Hello! You have reached this page because I invited you to view PDF dummies for my current projects.
I've included both the SCRIBD versions for easy viewing online, and the PDF files to download.
Please let me know if you have any questions! You can easily navigate to my full portfolio from here, but if you wish to return to this page in the future you'll need to use the link I sent you (it's hidden from public navigation).
Thank you!
Christy
I've included both the SCRIBD versions for easy viewing online, and the PDF files to download.
Please let me know if you have any questions! You can easily navigate to my full portfolio from here, but if you wish to return to this page in the future you'll need to use the link I sent you (it's hidden from public navigation).
Thank you!
Christy
Christopher Stilt (REVISED 9/13/2022)
Christopher is a little bird with a big problem - he was born with a disability that prevents him from joining his friends in the deep water. He comes up with an idea, but knows he needs help, so he reaches out to an inventor to see if his idea is possible. What follows is a story of perseverance, joy, and determination. Note: this was originally told as a story of friendship (where his friends helped him out) but I realized the story would be stronger by giving Christopher agency. |
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The Red Feather - PROSE VERSION
(revised to be non-rhyming) When Ellie and Ollie find a feather on the sidewalk, it sets them off on a quest to determine what makes a bird “a bird”. They encounter various animals on their adventure who are NOT birds — in the end, these two nature-loving friends must use their powers of teamwork, observation and deduction to uncover the answer and figure out what’s so special about birds anyway. |
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The Red Feather - RHYMING VERSION
(original version) When Ellie and Ollie find a feather on the sidewalk, it sets them off on a quest to determine what makes a bird “a bird”. They encounter various animals on their adventure who are NOT birds — in the end, these two nature-loving friends must use their powers of teamwork, observation and deduction to uncover the answer and figure out what’s so special about birds anyway. |
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Sweet Dream Island by Christy Obalek 360 words
Tuck in your toes and cuddle up tight We’re off to the island of sweet dreams tonight It’s so hard to sleep when the sun is still shining But just close your eyes and imagine you’re flying Over the rooftops and out to the sea To meet with the mermaids and sip moonbeam tea Ever so gently you’ll parachute down Guided by twilight’s diaphanous gown To a table that’s made from a sea turtle shell With a place set for Adeline, you, and Gisele. There’s a lamp lit by fireflies blinking in sync One light, then two lights, then three, blink blink blink In the corner an octopus sits knitting mittens Four at a time for the snow leopard kittens Who beg you to play with their favorite toy: A flindlestraw flappenfleet floppamazoy! There’ll be wombats and wallabies wearing white wigs Serving whatchamacallits and thingamajigs Dessert will arrive, transported by fairies: Cupcakes with whip cream and ripe whortleberries The faint sound of music drifts near, soft and low Rising and falling like fresh windblown snow The tune seems to come from a dazzling door That you’re sure wasn’t there just a moment before As you step on a pathway of fresh dewy grass The glow from the fireflies glistens like glass It smells like fresh rain when you knock on the door There's a wonderful word for the scent: petrichor A bespectacled bunny cracks open a window Demanding the password (it’s Quetzal-dee-dindo) You wait as she unlocks a quintillion locks and opens the door to a musical box Where Pinkletinks, Penguins and Pink kinkajous Waltz while echidnas play didgeridoos Butterflies flutter and flit two by two and the Cloud Princess plays on her Cloudamazoo But the star of the show is Pierre Pangolin Who hums as he strums on his mauve mandolin. By the end of the night you’ll be everyone’s friend, but even sweet dreams must come to an end When the dawn breaks you’ll know just what to do: Climb up on the back of a blue Jabiru He’ll carry you home as the sun starts to rise So you’re back in your bed when you open your eyes The End.. |
Spaghetti Cat by Christy Obalek 80 words
Black cat White cat Blue with purple stripes cat Pampered cat Playful cat Won’t fit through the door cat Smelly cat Spaghetti cat Five o’clock in the morning cat Scaredy cat Tuxedo cat Ate your sister’s homework cat Hungry cat Unhuggable cat Cat caught licking its butt cat Pouncey Cat Naughty Cat Hears you and ignores you cat Wet cat Yoga cat Knocking stuff off the bookshelf cat Happy cat Sleepy cat Loves you forever and ever cat The End. |
The Long Walk by Christy Obalek
500 words
After dinner, we put on our shoes.
The air shocks my face when I open the door.
I quickly close it and put on a jacket, but I won’t need my gloves.
Outside, the streetlights are lighting up, one by one.
I watch them come alive, and wonder who flicks the switch.
We turn right and walk along the road to the end of our street.
There aren’t any sidewalks here, and most of the cars are tucked away in driveways for the night.
I want to walk forever.
I kick at a stone and count how many steps I take
before I reach it.
Five.
I kick it again.
Seven.
At the end of our road, the houses turn to trees.
Pavement turns to rocks and dirt.
I leave the stone where it lands, and breathe deeply.
It’s hard to describe what I smell. It’s a pungent mix of damp earth, hemlock trees, and skunk cabbage – kind of like the inside of Grandpa’s greenhouse. It might not sound that good to you, but to me, it is the best smell in the world.
I want to walk forever.
We slowly make our way down the hill.
I want to run, but the rocks are loose, and I’ve slipped here before when I wasn’t careful.
At the bottom of the hill is a small wooden bridge.
It’s the kind of bridge that you want to walk across, but I know that the only thing on the other side is a hill back up to the road.
We turn left and follow the path along the creek.
The smell is stronger here.
The lights from the road don't reach us, but we can still see the path in the hazy green light.
I know that we’ll have to turn around soon, so I walk ahead, trying to put as many steps between us as I can.
I want to walk forever.
The creek bubbles and gurgles as it winds its way down from the mountain.
There’s a Coho salmon swimming upstream beside me but it gets stuck at a high spot. It jumps out of the water nine times before it finally leaps over the rocks like a shooting star.
I watch it disappear under the water.
It’s getting harder to see, and my eyelids feel scratchy.
“Time to turn around, Eagle Eyes”
I hate this part.
I want to walk forever.
I pretend I don’t hear, and pick up a stone.
I run my thumb over the tiny crack that
cuts across the surface like a creek.
This is a good one, so I put it in my pocket.
My feet are getting tired, but I don’t want to show it
so I walk a little faster.
My foot catches on a tree root.
I’m lifted up onto strong shoulders.
My head drops, eyes closing.
I want to walk forever.
The End.
500 words
After dinner, we put on our shoes.
The air shocks my face when I open the door.
I quickly close it and put on a jacket, but I won’t need my gloves.
Outside, the streetlights are lighting up, one by one.
I watch them come alive, and wonder who flicks the switch.
We turn right and walk along the road to the end of our street.
There aren’t any sidewalks here, and most of the cars are tucked away in driveways for the night.
I want to walk forever.
I kick at a stone and count how many steps I take
before I reach it.
Five.
I kick it again.
Seven.
At the end of our road, the houses turn to trees.
Pavement turns to rocks and dirt.
I leave the stone where it lands, and breathe deeply.
It’s hard to describe what I smell. It’s a pungent mix of damp earth, hemlock trees, and skunk cabbage – kind of like the inside of Grandpa’s greenhouse. It might not sound that good to you, but to me, it is the best smell in the world.
I want to walk forever.
We slowly make our way down the hill.
I want to run, but the rocks are loose, and I’ve slipped here before when I wasn’t careful.
At the bottom of the hill is a small wooden bridge.
It’s the kind of bridge that you want to walk across, but I know that the only thing on the other side is a hill back up to the road.
We turn left and follow the path along the creek.
The smell is stronger here.
The lights from the road don't reach us, but we can still see the path in the hazy green light.
I know that we’ll have to turn around soon, so I walk ahead, trying to put as many steps between us as I can.
I want to walk forever.
The creek bubbles and gurgles as it winds its way down from the mountain.
There’s a Coho salmon swimming upstream beside me but it gets stuck at a high spot. It jumps out of the water nine times before it finally leaps over the rocks like a shooting star.
I watch it disappear under the water.
It’s getting harder to see, and my eyelids feel scratchy.
“Time to turn around, Eagle Eyes”
I hate this part.
I want to walk forever.
I pretend I don’t hear, and pick up a stone.
I run my thumb over the tiny crack that
cuts across the surface like a creek.
This is a good one, so I put it in my pocket.
My feet are getting tired, but I don’t want to show it
so I walk a little faster.
My foot catches on a tree root.
I’m lifted up onto strong shoulders.
My head drops, eyes closing.
I want to walk forever.
The End.
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Not Just a Bird by Christy Obalek
400 words Put on your shoes, and step outside. We’ll listen to the songs of all the different birds “Cheer-cheer-cheer! Purty-purty-purty!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird is red and stays all winter long That’s not just a bird, it’s a Northern Cardinal. “Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird is noisy and clever and black That’s not just a bird, it’s an American Crow! “Chk-a-dee-dee! Chk-a-dee-dee-dee!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird is tiny and wears a black hat. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Black-capped Chickadee! “Honk-honk! Honk-honk!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird is big and bossy and bold. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Canada Goose! “Konk-la-reee! Konk-la-reee!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird has wings with bright red patches. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Red-winged Blackbird! “Sweet-sweet, I’m so sweet!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird is yellow and sings all day long. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Yellow Warbler. “Cheerily-cheerily! Cheerio!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird digs up worms in the yard. That’s not just a bird, it’s an American Robin. “Queedle-queedle-queedle!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird is bright blue and makes lots of noise. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Blue Jay. “Whoo? Whoo? Who-cooks-for-you?” What’s that? Just a bird? This big has big eyes and hunts in the dark. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Barred Owl. “Coo-coo-cooo…coo-coo-coooo” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird is happy but always sounds sad That’s not just a bird it’s a Mourning Dove. “Chitter chatter, pitter patter” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird lives in the bushes with all its friends and chatters all day That’s not just a bird, it’s a House Sparrow “Quack quack, quack quack” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird bobs its head under water for food. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Mallard “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird loves fish and might steal your chips. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Ring-billed Gull. “Knock knock! knock knock” What’s that? Just a bird? This bird makes holes in trees with its bill. That’s not just a bird, it’s a Red-bellied Woodpecker. “Rumble-rumble-rumble-rumble” What’s that? Just a bird? Rain clouds coming, sky getting dark That’s not just a bird - it’s time to go home! The End. Notes: back matter could include resources for learning more mnemonics & how to bird by ear. |
Ms. Brisbit Finds a Home by Christy Obalek
400 words It was still dark when Ms. Brisbit touched down in the Grasslands. The April ground was damp beneath her feet. Her bright yellow eyes mirrored the full moon as she took in her surroundings. szzz szzz szzz The cool night air buzzed all around her. Ms. Brisbit was hungry. She snatched up crickets as they sprung out of the grass at her feet. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders. She had been traveling for thousands of miles, but her journey wasn’t over yet. Ms. Brisbit needed a home. She walked until she came to a hole in the ground. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home. [peering inside] “Occupied!” [out pops a prairie dog] “Oh! My mistake,” said Ms. Brisbit. Straightening her feathers, she carried on. She walked and walked until she came to another hole. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home. [peering inside] “Occupied!” [out pops a badger] “Oh! My mistake,” said Ms. Brisbit. Stretching out her wings, she carried on. It was getting harder to hold her head up. She walked and walked and walked until the stars faded and morning came to the Grasslands. Ms. Brisbit wondered if she’d ever find a home when she happened upon a beautiful field of flowers. Exhausted, she sank to the ground, plopped her heavy head down, and closed her eyes. She was dreaming of a cozy burrow filled with flowers, when the ground started sinking beneath her. She was so tired that she didn’t even notice the hole hidden under the flowers. Ms. Brisbit peered inside the hole. It was deep, cozy, and dark. It looked like a good home. “Occupied” came a muffled voice from below. “Oh. My mistake,” she said as she shuffled slowly to her feet. With aching shoulders, she started on her way. “Wait!” Ms. Brisbit turned to find a cheerful face smiling at her. “This hole is far too big for just one little owl. Would you like to share it with me?” “I’d love to,” said Ms. Brisbit. After that, her head didn’t feel quite so heavy any more. Her journey was over. Together, they filled their burrow with flowers, good food, and friendship. As they watched the sun set over the Grasslands, they both agreed: it was a very good home. The end. End Matter / notes: Burrowing Owls are a little smaller than a pigeon and have tall skinny legs. When they are babies, they can’t hold up their large head so they sleep face down on their bellies. Burrowing Owls travel between 2500 and 3500 miles each spring to spend their summers in Canada. The males arrive first and pick out a good burrow - usually one that they’ve taken over from prairie dogs or ground squirrels. |