By:  John M
    The old lady dusted me off quickly and sat down to her usual spot of a desk with jumbled papers and many gizmos and gadgets scattered about.  The house was very quiet, maybe too quiet.  An old antique clock ticked slowly as it always had, never missing a beat.  A flicker of flame swayed in the breeze, sitting atop a white stick of wax.
    The small frail lady sighed, in a sad depressed way.  She picked up a book of her own called The Gammage Cup, and stared deeply into it, searching for memories of the past.  A picture of a silver medal was drawn on the book, it read “Newbery Honor Book, 1960.”  Slowly, she picked up her favorite blue pen and held the point at the top left side of a blank paper.  Gradually the pen moved in the same rhythmic pattern she had always used,  for many years now.  Her soft brown eyes moved back and forth looking through her big round glasses, letting her hand do the thinking.  I have been Carol’s favorite item for years now, as long as I can remember.  When she needs an idea for a book she will stare at me for hours, until finally something will click.
     I remember in the year of 1928 Carol wrote her first novel.  She was only in forth grade then, and if I remember, it wasn’t very good.  Other people let her know that it wasn’t very good, like her mean teacher who bluntly let her know that it was bad.  Carol was determined, she kept on writing and when she was 29 she published her first novel.  That first book was an adult mystery and later she published a second mystery book.  Carol soon realized that what she really wanted to do was write for children.  Carol always loved children, her favorite audience  for reading allowed consists of children.  Because of this she has written many books for them.  Her sense and style of fantasy is what makes her books hard to put down.
    Carol had stopped writing, and now she was in a trance, staring, not moving a muscle.  This is nothing new, she has this habit when she gets to a tough part in a book and she doesn’t know what to write.  I quietly tapped the shelf I was on to wake her from the trance.  It worked, she jumped slightly in her seat and looked up at me, still in a dazed way.  She sat up from her chair stiffly and limped into the next room.  I heard a distant clatter as Carol opened the refrigerator door.  I checked the time and noted it was two o’clock.  I slowly strained my eyes to the papers she was writing on.  I could barely make out what the paper said.  I was dying to know what her new piece of writing was.  I had time before Carol came back into room.  Slowly I crawled out of my usual position.  It had been a long time since I had been out of the mountains, with the trees and streams surrounding me.  I stretched my arms and got ready to jump, bending my knees greatly.  In a matter of seconds I was in the air, hugging my knees to my chest, falling rapidly to Carols desk.  I landed where I would always land, right is Carols lukewarm cup of coffee.  With a splash I went plunging into the warm and sticky cup.  This time Carol had not drunken as much as she usually will, making it easier for me to climb out.  As I struggled over the edge of the cup and straddled it, I noticed in shock that a lot of coffee had spilled over onto Carols precious desk and caused her wax candle to fall!  It was already starting to burn the edges of carols new story!  The flames were for the moment under control and not to big yet.  I grabbed Carols big gum eraser and laid it down in front of the coffee cup.  I took ten paces back behind the coffee cup and lunged forward gaining speed quickly.  I tackled the heavy cup with all my might.  It stood on edge for a split second as if deciding whether to fall or not and then slowly it fell water rushed out of the cup and doused the flame.  I then covered up evidence by pushing over Carols unstable pencil holder so that it looked as if that's what knocked it over.  I quickly made my way back up to my picture and got into my position.  Minutes later Carol came waddling back into the room, she stopped in amazement and hurried to her papers rescue.  From what I saw the story was still readable.  I waited for the time when Carol would get mad but actually she sat down in her thinking mode as if something had just clicked.  She then started to write furiously on a second piece of paper.
    To this day I think I had inspired Carol on her last book.  So if you ever need help in your story, leave where you are and come back, you’ll know what to write then. HOME