Tag: kidlit

A foggy mountain valley, with trees ascending the right side, as a pale covered bridge vanishes into the mist. Likely in the Alps.
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Fall Writing Frenzy 2025: “Forewarning”

mwinikates

It’s that time of year again! All the fun kidlit contests are swinging back into season, starting with the marvelous Fall Writing Frenzy.

This year’s donor list is full of amazing authors, illlustrators, editors, and agents, so definitely swing by to check them out as well as the rest of the entries. My entry, clocking in at exactly the maximum 200 words, is below, inspired by the following image:

Credit: Pexels via Eberhard Grossgasteiger

Forewarning
by Meg Winikates

Beware where you wander on a foggy fall day
when there’s no hint of wind but the branches still sway,
where time stretches strangely and your watch makes no sense:
there’s no morning or evening, just a long present tense.
Where a tune through the trees seems to beckon you on,
towards a glow that’s not moonlight nor starlight nor dawn.
If you cross the pale bridge in the shimmering mist,
the land feels familiar with an uncanny twist.
If you follow the whispers of the pine-needled trail
you might find a mystery, a garden, a grail.
If instead you try tracking the dragon’s wingbeat,
you’ll need all your courage, so stand firm on your feet.
If you dance with the Fair Ones, don’t forget how to breathe–
to remember you’re mortal is the passport to leave.
Close your eyes, take a step, and believe you can fly—
in a blink you’ll be back under homelier skies.
When you’re home safe and sound, getting warm by the fire,
you may find your heart filled by a fog-born desire—
for a toll must be paid when you cross that pale span—
and you’ll never quite be the same you that began.

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Who Stole Santa’s Boot? (Contest Entry)

mwinikates

In amidst the addressing of Christmas cards, the list making, and tree decorating, it’s also the time for Susanna Leonard Hill’s Holiday Writing Contest!

Image from Susanna Hill’s contest page, see link above

The guidelines are that it must relate to any winter holiday, be a mystery, and no longer than 250 words (not including title). I was extremely honored to get an all-around honorable mention in the Halloweensie contest for Baby Goblin at the Halloween Ball, and am happy to present to you my tiny Christmas mystery, Who Stole Santa’s Boot?

An arctic fox in winter, all white, standing in the snow in front of a thicket of winter twigs. Emma, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Who Stole Santa’s Boot?
By Meg Winikates (250 words)

This is the kitchen, smelling great,
where cookies slide right off the plate.
A chocolate boot-print on the floor—
and Mrs. Claus points to the door.

This is the spot beside the sleigh
where Santa tucks his boots away.
He turns to put his slippers on—
but suddenly, one boot is gone!

This is the fox who nabs the shoe
for playful kits to gnaw and chew.

This is the stoat who shocks the fox
(while Santa wanders in his socks)
and drags the boot along the ground,
delighted by this thing he’s found.

This is the owl that spooks the stoat,
who hides below as white wings float.
The owl swoops, the boot falls down,
and crashes into tunnel town!

These are the lemmings that scoot and swarm
into the boot, so safe and warm.

(This is St. Nick with chilly toes,
his glasses balanced on his nose,
requesting acrobatic elves
to search the closets, climb the shelves!)

This is the hare with legs so strong,
a boot hat on his ears so long,
leaping across a frozen brook—
(Where else can Santa think to look?)

This is the wise old caribou
who gently bends to sniff the shoe;
with boot between her teeth, she clops,
and near the stable-door it drops,
ready for Santa to retrieve—
barely in time for Christmas Eve!

“So where do you suppose it’s been?”
asks Mrs. Claus, and Santa grins.
“My dear, we must admit defeat,
and just rejoice they’re on my feet!”

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Halloweensie Contest: Baby Goblin at the Halloween Ball

mwinikates

Today’s the start of the Halloweensie contest run by author Susanna Leonard Hill, and this year’s challenge was to write no more than 100 words (not including the title) using the three prompt words: goblin, tiptoe, and chill. There’s lots of fun stories up already, and I encourage you to go check them out. Here’s my entry:

A girl with curly red hair, seen in profile, wearing a sparkly black and gold dress and black witch hat, carrying a small pumpkin shaped bucket with plants inside.
Photo by Paige Cody on Unsplash

Baby Goblin at the Halloween Ball
by Meg Winikates (100 words)

Baby Goblin on tiptoe,
sneaking where she shouldn’t go—
Grown-up goblins celebrate,
Halloween Ball starting late.

Ghosties twirling, goblins bounce,
Werewolves whirling, black cats pounce.
Baby Goblin, heaving sighs,
knows that boogying’s unwise:
squishing’s likely, being small.
Baby Goblin hugs the wall.

Cider simmers in a pot,
sweetly spicy, piping hot!
Tempting taste relieves the chill—
Trembling fingers almost spill…
Uh-oh! Slipping! Tipping! Crash!
Baby Goblin makes a splash.

Many fingers point her way—
Mama Goblin saves the day.
“Someone should be safe abed,
but tonight, let’s dance instead.”
Tucked in Mama’s arms, she spins;
Baby Goblin grins and grins.

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Fall Writing Frenzy: The Patchwork Pumpkin Patch

mwinikates

It’s that time of year again! I’m participating in the kidlit contest, Fall Writing Frenzy, which is this year hosted over on Lydia Lukidis’s blog. I was inspired by the image below, and the challenge is to write a story in 200 words (!!), for any age reader, board book through YA. Check out the amazing judges and prize donors for the contest here.

A pile of black pumpkins
Credit: Unsplash via Leandra Rieger

The Patchwork Pumpkin Patch

Nighttime in the pumpkin patch, where nobody was cheery.
“Always the same!” the gourds proclaimed. “Orange is so dreary!”
“No complaints,” the scarecrow huffed, “Honestly, what’s the use?
Orange can never be cyan, chartreuse or even puce.”
“We could! We will!” the pumpkins cried. “Who knows ‘til we try it?”
Whereupon some warty sorts turned amethyst and violet.
The scarecrow appeared gobsmacked, with cheeks flaming scarlet;
giddy, giggling pumpkins sported ruby, plum, and garnet.

Come morning, pumpkin-hunters surveyed the startling scene:
which bedazzling gourd would illuminate Halloween?
Some rejoiced at rose, or jived with midnight shades,
many vibrant pumpkins left, but many others stayed.
“You know,” said one, “today was fun, exploring something strange,
but I’m done with celadon—to orange now I’ll change.”

Across the patch murmurs arose; some argued, some agreed.
“What if,” the scarecrow offered, “everyone picks the hue they need?
If your heart is truly turquoise, then turquoise you should stay,
but if you’re more champagne-inclined, that’s equally okay.
Nobody should hide away the truths that make them glow,
which seems to me something jack-o-lanterns ought to know.”
Today the patchwork patch proclaims with multicolored cheer:
Let your outsides match your insides all throughout the year.