The author wrote thusly:
A hippopotamus named Hope sat under a palm tree one afternoon, looking up at the stars. “Oh, I wish I were a bird,” she said, “so I could fly away and see the world!” A very bright star twinkled back at her, and a voice boomed out: “Wish granted!” Suddenly, a pair of beautiful wings sprung out from Hope's shoulders! Now a bird, she flew off to see the world, and lived happily ever after!
The author looked over her work. It seemed a good enough story, but something nagged at her. She couldn't quite place what was wrong, though. Perhaps a different set of eyes could find the problem. So, she went to her mother.
“Mother, I wrote this story,” said the author. “Could you look it over and tell me if anything's wrong with it?”
The mother took the story and read it over, very carefully. “Well, dear,” she said, “I'm afraid I just don't understand it.”
“What do you mean?” asked the author.
“Well, why is she a Hippopotamus?” said the mother.
“What?” the author replied.
The mother elaborated: “Well, hippos are so big and clumsy! Why not a giraffe? Those are stately and elegant!”
“She is not a giraffe,” the author explained, “because she is a hippo.”
“Or how about a cat?” the mother suggested. “Cats are so cute and fluffy!”
“She is not a cat,” the author said, “because she is a hippo!”
The mother handed the story back. “Sorry, dear,” she said.
Perhaps another set of eyes would help. The author went to her father next. “I wrote this story, Father. Could you look it over and tell me if anything's wrong anywhere?”
The father took the story and read it over, very carefully. “Why, it's marvelous, darling!” he exclaimed.
The author's eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Absolutely wonderful!” he said.
The author beamed.
“Yes, wonderful,” the father continued, handing back the story. “Keep it up, and you'll be writing real stories in no time!”
The author deflated.
Well, perhaps she had simply gone to the wrong people with her work! Who better to help fix a story than another writer? The author just so happened to have a writer friend, and so she contacted her directly.
“My friend, I have written a story,” the author wrote, “and I fear something's not quite right. Could you look it over and tell me what you think?”
“Why, of course!” the fellow writer replied. “Send it over, and I shall see what it needs!”
So, off the story went to the author's writer friend! The author waited for her friend's response.
And waited.
And waited.
At last, the author heard back from her writer friend!
“Did you find whatever was wrong with it?” the author asked.
“Of course!” the fellow writer replied. “Your spelling and punctuation were all over the place! But don't worry; I fixed it right up for you!”
“Er, thanks,” said the author. She still had a nagging sense that something was off, but at least now she could be sure that her spelling and punctuation were correct.
Maybe she was imagining things, the author thought. Maybe there weren't any problems after all. Maybe she should just forget the matter and go to bed. So she did...
...and in the dead of night, she sat straight up in bed and slapped herself in the forehead. She had written that it was afternoon! There wouldn't be any stars!
The end
