Children.

  Children.
“Why do you write for children?” This question was put to me by a group of fairies that had come visiting. My house is open to all of the little people of Fairyland, when I say open I mean the whole house from cellar to attic. In my writing room, I have my computer my printer and scanner. Manuscripts are literally cluttering up two tables and a large desk. Pictures of fairies are on the walls why even some of the paintings are from the fairies, given to me over a number of years. How should I answer this question? Why do I write for children? Should I say because I like children or should I say, children need stories? To be honest I did not really know how to answer this simple question. Then came the next question, “Why don’t you write stories for us fairies? I will answer this question tomorrow for now I have to write a story for the children and this story cannot wait.

Why not write a story for the fairies, a story about some children that live on a farm perhaps. I could tell a story about a family with many children living in a big town where one of the children had gone missing. Another story of a days outing to the seaside by a group of boys, that have one adventure after another in an old rowing boat. The possibilities are large I will have to give it all some more thought. The more I thought about it the more I involved I became, a story for the fairies, it must seem unusual for them to find their names and their problems in one of my fairy-tales so why shouldn’t I write about children for the fairies.

For my tale about the children I chose a nice type of print for my story, I have decided to write and print a story with fifty copies just for the fairies. If this little story that comes from my imagination should be about something that you might have done when you were young; or even something that one of your children might have had something similar happen to them, please I am not writing about you or your family this is a story for the fairies of my Fairyland.

Jimmy love school and was always a little sad when the holidays came around. He missed his schoolmates, he missed his schoolteacher, at home he wrote about everything he could find to write about just to keep his hand in, Jimmy’s teacher had told him that he had a very good handwriting. His reading and his arithmetic were always being praised and Jimmy did not want to waste any time playing with other kids. Jimmy’s mother and then his father told him to go out and play with the other children, to get out in the fresh air, too much reading and writing, too much arithmetic was not good for any child and he should leave his schoolwork to his time in school and play in his playtime.

Jimmy to please his mother went out to play not with the other kids he wandered off on his own looking for places of interest in the district near his hometown. One day he came across the remains of an old cotton factory or mill. Here there many places to explore, one room he decided to fit out with some things from at home he would make it his second home. One often heard Jimmy’s voice, “Mum can I have the old cushion, or do you want the old chair in the garden shed.” His mum told him to take whatever he wanted as long as it was not something needed by the family. Soon Jimmy had a room of his own in the ruins of the old cotton mill. Jimmy slowly took his paper his writing books, even his arithmetic books and spent most of his time reading and writing in his new den.

The holidays are nearly at an end and Jimmy looked forward to going back to school where he could read and write and do his arithmetic as he had done before the holidays and his mum and dad telling him he should go out and play with the other children. The last day of the holiday Jimmy went to his den, He had started to write when he heard this loud rumbling sound, the noise is terrible, the old mill or factory was falling apart. Jimmy ran to the door but it was too late the falling brickwork and the flooring from above had blocked the door. Jimmy did not panic, going to the window of his den he looked outside to see how high he was from the floor. It is too high up to risk a jump, he could easily hurt himself and a broken arm or leg would not do him any good when he went back to school. Another loud rumbling sound and Jim dived under the old oak table that he had found in the mill and waited for the noise to stop. The window fell out of the wall and more noise then quietness. Jimmy looked out on to a pile of rubble he could easily get out and run home. Arriving at home he told his mum that he now had to do some writing, as he had not prepared anything for the new term at school.

Jim’s teacher gave the children an essay to write. Each child had to tell in his or her essay about their holidays, what had happened to them and where they had been. Jimmy wrote about his den, his writing and the old mill and how on the last day of the holiday the ruins tumbled down to the ground destroying his den. Jimmy got full marks for his essay.

I printed this little story out on my printer and gave all the fairies a copy to read. I am sorry to have to tell you all that the fairies were not impressed, They were all in agreement that my stories for children are much better than my story for the fairies.. I myself am keeping out of any discussion I will leave it up to you to decide for yourselves, which are better my fairy tales or my story for the fairies.