I spent the weekend visiting family in Utah. Saturday night, we’re all sitting on my sister’s back deck and my brother-in-law asks if I could write a story for their grandson, Braiden, a soon-to-be first grader, who’s reading (in my opinion) at a second grade level!
“I’m not sure. I haven’t written a children’s story, since I was a child myself.”
“So, you couldn’t just sit down and write say…twenty two sentences that a first-grader could read?”
“I don’t know.” (And I’m not interested–am I?). “I made up bedtime stories for my own kids, but that was a long time ago!” (I emphasize long, like he might have forgotten just how old four of us at the table are.)
My brother-in-law repeats the question and I can see he’s weighing the fact that I say I can write, but I can’t put a few sentences together for a kid to understand. I love fantasy and I love make-believe, but my mind doesn’t work that way. I need things to make sense when I write and fantasy isn’t a part of that sense for me. But what is fiction? A story you make people believe in. Readers become immersed in the scenery the writer paints. The characters take on personalities through the words in print. My brother-in-law was posing a challenge. He was asking me to draw my pen, so to speak.
“I guess the story would need a super-hero.” I surmise this because first, who doesn’t love those guys? And second, Braiden is sitting in front of me wearing his Batman Halloween costume. In July. Then, I throw out the word tornado, trying to move further into fantasy mode (maybe add some flying monkeys and a yellow brick road).
“What’s a tornado?” Batman asks.
A challenge, whether issued or implied, is still a challenge and I accept! Stay tuned for Braidentron Superboy!