The Story By Dad
Dad wrote books. Lots of them!
(Dad at desk, lamp on, writing. Small pile of manuscripts beside notepad. Baby sitting on desk.)
“I’ll write a story a day, for you!” he bragged to his little girl.
(Hands wide, smiling, paper going everywhere, surrounded by piles of manuscripts. Baby in front of him, playing with toy.)
But one night, Dad fell asleep and baby decided to finish his story for him.
(Dad sleeping, snoring at desk. Baby, biting tongue in concentration, drawing on a page.)
And even mail it off!
(Baby on tippy-toes, posting manuscript.)
Then, the next morning…
(Dad, a bit ragged, woken by knock at the door.)
“We’re not happy with you at all!” the monsters roared.
“I… what… um…” stammered Dad.
(Dad on doorstep, being confronted by several big monsters, holding a book that says: The Story. By Dad.)
“Wh… wh… why aren’t you happy?” Dad stammered more.
“This is your name isn’t it?” the first monster grumbled.
“For what you wrote, we ought to eat you alive!” the second one hollered.
“With sauce!” the third monster belched.
(Monster angrily pointing down on page in book to small, confused Dad.)
“I must say… I’m not terribly happy either,” drawled Sir Knight. “I am nothing like what you say in these here pages.”
(Monsters glaring. Dad startled, looking over shoulder as medieval knight, waving his book angrily at Dad.)
“Monsters? Knights!?” squawked Dad.
“You’re not happy? I’m furious!” said Fireball.
(Dragon, with book. Dad clinging with fear to unimpressed knight.)
“Look, can we all calm down and figure out what…” Dad stated to say. “YEOW!”
(Dad running, his bottom is on fire, as dragon breaths flames at him.)
(Dad putting out fire on bum. A fantasy picnic is happening behind hum with a rabbit, little girl, living rag doll, bird sipping tea, etc… They have all stopped still, and are looking at Dad, a little confused.)
“Ahh, Mr Dad! We LOVE what you wrote about us!” said Rabbit.
(Dad uneasy, as rabbit, about 3 feet tall, book in paw, leans into Dad, looking up at him with a big smile.)
“Yes, lovely, lovely,” agreed Rag Doll. “Now you must stay for tea!”
“I… that is…” quivered Dad.
(All fantasy picnic characters groping at Dad, most holding a copy of book; The Story, by Dad.)
“Please, we insist!”
(Dad trying to run in panic, as claws and paws and hands and sheep’s hook all reaching for him. Some have his book.)
(Dad, held above crowd of characters on a chair as they walk. Knights, dragons, picnic characters, kangaroos, emus, circus performers, kids, monsters, the legs of a giant.)
“Oi! I got a bone ta pick with ye!” raged the salty seaman. “Life on the waves be nothin’ like you wrote!”
(Angry one-eyed, one legged old sailor, shaking book at Dad. Mermaids, with book, in water behind him, also angry.)
“Agreed!” said the mermaids.
“Sir!” the fairies angrily tinkled. “We are NOT as nice as you said in your-”
(Fairies surrounding Dad. Most flying. One or two of them holding open book up, another pointing to pages in it.)
“WAIT!” cried Dad.
(Dad snatching book. As characters all loom over him, angrily.)
“It wasn’t me! Let’s read it and see…”
(Dad reading the book.)
(Dad’s fingers holding edge of page, which has rough, child’s crayon drawing of a fantasy picnic.)
“MY DAUGHTER wrote her own book! Wow! Zip, pow!”
(Dad, leaping in air, clicking heels. A few startled characters watching him.)
“That is the BEST THING EVER!” shouted Dad.
(Dad, running towards girl, hands in air with happiness.)
“His daughter…?” blushed a pirate.
(Characters all looking at each other guiltily, except third monster, who is sitting crosslegged reading book intently.)
“Actually, I kind of like it…” said the third monster.
(Dad throwing happy girl in the air with joy. Girl has pen and paper in hand.)
“Sorry, Sir,” said Rabbit. “Um… Can we help her write the next one?”
(Dad and girl – pen and paper still in hand, looking at large group of all the characters from story, who are looking, pleadingly, at them.)
(Dad sitting on chair at desk, smiling, while daughter sits on his knee, drawing on a page, and all the characters from the book surround them, watching her page, one whispering in her ear, the other pointing to a spot on the page.)