WRITING EXERCISE: Freewriting
If the Good Lord had been waiting to give Dad and me a break, the piece of paper from Eddie’s J.’s trunk would’ve been his perfect chance, but as Dad says, the Good Lord works in mysterious ways. Out of all the papers that could’ve fallen out of Eddie’s J.’s trunk, the one that did was Dad’s plan for better placement of the sprinklers that water the lawn at the library. Dad had sent it to the mayor last week.
So I shoved the piece of paper into my pocket, and Hunter and I kept going toward the nursing home.
I wondered what the Good Lord was waiting for.
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a modern day fairy tale in which you are one of the characters.
Writing Format—FAIRY TALE: A fanciful story of legendary deeds and magical characters.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Ratchet and a boy named Hunter who were trying to save an enchanted forest. They knew the Wise Ms. Wilkerson, whose voice had special powers because she had once been a teacher in the village, was the only one who could help them.
Having the reputation of being old and persnickety, the Wise Ms. Wilkerson lived in the town nursing home, and Ratchet and Hunter did not want to go there because they knew the place was filled with strange smells and scary sounds; but they had no choice. A visit to the nursing home was their only hope. They believed the Wise Ms. Wilkerson was the only person who might be able to stop the foolish Prince Prindle from letting the town villain, Pretty Boy Eddie, bulldoze down all the trees in the enchanted forest and turn it into a strip mall.
As Ratchet and Hunter walked down the hallway of the nursing home, trying to ignore the strange sounds and breathing through their noses to avoid the weird smells, Ratchet asked, “What are we going to say to the Wise Ms. Wilkerson?”
“We’ll just ask her about Herman Moss,” Hunter said.
Herman Moss was the wizard who had created the enchanted forest. He and the Wise Ms. Wilkerson had been childhood friends.
“But she doesn’t even know us. Why would she talk to us?”
“Old people love to talk about themselves,” Hunter said. “When my grandparents visit, they never stop talking. We’ll get her to talk.”
When they got to her room, the two children wished they hadn’t come. The Wise Ms. Wilkerson was a tiny, pale, wrinkly person sitting all hunched over in bed reading a big thick hardcover book. It was hard to imagine that she even had any regular powers, let alone any magical ones.
“Excuse me,” Hunter said as he tapped on the door.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, “but who are you two?”
Hunter introduced himself and then asked if they could talk to her about something. Both children still stood in the doorway. It didn’t yet feel like they were being invited in.
“What in heaven’s name would you two children want to talk to me about?” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson asked.
It wasn’t hard to see how she had gotten her reputation. She already sounded annoyed, and they hadn’t even asked her anything yet.
Ratchet wondered if Hunter had been wrong. Maybe not ALL old people like to talk.
“The enchanted forest,” Hunter said.
“The enchanted forest?” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson sounded more surprised now than angry. “What about the enchanted forest?”
The Wise Ms. Wilkerson tried to push herself up a little in bed, but as she did, she winced as if she were in pain.
The children wondered why she hadn’t used her magical powers to make herself healthy.
“My dad’s trying to save it,” Ratchet said.
“Save it?” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson asked. “Save it from what?”
“It’s going to be turned into a strip mall,” Ratchet said.
“What?!” Ms. Wilkerson exclaimed.
The children wondered where the Wise Ms. Wilkerson had been. All the local news channels and newspapers had been talking about the forest every day for the last year. If she was so wise and magical, how did she not know about it?
“I bet it’s that confounded Prince Prindle,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said. “That boy has been a pain in my side since he was a young lad, and now that he’s grown up, he’s a pain in everyone’s side.”
The Wise Ms. Wilkerson had been a schoolteacher—legend said that’s where she had earned her magic powers. Prince Prindle had been one of her students.
“You two get in here this instant and tell me what’s going on,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson demanded.
Hunter had been right after all. Old people do like to talk.
The children explained everything that had been happening with the forest, and the Wise Ms. Wilkerson explained that she hadn’t left the nursing home in years because of her arthritis. She didn’t know anything about the fate of the enchanted forest because she had given up watching the news and reading the newspaper years ago. She said it was much too depressing.
By the time the children finished explaining everything, Ms. Wilkerson’s pale face was pink with frustration.
“Well, I know, for a darn certain fact, that Herman Moss would NEVER have allowed that foolhardy Prindle to destroy the forest. And he would have made darn sure that all the paperwork would be filed accordingly. Which means only one thing,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said.
“What?” Ratchet and Hunter both said.
“That Prince Prindle really did turn into a criminal like I predicted he would. He never could stand up for himself, and people like Pretty Boy Eddie have been talking him into cheating, lying, and stealing since he was in elementary school. If it weren’t for his royal blood, he’d be rotting in prison somewhere. But let me tell you, his royal ‘get out of jail pass’ has just expired.”
The children looked at each other.
“I may be old, and I may not be able to get out of this bed, but I’ve still got a little bit of magic left, and this is the kind of thing that’s worth using it for. I’ll be doggoned if I’m going to let my dear friend Herman Moss’s legacy be bulldozed down.”
Ratchet and Hunter couldn’t believe it! The Wise Ms. Wilkerson really did have magical powers! And it sounded like she was ready to use them to help!
“Herman was such a sweetheart,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said, looking like she was thinking of fond memories.
“How come you and Mr. Moss never ended up together?” Hunter asked.
Ratchet pinched Hunter in the leg. She couldn’t believe he had just asked that.
“Oh, it’s a long complicated story, but mostly it was because I was a fool,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said wistfully.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was young, and Herman’s passion to use his wizardry on parks and trees didn’t seem too romantic to me at the time. He was a simple man with simple dreams. Flannel shirts and jeans. So I married Owen Wilkerson, who was more polished and refined, using his wizardry in much flashier ways. He was a kind man, and I loved him. He was stable with a good job, and we had a wonderful life, but he was no match for the passion and wizardry of Herman. And I realized as I got older that Herman had all the things I really wanted in a man on the inside, and the inside is the part of the person we really love.”
The children didn’t know what to say or do next because the Wise Ms. Wilkerson sat quietly looking off in the distance. Her silence lasted so long they thought maybe she had forgotten they were there.
Hunter finally cleared his throat.
“Well, enough of all that,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said. “I intend to put a stop to all these shenanigans. You mark my words. Prince Prindle and Pretty Boy Eddie will not get away with this. It’s the least I can do in honor of Herman.”
“What are you going to do?” Ratchet asked.
“We’re going to get Prince Prindle over here so that I can have a talk with him,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said.
“A talk?” Hu
nter said disappointedly.
That didn’t sound like very much of a plan, but the Wise Ms. Wilkerson didn’t mess around. She had Hunter dial the phone for her to call Prince Prindle at his castle. When the secretary wouldn’t put the call through because she said the prince was busy, the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said, “Well, I suggest you get him unbusy because if he doesn’t talk to me right now, there will be even more severe consequences for him than I already have in mind.”
Ratchet had never been to school, so she didn’t know if all teachers talked like this, but the authority in the Wise Ms. Wilkerson’s voice made it impossible not to do exactly what she said. The secretary put the call through. It was magic.
“Benson Prindle, this is the Wise Ms. Wilkerson. I’m sure you remember me.”
There was a pause.
“I want you to stop whatever you’re doing and come down to the nursing home right now.”
There was another pause.
“Listen, Benson, I don’t think you are grasping the importance of this matter. I want you down here now and I will not take no for an answer.”
And she hung up the phone.
While the children waited for Prince Prindle to show up, the Wise Ms. Wilkerson asked some questions about Hunter and Ratchet. While Ratchet was talking, the Wise Ms. Wilkerson realized that Ratchet’s essay had been in The Blainesfield Beacon’s essay contest.
“You’re one of our finalists!” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson exclaimed. “Your writing is outstanding! Very powerful!”
“I told you,” Hunter said.
Ratchet felt her face get hot.
“You two children should be very proud of yourselves for working so hard to save the enchanted forest. It’s very noble.”
“Thanks,” they said.
Just then there were footsteps coming down the hall, and they all looked to see Prince Prindle walking toward them.
“Children,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said, “I’d like for you to wait in the hallway.”
They both obeyed. The Wise Ms. Wilkerson’s voice really did have special power over people. Ratchet and Hunter sat in the chairs outside the room. Prince Prindle closed the door. Ratchet and Hunter turned to each other and both put their ears to the door at the same time.
“Benson Prindle,” the Wise Ms. Wilkerson said, “you should be more than ashamed of yourself. What in heaven’s name ever made you think that you could do away with Herman Moss’s enchanted forest. You know as well as I do that Herman never wanted that land developed, and I’d bet all my money on the fact that there is or was documentation to prove it.”
The children expected the prince to argue and talk back, but the power in the Wise Ms. Wilkerson’s voice made it impossible to argue.
“Now I don’t know what you and Pretty Boy Eddie did with the paperwork, and I don’t know what the two of you are getting out of it, but you can be darn sure there’s a way to prove that you have done something terribly evil.”
Still not a sound from Prince Prindle.
“If you choose to continue with this ludicrous plan to develop the forest into a strip mall, I will hire my son, who is an attorney over in Redville, to uncover your criminal ways. I suggest you make this entire project disappear. Because you mark my words, Benson, I will spend my very last dime, as well as every last drop of my magical powers, to make sure you are served with the justice you deserve. Are we clear?”
Prince Prindle finally spoke. “Yes, ma’am.”
The door opened, and Prince Prindle walked straight down the hall and out the door.
Ratchet and Hunter high-fived each other. Then Ratchet went in and gave the Wise Ms. Wilkerson a kiss on the cheek, and her cheeks turned from frustrated pink to a bright and rosy red.
WRITING EXERCISE: Freewriting
The problem with fairy tales is that they’re make-believe, and the problem with bullies is that they’ll always be bullies.
The six o’clock news reported that Moss Tree Park’s trees would be cut down Monday by the Chain Saw Cousins Lumber Company.
I guess in the real world, Ms. Wilkerson’s words weren’t as magical as we had thought.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
The next day Anita Welch Wilkerson called to say she was going to talk to Mayor Prindle again about the park. “It’s just not right what he and Eddie J. are doing,” she said. “We still have a couple days. There has to be something we can do to stop it.” Ms. Wilkerson planned to talk to her son about it too. But I knew it didn’t matter anymore. This was it. We were going to lose the park.
WRITING EXERCISE: Freewriting
Who would’ve thought I’d ever feel bad for the boys in Dad’s class? But I do—and I feel even worse for Dad. The go-carts are built and ready to race, but it’s too late—the race is officially canceled. Right after Ms. Wilkerson called, Cruella de Vil from the rec center stopped by to say that without the park, there would not be a race. Just one more reason to feel bad about losing the park.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
On Monday morning, I sat at the kitchen table looking at The Blainesfield Beacon searching for an article to summarize for one of my social studies assignments.
When I turned to page four, I immediately saw my name: Rachel Vance—Winner of The Blainesfield Beacon Essay Contest. And there was my essay printed for the whole town to read.
Why would my essay win and be printed in the paper the very day the trees were going to be cut down?
My heart sank. I didn’t want this in the newspaper. I didn’t want people reading about the poor daughter of the crazy guy who wanted the park saved but didn’t find a way to save it—it made Dad and me look pathetic. I felt sick.
I shoved the newspaper into the trash can, which in our house was considered a cardinal sin. Dad would have a fit if he knew I threw a newspaper into the garbage can instead of the recycling bin, but I didn’t want to take a chance on Dad seeing my essay. It would’ve been like pouring salt in his wound.
And then the phone rang.
“Did you see it?!” Hunter practically yelled into the phone.
“Yeah, I saw it! And that’s why I didn’t want you to send it in. I don’t want everyone reading my essay. It makes Dad and me look like losers.”
“You’re not happy you won?”
“We didn’t win, Hunter! The park is history, remember?”
“Maybe because of your essay they’ll change their minds.”
But I knew it was way too late for that because I could already hear the Chain Saw Cousins Lumber Company starting up their chain saws.
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
Buzzing,
Cracking,
Branches
Breaking.
Moss
Tree
Park
Falling.
Dad’s
Heart
Splitting
In two.
And
So
Is
Mine.
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
Finally a sound
Breaks through
The sawdust.
The phone rings.
A buyer
For the Mustang,
And Dad stretches
The truth.
Again.
He tells him
The engine
Runs,
Even though
It doesn’t.
WRITING EXERCISE: Choose two common sayings and write a situational incident which illustrates both.
The buyer for the Mustang comes, and I know who he is right away. He looks just like her. It’s Ms. Wilkerson’s son.
I wonder if his mom ever talked to him about the park. If she did, he’s not thinking about that right now because he loves Dad’s car. Until...he asks Dad to
start it, and Dad says, stalling a bit, “It needs a little tweaking,” which is more than a stretch of the truth.
“Give me till tomorrow, and I’ll get it running,” Dad says.
But Ms. Wilkerson’s son looks at Dad’s hand still all bandaged up and shakes his head.
“Wait!” I say. “I can do it!”
And Dad nods his head.
“She’s right. She can,” he says. “I’ll tell her what to do. Her hands are as good as mine. Even better now.”
And I feel some of the heaviness slip away as Dad’s pride fills me up with something else. Something good.
(A SINGLE SPARK CAN BECOME A ROARING FLAME.)
“Maybe...” Ms. Wilkerson’s son says. “But I don’t know.”
Dad does his magic, and before I know it, Ms. Wilkerson’s son is giving Dad a down payment and driving away as the future owner of Dad’s yellow Mustang.
And I wonder how I can be so happy and so sad at the same time.
(THERE ARE TWO SIDES TO EVERY COIN.)
WRITING EXERCISE: Freewriting
Dad takes the check and heads to the sheriff’s office to pay his fine. As the Rabbit backfires out of the driveway, he tells me he’ll be right back, and I wish so hard that he was driving the Mustang all tricked out and that he was using the money to buy back the park. But before Dad turns the corner, the fried chicken smell reminds me of reality and the sound of the chain saws in the background reminds me of just how much we’re all
L
O
This Journal Belongs to Ratchet Page 11
