Three Minutes on the Phone

Normanday #33: Stop the phone, I want to get off.

You’ve just sat down with a snack, ready to watch your favorite TV show when the phone rings. You answer the phone. It isn’t long before you decide this call is way more interesting than anything you’d see on TV. Write for three minutes about…

…the unusual phone call you received.

Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by the end of the day June 24 (put “Norman has a Pleasant Phone Voice” in the subject line). I’ll post as many of my favorite entries as I want next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published children’s or young adult writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.

Here are the entries from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about…

…the holey argyle sock from Bigfoot’s junk drawer.

Schae D. Lane

Sonnet I

Oh argyle sock thou art holey and rank

And thou usefulness proves in sharp decline

For oft on air emits a rancid stank

In murky depths of drawer you now recline

For in darkest place and alone you lied

Your silent twin ’tis lost, “no proper pair!”

How threadbare, sad fabric found on right side

No hope in darning, not possible there

As well big toes no longer be confine

A course, brown tuft of fur ’tis found instead

Wherefore no seam left can identify

’Tis lost between colours silver and red

Wilt thou cast sock out of drawer and take heart?

And begin anew with paisley upstart?

Cranberly

One Ear

My dog has only one ear. And his fur is made of diamond shapes—all in green and red and orange. His eyes are made of cotton balls with smudgy black marker in the middle. I show my sister my dog. It goes “Bark, bark, bark!” as I close and open my hand to get his mouth to move.

“Is that supposed to be a dog?” she asks. She is squinting at me. I hate it when she does that. I move my arm up and down and my dog, Argul, sniffs her hair. She bats him away.

“Gross! Is that Dad’s old sock? He threw that away! It has holes and everything!”

“No! It’s my dog, Argul.” My arm moves up again and my dog sniffs her face with his penny nose. It was hard getting the penny to stick. I had to use extra glue and hold the penny on there for a long time. His nose mainly looks like dried glue now with a little penny inside.

“It’s pronounce AR-GYLE, not AR-GUL. And it’s not a stupid dog puppet. It’s an old, holey sock. And why do you have one finger sticking out of the top anyway?” She starts walking out of her bedroom. I think she does that to get me to leave her room. I follow her. My dog pretends to sniff her butt, but she swats it away first.

“It’s his ear. He only has one.” I run beside her with my hand up in the air. “Woof! Woof!” Argul, the dog, says. He is big. And his bark is deep.

“Dad! Dad! Look what Finley did with your old sock.” She yells.

Dad comes out of his room. He rubs a towel on his head. He is wearing his weekend tshirt and jeans. He smiles.

“Why, look at that. A dragon!” Dad says. My sister rolls her eyes and heads downstairs for breakfast.

“Rooooaaaarrrrr!” Argul, the flying dragon says. My dragon has only one ear.