Yep, I agree with Chi - they want to see what you can do that fits their bill, not see what you've done to fit someone else's bill. A mock-up should be fine.

It's obviously easier to send something you already have, but something custom-written seems like an excellent idea. Just make sure to have someone else proof it.

Ailleann, may I suggest writing something about John Philip Sousa? As one of the most well-known directors of the U.S. Marine Band, if you could find something unique about him to highlight or just present the information in a different way I'm sure you'd win their hearts in a second! Show off both your writing skills and your research skills at the same time.

Thanks Sail, that's an excellent idea! Yay research!

Challenge #103 (box in the back of the closet) is now closed.

Challenge #104 is school lunches, which is a topic I'm unashamedly stealing from Anne Lamott.

This is revenge. This is revenge because I cannot read the words "school lunch" without this coming back to me. Apologies to those eating...no wait. Skip this if you are eating. -

I can still call up the smell of my elementary cafeteria. One that never changed, no matter the day's meal.

There were two trash buckets in front of the tray return window.

One was for paper, your milk cartons and napkins.

The other was for everything else.

Butteredcannedcorn-hamburgermacaronihelper-whiteroll-sausagecheesepizza- chocolatemilk-wholemilk-cheeseburger-fries-fruitcocktail-chickennuggets- cheezyenchiladas-spaghettiandmeatsauce-hotdog-grilledcheese-applesauce-salad

A slurping, sloshing stew in a 50 gallon bucket.

And the kindergarten monitor had to ask why I wasn't eating my lunch?

lunch

It was always the mashed potatos. You and me, baby, true starchy love.

I'd trade my hot dogs or square of pizza for the scoops of mashed potatos, so stiff and thick I piled them four scoops high.

Don't give my your "homestyle" mashed potatos with chunks of potato (unless there's lots of garlic and cheese in there too). Give me the industrial processed mashed potato scoop. Give me the gravy only if you've been very good.

ConnieNMashedPotato4Evah. Yeah.

I never knew how he did it. Maybe just his manner: all the good bits of Southern gentility, without the racism or pomposity. There were always at least four girls sitting with him at lunch, loudly razzing him, vying for his attention, or just soaking up his kindness. He didn't date much that year -- his sweetheart was a year older, already at college. But oh, how they loved him. And for one sweet, blessed year, I sat with them, trying like hell not to make a fool of myself as I learned what it was to be a gentleman.

Lovely, Karl. You certainly learned that lesson well.

And in a complete change of mood, I offer:

The lunchroom always had that tang of bad tomato soup cooked too long in aluminum vats, that unmistakeable composite of acids sharp enough to strip tender nosehairs and turn the stomach.

Mother didn't waste money on metal or plastic lunchboxes. Inside a brown paper bag soft and wrinkled with reuse was one slice of baloney on white bread with yellow mustard, and a peeled hard-boiled egg, the slick white greyed by hours confined in an aluminum tea ball, "to keep it from getting squashed". And there was usually a nickel in my coat pocket for a half-pint of milk.

There’s a tradition in my family, handed down from my grandmother to my mother to me. I’ll pass it along to my kids some day. About sixth grade, it started to get embarrassing when my friend saw, but it always made me smile inside. What you do is, in the morning when you’re making lunch, you write a note on the banana. You don’t need a pen; your fingernail works just fine to barely scrape the banana peel. It doesn’t show up right away, but by lunchtime, the broken skin has browned, and the banana says “XOXO” or “LOVE YOU.”