An update from our twelfth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday September 11, plus some of the output published below Conner Bassett began our fall session of writing workshops with a question: what does it mean to write fiction or poetry? His answer? To put into language what is inherently nonlinguistic. This definition, he realized, could be simplified into one word—metaphor. From there we defined metaphor (a comparison between two things), using famous phrases such as “Life is a highway” & “All the world is a stage” as examples. Through a reading of Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the Thing with Feathers,” we learned how metaphors can help us make abstract concepts into concrete images. To further this point, we looked at two works of art published in the September 2021 Issue of Stone Soup—I Feel Music by Serena Li & The Hidden World by Sabrina Lu. Next, we learned how metaphors can help us understand complex ideas and emotions through a discussion surrounding the line “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!” from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. This concept was strengthened by visual metaphors seen in the Egyptian Icon The Ladder of Divine Ascent and Wyeth’s Christina’s World. Finally, we learned how metaphors transform one thing into something completely different so that we can see it in a new way. Examples used to back up this concept were a sentence from John Green’s The Fault in our Stars, a few lines from Sylvia Plath’s poem “Metaphors,” and an advertisement for sunglasses in which lenses were transformed into lemon slices. The Challenge: Two part prompt. First, write a one sentence metaphor about this painting: Norham Castle, Sunrise. Then, write a story or a poem that begins and ends with the same metaphor. The Participants: Emma, Simran, Clara, Sinan, Olivia, Lina, Josh, Ellie, Alice B, Audrey, and Svitra Svitra Rajkumar, 13(Fremont, CA) Free as a Bird Svitra Rajkumar, 13 Feathers flap, determined. Wings glide, graceful. “You can’t be a bird If you don’t fly,” they say. You can’t be a bird if you don’t try. So I watch each baby bird Flap its wings and grow. Soon it flies away But I have no choice But to stay. “Why don’t I go Towards the sky,” they ask. Why can’t I be the bird that Doesn’t Fly.
Saturday Newsletter: September 11, 2021
BlueJay (Watercolor) By Zoe Campbell, 11 (San Francisco, CA) & published in the September 2021 Issue of Stone Soup A note from Emma Good morning, everyone! I’d like to thank William for his wonderful video celebrating the publication of Tristan’s novel last week. I have written about her novel a number of times—but in short, it is truly a wonderful read and an excellent book. I am so excited to share it with you and encourage you to go support this young author by buying your copy now. Refugee Project Fundraiser Overall, we are so thrilled at the response we’ve had to our refugee project fundraiser. Thank you to everyone who has donated so far! As further incentive, we’d like to announce that Spencer and Sabrina Guo—a former Stone Soup contributor and intern who was instrumental in launching the project—have generously offered to make a $3,000 matching donation. Thank you, Spencer and Sabrina! Classes Classes began today! Thank you to everyone who signed up and showed up. We are so exciting to spend this fall making art with you. For those of you who missed the initial call, please know that there is still space to sign up and that classes will be prorated accordingly. Weekend Project Right now, I’d like you to scroll down and read Benjamin Ding’s poem “Materialism.” . . . . . . Okay, welcome back. I love how this poem so perfectly pinpoints the absurdity of the world we live in—a world where we worry about our houses and work hard to make them livable while ignoring our larger home, the Earth, and all of its incredible inhabitants. Why do we spend money to repair an air conditioner, a machine that is itself contributing to the extinction of species like the Asian elephant, when we could get rid of the AC and donate that money to an animal conservation project? Benjamin calls this phenomenon “materialism.” Materialism is simply when our desire to buy and own things is greater than our desire to accrue experiences and strengthen relationships. In the US, we have a very materialistic society: many people work very hard so they can earn money and buy things. The time they spend working is time they cannot spend with their family or friends, or exploring new places, or reading books they love, or wondering about “species / on the verge of extinction.” While it is very hard to go against the current of mainstream culture, I urge you to try! As for your weekend project: I invite you to create a work inspired by a concept. This concept could be “materialism,” as in Benjamin’s poem, or it could be something totally different—maybe even one you don’t even understand, like string theory! It can also be something simpler, such as culture, family, happiness, love, time, reality, sanity, safety, or work. Try to think about what these things actually are to you versus what they are understood to be in our culture—and then write (or draw) around those ideas. Until next week, Back-to-School Sale Through 11:59pm Pacific Time, September 15th, take 25% all annual subscriptions when you use the code SCHOOL21 at checkout! Refugee Project Dear friends and supporters of Stone Soup, Since the launch of the Refugee Project, we have partnered with seven organizations providing on-the-ground support to children living in refugee camps, as well as those resettled in host countries. Through these partnerships, we have collected over 300 pieces of artwork and writing by refugee youth. These creative works are currently on display in our newly created web portal for the project, which you can explore here. As we have said many times before, the media so often portrays refugee youth as the subject of a narrative. The Stone Soup Refugee Project provides a platform for these young people to tell their own stories, in their own voices. To make this vision a reality, we need your help. We have set ourselves a target goal of $10,000 to pilot the program. These funds will go toward the development of workshops delivered to young people in refugee camps, the facilitation of creative exchanges between young people, and the work of collecting and publishing more material on the Refugee Project website. In addition, funds will be used to support our Refugee Project contributing organizations and the young people they serve in the ways in which they deem valuable, such as the purchase of supplies and possible scholarship funds. —Laura Moran, Refugee Project Director Contest News Flash Contest #35: Write a story about you, but in a parallel universe where you had a different life. Don’t forget to submit to this month’s Flash Contest, provided by contributor Molly Torinus, before tomorrow at midnight! To submit to this contest, please visit our Submittable page. Selfie Contest Since Stone Soup’s last selfie contest in 2017, the selfie has taken on a new form: the masked selfie. That’s why we’re enlisting you to participate in our 2021 Selfie Contest: With and Without Masks. As has always been the case, we want these selfies to tell us a story. Think about how masks can both aid and make more difficult the expression of thoughts and feelings. How can you show us who you are behind the mask, and how can you build off of that image once the mask disappears, or vice versa? Get creative! Try something you’ve never thought to try before! Surprise us, and—most importantly—surprise yourself! You may submit up to four selfies: two with a mask and two without. Deadline: October 3, 2021 To submit to this contest, please visit our Submittable page. Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at Stonesoup.com! Young Blogger Sofie Dardzinski wrote two beautiful and inspirational poems: one, “The Common Worker,” in celebration of Labor Day, and the other, “Coming Together,” about addressing climate change. Anandi, 11, wrote a scintillating essay in argument against Idaho’s transgender sports ban, “Brain, Not Body.” From Stone Soup September 2021
The Early Bird May Catch the Worm, but It’s Never Too Late to Get into the Game, a personal narrative by Phoenix Crucillo, 12
Phoenix Crucillo, 12 (Los Angeles, CA) The Early Bird May Catch the Worm, but It’s Never Too Late to Get into the Game Phoenix Crucillo, 12 It was the day our baseball team had worked so hard for—the Little League Championship Game. Over the last four months, twenty teams had competed vigorously to earn one of two coveted spots for the championship game. And I was on one of those teams — the Braves! It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and our team was down by one run with two outs and the bases loaded. It was now my turn to bat. The sun scorched its hot rays down my back. My thick mask itched, and I longed to rub my nose on one of the long sleeves I wore underneath my jersey. Still, none of these irritations came close to the unease I felt as I walked up to the plate. I took a deep breath before crouching into my batting stance. My heart pounded through my chest. After studying the catcher’s signs carefully, the pitcher nodded in acknowledgement of their secret language. Just then, the pitcher adjusted his grip on the seams, lifted his front leg, and released the ball…. … If someone had told me four months earlier that I’d be playing in the championship, I wouldn’t have believed them. I’d never played baseball before. It all started one seemingly ordinary day…. After a long day of school, I waited for my mom to pick me up. All the other kids had already gone. “Um, should I call my mom?” I asked my teacher. “If you feel the need,” he smirked. Just then, she pulled up. I stuffed my belongings in the car, eager to go home and relax with my favorite video game before tackling my homework. Just as I was getting comfortable, she spoke the words that would change my life. “I signed you up for a baseball team,” she said nonchalantly. “Your soccer season doesn’t start until spring, so I thought you might enjoy another sport in the meantime.” “But Mom, I don’t want to go! Kids in that league have been playing their whole lives! It’s not a place for beginners like me! It’s too hard to start playing a new sport like this. Like you always say, ‘the early bird catches the worm,’ so starting baseball at twelve years old will make me the early worm… who’ll get eaten!” She chuckled and just kept driving to the baseball field. I knew it was useless to protest, so I surrendered to my fate. As we pulled up to the field, I saw something that shocked me like a horror movie. The players were warming up on a massively daunting field, talking and laughing as if they’d known each other all their lives. Oh no, they already know each other. Now I’m never going to make friends. And this field is so gigantic! How am I ever going to play on this?! “Alright!” yelled the coach in a southern accent. “Let’s all sit down in a circle and introduce ourselves.” “I’m Phoenix,” I said meekly. No one else needed an introduction. They all knew each other. Just as I thought. Time for fielding practice. I didn’t even know what that was, but I followed along. “Alright. The drill is simple. Get the ground ball I hit to you and throw to first base. Once you’re done, get back in line and wait until it’s your turn again,” Coach instructed. Like a chameleon, I stood in the middle of the line in a feeble attempt not to stand out as a beginner. The first player fielded the ball flawlessly and threw it like a dart to the first baseman. Each of my teammates fielded Coach’s hits with precision. Obviously, they had been playing this game for many years. Now it was my turn. I tried to pick up the ball that Coach hit my way, but I completely failed. “Coach, may I have another one?” I yelled so he could hear. “Sure thing,” he said as he hit a ground ball softer off his wood bat. I picked it up, almost stumbling, and threw it too far to the right of the first baseman. Oh, no! I’ll never make it! “Hey, are you new?” one of the bigger kids asked me. “Yeah, why?” “Oh, that’s why,” he mumbled to himself. My heart sank. “Okay now, next are fly balls. So go into the outfield and wait,” Coach instructed. Within minutes, a fly ball came soaring straight at me. Oh, no! Could this day get any worse? There’s no way I’m going to catch this, I thought as I raised my open glove into the air. Thud! I looked into my glove, where, to my astonishment, I saw the ball tucked away in the supple brown leather. Yeeeessss! Maybe I’m not so terrible after all. “Team, meet our new outfielder!” Coach proclaimed enthusiastically. His words magically erased my teammate’s earlier comment. A few weeks later, it was time for our first game. I felt so unprepared. Mom dropped me off at the batting cages, where I watched each of my teammates hit every ball pitched to them. Now, it was my turn. As hard as I focused, the pitches roared past me. There was something about these pitches that made them impossible to connect with. I felt lucky to hit a couple of balls. “Okay, that’s enough warm-up. It’s game time,” Coach yelled. One by one, we eagerly entered the dugout like a line of army ants ready for duty. Suddenly, Coach called out the batting lineup. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I suddenly broke out into a cold sweat when he called my name last. “Why am I last?” I asked. “I put you last because this is your first game. The other kids have more experience.” I listened, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the ground where they
