Lots of girls dream of horses. And there are lots of stories about horse-loving girls. What makes this story special, The Horse’s Reins, by Nicholas La Cortiglia, is how Nicholas, through attention to detail, makes Julie into a full-as-life character, a girl with an obsession, but a girl who is also a normal child within a family. Nicholas gives substance to Julie’s horse obsession by showing us that the she is surrounded by images of horses – prints on the curtains, horse stickers on the VCR, horse posters, and, very importantly, her own drawings of horses. Through all these details we are left outside of the time frame of the story to imagine Julie drawing horses and looking for horse images when she goes shopping and talking about horses with her family and friends. Nicholas is also good at relationships. Julie doesn’t live alone. We see from the beginning when her mother calls her to breakfast that she lives within a family. When Julie loses the peaches, she thinks of her father and, when she sees him, very simply and realistically says, “Sorry.” The weather plays an important role in this story, as it often does in fiction writing. The storm brings dangers that develop tensions and emotions that would otherwise remain untested and unexplored. Project: Write about a Character Who is Obsessed with an Interest. Some children love horses, others trains, others collect rocks, others just junk. Some children read all the time, while others play football. Show us through details how your character is fully involved with his or her interest. To make your portrait more interesting, confront your character with a problem that would make sense in the context of your character’s interests: the football player might lose a very special game, the rock collector might lose a very special rock, the child who reads all the time might become obsessed, not just with books in general but with a particular character, and start pretending that he or she is someone else. As you both imagine and write your story, keep in mind that your character has friends and lives within a family. In addition to showing your main character and his or her obsession, show how this character interacts with family and friends. “Don’t let go!” Julie yelled. The Horse’s Reins by Nicholas La Cortiglia, age 10, Cincinnati, Ohio Published in the January/February 1994 issue of Stone Soup IN A QUAINT little farm at the edge of town, in Kansas, there lived a family of four: Julie, the youngest, and Jeremy, the eldest, along with their fa-ther and mother, Frank and Clara. One morning in July, the air was brisk, Julie Harris climbed out of bed on account of the rooster. She glanced at her model of a teak horse that was propped up against her row of horse books. Julie loved horses. She would do anything to have a real one. Her room was filled with horses. At one end of her room she had a VCR that her grandparents had given her for Christmas. She had stuck horse stickers all over it! Over by the window, that overlooked the river, she had horse curtains! All over her walls were horse posters, pho-tographs, drawings, and pictures! Julie strode toward her dresser and opened the draw-er, revealing a numerous amount of horse clothing. She had T-shirts, sweatshirts, sweaters, and blouses, all that had some kind of horse picture on it. She picked one out and slipped it on, as well as her jeans. She walked into the kitchen, snatching a book off of her shelf on the way. She sat herself down at the breakfast table and began to read. “Oh, for goodness sakes, Julie! Stop reading! C’mon, eat your breakfast!” Mrs. Harris scolded. Julie set the book down and began eating. After finishing, she put her plate in the sink and walked to the door to go outside. No sooner did she open the door than a ray of sun-light burst into her face. She squinted and looked around. The orange-beaked woodpeckers tapped their beaks on a tree. Julie could hear the mockingbirds singing a sweet tune. The chipmunks scampered about, cracking twigs and crunching leaves as they went. The sun continued to shine. It shot straight into the old oak tree that wilted over the lawn. The light seemed to shoot in a million directions when it reached the branches. She quickly chose a spot on the grass to sit down and began playing with her toy horses. Her father came walking past her. “Julie, stop playing around! Make yourself useful, go pick some peaches or something!” “All right.” Julie walked into the garage and got a peach bushel. She began skipping along the bank of the creek. Sometimes water trickled over her shoes. Julie soon reached the stretch of fruit trees that encircled a small pond. Her father had planted the trees when they first moved to the farm. Julie started to climb up the tree. Branch by branch she climbed higher and higher, until she was mid-way up. Julie scanned the tree. She reached out and pricked a very small peach off of the branch. Then she spotted a very big peach that stood out from all the rest. But it was just out of her reach. So she stretched as much as she could. But just as she was about to grab it, her fingers slipped and she fell out of the tree. She landed on the meadow and couldn’t help herself from rolling into the pond. She bolted out of the pond, gasping for air. The bushel and the one peach had sunk. Julie trudged home, picking seaweed off of her on the way. When she got home her father was disappointed. “Oh, no! What happened?” “Sorry, Father,” was all Julie could say. She made her way to her room and changed clothes. After dinner it was soon time for bed. In her sleep she had a wonderful dream that
Writing activity
Writing Project (non-fiction): using personal experience to develop understanding, with “Experiencing Home” by Yodit Lemma, 12
Map showing location of Ethiopia, courtesy https://www.worldatlas.com Experiencing Home by Yodit Lemma War and Peace. It has always been true that somewhere in the world there has been war and in other parts there has been peace. But now, with television, those of us who live in peace see war every day in our houses as the war takes place. The war on TV looks real and makes us think that we know what war is like. In reality, however, the war we see on TV is a story safely contained within the television set. It feels like something happening to somebody else. Yodit’s story is about a trip she made to Ethiopia in 1994 to see her family. It is a story about self-discovery and is exceptional for the honesty Yodit brings to her description of her own feelings. For example, at first, when Yodit sees poor people who are begging, she turns her back on them. Only after some time does she let herself feel the human and personal tragedy of the people around her. Even though this story is non-fiction, Yodit uses literary techniques to tell her story. Pay particular attention to the last paragraph in which Yodit shows us how the memory of war now lives in her and how, even while playing cards, living a normal life, she has become changed by her experiences. Project: Write about a Personal Experience That Made You Understand Something on an Emotional level. Intellectually, Yodit knew about the war in Ethiopia before she went there. But emotionally, she hadn’t really understood. Many of us read about homeless people living on the streets of the big cities. Many of us pass homeless people every day. But almost all of us, like Yodit, just walk past them without stopping. Go somewhere with your parents where you can meet people whose lives are very different from you own. Talk to them and then write about your experience. The difference between the way a journalist writes and the way you should write is this: a journalist doesn’t include him- or herself as a character, while you should. Tell us, as Yodit does, how what you see affects you. How does it make you feel? Experiencing Home by Yodit Lemma Age 12, Blantyre, Malawi First published in Stone Soup Magazine in March/April 1994 I think it is hard for people to believe things unless they experience or witness them. I once had an ex-perience. I experienced the results of how war came into a city and destroyed people’s homes and jobs. Not only did I experience this but witnessed struggles for freedom that created broken hearts and famine. In the summer of 1992 I visited my homeland Ethiopia, longing for a happy and enjoyable holiday. But when I went there I saw soldiers in their camouflaged army suits one after the other with huge guns over their shoulders and children without homes, sleeping on the pavement. These things began to frighten me and fill my heart with sadness. Then I knew that what I thought to be a holiday was not going to be one. Many people, young and old, would come up to me and ask me for money with longing faces. At first, I would turn my back on them. But as time went on, I started to feel sorry for them and began to share the few cents I had in my pockets. There was one man in particular that I gave all my money to that day. It was when we were traveling to my grandmother’s house. We had stopped for a road check and were ready to leave. Just before we left, this poor man dressed in rags and fairly thin came to me through the car windows and pleaded for money. So I gave him the money I had. The rest of the way to my grandmother’s house I wondered about my country. I felt as if I should blame someone for all the hunger and poverty. But I didn’t know who to blame. That summer my fifteen-year-old cousin, Lidet, told me the different things she experienced or heard about during the war. Many times, she had to stay at home because soldiers would shoot anyone they saw, thinking that this person was on the opposite side. She and all my family there were very frightened. Many of them began to cry because they never knew what would hap-pen next or what would become of them. Once many teenage orphans were asked to fight in the war. But they did not agree and tried to run away. Then, suddenly, long thunders were let from the guns of soldiers and lives of innocent people were lost. As Lidet told me this story my mind refused to accept it. I questioned why were people like this? Right then war entered my mind. All people could think and care about was war. Among the tragic events that occurred, there’s one about my grandmother that I could never really believe happened. It was said that there was a time in her village when people went crazy and shot everyone and everything they saw. As she was opening her door to go outside, a bullet swished inches past her eyes and hit a mirror. This event also gave me a fright and was harder to believe than any other event. This was because my family and I were always safe here in Zambia and yet my relatives in Ethiopia were in danger. That summer I experienced results of tragic events, but I also had a great time with all my relatives and friends. On dark, stormy nights we would sit around the fire and play cards. As I got ready to say, “A-shea-ne-fku,” which means “I win” in Amharic, the heavy orange, purple, and red flames of the fire caught my attention. I gazed as I remembered all the tragic and maddening events I’d heard about. In the background I could hear my name.
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,
