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I recently obtained a book of limericks by Edward Lear and was inspired to write a few of my own.
There once was a merchant of Venice
Who persuaded his wife to play tennis.
So they rallied and served
Till his wife came unnerved
And beat up a poor ball boy named Dennis.
There once was a sailor named Carey
Who was asked if his head was quite hairy.
So he hummed and he hawled
TIll his head was quite bald
And he finally answered, “Not very!”
There once were two soldiers named Gershom
Who found their dual names to be irksome.
So a wager was made
Where the winner became Slade,
And the loser, he kept the name Gershom.
A man with a ten-gallon hat
Set to ride till his chapeau was flat.
So he rode ’neath his horse
And that fixed it, of course.
It increased to twelve gallons like that.
There once was a fellow named Clark
Whose appendages glowed in the dark.
“Hang the darkness!” said he,
So he dove in the sea
And was promptly devoured by a shark.
Another young person named Clark
Claimed to travel much faster than dark,
And he shut off the light,
Which removed him from sight
And he said, “I just ran ’round the park!”
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Book Publishing Options in 2010 |
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In early 2010 I entered a story in the Writing for Children Competition put on by the Writers Union of Canada.The entry deadline was April 24 but they still have not finished judging the entries. Winning the competition would make it very easy to get published, but I've been wondering what I should do if I don't get “recognised” from the contest.
There could be a couple reasons if I don't have success in the competition:
- the book sucks
- the book has different merits than what they are looking for
- hey maybe those are both the same thing, I dunno
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I was reading Brave New World Revisited by Aldous Huxley yesterday and came across these sentences:
Only the vigilant can maintain their liberties, and only those who are constantly and intelligently on the spot can hope to govern themselves effectively by democratic procedures. A society, most of whose members spend a great part of their time, not on the spot, not here and now and in the calculable future, but somewhere else, in the irrelevant other worlds of sport and soap opera, of mythology and metaphysical fantasy, will find it hard to resist the encroachments of those who would manipulate and control it.
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