On Blogging, On Writing

Harold’s Hat

Our hero.
Our hero.

The charming Susanna Leonard Hill is holding a blog contest, and I’m giving it a go.

The rules, in Susanna’s own words: “Write a children’s story, in poetry or prose, maximum 400 words about the Fourth of July in which a secret is revealed or a mystery is solved!”

Fourth of July? Mystery? My first idea was The Mystery of the Missing Fingers.

But better judgment prevailed.

Enjoy!

UPDATE: I am delighted to report that Harold’s Hat was the winner of the 2014 Highlights for Children Fiction Contest!

Please be aware, however, that the winning story is quite different from the one posted below.  If you want to read the winning story, you’re gonna have to get a copy of Highlights. (You should do this, by the way. That mag is awesome.)

AN UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: It’s official: Harold’s Hat will appear in the July 2015 issue of Highlights for Children. Feel free to camp out next to your newsstand now!

***

HAROLD’S HAT

By Mike Allegra

The day was here! Finally!

Parades!

Hot dogs!

Swimming!

Fireworks!

Oh, and there was also The Hat.

Harold could hardly think of The Hat without saying, “Mwah-ha-ha!”

He’ll show that Betsy Lominzer, that’s for sure.

Last year Betsy wore a special Fourth of July hat to the town parade – a nice one that had flashing lights and a cup holder for her lemonade.

Harold asked if he could try it on and she said no. Not even for one teeny, tiny little milisecond.

“Fine,” thought Harold. “I’ll show you next year.”

And, well…Mwah-ha-ha!

The Hat took Harold six months to build. He kept it out of harm’s way in his closet.

At least he thought he did.

It must be out of harm’s way in his toy box.

Hm.

Out of harm’s way in his dresser?

Um…

Under the bed? Behind the hamper? In the closet again, just to make sure?

“MOOOOOOOM!”

“Whaaaat?” Mom was trying to light the barbecue.

“Have you seen My Hat? The one with the red, white and blue glitter, and the flashing lights, and the siren, and the cup holder?”

“No,” she replied. “Where on earth did you get…? ”

“DAAAAAAAD!”

“Too loud!” Dad was pouring chlorine in the pool.

“Have you seen My Hat? The one with the battery powered waving flag action and the cannons that shoot sparks?”

“You have a hat that shoots sparks?” Dad asked. “That could be a fire haz­–”

“BIIIIIIILLY!”

“Ba!” Billy was sucking on his foot.

“Have you seen My Hat? The one with the megaphone and the solar powered jukebox that plays a medley of Sinatra songs when you push a red button on the brim?”

“Do-be-do-be-do,” Billy said.

Wait. That wasn’t Billy.

Harold followed the do-bes to Sparky’s doghouse and found him swooning to Sinatra’s crooning.

The hat was safe and sound.

“Good boy.”

Off to the parade! Off to find Betsy Lominzer! Mwah-ha-ha!

But…well…Betsy’s hat had improved a bit since last year.

It had improved quite a lot, actually.

“Wow! Can I try on your hat for just one teeny, tiny, little millisecond?” Harold asked.

“No,” Betsy Lominzer replied.

“Fine!” thought Harold. “I’ll show you next year.”

In an instant, Harold’s mind filled with new and exciting ideas. A bigger hat. A better hat. The Best Hat Ever.

His lips curled into a smile.

“Mwah-ha-ha!” he said.

On Writing

Paper Trained

Need a little advice, kids? Well have a seat.

I work at a high school, which means I often interact with high school students. It’s not nearly as bad as it sounds.

Most of them know I do this writing thing and can tell that I’m pretty happy, so the aspiring wordsmiths among them often ply me for advice.

“How can I become a writer?” they ask with wide, dewy, earnest eyes.

“Work for a newspaper,” I reply.

Without fail, they then look at me as if to say, “Gee, thanks for the advice, Grandpa, but the world doesn’t work that way anymore.”

Punk kids.

Yeah, Mr. Allegra, you’re still cool!

Sheesh, I’m not stupid. I know where newspapers are going. A couple of years ago I even wrote a feature story titled “Black and White and Dead All Over.” The fate of the daily newspaper is obvious.

I wasn’t telling those kids to work for a daily, though. The weeklies are where the action is. Unlike their big city cousins, weeklies aren’t in financial trouble – and they’re great places to get your boots on the ground, learn the trade, slough off a few failures, and develop a local following. Also, weeklies happily accept journalism newbies. They have no choice, really; their salaries are much too low to attract anyone who has already proven himself.

So, Go Greenhorns!

My old paper, Suburban Trends, was published on Wednesdays and Sundays. Each reporter was assigned a town to cover. Then each reporter was made to understand that he or she was to submit six stories about that town every week. Three stories per issue. “At least three,” Mr. Editor would then tell you with a solemn nod. “Because, you know, four stories are better than three. Better for you, if you get me.”

Oh, I got him.

The job was not as ominous as I make it sound, really. The stories didn’t have to be long or involved, they just had to be in Mr. Editor’s grubby little hands before deadline. This, of course, taught me how to bang out punchy, polished copy on a variety of topics – which is excellent training for anyone who wants to write.

The greatest benefit of this system, however, was that it forced me to be independent and resourceful. You see, Suburban Trends editors didn’t oversee their reporters very much. They gave you a list that told you when the local committees and boards met. Then they showed you the door and told you to come back with three stories. At least three.

You soon learn that only four of these local meetings are worth going to:

1. The Town Council Work Session, where the council talks about what they’re going to talk about at next week’s Town Council Meeting.

2. The Town Council Meeting, where the council talks about about what they said they were going to talk about the week before – only, this time, instead of talking they yell.

3. The Board of Education Meeting, where a small yet vocal minority tries to get a beloved principal fired.

4. The Planning Board Meeting, where people argue about whether or not they should let some guy build yet another ugly strip mall. (Don’t worry ugly strip mall fans; they always get built eventually!)

All of the other township committees and boards exist only as an excuse for middle-aged men to get out of the house, eat butter cookies, and talk about fishing.

Okay, everyone, enough chit chat. Let’s get down to the first item on tonight’s agenda: Jerry’s golf swing.

A good reporter on a good news month might be able to get three stories from the Town Council Work Session, four from the Town Council Regular Meeting, two from the Board of Education, and two from the Planning Board. That adds up to 11 stories per month.

Only 13 to go!

So government news wasn’t going to get me anywhere near my quota. Once I wrapped my brain around this (I believe the epiphany came during my attempt to turn a new pooper scooper law into a three-part exposé), I got out from behind my desk and trolled the streets.

It’s so easy for a writer to forget how important it is to walk away from the desk. Granted, meeting a person face to face takes more time and work than a phone call or an email, but you can get so much more out of it. People tell you things over coffee or a beer that they would never ever tell you under any other circumstances.

I made a point to get to know everybody. And while it might sound cliché, everybody does have at least one good story to tell. Before long there wasn’t a conversation that took place over a back fence in that town that I hadn’t heard about. People I would’ve never noticed (or would’ve actively avoided) under normal circumstances became valuable sources. A lot of them became wonderful pals. And many of my experiences with these unique, eccentric, delightful, and slightly-dangerous-looking people inspire my fiction writing to this day.

A possible source. A scary one.

I had no problem finding story ideas after developing these relationships. Even during the summer, when the Board of Education didn’t meet and the Town Council members were too hot and sleepy to muster up the energy to yell, I never missed my twice-weekly quota.

In fact, I often submitted four stories per issue. And y’know what? Four really is better than three. Because when you have four stories you can tell Mr. Editor to get out of your face and go bother someone else.