Over the years, my children's manuscript, "The Very Best of Friends" a.k.a. "A Thief on the Beach" must have been tweaked at least a dozen times, if not more. The original story was written a while back - this means at least twenty years ago - but the basic story line remains the same.
The tale focuses on two best of friends, Jeremy Goat and Freddy Fox, who compliment each other but not necessarily in a positive way. The young goat has an uncontrollable, voracious appetite for just about everything and the sly fox lives to play pranks on the community of animals living in Pottersville, located "a half mile down from the best beach around."
The story has always remained close to my heart and hence the reason for the various updates over the years. When it comes to updating, I'm the 'queen of tweaking." The pattern is to "fix" it, put it away for a year or more, pull it out of storage periodically, "fix" it again and so on. It's been a while since the friends have seen the light of day in the true sense of the word and a read-through brought with yet more changes.
Reading through it, I found some inconsistencies along with one or two superfluous characters that were eliminated. No sooner had they disappeared then they were brought back in a different form. I spent the weekend updating/tweaking/fixing - call it what you want - and managed to re-write four pages. So far, so good but then I always say that. There are a lot of positive messages within the story line, which is one of the main reasons I've stuck with it, in addition to light humor.
This time round I'd really like to seek out a publisher, electronic or print, not sure yet. Being that it's for young children although adults would also enjoy the story, it would require illustrations.
It also lends itself to a cartoon, given the dialogue and characters but first things-first, the priority of which is to finish the last re-write.
More progress reports to follow. To paraphrase the mischievous Freddy: "what are we waiting for?"
Showing posts with label children's story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children's story. Show all posts
Monday, July 29, 2013
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
A SHINING LIGHT - THE PLAY?
I wrote this a while back as a First Person piece for our local daily. It was one of other pieces focusing on my experience as a student attending after school Hebrew lessons. This was a very pleasant time and experience although it didn't seem like it at the time. In any case, I'm toying with re-writing it as a play perhaps combining it with some of the other pieces. As usual, comments always welcome.
A Shining Light
BY ELEANOR TYLBOR
As a youngster, Christmas was somewhat of a demoralizing time of the year. Since our family was of the Jewish faith, we celebrated the holiday of Chanukah, which didn't seem to me to be half as exciting as the furor that went along with trimming a tree.
On occasion Chanukah fell during the same period as Christmas and somehow I couldn't work up as much enthusiasm for lighting a candle even if it was colored, as my friends seemed to experience placing ornaments on the branches of their trees.
Even though my parents explained time and time again that Jewish people don't celebrate Christmas, which meant that a tree even a miniature one was out of the question, it was difficult for me to accept. In spite of protestations that we could call it a Chanukah bush, it was obvious that there was no way a fir tree would be part of our celebrations.
Traditionally at Chanukah, children receive gifts of gelt or money and light small colored candles in a menorah (candelabra), one per night for the eight days of the holiday. While that was nice, in my mind it didn't measure up to all the excitement connected to the "other" holiday.
At Hebrew school we always celebrated the various holidays, big and small, and Chanukah was a particular favorite especially since our class, being the eldest students, entertained the residents of a seniors home. Each year the teacher would select eight students to sing and perform as Chanukah candles and competition was fierce for the part of lead candle.
Since I wasn't blessed with a good singing voice – I could barely carry a tune – I knew that my chances were slim at best to play any candle, never mind the lead candle. My biggest rival was Zelig, who had the voice and promise of a future opera singer. Not only did he have the best singing voice, he was also the top student scholastically. Plus he was also the teacher's pet. Whenever games were played for prizes during the holidays, Zelig won everything, which didn't exactly ingratiate him with the other students. Actually, we were all jealous and would have liked nothing better than for his voice to change in the middle of a concert.
Class auditions for candle parts were held a few weeks before the onset of the holiday and the best I could hope for was a minor part and even then, only if the rest of the students had an off day or laryngitis. Each student auditioned for the teacher and as expected, Zelig got the lead role, which irritated me no end.
My resentment was eased somewhat by being assigned the role of a minor candle, probably out of pity more than anything else. Those students not chosen became part of the chorus singing "tra-la-las" at the appropriate time.
Excitement was at a fever pitch when we arrived at the seniors' home, ready to perform for a live audience who were, for the most part, in wheelchairs. They were brought into the auditorium where we were lined up on stage, anxious to perform.
Glancing around the room, many of the seniors appeared half asleep.
"You will be entertained today!" their nurses might have insisted as they wheeled them into the room.
The first students opened the concert and sang well and those who followed performed admirably. Finally, it was my turn. My voice didn't fail me and I felt very proud of my accomplishment.
Zelig opened his mouth and it was like a chorus of angels had entered the room. His voice was strong and melodic and suddenly the seniors perked up, smiles on their faces in obvious appreciation of what they heard. When the last notes of his solo faded away, they all clapped appreciatively.
The musical recital was over and we performed a variety of Israeli dances, moving off the stage to mingle among our audience. Although Israeli dancing was a passion, I was consumed with the memory of the applause and accolades bestowed upon Zelig.
After our presentation and some refreshments, an elderly woman wheeled over to talk to me. She smiled, her trembling hand gently covering mine.
"Thank you," she uttered weakly and breathlessly. "You were all wonderful. How special you are to visit us!"
There was the sudden realization that it wasn't important who the lead candle was or who had the best voice. It was significant to our audience that we had taken the time to come at all.
It wasn't long after our successful performance that Zelig's voice finally broke and he never knew whether he would sing soprano or alto. Tough luck for him. My voice on the other hand, never changed and could always be depended on to sing off-key
A Shining Light
BY ELEANOR TYLBOR
As a youngster, Christmas was somewhat of a demoralizing time of the year. Since our family was of the Jewish faith, we celebrated the holiday of Chanukah, which didn't seem to me to be half as exciting as the furor that went along with trimming a tree.
On occasion Chanukah fell during the same period as Christmas and somehow I couldn't work up as much enthusiasm for lighting a candle even if it was colored, as my friends seemed to experience placing ornaments on the branches of their trees.
Even though my parents explained time and time again that Jewish people don't celebrate Christmas, which meant that a tree even a miniature one was out of the question, it was difficult for me to accept. In spite of protestations that we could call it a Chanukah bush, it was obvious that there was no way a fir tree would be part of our celebrations.
Traditionally at Chanukah, children receive gifts of gelt or money and light small colored candles in a menorah (candelabra), one per night for the eight days of the holiday. While that was nice, in my mind it didn't measure up to all the excitement connected to the "other" holiday.
At Hebrew school we always celebrated the various holidays, big and small, and Chanukah was a particular favorite especially since our class, being the eldest students, entertained the residents of a seniors home. Each year the teacher would select eight students to sing and perform as Chanukah candles and competition was fierce for the part of lead candle.
Since I wasn't blessed with a good singing voice – I could barely carry a tune – I knew that my chances were slim at best to play any candle, never mind the lead candle. My biggest rival was Zelig, who had the voice and promise of a future opera singer. Not only did he have the best singing voice, he was also the top student scholastically. Plus he was also the teacher's pet. Whenever games were played for prizes during the holidays, Zelig won everything, which didn't exactly ingratiate him with the other students. Actually, we were all jealous and would have liked nothing better than for his voice to change in the middle of a concert.
Class auditions for candle parts were held a few weeks before the onset of the holiday and the best I could hope for was a minor part and even then, only if the rest of the students had an off day or laryngitis. Each student auditioned for the teacher and as expected, Zelig got the lead role, which irritated me no end.
My resentment was eased somewhat by being assigned the role of a minor candle, probably out of pity more than anything else. Those students not chosen became part of the chorus singing "tra-la-las" at the appropriate time.
Excitement was at a fever pitch when we arrived at the seniors' home, ready to perform for a live audience who were, for the most part, in wheelchairs. They were brought into the auditorium where we were lined up on stage, anxious to perform.
Glancing around the room, many of the seniors appeared half asleep.
"You will be entertained today!" their nurses might have insisted as they wheeled them into the room.
The first students opened the concert and sang well and those who followed performed admirably. Finally, it was my turn. My voice didn't fail me and I felt very proud of my accomplishment.
Zelig opened his mouth and it was like a chorus of angels had entered the room. His voice was strong and melodic and suddenly the seniors perked up, smiles on their faces in obvious appreciation of what they heard. When the last notes of his solo faded away, they all clapped appreciatively.
The musical recital was over and we performed a variety of Israeli dances, moving off the stage to mingle among our audience. Although Israeli dancing was a passion, I was consumed with the memory of the applause and accolades bestowed upon Zelig.
After our presentation and some refreshments, an elderly woman wheeled over to talk to me. She smiled, her trembling hand gently covering mine.
"Thank you," she uttered weakly and breathlessly. "You were all wonderful. How special you are to visit us!"
There was the sudden realization that it wasn't important who the lead candle was or who had the best voice. It was significant to our audience that we had taken the time to come at all.
It wasn't long after our successful performance that Zelig's voice finally broke and he never knew whether he would sing soprano or alto. Tough luck for him. My voice on the other hand, never changed and could always be depended on to sing off-key
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