Our October 2024 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #309 (provided by Stone Soup students Sage Millen, Meleah Goldman, and Emma Hoff), which asked that participants write a short story about the life cycle of a pumpkin, write a Haiku about any kind of fall weather, or make an art piece inspired by fall leaves. As always, thank you to all who 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 “Dark Skies” by Nathan Qu, 12 “Veiled Haze” by Gavin Liu, 14 “Somewhere Out There” by Isla Reuter, 11 “A mythical Red Maple Leaf” by Arwen Gamez, 15 “Autumn Love” by Anwita Lingireddy, 9 Honorable Mentions “Life of a Pumpkin” by Chinedum Obiora, 11 “The Journey of the Pumpkin” by Mirei Okita, 11 “XOXO Fall” by Priscilla Chow, 11 “Happy Leaves; Happy Fall” by Aubree Dong, 11 “Autumn Spectacle” by Neeti Kulkarni, 10 Dark Skies NATHAN QU, 12 Gray cloudlets pass through Autumn, darkest time of year Depressed skies weep rain Veiled Haze GAVIN LIU, 14 the world wakes cold and peers through a window – blinded by blanketing fog Somewhere Out There ISLA REUTER, 11 A hard shell surrounds me, keeping me safe from the damp, cold earth outside. I’m not ready to come out yet. I know it’s not my time. Suddenly, I feel a vibration above, a steady rhythm. Drip, drip, drip. The rains have come. The fresh, sweet water runs along the sides of my smooth shell. I cannot see the water, but I can sense it all the same. It’s tempting, but I know that if I leave my shell now, I’ll be as unprepared for the world as a newly hatched swallow chick. No. If I want to survive this harsh, dangerous place known as the wilderness, I must have Knowledge. And the only way to get that down here is to listen. So I do. The rain feels nice. The vibrations of these words are stronger than most plants, so I know that this must be the Great Oak Tree. Yes. After all this dry weather the rain feels nice. The Birch Tree. But the rains mean that we are only a few moon cycles away from the Festival, when ‘He’ picks the pumpkins. The Pine Tree. I’ve heard them talk about Him before, and it makes me think that maybe I’m not so wild after all. Because what if I was planted in the ground by Him? Who is He? My question rings out loud and clear, and silence falls over us, like the calm before a storm. I know I am about to learn something significant. A terrible truth, one that’s going to weigh me down for the rest of my life. Then I sense new voices, and though I’ve never heard them before, I know deep down who they are. They’re all one of me; others of my kind. Pumpkins. The whispery voices are quiet, but hold a sense of importance, of Knowledge. They know something and they’re not trying to hide it. He is terrible! He took the ones before us! Only a few are left! Listen young one, the other voices quiet at the strong vibrations of this one, let me tell you a story. The words echo inside my shell, and I wait for them to fade before listening intently for the older pumpkin’s story to start. He is just another one of Them. Humans. Pine Tree can tell you all about them. But this human is different. There is a festival at the end of the time of falling leaves–that is what He grows us for. We are picked and bought by the humans, and they bring us back to their homes. We are baked into pies, set out for decoration, and worst of all, carved into lanterns. As the first pumpkin to sprout this season, I bear the responsibility to pass to you and the other seeds this Knowledge that Pine Tree so trustingly shared. Rest now. I thank the pumpkin for this truth and turn into my thoughts. So, it’s not a wilderness. I’m going to grow up in His garden, with my future already decided. I will be picked and taken and baked, or turned into something I don’t want to be. I start to feel heavy and decide to rest. I don’t know how long it’s been since I heard the pumpkin’s story. It’s hard to tell time down here. It could have been only a few days, or it could have been weeks. The pressure of this truth has become unbearable. It makes it hard to think and to listen. Not that there’s much to listen to. It’s been unusually quiet lately. Even the Pine Tree hasn’t passed his ancient Knowledge in a while. I miss the other plants, for the first time I think I know what it means to be lonely. Thoughts, hopes, echoes, all fill my mind at once, and I scream my silent pain to the dark earth above. At first, nothing happens. Then my seed splits open, and I, the heart of it, spread my roots out into the soil further than I have ever been. My pain turns to joy, and hope, and, most of all, to determination. I spiral upward and burst through the surface. There are no words to describe growing in the earth like this. Maybe this is why humans are full of spite. No, I mustn’t think that. They must have a reason to pick us pumpkins. Days pass. Sunshine warms my leaves, and I use it to create and conserve nutrients. On rainy days I pull the water in through my roots and begin to grow faster. By the end of the warmest months, I am almost fully grown. My leaves feel big and strong, and my roots have reached even deeper soil. In this time I learn many things, but
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Thank you for adding your name to our Covid-19 Daily Creativity mailing list. We will be sending you a prompt for a writing or art project every Monday, along with reminders about our other creative programs such as the monthly Flash Contest, Writing Workshop, and Book Club. Please forward to the Daily Creativity Newsletter to any child or teacher you think would be interested. I would like to remind you that Stone Soup is written and illustrated by students through age 13 (8th grade). Everyone within our age group is encouraged to submit work for consideration by our editor, Emma Wood. All subscribers to Stone Soup–print + digital and digital only–can submit material for free. There is a nominal submission fee for non-subscribers.
Writing Activity: Using Framing to Add Depth and Power
Emma McKinny’s story “Windsong,” is about going to a performance of Dr. Atomic, an opera by John Adams with libretto by Peter Sellers. Her father is the lead singer. You can use your research skills to get information on the actual performance and its reviews online, but here we want to focus on one element of the story–the way in which Emma frames her narrative. Framing is the subject of this writing project. The basic history you need to know is that the United States invented and tested the first atomic bomb in Los Alamos, New Mexico during World War II. The bombs dropped on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were developed in Los Alamos. These bombs ended the war with Japan, which surrendered after they were dropped. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of civilizations were killed by these weapons, whole sections of the two cities that were the victims of these bombs were obliterated. These bombs gave humans god-like powers which J. Robert Oppenheimer, director of the lab, and the Doctor in the opera’s title, Dr. Atomic, understood. He quickly became concerned about the consequences of his invention. You also need to know that Los Alamos is visible from Santa Fe and this is especially true at night when its lights glow from the mountain ridge where it is located. “Windsong” takes place in the Santa Fe Opera House, a fabulous outdoor theater that sits under the distant gaze of Los Alamos, the place where the bomb-making that is the center of the opera’s story took place. The author goes through a huge emotional experience during the Opera performance. Those of you who attend operas, ballet, and traditional theater may have experienced these deep emotional moments. And then there is the clapping. And the lights go back up. And then you have to get up from your seat and make your way home, behaving normally, with this deeply emotional experience still inside you: “turmoil boiling in the pit of” ones stomach, as Emma puts it. To help the reader understand her experience, and express it herself, she gives her feeling and emotion to the wind which blows through the Santa Fe Opera house. She whispers to the wind the same good-luck phrase she had called out to her father in the beginning, thus transferring the art of the opera and the performers to nature. Let the wind howl, like a wolf, adding its voice to the power of theater. The Activity Write a story where an element at the beginning–a framing device–introduces a powerful idea into the story, that you can use to develop your story, and then return to at the end to convey even greater depth of meaning to it. To help you see how this can work, read “Windsong”. In “Windsong,” the phrase “in bocca al lupo,” introduces a series of related ideas about sound and the elements: it relates to the wind, a wolf’s howl, the power of art and performance, all of which carry through the whole story in various ways. When the author of the story comes back to that same phrase at the end, we all have a greater depth of understanding that allows us to read even more into it. When you plan your story, think about your key message and image, and think of a way you can introduce it as a framing device early on. Try to carry your framing device through your story, and then, as in “Windsong”, come back to it explicitly towards the end. By this stage, if you have woven the ideas into your story, your frame–and your story–will have great depth.
