Val Muller

This week’s prompt is to write a story told through a camera. Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers. It’s inspired by the newly-updated camera descriptions on various security camera platforms. Have we gone too far? That is a story for another time.

 

Camera Notifications

By Val Muller

 

Driveway Cam 1 April 9 – 7:47 a.m.

Two people and a child are walking with a white dog.

 

Driveway Cam 1 May 2 – 5:45 p.m.

A child is playing with a ball and a child is running with a white dog.

 

Driveway Cam 1 June 24 – 6:40 p.m.

A person is shouting to two children

 

Driveway Cam 2 June 24 – 6:40 p.m.

Two children are running towards the house.

 

Driveway Cam 2 June 24 – 6:46 p.m.

A white dog is limping towards the house.

 

Driveway Cam 1 June 25 – 8:35 a.m.

A person is carrying a dog to a car.

 

Driveway Cam 2 June 25 – 8:36 a.m.

A black car is backing down the driveway.

 

Driveway Cam 2 June 26 – 9:15 a.m.

A person and two children are pulling a wagon carrying a white dog in a leg cast.

 

Driveway Cam 1 July 4 – 7:45 p.m.

Two people and two children are sitting on a picnic blanket with a dog on a leash.

 

Driveway Cam 2 – July 4 – 9:30

Fireworks are exploding in the sky.

 

Front entryway indoor cam July 4 – 9:47 p.m.

A white dog in a cast is trembling by the front door.

 

 

 

Driveway Cam 1 April 2 – 6:45 a.m.

Two people and two children are packing suitcases into a car.

 

Driveway Cam 1 April 2 – 7:15 a.m.

Two children are walking a white dog on a leash.

 

Driveway Cam 1 April 2 – 7:25 a.m.

Two children are embracing a white dog on the lawn.

 

Driveway Cam 1 April 2 – 7:32 a.m.

A car packed with bags on the roof is backing down the driveway.

 

Driveway Cam 2 April 2 – 7:32 a.m.

Two children are waving out a car window.

 

Front entryway indoor cam – 2 April – 7:41 a.m.

A white dog is waiting by the front door.

 

Front entryway indoor cam – 2 April 12:25 p.m.

A person is letting a dog out the door.

 

Front entryway indoor cam – 2 April 4:52 p.m.

A white dog is waiting by the front door.

 

Front entryway indoor cam – 4 April 3:25 p.m.

A white dog is waiting by the front door.

 

Driveway Cam 2 April 8 – 5:58 p.m.

A car packed with bags on the roof is pulling into the driveway.

 

Front entryway indoor cam April 8 – 5:59 p.m.

A white dog is jumping up and down at the front door.

 

Driveway Cam 1 April 8 – 6:32 p.m.

Two people are unpacking a car.

 

Driveway Cam 2 April 8 – 6:33 p.m.

Two children are frolicking with a white dog.

 

 

Driveway Cam 2 July 4 – 9:25 p.m.

Fireworks are exploding in the sky

 

Front entryway indoor cam July 4 – 9:43 p.m.

A dog is trembling by the front door.

 

Front entryway indoor cam July 4 – 9:52

Two children are exiting the door.

 

Driveway Cam 1 July 4 – 9:52

Sparklers are igniting in the street

 

Driveway Cam 2 July 4 – 9:53

A dog is sprinting erratically

 

 

 

Driveway Cam 1 July 5 – 12:02 a.m.

Two people with flashlights are searching.

 

Front entryway indoor cam July 5 – 12:42 a.m.

Two children are sitting against the front door, crying.

 

 

Driveway Cam 2 July 5 – 4:23 a.m.

A person with a flashlight is carrying a dog.

 

Driveway Cam 1 July 5 – 4:24 a.m.

Two children are approaching a person carrying a dog.

 

Driveway Cam 1 July 5– 4:25 a.m.

A person is putting a leash on a dog.

 

Driveway Cam 1 July 5– 4:26 a.m.

Two children and a dog are frolicking in the driveway.

 

 

Driveway Cam 2 July 7 – 6:30 a.m.

A person is carrying a box of fireworks to a trash can at the end of the driveway.

 

 

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

 

 

Welcome to the Spot Writers! This month’s prompt is “He (she/they) started the new year with…” Today’s prompt comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers.

Perfect

By Val Muller

She started the new year with a pen in hand. Perfection was the enemy of progress. She’d read so many variations of that quote lately, it was like the universe was talking directly to her.

The blank page in her new sketchbook stared back at her. Yes, a sketchbook instead of a journal. There would be no lines, no rules. Just progress.

She wrote a sentence, a line that struck her. It had been with her for a few months now, coming and going, and with it a vague idea for a new story. For now, it was just a line. She’d read that a single line is how J. R. R. Tolkien started his masterpiece The Hobbit. Just a line.

And look where that led him.

She didn’t know what to write next, so she copied the line over again, in cursive this time. Then again in a bubbly font. The letters looked perfect.

No.

How did Tolkien go from a single line to an epic adventure? Certainly not by copying a sentence. An illustration, perhaps.

The line had to do with flight. What could she draw? Something about freedom. A cloud. Pathetic. What else? How do you draw blue sky? How to draw freedom?

All the familiar fears came. The internal and eternal editor, her own worst critic. How could she silence it?

This is how the past year had gone—the start of something, then that something killed by an internal editor. This could not go on. She was going to draw a bird. It was decided. It was going to be the worst bird she ever drew, but it would help her. A bird was like freedom, right? She just didn’t know where to start. The body? The wing? She almost reached for her phone, for a tutorial to show her how to do it the right way.

But no.

This year was about imperfection.

Just draw.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Drew the arc of the wing. Felt its body curve as she drew blindly on the page. She thought about the story arc, the character’s drive to be free. The story flowed into her subconscious as she tried to feel her way back from the body to the second wing.

She opened her eyes.

It was the worst drawing of a bird she had ever seen.

And it was perfect.

---

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

 

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is “nick of time.” Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers.

 

Mrs. Wilson’s Classroom

By Val Muller

 

Joanne balanced on the yoga ball, feet on the floor, gently rolling back and forth, coffee cup cradled in her hands. No one was talking to her, no one was asking her questions, no one was touching her.

 

It was a Wednesday morning, and her coworkers would be in the throes of their week, struggling to get by, and probably someone had left all sorts of leftover baked goods in the workroom in a misguided attempt at morale boosting that would only serve to undermine everyone’s healthy intentions.

 

And the students would be an all-time challenge, this being the second full week of school. The novelty had worn off and everyone was back to the grind. Behavior issues started to rise on Wednesdays.

 

Joanne thought about going to the bank. What a treat that would be, running an errand when most people were at work. But of course she couldn’t. Not with Sylvia having the car. Or, not Sylvia. Joanne. Today she was Joanne.

 

Joanne–the real Joanne–stood up from the yoga ball and set down her coffee. She wasn’t used to drinking it that warm. At school, it was always stone-cold by the time she got to it. Besides, she hadn’t sent in her electronic doppelganger to buy time for coffee. Today, she had three small home improvement projects to finish and a book to read.

 

She sat on the floor and took a knife to the fan box. The bedroom ceiling fan was at least a decade old. This one had been on clearance and would be a nice refresh. She lined all the pieces up and allowed her mind to wander as she cataloged the blades, the screws, the motor assembly. It was 9:52. The students would be doing silent reading now. Johnny would probably have his phone cradled in his book, and Samantha would be doing makeup in the corner.

 

Joanne did not envy Sylvia.

 

She took three steps up the ladder and was just starting to take down the old fan when her watch beeped. It was Sylvia. Low battery. How could that be? She had just been charged. Maybe it was the school wifi. It was probably the school wifi. The whole building used to be a bomb shelter or something like that. The wifi came and went and drained phone batteries quickly. She didn’t realize it would drain androids also.

 

She hurried to the closet for Sylvia’s spare battery. But how to get it to her?

 

Two competing emotions took over. Panic, of course. She could lose her job if anyone found out it was Sylvia teaching the class. Could? Would. Maybe jail time. But there was anger, too. She’d gone to such lengths for a day off, and now what? She had to hire an Uber to get her to school so she could use her spare key to sneak a spare battery into her car so Sylvia could come get it to make it through the day?

 

She ordered the Uber and looked at the time. Sylvia had a half hour before lunch. Would the Uber get here in time? Joanne pulled up Sylvia’s app. Adroidlyfe. She programmed Sylvia to go to the car at lunch, to change its battery.

 

Thr Uber driver took one look at the battery and batted an eye. “That for a ‘droid?” the driver asked.

 

Joanne nodded.

 

“What for?”

 

“I need to avert a mental breakdown, so I programmed my lookalike Droid to watch my students in school while I take a mental health day, only the battery drained faster than expected. So I need you to help get me across the county in the next 20 minutes so my Droid can swap the battery while the kids are at lunch, thereby minimizing the chance that my ruse will be discovered.”

 

The driver waited one beat before breaking into laughter. “Okay. Okay. I shouldn’t have asked,” he said.

 

“No, but seriously, get me there in 15 and I wil double your tip.”

 

“Lady,” he said. “Buckle up.”

 

After arriving in the nick of time, Joanne tipped her driver well and asked him to stop at the bank before returning her home for the rest of her mental health day.

 

The Spot Writers–Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

 

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s post is to write a story that involves a tomato, a cloaked individual, and a missing shoe. This week’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers.

Pirate Golf

By Val Muller

Hell hath no fury like a freshly-turned two-year-old missing a plush cow slipper. And thus Missy found herself at Pirate Dan’s Mystical Mini-Golf at 9:47 on a Wednesday. The two-year-old in question was asleep in his stroller, in the hotel, with James. The hope was that Missy and James had was that Missy could go to the golf course, locate the lost slipper, and return before James woke up. He’d fallen asleep while they walked back from dinner to their hotel at the beach, and they hoped to transfer him to his pac-n-play, but they knew that in the jostling, he would awaken, ask for his latest obsession (the cow slippers), and, finding one missing, would fly into a tantrum.

The mini golf course was half lit now, with only safety lights on, maybe for the custodial crew, and the animatronics still glowing, probably to attract tomorrow’s customers. The fence that divided the golf course from the parking lot was low enough to be jumpable. Missy wondered whether she should jump it. She could be arrested for breaking and entering, no? Or—entering, maybe? She wasn’t actually breaking anything. And if a police officer did show up, she could easily explain about the cow slipper. I mean, why else would she be there after hours, at a golf course? Surely any cops with kids of their own would understand.

But she was a full-grown adult. Jumping the fence was something a teenager would do. Instead, she craned her neck. Maybe she could see the cow slipper. At least if she saw it, she could jump the fence, grab it, and hurry away before the cops showed up. She visually traced the dyed-blue shallow river that ran through the golf course. It pirate-themed with dragons and mermaids and the like. The toddler had been fascinated by the blue water and had jumped into it like a puddle. Not only had Missy lost her golf ball in the stream while retrieving him, but somewhere along the way one of the cow slippers had gotten lost.

Now, if you’ve ever had a toddler like Benny, you knew that whatever the current fixation is—whether plush cow slippers or a stuffed duck or a polka-dot ribbon—it had to be around when the toddler demanded it.

“Can I help you?” a gruff voice asked. He was cloaked—a dark hoodie that seemed way too big for his frame. “This place is closed, you know.”

She couldn’t tell if his voice was angry or confused or something else. She was sure she didn’t look like a typical criminal. In fact, with his hood up, he looked more sinister than she did. But still, she was the one thinking about trespassing.

“I know, I—”

“Open at nine, close at nine,” he said. “You’re welcome to come back in the morning if you’re looking to play a round, or—”

She shook her head. “We were here earlier. I had a toddler with me. We lost a shoe.”

The hood came down and an old set of teeth smiled at her. Missy was so tired, she thought at first he was one of those skeletons from the pirate cave at Hole 9 come to life. But then she shook her head and came back to reality. It was an older gentleman wearing a Pirate Dan shirt. An employee.

“I know just the shoe. Come on, meet me at the front gate.”

He disappeared before she could respond, so she walked along the sidewalk to the other side of the golf course, where he waited at the gate. As she entered, a skeleton with glowing red eyes glared at her. A mermaid waved.

The man with the hoodie motioned her inside. She stepped through the gate. There were several empty picnic tables—she vaguely remembered sitting at one of them with Benny earlier today to give him some juice. Now, they were all empty except the one closest to the entrance. A small towel was spread out and a lunch box.

“Just enjoying my supper,” the man said. He held up a sandwich. “Tomato, mayo, white bread. A little basil, this time of year.” He said it like a question, to which she didn’t know the answer.

She shook her head.

“Not from around here,” he said. “Otherwise, you’d know. Now if you’ve never had one, I’m going to have to insist.”

The look on Missy’s face must have expressed her concern.

“Don’t worry. They’re not poisoned or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean, how would I have known someone would show up here looking for a shoe? It’s a cow slipper, by the way,” he told her. “I know because it was the subject of much speculation in the break room today. One of the young ones almost threw it out. I mean, it was saturated with blue water. But those of us who have ever had kids, we knew.”

He sliced a tomato, and the knife flashed across the table, presenting in about thirty seconds a tomato-mayo-basil sandwich on white bread. He left it in her hand and disappeared down the pirate tunnel.

He returned before she could convince herself to take a bite.

“I don’t usually work this late, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m here to deck out the place. Tomorrow is Craig’s 80^th birthday. I’m eight years behind him. I only hope I can make it to 80. Craig’s the one who drives the train.”

Missy remembered the train ride that took visitors around the golf course before dropping them off at the top of the structure. Then, they took a leisurely stroll down the “mountain” through the eighteen mini holes. She’d barely given the driver a thought, having been preoccupied with Benny and his quirks.

She looked around and only then noticed the banners and balloons. Happy Birthday, Craig and Octogenarian Club! It was quite an accomplishment, making it to 80.

She looked down, feeling a weight in her hand. The man had placed the slipper, clean and dry, into her hand. “I washed it and left it in the sun to dry. I knew some young child would be back for it.”

She smiled, then, and took a bite of the sandwich. She looked around once more, taking in the balloons, the banners, and the romanticized pirate and fantasy décor. She hoped she made it to eighty, and she hoped that when she did, she would be so full of youth and imagination and kindness. She realized she hadn’t asked the man his name, so she turned to do so.

The man was gone. The table was empty. Only a skeleton with glowing red eyes and a mermaid greeted her. They seemed to watch her as she left, clutching the slipper in one hand and taking another bite of the best-tasting sandwich she had ever eaten in a closed golf course at ten at night.

 

The Spot Writers–Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/