IT is the 28th of December…
As promised here is the Winning Author…
Thank you to all the authors who participated…I enjoyed every fairytale…
But it is a contest which means there is a Winner…
To find out whose re-imagined fairytale won the grand prized of a printed copy of the anthology,
Tales for Canterbury…click on the golden laurel image below…
It will take you to the lucky Author’s blog…
Christmas has come and gone but…it is not the end of presents…
Here is the lucky winning reader for my HolidayHop Challenge…
These were her 3 wishes…
If you were Santa for a day, and instead of gifts you could grant 3 wishes…
what would be the 3 wishes you grant and why?
1) That everyone has a complaint/issue/prejudiced against a group gets to walk a mile in that persons shoe for a month. For example, the wealthy who think that a poor person is just lazy and needs to get a job, someone who is racist or homophobic gets to change color or orientation, etc.
2) Perform a social experiment. Does absolute power corrupt absolutely? The entire world will now be controlled by women. Let’s see if we can do a better job.
3) As a child, my only escape from abuse was when I escaped into the fantasy of reading. I grew up very poor and can remember always wanting a book of my own. I learned that being able to read and getting an education was my only way out of the situation. So, my final wish would be to give the entire world the gift of being able to read.
Your ebook copy of Tales for Canterbury will be winging its way to you ASAP
I pray you’ll be our eyes, and watch us where we go.
And help us to be wise in times when we don’t know.
Let this be our prayer, when we lose our way.
Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace
To a place where we’ll be safe.
La luce che tu dai
Nel cuore restera
A ricordarci che
L’eterna stella sei.
I pray we’ll find your light,
And hold it in our hearts
When stars go out each night,
Remind us where you are..
Nella mia preghiera
Quanta fede c’e.
Lead us to a place ?
Let this be our prayer
When shadows fill our day
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we’ll be safe.
Sogniamo un mondo senza piu violenza,
Un mondo di giustizia e di speranza.
Ognuno dia una mano al suo vicino,
Simbolo di pace…di fraternita.
La forza che ci dai
E desiderio te
Ognuno trovi amor
Intorno e dentro se.
Let this be our prayer,
Just like every child.
We ask that life be kind
And watch us from above.
We hope each soul will find
Another soul to love.
Let this be our prayer,
Just like every child.
Needs to find a place, guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we’ll be safe
E la fede che hai acceso in noi
Sento che ci salverai…
Wishing a peaceful and joyful Christmas to each and every one of my readers and followers.
May the lyrics of this song be the blessings in your life this special time.
~ Kim ~
I wish each of my readers and followers a blessed Christmas 2011…
May you be embraced in peace, joy and love.
May the Prince of Peace by your peace this season.
May God bless you all.
~ Kim ~
Today I welcome Penelope Crowe to the blog with her fairytale for Christmas…
Henry and Greta were tired of being gophers. Graduating first and second respectively in their class at Pratt three years ago meant nothing in the real world. They had no relatives in the art community, and all their friends had careers of their own to worry about.
So they got other people coffee, bought paint, climbed the ladders when the museum light bulbs went out, and barely make a living. Their apartment was an 800 square foot pre-war charmer, complete with roaches and windows that would not open.
Greta dreamt of a life in the country, with a little house of their own somewhere in the woods far, far away from the dirty city.
Henry’s drawings and paintings rivaled Cezanne. Greta wrote words Hemingway would envy. They worked on books at night and submitted them to publishers.
On Thursday Henry sketched some pictures to show the art director of the museum. They showed the stark white walls of the museum transformed by paintings that looked like stained glass. Their placement brought to mind the opulent Baroque style of churches from centuries before.
The sketches and ideas were stunning, and the art director dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
The next morning the curator announced their next display—an architectural transformation of the museum showing paintings that looked like stained glass. Congratulations were giving to the art director, the genius who thought of this wonderful idea.
Henry and Greta left the museum at 9:23AM, never to return.
They went home and gathered their books and illustrations in a portfolio and started walking uptown.
They left copies of their books with publishers on Varick Street, 24th, 53rd, Avenue of the Americas, and everywhere in between. Their trail of literature led them to the front doors of the Waldorf Astoria. Henry and Greta had to step aside as the doors swung open, and eight dogs of various shapes and sizes stepped through, followed by a very well-dressed old man.
The dogs surrounded Henry and Greta and proceeded to bark. They were silenced when the old man quietly spoke the two words “thank you.” They sat down and looked at the man as if waiting for a treat.
“My dogs have never been wrong,” smiled the old man. “and they tell me you have something to show me. Please come in and have tea.”
Hungry and thirsty after their journey through the city, they agreed.
Sitting in Peacock Alley enjoying scones and tea, the old man, Mr. Kris, pointed past the opulent gift shop and told them his book shop was around the bend. He had a first edition Animal Farm by George Orwell, and Dracula by Bram Stoker. He had a handwritten journal with illustrations touted to be the works of DaVinci. He said it was priceless.
“Please show me your work,” he said, “I am anticipating a glorious release. Everyone has been waiting, and I want to be the one to show your art to the world. My dogs are never wrong.”
Greta and Henry, though confused, showed Mr. Kris their books. With a glimmer in his eye he requested copies, and informed them they would be ready for sale in one week. Thank yous were exchanged, and Greta and Henry left shaking their heads.
They returned in one week and asked to speak to Mr. Kris, but no one knew who he was. No one had heard of him.
As if by magic their books were in every bookstore they passed on the way home.
Greta and Henry started to look for a place to live in the country.
Find Penelope on her blog: http://www.penelopecrowe.blogspot.com/
Thank you for that tale Penelope. Every writer needs a Mr. Kris. Hope you find your’s this Christmas. Happy Holiday Hop and Merry Christmas! 🙂
Remember, Readers there is a contest going on this blog for the HolidayHop. Read all the rules and take up the challenge here. There are fantastic prizes, just here on this blog you can win an ebook copy of an amazing collection of short stories plus you go into the grand HolidayHop prize draw for the Kindle Touch.Don’t forget to hop to the other bloggers this holiday season and let the festive spirit infect you! It’s your last chance to win some prizes…enter now!
It’s the 24th…the last night of Creepfest…the night before Christmas…
and in creeps a green elf…
She bears the names of 2 winners …
tales of Creepmas to spin was their task…
Their houses visited by the Ghost of Creepmas Past…
what horrors did he foretell, what terrors did he awaken…
The Ghost of Creepmas Past took you to the dark place of your Nightmares…
Tim C Ward
…this was his trip back in time courtesy of the Ghost of Creepmas Past…
He took me back to a time when my ears stuck out and my mom covered them with my shaggy hair. My brother and I had only one present that year, a long electronic train set. We shouted at the top of our joy when we entered the living room–me in my dino pjs and he in his ninja turtles. I pushed him aside; he hit his head on the corner of the couch and cried. I took a seat at the controls near the train station, flicked the switch, pressed the red button. Nothing happened.
My mom looked at me, hiding most of her face behind the hall. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t work.”
Tears burned as if they were lava trails burning my sorrow into permanent scars down my cheeks. The salty taste creeping over my lips drove nails through my heart. This was the worst Christmas ever.
The blood dripping down my brother’s nose and the shade of purple coloring his squinted face were too much to bear. I went to hug him but fell right through his form.
I looked up at the Ghost of Christmas. “Take me away. I’m going to be sick”
I could never sleep on Christmas Eve. I’d lie in bed, listening to my baby sister snoring, straining to hear what was going on down the hall.
Every noise would make me sit up. Was that a sleigh bell? Were those hooves tapping on the roof? The wearier I got, the more frequent the noises became.
A creek from the closet. Did Santa come out of the wrong side of the chimney and fall into my closet? Would he find my Barbies and decide I didn’t need any more toys? Would he find where I hid Sissy’s squeaky baby doll? I *hated* that thing and hid it so she wouldn’t annoy me with it. Baby toys were stupid but if Santa found it, he wouldn’t understand. He’d just bump me onto the naughty list.
The night wore on. I heard breathing outside my window. Was that a reindeer? Why did it growl? Did they eat children? Did they only eat the naughty ones?
Dawn came. I jumped out of the bed and ran to my mom’s room. “Merry Christmas!” I shrieked, relieved the ordeal was over.
“Back to bed,” mom mumbled. “Today’s not Christmas. It’s Christmas Eve.”
Congratulations to both Tim and Ash…I loved both flash pieces…
Happy Creepfest & Merry Christmas! 🙂