I wanted to wait for the perfect moment to start this blog, when I am fresh from a good morning's sleep, when the creative juices and brain's synapses are firing on all cylinders, when I am free from caring for child, dog or dinner, but I finally realize that this moment does not exist. And so, here I am. It took me the whole of the morning just to download a picture. Blogging world here I come. And the good thing about it, too, I think, is that it's going to be a great outlet for my bitching, because my husband is just sick to death of it, just at the moment I have turned it into an artform.
I just have to say, for my first rant, that I feel thoroughly pissed off at the limitations that were placed on my story in the profile: 150 characters. I mean, when I read that I could write a story about a frog who gets a wig, I was off and running. I wrote a beauty: concise, powerful, virtually adverb free. I did all this not realizing that this entry could amount only to about one long sentence. Incredible.
And so now, blogging world, which for me probably means a total of about one (myself), I am going to try to recreate the story that I had to so murderously slash. Here is the teaser: "The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig."The Red Rug
Once there was a frog named Felonius whose mother told him he would lose all of his hair if he did not stop licking his froggy friends. He loved to run his tongue over their lids and shoulders, their bumps and ridges. He yearned to know them and by this strategy, believed he would become quite intimate with all their inner feelings and sorrows.
One day, Felonius turned bald. His mother felt sorry for him even though he had ignored one of the many of the curses given young frogs (namely, don't lick your friends or you'll turn bald). You see, frogs were a wiley bunch and needed taming with plenty of good strong threats and curses. Out of pity, she took him to a shop where styrofoam heads held hats of hair in all shapes, sizes and colors. He tried on hundreds and hundreds but at last chose a shock of bright red curls that set off his green complexion.
When Felonius went down the street and his froggy friends saw the bright orange fire upon his head, they bowed low, lest they be blinded. He reassured them and let them touch his chappeau of curls. Whenever one of them laid a reverrent finger to it, their inner secrets were revealed and the little green frog, he spake them. The End
I hoped you liked my little reconstructed story. I have many, many more where that one came from. Send me another story prompt, and I'll take it on.