Before I do, there are a few things you need to know.  First, this piece was inspired by my amazing grandfather who passed away some years ago.  I miss him. He was such an incredible and giving man.  He was the one I looked up to as a child and gave me a solid example to compare all other men to. His favorite song that I would hear him singing at the most random of times, was a primary song called Give Said the Little Stream. I find myself singing it to my children as I rock them to sleep. It makes me think of him every time.   Did I mention that I miss him?  As I was singing my baby boy to sleep one night, with this song, this story came to me and I had to write it down.

So first, I want you to remember that it is a sentimental piece, at least for me.  Second, you need to know, that it will most likely never see the presses of a publishing house.  It is longer than what publishers are wanting right now by about 46 words.  You may not think that 46 words are that big of deal, but let me assure you that they are. I've had this piece in for critique with a group I participate in and was told that it lacks a hook, which publishers want.  I actually agree, it does not have a strong hook, but it is a sweet story. I will actually revise it (I've already started) and it will resemble nothing of the original story except that it will be about a stream.  Such is the world of writing.  So, before my grandfather is lost from this story completely I thought I would share it here with you.

Confession: I feel this story is special, but the truth of the matter is, I'm probably the only one.  Trust me when I say that I am completely okay with that.  Some stories are just meant for the heart.  If however you like it, love it, find it to be sweet, or would ever see yourself buying a book like this, then please feel free to share it.

M

The Little Giving Stream

by

M.J. Thompson

Once there was a small stream that flowed through a grassy meadow.

It was a happy little stream.  It would sing the day away as it ran down the sloping hillside.

The stream was also a giving stream.  Nothing made it happier than sharing its water with the grasses that grew along its banks and the trees and flowers that bloomed nearby.

The stream loved to laugh and play with the little fish that swam in its currents and tickled its waters with the swishing of their fins.  

Its favorite time was when the sun's rays were shining down upon it, making it sparkle as if it had diamonds hiding in its banks.  

It loved the rain too though, for when it would rain the stream could stretch out its waters up over the banks and it could run just a little bit faster.  

One sunny day the stream heard an unusual sound.  It was laughter.  Children's laughter.

It was a sound the stream had always longed to hear.  It was a beautiful, happy noise.

Pretty soon a little family with three children walked over a knoll and laid a blanket along its edge.

There was a lovely mother, a tall father, a delightful girl, a rambunctious boy, and a timid little boy.

The stream was thrilled when the children came to splash around, tromping, stomping, and wiggling their toes against the slippery rocks hidden under its surface.

All of a sudden, the little boy slipped on a jagged rock and fell into the cold water, cutting his foot and letting out a loud cry.

The stream knew the boy must be hurt, for he saw the red swirls in the water that followed him as he hobbled out onto the bank.  

The stream watched the boy sob into his mother's arms.  She cuddled him to her, swaying back and forth, kissing his forehead until his sobs quieted down to whimpers.

The stream wished it could help.  It felt sad that the rocks within its waters had caused such pain, especially to the timid little boy.

It watched as the delightful girl, picked some flowers and brought them to the little boy.  The boy gave a shy smile and whimpered a little less.  

The stream watched as the rambunctious boy caught a grasshopper and brought it over to the little boy, who squealed in delight as it jumped onto his leg and then off again into the field.

With the timid little boy happy once again, the mother bandaged his foot, packed up their blanket and the little family wandered back over the knoll.  The sound of their laughter drifting away on the breeze.  

The stream was sad to see them go.  It felt disappointed that it had been unable to help the little boy feel happy again.

Then, it had an idea.  It may not have been able to help the little boy today, but it could speed up its currents around jagged rocks; it could make sharp edges smooth.  No one would ever get hurt on the rocks in its waters again.  

So that is what it did, and from that time on, the little stream made sure that all the rocks within its waters were the smoothest nicest rocks that could be found.  

How Writing Helped Me Overcome My Addiction

I find it interesting that as I become more and more immersed in the world of writing books, or rather the process of turning my stories into what I hope will become books, my experience as a reader has changed. It has totally ruined me as a reader!  Or maybe it's improved me as a reader.  I guess it depends on your perspective.   I can no longer sit down and just loose myself in a good book.  I am looking at the art on the cover.  If it's a picture book, I am analyzing the style of the illustrator.  I am paying attention to who the author is, what their background is, what, if any, books they have previously written.  Who the publisher is.  How many pages the book contains.  And that is all before I even start to read it.

Confession: If you had asked me last year who wrote a particular book, you probably would have had to wait while I looked it up in my kindle library. 

Now when I read, I am looking at the way the author develops the character. How soon they introduced conflict. What style and tense they are writing in. Is the first line a great one?  Do they start with a prologue or just jump right into the story? How much dialogue is there? And on and on and on.  

Of course this new book reality does come with a few benefits. There is the benefit of refining my craft.  Studying the work of those who have already accomplished such an amazing goal. It's an obvious one but it can't be over looked because by and large it is the most useful as well as the most used. Then there is the benefit of addiction recovery.  Not quite as obvious.  My husband has told me on more than one occasion that I have a problem.  I thought he was crazy the first time he said it. They say denial is a real problem in addiction cases.  The more he pointed it out though, the more I realized he might be right.  Reading a good book? Forget the laundry.  Got to finish just one more chapter, or two, or three, or ten.  Having a hard time getting up with the kids in the morning? Maybe I shouldn't have stayed up with that book until 3:00 AM. Running out of space on the bookshelves? Kindle's got me covered, my electronic bookshelf doesn't have that problem.  While I did put some rules in place to help me manage my book addiction, I find that they aren't necessary anymore.  I can't devour a book in a day while critically analyzing everything in it. I hope to one day find a happy balance. Maybe after I add my name to the lucky few.  In the mean time I will sacrifice my all encompassing enjoyment of reading.  Settling instead for the lesser, mere enjoyment of reading while simultaneously paying my dues in the homework department.  

M.

Picture Book Recommendation

Lately we have been reading A LOT of picture books.  It's what you do when you are an aspiring author in that genre.  I will be posting a top ten of our favorite picture books in the near future, but in the mean time I wanted to highlight one of my new favorites. I loved it so much that I was willing to spend $18 at our local bookstore to put it in our library. EIGHTEEN DOLLARS! That's pretty steep for a picture book in my opinion, even if it is a hard copy.

Confession: I can't guarantee that my position on this won't change if the royalties are ever going into my pocket. You've been warned, I don't want to hear any of you calling me a flip flopper.

The book that I am taking about is My New Teacher and Me by none other than Al Yankovic (as in Weird Al Yankovic), and illustrated by the fantastic Wes Hargis.  I have another confession: I was not in any way shape or form a fan of Weird Al as a singer/song writer when I was growing up and his music was somewhat popular. Sorry Al.  I do however adore him as a children's book author.  His wordplay is fantastic, and the story is so fun.  If you haven't read it or are searching for a book to add to your library or simply to check out from a library, you won't be disappointed with this one!

M.

Disclaimer: I just want it known that I am not affiliated or set up to make money on anything that I recommend or link to on my blog. If that ever changes in the future I will make note of it. Anything that I highlight I do because of the enjoyment that it brings to me and my kids.

Tribute

As an aspiring author of children's literature, I thought it would be fitting to pay tribute to one of the favorite books of my childhood.  The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by the author known simply as Avi (you can visit his website here).

Okay, I already have a confession: I only vaguely remember what the book is about. (Gasp...) I titled my blog after a book that I can't quite remember. Clearly I need to relive the greatness of this story! Thank goodness for Amazon Prime; it will be here in two day. I do want to point out however, that while the details of the story are not clear in my mind, I do remember pretty vividly the feelings I had after reading it.  I loved it.  I was inspired by it. I wanted to BE Charlotte.  I wanted to live a life of adventure and climb the rigging of an old sailing vessel.  I am actually quite excited to get it and read it again. I have a feeling that it will be like visiting with an old friend.  I will let you know how that conversation goes.

This is my goal.  To one day create a story so compelling that readers want to immerse themselves within its pages.  That the characters are so real, that when the book ends, they feel lost without them. That the descriptions are so vivid that 25 years later they remember the way it made them feel, even if they don't exactly remember why.

So today I pay tribute to Avi.  It has been said that imitation is the greatest form of flattery, so with the inaugural post to my new blog The True Confessions of M.J. Thompson I say thank you.  Thank you for the lasting impressions of adventure that have stuck with me for 25 years.  I one day hope to be able to write with just a fraction of the talent that you posses.


M.