Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity This writing activity is based on a story by 13-year-old Joanna Calogero published in Stone Soup Magazine’s September/October 1992 issue, and also included in the Stone Soup Book of Fantasy Stories anthology. Read the story, “Doll Shop Magic,” on our website here. Joanna’s story is a fairy tale, a story in which a supernatural force rescues a good person from a desperate situation. While it is a fairy tale, it is a modern fairy tale. The action takes place in a big city among people who all act and think like average modern people. In fact, while it is pretty clear that something very magical happens in this story to save the main character, Sam, from his landlord, Mr. Murphy, Sam is never sure what saves him. Maybe it was just luck. Maybe the girl and the doll were a dream. Sam, like most modern people, doesn’t believe in fairies. Notice how thoroughly Joanna develops the reality of Sam’s life and problem. His city has changed, his doll store is no longer in the part of town where people shop, and the new landlord, like the city itself, is no longer friendly or tolerant. The modern city doesn’t encourage romance and magic. And so, throughout this story, the question remains unanswered: Did more than just good luck enter Sam’s life? Project: Write a Story in Which a Likeable Person Is Rewarded Through Magic or Luck Your character does not have to be perfect, just likeable. But your character should be struggling against a mean or uncaring person. In traditional fairy tales the bad person is very bad: typical examples include an ogre, an evil stepmother, or an evil witch. In Joanna’s story, “Doll Shop Magic,” Mr. Murphy, the landlord, plays the role of the more traditional evil fairy tale character. But Mr. Murphy is not really bad, like a criminal or an ogre. He is bad the way the modern world is bad. He is insensitive, uncaring, and inflexible towards a fellow human being. In your story, show us how a kind person who desperately needs help finally gets it in an unexpected way. Whether the unexpected is clearly magical or whether it just seems a coincidence is up to you. Or, like Joanna, you can blur the edges between reality and fantasy so we never really know. Pay attention to the setting in which your story takes place so that no matter what happens you give the reader a sense that at least the place and the main character are real.
Teaching Children
Writing Activity: make a fictional creature seem real, with “The Baron, the Unicorn, and the Boy” by Ogechi Cynthia Njoku, 12
Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity Ogechi’s story, The Baron, the Unicorn, and the Boy, is about an ordinary boy, Albert, and how he is rescued from the boredom of a school outing by a dream-like adventure in a fairy-tale past. Ogechi’s writing is clear and forceful. Like all good fairy tales, her story can be read as a pleasant tale. The familiar elements — the kind, bewitched king, the lovely unicorn, the powerful ruby, and the arrogant baron — are like familiar friends or favorite foods that make for a satisfying few minutes’ entertainment. Also, though, like all good fairy tales, Ogechi’s story can be read on a deeper level. Albert was lost in a museum. But at some point in most people’s lives they feel themselves to be lost and without purpose. At those times it is natural to dream of adventure and radical change. This is the spirit behind the fantasy of daydreams. Rarely, but it does happen, adventure reaches into our ordinary lives as it reached into Albert’s. By some amazing chance we win a game when usually we are a terrible athlete. Or there is a hurricane or some other natural disaster and suddenly there is lots to do and we do it. Albert woke up from his adventure to find a necklace around his neck. Others wake up to find a trophy on their bedroom shelf or read about themselves in the morning paper. Did I really do that? Most of us are like Albert. The adventure suddenly appears in our life and when it is over we have little more than a memory and a souvenir. Project: Write a Story in Which an Ordinary Person Is Suddenly Involved in an Adventure and/or Fiction Becomes Real Whether your adventure is grounded in reality, like a sporting event or a natural disaster, or whether it is a fantasy, like Ogechi’s story, try to create a believable world. Ogechi’s treatment of the unicorn provides a model for how to make a fictional creature seem real. Notice that, in addition to mere physical descriptions, Ogechi show us the unicorn as a living, thinking creature. She does this by showing us how the unicorn and Albert communicate with each other. When writing your story, always remember that if you can show how living things relate to each other, through words, gesture, or even by some mystical tie, your imaginary world will seem real. The Baron, the Unicorn, and the Boy By Ogechi Cynthia Njoku Illustrated by Andrew Ujifusa Albert gazed listlessly at everything before him. Statues and tombs stood around him, both of great and delicate antiquity. People shuffled noiselessly past him, admiring the artifacts set before them. As you can imagine, Albert was at the museum. This was one of the numerous outings he’d been obliged to take part in during the school year. Thus, he was spending hours in the detested place. “Can we leave now?” he asked. His voice hung in the heavy silence, and, receiving no answer, he looked up to find himself alone. Panicking, he ran to the exit,thinking that his class had perhaps gone or moved on to another interesting display, but, instead of facing the usual glass panels, he found himself facing an old door. It was so gray with dust and veiled with cobwebs that Albert could hardly see it. Curiosity, with a thread of fear accompanying it, forced him to open it. He stepped over the threshold. The room was covered with layers of dust with an open grime-covered window showing glimpses of a barren and desolate land. The room was empty except for a large figure at one corner. Albert shivered and took a few steps backward. Just then something stirred and some dust brushed off the figure’s face. Its eyes blinked open and stared at Albert. He turned with his heart in his throat, his sole intention to run out of the place, when the voice arrested him. “At last you are here. I have waited for a long time.” Albert turned slowly and stared at the man, for man he was! While he was busy brushing himself off, Albert diligently studied him. He was young with stalwart features. His face was kind but with a hint of sadness and suffering hovering around it. His clothes suggested long ago prosperity but were now in rags. His limpid eyes lifted to meet Albert’s and he smiled. “I am Raymond Fitzgerald,” he said. “I am a king but have not seen much of that aristocratic world. At an early age, I lost my father and mother in tragic circumstances, indeed, there was a lot of mystery surrounding their death. I was made king, and, as young as I was, I was made to do a number of duties. In one of them, I was visiting a nearby kingdom. I took with me enough sustenance to last a month, my unicorn, and the baron. I once trusted. My unicorn was envied in many kingdoms for its strength and spirit. My baron, as I found out later, also liked it, and, halfway through the journey, he attacked me. Taken by surprise and totally unarmed as I was, he easily defeated me. He took my unicorn and kept me captive here. Even then…,” he shrugged. “Without that unicorn I am nowhere. Luckily, the baron informed me of the unicorn’s whereabouts, thinking that I’d never be able to reach it. The unicorn is in a cage situated about three miles from here. Give him this flower.” He withdrew a crushed flower from the tattered folds of his cloak. “It will enable him to free himself from the cage. Beware of the baron for he is very sly. You may use no arms as only the ruby can kill the baron. Do you agree?” Silence followed in which Albert trembled. His instinct told him that to agree was to sign his death sentence. But maybe he was thinking of the long-ago sense
Time Is Short: a meditation on teaching art
Perhaps it’s a vestige of the agricultural heritage here in the Grand Valley in western Colorado, but our school children are released for the summer in mid-May. Growing up in California, we went from Labor Day to Memorial Day, at least. Beginning of September to end of May, or early June. Here, it’s been tradition to let them out in May to help on the farms and ranches. Since January I’ve been squeezing in days that I can work with my fifth graders at one of the school district’s most rural elementary schools. Set literally between cow and horse pastures, our school is comprised of an interesting mix of ranch families, folks who bought cheap land and built a big house, and folks who pretty nearly live off the grid even though it’s not really their choice. Our little school (300 students more or less) hunkers down between a stretch of a highway that leads into the mountains and to the backcountry of Utah, and horse and cow pastures. When I drive to work, I get into my car in my neighborhood of mature trees and cozy cottage houses stretched between a major medical center complex and a university campus. I emerge 30 minutes later in the parking lot of the school, which seems like an extension of the surrounding fields. There is always a meadowlark that trills when I get out of the car. This transition always reminds me of who my kids are, and allows me to adjust my head before I walk in. Earlier this year while my students were working on the raw clay, rolling out slabs to work with, busy with the kinetic tasks of modeling and shaping images, they were talking. I don’t subscribe to silence while artists are at work. My rules are simple. Keep it clean and keep it nice. No dissing ANYONE, even yourself. That said, it is highly fascinating to listen to the conversations that occur when kids have their hands in wet clay, or are focused on painting glaze (which doesn’t behave like any kind of paint they’ve ever used, and thus gives them an opportunity for problem solving). So one young man says to another, “I can’t believe they won’t let us wear our work boots to school anymore. They said we’ll track feces all over” (said with an audible eye roll). Probably not a comment you’d hear in your average school setting. Tomorrow I will fire the last batch of clay tiles. Last week the students painted on the glazes they want, making decisions that will be permanent, but will not ever be “wrong.” One child decided to mix two colors of glaze to get a different brown than I had available. When glaze goes on, it is chalky and a completely different color than it will turn out when it’s been fired. The student asked me how much to use, and I told her I had no clue. Baffled looks. I’m the art teacher, right? But I don’t know how it will turn out. So many possibilities. So I told her to just do what seemed right, and we’d see how it looks. She said “It’s okay, it’ll work”. Bam. Yes. In the past few weeks I’ve been fitting work on the tiles between standardized testing and regular classwork these children need to be ready for middle school. They are tired, grumpy, stressed. Some of them are SOOOO ready to be in middle school, but some are really grieving for their loss. One girl just wants to stay with her “favorite teacher of all time.” Another is hoping her parents will agree to homeschool her so she doesn’t have to see “all those girls running around with tank tops on.” She goes back to painting glaze. “Can I use this line painter to make dots?” I ask her what she thinks. She tries it out, and gleefully paints dots on her ladybug. Another student uses this new tool to fill in the depressions where she has pressed letter stamps into the clay. They share it around, show each other how to hold it and squeeze the bottle just enough. Tactile. Small motor skills. Learning through teaching. Problem solving (with no set answer). Predicting results. Flexible thinking. Tolerance. Self-critique. Cooperation. Group work. I recently read an article about how visiting a museum can make young people measurably more tolerant and kinder. Plus, they actually remembered what they learned in discussion groups about the pieces they saw. Combine visual with kinetic with oral and the experience implants itself in a young brain. A pattern is set, an indentation on the smooth surface of their memories, which will receive information again and again over their lives, and it will fit into this indentation, and be familiar. Our new Education Secretary, John B. King, Jr., has expressed concern that the testing models now are taking up instructional time, and have squeezed out science, social studies, art and music in the race to improve English and math skills. He has proposed that perhaps different models could be used to measure students’ abilities, rather than “low-level bubble tests” such as essays and research projects, which would, one would hope, be assessed by the teachers. This is a big, fat “NO, REALLY?” for me. With the testing load teachers have now, especially in states where Common Core has been interpreted to mean that test scores determine teacher pay, the result is that teachers are not given the respect of their education and professionalism to determine how and when and how much to teach which subjects in order to best serve their students’ needs. Weren’t we there, with teachers assigning essays and projects to gauge student work, before we got so bogged down with tests? Please let this new acronym ESSA (Every Student Succeeds Act) be code for “give the respect of professionalism back to the teachers” and not “here are some more hoops to jump through”. Time and respect. A few
