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Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. More than anything in the whole wide world, this little girl wanted to be loved. She searched many, many foreign places for love. She kissed many toads for love. She loved and she loved and she loved. The more she loved, the harder it became. Her tiny little heart was fading. Layers and layers of molten skin were binding her. Finally, the little girl exploded. She began lashing out at everything and everyone in sight. Bolts of lightning were striking all she touched and did not touch. She began to spin out of control. As she spun, rings and rings were spinning off of her painting the earth. Many colors began flying throughout the air. Suddenly, she was naked. She looked into the water and there, she found her love. Now, to find the prince…

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The Rain Prist


After the play, I said to my daughter, "that was real, you know". Her and Daniel both responded, "no, it wasn't". This was my first lesson in historical fiction. I explained that, especially when the KKK came out, oh, it was shivering, but the same events were taking place at the time the play was written. My daughter then explains "historical fiction". Her and Daniel did a project together for their mass media class. I read it and tried to find "meaning" in it. My daughter tells me, "no, there is no meaning in it, it was just my imagination in order to complete the project", yet,....I am trying to attach meaning to it. She then tells me, "that is historical fiction".


The Cherokee use to worship to the "rain priest" in order to bring rain to their crops. This is my painting of the "rain prist". We desperately need rain. Is this considered "historical fiction"?

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