So here we all are. Strange times, eh? I hope everyone is keeping well and finding their own way that works through all of this.
Today’s post is about a competition I entered back at the start of March, when things felt very different. I’d forgotten all about it until yesterday when I saw the results, but finding out I’d been shortlisted was a much-needed boost at a time when regular writing rhythms feel a little out of reach.
This was my first time entering the Australian Writers’ Centre 55-hour Furious Fiction competition and it was great fun, despite a slight cock-up on the time difference / computer refresh front, which meant I only made the deadline with minutes to spare!
This month’s challenge called for a 500 word flash fiction that included a park, a mirror and someone in disguise. I thought I might share my entry, ‘And the Prize for Best Parent Goes to…’ here, for any stressed parents looking for a spot of light relief from the challenges of home-schooling. And if you’d like to find out more about the competition and sign up ready for next month’s challenge (Friday 3rd April) you can do that here and here. Good luck!
And the Prize for Best Parent Goes to…
A tree? Effie couldn’t believe it when he brought the note home. What kind of half-assed non-part was that to give a kid? Especially a kid with Caleb’s natural acting talent and artistic flair. Since when was a tree part of the Nativity anyway? But that was last week. If life’s taught Effie anything, it’s the importance of working with what you’ve been given.
“They’ll be sorry when you’re up there collecting your Oscar,” she tells him, zipping him into the hand-sewn trunk. “Breathe in now, there’s a good boy. Yes I know it’s tight. It’s meant to be tight. When did you last see a baggy tree?”
“I’m hungry,” says Caleb. “Please can I have an ice cream? Daddy always buys me ice creams when we come to the park.”
Yes, that’s exactly the sort of lazy parenting I’d expect from your father. I don’t see him helping you prepare for your acting debut.
“An ice cream?” says Effie out loud, laughing it off as she lifts the hand-sewn wire-threaded branch ensemble over his head. “Don’t be silly. Trees don’t eat ice creams, do they? Hands up now, through the holes… No, you need to keep them up. High up in the air, that’s it. Stretching up like tall branches reaching for the sky.” When was the last time Daddy did any method acting with you, huh?
“But my arms hurt.”
“They’re not arms, Caleb, they’re branches, remember? Come on, if you’re going to be the best tree Glenlake Primary has ever seen then you need to start thinking like a tree. Think strong and majestic. Think rooted. Think…”
“I could think about my treehouse. Daddy says he’ll help me build one at his house.”
“Does he now? It sounds like I’ll be having words with Daddy next time I see him… Anyway, no, that’s not what I mean. Think foliage. Think respiration. ”
“My fingers feel funny. All fizzy and prickly.”
“You mean your leaves feel funny. Don’t worry about that, that’s just the er… the photosynthesis. Right, you stay here with the other trees and practise. Mummy will be just over there on the bench, watching. Watching to see how tall and still you can be for the next twenty minutes. How tree-like. We’ll show those teachers what real acting looks like, won’t we?”
The bench faces the other way, but that’s okay. Effie’s already thought of that. Her compact mirror offers the perfect view of her perfect little tree.
That’s it. Good boy. Keep it up – just like that. Anyone can do angels and innkeepers, but a tree? That takes proper skill.
“Mummy. There’s a dog.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, trees aren’t scared of dogs are they?”
“He’s doing a wee, Mummy. He’s weeing on my leg.”
“Trunk,” says Effie, watching proudly in the mirror. How’s that for a convincing performance? “The dog’s doing a wee on your trunk.”
Jennifer Moore, Writer 