Confetti!

Last week I posted a blog (I am a Scrapbooker) in which I published a 250 word reply to a writing challenge. Yesterday I discovered, to my own surprise, I won! My attempt at creative writing is now posted at Something She Wrote, along with some very thoughtful comments from Janna's usual readers.

All of which is somewhat ironic to me, because on the same day I wrote this response I also took a quiz posted on another of my favorite blogs, A Classic Housewife. I was unsurprised to learn that I am a very left brained person. (I scored 14 for left brain, 4 for right.) I love order, structure, routine, and guidelines. In fact, when there are no guidelines, I often create them for myself.

So what in the world am I doing in the middle of not one, but two, very creative fields? Scrapbooking and fictional writing?

Ya got me.

But at least you know I'll have your projects finished for you on time!

I am a Scrapbooker...

not a writer. Just to be clear. But this, well, I just couldn't pass it up. My friend Janna posted a writing challenge on her blog, Something She Wrote. You'll need to check it out before going on or this won't make any sense. (Not that that would be unusual...)

So, as you can see, Janna has a 70 year old envelope addressed to Father Flanagan of Boys Town. And she has asked for a small story to accompany the letter. Like I said, I'm a scrapper, not a writer, but this project calls to the scrapper in me. It asks for a story to be preserved. And you know how I feel about that! So here goes.



Nellie sat against the wall, feeling the icy wind whistle through the cracks and seep under her worn sweater. In front of her were two girls, sisters, playing with a scrap of a doll. The oldest sister tied a handkerchief around the cloth body, hiding the many imperfections. Nellie lowered her eyes into her arms. She wasn’t old enough to know the words, but her heart knew it was hard to watch this small family.

Downstairs the front door hit the wall. A small commotion followed and then silence.

A moment, an hour later--time meant so little here--a woman walked through the girls’ dormitory. She held out a hand to Nellie and the girl took it silently. With soft footsteps the two made their way to Father Flanagan’s office.

Perched on the edge of a chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, Nellie waited.

“Nellie,” Father said. “These are for you.” In his outstretched hand Nellie saw three small packages. Shyly, Nellie reached forward and took the candy. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You may go back and play now,” Father told her gently.

Nellie slid down till her toes touched the floor and scooted quickly from the room. Back inside the office the woman looked to Father Flanagan. “The letter?” she questioned. Father shook his head. “They cannot take her, poor dear.” The woman’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Will you tell her?”

“Later,” Father replied. “For now, let her enjoy the chocolate.”