https://soundcloud.com/user-28081890/liliths-quest-by-sabrina-guo-13 Once upon a time, a young girl named Lilith lived in an igloo with her family, a pack of polar bears. She loved to wear her hair in braids and make her family icicle sculptures. She also loved to eavesdrop, and one morning, as she was hiding behind an igloo, she heard her pack leaders talking about the problems facing their pack. “There isn’t enough fish to feed all of us–” “Sooner or later–” “Climate change will be the end of us–” Crack. The ice under Lily’s feet creaked loudly. “Lily, come out,” The pack leader said, sighing and shaking his white fur, golden from the sun. The girl stepped out, cheeks flushed from cold and embarrassment. “This is none of your business,” he said, pointing back to Lily’s igloo. She nodded meekly and headed home. She’d noticed that there hadn’t been any storytelling meetings or feasts with fish, and that the bears weren’t coming out of their igloos as much recently. She’d assumed that everyone was busy. She wanted to help but she was so small. What change could she possibly accomplish? Maybe she could help her pack by asking for help. It was worth a shot. She bowed to the ground and sent a prayer to the arctic gods, wishing for her pack to be safe, as well as all other animals. Just then, Lily heard a buzzing near her ear. She opened her eyes to see a tiny fairy with blue wings coated in light frost. Her hair looked like small tendrils of dust. “I am Nina, the most powerful fairy in the arctic. How can I help you?” the fairy said. Lily said immediately, “I want to get rid of climate change!” Nina nodded, “You and everyone else. All the animals have petitioned to the arctic gods for their help. I have a list of their signatures, but I am missing one. I would get it myself but it’s not within my power to meddle in this. Humans have caused this issue; they must fix it.” Lily’s eyes filled with hope. “I can get it!” “It will be a tough journey. Many other animals have tried before. You’ll have to travel far over dangerous waters.” “I’ll be okay!” Lily’s voice wavered but ended on a strong note. She would do anything for her family and the other animals. “Okay. I need you to get the signature of Anika, an arctic fox. She’s always busy with her children and doesn’t interact much with the community, Also, because she doesn’t understand the science behind climate change, she’s not aware it’s a pressing issue. She lives at the very tip of that glacier,” Nina said and waved her wand. A magnified image of the glacier appeared between them. Lily started to worry, “How will I get there?” “In a boat,” the fairy said. A whirl of shimmering colors appeared and suddenly, a sailboat was docked at the water’s edge. Lilly inhaled sharply. “Okay, I’ll leave now.” Nina said, “The ice slab with the other signatures is in the boat.” Lily nodded and ran to the boat. Luckily she knew some tricks about sailing. She sailed for days through rough waters and winter storms. She passed icicle caves and glaciers, wolves and seals. She sailed as fast as she could to keep the precious ice slab from melting. Finally Lily arrived at the glacier. She looked around, hoping a white fox could somehow stand out among the endless snow. Instead, she saw snowy owls searching for prey. She needed to hurry. She knew her pack must be worried about her. Then she saw fox footprints leading into a den. She slowly adventured in, hearing shouts and playful growls. “Excuse me?” she whispered. She could hear fur rustling against fur. Two gleaming blue eyes appeared from the dark, and a white fox approached her, snarling. Lily stepped back. “Are you Anika?” Lily asked. “What do you want?” A husky voice asked curtly. Suddenly, the sound of a stampede rung out, little paws running full speed. Lily knew that sound anywhere–the little cubs from the pack used to do during playtime. Lily stepped out of the den, out of the way. A blur of white fur poured out of the darkness of the den. Ten little foxes tackled each other. The mother followed, scolding her children for rushing out so fast. “Could I please have your signature for–” Lily began. “Max! Don’t hurt your brothers,” Anika interrupted. Lily cleared her throat. “As I was saying, I need your signature–” The mother rushed over to her children and separated them. “If you could come back tomorrow so I can sign the… uh… taxes, that’d be great—“ Lily spoke quickly, “I need your signature on the climate change petition. The ice is melting all around us, and it needs to stop or else I don’t know how we’ll survive!” The fox blinked, then completely ignored her, but concern flashed over her face as her cubs started to venture into the water. “Hey!” She scolded, as they giggle and retreated back. “Anika. All I need is a signature. Please, “ Lily begged. “I know there was a community meeting about it where everyone signed a petition, but I was too busy to go. Is climate change that bad?” the fox finally answered casually. “Yes! All the animals need your signature, “ Lily exclaimed. Anika paused then said, “Come back tomorrow.” “No! This is urgent!” Lily broke off an icicle from the den’s roof. “Here.” Anika grumbled under her breath, but hastily picked up the icicle in her mouth, and signed the ice slab that held the other signatures. The tip of the icicle scraped against the ice. “Thank you so much, Anika!’ Lily clapped her hands. She watched as the fox ran after her children, and then she hurried back to her boat, giddy and excited to share this great news with her pack.
Stories
Young Writers of the past: The Young Visiters [sic], or Mr. Salteena’s Plan (1919) by Daisy Ashford, age 8-9
The Young Visiters sold 300,000 copies in 1919! And that was just in Britain! The introduction to The Young Visiters was written by J. M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan. In Britain, The Young Visiters was published by the prestigious house of Chatto and Windus; in the U.S. by George H. Doran. The book was published without corrections for spelling or punctuation. The first third of the twentieth century was a period of great ferment in the arts. This is the time when the arts became more abstract, this including painting, sculpture, music and the literary arts as well. Many of the period’s finest writers, particularly in Europe, began complex literary experiments, including jettisoning standard grammatical forms and typographic conventions: The Death of Vergil by the German author Hermann Broch, Finnegan’s Wake by the Irish author James Joyce, and The Sound and the Fury by the American writer William Faulkner are classic examples of authors stretching the limits of standard grammatical form. Publishing children’s writing without corrections in 1919 spoke, not to indulgence or a lapse in standards, but to a courageous look at the achievements of naïve artists, of artists working without a full complement of technical skills, but with something to say and the will to say it. When we published Crippled Detectives by Lee Tandy Schwartzman in 1978, it was no longer possible, if one wanted the work to be taken seriously, to publish a child’s manuscript virtually as is. Or at least so it seemed to us then, and still does today. We standardize spelling and punctuation in Stone Soup (and did so in Crippled Detectives), although we do leave grammatical innovations, as we did in the work we published by Huong Nguyen. As you read The Young Visiters, you will find yourself immersed in the world of popular romantic fiction of the first decades of this century. Re-reading The Young Visiters makes me feel much more tolerant of student writing that is heavily influenced by mass culture. It reminds me that we learn by copying; that the desire, and then the will to carry through with the desire to tell a story is the true underpinning that makes all great artists great. The rest of us are those who have made a list of great titles for our books, but haven’t been able to make the books to go along with them! We at Stone Soup hope that you enjoy The Young Visiters. It makes a good story to read aloud, as it’s lots of fun for everybody. Contents Preface by J. M. Barrie 1. Quite a Young Girl 2. Starting Gaily 3. The First Evening 4. Mr. Salteenas Plan 5. The Crystal Palace 6. High Life 7. Bernards Idear 8. A Gay Call 9. A Proposale 10. Preparing for the Fray 11. The Wedding 12. How It Ended Preface by J. M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan The “owner of the copyright” guarantees that “The Young Visiters” is the unaided effort in fiction of an authoress of nine years. “Effort,” however, is an absurd word to use, as you may see by studying the triumphant countenance of the child herself, which is here reproduced as frontispiece to her sublime work. This is no portrait of a writer who had to burn the oil at midnight (indeed there is documentary evidence that she was hauled off to bed every evening at six): it has an air of careless power; there is a complacency about it that by the severe might perhaps be called smugness. It needed no effort for that face to knock off a masterpiece. It probably represents precisely how she looked when she finished a chapter. When she was actually at work I think the expression was more solemn, with the tongue firmly clenched between the teeth; an unholy rapture showing as she drew near her love chapter. Fellow-craftsmen will see that she is looking forward to this chapter all the time. The manuscript is in pencil in a stout little note book (twopence), and there it has lain for years, for though the authoress was nine when she wrote it she is now a grown woman. It has lain, in lavender as it were, in the dumpy note book, waiting for a publisher to ride that way and rescue it; and here he is at last, not a bit afraid that to this age it may appear “Victorian.” Indeed if its pictures of High Life are accurate (as we cannot doubt, the authoress seems always so sure of her facts) they had a way of going on in those times which is really surprising. Even the grand historical figures were free and easy, such as King Edward, of whom we have perhaps the most human picture ever penned, as he appears at a levée “rather sumshiously,” in a “small but costly crown,” and afterwards slips away to tuck into ices. It would seem in particular that we are oddly wrong in our idea of the young Victorian lady as a person more shy and shrinking than the girl of to-day. The Ethel of this story is a fascinating creature who would have a good time wherever there were a few males, but no longer could she voyage through life quite so jollily without attracting the attention of the censorious. Chaperon seems to be one of the very few good words of which our authoress had never heard. The lady she had grown into, the “owner of the copyright” already referred to, gives me a few particulars of this child she used to be, and is evidently a little scared by her. We should probably all be a little scared (though proud) if that portrait was dumped down in front of us as ours, and we were asked to explain why we once thought so much of ourselves as that. Except for the smirk on her face, all I can learn of her now is that she was one of a small family
As Long as We’re Happy, Part Two
In Part One, Mrs. Davids happily starts her teaching job and marries a doctor. Three years later, she is no longer happy; her husband has left home one day and never come back. She begins taking out her frustrations on her students, including Grace, the writer, Peter, the math whiz, and Danny, the class clown. Only Flora Pinecrust, the straggly but imaginative new girl in her class, seems to understand her. The next day I told Flora I wanted to speak with her about her paper at lunch time. She came and sat very quietly while I praised her imagination. All this time she was supposed to be eating her lunch, but I saw out of the corner of my eye that she had nothing. “Flora,” I said, “are you hungry?” “So hungry I could eat the school,” she cried with passion. I was startled by her outburst. “Did your mother forget to pack you a lunch?” “My mother never packs me lunches. I do it myself.” I nodded and thought that Flora must be a disorganized, forgetful girl. That couldn’t be helped. I decided to share my own lunch with her before the rest of the pupils returned from the cafeteria. I didn’t eat very much. I gave her half of my cheese sandwich, which she gobbled immediately. She ate my peach and most of my celery sticks, but I figured since she was a growing girl she was allowed to eat more. She didn’t even thank me. The next day as I walked past the cafeteria I heard shouts and laughter. Glancing in I saw practically all the children dancing around throwing food. Their target was the corner and cowering in that corner was Flora Pinecrust. “She says she’s hungry!” cried Danny. “Here, take my pie!” The flaky hunk of pie went whirling through the air and landed on Flora’s soft brown hair. She pulled it off and stuffed it in her mouth. She seemed to be enjoying the game. I was appalled that Danny, someone in seventh grade, would act so childish. Just then I saw my well-behaved Grace Matthews trying to scrub the mess off Flora, but at the same time she was saying, “You can’t spell. You must be really stupid. You can’t spell.” Peter Tyner was the only person who didn’t do a thing to injure Flora. He stood there looking distressed and bewildered. “Oh, Ms. Cunningham,” he said once he saw me. “Look what they’re doing to Flora.” “I see.” I grabbed his arm. “Come with me to Mr. Hammil’s office, quick!” Both of us walked speedily toward the principal’s throne room. All the while Peter told me how the other children had even taken his lunch and thrown it at Flora. Therefore he had nothing to eat. I told him he could survive but Flora’s only chance of eating was getting food from other people at lunch time. “You mean she doesn’t have any breakfast or dinner?” “That’s right, Peter,” I said, although I didn’t know that for a fact. Mr. Hammil was very cold to me since I had refused to be matron-of-honor at his wedding. He told me it had nothing to do with me or the school how hungry Flora was, and, as for the food fight, whoever was monitor in the lunchroom could take care of that. I had forgotten we had monitors. That afternoon as I walked home I heard the soft patter of feet behind me. I turned to see Flora walking home, too. I smiled at her and asked if we could walk together. “Come raspberry picking with me,” I said, “In the park, and take some home to your family. They don’t cost any money. They’re free.” I tried to impress this on her, but she seemed to be daydreaming. I told her how I made raspberry jam at home, and how I sometimes put them in pies, and how good a glass of cold raspberry juice was on a hot day. * * * * “My friends, we are all going to write a story using imagination. It doesn’t have to make sense. It can be the most ridiculous thing in the world. Do you understand?” “No!” cried Grace. “How ridiculous can it be?” “Oh, you can become smaller or larger, like in Alice in Wonderland. You can have a character marry one hundred times. There can be magicians. It’s just a fantasy all your own. Your Imaginative Fantasy. Now you may all go to lunch and think about it because when you get back we’ll begin writing. Flora, stay here.” The boys and girls dispersed, and Flora stood before me. Looking questioningly she said, “Yes, Ms. Cunningham?” “I have something for you,” I smiled, bringing out a large brown bag from underneath my desk. “But, Ms. Cunningham, I brought raspberries.” She showed me a huge plastic bag full of the raspberries we had picked the day before. “Well, just raspberries isn’t enough. I insist you eat some of the good food I packed for you.” Feeding Flora became a regular ritual of the day, and I found myself telling her a lot about my life. I couldn’t figure out why I did it, but she seemed a very understanding person. I hadn’t yet told anyone how it hurt me when my husband deserted me. But I told Flora! Of course she was just a child, and I was burdening her with my problems. In some ways I felt guilty. But she became my little friend. The rest of the class knew it well, and snubbed both me and Flora. Flora told me to ignore them, as I was prone to worry. “As long as we’re happy, let it be,” she said. And I think she was right. * * * * Among the stories my class had written, I sought out Flora’s first. Her papers were always the most enjoyable. However, she had not followed the assignment correctly again. Instead of a story she had written a personal letter to me. Deer Ms. Cunningham, You hay told a lot about yourself. I feal like I’m keeping a secret frum you. I hay no home. I sleep in the hotel lobbi all night. Before I came heere I lived in another state. I lived in the cuntry and my parents were nice, but I had to leev, becuz one day they left and they didn’t cum bak. I never went to scol before, but my muther red me many good books. I am trying to find a home,