Storytime

When I was maybe 4 or 5, my mom bought me a little red hardcover book with blank pages inside. I would tell my mom a story I had invented and she would write it in the book, leaving several pages blank for me to illustrate the story I had just made up. Here are two of those stories.

The Prettiest Unicorn

There once was a pretty unicorn. Her name was Emily. She liked to do lots of things. Her favorite thing that she liked to do was...
She liked to jump over this cave that was close by a house. She loved to do it so much. There was a lady who often came to watch the unicorn. (The purse-lookin' thing in the lady's hand is actually a stroller with a baby inside. And whoever knew it was possible to jump over a cave?)
But once she jumped so high that she died. The lady was so sad. (Well, that was a quick and effective way to wrap up the story).
She put the unicorn in a grave. She made the grave with sparkles to remember the unicorn's beautiful colors.

The Mean Old Girl
(possibly the greatest title of all time)

There once was a mean little girl. She was so mean that no one liked her. (I love this picture with the mean girl stomping through the door and her green hair sticking straight up.)
She was so mean that she would never clean up her room. So she would never clean up her clothes. (I like that the girl is depicted in her underwear, stepping on her clothes that she has so meanly not put away.)
Her mom had to make her bed. (How awesome is that hair?)
But soon she got nice that she had a best friend. The end. (Now that the mean girl is nice, her hair has turned from a nasty sticking-up green to long, soft, dark, locks. And the ballet move that she is doing with her right leg is incredible.)

3 comments:

  1. I love that! What a creative storyteller/illustrator you were. :) Thanks for sharing! Love them.

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  2. this is adorable! You're lucky to have these! Thanks for sharing!

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  3. Haha. Thanks for the laugh! I love that the sun is even sad when the unicorn died. Maybe you need counseling after that story.

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