Click on the title below to see a preview on amazon.com
I wrote and illustrated a book for my nephew, Levi for his birthday. I entitled it, “Superhero Levi.” This book is in honor of Levi and all the other children who defy the odds regardless of their disabilities. (I illustrated all the pictures on watercolor paper and then my mother, Cindy, helped me paint them.)
Here is my book (I had it printed in hardcover). I hope you enjoy it.
I can climb mountains that mom calls the stairs.
It’s hard work getting way up there.
But when I reach the top, everyone claps.
I feel quite proud of that.
I smile at them and know…
They like watching this superhero.
Day and night, I have a super appetite.
Bananas, chicken, pasta, or cookies
I’ll eat them up, thank you and please.
But green beans are no delight.
Because even heroes have a kryptonite.
It’s hard work being a superhero.
People always want to take my photo.
At school and at home, I smile most polite.
Mom shares my poses on Facebook.
And I usually get a hundred Likes.
I’ve learned a lot about my powers through exploring.
I can turn a bowl into a hat. Only a superhero could do that.
When I press a button on the big box in the kitchen,
I can make water pour out.
Dad and Mom show up real quick,
And they let out an impressed shout!
I can swim in big pools,
And push my wheels around the whole school.
A big yellow bus,
chauffeurs me from my house.
The girls like to hold my hand.
What can I say?
They can’t resist a superman!
No bars can hold me in.
My strength can even break the crib.
They try to fix it, but are unsuccessful.
Nothing can restrain my super muscle.
I think my cousins might have powers too.
There are so many things that they can do.
Like run, flip, and jump, just to name a few.
We have lots of fun together…
Dancing, singing, and playing whatever.
I’ve heard it said that I have a syndrome.
Maybe this is why I’m so special?
Maybe this is why I’m so strong?
I’m not actually sure what this word means.
But I know if I work hard, I can do anything.
I won’t ever give up.
I’m built super tough.
No matter what life may throw,
I can take it.
Because I’m a superhero!
I wasn’t always like this.
I used to be a shining star, a person with abundant potential, destined for greatness. Then the episodes came.
They moved upon me like mist overtaking the sea. At first, I tried to hide the shame of my agony, but I live in a small town. No one can hide secrets in a small town. My episodes are too vile to hide. When they wreak their havoc, I am tormented, unable to eat, sleep or find composure. I rock and scream and plead for death to come.
My friends have abandoned me, the insane one. I had once hoped to find love and happiness. But now, I know that’s impossible. I am outcast. Destined to die in this broken, ruined shell of a woman. The nights are long and lonely. There’s no hope for me.
So I thought.
But then, he came. The man with the haunting eyes came to our village. I stayed on the outskirts of the crowd, watching and twitching as he spoke. As I drew a step nearer to hear him, those closest to me moved aside, not wanting to brush shoulders with someone unclean. I don’t blame them. I know what I am. Suddenly he stopped talking and looked directly at me. I trembled harder, sensing his gaze pierce into my ugly soul.
Breaking through the crowd, he came to meet me, face to face.
I shriveled backward in fear, begging him to keep his distance.
He extended his hand and touched my cheek. “Peace to you, dear one.”
Instantly, the plague in my mind ceased.
“Come, Mary.” He smiled. “Your future awaits.”
I followed him, with a heart overwhelmed by hope. Today I, Mary Magdalene, found Love.
Altered: A Flash Fiction Story by Catie Cordero
Picture Adapted from polyvore.com
Every journey in life is a story, and stories propel our world. Good stories. Bad stories. Tales of victory. Tales of defeat. Whatever the premise, our lives are shaped with stories.
Today, I again had the privilege of sharing with an alert group of minds that require variety in order to keep them impressed. This group is children. I love the challenge of grabbing their attention and drawing them into a story. When something alights their interest, I see it shine in their eyes. It’s magical. Storytelling is a blessing to me because I enjoy watching them. Their happiness brings me happiness.
On Tuesday, during the Moms and Tots story time, I shared my original Christmas story called, “Tiny the Silver Bell.” Each time I said the word bell, the children rang the bells I had handed out. It was a blast.
Today, I share the story with you.
On the night before Christmas
There wasn’t a sound
Except for a jingle
Of Tiny, a little bell
Tiny had fallen from a sleigh
Some time ago
Lost and alone
Wishing for a family and home
She waited and waited
Tears softly fell
She shivered in the cold
Hoping someone would hear her silver bell
But then Tiny heard a noise
Coming from up high
It sounded like hundred bells ringing
Then Tiny saw why
A light appeared
On a big brown sleigh
Inside sat Santa
With a smile on his face
Strapped to the collars
Of eight reindeer
Were other silver bells
Singing for all to hear
Santa scooped up Tiny
Into his big glove
She looked into his eyes
And saw such love
He tied her to Rudolph’s red ribbon
Happy, Alive and Well
This is the Christmas Story
Of Tiny the Silver Bell
Recently, I became the new storyteller for the group “Zeeland Community Moms and Tots,” which meets each month at the Zeeland Community Center. At our first gathering, I shared my own story called Farmer Ben’s Special Hen. The children joined me as we met Anna-Lee the Amazing hen and even learned how to do the chicken dance.
The group is open to all mothers with children ages 1-4. We start with a story and also have a craft. We meet the first Tuesday of the month in the lower level of the community center (attached to the Howard Miller Library).
Join us on October 6th at 10:00 AM!
It was a hard winter for my chickens, and I had three girls in quarantine in my bathroom basement due to faulty vents (The place where eggs come out was swollen and bleeding). I had two hens in cardboard boxes and one in the stand-up shower. I was doing everything in my power to nurse these hens to health: Sitz baths, rubbing peroxide and vaseline on their bottoms, wheat diet, keeping them warm, and limiting the light in the room so they wouldn’t lay as many eggs. This continued for over a week, and my bathroom was stinky. The girls seemed to have improved, but the moment I returned them to the chicken coop, their condition declined again. Moreover, chickens are crazy, if a hen shows signs of sickness, the others will attack it. So now my three ill hens were in worse shape than before.
In the end, my husband and I had to make a tough call. We had to put the sick hens down. Trouble was, we still lived in the city, so we were going have to do the deed in the garage. My husband set up a chopping block and sharpened the ax.
I picked up Lola and gave her a hug goodbye. I held her still on the block, and my heart raced inside my chest. My husband swung the ax and missed. He swung again, but the blade must not have been sharp enough. A couple more whacks, and her head still wasn’t off but she seemed dead. He put her upside down in a 5 gallon bucket to drain out but then she started flapping around. I screamed, “She’s not dead! You didn’t do it right!” Tears streamed down my face. “Do something!”
He pulled her out of the bucket and set her back on the block. This time he actually got the head off, but Lola jolted and slipped out of his grasp. She fell onto the floor and sprang off the pavement, nearly as high as my shoulder.
I screamed, cried, and ran around the garage to avoid the jumping chicken.
After several hops, she finally fell down still.
My heart was pounding so hard, and my eyes were bulging in horror. I couldn’t believe that had just happened.
I turned to my husband. “You need to sharpen that ax.”
Happy New Year to all my readers! This 2015, I’m doing something new. Instead of the Monday Morning Joke…I’m going to tell you short, true stories, mostly that have happened to me, that will also make you laugh.
Today’s story did in fact happen to me and while at the time it didn’t seem so funny, I now look back on it and think, “Girl, you had that coming.”
I was seventeen, and loved to dance. Any opportunity to go dancing, I snatched. And truth be told, I thought I was good at it and liked to show off a bit too much.
The local Fish and Game Club was having a special dance, and my second cousin was the guest DJ. It was supposed to be sensational, and I couldn’t wait. I took great care in deciding my apparel for the evening. I wore a snazzy navy knit top and pants. The pants were unusual in the sense that they zipped up in the back. I felt like a million bucks.
When my friends and I arrived, we made our rounds. A song came on that we all loved and we got down. Trouble was I really got down. I pulled out all the stops and showed off my moves. I did a roll and dropped it real low. That’s when I felt a small pop. I slowly rose and wondered why there was a sudden draft by my behind. I turned to my friends and said, “Is something wrong with my pants?” Their eyes grew to the size of plums, and they quickly closed in around me, ushering me to the bathroom. Once safely inside, they turned me toward the mirror. Now my eyes got huge.
The seam had blown beside the zipper and my pants were gaping. My underwear shined through the hole like a beacon. Lord have mercy! I was mortified. I wanted to crawl in a hole. But that night, I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t be a show off. And more so, don’t wear tight pants whilst doing it.
Moral of the story: Pride goes before the rip.
What about you?
Has pride led to an embarrassing moment for you? Feel free to share it on my author page: http://www.facebook.com/authorcatiecordero
In a world driven by technology, the art of storytelling and reading books can be lost. Imagination is stifled in children and adults when television and iPads replace creative thinking. I am passionate about reigniting the joy of books and story writing. That is why I’m dedicated to teaching my kids the importance of books and using their imaginations, and that is why I was so honored to speak to my daughter’s preschool class yesterday.
I presented the art of writing stories to a group of 18 bright-eyed children using storyboards.
We discussed using our imaginations to dream up fun things like a fire-breathing dragon guarding a castle or a dragon that breathes bubbles and eats chocolate chip cookies.
And then the kids helped me write a story called Farmer Ben’s Special Hen. As I told the story, I had the children contribute ideas along the way.
Farmer Ben’s special hen laid many special things like…cars, rainbow candy canes, and lady bugs.
She even had special talents like singing, doing cartwheels, riding a horse, building a snowman, and chasing dinosaurs.
Since the hen was so special, Farmer Ben decided to give her an extra special name. The kids loved shouting out names! This was the final product: Nina Aiyana John Piper Niber Sophia Carter Benjamin Gloria Bret Cup-paper.
Farmer Ben entered the special hen into a pet contest, and the kids helped create other special animals that were there! In the end, Farmer Ben’s chicken won First Place.
Using their imaginations, the children helped write a story and boy was it interesting! I hope my presentation will stick with them and inspire them to create more stories.
Before there was television, people told stories and read books. That was fine entertainment. It saddens me when I hear that publishing houses are consolidating because they’re struggling to sell enough books to stay afloat. It grieves me when I hear people say, “I don’t like to read.” Is this what we are passing on to our next generation? Ohhh…I surely hope not. Let’s encourage our children and yes, other adults, to read, create, and use our imaginations!