Tag Archives: kids

I wrote a fanfiction. And it’s really good.

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I blame 2020. So in a way, I guess I should thank 2020 for being such a miserable year it froze my creative juices in my veins so that the only way I could continue writing at all was to take up a study of haiku and try to figure out why some 5-7-5 poems are better than others.

Until Boku No Hero Academia, that is.

My daughter introduced me to it. More to the point, I found out she’d been watching anime and reacted like any sensible parent would and demanded she watch it with me. I have a bit of a prejudice against anime and manga due to the way it portrays women. I found some of that in BNHA (a.k.a., My Hero Academia, based on the manga by Kohei Horikoshi), but nothing I felt would scar my beautiful, confident, intelligent daughter.

I did think the anime could use a stronger female character or two, preferably on the hero and not the villain side.

I was pretty sure I could create one.

In mid-July I did exactly that. And then I started writing her story. Then I posted it on a fanfiction site. It’s now up to 22 chapters (I’ve been posting one a day, serial-like), has almost 700 hits, 22 kudos, six subscribers, and one reader who comments every single day. I’m kind of proud of that. It might be the most successful thing I’ve ever written.

After I wrote about ten chapters of it, I came clean with my daughter. She was shocked and, I think, happy. She asked if she could read it. I gave her the link because I’ve rated it “Teen and Up” on the site, and I know it’s okay for her.

She said it was really good.

I asked if it was weird that I wrote it.

She pointed out that most fanfiction is written by kids, so my readers are probably kids and probably think I am, too.

Oh jeez.

That is a little weird.

And still, I know I’m going to finish this story because I can’t not. It’s been pure fun to write. I love the universe, the characters (Kohei Horikoshi’s and mine), and how it’s brought me back to reading the comic books I borrowed from my older brother’s room when I was a kid. He always had the best ones. Richie Rich, Spider-Man, The Micronauts (remember Baron Karza, anyone?), and so many others. I loved those comics.

And I’m not going to apologize for writing a fanfiction based on an anime based on a manga. After all, it’s better than sitting frozen in horror watching our world flame out.

And besides, it inspired my beautiful daughter to draw me this:

My OC (that’s Original Character) from my fanfiction.

I am not going to post a link to my fanfiction because I don’t want to lead any children to my romances. If any of you do find this, my romances are not child friendly. I would refer you to my Shelley Gee account for middle grade children’s books. Possibly my semi-YA Weeds and Flowers. But none of these are set in a universe with heroes and villains and would probably be a disappointment. Sorry? On the other hand, if you know me and want to read the fanfiction to see if it’s really all that, let me know.

Mo Willems might be my hero.

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A children’s book can give you a glimpse into your deepest soul. Photo by Michelle Garren Flye.

I remember the first time my son brought home Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus by Mo Willems from the school library. I loved reading to my kids, but I really never connected with Pigeon. Why he was so popular with my kids, I never really knew. I loved the Frances books, anything by Rosemary Wells, and when they started bringing home little beginning readers like Henry and Mudge, I was in seventh heaven!

But the Pigeon? Every time one of my kids brought one of those home, I just rolled my eyes.

Turns out I missed the point. Pigeon is much deeper and much more shallow at the same time. He’s a philosopher and a spoiled child wrapped into one, which is kind of how I see myself. Maybe I just didn’t like seeing myself on the pages of a children’s book?

How do I know all this about Pigeon? I read an interview with his creator. Check it out here: Mo Willems Interview. (My thanks to my friend Liz for referring me to this article!)

Mo Willems’s admittedly incredible ability to look into my soul and pull a pigeon out of it notwithstanding, he says some very insightful things about the nature of art and creativity and writing. “Books are sculptures” is indeed one of them. What took me most by surprise, though, was the revelation that he’s not just writing to inspire kids. He’s writing to inspire the parents to do and say and live the way they want their kids to do and say and live.

Consider this: “[W}e constantly hear, ‘Our children are the future,’ but we seldom say, ‘Hey we’re the present and it’s incumbent on us to be present.’ So there’s this silliness, but there’s also a, ‘You can do it, too.'”

Thank you, Mo Willems!

I’m 49 years old. I’ve just published my first children’s book (Jessica Entirely by Shelley Gee). I also privately published my first collection of poetry Times and Ties. I’m taking singing lessons and auditioning for plays. I’m inspired by my kids, and my only regret right now is that I’ve never done any of these things before. I didn’t model my life by living my dreams. If anything, they’ve modeled for me by bringing home books for me to read that I wouldn’t normally have read, and introducing me to movies and television and a slew of pets I never would have chosen to bring into my life.

So I’ll presume to add a little to Mr. Willems’s statements. Be inspiring to your children, but don’t be afraid to be inspired by them, too. A family circle is beneficial to all.

Something I wrote:

Jessica smiled in spite of her worries about her friends. They all had friends in town and friends who evacuated and friends who might have lost their homes in the storm. But she had her family right there with her and the idea of helping made her feel much better about things in general. She took a deep breath and followed her family to the kitchen, happier than she ever had been at the prospect of spending an hour or two with them at the table.

Poem: No Pain (for the Jerks)

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No Pain (for the Jerks)

By Michelle Garren Flye

It’s little things.

Playground things.

A hard bump

Instead of a pass.

A mocking word

Like a tiny barb.

A whisper, a lie,

A rumor spread

Like stinky cheese

On a wilting cracker.

It’s dumb things

That shouldn’t matter.

A missing invitation

To a birthday party.

Picking me last

For every team.

Just bullshit really.

Nothing that hurts.

You can’t make me cry.

I’m too tough for that.

I don’t cry when

The leaves fall.

I don’t weep when

Rain thunders down.

I don’t mourn the

Wilting dead flowers

By the walk.

How could neglect

Pierce my heart, then?

Why would contempt

Cause me grief?

Or cruelty sadden me?

I feel no pain.

I feel nothing at all.

 

romance, author, writer, photography, love

“Reflection” Photo by Michelle Garren Flye

 

The Next Chapter: Moving a Friend Away

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white car traveling near trees during daytime

Photo by Tim Gouw on Pexels.com

This weekend, I helped a friend move five hours away. It was tough. Setting him up in his new place and knowing I could no longer see him every single day. Of course, the move is a good one for him. More opportunity for growth and friendships and education.

Yes, I joined the ranks of parents leaving their first-born at college. I know it’s a good thing, but I couldn’t help but think that I would miss him fiercely, this baby-turned-man in a blink of an eye. He’s always been a part of me and always will be, though, so I square my shoulders and march on.

After all, I’m not losing a son or a friend. I’m helping him be a better man and friend to others.

Turning to other things, I have a GoodReads giveaway going on now! Enter to win one of fifty copies of Becoming Magic here: Becoming Magic GoodReads Giveaway. Also, I’ll be at Lisa Haselton’s Reviews and Interviews on Monday morning promoting Becoming Magic, so be sure to join me there. Plus, there’s a giveaway!

National Poetry Month: Poem 7

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A little late with this one, and I tried a little rhyming. No real scheme to it, but maybe that would come in a later draft.

Poem 7

Bang, Explained

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

I just heard a bang downstairs.

The house is dark and cold.

No one’s home but me, I know,

Cause Mom went to the store.

Do I investigate?

Oh, I can’t be that bold.

Tiptoe to the banister and peer below?

Surely it’s better to wait.

 

That was a creak,

But I’ve heard that one before.

What could that bang have been?

I’ll just go back to my game.

There’s nothing here to hurt me now.

There, I heard it again!

What’s down there creeping around?

I’d better go check—no, wait!

 

That’s nothing at all but the cat at my door.

Maybe’s he’s lonely…like me.

 

Time is not your friend.

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PSM_V05_D144_Mountain_laurel

Immortality and everlasting love are two of the meanings of mountain laurel.

This morning I taught my nine-year-old how to make waffles because it’s summer, everybody’s getting up at a different time…and, well, she’s nine. It’s time to start doing some basic stuff for yourself like making your own breakfast. But as soon as I thought that, I realized something.

 

She’s nine years old. How did that happen?

Time isn’t our friend, is it? It rushes us along, always on its schedule, never paying attention to the moments we want to stand still and enjoy like our vacations and celebrations. Time only takes a breather when we’re standing in line at the DMV or going to an unpleasant doctor’s appointment. Then Time says, “Hold up there, what’s your rush?” And the seconds slowly become minutes and seem like hours.

I’ve been fascinated by the concept of time for most of my life, I think. I remember my mother telling me once how long it would take for the Jello she’d just put into the refrigerator to jell. An hour.

How long is an hour? I said.

She probably rolled her eyes and sighed, but I remember her laughing a little. “Sixty minutes.”

Sixty minutes? How could I possibly live that long? I wanted the Jello now. And yet, when I ran along and played with my Barbie dolls, all of sudden, an hour had passed. And I was enjoying a plateful of jiggly green Jello that I could poke with my fork to see it wobble and not get fussed at for playing with my food.

My obsession with time has continued through the years. Don’t rush it, people say when you’re trying your best to get through one stage of your life—high school, college, the first years of married life, the first stage of child-rearing, the lean years during your first jobs when you’re not making much money…

And they’re right. Because all of a sudden you’re teaching your nine-year-old baby who’s sprouted ridiculously long legs to make waffles. Or reaching up to give your 12-year-old a hug. Or teaching your 16-year-old to drive. All because it’s time. And you were never allowed to stand still for those moments in time that you’ll always treasure but can never go back to.

And all of this is to say that on Wednesday, my book Out of Time, which explores some of my thoughts about time, will mark another point in my timeline. And this time, I’ll be enjoying that moment with you right here on my blog. I’ll be posting throughout the day about Out of Time and what it means in my personal quest to understand the rush of time. Please stop by with any questions about my writing, thoughts about time, comments about the weather…whatever. And at high noon, the pinnacle of the hours of the day…I’ll have a special guest here. Then at 7 p.m. (Eastern), as the hours of the day draw to a close, I’ll choose one commenter from a random drawing to receive the grand prize of a Kindle Fire!

So take a few moments from your day and stop by. Help me make the most of the day…before we’re out of time.