SUNDAY'S SURPRISE: Open The Envelope (m)

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
SUNDAY'S SURPRISE: Open The Envelope (m)
16
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 12:17am

SUNDAY'S SURPRISE: Open The Envelope (m)


Happy “Belated” Groundhog Day!

Keeping yesterday’s tradition in mind, this week write your own Groundhog Day story but use the animal’s point of view to tell your story.

So go for it! Open the envelope and take the challenge but most of all have fun writing it!

Mac

PS…Groundhog Central (http://www.groundhogsday.com/groundhogcentral.html) has a listing of the groundhogs in the US and Canada.

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Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 10:52am

Punxsutawney Phil


Beware all readers, this is really stupid. But it's what first came to mind, and that's my goal, to write what comes to mind, to get past this writing slump I'm in. Sammi

Punxsutawney Phil

Phil rushed around his one-room flat, his upper lip quivering above his upper teeth, making an irritating clacking noise. "Irritating to who?" Phil said, looking around. "This is my POV remember?"

He grabbed his plaid vest and shoved one arm in, then the other. "Gotta go, gotta date..." He scrambled up the hallway, and poked his head out into the open. "Good grief..." he said, slumping down into his hallway. "You gotta get over this stage fright, Phil."

He brushed off his vest, then eloquently raised himself up to ground level.

"And here he is..."

Phil heard. He looked up to the being that lifted him, from the rediculous fat belly covered in a green and red plaid vest, to the black cravat tucked under rolls of being flab, to the long protuding nose just above the mouth that was flapping its gums.

"Six more weeks of winter, folks, so says Punxsutawney Phil." The being said into a microphone held to his mouth.

"And there you have it." A reporter in a trench coat said after taking back the microphone. The tall guy turned to a young brunette woman and dangled the mike at his side. "That's it, lets' go before that storm that isn't going to happen blows in."

Phil went back home and cleaned his one-room flat, and enjoyed his day....

Stretching as he woke, Phil stopped and listened. There was noise outside, a lot of noise. He stepped out of bed and went to the hallway and listened again. He walked up to his entryway and poked his head out. He glanced around at the many beings and thought, Okay, yesterday was my star day, so what's going on today?

"And here he is..." The same being from yesterday said. "Six more weeks of winter, folks, so says Punxsutawney Phil." The being said into a microphone held to his mouth.

"I did this yesterday." A tall reporter in the trench coat said after taking back the microphone. He leaned over and looked at Punxsutawney Phil straight in the eye.

Phil returned his stare.

The tall reporter turned to the young brunette woman, dangling the mike at his side. " So let's go before that storm that isn't going to happen blows in."

Phil scrambled down from the fat guy and scurried down his hallway. He stood in the middle of his one-rom flat and shook his head. "I must have gotten hold of a bad nut...."

Days later, the same day later, Phil was lost in the bad dream that the tall reporter was in. "Just do it right this day, big Phil, and we can get out of this time warp."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Big Phil said, tucking Phil into his trench pocket. "We're going for a ride..."

Phil woke up every morning, relived the day, and went to bed everynight. The only thing he was grateful for was that he didn't have to wake up to the godawful squackbox that big Phil did...

Phil sat in Big Phil's jacket pocket and listened to the piano strains of Rocking Billy. "You gonna do it right this time?" He asked, poking his head out of the pocket, looking up at Big Phil.

"I'm sure gonna try," Big Phil said, moving his head to the sound of the music his fingers were evoking from the piano. "I'm sure gonna try. You just sit back and relax, and with a little bit of luck, and Rita by my side, tomorrow will actually be tomorrow."

"Just get it right this time." Phil said, pointing at Big Phil, his upper lip quivering above his teeth, making an irritating clacking sound...

Phil stretched as he woke and stretched again, trying to figure out what was different about that day. Silence. Blessed and eerie silence. "You finally got it right, Big Phil, you finally got it right." He stretched again and rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head and fell back to sleep... The End

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 4:17pm

General Lee's Secret (m)


Memories from my cubhood fill my dreams. I remember what life was like before a reckless driver killed my mama and I came here to live at the Yellow River Game Ranch. Before I became known as General Beauregard Lee, I didn’t have a fancy name or job but I was happy. I liked living the woods, chasing my brothers and sisters through people’s gardens (snatching a tomato when I was lucky) and filling up my stomach on fields of clover. Afterwards we’d snuggle up next to mama and listen to her tell stories about what will happen if we don’t eat enough to last us through hibernation.

A rooster’s call awakens me from my deep sleep. I use my long claws to scratch behind my ears and look around the place I’d heard them call “Weathering Heights Plantation.”* Although it has silly white columns across the front, it’s more spacious than the dens where I grew up.

“I reckon’ it’s time,” I say and begin looking for my lucky stone. On one side, I’d craved an “S” and the other side a “W”. The humans think it’s the sun that determines the weather, but little do they know it’s all in the wrist.

I toss the stone in the air and then scurry over to take a look. “Ah…spring is coming,” I mumble as I stick my adorable head out the den’s opening.

The crowd that had been noisy hushes up. I survey the human’s shoes and then my snout turns upward, following a sweet aroma floating my way. They always put out some good-smelling food to lure me from my den. It works every time like a charm.

“Well, folks it looks like General Lee does not see his shadow,” says one of those humans talking into a stick-looking thing.

“No shadow, no snow y’all,” says another one.

The crowd erupts in a large cheer and the clapping begins as I make my way over to the bowl of orange colored potatoes. My job is done; it’s time to eat.

The End!

*Note: I wished I could take credit for the cute name of Beau’s home but I borrowed it from the Yellow River Game Ranch website.

Mac

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 5:24pm

Furby's bad day (m)


A la Sammi, I've posted a rather silly Sunday surprise. Eyewrite

********

Furby's Bad Day

I’m not very well known. In fact, if you do a search on Google for my name, the only place you’ll find me is on Groundhog Central. That I’m not even a groundhog just adds hilarity to the mania these two-legged creatures create every second of February.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Furby The Wonder Chicken, though my mother christened me Mugwump. I live in Vancouver, and I predict whether a rainy grey winter will continue for six more weeks or whether a rainy, grey spring will come early.

As legend tells it, my grandfather landed the coveted weather prediction job back in the eighties. It amazed our groundhog friends that he got the job, being that he was a minority and all. But he was somewhat of a talker, so he spun a long sorry tale about species discrimination and how it left his family destitute and how he’d sue if the job went to a groundhog. Needless to say, he got the job. We’d see him on TVs in people’s living rooms and kitchens, and my mother collected his newspaper clippings. You could say he was the farm celebrity.

When granddad passed away five years ago, my family moved to the rainy coastal city so my father could carry on the family tradition. Only he was tremendously fearful of public speaking, and weeks before a public appearance he’d develop this nasty rash on his feet and under his chin. Mom said it was just nerves, but I knew better. Dad worked himself into such an anxious fit that we had to commit him to the grand chicken heaven at Lilydale Poultry Ltd.

And I took over the job.

Oh, my, I’ve told you all about myself and we’ve hardly even met. I was supposed to tell you about Groundhog Day this year.

It was a disappointment, really. The day was mild and overcast, and it seemed to me on my trip from the farm to the art gallery downtown that the fanfare was less than I’ve ever seen it in all my life. Granddad got to ride in a limousine; I was in a crate in the back of a rusted out pickup truck that would have flunked Air Care if it hadn’t been licensed as a farm vehicle. Granddad got all the newspaper photographers out; I got some teenage kid with a digital camera – and sometimes he even pointed it at me.

By that time the sky had cleared up a bit from the south, so at the official time I saw a pale shadow of myself. Six more weeks of mild winter. Nobody clapped, nobody cheered. The busker with the guitar drew more of a crowd than I did. So I did the only logical thing for a wonder chicken to do.

I turned in my letter of resignation.

It didn’t go over too well. I had to hitch a ride back to the farm.

I’ve got my toes crossed that my agent will land me a commercial spot soon.

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 5:27pm

Deja vu, make that deja vu, make that...


Hi Sammi,

Sure seems that's how Phil's day(s) would go if the movie was filmed from his POV. Funny funny!

Have a good Sunday, Eyewrite

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 5:29pm

Adorable, Mac...


I want to snuggle up with the general and listen to his momma's stories with his brothers and sisters. You wrote an endearing scene, I really liked it.

Have a good Sunday, Eyewrite

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 5:36pm

Hi Sammi (m)


Cute story! I felt so sorry for Punxsutawney Phil with his on-stage butterflies. You did a great job getting inside his head too. The "I must have gotten hold of a bad nut" line cracked me up.

Thanks for the fun read,

Mac

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 5:56pm

Funny story, eyewrite (m)


That chicken tells one heck of a story!

Would you be able to use this story for one of your picture books? It was such an adorable story to read.

I giggled over a “grey winter” or a “grey spring” because that’s what I remember about one trip to Vancouver. The image of a chicken crossing his toes and the part about committing Dad to the grand chicken heaven at Lilydale Poultry Ltd. was a hoot!

Happy Sunday to you,

Mac

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 5:57pm

Hogging the Media (m)


"Chuckie!"

"This better be good, bud." I squint at the calendar. "It's barely February. What the heck do you think you're up to?"

"So, Chuck, baby, how are you?" There's a pause and a whiffling sound as Phil takes a drag on his cigar. "No, honey. Put it there. Thanks, sweetie."

"Listen, if you want to canoodle with your secretary, I trust this won't show up on my next statement." Phil's good, he's the best, but like all agents he's a sleaze, and you have to keep an eye on him.

"Great, great," he continues. "Now, listen. I got a bite from 'People'."

"No way. Not after they got the wrong profile two years ago. Don't make me tell you how to do your job." I settle back for a bit of grooming as he pretends to earn his exorbitant percentage. "Hey, how about that one run by the blonde English tootsie?"

"'Talk', you mean? Shoot, Chuckie, you sleep all winter, what do you know? 'Talk' folded, but hey, I'm having drinks with Tina next time I'm in the big apple, who knows with that gal." I give an encouraging snarl. "Okay, keep your fur on. We got the local tv hopping, they've got a new reporter on the Fox network there. And I do mean Fox. You should see this babe--"

"I want national."

"Okay, okay, big guy. I was just going to tell you, I did lunch with Dan Rather last week. And he's pretty interested, trust me."

Well, that's the trouble. I don't. No one trusts Phil. "Look, Phil, tell the makeup crews absolutely no lipstick. They're all dummies. Groundhogs don't do lipstick. And that reminds me. Did you get, you know?" I rearrange my bedding, and clear up a bit of loose dirt in the lair. The place gets such a mess, even when I'm asleep all the time, but it's tough to get maid service in this backwood.

"Jeez," he whines. "You know I hate going in those places."

"I'm not asking you to browse, Phil. I just give you the titles, you get them, you mail them. What's so hard about that? I've got to have something to get me through the winter here. Listen, I've got to take a nap. You just come through on this, and I'll maybe rethink People."

I can sense him slavering, even as I settle back into my fragrant mound of dead leaves and tattered copies of Playhog and Pentden. He continues to complain as I disconnect, "It's just, you know, those smelly old badgers in raincoats ..."

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 6:17pm

Cute,Mac...(m)


...I wish I could take credit for writing this story. LOL. It was fun. Sammi

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Sun, 02-03-2002 - 6:22pm

Cute, Eyewrite...(m)


I didn't find this silly, I found it cute. I like the generations theme, very clever. (A la)Sammi

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