Author: Norma McDonald
Illustrator: Norma McDonald
Publisher: Magabala books
Year of publications: 2013
Readership. Middle grade
Main character: Cheeky, a mouse
Illustrations are by the author in a loose whimsical style which captures the anthropomorphic emotions and antics of the mouse in a delightful way.
What happens/changes? The mouse learns to curb unsafe behaviour.
What drives the story? The danger to the main character and information about the habits of the Hopping Mouse.
Are the conflicts resolved? Yes
Does it flow when read aloud? : Moderately well
Spinifex Mouse is the tale of Cheeky, a spinifex hopping mouse, who lives in the Pilbara region of Western Australia. Cheeky is named because he is loud and adventurous and cheeky. He is proud of his jumping ability and shows off, which puts him in danger. Cheeky ignores the safety of the family den and sneaks out to find more spinifex seeds to eat.
This story introduces the reader to some of the interesting aspects of the Spinifex Hopping Mouse in a simple manner which may appeal to children interested in animals and nature. It flows well as part of the story and not as separate information. Further information is contained in a glossary at the end.
I chose this book for the illustrations.
Element of Picture Book construction: Beginnings and endings.
This book shows how important it is to start the story at the right place. This story opens with a secondary character and takes four pages to introduce the main character. A little rearranging could well have made the beginning crackle.
Would I recommend this book?
|use as a door stop||Library borrowing once or twice||Repeat borrowing||contemplate ownership||definite purchase for the collection|
Today is a busy day. Daughter darling has been walking around saying "Happy Singles Awareness Day". For those who follow Valentines mania and rush out for flowers, chocolate and making promises you don't intend to keep, Happy Valentines Cupid stupid day and saints and stuff.
I returned all my library books and borrowed another heavy reading schedule. Heavy because they are all hard covers. I shall take a bag next time.
I had my wound redressed and the stitches come out on Monday. I am going to have a magnificent pirate scar so need to practice my pirate speaking. Pirate as in Dread Pirate Roberts, or Penzance or Cap'n Jack Sparro', not pirate as in deadly cut throat thieving violent evil stinking insurance doubling raiders. I have a hat too! One of my favourite picture books is called "The Man whose mother was a pirate." I think I may have to invest in some very bright red stripy trousers.
I also wrote a short piece for
The rules are thus:
You must use the exact wording we provide—in this case, it must appear in the beginning of your story.
Your story must be 350 words or less.
Your work must be original and not previously published.
WTD provides an encouraging and safe environment for writers to grow and learn from each other. We’d love you to comment on other people’s submissions in a friendly and supportive manner.
We reserve the right to delete any comments or entries we deem inappropriate and those that do not meet the specifications above.
My contribution for Scene Stealer #9 (prompt wording in bold)
They say love is blind. Right now blindness is a power out. I stumble over something cold and wet. The door frame bruises my shoulder. Cold and wet is not good, especially something with a pungent aroma reminiscent of a sewer drain. Love might be blind but it doesn’t lack olfactory senses. My hand pats the wall in the approximate location of a switch. Flicking elicits no response. I feel my way along the passage to the laundry door, jarring my hip on the book shelf and belting my knee against some wheeled contraption left leaning in the way. Love is blind but it sure doesn’t block pain sensors. I poke around for the torch and discover the empty recharge socket. A constant rumble of obscenities slips out from under my breath hidden under the rumbling thunder. Love is not deaf. My foot reinforces this as an ear splitting squeal from a small fur thing adds counterpoint to my increased swearing. Love? The skittering of tiny claws is muffled by the dirty laundry collapsing on it. Blind maybe, angry definitely. Stepping through the kitchen door I abruptly measure my length on the floor. Something metallic rolls away into the depths of the darkness and my joints scream protest. I grope in the bottom drawer for the waxy texture of a candle. Fingers explore and ears listen for the soft rattle of wood slivers in cardboard. A golden glow pushes back the shadows and spills a soft luminescence on sleeping faces. A tuck of a blanket, a kiss on soft skin, an emotional upwelling tugging a smile and dissolving the anger, the candlelight illuminates. A sleepy murmur of love obliterates the obstacles from focus. Love is not blind it is blinding. 289