Children's Fiction, snippet #1

Following is a little piece of a story that I've been working on here and there. I've just got little snippets of it. In short, it's about two or three of the Brooks family kids (I think there are six children in all) who meet a mysterious gentleman who takes them on a series of adventures through magical doors that appear out of nowhere. Between adventures, they sometimes have strange, interesting, enlightening, and/or acerbic conversations with the mystery man.

You can ignore this, if children's fiction is not your thing, or you can read it and tell me what you think. Does it seem worth pursuing? Does it make you want to know more? Does it make you want to go back to the riveting article you were reading in the Washington Post, or go back to your experimental work with hybridizing the world's hottest peppers? Feel free to let me know what you think. I can take it. I think. Well, maybe not. We'll see.

...
“Slug mugs and mudbugs and flub dugs
Slog togs and dog slobs and frog mogs
Blurb glurbs and slurp tubs and slub dubs.
If it's dirty or geary, greasy or smeary,
oily or noisy, if girls don't like it, or
if it can be made into a sword,
boys like it.”

“That doesn't paint too nice a picture of boys, does it?” Caitlin asked

“I think it's pretty accurate,”said Keaton. “I like it. I'm not sure what a flub dug is, but I have a feeling I'd like to poke it with a stick if I did.”

“Well, if that's what boys like, I don't think I want to even hear your opinion of girls. But go ahead. What do girls like?”

“Girls like to twirl.”

“That's it? That's all you can say about girls? We like to twirl?” Caitlin was indignant.

“If pressed, I could say more. But mostly—and I have to admit that this is purely from observation, as I've never been a girl—I would say that girls like to twirl. But, if I absolutely had to say more, I'd say that girls like jumping rope in the sun, spinning in the rain, singing, humming, and dancing on daddy's feet. If it's furry or lacy or princy or prancy, if it's shiny or glittery, glimmery or gleamy, girls want it. If it can swirl or unfurl, twist or twirl, twitter or flitter, skip or slip, splish or splash, or if it's a bath towel that can be made into 27 dress styles, girls like it.”

In spite of herself, Caitlin had to agree with this. Perhaps not every point of it was true for her, but a lot of it was, and the parts that weren't, she could think of at least several of her friends for whom it was true. And, truth to tell, she did enjoy twirling.

“So,” she said in her best ingratiating manner, “what do adults like?”

“Sleeping,” he said with finality.

She scrunched up her nose. “Really? That's all? No funny rhymes, no activity, no...nothing? Just sleeping?”

“Well, if you push me, I'll also say resting. And relaxing. Dozing. Snoozing. Snoring, even. Hammocks, sofas, lazy summer days and sandy beaches, long winter nights with a fire. Sunday afternoons that stretch into infinity. Doldrums and boredoms, dreary and dreamy. It takes the rest of your life to get over all of the activity of your childhood,” he said very seriously.

“But they work all the time. They pay bills. When they're not paying bills, they're talking about paying bills, or when they can buy a new dishwasher, or a better car. They talk about that stuff all the time. They must enjoy working and paying bills.”

He eyed her with one eyebrow cocked. “Just like you must love school and homework because you talk about them so much,” he said drily. With this, he turned and said, “Next!” and they knew that a door was about to open and they must follow him or be left behind.