#WW Late Again

I've been putting in too many hours at work recently, and I'm tired! It was almost eight by the time I walked in the door, so here's something a few teachers could use but wouldn't dare. Thanks, Lisa!

#MM The Missouri Waltz

Nowhere on the internet can I find the words to the Missouri Waltz song that match the ones we sang at the football games, so I'll share from memory. Forgive me if I'm off after all these years.

Mary Margaret Truman was the daughter of the pres.

She lived in the White House with her ugly mother Bess.

There was no sense debating

her high social rating.

She was a member of Pi Beta Phi.

Trouble in the White House there was nothing left to do.

Mary Margaret Truman grabbed her father's fifty-two

and she went to Missouri

and started a brewery

so let's

drink 

Busch!

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Weekend Warrior Writer's - Middle Grade

Weekend Writing Warriors

Check this fun hop out at: 

http://www.wewriwa.com

After attending an SCBWI conference, it looks like middle grade is what's selling, so I'm going to switch focus to another unpublished manuscript, MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS. It's the story of a fifth grade outcast taken under the mismatched wings of a new boy in town. Is that cruel not to answer the door from last week? Sorry.

Here are my first eight lines. Please tell me if you'd keep reading––actually that may not be the right question since many of you write dirty romance novels and wouldn't turn the page of any kid's book, but humor me. I'm looking for an honest critique that will help me bring my work up to the publication level. Thanks!

CHAPTER ONE

 

            Randy slammed into my shoulder with a “Move it, Will,” on his way to Harrison Zimmerman’s desk. Telling me to move was better than putting an /L/ in on my forehead and getting the class to chant loser until Ms. Benson's face turned red. The kid bounced on his toes while kissing up to Harrison, who had the power to share glazed, creamy, chocolaty, or powdery treats. 

“Keaton told me your mom’s making a new kind of donut.”

            Harrison’s tongue swept across his upper lip like a fat frog grabbing his fly––not the zipper. “It's called The S’More––Chocolate, marshmallows, and gram crackers.” His beaming meant­ his stupid end-of-the-week party with the The S’More as the guest of honor. On Monday guys will boast about Mrs. Zimmerman's homemade donuts dipped in chocolate sauce or gooey cherry filling.