The Three Little Pigs

When my mum came to pick me up after my scary first morning at primary school, I pretended I had not left a puddle on the brown polished wood floor of the classroom. If I pretended it wasn’t there, no one would see it. But childen’s magic doesn’t work for grownups. Teacher spoke to Mum. I hung my head. They told me: don’t be shy. If you want to go to the toilet, just put up your hand and ask.

But it wasn’t about being shy (although I was). It was about the Three Little Pigs. At the end of the morning lesson, our teacher had gathered us around her in a semi-circle, cross-legged on the floor, and told us the story. And I so so so wanted to know what happened to the little pigs that I didn’t put up my hand and ask to go to the toilet. I just sat there, in my puddle.

The really interesting part is, when writing this post, I had to Google ‘The Three Little Pigs’ because I had absolutely no memory of the actual story. What stuck in my mind – and in my body memory – was that total grippedness and fascination, that white-knuckle suspense, that unbearable longing to know that the little pigs were going to be okay.

This is what we want to do to our readers.

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4 Responses

  1. I just chuckled out loud to see the word “google” next to “three little pigs”. Good story. Of course my first days in the first grade just came flooding back into my memory. (Water pun intended…) You make me want to write about it. You took me to another place and time — first yours, then my own. Thank you for that.

  2. Adorable!!!! You really are good at invoking memories Val – and I agree with jennifer….something tickles the funnybone seeing google and pig together makes me think – 3 little piggles!!!
    Can’t wait for the novel!

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