Tell the story of this little guy. Or make up a story that's inspired by him.Post your best entry by midnight September 30th 2008. Encourage your writer friends to post a story too!
Stories must be under 300 words and targeted to children or young adults.
They will be judged on: 1) originality; 2) appropriateness to the cheesecake creature theme; 3) use of language, imagery, sentence structure, paragraphing, and all that good stuff.
Prizes will be cheesecake- and writing-related . The number of prizes will depend upon the number of entries.
MMS Society officers may post entries, but they won't be officially entered in the competition.
7 comments:
My buther turned me into a cheapcake.
I was being a good sister and helping him to know what my toys are mine and what his toys are his.
He wanted to put my ball in the his pile so I yelled at him for my toy and he laughed and took my ball and so I just hit him in the face with my dinesore.
His face was getting red and I yelled and he said nothing for long time except things I wanted to hear but not hear.
I ran away to Mom and we had dinner wight then so we sit and eat dinner and I stick my tongue at my buther.
Then my buther yells and I tingle and then I is looking at my mom and she is crying and my buther smiles.
"Now you is a cheapcake and I can have the your ball and you not hit me or I eat you!" he yells.
But I laugh and keep my tongue out and is making fun of my buther all the time.
Okay, I might be up to the challenge. But I'll tell, I really could go for some of that cheesecake . . . preferably before it was made into a creature.
amyf,
Of course you're up to the challenge! And how else are you going to win some cheesecake? I just don't know of too many contests that offer cheesecake as the reward.
(The photo is compliments of the Writing for Young Readers Workshop banquet.)
-MMS Society
Title: Gremlin Cheesecake
WC: 299
Abigail Annabelle Worthington liked to play with her food. Mr. and Mrs. Worthington encouraged her artistic tendencies, and never scolded her.
One evening, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington threw a fancy party with roast duck, boiled shallots, and cheesecake for dessert. Abigail was to eat in the kitchen, since it was a party for adults. After she’d shuffled the duck and the shallots around her plate long enough, Abigail pulled a plate of cheesecake off the platter. Three bites later, she stopped eating and started playing.
She drew her fork slowly across the sides of the cheesecake, gouging the middle into teeth. Three blueberries served as eyes and nose, and a boysenberry became a doofy cap. As she placed a glob for a tongue, she thought it looked kind of like a little gremlin, and decided to fetch some arms from her Mr. Potato Head to complete it.
When Abigail came back to the kitchen, however, the whole platter of cheesecake was gone, including her piece!
Abigail peeked out the kitchen door. Mr. Worthington was passing out dessert, and he held her gremlin piece in his hand, ready to serve.
“Stop! Stop!” Abigail burst into the dining room.
“What? What’s the matter?” Mr. Worthington asked.
“That piece…” she began.
Mr. Worthington looked at the cheesecake in his hand, and realized what had happened.
“This is the most special piece,” he announced, “and is reserved for our most special guest.” He bowed graciously to his daughter, presenting her with the plate.
“Phew!” she said.
Since Abigail was now a special guest, she was invited to sit at the table, which meant she had to eat the rest of her cheesecake instead of playing with it. But she didn’t mind. There would be leftovers, she was sure, and there was always tomorrow.
Is Looking Good a Good Thing?
By Ida Hale
I’m a little nervous sitting here on this plate with people looking at me. I think I look good but is that a good thing? I remember watching television and seeing the Chips Ahoy cookie having such fun riding in the car singing with his friends, “Don’t You Want Me Baby” and then all three of his friends were gone. On one day he got out of bed, the sunlight beaming in his window and happily declared “Today is the first day of the rest of my life.” The next minute he was gone. Is something going to happen to me?
I’ve had a good but somewhat short life as a cheesecake. Many plants, animals, and people have contributed to my excellent looks. There’s the Jersey cow that gave the delicious milk and cream that makes up my cream cheese mixture along with some eggs from the chickens. The blackberry bush produced the wonderful berries I have for my hat. My blueberry eyes and makeup come from a row of blueberry bushes. Sugar and flour needed to sweeten and stabilize me, came from the baker’s pantry. In his large kitchen I was whipped and baked, cooled and decorated by the baker who was dressed in a starched white apron and fancy hat. He hummed as he piped whipped cream and placed the berries in just the right spots on me and made me so good looking.
What is that in front of me? Shiny, silver, and four pronged. Oh no! I thought so. A fork! I think I know what happened to those Chips Ahoy cookies.
Pig Butts and Cheesecake
I stared down at my cheesecake, intent on making a blueberry stick on top. If placed just right, my cheesecake would be looking back at me with goofy blueberry eyes. I looked around at all the girls in dresses, so pressed they looked like paper dolls’.
The tension in the air increased as Mrs. Archer grabbed the neck of the microphone like she was strangling a goose. I laughed to myself, and the girl next to me, Gracie, glared at me. ‘So what’ I tried to make my face say.
“I am very pleased to announce the grand prize winner,” Mrs. Archer said as she held up her hand to calm the girls’ excited giggles. I smashed my cheesecake and smiled.
“And what are you smiling about, Millie? You’re not going to win,” Gracie said twirling her pigtails.
“Be quiet pig butts,” I said, and Gracie shook her insulted pigtails. I probably would have heard them hiss at me like Medusa’s snakes if the chattering girls weren’t so loud.
Suddenly, there was a hushed eeriness to the room. My stomach tied in knots as Mrs. Archer looked smugly up to find the winner in the crowd.
“Miss Gracie Carter, our grand prize winner.”
Everyone clapped. But instead of clapping, my hands grabbed my plate and smashed it right into Gracie’s face. Gracie squealed like a pig. Everyone gasped. Mrs. Archer made ninja quick moves; one minute she was all choked up, proudly watching Gracie, the next minute she was hauling me out of the room. I thought she would strangle me like she did the microphone. If she did, at least then I wouldn’t have to learn to be a proper lady, or be sorry about old pig butts getting cheesecake all over her dumb party dress.
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