‘Tom Green,’ a story by 10-year-old Zahra Batteh, is a classic redemption tale. Tom Green, a horrible, spoiled, lazy young man loses all his money and privilege, and through a series of misfortunes and (eventually) hard work over several years develops compassion and gratitude, and becomes a better person. In the end, he finds happiness not in the material things that were all he cared about in the beginning but in a simpler, more generous-spirited life spent helping others. What makes this story extra special is the writer’s style: Zahra Batteh tells the story of Tom in a natural, almost conversational voice, but without wasting a word. Every short sentence moves the action forward and paints a picture of Tom’s life and character. In just four pages, Zahra manages to make the reader feel as though they know everything about Tom and how he has spent four whole years of his life. I think she achieves this feat partly though the spareness of her language. She doesn’t hint, or judge, or indulge in long, flowery descriptions; she lays out the facts plainly and simply, showing us who Tom was and who he becomes without ever telling us what she thinks he is like. It’s a great example of the power of “show, don’t tell.” The story also has a well-judged turning point about half way through where the previously unpleasant character begins to transform. The Activity First, read ‘Tom Green’ at least once, paying particular attention to the ways Tom’s character and behaviour are revealed all the way through the story. What language does Zahra use to describe Tom Green? You can also click on the audio link at the top of the story’s page to hear the author reading the story aloud herself at Soundcloud. After you have read it for yourself, try listening to the way Zahra reads, especially where she places emphasis, to get an insight into how she was thinking about Tom Green as she wrote his story. Show don’t tell: One of the things you will notice is how few adjectives and adverbs Zahra uses when she talks about Tom’s actions. She tells us what happens, but she doesn’t make a judgement or tell us readers what we should think of him. For example, in the first paragraph, she tells us that Tom expects all his food to taste incredible: “If there was ever something that didn’t meet his taste buds’ expectations, it would instantly hit the bottom of his trash can with a small thud, and the chef would be off to prepare a new and better dish.” Zahra doesn’t actually say that Tom Green spits out his food, throws it away, shouts at the chef (he has a personal chef!) and so on, but as we read this explanation of what happens, we can just imagine the horrible behaviour that Tom is displaying. Zahra leads us gently, showing us paragraph by paragraph what Tom’s qualities are. By showing us the actions without telling us exactly what to think of them she makes it possible for Tom’s ultimate transformation to sound believable. A clear turning point: Zahra is also very careful not to say too much about what Tom is feeling, which makes the nuggets she gives us speak loudly about him. At the beginning of the story, we learn that Tom “threatened” his parents with a lie, and then did a “small happy dance” when he learned they were dead. When he first loses all his money and has to move into a shed, we learn “he hated everything about” it. We hear that he has been fired from every job he has had over the past year, so it is a surprise to read on the third page that he feels “guilty” when the manager of Pick-up car service is nice to him, because he knows that a few years ago he would have treated this man like an “annoying fly”. This is the turning point. After this, Tom starts to “enjoy” his work, to listen to others, and to feel gratitude for what he has. He decides he wants to help to change the world for the better. Because Zahra has focused on his behaviour, rather than telling us Tom has a fundamentally bad character, her turning point is believable. Tom Green can change, and he does. Invent your own flawed character and think about what might lead them to redemption. Then, try to write their story as simply, and with as little judgement of their actions, as you can. Identify a believable turning point where they start to change for the better. Show us, don’t tell us, who your main character is. Let your readers make up their own minds about who they are and what they are like.
Teaching Children
Art Activity: Telling a Story with Multiple Perspectives in a Single Image
Procreate Emi Le’s artwork, “Invisible to Human,” is one of those deceptively simple pieces of art that reveals more, and poses more questions, the longer you look at it. There are so many intriguing things about it. Its title makes me stop and think as I focus on the strange, many-limbed creature on the right. Maybe the human astronaut can’t see it, even with their flashlight apparently focused on it, but I get the feeling it can see the human–the subtitle could be “Visible to Alien”! I find my eye constantly drawn into that big, single eye with its blue center, one of the only colorful things amid the different shades of gray. Looking at the whole image, I love the way Emi has used diagonal planes of light and dark to illustrate what is visible to each of the figures, and what is not. The alien’s tentacle vanishes into the blackness of the human’s experience, while the human steps forward into what they perceive as lonely darkness, somehow behind and unable to see the presence of the creature the viewers are so aware of in the foreground. The different degrees of dark keep the mood somber and somehow secretive. One of the things that gives the image power is the strong sense of a story behind it. How did either of the creatures get here? Will the astronaut walk behind the alien, or right into it? Will the alien turn around and move those tentacles around the astronaut, or will they just glide past one another, the alien remaining forever “invisible to human”? It’s mysterious, and just a bit sinister. The Activity Click on the link to see a higher resolution version of “Invisible to Human”. Spend at least 5 minutes studying the image, observing the details discussed in the paragraph above and noting your own thoughts about the use of color, perspective, dark and light, the outlines, the shapes. How does the image make you feel? What story is it telling you? What is it about the way the image is made that makes you feel those feelings or understand that story? Think, too, about the impact of the medium on the art. Emi used a program called Procreate, which is a piece of digital drawing software for iPads. There are many other digital art programs, some of which are free of charge. If you have access to one of those devices or programs, use this project as a chance to experiment with what you can do. If not, use your favourite pencils or pastels to make your work. Imagine your own scenario in which a human and an alien encounter one another. What happens? Think about who can see what (the human, the alien, the viewer of the art), and try to show the different perspectives. Tell your story and create your mood with your use of line, color, perspective, and light.
Weekly Writing Workshop #17, Friday July 24: Writing About Music
An update from our seventeenth Weekly Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop, plus some of the output published below The Stone Soup Weekly Writing Workshop is open to all Stone Soup contributors and subscribers. Every Friday, we meet for an hour-and-a-half via Zoom to respond to a new writing challenge, write together in our virtual room, and then share what we have written with one another. Our session on July 24 included young writers from across the US, from France, and the UK, and was the third one that was led by one of our participants–this time, former contributor and current Stone Soup intern Anya Geist. It was a thought provoking and inspirational presentation: thank you, Anya, for a really great job! Anya guided us through a number of different musical styles, asking us to think about how the music made us feel, what mood it expressed, and what colors it conjured up for us. We moved from Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, via Dave Brubeck’s Take Five, Sousa’s classic marching band tune Washington Post, and a Puccini aria (O Mio Babbino Caro), through to Helpless from Miranda’s musical Hamilton, gathering people’s responses to each one as we went. We talked about the different colors (blue for classical, brown for jazz) and moods (from joy to yearning) each one evoked. We then moved on to consider the impact of different arrangements–from symphony to soloist–and the varied feelings evoked by different instruments, whether brass, strings or wind. Finally, we were asked to consider the sensations conjured up by the setting the performance takes place in. Anya closed with a piece of writing from Matt Killeen’s Orphan Monster Spy, that demonstrates the powerful evocative language that music can bring to a passage: “. . . random drops of high notes, like falling spring rain across the minor bass chords. Raindrops that streak across the windowpane, barely making their presence felt, but ruining the day.” The Writing Challenge: Use any musical element–different instruments, arrangements, styles, and settings–to write about music. It could be about how music makes someone feel, or the story of someone involved in music, or anything else you think up. The Participants: Simran, Abi, Liam, Nami, Maddie, Hera, Shreya, Heather, Sofie, Aditi, Tilly, Vishnu, Gracie, Janani, Michele, Charlotte, Enni, Lisa, Suman, Ever, Scarlet, Madeline, Shreya, Kanav, Anya, and more… Read on to experience some of the powerful, evocative writing created in the workshop! Aditi Dinesh, 11Ottowa, Canada The Storm Aditi Dinesh, 11 Lynn took a deep breath. She sat up straight and started to play. Her fingers flowed over the keys like a stream on a bed of rocks. Her foot pressed down on the pedal. The sharp notes dulled like they had been covered in cream. The richness was broken by the thunder. Dull at first then moving closer from the left. An incoming storm. The cries of children came out of the wood. Seeking shelter. Afraid of the lightning. Then it came. Crackling and booming, paired with the thunder. A gale was ripping through the keys. Then it was calm. The eye of the storm. As suddenly as it came, the calm was gone. The music turned violent. Louder. Louder. Louder. Lynn leaned back, her heart pounding. She looked out the window and saw a bright and sunny day. Liam Hancock, 12Danville, CA My Brother was the Bayou Liam Hancock, 12 “I want to listen to the man tonight,” I said nonchalantly, leaning back in my rocking chair. I glanced over to Mama, who seemed a world away. With needles, and thread, and table cloths strewn about tables. She sighed, her fingers artfully dancing around one another in a timeless ballet. Needle, thread, tablecloth. Tablecloth, needle, thread. “If Pops is in the mood,” she replied, her voice distant as the indigo sky spanned out about the swaying trees and warming bayou air. A small, wooden raft trundled by. “And it’s up to the man, Jackson, if he wants to play.” I shrugged, grabbing hold of our shambled roof and yanking myself to a stand, nodding in satisfaction as the rocking chair rolled back and slammed headlong into our small swamp cabin, sending the precarious boards shuddering in protest. I leapt down to the muddy banks, swatting away an assault of mosquitoes. “He plays when I want him to,” I pressed, the brown-greenish sheen of river water and soppy dirt seeping into my hunting boots. “And when I want to sleep, he stops.” I hesitated. “I think he likes me.” Mama took a pretty second to cast me a quizzical look. “That’s the most fine dandy and rediculous idea I’ve ever heard with these two ears.” She returned back to her knitting. “Pops should be nearby, maybe on Elkdead Island. Why don’t you take the skiff over?” I grinned. “I knew you’d come around!” I cried, leaping into our humble two-seater skiff and unknotting the rope in a supersonic leap. Pops’ favorite hunting stop was Elkdead Island, and on a good day, he’d return back to the cabin with a hunk of deer meat and some camouflage paint smudged over his nose that Mama would fuss over for the entirety of dinner meal until he washed up. It wouldn’t take much too long to find him in the shallow sawgrass. The island didn’t offer much in the way of tree cover, naturally making the job of gator hunting much cleaner than on the other side of the river. I was out onto the river with a good shove of the arms and started on my way. Oars in, oars out. Oars in, oars out. And hope none of the gators are about. Elkdead Island was a fifteen minute skiff ride across the winding river. Weaving like Mama’s fingers through the bayou, easing along with everywhere to go but nowhere to be. Sometimes I’d hear the man marching through the forestry beside me, and I’d ask him to play, and he’d stop and he’d duck back into the trees before I could get a
