An update from our forty-third Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday June 5, plus some of the output published below In this workshop, William took one of his earliest writing workshop topics—alliteration—and reworked it, adding more for the writers of the group to think about. In addition to alliteration, William also reviewed the technique of assonance, which occurs when the sounds in the middle of words repeat themselves. The class went over examples of alliteration and assonance, including from Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. The Challenge: Either find a piece of prose that you’ve already written, and add alliteration OR start something fresh using the techniques of alliteration. The Participants: Sage, Reese, Chelsea, Lena A, Delight, Madeline, Helen, Margaret, Hanbei, Peri, Julia, Pranjoli, Nami, Angela, Jonathan, Audrey, Gia, Jaya, Peter, Sierra, Arishka, Grace, Tilly, Mahika, Mia, Iago, Charlotte, Rachael, Lina. Nami Gajcowski, 11Seattle, WA The Soul in the Clouds Nami Gajcowski, 11 I clutched a soft avocado in my hand and squished it slightly. It had just the right firmness and it would be fantastic in guacamole. I heard a sharp yelp, so I spun around to see a toddler with a desperate scream. I covered my ears before dropping the avocado into my shopping cart. Then, I pushed my items away from the toddler and found myself in the kids’ section. I was in the midst of stuffed zebras and gazelles with the faint buzzing sound of the child’s scream, somewhere near the produce section. I grabbed a plush zebra before dropping it into my shopping cart. I had no use for a zebra, but it would be my only memory of before. It would be the thing that held me onto terrifying, but true, reality. Tens of thousands of people went through this. But they had forgotten. Or maybe they hadn’t. Maybe it was tucked away deep inside their soul, no matter how much they tried to forget about it. No one had mentioned the seemingly perfectly nice people who brought everyone down with a betrayal. No one mentioned how many people were lost in the terrible escape. No one remembered that I was ten and was still clutching a stuffed zebra as the world fell at my feet and then turned into chaos. Or maybe it was forgiven and forgotten. But how could we forgive them? How could life go on as normal, with stores still selling pungent yet petrifying fruit that might’ve contained poison after the betrayal? How could they dare to do that? There was danger in this society. Hints of a downfall appeared here and there. Shocking incidents had confirmed that. But there were no rumors. No nothing. Any hint of what happened after the betrayal that happened now was not noticed or forgotten. Everything around me began swimming in my tear-filled eyes. I was no longer in the clutch of reality. I was floating… floating somewhere far and safe. Floating. Floating out of this world where people forgot about the horrors and tried – but would fail – to rebuild a new society and confirm that everything was okay. But nothing would be okay. Nothing. I could no longer see the grocery store. I was spinning in bright colors, clutching the zebra. Clutching the only thing that had tried and failed to bring me down to the ground. Even though I hated pretending everything was normal even though it wasn’t, I couldn’t go up into the air. I had to stay on the ground. Frantically groping around for something to hold on to was impossible. There was nothing to hold on to. My emotions began to conflict. Calm, terrified. Calm, terrified. Like the never-ending tidal wave that the moon brought. Like the days before the betrayal… like the calmness. But how could I give in to the sensation? I had to. It was the only way to survive. Visions of my life swirled around me. Of before. Of before the terrors. The zebra stuffy that I had– named Ellie – that I used to snuggle with every night. Of my old best friend. Of everything that had happened before. No. I needed to grab on to reality. I pondered shutting my eyes, hoping to block out the visions, but that would only take me farther away from the ground. I needed an anchor. I had no anchor. I had no someone who could be my anchor. I was floating. Floating. I would disappear soon. Off of the face of the earth. Up into the hands of the sky. No. No. No. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t become a wisp of smoke – helpless against the world. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. But I was. I was no longer a person. I was a ghost. With trailing wisps of smoke. I was nothing. I was gone. My soul floated through the clouds. I tried to reach out for it, but it drifted out into the sun. I wasn’t dead. But I wasn’t living. I am an immortal body with no soul – an immortal body in the clouds. My soul continued to drift into the clouds. Soon it was gone. It had entered the sun. It was gone. Forever. Lina Kim, 11Weston, FL Sacrifice of the Sea Lina Kim, 11 Swimming seals sing songs of sacrifice, sending a seahorse to the seafloor. Tiny turtles turn and circle the swimming seahorse. Corals coo the carols of calmness, letting the little seahorse softly fall asleep. The shark swims by, stealing shells from the seafloor, and swims past the sleeping seahorse. The shark sweeps up the seahorse, swooping away to snack on the sleeping seahorse. The creatures are safe for another day. Pranjoli Sadhukha, 11, Newark, OH The Ocean Oasis Pranjoli Sadhukha, 11 The water teemed with wild things. The turtle’s whimsical thoughts were in tune with the sparkling, smiling sun and the beautiful blue-green bliss enveloping his shell. Eventually, he swam to the surface and paused his pondering, letting himself simply enjoy the
Saturday Newsletter: June 12, 2021
A note from Caleb As I have just this week finished my undergraduate studies, turning in a finely tuned creative project of thirty pages, I can understand to some degree the level of time, effort, and skill required to complete a novella. Unlike Ariana, however, my project has not been published and thus has not undergone the same level of edits and in-depth thought. And, to boot, she has done it at only 12 years old! So, let’s take a moment to celebrate Ariana’s monumental achievement. You can read her complete novella here. Weekend Project As suggested by the epigraph of Ariana’s novella, a quote from Oscar Wilde, The Trials and Tribulations of Swifty Appledoe is an inspiring bildungsroman that highlights the importance of being oneself. With a deft understanding of adolescent psychology, Ariana has crafted a deeply empathic, complex, and funny narrative that people of all ages will relate to. Within this excerpt from chapter 17, we see Ariana’s special ability to oscillate between moods while always operating within the realm of taught excitement, thus illustrating the complex array of human emotion present in times of uncertainty. Within her interview with ’20–21 Stone Soup Intern Anya Geist, Ariana revealed a tendency not to adhere to a strict outline as past teachers had advised, but rather to operate with a looser plan that maximized the potential for experimentation. This philosophy, I think, can be seen within the text. Ariana’s ability to encompass a vast spectrum of feeling is emblematic of a writer perfectly in tune with the thoughts and feelings of their characters, her looser vision for the narrative providing an antidote to tunnel vision that allows the text to lead its author to the same extent the author leads it. So, this week I’d like you to come with a loose idea for a story. When you sit down and write, try and allow the story to lead you more so than you lead it. Meditate on its themes. Try and fully inhabit your character(s). Let them take you where they want to take you. As always, if you like what you’ve written, please send it to us at Stone Soup for consideration either in the magazine or on the blog. Until next time, Book Contest 2021 For information on submitting to the Stone Soup Book Contest 2021, please click here. To submit your manuscript, please visit our submittable site. Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at Stonesoup.com! Young Blogger Kathleen Werth wrote a stellar essay on the impact of The Beatles. Young Blogger Daniel Zhu wrote about the history and merits of Spartan education. Writing classes and Book Club Are you looking for classes to inspire, improve, and practice your writing with great teachers and a group of like-minded young writers and readers? Join us! We do charge fees for our clubs and workshops, but we try to keep them as low as possible, and we offer discounts to subscribers and scholarships to students who need them. Contact us at education@stonesoup.com with any questions. Writing Workshop: we have two writing groups for spring/summer that meet via Zoom every Saturday (except for William’s class, which does not meet for the last Saturday of the month). Come write with us and share your work with your peers. Find out more and register for a workshop at Eventbrite. To see some of the great work produced by current workshop members, read contributions published at Stonesoup.com, or join us at one of our free public readings! Book Club: a book club for writers that meets via Zoom on the last Saturday of every month. Find out more and register for book club at Eventbrite. Check out which books we are reading on our website. Young Author’s Studio Summer Camps: we are offering a wide range of classes through the summer jointly with the Society of Young Inklings. Each camp runs for two hours per day, Monday through Thursday. All details and bookings via Society of Young Inklings. From Stone Soup June 2021 The Trials and Tribulations of Swifty Appledoe (Part Three) By Ariana Kralicek, 12 (Auckland, New Zealand) Chapter 17 On the way to the hospital, everything is like a jumble. It kind of feels like sorting through old books, if you know what I mean. There are the ones you love, ones you hate, and ones you can’t even remember reading. Like now. We’re speeding along the streets, Grandma at the wheel and me yelling, “Go, go, go!” I hate that it’s uncertain about how Mum and my brother are. I haven’t heard anything about them yet. And I can’t remember what happened at school. It’s like it was one of those dreams you can’t think about after it’s over because you’ve forgotten. Finally, we arrive at the Auckland Hospital. “Hurry, Grandma!” I impatiently beg as she unloads bags upon bags of gifts. She asks me to carry some for her. I do. They probably weigh at least several kilograms, but they feel as light as feathers to me. We race inside the main building, Grandma briskly walking and me pulling her along crazily. When we get to the reception desk, the lady sitting behind it stares at us boredly. How is she not excited?! This is so weird! Ugh, Swifty. Snap out of it! “Purpose of visit?” she blandly asks. “Grace McClean!” My grandma’s dentures nearly fly out of her mouth. She’s really excited. “Okay. That’s level seven, ward three,” she replies. We hurry over to the elevator. I jab repeatedly at the button going up, while Grandma smiles at me, stressed but bursting with excitement, her foot tapping on the hard floor. Oh boy! The elevator finally arrives, and we race inside. I jab at the level-seven button, and slowly but surely, we go up. “H-hurry, hurry, hurry,” I whisper. “H-hurry, hurry, h-h-hurry.” Ding! The elevator doors roll open. Grandma wobbles out, a big smile plastered on her face. “Ward three—there it is!” she shrieks cheerily. But just as we’re about to go in, I feel a terrible nervous pang in my stomach. My
Life Now, digital artwork by Mihika, 12
Mihika Sarkar Omachi, 12 (San Francisco, CA) Artist’s Note: This digital art is a human-shaped fishbowl. Fishbowls are like a cage because the fish can’t go anywhere, but they also protect the fish by keeping them in water. This is like shelter-in-place because we are all separated from each other, but also we are always at home where we can be observed like fish in a fishbowl.
