The lightbulb goes on. A couple of months ago, I had a short story published in one of those ubiquitous Chicken Soup books, this one titled Chicken Soup for the Mother and Daughter Soul. Since the story in question centers around a then-kindergarten age Kylie, she was probably even more excited than I to see "her" story on the shelves at the local Borders.

However, a naturally competitive 8-year-old is not to be outdone by a mere parent. Shortly after the book came out, Kylie decided she needed to write a story, too. After all, if Mom can do it, how tough can it be?

Several aborted attempts later, my frustrated writer-to-be asked the Wise Old Editor for advice in choosing a subject. "Write about something you like," I counseled. "Or think about the books you really enjoy reading, and write a story of your own that is similar." Nodding pensively, she wandered off again.

A few days later, I was presented with the beginnings of a mystery tale. "If I finish it," she inquired, "will I be able to get it put in a book, like yours?"

Warring impulses raged within the mother-circuits of my brain. On the one hand, the child wants to write. That's something to be encouraged at all costs. On the other hand, the liklihood of her story ever appearing in print is about the same as my chance of becoming the Pope. I come down on the side of realism, albeit optimistic realism.

"Well," I tell her, "getting a story published is very difficult. I sent out dozens and dozens of stories before that one actually made it into a book. So, no, your story probably won't ever be in a book. However! If you finish it, and if you do a good job, I'll put it in my magazine. I can do that; I'm the editor."

"Really? You promise?"

"Really and truly. I promise—pinky-swear!"

Pinkies were duly linked; off she went with the unfinished manuscript.

Time passed, as it has a way of doing, and the story-in-progress languished on a corner of Kylie's desk. I didn't exactly forget about it, but I didn't really expect to ever hear about it again, either. Thus the deer-in-headlights look when the finished product finally turned up, months later. I looked it over, deemed it 'pretty good!' and introduced her to the editorial process.

"You need to start a new sentence there, Ky, because you're starting a new thought."

"Whenever a different person starts talking, you need to start a new paragraph."

"Whatever someone is saying goes in quotation marks, like this."

We showed off the edited copy to Matt, her assorted doting grandmothers, her dad, and anyone else we could corner. Everyone approved; my budding writer beamed. "So," she says to me then, "when will it be in the magazine?"

That was about a week before the Great Server Incident of Aught-Three. Things got a bit out of hand after that, but a promise is a promise, especially when pinkies were involved. And if you can't count on your mom to keep a promise, well, who can you count on?

It is therefore my great pleasure to present for your reading enjoyment the following story, a mystery involving a vanishing baseball glove, and a rather logical young sleuth.

The Case of the Missing Mitt
by
Kylie Kline

It all started when I was up in my tree house and I heard my friend Rocky yell up, "Hey, Ky! Are you up there?"

"Yes!" I shouted back. Before I could finish, up the ladder came Rocky.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked.

"Well, you know that baseball mitt I brought to school yesterday? I'm positive that I brought it home with me, but I can't find it."

"Okay," I said. "Let's start with some clues. First, where were you when you noticed that it was gone?"

"I was in my room playing with my ball and I was looking for my mitt. I was looking for about half an hour, and I could still not find it, so I came to you."

"Well, you came to the right place!" I said. "Now, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, I don't," he said.

"Then nobody in your family took it," I said.

"Well," said Rocky, "my mom and dad have been moving things around lately, so maybe they just moved it on me."

"NOW you tell me!"

"Sorry," said Rocky, about to cry.

"No, it's not that," I said. "It's just that could be our biggest clue. Are you sure that you checked everywhere in your room?"

"Yes," Rocky said.

"Maybe it's in another part of your house," I said.

"It would take me forever to try and look through all of my house!"

"I'll help," I said. "I'll see you at your house at 6:30. It's 6:00 right now, so I'll see you in half an hour, okay?"

"Okay, I guess," he said. "But why can't you come over right now?"

"Because I have to eat dinner now!"

~~~

When I finally finished my dinner and got to Rocky's house, he said it seemed like it took forever for me to get there.

"I checked my whole house," he said, "and I didn't find a thing!"

"Let's go ask your parents if they have seen it anywhere."

We did.

They said that they put it in Rocky's toy box!

"I guess I forgot to look there," he said.

~~~

And so I left Rocky's house with another case solved, although I guess you could say that Rocky's parents really solved it, and no thanks to Rocky!

Either way, that's another case closed. See you next time!

***

So there you have it, my daughter's first published story. Promise kept! And for those of you keeping score at home, the moral of this tale is this: If you want to be published, it really helps if your Mom's the editor!

See you next ish!
donna