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
Teaching Children
Writing Activity: increasing tension with first person narrative
This story, told from the point of view of the first person, is short but wound tight, like a spring. The story flows from beginning to end, concluding in a climax, Piper has succeeded in doing something that is very difficult – getting the reader of a short story to so identify with the character that we, too, feel the relief of the ending, we, too, feel overwhelmed by what is happening and a sense of exhilaration as we read the last words! How does Piper do it? She does it by immediately making us feel our own body – “My palms are sweaty. My whole body is tense, waiting. I’m up next.” These are the feelings we can all relate to, whether or not we have ever participated in a music competition, and the direct language makes us relate to the feelings immediately. Piper creates an almost dream-like state in which we are acutely aware of our body but also of external events, like the leaves falling. She creates a psychological place where we hear sounds differently – “My name dives down upon me, echoing as it comes.” This is a work of great creative power, on in which the experience of tension and tension released is thoroughly imagined and then translated into powerful word-images and word-feelings. Project: Write a short short story about a tense moment. Start your story, as Piper does, when you are already in the midst of the tension. Use the first person, the “I” and the “me” voice, to help your readers identify with the moment. Think of your story as a spring being wound tighter and tighter to finally, suddenly, at the end, in a tremendous release of tension, unwind. Tension has its physical effects, like sweaty palms and difficult breathing, and it also creates dream-like states where we get focused on certain sights and sounds. Write the first draft of this story in one sitting. After first imagining a super-tense situation, let the feelings pour out, like a flood. Think of this as a story written in one breath. From Stone Soup, January/February 1994 Will They Like Me? By Piper Dorrance, age 12, Danville, Pennsylvania MY PALMS ARE sweaty. My whole body is tense, waiting. I’m up next. At ten years old, my six years of fiddle-training are being put to the test. The Ligonier Highland Games, more specifically, the Fiddle Competition, has begun. Winning last year gives me a speck more confidence, but it also means I have more to lose. As I wait, the cold morning air blows itself out and the warm air of the afternoon replaces it. It is a sunny autumn day and the brassy- and rusty-colored fallen leaves dance crazily to the music of the fiddler in the soft breeze outside of the sturdy gray pavilion. I look longingly out and wish that I could be out dancing with those leaves instead of sitting still, waiting for the last note of the person ahead of me. That note comes. I get ready, setting my fiddle on my lap. My name seems to be floating above my head, hover-ing, waiting to strike. My name dives down upon me, echoing as it comes. I take a deep breath and get up. I mechanically walk up the steps to the stage, almost in a trance. I look down. The ground is miles away and the silence, oh the silence! It gives me chills. The judge looks at me and goes back to her work. She finishes. Her papers are put aside and a fresh one passed to her. She looks at me and motions for me to start. I let go a long, deep breath. I walk up to the microphone and adjust it. I open my mouth and somehow my song titles come pouring out. The silence roars over me and tears me apart. I raise my instrument up to my chin and play like I’ve never played before. My air is slow and full of love. My march pounds out a booming pace. And last, but not least, my strathspey runs along merrily with a dancing melody. I am done! Never in my life will I forget this moment! A great clapping soon covers over me. It feels sensa-tional! The judge is clapping and my teacher beside her is doing the same! My parents are clapping! Suddenly, my cousins are there clapping too! People I don’t even know are clapping! They liked me! They really liked me! © 1994 Children’s Art Foundation
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.