Wednesday, April 9, 2014


Hey all,

If you are in the mood for a good chuckle, check out my story TWELVE DAYS OF APRIL FOOL'S on the Utah Children's Writer's Blog today!


Monday, March 31, 2014

LOOK WHAT I GET

Hooray!

I am so glad I entered the March Madness Contest on Susanna Hill's blog . . .
because I get a signed copy of this:


SNORING BEAUTY written by Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen and illustrated by Jane Manning. I can't wait to get it. : )

Thursday, March 27, 2014

RESEARCH, RESEARCH, RESEARCH

Writers do a lot of research:

agents
publishers
kids
whatever you  need to know for your current WIP

And I love it. All of it. 
While it does take up a lot of time, I feel it is never time wasted. 
I am constantly learning, learning, learning. 




Thursday, March 20, 2014

FRACTURED FAIRY-TALE CONTEST

Susanna Leonard Hill is holding a Fractured Fairy-tale contest over on her blog: susannahill.blogspot.com.

Being a lover of all things fairy-tale-ish, I just couldn't resist entering my picture book manuscript 
THE JACKRABBIT WHO CRIED GILA MONSTER. 

If you like the story, please leave me a comment. I can't wait to get reading all of the other entries. 

P.S. The contest rules state that the story must be 400 words or less with NO illustration notes. Well . . . my manuscript was almost 700 words and had several illo. notes that I felt were very important to understanding the story. However, I knew I had to follow the rules, so after many hours (and seriously, hours) of re-writing and re-working I have this: 398 words and no illustration notes. I am pretty darn proud of myself and learned a valuable lesson in doing this exercise . . . that no matter how tight you think your manuscript is, chances are it can always be tighter, and no matter how bad you think you need those illustration notes, you probably don't and can write the action into the text instead. Peace out peeps!



THE JACKRABBIT WHO CRIED GILA MONSTER -- 398 words
by Elliah A. Terry


Toritos brothers were sound asleep
but Torito . . . was as perky as a cactus.

Naps are no fun, he thought. He twiddled his ears until he got a wonderful idea.

“Help!” he cried. “Theres a Gila monster under our bed!”

Torito’s brothers jumped so high, they bumped the ceiling. Mama burst into the room, broom in hand. Torito giggled.

“Torito,” Mama said, grabbing the stuffed Gila monster he’d hidden, “YOU are supposed
to be asleep.” She handed him the toy and left.

Torito and his brothers snuggled into their bed. Soon his brothers were sound asleep, but
Torito . . . was as restless as a tumbleweed.

Naps are boring, he thought. I know . . .

“Help!” he cried. “Theres a Gila monster under our bed!

Torito’s brothers cowered in the corner. Mama burst into the room. Torito laughed so hard, his sides ached.

“Torito J. Jackrabbit,” Mama said, grabbing the stuffed Gila monster, “YOU—”

I tricked you!” Torito teased.

Mama crossed her arms. “It isn't nice to trick. Now go to sleep.” This time she kept the toy.

Torito and his brothers snuggled into their bed. Torito was as tired as a tortoise.

He closed his eyes.

Scritch-scratch!

Torito tore off his covers and peeked under the bed.

He gasped.

            Two beady eyes stared back at him. Five sharp claws flexed on each hand. A long, purple tongue flickered out.

“Giiiiii-laaaaa monnnn-sterrrrr!” Torito yelled as he leaped into the closet.

His brothers didn’t move. They covered their ears and rolled over.

“Mama!” Torito screamed.

But Mama called back, “Go to sleep, Torito.”    

The Gila monster stretched its jaws. Torito’s heart raced. Suddenly, he got a wonderful idea—he knew Mama wouldn’t like it—but he didn’t know what else to do.  

“Watch out!” Torito cried, “Theres a coyote in this closet!

The Gila monster scoffed. “I’m not falling for that.”

Torito pulled the string on his stuffed coyote. Yarooooooooo! the toy howled.

The Gila monster hissed and scurried out the window. When he was far enough away, Torito called out, “I tricked you!”

Torito . . .” Mamas voice drifted from the kitchen.

I know—it isn’t nice to trick.” (Unless it saves your life,) he thought. 

Clutching his stuffed coyote, Torito snuggled between his brothers.

Soon, he felt as calm as the desert sand and drifted off into a peaceful jackrabbit slumber. 

Monday, March 10, 2014

A THING THAT GOES BUMP

A poem by Elliah A. Terry
 
My mama's belly is so big
I think she swallowed Porky Pig.
 
But she says it's a sweet surprise
with chubby cheeks and sparkling eyes.
 
No matter what, it's really mean--
the meanest thing I've ever seen.
 
Each time I rest upon the bump,
the mean thing makes a wump, thump, thump.
 
It punches, kicks, and turns about . . .
sure hope she never lets it out.


photograph by: Korindi Photography

Thursday, December 26, 2013

GIRL NAMES --A--

Abbey
Acelyn
Ada/Ayda/Aida
Adelyn
Adaline
Adelaide
Adele
Adia
Adisyn
Adriana
Adria
Adrienne
Aeris/Arys
Aila
Aili
Ainsley/Aynslee
Airyn
Alona/Alana
Alaina
Alea/Aleah/Aliya
Alena
Alexa
Alivia/Alyvia
Alley/Allie
Allison
Alora
Alice
Alyse/Alise
Alyssa
Amelia
Amiya
Amrie
Anika
Anya
Araya
Aria
Arie
Arielle
Asha
Ashlin
Aubrey
Audra
Audrey
Auri
Aurora
Autumn
Ava
Avalon
Avaya
Avelyn
Avery/Averie
Averlee
Aveya
Ayla

Monday, August 12, 2013

Why I May Not Share My Manuscripts with You

Sometimes letting others read my work is easy. I hand it over. They read it. They hand it back. Done. I've been involved in numerous critique groups for ten years and have learned they are invaluable. I trust them. I need them. They are brilliant. They see things I cannot see, both the good and the bad.

But other times it is rather difficult for me to share my work. When I meet someone, I don't say, "Hi, I'm Elliah and I write poetry and stories for children, do you want to read some?" VERY rarely does the topic of writing even come up, but when it does and a neighbor/family member/friend discovers I am a writer, the first thing they say (naturally) is, "Can I read your stuff?" And that is usually when I cringe. Here's why:

Until I write my words down on paper, they are hidden from the world. They are inside me. They are mine . . . a piece of my soul. And letting someone else read them sometimes feels like I'm undressing in front of a stranger.

Take for example the time I was in college and I was out on a first date with some guy I had recently met. We were having dinner and it came out that I write poetry. His eyes lit up and he begged for me to take him back to my apartment, pull out all of my poetry, and let him read it.

INSERT HUGE GASP HERE!

The nerve. There was never a second date.

So don't take it personal if I shy away from handing over everything I've ever written for your Friday night entertainment. Sometimes sharing my work just feels too invasive or embarrassing. But not always.

I LOVE writing poems and giving them as gifts. I LOVE reciting some of my lines to groups of giggly children. I thoroughly enjoy sharing my poetry which has been published and should I be blessed to have one of my picture book or middle-grade manuscripts published one day, don't you fret . . . I will be marketing/showing off/shoving-it-down-your-throat. And then you will long for the days when I use to keep it all inside my brain.