Many writers have shared their thoughts with the public:

"There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they'll take you." - Beatrix Potter

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." - Anaïs Nin

"Sharing your writing, being enlarged by others' writing, is what makes you feel famous." - Gretchen Bernabei

"Writing is not an amusing occupation. It is a combination of ditch-digging, mountain-climbing, treadmill and childbirth." - Edna Ferber

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." - Ben Franklin

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones to form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment." - Hart Crane

"There are three rules for writing. Unfortunately, no one can agree what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham

Signs of Boredom

Gloved hands moved quickly. Deft and smooth as though conducting a symphony. The black-clad figure crouched and with a furtive glance, fled the scene like a sleek puma, if pumas wore pumped-up, brand name joggers. And ran on two legs, but apart from that, exactly like a puma. A shadowy, pre-dawn glow swallowed the mystery person. The bushes and leafy branches of overgrown front yards helped aid a smooth escape.

Mrs. Morris, jowls sagging like a bulldog, walked her usual route past the Roseville Primary school. Her bulldog, jowls sagging like an old lady, trotted along on its lead. As little Berty paused to cock his leg at the base of the school’s sign, Mrs. Morris looked up at the bold, black lettering.

'THREE FARTY BUMS'.

By 8:30 Monday morning, the sun’s rays, with the poke that preceded a hot day, created a spotlight on the rearranged lettering of the sign. Balanced atop a stepladder was Principal Ken Jordey. The light-weight ladder groaned beneath his rotund frame as he plucked at the magnetic letters.

“Farty,” he muttered, his round, plum face looking fit to burst. He clutched letters to his chest, failing to catch an errant “Y” as it fell.

“Morning Mr. Jordey. Changing the sign again?” Sophie Patterson paused, shielding her eyes. Ken Jordey acknowledged the administration officer without turning.

“Good morning, Sophie. If I find out who is responsible…” He stepped down to ground level, “…for this mindless lack of respect for school property…” He paused as though unsure of exactly what punishment would ensue. “…there will be consequences!”

“Y!” Sophie said as she handed him the fallen letter.

“Why? Because, Sophie, vandalism is no laughing matter.”

He slapped letters back on the school’s sign in time with each word.

“Not.” Slap.

“Funny.” Slap.

“At.” Slap.

“All.”

With the lettering restored, the ‘Student of the Week’ sign now read, 'MATTY FRUBESHER.'

The balding principal dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief and lowered the Perspex cover over the sign, locking it in place with a shiny padlock. He stepped to the ground and loosened his tie, which eased his plum colour back to normal. Normal for Ken was overripe strawberry. His too-many-donuts diet had created a bulk not built for this kind of exercise. Or any kind for that matter. He folded the ladder and handed Sophie a key.

“Make sure this key is in a secure place Sophie. Hopefully, the new lock will stop this immature behaviour.”

“I’ll put it under lock and key.” She wondered for a moment if she needed a subsequent lock and key for that lock and key, but dismissed the thought, lest it get out of hand.

“It is a weeny bit clever though, don’t you think?” Sophie ventured as she fell into step beside the principal. “I mean, it’s a perfect anagram of Matty’s name.”

“Clever?” Ken stopped and regarded the girl as though she was an alien with little understanding of English. “I’d hardly call it clever. Idiotic. Definitely not clever.”

Sophie’s blonde ponytail swished back and forth in rhythm with the click-clack of her high heels on the path. Ken continued to rant. She zoned out, wishing she was an alien with little understanding of English.

“As for last month’s effort. SEAN KRISTY changed to…” he lowered his voice, “…STINKY ARSE. That was just...just…not clever at all Sophie.”

She supressed a grin. Every parent, teacher and student had chuckled at that one. Ken held the office door open. “We’re becoming a laughing stock. The whole town is talking about our sign.”

“Well, you know what they say about publicity.”

“This is a school, not some sort of comedy club. It’s a place of education.”

Ken struggled to stow the ladder next to the filing cabinet. His ample behind jutted out, forcing Sophie to take a step back. At that moment the office door swung open and tall, muscular Nick Johnson surveyed the scene. Sophie pressed against her desk, sucking in her breath. Muttered comments emanated from somewhere beyond the only other thing Nick could see - the big bum of Ken Jordey.

“Morning Sophie. Lookin’ good Ken.”

“What?” Ken straightened, turning to face Nick. “Oh, it’s you. Good morning, Nicholas.”

“Everything all right?” Nick stood with his hands nestled in the pockets of his track pants. Even with his relaxed stance, his biceps were like rockmelons plotting to escape the confines of his sports shirt.

Ken emitted a weary sigh. “I’m sick and tired of these miscreants who seem to think uncouth words are amusing.”

“Ah yes, the sign. I hear the little rascals have been creative again. Any idea who’s responsible?”

“Hardly creative in my opinion and if I knew who was responsible, I expect we would no longer have a problem.” He addressed them from the doorway leading to his adjoining office. “I’ll find the culprit and when I do…” The door closed, cutting off his words.

“Don’t tell me.” Nick said, imitating the principal’s voice. “There will be consequences.”

Sophie sighed. “He’s on the warpath this time.”

“Probably just bored students. I was a right little turd at that age.”

“I find that hard to believe, Nick.” She didn’t find it hard at all. “Not likely to be our students though. They’re just little kids.”

“Well, except Eddie. Parents must have fed that kid some heavy-duty growth pills.”

“Foster parents.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Still, he’s the tallest 6th grader I’ve ever seen.”

“Wouldn’t be him though, that child can barely read.”

“Who cares? He won’t need to read; he’ll be a star basketballer. He’s already the reason the junior team is unbeaten.”

Sophie opened her mouth to debate the importance of reading, but Nick had jumped back to the subject of the sign.

“You gotta admit it’s injected some life into Roseville. I liked July’s effort. On Friday, the sign read: ELLY STIMPS. By Monday, it said SMELLY PITS. Even Mr. Stimps took a selfie in front of it. It’s given the locals something to talk about besides overgrown front yards.”

Sophie smiled. “Ah, small-town people with their small-town complaints. From pigeon pooh on park benches to dog pooh on the street.”

“Don’t forget the joggers.”

“Joggers pooh on the street? They could at least do it in the overgrown front yards.”

“Perhaps they do. That’s why they’re overgrown, all that fertiliser.” Nick gave a thoughtful look, as though pondering the likelihood of his suggestion. “Who do you think is behind it?”

“The jogger’s pooh?”

“The sign.” Nick said with a smirk.

Sophie shrugged and shuffled through some papers on the desk.

Principal Jordey had threatened to take down the sign more than once. There had been discussion at assembly and arguments with the Parent’s Committee. The sign had been a donation and came with ongoing sponsorship from a local business. The sign had to stay.

“And another thing,” Ken poked his head out of his door, “I want flyers.”

“Flyers? Kingsford-Smith? Amelia Earhart?” Sophie, her face serious, looked up from her paperwork.

Ken ignored her attempt at humour. “Flyers, as in leaflets. And posters. Asking anyone to report suspicious activity. I’ll find the culprit Sophie, mark my words. Nicholas, you’re still here. Don’t you have a class?”

“Just picking up the key to the sports shed.” He said as Ken disappeared into his office.

Sophie pushed her chair back and opened the cupboard that housed keys for the various locked doors around the school grounds. She handed the key to Nick.

“Flyers! Good one, Soph.”

“What can I say? This job is not the most exciting.”

Nick pocketed the key and headed for the door. “How much longer are you with us?”

“One more assignment to submit and I’m done.”

“You’ll be escaping for the big smoke before we know it.”

“That’s the plan.”

The students would be the only thing Sophie would miss once she walked away from the part-time job at Roseville Primary. Maybe she’d miss Nick’s daily banter a bit. For now, the income helped fund her study, but she often counted down the weeks until she could leave. Soon, the count would be in days.

“Catch you later, Soph. Have a good one.” Nick held the door open for Jean, the school’s cleaner.

“Morning Jean.”

“Nick,” Jean drawled in a voice that sounded like a truckload of gravel. “Hello Sophie, I’ll just grab the key for the storeroom.”

Jean, slightly hunched over, shuffled across to the key cabinet. She scratched her frizzy grey hair, stifled a yawn and took the key she needed.

“Old grumble guts in yet?”

“Yes, Jean. Mr. Jordey is in his office. Did you need something?”

“Reckon I got some information about the mysterious sign-changer.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I seen someone in the street and I looked up at the sign and there it was…THREE…FARTY…BUMS!” Jean sniggered, coughed and then coughed some more until Sophie feared the old woman might dislodge a lung.

Sophie handed her a tissue from the box on the desk.

“Did you see who it was?”

“Mrs. Morris and that little mutt of hers.”

“I doubt dear old Mrs. Morris is the culprit and little Berty wouldn’t be tall enough.” She refrained from adding a quip about Berty’s lack of thumbs or ability to read.

“Not her, but she told me she saw someone running down the street.”

“Did she say who?”

“Nah, but she got a description. Dark clothes, small build…or did she say tall?”

“That narrows it down to half the early morning joggers in this town.” Sophie offered, somewhat sarcastically.

“Joggers? Don’t get me started on those dirty beggars, doing their business in the streets. Anyway, thought I’d let Ken know.”

“I doubt he’s concerned about pooh joggers. He’s got other things on his plate.”

Jean tilted her head and squinted at Sophie. Sometimes she thought that girl was like an alien with little understanding of English.

“I don’t know anything about pooh on his plate, no matter what you’ve heard. Have you heard something?”

Sophie wondered briefly if Jean was actually an alien with little understanding of English, but chose not to pursue whatever the cleaner meant by that last question. Instead, she simply nodded to the door. “Go on in Jean.”

Sophie turned to her computer. She suspected Ken Jordey couldn’t find the mystery sign changer if he or she was right in front of him. The town folk would not be too forthcoming with information. The time Ken insisted she call in Harry, the town’s policeman, he’d laughed so hard he could barely write the details. That was the week ROBBY WOOLFE became FLOWERY BOOB. Sophie suspected that the photograph he’d taken, for evidence of course, had been added to the station’s noticeboard for the amusement of the staff.

She tapped away at her keyboard. First task - an email to Principal Jordey, her resignation attached. Second task - an email to Eddie’s foster parents, saying she would be happy to continue tutoring Eddie. His reading was slowly improving and she really enjoyed seeing his progress. Amazing to think that just 6 months ago he had arrived on earth, a gangly-limbed alien. His height had been quite the asset, not just for the basketball team and his little understanding of English hadn’t mattered at all.

Third task – she turned her attention to Ken’s request and soon worded a flyer to her satisfaction. At the bottom, she typed the principal’s name. KEN JORDEY. She thought for a moment, then backspaced and retyped those last letters…NERDY JOKE.