Tranquility (needle and thread) by Tatum Lovely, 13; published in the July/August issue of Stone Soup A note from Emma Wood Hello, everyone: I’m writing today with some big and very exciting news. As many of you know, I have been Editor of Stone Soup for the last six years and took over as Executive Director as well this past year. Juggling both roles with my other work commitments, a very busy family life (we have two young children), and a move, was an enormous challenge—and fun in many ways. But it quickly became clear to me that it was not sustainable for the long term. So, the board and I put our heads together, and after careful consideration about the next best move for Stone Soup, we decided that I would stay in the role of director and we would hire a new editor. The board and I spoke with many interesting, qualified, enthusiastic people, and are thrilled to share that Diane Landolf, a freelance editor, a writer, and a former senior editor at Random House Children’s Books, is taking over the editorial reins. When I first spoke with Diane, I knew that I was speaking to a natural editor: she immediately honed in on small details from a recent issue, noting what was working—but more importantly, to the editor’s eye, what could be improved or fixed. She has the attention to detail, the knack for problem-solving, the readerly openness, and the experienced eye required of an excellent editor—as well as a genuine passion for Stone Soup’s mission. Like a number of people I spoke with, she had read Stone Soup as a child. While I’m excited to see what Diane brings to Stone Soup, I am also deeply sad to be stepping away from my day-to-day work on the magazine and books. Over the past six years, I created 64 issues of Stone Soup and nine books by young authors. I learned how to create a magazine, how to edit a book, how to evaluate the work of young writers, how to read with an open mind, how to write with a sense of humor and playfulness, and so much more. I remain so grateful to William Rubel, Stone Soup’s co-founder and director emeritus, for entrusting me with the magazine (and so much more!) when I was much younger and had to rely much more on my grit and resourcefulness than my experience. I am also deeply grateful for all the young writers and artists who entrusted Stone Soup, and by extension me, with their work. Thank you! On a practical note, as I step more fully into my directorial role, I am increasingly aware of some gaps in our staff knowledge base. We remain interested in finding volunteers who have experience in marketing (and specifically Google AdWords) as well as those with educational experience who might be able to help us work toward the next iteration of our educator portal. If this is you, please write to me at emma@stonesoup.com. Onto the next chapter– Stone Soup is published by Children’s Art Foundation-Stone Soup Inc., a 501(c)(3) educational nonprofit organization registered in the United States of America, EIN: 23-7317498.
She Needed Me and I Needed Her: “The Summer We Found the Baby,” reviewed by Sydney Kesselheim, 11
The Summer We Found the Baby by Amy Hest is a realistic fiction novel set in Belle Beach, New York during World War II. The book’s main characters are Julie, age 11, Julie’s little sister, Martha age 6, and their neighbor, Bruno, age 12. The trio finds a baby abandoned on the steps of the Belle Beach Library and Julie decides to keep it as her other little sister. Julie writes “I’m the one who found her. A real, live, baby girl and I saw her first. I saw the basket… I just wanted to hold her awhile. I didn’t mean to take the baby.” (Page 3) The main objective of this story is for the trio to find the mother of the baby and reunite the baby with its family. I found this book to be special because the author writes from several perspectives. The book also depicts how families are coping with loss, and exemplifies how the characters fill gaps in one another’s lives and hearts. Each chapter of this book is written from the perspective of a different person from the trio. As I progressed through the book, my vantage point alternated between Julie, Martha, and Bruno. This is a very engaging style of writing because the story is not filtered through the voice of only one character. Instead, there are multiple points of view, and the reader develops a broader understanding of the other characters’ intentions and feelings. As we cultivate empathy for the people in the book, we understand their emotions better. This makes the book more intriguing and hooks the reader in from the first page. “Six. I’ve been to six of them altogether. Six memorials on the beach. All because of the war,” (Bruno, 109). I found this book absorbing because many characters in the story are struggling with loss of family members and uncertainty about the war and its outcome hovers over the book’s action. For example, the Ben-Eli family worries about their eldest son, Ben, at war in Europe, and they hope each day for a letter from the frontlines. Meanwhile, another family in the community loses their son in battle. In addition, Martha and Julie are continuing to cope with the passing of their mother, who died in childbirth. This attention to loss is intriguing because I learned from the characters’ struggles and better understood how humans confront and persist despite fear and grief. In an effort to cope with their own loss, the characters tend to lean on each other and fill gaps in one another’s lives. For example, Mrs.Ben-Eli sometimes acts like a mother towards Martha, who explains, “Mrs. Ben-Eli said I would get my own library card! I can’t wait to have my own library card!”(148). By receiving a library card, Martha is delighted to have a neighbor that cares for her and nurtures her like a real mother would. Likewise, Mrs. Ben-Eli is desperately missing her son who’s fighting in the war and so she directs her mothering to Julie and Martha as substitute children. The author shows us that in challenging times, a community can come together by creating new bonds. In conclusion, The Summer We Found the Baby by Amy Hest is a book that helps readers understand the difficulties of people facing loss. Empathy is an important part of our hearts and minds and helps us understand others. This characteristic is what makes all of us human, and it is used to develop a strong community. Finding the baby on the steps of the library unites these different characters, and by seeing this event through different perspectives, we as readers come to understand and appreciate each character. I recommend this book for people who either want to learn more about World War II, or who have experienced loss or grief before. The Summer We Found the Baby by Amy Hest. Candlewick Press (MA), 2022. Buy the book here and help support Stone Soup in the process!
Flash Contest #57, July 2023: Write a story that ends in fireworks—our winners and their work
Our July 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #260, which asked that participants write a story (or poem) that ended in fireworks. Participants were free to interpret “fireworks” however they desired, with most opting for the literal meaning, however some particularly creative submissions had their own interpretations; one story ended in the northern lights, and another ended in a magical flower bloom. Other submissions ranged from a story about a stubborn and crafty dog to a melancholic story about a baby shower to a story about a woman’s late-life realization. As always, thank you to all you participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions, listed below, and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Glow” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 11 “Reflections” by Zoe Pazner, 12 “Fireworks of the Stars” by Makela S, 13 “The Baby Shower” by Zoey Shield, 13 “A Tail of Fireworks and Wonder: Coco’s Sparkling Adventure” by Milly Wang, 10 Honorable Mentions “It’s going to Be Alright” by Kyle Chinchio, 10 “The Deadline” by Mia Goldschmidt, 9 “An Independence Day to Remember” by Isa Hasan, 13 “A Home to Remember” by Madelynn Lee, 12 “Change” by Jeremy Lim, 10 Glow Nova Macknik-Conde, 11 The children dance around the fairy lights Trying to catch them in see-through jars Not sparing a thought that Their gleaming prisoners may die I would not be so unwise To think I could own fireflies That if I captured them As they fled from me in fright They should be my nightlight I would sit on my porch and watch Dazzled by the blinking sparks Joining the twinkling stars that make up galaxies That shine against the swirling blues, purples, and blacks I heave a sigh and pull my curtains shut Thinking of tomorrow’s glorious day, before The night when all the fireworks will crackle in the sky Wondrous shades of red, blue, and white The shy kid that hides when I come over will shout ‘Hooray! It’s America Day!’ And I will wave sparklers and eat S’mores And I will stop worrying for next school year And I will have not a care in the world Far from pain and sadness and hateful comments Wrapped in warmth and kindness and light Reflections Zoe Pazner, 12 I walked along the concrete road leading to a beach side bar. I had walked this path so many times before with my mom, my dad and my brother. I was the only one who was left. We came here every year for the fourth of July, my father always loved watching the fireworks. Now in my old age the memories begin to fade farther into my past and I begin to forget the unforgettable. I took a seat at a table, a feeling of deja vu washing over me like waves as I put my back against the hard chair. Music played loudly but it was still in the background of my thoughts. The chair that sat across from me felt like an empty void waiting to be filled with no one to fill it. For the first time in years I felt truly alone, reflecting on what I now felt was a meaningless life. A young woman snapped me out of my thoughts by asking, “could I borrow this chair for my friend?” I looked over to her table full of life and cheerful chatter with so much envy. I nodded at the girl and she gave me a warm smile, which I promptly returned. The sound of clapping filled the beach as the band finished playing “When Doves Cry” by Prince. When the clapping stopped the singer came to the mike and said, “Thank you! We will now be singing “At Last” by Etta James! I hope you enjoy it.” The crowd grew silent with the exception of a few couples who made shuffling noses as they got up on stage to dance. As I watched the couples dance and the music began to play, I was reminded of a distant memory. Many years ago when I was just five years old I came out of my room and into the living room. My dad stood hunched over the record player as he carefully put the easily damaged record into place. He pressed a silver button and I watched with amazement as the black needle slowly dropped itself onto the record. My dad turned around and smiled at me as the opening chords of “At Last” played through the speakers. By the time I had snapped back to the present the song was over and the couples had sat back down, laughing and smiling. The band leader came back up to the microphone and said, “Alright we’re going to take a break as the fourth of July fireworks commence, have a great night folks!” Many went back to their hotel room roofs to get a better view of the fireworks but I decided to take a stroll instead. I walked along the shoreline letting the water tickle my toes as the sand crunched against my feet. I watched as the waves crashed over and over in a never- ending loop of beautiful blue ocean. Then I heard the first boom of fireworks and looked up to see dazzling colors of red white and blue fill the sky. The colors reflected back on the water, a mere rippled version of the real fireworks shown up above me. Sometimes I think I spent so much time looking down that I ended up missing the magic that was right above my head the whole time. Fireworks of the Stars Makela S, 13 2712 CE SHE WAKES to gray and black: metal walls and threadbare pillows and meager quilts. She jolts upright, chest heaving as she tries to remember where she is, when it is. For a moment, all is darkness, until a message flashes across her vision. Please come. She scrambles forward, panic
