An update from our first Writing Workshop with new teacher, Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, April 17, plus some of the output published below In his first class under the official title of Stone Soup Creative Writing Instructor, Conner Bassett “called an audible,” and delivered a scintillating lecture on the use of “and” in literature as well as visual art. As he reminded us, although this was our first official workshop together, all of us, students and staff alike, are in the midst of our writing journeys, making this Writing Workshop less of a beginning, and more of an “and.” Over the course of the workshop, we learned about the uniquely conjoining, relational, and aggregational nature of the swiss army knife contraction, noting specifically its different uses within the titles Crime and Punishment and Being and Nothingness. We also looked at Marcel Duchamp’s conversion of a urinal into a “fountain” in his famous museum exhibition, noticing how this subversion of meaning connoted the effect of the word “and.” Moving through the expression of “and” in works by Magritte, Warhol, the general nature of Islamic art, and in the effect of the comic panel, we read an excerpt from Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses in order to see the “speed” of and. Finally, we considered “and’s” ability to transcend time and conjoin the present with the past in Ezra Pound’s poetic masterwork The Cantos, and Dylan Thomas’ poem “And Death Shall Have No Dominion.” And, of course, at the end of the workshop we wrote! The Challenge: In 30 minutes, write one of three types of pieces; one, write a story or poem where you replace every period with the word “and”; two, write a story or poem that begins “in the middle,” beginning with the word “and”; or, three, start a new story or poem at the end of an old one, beginning with the word “and.” The Participants: Emma, Harine, Georgia, Helen, Aditi, Olivia, Simran, Liam, Svitra, Noa, Anya, Audrey, Isolde, Alice, Samantha, Maddy, Sena, Sasha, Sinan, Emizzi, Jackson, Sophia. Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA The House That Didn’t Fit In Anya Geist, 14 And the whole house seemed to not quite fit in, always a bit out-of-place. The floors were old and scuffed but regal nevertheless, so whenever I saw them I was reminded of the days when a creaky old house with rusty nails leaching through the peeling white paint was fresh and new, not a relic of a bygone era by the side of a road where motorcycles revved their engines late into the night. The windows, too, gave off this odd sense, with their dust-caked panes and sagging sashes and musty curtains. Not so much windows they were, as rippled, dirty pieces of glass shoved into the wall. And there was one window I recalled, in the living room above the stiff old couch with a stained glass drawing, again so hopelessly out of place—both out of place in this out-of-time mass of a house and out of place at the junction of two rural New Hampshire highways—where the sun would stream in, alighting the whole place, the rugs, the armchairs, the old wedding photos decaying on side tables in little ornate frames with a glow that perhaps belonged more in a cathedral; not, like I said, at a rural highway junction, nor in a house with a tiny first-floor bathroom painted with peeling wallpaper and smothered by this old, rundown smell, maybe which had something to do with the horrible squeaks that came out of the faucets—two faucets, one hot, one cold; that’s how old it was!—and washed your hands with slimy soap. Yes, even the soap didn’t fit in—or maybe it did, since it was all weird and felt gross on your hands when you thrust them under the frigid iron-filled water—but it didn’t really fit with the whole modern world; it didn’t leave you feeling clean. And then up the stairs—the stairs were steep, sharp, and one could imagine them in an old colonial town, and I do believe the house was from the 1800s—you would find the bedrooms. The bedrooms above the kitchen with the terribly old stove that I don’t believe could be used anymore and instead took up space and held different jars of jam which I always thought could be sold at the local farmer’s market, and we’d use the jam to make sandwiches with bread from that same farmer’s market on that little fold-out table that always seemed as if it might fall apart. At any rate, the bedrooms were stuffed with pillows and such because no one ever really used them except for the master bedroom, stuffed with Cabbage Patch dolls and little plastic toys from when we were toddlers—how out of place, 21st century manufacturing was in this house! Truly most things were out of place. This house, old and falling apart only ten feet from the highway—quite literally ten feet—and so near to that corner store which also was a gas station, and doesn’t even have heating for the winter. But then—when I walked around the side of the house—it didn’t even have a back door, except in the basement, and I daren’t go down to the basement—I saw the backyard, which was unkempt and wild and disturbed by those pesky motorcycles screeching down the road at ten at night, and maybe the house wasn’t so out of place after all. Emma Hoff, 9Bronx, NY Sensibility Emma Hoff, 9 And when she was picked, she had long hair. Long, flowing hair, dark as the night sky, which never seemed to be blue, and dark as the colors of the witches cloaks, which were always pulled so tightly around themselves, like how tight the buns on top of their heads were. We had a visit from the most important witches recently, they were here to choose. I had always been a promising child. “Lots of potential, just needs to speak up more.”
The Winter/Spring Writing Workshop Showcase
An appreciation of those who participated in our Winter/Spring Writing Workshop Session On April 3, 2021, we held our second official end of term reading, a showcase wherein our authors read aloud their best work in front of an audience. While not all of our authors decided to share their work, the formal reading still served as a way of honoring all those who attended the Writing Workshop, whose sharing of work and space over the course of the session strengthened the writing of everyone involved. So, thank you Madeline K, Sophie, Lena, Hera, Julia, Ava, Sierra, Anya, Margaret, Peri, Grace, Liam, Enni, Nami, Anna, Lucy, Maggie, Lina, Sadie, Reese, Samantha, Katie, Tilly, Nova, Iago, Leo, Georgia, Eve, Simran, Ismini, Jonathan, Yasmine, Analise, Charlotte M, Elbert, Emi, Angela, Emma, Noa, Katie P, Pranjoli, Alice, Tegan, Rachael, Olivia Z, Kaidyn, Lucy, Sage, Olivia G, Olivia S, Ruhi, and Madeline S for your continued participation throughout the course of this session, and for inspiring each other to take your writing to greater heights. We are all so proud of all of you! A summary of those who read and their work, in order of appearance “Eclipse,” a short story by Nova Macknik-Conde, 9, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism. “Book Zero,” an excerpt by Leo Michelman, 11, refined in Writing Workshop #32: Intro to Invented Words and Artlang “Heart and Brain,” a short story by Peri Gordon, 11, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism “The Girl’s Revenge,” a short story by Lindsay Gao, 9, written in Writing Workshop #33: Larger Than Life Characters “Memory Loss,” a short story by Hannah Nami Gajcowski, 10, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism “Nothing but Black,” a short story by Lena Aloise, 11, written in Writing Workshop #35: Emerging From “Sunset,” a poem by Iago Macknik-Conde, 14, written in Writing Workshop #35: Emerging From “Fox Girl,” a short story by Sierra Elman, 11, written in Writing Workshop #33: Larger Than Life Characters “Pedestrians,” a short story by Liam Hancock, 13, written in Writing Workshop #36: Veering “No Way to Escape,” a short story by Rachael Lippe, 10, written in Writing Workshop #31: Chance Operations for Fun, Challenge, & a Different Kind of Expression “Shadow Wolf,” a short story by Lina Kim, 10, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism “The Finish Line,” a short story by Enni Harlan, 14, written in Writing Workshop #37: Antiheroes “What And Is,” a poem by Anya Geist, 14, written in Writing Workshop #31: Chance Operations for Fun, Challenge, & a Different Kind of Expression
Flash Contest #30, April 2021: Visit the same place every day for a week and document what you see–our winners and their work
Our April Flash Contest was based on our weekly creativity prompt #147 written by Stone Soup ’20–21 Intern Sage Millen. Her prompt, which asked participants to visit the same spot every day for a week and record what they saw—whether through art, photography, or writing—generated a wide array of fabulous submissions, from daily photographic representation of a lounging house cat to ultra-scientific observation notes reminiscent of natural science journals. Thank you to all who submitted their stunning work, and thanks again to Sage for providing us with the prompt! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Observing My Backyard” by Rishan Chakraborty, 11 (Portland, OR) “The Island” by Madeline Cleveland, 11 (Belleville, WI) “The Tales of Freeman Gardens” by Claire Liotta, 12 (Glen Ridge, NJ) “Dolly’s Home” by Elizabeth Sabaev, 10 (Forest Hills, NY) “Over the Ditch” by Daniel Shorten, 10 (Mallow, Ireland) Honorable Mentions “My Backyard” by Reena Bao, 11 (Bedford, MA) “My Description Paragraphs for Six Days” by Diya Chakrabarti, (Portland, OR) “Times of the Day in My Room” by Chelsea Liang, 11 (San Jose, CA) “Our Playground” by Tang Li, 8 (Palmetto Bay, FL) “Magnolia Bliss” by Pranjoli Sadhukha, 11 (Newark, OH) “Interesting” by Ava Shorten, 11 (Mallow, Ireland) Selected for the Stone Soup COVID-19 Blog “My School” by Feifei Wan, 9 (Portland, OR) Selected for the Stone Soup Blog “Spring in Central Park” by Lila Laton (New York, NY) Rishan Chakraborty, 11 (Portland, OR) Observing My Backyard Rishan Chakraborty, 11 4:00 p.m. 4/5/2021 On the second floor of the southeastern part of my house, my work room provides a spectacular view of our backyard. Right outside my window, which faces east, a noble fir with peculiar blue-green needles is located. When I was little, I thought that a Christmas tree with needles the same color would look amazing. However, I realize now that cutting the tree down would be a shame. All of the trees rock in the wind, but the noble fir is steadfast. When it does move, it moves gently, and sometimes it almost seems like it is breathing. 4:00 p.m. 4/6/2021 On the opposite side of the noble fir, a large, shaggy curly willow resides. When I was younger, my brother and I would grab one of the many dangling branches and run, pretending we were swinging from vines like Tarzan. Earlier, the branches were bare and speckled with tiny curly leaves. Now, there are hundreds of leaves on the tree, and the shape of its branches gives it the appearance of possessing bright green hair. 4:00 p.m. 4/7/2021 In our backyard, we have an old, tattered play structure. As a young child, it was one of my favorite places to hang out. Imagination would turn it into a spaceship, a boat, an airplane, and even a temple. In the summer, we would invite neighborhood kids to play with water guns, and the play structure could be used as a fort offering a vantage point, or somewhere to escape if you were under attack. Now, the slides are dirty, the swings rickety, the tarp missing one half, but I still cherish the fond memories associated with it. 4:00 p.m. 4/8/2021 A bird comes along, its purpose undefined. Very likely it came looking for food. The question remains unanswered. I did some research and discovered that it was probably an American Robin, which is known to search for insects on the ground, hopping around in the process. I have keenly observed birds in my backyard too, such as a hummingbird, which flits around looking for its food. Spring is here, and as the days grow longer, more and more birds will start showing up, almost as if they are making the backyard come alive. 4:00 p.m. 4/9/2021 In the very middle of my backyard, a solitary maple sits, deserted on an island of dirt. A few flowers nearby don’t provide much company. The maple tree once had a bird feeder, and would be visited by birds all day, but since the feeder was taken down, it has been left alone. It sits on an island of dirt, surrounded by a sea of grass, almost like a stranded castaway. A coconut also used to be on the same island, before it was taken and cracked open with a rock by two 6-year-olds. Now, the maple is left to itself. 4:00 pm 4/10/2021 In my backyard, a noble fir with interesting blue-green needles sways, as though breathing. In my backyard, a willow tree swings in the wind, branches swishing through the air. In my backyard, a damaged play structure creaks, enduring everything thrown at it through the years. In my backyard, a bird appears, although not the first one to visit. In my backyard, a maple mourns and wishes for company. In my backyard, memories stay alive. Madeline Cleveland, 11 (Belleville, WI) The Island Madeline Cleveland, 11 Day one: A buttery golden carp jumps a few feet from my boat as I sink my paddle into the water’s still surface. I hear a scraping sound as my kayak runs aground on a gravely beach. I have reached my destination. I carefully walk onto the muddy shore. A few moments later, I am in tall swaying dry grass. I sit down on the bank to write this. Another graceful fish splashes, breaking the quiet. Carp are common in this lake, but each is beautiful and unique. Kind of like people that way, each and every one is special. I walk back to my kayak and paddle to shore. Day two: I sit on the shore in the same spot I did yesterday. I’m starting to realize why the fish love this place so much. This island is untamed. On one side, there is a gravely cove, perfect for parking kayaks. On the other, there is a sandy beach. And, on the south tip, where I sit, is a serene area with moss carpeting the lake floor. The carp are especially fond of these shallows.
