Snip Snip Snip (Fujifilm FinePix XP140) By Astrid Young, 11 (Brookline, MA), published in Stone Soup May 2022 A note from William Dear Friends — Here is a link to the Brady gun control group. I just sent them $100. If not now, when? “Snip, Snip, Snip” is an utterly brilliant photograph. Astrid Young has a photographer’s eye. Look at how she framed the buildings to make the scissor joke more effective. Large pieces of fabric are often cut by placing them on a table and then, as the fabric is cut along a central line, each side, the right and the left, are pushed back at an angle in just the way the building seems to be folded in this photograph. The picture we see here is not obvious when standing on the street. I am sure I would have noticed the scissor, would likely have taken a photograph of it, but I am sure I would not have found the angle that Astrid did that would have made the image memorable. The photographic eye is the the eye that focuses in on a scene to frame it in a way that finds what is interesting. The difference between a “snapshot” and a “photograph” is intentionality. Astrid didn’t just snap this picture. She thought about what she was doing. In this weekend project, I am going to ask you to use your phone or camera to frame an image to highlight something you find in the scene that interests you. Something that you might want others to notice. Astrid’s photograph is “about” many things. There is the scissor joke, but there is a lot more. This photograph is also an exploration of light and dark. Note how the left-hand side of the building is in shadow while the right-hand side is in sun light. Note how the pole also has a bright white right side and a left side dulled by shadow. There are white window reflections in windows on both sides of the building, with an additional pattern of the white getting smaller in the windows on the left side of the building, windows that seem to melt into total darkness. The scissors are glaring white as is the right side of the pole. This photograph also has very strong lines. The pole. The stone work on the right-hand side of the building. The window ledges. In your mind’s eye draw lines that follow the various lines you can find in the photograph. A lot going on! Sometime today or tomorrow, I’d like you to pick up your phone, or a camera, and working in your house or outside, I’d like you to play with framing. Take four to 12 pictures of the same thing, experimenting with camera angles to highlight patterns in what you are looking at. Your camera angles don’t need to be as extreme as Astrid’s. Sometimes, just a slight shift in framing does the trick. As always, if what you come up with is something you like a lot, then please submit it to Stone Soup for possible publication. Connor Kiggins, 12 (New York, NY) From Stone Soup May 2022 American Monarchy By Connor Kiggins, 12 (New York, NY) Every day upon waking up, I wish that the burden of school had never been thrust upon my tired back as I cannot keep up with addition, subtraction, fractions, and historic factions while strangers observe my every action five days a week, eight hours a day, our only vacation being one based around letting kids out to start working on their parents’ farms during the harvest season. And that tradition only stays so that we kids can have a mental break from school although soon we will go back and have our schedule wiped clear, making me want to break out and go have fun before I’m buried underground with a sign above saying rest in peace. And we are not even free three days a week, a freedom I think we deserve as many seem to forget that one day we will grow up and work maybe twice as hard as you and of course, let’s not forget that when you grow old, who else but your sons and daughters will in turn take care of you and yet one thing we won’t do is take your freedom like you take ours. And still we will fight for you even though you dump us in school as the people who are often referred to as “America’s future” find themselves in a government-required American monarchy, where the teachers act like dukes, the deans like princes, and the principal the all-powerful king, while we the future are insignificant peasants stuck in the king’s castle while being told we have to follow all his rules, while we toil in a classroom, making our humor and passion slowly dissipate as we learn about but do not obey the rules of freedom of speech and democracy while being instructed on everything from how to breathe and when we can go pee and not to put our heads on the table and being scolded for doing it twice by a hypocritical math teacher, and when I go to the graded class of musical theater he tells us that we cannot even go to the bathroom unless we are about to wet our pants, and that just so he doesn’t get scolded by our parents for putting their children in an embarrassing position in front of the class—making me feel that this American monarchy has gone too far and is going to keep on destroying our future, even though they already have by filling the sky with toxic gasses—all so they could get a fancy pen and with a few strokes decide whether we will go to college and be successful or end up in a small apartment while working at McDonald’s, all because the American monarchy said we weren’t smart enough to go to even the worst college, which is why at the end of
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #38: Anaphora
An update from our thirty-eighth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, May 21, plus some of the output published below This week we focused on the literary device of anaphora, meaning a repetition of word or phrase at the beginning of successive sentences or poetic lines. From the greek, literally “a carrying back.” After reading the opening passage of A Tale of Two Cities, Walt Whitman’s “I Sing America,” and excerpts from “The Gospel of Mark,” T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland,” Mary Ruefle’s “I Remember, I Remember,” Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl,” and MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech, we were able to diagnose what anaphora brings to writing: rhythm through repetition, intensity/tension, energy, emphasis, and speed. The Challenge: Write a poem or story using anaphora. If you don’t know what phrase or word to repeat, you can an example from class: “I Remember,” “and,” “Blessed are,” or “I saw.” The Participants: Emma, Josh, Ellie, Fatehbir, Shiva, Chelsea, Alice, Zar, Lina, Samantha, Anna To watch all of the readings from this workshop, click here. Emma Hoff, 10(Bronx, NY) Things Are Like Onions Emma Hoff, 10 You see dreams as you pad down the hallway. You see the things in your head. You see monsters bragging they can best Death and monsters lounging around doing nothing. They’re not that scary, now are they? You see your face laughing on a screen. You see a newswoman doing your makeup and your hair and your clothes just so that you can see and hear yourself bray an alarm call. You see a monster that has your face. You see a replacement. You see a reason to go back and a reason to be trapped. You see a river. You see your still done-up face on the screen, drowning in it. You see yourself not being able to swim. You see people holding you down. You see yourself surviving and dying. You see the alarm call that was for you. You see regret and so much fear. Colors: the whole entire rainbow of things and nouns and words. Colors: big bulky sentences you hold up with your scratched hands. Colors: trees and then lampposts and then that big wooden pole outside your window. Colors: can you see it? Colors: your attitude that races ahead of you. Colors: teachers tell you to control yourself but when you don’t you can grow wings. Colors: your class oohing and ahhing at your talent and you suddenly at the back of the crowd. I’m reading an author. I’m reading a book. I’m reading an answer to a question I didn’t read. I’m reading the answer sheet for a test and then forgetting it. I’m reading fun. I’m reading paragraphs and paragraphing myself. I’m reading knives for slicing. I’m reading faces and rooms and body language because people tell me to. I’m reading my own writing as I’m writing it because I am reading. I’m reading buttons and codes and all that stuff. I’m reading what you never read. Why did Sally kill her fish? Why did James stick his finger in the camera when it was about to take a picture? Why did Lulu destroy the pillow? Why did Mary break the glass? Why did Archibald run? Why did Charlie barrel into so many people? Why did Ari ask so many questions? Why did Camila’s limp hand break the glass of her coffin before she was buried? Things are like bird beaks, sharp. Things are like wine bottle corks, popping out of places you never knew existed. Things are like onions. Things are like walls. Things are like freedom and restraint. Things are like things because everything is a thing and that’s just the thing. Things are like the universe and the planets: we swirl everything together.
Saturday Newsletter: May 21, 2022
Daydreaming (pastel, watercolor) by Audrey Li, 12 (Scarsdale, NY), published as the cover image of Stone Soup May 2022 A note from Emma Letters crash around me like waves in a storm… In this poem, Lilly Davatzes is clearly writing about dyslexia (it’s the title!). I am not dyslexic, but a few of my close friends are. And this poem unlocked something for me about what that means. I felt I immediately understood the way words can feel overwhelming with dyslexia, and the intense concentration needed to read or write with it. Lilly uses the storm and the ocean as central metaphors—the letters are like waves that crash down on her and threaten to drown her in a sea of words. …knocking me down, pulling me into the sea of words… And the distractions that surround her are birds: as distractions fly around me like birds. Birds, like words, dive down in a swarm. I love how the poem ultimately subtly enacts this distraction, as the subject shifts from the words and letters to the birds. By the poem’s final sentence, the words are not being compared to birds—rather, it is the birds who are like words. The birds/distractions are what have become most real in the poem. This also seems to reflect the confusion that can happen when reading while dyslexic—how the word “word” can be mixed up with “bird”—after all, the poem could have just as easily (and perhaps more coherently) read: “Words, / like birds, / dive down in a /swarm.” However, the fact that it doesn’t is its genius! I am not dyslexic. But, as I return from maternity leave, this poem speaks to my experience right now–of feeling overwhelmed, distracted, and needing intense amounts of concentration to read and write. That is also what I love about this poem. The title tells us it is about dyslexia, and yet it also speaks to other experiences. This weekend, I encourage you, like Lilly, to write about a mental or emotional state that is difficult to capture using a metaphor. How can you enact that feeling through your words, your sentence structures, your formatting, your punctuation, and everything else at your disposal? Exciting to be back and looking forward to reading your work! From Stone Soup May 2022 Dyslexia By Lilly Davatzes, 11 (Jenkintown, PA) Letters crash around me like waves in a storm, knocking me down, pulling me into the sea of words as distractions fly around me like birds. Birds, like words, dive down in a swarm. to read more from the May 2022 issue, including another poem by Lilly, click here! 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. Stone Soup’s advisors: Abby Austin, Mike Axelrod, Annabelle Baird, Jem Burch, Evelyn Chen, Juliet Fraser, Zoe Hall, Montanna Harling, Alicia & Joe Havilland, Lara Katz, Rebecca Kilroy, Christine Leishman, Julie Minnis, Jessica Opolko, Tara Prakash, Denise Prata, Logan Roberts, Emily Tarco, Rebecca Ramos Velasquez, Susan Wilky.
