Karen inspired me to write a letter as well. Here is a copy:
Attn: Citizens' Stamp Advisory Committee
475 L'Enfant Plaza SW, Room 3300
Washington, DC 20260-3501
Feb 12, 2022
Re: Commemorative Stamp
To Whom It May Concern:
As the first woman elected mayor in the USA, Susanna Salter put an essential stamp on history. Her election in 1887 opened a door for the women who would come afterward to also serve in public office.
Thousands of people worldwide heard about the election and wrote while she was in office. Mayor Salter only made a $1.00 salary for her service, yet she wrote back, paying for all the paper and stamps out of her own pocket!
But today, few have heard of Susanna Salter. Without knowing our past, it is hard to reach our fullest potential for the future. It would be a fantastic and appropriate way for more people to learn about Mayor Salter if the United States Postal Service honored her with a commemorative stamp.
Therefore, I respectfully request that you consider Susanna Salter for an upcoming design.
My piece is MG historical fiction, sparked by an unusual event which occurred in the early 1800s, and comes in at 200 words on the dot.
Hope you enjoy reading! Leave a comment to let me know what you think. And remember to check out all the other entries on Kailei's blog (linked above).
THE NIGHT THE STARS FELL
by Carrie S. Fannin
On the night the stars fell, a girl was born.
Fearing the world's end, people dropped to their knees under fire-streaked skies and prayed. The baby cried bitterly, but the mother who would've comforted her was gone. The girl was handed to a wet nurse, and no one thought to name her.
The world kept turning. Soon people stood, putting the stars in their pockets.
After three days, an exhausted preacher came to the cabin. The family's dusty Bible crackled as he pried it open. "What is she called?"
"Did Mary ever mention..." A pause. "What about Mary? It's a fine—."
The father shrugged and swigged his moonshine.
The preacher turned to the woman who nursed the child alongside her own. Though born the same night, there wasn't a place for the wet nurse's daughter in any holy book. The plantation master would add her alongside her mother to his accounts.
"Esther," the woman whispered again.
It's a good name, the preacher mused. But he wasn't comfortable with a slave choosing, even for only an overseer's half-orphan. But it sparked an idea.
He dipped his pen.
"Astra," the preacher wrote in his steady hand. "November 9, 1833."
The 11th Annual Halloweensie Writing Contest is here!!! Susanna Hill runs several fun kidlit micro-fiction contests, and Halloweensie is no exception.
This year's essential info:
by Carrie Karnes-Fannin
two bruised apples,
What kind of neighborhood is this?!?
“Guys! C’mon, c’mon…one more.”
Your friends shrug.
They peel off, their glow-in-the-dark buckets
heavy with full-sized goodies.
Even your goosebumps have goosebumps
in the shivery October air.
You trudge on.
Under a broken streetlight,
on a shadowed street,
It gives you
“I wouldn’t live here as a ghost,”
“Oh, aren’t you a sweetie?” A nothing beckons.
“Come! We’ll fill that bag right up.”
No treats for you tonight--