An update from our thirty-second Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday February 6, plus some of the output published below This week we talked about language: non-English language. Participants shared the various languages they know, and we went on to explore some invented languages used in fiction, such as J.R.R Tolkein’s Elfin and Klingon, used in Star Trek. William played a number of readings, songs and film clips asking us to focus on how the sounds of the languages convey meaning, character and culture, even when we don’t know the words. The Writing Challenge: Focus on sound–invented words that just seem “right and/or the sound of an invented or foreign language that fits your fictional creation. Prose, poetry, or a song are all acceptable. – the base language for the story or poem is English – either allow made-up words into your story as part of its flow AND/OR – create a scene in which there is someone from a different world (fairy, talking tree, delirious person, monstrous giant etc.) who speaks 2-4 lines of dialogue OR 2-4 lines of a verse or song. The Participants: Ismini, Nova, Iago, Anya, Nami, Sophie, Charlotte K, Reese, Elbert, Lina, Leo, Lindsay, Lucy R, Julia A, Emma B, Kaidyn, Rachel L, Hera, Madeline K, Helen, Eva, Lena, Liam, Ava, Georgia, Pranjoli, Samantha L, Sierra, Simran, Madeline N, Sage, Sophia, Margaret, Elise, Margaret, Maggie, Olivia, Noa, Lucy K, Alice, Ann, Angela, Enni, Yasmine, Charlotte M, Tilly, Emi, Tegan, Sadie. Sierra E., 11Mountain View, CA The Calls of a Dolphin Sierra E., 11 Tall conifers swayed gently in the evening breeze, tilting toward the Pacific coast, as if craning their long necks toward the water’s edge. Children laughed gleefully as they sprinted across the smooth sand, wrapping up a day of adventure and excitement, all but one, who sat huddled in a jet-black jacket leaning against a rocky cliff. She heard her parents calling for her, but she paid no notice, instead staring blankly up at the sunset, painted lavender and a rosy pink. The waves lapped softly at the shoreline, several hundreds of feet from the young girl, who, through it all, remained perfectly hidden. Her parents became desperate, shouting louder and louder for their child to return. She stood, but not intending to return home. Not yet. As she had done for years now, she sprinted past the spires of rock that were positioned jaggedly along the ocean, some halfway submerged by salty seawater. The voices of her parents became drowned out with the harmonious wind and waves, blending together into a sort of song. “Come!” the child beckoned sweetly, finally sitting down where the beach grew thin and the ocean became immeasurable. The water spun upward into a spiral, causing the child to leap backward suddenly. A smile formed on her face when a sleek creature emerged. It was who she’d been waiting for. Her dolphin. The one she had met four years ago on that stormy winter night. The one that had visited her each time she came back to the beach. The one that greeted her with compassion and exhilaration. The dolphin chortled cheerily, keeping most of itself in the sea. It whistled seven times, repeatedly, speaking in a language most humans couldn’t make out. At first, the girl struggled to understand as always, then, pulling a chip of a shell from her pocket, she whispered, “I see. Your pod is running out of food? The fish and squids have disappeared?” The dolphin whistled once, as if to agree. “Don’t worry,” the child replied hopefully, somehow still understanding with the shell she had found so many years ago. The creature swam away, calling out its goodbye, leaving the girl, still remaining on the sand in the exact spot, in shock as she always was after a welcome from her friend. Lindsay Gao, 9Dublin, OH Untitled Lindsay Gao, 9 The cassie implewart crawled out of her nest. Her long bubber colored fur fell into her eyes as she leapt from tree to tree in a snookaloo manner. Finally, she came upon a small grove where three nymphs already stood, nibbling on bloated mushrooms. She growled at them, and they disappeared into the forest of maples and oaks. She grabbed an alkay sized nut, squealing in happiness as she realized a water nerry was inside. Unfortunately, her squeal was heard. A creature, brown as a Rhodesian Lakeside Brownie it stood there, staring at her. “Cop incub issle. Cokie aparr alooya? Tsuki?” She knew that had to mean something, but she couldn’t figure out what. She only spoke Mitzer Mouth, and thought maybe the creature spoke Logipo. Her mother had wanted her to speak that, but she had refused. She gave the creature the water nerry, though she didn’t want to. One water nerry could exchange for at least five cassie mushrooms. The creature smiled at her. She smiled back. She woke up. It had been twenty-five days since she gave the creature the water nerry. She looked out a tiggle in her nest, and saw something that made her heart leap into her throat. A small water nerry sat on the stump next to her nest, and a small clump of brown fur was caught there too. And now she heard a soft sound carried through the wind, “Maroo: Thank you.” Translations: Cassie implewart A creature. Bubber Color of the ocean with sunlight upon it. Snookaloo Sneaky but graceful. Alkay A bit larger than an almond. Water Nerry A mix between a nut and a berry. Rhodesian Lakeside Brownie A household spirit. “Cop incub issle. Cokie aparr alooya? Tsuki?” “I’m really hungry. Can we share some nuts? Please?” Mitzer mouth and Logipo Different types of languages. Cassie mushrooms Cassie implewart’s favorite type of mushroom. Tiggle Dot sized crack in the nest of a cassie implewart. Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA Languages Anya Geist, 14 the words fall out of my mouth and spill through the air as I spout
Writing Workshop
Writing Workshop #31: Chance Operations for Fun, Challenge, and a Different Kind of Expression
An update from our thirty-first Writing Workshop (and the first of 2021)! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday January 23, plus some of the output published below To start our first season of classes in 2021, William focused on the idea of chance: the idea–or even the fact–that life and art is filled with twists and turns, and we don’t know the whole story until it’s over. He used several examples from the work of composer John Cage to explore the idea of chance in composition, the idea that the composer decides on a range of permutations that the performers and audience then use to produce the piece. Similarly, he talked about change ringing, the British tradition of church bell-ringing in repeating yet varied patterns, where mathematics chooses the notes, but the musicians choose how the pattern is heard and Maddie (piano) and William (clarinet) played some patterns. We developed some random word lists, and a numeric system for choosing 6 at random from them, and then everyone wrote for half an hour incorporating those words into their poem, prose or story. The Writing Challenge: Select your 6 random words using a system that truly allocates them at random(!), and use them in your writing at various points to move, disrupt, change or direct the action. Everyone had slightly different words to work with, but the master list included: guinea pig, and, dragon, destroy, watermelon, wolf, jello, global warming, cat, tree, happy, flame, whisper, cinnamon, green, basket, running, moderate, fall, hat, boat, suddenly, skull, mythology, stream, sing, soundlessly, furious… The Participants: Maddie, Peri, Julia, Helen, Leo, Eve, Lindsay, Lina K, Elbert, Kaidyn, Georgia, Reese, Simran, Katie, Samantha, Lucy K, Maggie, Yasmine, Lucy R, Julia A, Rachel, Ava, Margaret, Emma, Madeline, Nami, Siri, Pranjoli, Lena, Charlotte K, Anya, Anna, Aelin, Charlotte M, Grace, Alice, Liam, Sierra, Tilly, Olivia Z, Angela, Jonathan, Julia W, Hera, Louis, Enni, Elise, Nova, Emi, Sadie, Anya. Lena Aloise, 11Harvard, MA The Evolution of an Author Lena Aloise, 11 I remember standing at the very top of the jungle gym. While two chestnut braids swayed down by my hips And bangs, in need of a trimming, fell down over my eyes. And little dollhouse people bustled about below. I remember quietly, Quizzically surveying my domain. As a ravenous confusion gnawed away At a corner of my consciousness. Why did those surrounding me take such pleasure In filling meaningless shapes with garish crayon colors And standing at the front of the line? I remember opening the pink lunchbox My mother had lovingly filled that morning. And taking out a bunch of grapes Pretending I was a hungry dragon Going grape picking. Do dragons like grapes? I giggled at the thought of a bloodthirsty beast Eating a fruit salad. I remember Suddenly pointing to a thick novel, Collecting dust on an overhead shelf. Pulling it down And hoisting the cover open. Harry Potter I read And the Sor—-cer—-ers Stone “Maybe when you’re older.” my mother reassured me, Tentatively placing it back up on the shelf. But later that night Inevitably destroying my five-year-old innocence Hauling the book to my bedroom. Letting myself slip beneath the surface Into a place where words formed a perfect melody And the story rolled off my lips Sweet as spun sugar. I remember. Picking up that despised crayon box. Pulling out a shade of sparkling blue And making the words Once upon a time. . . Sierra E., 11Mountain View, CA The Guinea Pig Left Behind Sierra E., 11 The guinea pig shuffled around, pacing in her cage, and padding about on the soft scraps of wood beneath her paws. She had been waiting in a lonely, desolate classroom for nearly a month now, wondering if anyone would ever return. Blasts of scalding heat would occasionally float through an open window, and the soft, comfortable evening breeze would come along after. This guinea pig was quite a sociable one, always grateful to have the students and teachers around when they were, but now that there wasn’t a human in sight, she found herself bored from morning to night. It was a sunny, summer Sunday afternoon. A child sat in his backyard on the cool grass under the shade of an ancient willow tree that had been planted long before his birth six years back, playing joyfully beneath the chirps of cheerful birds. He lived right beside the local elementary school, where there were often mysterious whistling sounds echoing out of it. Today’s noise was especially loud, and the boy was also in the mood for adventure and mischief, so he sprinted around the bushes of his yard and past the school gates one building down the street. The guinea pig whined as loud as she could. Still? Still no one? Why did all of the usually friendly ones at the school suddenly want to starve her? She was always well-behaved. Up until now, at least. Gnawing on the bars of her cage which suddenly felt like a prison cell, she broke free, and took a flying leap off of the dresser that she had sat on for so long. She fell painfully onto the gray-speckled tiles of the classroom floor, whimpering harder than ever. The boy ran faster. And faster, into his classroom he had spent so much time in the previous year. “Patches!” he shouted, “Patches? Is that you?” The child burst through the door of Room 302, shocked to find the beloved class pet lying abandoned on the ground. “Patches!” he cried, worried, as he kneeled down to lift the creature into his hands. The tiny guinea pig turned up its small, piebald-colored face to view the child with its own dark eyes. The creature smiled the best she could, feeling comforted at last. With that, the boy took off running again, and disappeared down the school halls and all the way back home, ready to care for the guinea pig that would be his for the remainder of summer. Lindsay
Writing Workshop #30: the Literary Vignette
An update from our thirtieth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday December 12, plus some of the output published below This week William presented on the idea of the vignette: a focused piece of writing, often in the midst of another longer, piece, but that is somewhat outside time or narrative. A vignette adds color or shape, but doesn’t necessarily move the story forward. After an introduction on the meaning of words (contrasting Humpty Dumpty declaring that words mean whatever he decides he wants them to mean with the codified wavelengths of colors, which simply are what they are), he showed some early photographs, pointing out that the photographic vignette is always presented in an oval: there is a focus on one thing, and no other context to distract. The Writing Challenge: Write a vignette: – a focused description of place – landscape, interior – or character – a focused look at a scene that implies a story The Participants: Charlotte K, Madeline, Lena A, Anya, Sophia, Georgia, Rachael, Lena D, Olivia, Peri, Tilly, Helen, Madeline S, Liam, James, Hera, Lina, Olivia, Janani, Margaret, Angela, Lucy K, Juniper, Samantha, Ava, Ma’ayan, Nami, Jonathan, Nova, Enni, Leah, Rithesh, Emi, Charlotte M, Emma. Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA Ships in the Night Anya Geist, 14 Tick. Tick. Tick. The passing of mere seconds seemed eternal that night. The sea was dark and still; its waves rolled peacefully, quietly. On its surface, the only motion exhibited was the dainty reflection of stars on the water, which twinkled much like their counterparts in the sky; and the horizon seemed invisible; the sea and sky were the same on this night. The air was warm and salty, perfectly neutral, perfectly tranquil. Not a soul was heard. Tick. Tick. Tick. And then out of that endless depth of horizon came a monster. Cloaked in thick smoke it glided silently, stealthily across the water. You wouldn’t have known that behind its black walls was a hub of activity, men in sailor’s uniforms who pushed the mechanical beast along. Men who pored over maps, and scrutinized enemy war plans. Men who worked fluidly together to prepare their cannons to fire. Soon came another creature, another ship, similarly bloodthirsty, similarly silent, similarly hidden. But neither would be hidden for long. Neither would be hidden for long. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Stars Peri Gordon, 11 A star. A crystal, with a life of its own. White spikes gleaming, dancing, smiling in the sky. Teasing the moon, competing with the other nighttime jewels. Flashing silver, flashing gold. Brightening the sky for hours without tiring. Showing, disappearing, colorful, plain. Glimmering with life. Dappled with the colors of the rainbow, but transparent when you look right at it. Always changing, always morphing. Shining, glowing, ready for an adventure. Millions of these, twinkling, sparkling, winking at you. Dazzling us with flips and jumps and shimmers. Captivating; hypnotic; endless. Elizabeth Hwang, 10Great Neck, NY Becoming a True Hero Elizabeth Hwang, 10 Ruby was an 11 year old trained warrior. She had glossy red pinkish hair with beautiful soft, pure skin, and shining emerald eyes. One evening, she was lying down on her bed thinking about what she could do to be a better warrior. Then she heard her mother scream. She rushed over to her room and saw her intense, challenging master, a gigantic spider, who never backed down during a fight. He said, “Ruby, to show the true skills of being the next warrior and hero of our nation, you must capture the diamond of Everest and place it on the podium at the magical secret garden. This is found through the mystical white gates that will appear after you receive this powerful diamond to get your mother back. You will have three challenges. To pass the challenges, you must go against the giant sea serpent, retrieve the fang of the poisonous, purple spotted cheetah, and find the sacred golden leaf hidden in the village of Arcaria.” The giant spider opened up a secret portal. This was no ordinary portal. It had a purple swirling entrance with pink sparks coming from it. In the middle, was a little sphere that was the color emerald, just like her eyes. Once again, he said, “ You must take that little emerald and say, mission start. Once you say it, the timer is on and you must race to finish these challenges on time. When you go into this portal, the battlefield will appear and you must face these three creatures to receive the diamond of Everest. And one more thing, you have until tomorrow afternoon to retrieve the diamond. If you don’t make it, then your village will be in danger and your mother will not return.” “What!” Ruby exclaimed. “That’s not enough time! I’m just a child. I’m not ready yet. Why did you choose me when there are so many other warriors that are better!?” “Rules are rules, you cannot disobey them,” said her master. “There is no need to answer you now. If you pass, I will give you the answer you seek. If you don’t it will remain a secret. Let this be a little motivation for you. I will send you off with one more tip, look at things around you. They can help you survive. Now go.” Right when Ruby was going to argue to give a different warrior this mission. But she knew that he wouldn’t let that happen, so Ruby grabbed the little emerald sphere, and yelled, “Mission START!” Ruby ran to the portal as fast as she could hoping to not waste her time. She was starting to get a little nauseous from all the swirling from the portal. As she walked closer and closer, the colors seemed to change from purple, to blue, slowly to green, then yellow, to orange, and finally to red. Scared, a little dizzy but determined, she got her weapons ready to face her first creature, the giant sea
