My friend Delilah, who is this beautiful and REALLY SMART dog who lives down the street and happens to be one of my best friends in the whole world and is maybe even my girlfriend, although I’ve never told her that, not in so many words, anyway, well, Delilah said the Newbony Award is about the biggest award a book can be given. She said her owner, Amber Faye Gorbish, reads Newbony books all the time. I told her Pete, who is Amber’s boyfriend and one of the two boys who lives in the house with me (Toby is the other one), reads stuff like the Flesh–Crawler books by M. T. Graves. Those books are soooooo cool. My favorite is #28: Screaming mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb. It’s about these twins who find a time-travel machine their grandfather’s attic and . . .
Anyway, Delilah said that books with titles like Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb never win the Newbony Award. I asked her what does win. She thought about it for a long time.
“Books that are sad,” she said finally. “And take place a long time ago.”
“Screaming Mummies of the Pharaoh’s Tomb takes place a long time ago,” I pointed out. “And it’s sad. Especially the part where the screaming mummies crumble into about a katrillion pounds of dust.”
Delilah gave me a look. “It also helps if the characters are poor and somebody dies,” she went on. “or if the main character, usually a child and preferably an orphan, goe, on a long journey. Alone oh, and it should be a book girls will like.”
A story started taking shape in my mind. (It’s amazing that happens when you’re a writer.) I pictured a poor (but cute) dachshund puppy, without a penny or a parent to call his own, setting off in search of . . . something . . . and it’s a long time ago, like last week, maybe, and . . . somebody dies.
I told Delilah.
“You need help,” she said. “I’ve read a lot of Newbony books. Maybe we could write the book together.”
I wasn’t sure I liked that idea. I’ve never written with somebody else. Besides, I wanted to win the Newbony myself. But then, I figured, half a Newbony is better than none.
“okay,” I said. “But can it still be about a poor (but cute) puppy? And could he be named Howie Monroe?”
Delilah didn’t love that idea, but I reminded her that I am a published author, so I should get some say.
“okay,” she said, “as long as his friend–a girl puppy named Delilah–has an important part.”
“Deal,” I told her.
Newbony Award, here we come!!!!!!!!!!!!