A story about cherry blossoms? Too pink. Too girly. No way.
I’m no slouch when it comes to writing. In fact, I’ll be a great author someday! But first I have to make it through little league without being laughed off the field. The guys so far have been proud of my stories, trading them like baseball cards. But pink flowers won’t cut it with them. Still, it’s a homework assignment, so I have to do something. I plop down at the computer and begin writing.
“Big Mike McCorkle stands on the pitcher’s mound, eying the batter through evil-looking slits. His red and black uniform is covered with dirt, where he slid into home the top of the fourth. He spits on the ball; the batter cries “yuck”. That prissy thing doesn’t have a clue, he thinks. Look at her in that silly pink uniform. The Battling Bulldogs will slaughter those ridiculous Cherry Blossoms.”
After that auspicious beginning, my story carries the Dogs to a massive win, with the Blossoms all boo-hooing and acting helpless. The guys will love this story! Next day I hand it in, feeling smug. The following week, Ms Whitaker singles me out. “Charles, please read your story aloud to the class. Girls, listen closely.” She sounds ominous, like thunder. I look around the room. This writing class is mostly girls, all glaring at me. Matilda’s slapping a metal ruler against her hand. Abby and Allie are obviously itching for a fight. Sandra’s muttering to herself. Everywhere I look, a hostile feminine face. Hmm. Change of plans. I start pretending to read, making it up as I go.
“Mike eyes the batter warily. She’s a home run Queen. In fact all the Cherry Blossoms have made history. We’ll have a hard time beating this bunch, he thinks with respect, and with more than a little fear.”
When I finish my story, the room is warm with approval. “Two cardinal rules for writers, Chuck.” Now Ms. Whitaker is all smiles. “Know your audience and don’t be afraid to rewrite!”
Look guys, you had to be there!