"The Story Teller"

This weekend, I was delighted at a first milestone in our family: a child wrote her very own story!

This is meaningful to me because I am a writer. I may not be published, nobody may know my name, but I write, it's in my blood, it can't be helped. I've written copiously since I was a tiny girl, four or five years old. I have illustrated books written when I was but a wee thing. I have files full of manuscripts written as an angst-filled teenager, also a time period when I began writing letters to the editors of various newspapers, which generally published them. I have stories written all through my twenties. Friends who have received my ridiculously long emails know that if I can say something in ten thousand words instead of five hundred, I'll do it! And my blog readers can plainly see that I feel compelled to write . . . even if almost nobody is leaving comments anymore (hint, hint).

I recognize that true joy beaming from a writer's eyes.

On Friday's arts-and-crafts class, our sweet teacher taught the children how to make these little fold-out papers that she used to make in her childhood and had dubbed Surprise Stories. She taught the children (ages two through five) how to create these with drawings, but mentioned that she used to write stories on them, then flip open the inside for a surprise ending. Mary (5-1/2, rising Kindergartener) was enamored with this idea so came home and set herself to work, all of her own initiative, keeping at this work for a solid hour.

The squares are numbered like pages.

I have transcribed Mary's story below, keeping her spelling but adding punctuation for ease of comprehension. I have taken the editorial liberty to title her story.

"THE STORY TELLER"

Once upon a time, there was a story telr who loved teling storys. [S]he was cold Mary and Mary was acshlee cold Lauer.

A kid hrd this and acshlee did go up to the story telr and asc, "Are you teh Lauer?"

"Yes," sed teh story telr.

"Are you the story-teling Lauer?" sed the kid. "I want to be a story telr too," sed the kid.

"Very well," the story telr sed. "I will see that you are a story telr."

"Alright," sed the kid. "Can I be your helrp?"

"Of course, you can."

"Great," sed the kid.

Then, I, Mary went up to the story telr and sad to the story telr . . .

THE END!

(You'll note that there is a seeming discrepancy between Mary the story teller and Mary the narrator. Mary the authoress tells me that is intentional and it is somehow a humorous, mysterious ending. This gives the reader something to chew on!)

"The End" and a picture of the story teller is the surprise ending inside.

This brings me such joy, it is hard to express!