A guest blog post by Jacqui Johnson
Teacher, writer, friend
Building on a previous Writers Group ‘Setting that creates atmosphere’, this month I wanted to focus on developing the use of ‘word choices to affect mood’. Each time we get together, I am so thankful and amazed at being involved in a group which has such talented writers who can spin a few words into such eloquent phrases. I know this is an area I need to build, thus becoming my focus topic for the month’s meeting.
Initially, we read Cris Freese’s article, Use word choices to set the mood. It gives an example of how to use one setting, and create three different moods through word choices.
Building on this idea were three other articles by fiction editor Beth Hill. Her article, Zeroing in on words, gives practical advice to build on sample sentences for specific purposes. Keep readers close to the action and emotion article draws on the ideas on personal connection between readers and your text. Whilst, Tone, Mood & Style – the feel of fiction, goes into great detail about tone, mood and style mixing practical advice and examples you can use to sharpen you craft.
As a writing activity to build on what we had read, we brainstormed several settings and were to choose one to create two different pieces of writing. Our focus was on keeping the setting consistent whilst changing the tone, style, and mood through our word choices. Below are the drafted pieces we each created.
Ester’s piece based on ‘the beach at dawn’:
Megan’s piece based on ‘a wooden cabin near a mountain-top lake’:
Thriller: The dark cabin crouched in the shadows of the nearby pine forest. A chill wind howled through the pines, sounding like a hoard of ghosts. Stacey’s heart pounded. Cold penetrated her thin jumper making goose bumps rise on her arms. Her hair prickled up the back of her neck. The slamming of the back door decided her.
Stacey burst out of the front door making it jump on its hinges. She raced down to the shore where ice gleamed like teeth at the edge. She wondered if she should chance the freezing water. The still black water beckoned, and she said yes.
Fantasy: The dragon, Narli, burst out of the sparkling blue water of the mountain lake. Spiralling ever higher, Narli danced on the warm thermals, racing the eagles to greater heights. Tiring of the game, he finally flopped himself onto a warm ledge with a broad grin, and smiled down at the cabin bathed in sunlight below.
My piece based on ‘a kid’s park at night’:
Once again, all our pieces take on a slightly different feel based on the types of writer’s we are, experiences, passions, and motivations from our underlying ‘writer’s voice’.
Have a go at these and let us know how you go. It's fun!
Growing and sharing as part of a writers group is an inspiration and a good challenge. I encourage everyone with a passion for creating stories to go outside your comfort zone. You don’t need to be a ‘closet author.’ Develop your craft by participating in a group where you can cultivate your love of creating literature.
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by Guest Blogger, Ester de Boer
I have, for a while, wanted to do an exercise in taking a very plain, unadorned text and bringing it to life. All of us share a Christian faith in common, so the Bible was an ideal choice of text, as we were familiar with the stories and their contexts.
As a source of inspiration (and yes, it has been stolen from and referenced time and time again for plots), it contains, within its 66 books stories of what it was like to live in the ancient world—brutal, tragic, sometimes touching but very human. It’s written, however, in a very matter-of-fact manner, without much adornment. “he went… she said… then they…” You have to read between the lines when it comes to expression and emotional response.
We each chose a different story (although it would, in retrospect, have been interesting to see three versions of the one passage).
I chose Daniel, when he is called before the Babylonian King Belshazzar (isn’t that the best name!!!- my next cat, perhaps…) to interpret the “writing on the wall” (and yes, that’s where the phrase comes from). I wanted to put myself in poor Daniel’s shoes. Ancient kings had power over life and death—often at whim—and it wasn’t uncommon to kill the messenger of bad news. He, of course, doesn’t know that this is what he has to do at this stage—he just knows that being summoned by the king suddenly can’t be good. The book of Daniel chapter 5.
The Writing on the Wall by Ester de Boer
The walk from the upper servant’s quarters to the king, on summons, in the darkest hours of the morning was the longest journey Daniel had ever made. He had been awoken by a militant banging on the door, and before he’d had time to respond, two palace guards bearing torches had pushed in and were shaking him violently. “Up! Get dressed! You are required by the king!”
These types of summons never ended well. Daniel’s sleep-addled mind stumbled over dread-filled thoughts as his fingers fumbled clumsily with his robe. One of the guards swore, and roughly took the edge of the garment, tossing it around Daniel’s shoulders in haste.
“We don’t have time, man! The king is frantic! Come now!”
He staggered out of his bedroom and followed the huge, mail-clad pairs of shoulders through the labyrinth of dark stone hallways, breaking into a trot to keep up.
The stone transformed to marble. Ornate silver lanterns illuminated intricate mosaics of lapis lazuli, beryl, turquoise… panoramic artworks that rhapsodised the might of the king and the glory of his gods. Daniel didn’t pause to admire them—his usually ordered mind was thrown into chaos, frantically running over the last few weeks—his every action and word.
Had he made a mistake in accounts? That senior satrap he’d had a disagreement with - had he found ammunition to get rid of him? His mouth filled with acid, and he was overwhelmed with a cold sense of unreality. This was it.
“Dear God have mercy on me… forgive me any sin, may I not deny you even in death… Mighty God, give me… help. Please help… ”
The guards came to an abrupt halt at the large ornate doors to the dining hall. They too looked nervous by now. They paused, exchanged a quick look and glanced at Daniel in something like pity, before hardening their features into an emotionless mask, and straightening their stance to a uniform formality. They pushed open the massive, wooden doors and stood like statues at each side “Your majesty—this is Daniel”
The scene that met him was one of chaos. Ladies of the court were huddled weeping… all the important people had been gathered in the one place—the administrators, the wise men, the sorcerers—their faces like wax, eyes like startled beasts. Standing in the centre of the room was the king—his body visibly shook, but not, as Daniel had anticipated, with rage. Of all the people gathered in that hall, his was the face that held the greatest expression of terror. He turned and stared at Daniel with the expression of a doomed man, waiting to hear his final judgement.
Megan chose Gideon, hiding in the winepress from murderous Midianite raiding parties.The book of Judges chapter 6:
The Mighty Warrior? by Megan Higginson
“Why God? Why? Why has this happened to us?” Sucking in his breath, Gideon quickly peaked over the edge of the wine-press, afraid that someone may have overheard him. Seeing no-one around, he turned back to threshing the wheat.
Sighing, his thoughts turned to the enjoyable times of the past when the men of the family and servants would gather on the threshing floor. At least when breezes flowed through they were able to cool off a little. Though the wine-press was shaded by the broad branches of the huge oak tree owned by his father, it was still hot and thirsty work...and lonely.
Sweat from heat and fear mingled together and dripped off the end of his nose. Sweat ran down his back and soaked his garments. Being the youngest, it was his job to thresh the wheat while his brothers guarded their flocks.
He paused in his work to wipe his face.
“Ahh! I feel like a scared rat, hiding away from the Midianites.” Gideon’s’ stomach clenched and his hands trembled as he thought of these evaders of their land that came like a swarm of locusts, driving everything before them; killing the thousands that got in their way, and slaughtering their flocks. They settled like a blanket of locusts over the land—smothering it, and leaving a desolate wasteland— a dust bowl--in their wake.
He was thankful that they hadn’t reached his town of Ophrah—yet.
Gideon adjusted his robes that were now miles too big for him. He looked up towards the heavens. “I do know why this has happened God,” he murmured to himself. “Your prophet said that it was because we have turned away from you and have worshiped other gods.”
His heart felt sick at the thought of his father’s own alter to the pagan god Baal, as well as the Asteroth pole that stood beside it.
Gideon peaked again over the side of the wine-press. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. A man was casually sitting under the tree, looking like he’d been there for ages. Before he could call out, the man was standing beside him, looking down at him hiding from the enemy.
Gideon’s mind was in a whirl. Who was this man? How could he move so fast? He must be an angel of the Lord. Before Gideon could utter a single word, the angel spoke.
“The Lord is with you mighty warrior.”
Jacqui (being the romantic of the group) is always interested in the relationships between the characters. She created a backstory—what was life like for Cain after his exile? — from the point of view of Cain’s wife—in love with a cursed man. From the book of Genesis chapter 4 and 5.
The Mark of Cain by Jacqui Johnson
Set scene – a beautiful young woman sits by a dressing table in grand house in the centre of the city. Thin purple died calico curtains swing in slight breeze as it whips around the lush open courtyard adjoining the main bed chamber.
Tansy watched little Enoch running in the courtyard by the small pool trying to catch the little sparrows, which hopped and skipped just out of grasp of the chubby little fingers which trailed their movements.
His foot caught on a tuft of grass. Falling, he let out a squeal, before a high pitched wail echoed around the space. This sound continued from the top of his lungs, as Enoch rolled onto his back knowing help would be forthcoming, as the sound of a number of sandaled feet pattered along the stone flooring.
“I will get him Misses, you just sit,” the maidservant called, as she rushed past Tansy who was in mid motion of pushing off the dressing table. All too often now Tansy needed the weight of this ornate table as an anchor for her heavily pregnant body. The midwife has said it could be any day now. She was hoping it would be a girl, despite her husband’s insistence they build the tribe with more males.
The door opening forcibly behind, caused Tansy to whip her head around as she stood. Knowing only one person opened doors in this house in such a way, she turned to watch Cain take off his headpiece, having returned home from the inspections.
He unwound the scarf from his neck which wound its way up the left side of his face before creating a turban. Many men who worked the fields wore scarves like this, although being the role he had and his importance within the community, Cain didn’t need to. He had a number of different ones he wore doing a variety of tasks. Many amongst the prominent families assumed it was to help him seem more connectable to his army and servants.
Yet as the last remnants of the cloth were removed and tossed on the dressing chair, Tansy couldn’t deny the truth, it hid his mark. The cursed mark of death he had borne since the first moment she had met him.
Thanks Ester. This was a fun activity that we all thoroughly enjoyed. It was really interesting finding a newness in stories that were so familiar. Many people think that the Bible is just a ‘dusty old book.’ But, as Ester pointed out, the Bible is ‘66 books stories of what it was like to live in the ancient world- brutal, tragic, sometimes touching but very human. It’s written, however, in a very matter-of-face manner, without much adornment.’ It is also filled with a huge plethora of ‘seeds’ for story ideas, and interesting characters.
So at when you are stuck wondering what to do at your next writer’s group, or you are suffering writers’ block, dust off a Bible and see if you can breathe new life into an old story.
Post by Guest Blogger, Jacqui Johnson
Getting together today was so exciting! Still inspired by the timely words Megan shared on her last post, we sat down to focus on applying ‘show don’t tell’ to add emotional connectivity in our writing.
According to Melissa Donovan in her blog post, 'Emotionally Charged Creative Writing Prompts, ‘To engage a reader, we have to create scenes that are so vivid they seem real, even if they are not. Through scenes, imagery, and dialogue, writers can actively engage readers with what’s happening on the page.’
Please check out her blog post for great examples on how to apply these.
Engaging readers on an emotional level helps author’s to not only weave an interesting tale, but also to do justice to the characters, telling their story and how they feel as it unfolds. We used a couple of Melissa creative writing prompts, keeping in mind other areas we have focused on at previous writer’s group meetings such as; dialogue, character descriptions, similes and metaphors.
Below are the prompts we chose to use, and both Megan and my own application of these prompts.
A family of five is driving across the desert on the way for a holiday in Perth. They get lost, and then the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. The mobile phone is dead and the sun is setting. The kids are hot, tired and hungry. Mum is scared and frazzled. Dad, a mid-level sales manager with no survival skills is frustrated and angry. An animal howls in the distance.
Please note: I changed the setting to be in Australia, as well as the amount of children. Eh! What can I say? It’s a prompt, not a rule.
Going Nowhere by Megan Higginson
The setting sun glared like an angry beast in through the dusty windscreen. Craig squinted his eyes, trying to find the road ahead. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he wiped it away with an already soaked towel. The smell in the car was not helped by the lowering of the windows, the air-conditioner having failed in the past hour.
Perth! Whose crazy, convoluted idea was it to drive to Perth? Then he remembered. It was his. “It will be fun,” he said. “Mark Jones from accounting, drives there every year to visit family. Surely me, a sales manager, should be able to do it.” The conversation with his wife whirled around Craig’s head.
A loud gurgling came from Justin’s stomach. “Mummy! Me hungry,” Justin whined as he squirmed in his booster seat.
“Shut up, stupid head,” Carissa said to her younger brother. “You ate the last of it an hour ago. Besides, we are all hungry.”
“You stupid head! Me not stupid head!” Justin stuck his tongue out at Carissa.
Carissa rolled her eyes at her brother and sank into a sticky smelly heap on the back seat.
Craig glanced over at Marleen. She sat staring at the map, her normally neat hair now a frizzy mess. She looked like a porcelain doll.
“Well!” he shot at her. “Where are we?”
Marleen slowly turned her head and their eyes met. He didn’t like what he saw in them.
“I. Don’t. Know.” Each word was punctuated by a full stop.
Time slowed. The three kids held their breaths. They knew what was coming. Craig’s eyes bulged. His face went red.
“We’re what? Lost! How could you get us lost?”
As the words left his mouth a strange thumping noise came deep from within the bowels of the engine. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. And then a loud bang that made them all jump. Deep grey smoke like the smoke from a chimney stack, billowed from under the bonnet as the car ground to a halt.
Craig slammed his fist into the steering wheel, popped the release lever on the bonnet, opened the door, and stomped around to the front of the car.
“Try the blasted phone again!” Craig yelled from the front. “Probably no service out here anyway,” he muttered under his breath.
“It’s dead, Dad. The battery died an hour ago.” George was sixteen and didn’t care what his father thought or did.
“Ahhh! How can this day get any worse?” Craig shouted to the sky. “Nobody listens anyway. Why do I even bother?” he said under his breath.
The rest of the family slowly climbed out of the car.
“Mum, I feel dizzy…” Katrin’s voice faded as she slumped to the ground.
Damn. That’s all we need. Three kids and two adults, stranded in the middle of nowhere.
The sun chose that moment to sink into the horizon, plunging everything into the inky blackness of night. For a moment there was silence, and then, a dingo’s howl broke through the night.
'The only thing Daniel ever wanted to be was a musician. He loved playing the piano more than anything in the world. But after his mum and brother died in a car accident, Daniel’s dad insisted he become active in sport and drop music. And being active wasn’t enough. He had to be the captain of the team or suffer through endless jibes and insults that his father uttered through a beer-induced haze. Then on his eighteenth birthday, a delivery man brings him a piano and tells the boy it is from his father.'
Unexpected by Jacqui Johnson
The door slamming shut and the sound of the delivery truck noisily pulling away from the curb snapped Daniel out of the waking coma of shock he was transfixed by. Shutting the front door, he resting his forehead against the wood for a moment. Sucking in a breath, he pushed off from the door, rubbing his head slightly and he walked down the passageway, ever closer to the main living room.
Entering the cramped space, he stared at the piano sticking out like a punk rocker at a classical recital. Amidst the football memorabilia, left over beer cans and fast food wrappers which clung together as piles of clutter forming the landscape of the floor, this polished piece of refined furniture was jarring, almost comical in it context.
Hesitantly walking over, Daniel ran his fingers along the smooth top of the lid which concealed the ivory beneath. The smell of wood and varnish brought back memories of another life, another time; a time he’d been whole and happy. His eyes prickled with tears. He wiped them away roughly with the back of his hand, not wanting to give ammunition for his father to use later.
It was so predictable yet still utterly deflating every time his dad went on the tirade about what things young men should be interested in and what things were just wrong. ‘You’re the captain of the footy team, not some Nancy-boy performer’. Daniel recalled the drunken rant from many months earlier which had been preceded by a discussion of application forms and possible college choices for the coming year.
‘Oh crap, what is Dad going to say?!’ Daniel felt his heart beat accelerate as adrenaline began to surge through is blood stream. ‘How the hell am I going to explain this?!’
The turning of a key in a lock indicating that it wasn’t going to take long to figure that one out. His father’s heavy work boots clomped down the hallway, like the sound of impending doom. The call of a casual greeting was muffled by the blood pulsing through Daniel’s ears. His eyes fixed to the living room opening. Watching his father’s eyes widen as he took in the scene, Daniel felt his stomach clench. A suffocating weight like the 200 pound defender from last week game, pushed down on his chest.
‘I didn’t do it! The delivery guy must have made a mistake!’ Daniels mind shouted, but when he opened his mouth to talk to try to explain it was dry and no sound came out. His tough stuck limply to the bottom of his jaw. He opened and closed his lips mutely.
A smile stretched across his father’s wide eyed expression, softening his features. “So, it finally arrived!”
A final thought:
On reflection, looking back over my journey having been involved in a local writer’s group, I can see such a tremendous value in getting together with other writer’s - not only as a creative outlet but also as a means of discussing our pieces. We do some research to work on areas of need from within the group, sharing, prompting and refining our craft.
Further information can be found in the following articles:
Melissa Donovan’s ‘Emotion Charged Creative Writing Prompts’
Melissa Donovan’s ‘Writing Tips: Show, Don’t Tell’
Robb Grindstaff’s ‘Bringing your fiction to life with emotion’
At the writer’s group that I’m in, we take it in turns running mini writing workshops. At one that I ran late last year, I grabbed various items from around the house: a coloured ball of wool with a crotchet hook sticking out of it; an old silver match holder from my grandfather that has engravings upon it; a colourful scarf; a tiny teapot and teacup; a fedora; and a red lace fan. These items were to be used as writing prompts and to create a story that included them.
We all chose our items and then were given fifteen minutes to write a short story or passage. I chose the lace fan, the coloured wool and crochet hook, and the teacup. Here is my story:
She held the crochet hook in her wrinkled hand and the brightly coloured wool in another. For a time, nothing could be heard except the creak of her rocking chair, the pedestal fan making its way back and forth, the panting of her dog lying beside her, and the hot wind howling around the house scorching the plants in her garden with its hot breath.
She paused, laid down her work and sipped her warm tea from her teacup now chipped with stories. She picked up her red lace fan to bring some relief to her flushed face. As she spread the lace open, her eyes lit upon the figures dancing across the screen. Memories flooded her mind of an incredible and adventurous summer that she had spent in Spain when she was younger. Much, much younger.
A wistful smile touched her lips. These were happy memories. Wonderful and cherished. Flashes of swirling skirts of the Flamenco Dancers whirling around in a dance that seemed without end. Dark eyes catching her own across the plaza. Her blush hidden behind her red lace fan. The many late nights of that long summer spent talking until the sun ascended like a gigantic red and orange rose over the sea. The hot summer days swimming in the ocean together. Promises spoken late at night.
She sipped her now cold tea. She smiled again. She glanced up. Those same dark eyes were looking at her; untouched by time. A smile reached his lips as his hands reached for hers. Who knew that love could exist like this?
At a recent writer’s group we were discussing the various rules of writing. Some we were aware of. Some we were not. Some we were very pedantic about. It was recently said to me that, “you have to know the rules, to break the rules.” But why do these rules even exist?
For a fun exercise we each chose a rule to break. The rule I chose to break was ‘leave breadcrumbs for your readers.’ So, no secrets. Give everything away straight upfront.
The following is a scene that I wrote for this writer’s group exercise:
Sue sat on a hard café chair listening to the cacophony of sound around her. The clatter of cups. The ebb and flow of voices from other customers. This was same café chair that she had sat on every Saturday morning for the last five years. Always waiting for her boyfriend, Sam to show up. He was always late.
Pity. Sam was so hot, but such an abusive twat.
She took a sip of the sweet strong brew and let out a sigh. She wondered why she stayed here waiting. Maybe because she had such a crap upbringing. Totally messed her up. Brought up by an abusive single mother, and no father figure to speak of, she always craved male attention. Boy could she pick them!
She escaped home as soon as she could. Hooked up with the first guy that said that, ‘they were made for each other.’ The next guy said, when they first met, ‘you complete me.’ She should have run.
And now here she was. Though, to be honest, being out all night and partying with the girls the night before, was probably not a good idea. She looked like a wreak. Sam would comment. He always did.
Suddenly, she leapt to her feet, slammed the chair into the table so hard it made the coffee cups rattle, and walked out of the café… and out of Sam’s life.
As you can see, there is so much about Sue that we already know. If I was writing a novel about Sue’s life, I would have her backstory scattered like breadcrumbs throughout the narrative. I love stories that I gradually find out more and more of the character and what makes them tick. This exercise certainly highlighted to me the necessity of leaving breadcrumbs, little snippets of information, to entice the reader to want to know more, and so, therefore, to keep reading.
Hi all. Well I have finished my course, Writing Picture Books with Cathie Tasker through the Australian Writers' Centre . It was an amazing experience and I learnt so much. It did take a lot of time though, coming up with new stories nearly every week. It was an exciting challenge. Here is the whole story from my previous blog. Revised and updated. This story is loosely based on escape attempts of orangutans that I have read about in the news.
Mika - Lost in the Zoo
Mika enjoyed exploring her enclosure. She would climb along the ropes and swing to the high platforms. She would swing from bamboo pole to bamboo pole. Her favourite pastime was exploring and looking for the treats that the keepers had hidden.
It all changed when Keju was introduced to her family.
On the first day Keju sat in the corner with her head down. She wouldn’t look at anyone.
On the second day, Keju chased Mika.
On the third day Keju chased Mika and pulled her fur.
On the fourth day, Keju chased Mika, pulled her fur and stole Mika’s food.
On the fifth day Keju chased Mika, pulled her fur, stole Mika’s food and took her blanket.
On the sixth day, just as the sun was peaking its head over the treetops, Mika sat with her face turned to the sun. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face as it began to take the chill out of her fur. She clutched her blanket to herself as she sat down on the platform eating her breakfast.
Her eyes widened. She stared. There was a hole in the roof. Her heart beat fast. She swung from her platform, and climbed up the side of the enclosure to the hole. She poked at the hole, squeezed through and was out.
Mika walked along the boardwalk looking at all the different animals. She swung through the trees with a smile. She stared at the lions, the gorillas and the platypus. Soon her legs felt heavy, her eyelids drooped. Mika slowly climbed a tree, laid down on a branch and fell fast asleep.
Splat. Splat. Splat. Cold rain landed at her face. She opened her eyes. The sun was setting. Mika shivered. Her tummy growled loudly. Mika wanted to be back in her enclosure with her mum, her blanket, and her dinner.
“Ooo. Ooo,” she cried softly. She swung onto the ground.
How could she find her way home?
She asked the meerkats. They scampered away.
She asked the tigers. They roared at her.
She asked the baboons. They hooted at her and showed her their bright red bottoms.
Mika sat at the foot of a tall tree. Mika’s lip trembled. A tear ran down her cheek. What was she going to do now? She looked up. The tree!
She climbed the tree right to the very top. The branches swayed in the wind.
“Ooo…oh! Ooo…oh!” she yowled. “Help me! Help me!”
Her cries pierced the night and the zoo fell silent.
She cried again, and again, and again.
Mika finally saw a bright torchlight bobbing toward her. It was her keeper.
“Mika! Mika! Come down. Look what I have for you,” her keeper called up to her.
Mika sniffed. A delicious smell wafted up to her. It was her favourite treat. Cupcake. Yum.
Mika quickly swung into the waiting arms of her keeper.
“What have you been up to today, Mika? You must have had a big adventure.”
Mika was too busy eating her cupcake. Her tummy growled loudly again.
“Don’t worry Mika,” her keeper said. “I have dinner waiting for you back at your enclosure.”
Later that night, after a nice big dinner, Mika sat cuddled up to her mum in their nest… very, very happy to be home.
Keju walked over to Mika, dragging Mika’s blanket. She placed the blanket over Mika’s shoulders and sat next to her.
The two looked at each other. Mika lifted up the blanket and Keju scooted under.
The three curled up together and fell fast asleep. It had been a big day.
I hope that you have enjoyed reading this story. Please let me know what you think.
Early one morning Mika sat looking up at the roof of her family’s enclosure. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face as it began to take the chill out of her fur. She clutched her blanket to herself as she sat down on the platform eating her breakfast.
She looked up again. She stared. There was a hole in the roof. Her heart beat fast. She swung from her platform, and climbed up the side of the enclosure to the hole. She poked at the hole. She squeezed through and was out.
At first she walked along the boardwalk. But it was too noisy. She tried swinging through the trees. But there were no ropes, and the trees were too far apart. Too tired to make a nest, she finally lay down on a branch and soaked up the sun. She fell fast asleep.
Splat. Splat. Splat. Cold rain landed at her face and woke her up. She could see the sun setting. She shivered. Her tummy growled loudly. Mika wished she was safely back in her enclosure with her mum, her blanket, and her dinner.
“Ooo. Ooo,” she cried softly. What was she going to do?
She asked the meerkats, but they just scampered away. She asked the tigers, but they just roared at her. She even tried the baboons, but they just hooted at her and showed her their bright red bottoms.
What you think? The rest of the story will follow in the next couple of weeks...
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