Writing with a 4 year old

totally random...verges on possibilities of sense...no unity...very disjunctive and fragmented

SEPARABILITY
Hot sparklers left over from Fourth of July.  (Grandma has a Lexus that looks like a hearse.)
In the fire we gaze all night talking about embers.  Flexes fire does the god of it, a blacksmith. 
Pop a balloon or two with Grandpa.  Grandpa has all the packaging you could ever want for
A good time with bubble wrap.  We are a peaceable people, willing to eat sweet green peas.
Rubber-band powered cars.  Red is the favorite color.  At least there is one, at least
Dogs play ball.  They make the children happy.  This blue fire drinks a type of juice, flammable.
Usually I don’t make a habit of drinking any element that fire would, except air, I guess, if it is clean.
Tinkerbelle in a movie has friends.  We’ve seen it.  We were watching that here where we are now.

SEPARABLE
Noses, boogers.  The children know all about them.  Other children know about characters we’ve seen
In a movie we imagine; we can say that Lex flexes fire.  Though fire is usually orange we can make
The colors change like the leaves do.  Not everyone has seen that.  Not every place dies so much.
(Although I have used some subordinating clauses, I don’t scramble for job security by labeling.)
Nervous Nellie, she says, don’t be a nervous Nellie. I remember her saying, the dear girl, friend from church.

Lex has come to be a good guy.  Lex is a new guy, pointy, a bit sharp-looking, (so my son says.)
Embroiled in so much heat, she tries to stay warm figuratively and does not have to worry about physically.
Harold is back again.  I know he seems completely random and arbitrary, without a plan.  Spies have been
Afraid to look into where they have been.  They smell her fear like a stench.  (There was one near a bench.)
From why to wherefore to whence, he keeps repeating why.  He writes many times over to his son. The old
Rogue, wondering in his Scottish brogue why lilting measure do not get him.  Everything has become completely
Ascoltare displaced.  It is not the language or voice of the Jabberwocky, the Jabberwock….each word as it is heard
Destined for a place.  The syntax a grimy slimy existence.  It’s okay to think about jarring sounds but they ward away.
Annie will be reserved for another day many years in the future.  So much singing and dancing was not good for us.

Author's Note

My son helped me write this...which I'm so ecstatic about, I could hardly do that but he was willing to give me some words to start the line...then I can tell what he remembers a little. It's great. Sad to think someday he won't want to help out in that way.

Reviews

[Shekinah2015]

You have a right to be ecstatic - my little sister would never help me write anything!