This book is dedicated to Grace. If the word precocious did not exist, they would have to invent it to describe her. She is also beautiful and kind.
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It was turning out to be a rather uneventful year for the Littleton Gomans. Spring had turned over to summer, and the dog days drug on without much relief. Summer was so hot and dry that the leaves never really grew out on the trees, so fall provided all of its chill but none of its thrill, as there were no brightly colored leaves to decorate the yards. Follow that up with a heavy early snow fall in late November, and there were a lot of long faces in the whole South Metro area. One little girl did her best to keep everyone happy. Young Grace Goman was the most cheerful 9- year- old Littleton had ever
seen. She always had a big pile of books at her house and this helped her to learn about all sorts of things. One night she was reading a newspaper and came across a great idea. The city was offering a contest for the best never-ending story anyone could come up with. She couldn’t wait for her Gramps to get his own Alexa, so she ran like the December wind coming down the mountains all the way to Gramps’ house, and breathlessly told him the news. “Gramps there’s a new contest in town,” she blurted out. You must write a story without end, and it has to be thirty words or less. We can do it Gramps”
Gramps scratched his balding head attentively. “Whatever might you be talking about, Gracie?” he replied. “I don’t know any unending stories, and I’m just not creative like that.” Grace looked back at his quizzically. “Are you feeling okay, Gramps? “she asked. “Between the two of us we can come up with anything, this will be like falling off a log, it’s so easy.”
“Well Grace” snorted Gramps ’That does seem like something we ought to try. Let’s sit down together and scratch something out” So
Gramps and Grace sat down together and were each other’s toughest critics. They typed and deleted and typed and back spaced and typed and hit undo and redo and typed some more and finally came up with the following:
Evening moonless and fog covered, sky weeping with pails of cloud borne tears, the elderly codger reclined in proximity imploring “relate fables Lorenzo”, and thus Lorenzo commenced, for many years:
They were both quite proud of the results, so they printed it out, stuck it in an envelope, and deposited it in the late delivery slot to make sure it got to contest headquarters post haste. Now all they had to do was wait and
collect their prize.
Grace was anxious to hear the results, so she ran over to Gramps’ house and checked the mailbox every day. Over the course of a couple of weeks, Grace and the mailman became quite close friends. “Afternoon, miss Gracie Grape” the mail man would call out to the perpetually purple clad slender word slinger, as he approached Gramps’ house.” Anything I can do for you today?” He would ask playfully. But they both already knew the answer. Grace and Gramps were awaiting the results of the never-ending story contest, so Mr. Mailman handed over the daily mailings to
her. Immediately she got to it, busily sifting through the bills, advertisements, and AARP literature every day awaiting the news from the contest.
Then one day Grace ran over to meet the mail man, and the day had an ominous foreboding to it. The sky was cloudy, and a cold wind blew from the north. As the mailman popped out of his truck, he did not even seem to have the same spring in his step as he greeted his awaiting post mistress. “What can I do for you, Lavender Letter Lady?” he asked. Grace asked if he was bearing news of the contest, and he replied, “as a matter of fact there’s a letter here that says
Time Sensitive Material, contest results inside.”
Grace grabbed it from the perky postman and took it straight inside and presented it to Gramps at his reading desk. “Please open this right away” she pleaded.
Gramps did as he was asked, and the expectant 9-year old’s face soon turned to match the cloudy sky as Gramps’ face turned to a concerned froCambridgwn. He read his granddaughter a letter that said “My dear Gomans, while your prose is compliant and meet the rules of our contest, we can’t see to awarding you the prize. You see, your words are stilted and cumbersome, they sound as if they were written by a Greek scholar from
Cambridge, and we regret to inform you that unless you liven it up a bit, we will not be awarding the prize to a resident of West Davies Avenue this year. So sorry.
Gramps looked down forlornly, but when he looked across the table at Grace, he noticed a different gaze meeting his. “Gramps we can do this, she asserted. This is the best news ever.” But Gramps had not cheered up equally. “But Gracie, it says we have only a few days to respond, and I am so busy I don’t know what to do about this. It does not seem like great news to me,” he said back despondently. Grace’s look now transformed from cheerful to determined, and there was steel in her spine as she let fly with an
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This book is dedicated to Grace. If the word precocious did not exist, they would have to invent it to describe her. She is also beautiful and kind.

It was turning out to be a rather uneventful year for the Littleton Gomans. Spring had turned over to summer, and the dog days drug on without much relief. Summer was so hot and dry that the leaves never really grew out on the trees, so fall provided all of its chill but none of its thrill, as there were no brightly colored leaves to decorate the yards. Follow that up with a heavy early snow fall in late November, and there were a lot of long faces in the whole South Metro area. One little girl did her best to keep everyone happy. Young Grace Goman was the most cheerful 9- year- old Littleton had ever
seen. She always had a big pile of books at her house and this helped her to learn about all sorts of things. One night she was reading a newspaper and came across a great idea. The city was offering a contest for the best never-ending story anyone could come up with. She couldn’t wait for her Gramps to get his own Alexa, so she ran like the December wind coming down the mountains all the way to Gramps’ house, and breathlessly told him the news. “Gramps there’s a new contest in town,” she blurted out. You must write a story without end, and it has to be thirty words or less. We can do it Gramps”
Gramps scratched his balding head attentively. “Whatever might you be talking about, Gracie?” he replied. “I don’t know any unending stories, and I’m just not creative like that.” Grace looked back at his quizzically. “Are you feeling okay, Gramps? “she asked. “Between the two of us we can come up with anything, this will be like falling off a log, it’s so easy.”
“Well Grace” snorted Gramps ’That does seem like something we ought to try. Let’s sit down together and scratch something out” So
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