Jane Levi

The forest was serene and peaceful yet alive with hundreds of sounds Illustrator J. Palmer for ‘Swaying in the Breeze’ by Megan M. Gannett, 13. Published November/December 2003. To our adult readers and supporters… In the eternal words of the song from Cabaret, “Money makes the world go around.” A pledge of the equivalent value of one cappuccino a month from each of you who read this Newsletter would be transformational for Stone Soup. Please join with us to support children’s creativity. Thank you.  A note from William Rubel Firstly, very special thanks to those of you who have recently made donations. We are so appreciative. Thank you. Recipes for the December issue are due September 15. We need all recipes turned in by then so we can properly test them. This is our second year publishing recipes. Please, read my post on writing recipes and get to work! Also, for your review, here are links to recipes published last December. Parents and grandparents! This is a project that can probably use your help. Thanks. Concrete Poetry extension! I know this is a tough one. We have extended the deadline for the concrete poetry contest one month, to September 15th. You now have a whole extra month to tackle the challenge. Concrete poetry is a piece of visual art made with words. The shape of a person, a pet, the sun, the crescent moon, a square, a car, a tree, an egg, your teacher’s marking pen, desk, shoe, a fading shadow. A squiggly line: worm, snake, stick, dream. Rectangle: brick, bread, phone, a piece of paper. Leaf, flame, splash of color. Tear drop. Here is a classic example of concrete poetry, “Swan and Shadow” (1969) by the poet John Hollander. . Our editor, Emma Wood, describes what she is looking for in this contest as follows: Many readers understand a concrete poem to be a poem that takes the shape of its subject—a poem about a swan in the shape of a swan, for instance. Though that is certainly a type of concrete poem, a concrete poem can also be more than that. A concrete poem is a piece of art to which both the visual and the written element are essential. With just the image (no words), you lose something, just as with only the words (no image), you lose something. A concrete poem is one you need to see as well as hear! The Wikipedia has a good article on Concrete Poetry. It tells us that “the idea of using letter arrangements to enhance the meaning of a poem is old” and is known to go back to at least ancient Greece in the centuries 200 BCE to 300 BCE—a little over two thousand years ago. So, concrete poetry is a new thing, an old thing, and above all else, a real creative challenge! Make it your thing, and submit an entry to our contest. We look forward to reading your work. As always, submit contest entries using our submit page. Until next week, Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at stonesoup.com! This week we have a post from a slightly older young blogger: Olivia Joyce, a student at UC Santa Cruz, has come up with a fantastic activity based around a portfolio we published in the March issue. You can find her call for you to imagine whole new worlds here. In the review section, you can read the latest review from Nina Vigil, this week of The Adventures of a Girl Called Bicycle by Christina Uss. From Stone Soup November/December 2003 Swaying in the Breeze By Megan M. Gannett, 13 Illustrated by J. Palmer In many ways Aubin Tupper was a lonely child, with no children nearby he thought of as friends. Living out in the country with his parents and little brother, he had homeschooled since grade two—it hadn’t taken him long to find out that the public school nearest wasn’t for him. He didn’t hate learning, more the opposite of that, but so many noisy children and frustrated teachers got tiring after a while. He was a quiet, timid, scared little mouse that recoiled whenever someone approached. Aubin had had a love of nature and animals since he was born and a tendency to take refuge in make-believe worlds. He learned to read quickly and was soon consuming thick novels at a teenager’s level. He had a vivid, active imagination and often slipped into it, forgetting everything except the goings-on inside his head. Since Mr. Tupper was a truck driver and away much of the time, the homeschooling rested in his wife’s hands. She did a good job, and soon Aubin and his brother, Forrest, were academically ahead of most kids their age. When Aubin was ten and Forrest was five, their family moved to a different acreage, this one bigger, beside a lake. In the midst of a scattered farming community, there was a school within walking distance, which the boys would hopefully attend and make friends at. To any stranger meeting Aubin he would appear mysterious, different and would probably provoke their curiosity. It was impossible to forget his appearance—wavy, red-gold hair tossed about by the wind; wide, thoughtful, clear, blue eyes and a fine-boned, small, yet strong and healthy figure, which resembled a deer when he sprinted across open fields. His physical being hid his personality; which surfaced only when he was alone, in nature. Aubin was rarely seen without Forrest, a mischievous little boy always running off and needing to be found. He was the best friend Aubin had. That is, the best human friend. When the Tuppers moved to their new home they brought with them the rest of the family: Annie (Mrs. Tupper’s horse), Jake (Forrest’s pony) and Guthrie (Aubin’s beloved black gelding); Whiskers—his companion of a gerbil—and Dan and Baily, two sleek, gray housecats. And of course Fifi, the family’s frisky border collie. Without those animals, Aubin would have felt as if without friends. His wanting for human friends was very small, as he didn’t want to risk

To our adult readers and supporters… In the eternal words of the song from Cabaret, “Money makes the world go around.” A pledge of the equivalent value of one cappuccino a month from each of you who read this Newsletter would be transformational for Stone Soup. Please join with us to support children’s creativity. Thank you. Donate   I sat on my bunk and waited for the dinner bell to ring Illustrator Alondra Paredes, 12, for ‘Last Summer at Camp’ by Eliza Edwards-Levin, 11. Published May/June 2011. A note from William Rubel Summer Journals Only one of you has so far sent me a photograph of your Summer Journal. Thank you Abhimanyu! To the rest of you – please don’t hold out on me! Take a photo of your journal and send it to me by replying to this Newsletter or submit into our blog category clearly labelled as Summer Journal. We posted Abhi’s Summer Journal’s opening pages on our blog last week, and we really look forward to reading more about his summer. What Abhi has given us is a very strong beginning that should be an inspiration to all of us who are not keeping journals to get started! Notice how much information is conveyed though his matter-of-fact voice. In perfect “show don’t tell” style, Abhi discloses that the maid’s social standing is low by mentioning that she sleeps on the floor, while everyone else sleeps in a bed. He conveys the information that the electrical grid is not perfect and the climate is hot by talking about the on-again off-again air conditioning, and conveys the tropical splendor of his Grandmother’s garden by talking about the fruits that he picks there. Abhimanyu has the sense that nothing changes in India where his grandmother lives, and he conveys how comfortable and happy the family’s time there is. It can sometimes be difficult to see change, as it often occurs very slowly, but when you look back twenty years later you see just how how dfferent things actually are. I am sure that Abhi’s journal will make interesting reading in 2038. And so will your journals. Contemporaneous notes tend to have a freshness, level of detail, and level of accuracy that memoire writing doesn’t have. Without a journal, what will you actually remember of your Summer 2018 in 2038? Speaking from experience, I’d say not much! It is still Summer vacation, so take up pen and paper and get to work. At the least, document every day for one week. Then, take stock of what you’ve written and decide whether to push on for another week. If you keep it up, then journal writing will become a habit. Keep it up for a lifetime and you will have created something of real value that might even make you famous!  Concrete Poetry Contest – nine days left to submit! Don’t forget to enter our concrete poetry contest. The closing date 15th August, so you still have time to get your creative juices flowing! Read Editor Emma’s advice in our Submittable portal and who knows, you might submit one of the winning poems. Happy writing, and good luck. Recipes for our Food Issue If writing a summer journal isn’t your thing, maybe spending some time in the kitchen is. We are looking for your recipes to include in the Stone Soup Food Issue. For a chance to have your recipe included in our special December issue you’ll need to get it to us before September 15th. You can read some good advice on recipe writing in Submittable. Until next week         Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at stonesoup.com! Little Stories is a lovely set of drawings from Annalise Braddock, You can also hear her talking about them via a piece of audio we have loaded on the page. Don’t miss it! In our review section, this week we have a movie review by Abhi Sukhdial, of The Breadwinner (readers of his journal will know that he watched quite a few movies on that long flight to India…). “I… I’ve been writing a little…” she said, “and I was wondering… if you could read it?” From Stone Soup
May/June 2011 Last Summer at Camp By Eliza Edwards-Levin, 11
Illustrated by Alondra Paredes, 12   The boat thrummed, vibrated for a few seconds, then stopped completely. “All right! All right! Everybody out! Everybody out!” yelled the driver. The whole scene made me think of some classical book or movie. But I liked it. It made me think of how much I loved camp last year—how excited I’d been for months leading up to now to go back. I shoved the little sliver of homesickness that was already crowding into my throat and grinned. Things were starting to look familiar. There were hills covered in tiny dots of brownish-gray that would be our cabins. There was a colorful, big dining hall, big enough to feed eighty kids three times a day, with signs all over it that said Recycle or Camp Three Rivers 1990. And the counselors were lined up on the dock, ready to meet and greet us, ready to attempt to impress our parents. All of them wore T-shirts that said Camp Three Rivers on them in big blue block letters. Counselors. Last year I’d had the perfect counselor. Pretty. Young. Sweet. Smart, but not nerdy. Cool, but not stereotypical. I hoped for her. I prayed for her, despite my not being religious. I… “Zoe? Are… are you Zoe?” asked a voice, rapidly cutting off my stream of reminiscence. I looked up. It was a counselor. She was on the chubby side, smiling, and young. Looked nice. I nodded. “I’m Lyla,” she smiled-said. You know what I mean. When people say something, but you could really tell what they’re saying even if they weren’t saying it. Only people with big smiles can do this. Definitely not me. “It’s great to meet you,” Lyla said. “I’ll be your counselor this year!” I had no idea what to say.