An update from our twenty-third Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday October 3, plus some of the output published below This week, Stone Soup team member Jane Levi led a discussion about objects and their important role in building stories. We talked about useful, functional objects that might carry the action forward (referring to Chekhov’s famous comment that if you put a gun on the wall in the first scene, someone needs to fire it in the second) and symbolic objects that add additional layers of meaning for the reader which goes beyond their basic function as props. Starting with John Keats’ Ode on a Grecian Urn, where his detailed description of an ancient Greek vase becomes an opportunity for the poet to muse on time, beauty and truth, we discussed tokens from the Foundling Hospital as examples of simple things weighted with emotional significance that have inspired storytellers from Jacqueline Wilson to Charles Dickens. We moved on to think about writers like Philip Pullman and J.K. Rowling who have invented new objects or transformed the characteristics of existing ones (e.g. the alethiometer and the Mirror of Erised) to add interest and additional layers of meaning to their work, emphasising how helpful research can be. Sometimes, even a close look at the definition of words in a major source like the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) can uncover new possibilities in objects we think we already know. Finally, after a quick look at a real object (a police box) transformed into a fantastical one which almost becomes a character in its own right (Dr Who’s TARDIS), we moved into our half an hour of writing. This week, James, Madeline, Gia, Liam, Georgia, Ma’ayan and Nova read their work to the group for feedback from William and Jane. With stories involving no fewer than three different creepy dolls (!), we enjoyed some dramatic readings and a few moments of real horror, as well as some strong, evocative writing that really made us see, smell, feel and hear a range of meaningful objects from pencils to phone booths, and blankets to bracelets. Thank you everyone for another great class, and read on below to sample some of the great work produced during our workshop. The Writing Challenge: Write about an object in great detail. Make your readers able to see, hear, touch, smell it! You may choose to describe a real object, transform an existing object into a different version of itself, or invent a completely new one. The Participants: Nova, Rithesh, Katie, Charlotte, Georgia, Peri, Lucy, Simran, Scarlet, Liam, Maddie, Jonathan, Olivia, Tilly, Samantha, Janani, Helen, Madeline, Ella, Chloe, Ma’ayan, Keyang, Dana, Charlotte, Cassandra, Ava, Jayden, Maggie, Sophie, Enni, Juniper, Sierra, Elbert, Hera, Nami, Dhesh, Sophia, James, Ever, Emma, Gia, Sophia, Eden, Georgia. Lena Aloise, 11Harvard, MA The Pearl Earring Lena Aloise, 11 The house was empty, beds stripped of their linens, closet shelves bare. But in the midst of this desolate place, there was a pair of pearl earrings sitting on the windowsill. Mere pinpricks against a large expanse of rotting wood. It was very easy to miss them, if you were not looking carefully. But there they were, a fine layer of dust coating the perfect white orbs. Smooth to the touch, solid in one’s palm. A glistening surface mirrored its surroundings. He imagined a woman, dressed in her most elegant gown, putting the pearls through her ears, holding a hand mirror up to her face with the utmost satisfaction. Taking the arm of her husband and dancing, twirling, skirts billowing around her narrow frame. What had happened to the girl who had once worn something so beautiful? He shoved them deep into his jacket pocket and headed for home, boots making deep marks amongst the thick layer of white snow. The Bell Lena D., 12 It rings for a long time It dings The sound of it Makes me feel happy The essence made out of metal Touches my heart with joy Even if I am lonely It will bring cheer to the air I loved that sound Ever since I can remember I can feel its power Within the joy I sigh in happiness Forever I say that it is Not like any bell I know It’s ding Is like a great joy alarm Fire in my heart Like a burst of ember Scarly missing me Darkness collides But no I say This is not the great joy That I see everyday No It is not The great joy that I see Everyday I think deep Thoughts of the world And the darkness Is now gone From here Forever Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA The Chandelier Peri Gordon, 11 Nothing has been the same since I found a mysterious chandelier hanging above the spot where my regular lamp should be. It was swinging as if placed there recently, with stars, stripes, and spirals engraved into the sterling silver. Stranger still, all of the small golden flames in the little silver candle holder were all connected to a center flame, blazing blue, with sparks flying everywhere. Then I remembered my colleague was scheduled to come over. I attempted to extinguish the candles with water, which seemed to be the source of the trouble, but new flames would appear, seeming to burst out of the engravings. My dining room was a mess, with water on the floor and the chandelier more dangerous than ever. It occurred to me that the fire was not spreading or burning me or acting like fire at all. Maybe, I thought, it’s not that dangerous? Well, it was dangerous. My colleague arrived. When I didn’t let her in, she started pounding on the door, demanding I tell her what was going on. That’s when the chandelier started moving through the dining room, through the hall, and—this couldn’t be real—moving right through the door. I felt the responsibility to follow, so, even though I was scared to death, I did.
Writing Workshop
Writing Workshop #22: Dragonfly Narratives
An update from our twenty-second Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday September 19, plus some of the output published below Dragonflies have amazing eyes that refract and can see in multiple directions all at once. The images they see are thousands of times more complex than what other creatures can see. This workshop, devised and brought to us by Jennifer Rinterknecht and Denise Donnio, both educators based in France, was designed to get us thinking about how our minds and our writing can be more like a dragonfly’s eye: can we capture simultaneously different voices, different narratives, and the extraneous thoughts that are going on while we are writing? Can those random distractions become part of the narrative, like the texts or notes we pass in class become part of the story of the class being taught or the chat in Zoom becomes part of our Workshops? They presented a few examples of this idea of layered narration, and suggested a simple way of trying to capture this as we wrote–by using two columns, one for the narrative that obeys the conventional rules (Grammar A) and one for the stray thoughts and seemingly irrelevant other thoughts that occur (Grammar B) while writing in the first column. As always, our workshop participants rose to the challenge, with some innovative and impressive work. In some, the distraction became the narrative; in others the layers were in many dimensions, from different voices, media, forms and perspectives. Congratulations everyone who read, wrote and took part, and thank you Denise and Jen for an inspiring workshop! The Writing Challenge: Write a parallel narrative–one in standard form, one in whatever form it comes. The Participants: Nova, Rithesh, Katie, Charlotte, Georgia, Peri, Anya, Simran, Scarlet, Liam, Maddie, Jonathan, Olivia, Tilly, Samantha, Janani, Helen, Madeline, Ella, Chloe, Ma’ayan, Keyang, Dana, Charlotte, Cassandra, Ava, Jayden, Maggie, Sophie, Enni, Juniper, Sierra, Elbert, Hera, Nami, Dhesh, Sophia, James, Ever, Emma, Gia, Sophia, Eden. Liam Hancock, 12Danville, CA All That They Know Liam Hancock, 12 All That They Know I heard the idiot was messing w/ u again today. 🤨 Yeah, and? Lol, idk. Just saying, I heard. Lol. Ok. Want to video chat? Idk if I have time, but I can check. If not, me and the boiz are heading to the park later. Wanna come? What ⏰??? 10:30, 11:00, something like that. 🤷♂️ If I can sneak out, sure. Ok. Ok. Hey, Little Mikey just told me he tried beating you up???🤜 The idiot? Who else would it be? Idk. Did u put up a fight??? Sure I did. And? And what? And did u win? How do u define winning? Ummm…. winning? It’s pretty self explanatory. Well then I guess I did. Are u coming to the park later? Why’d u ditch us last night? If I can sneak out I’ll come. Lol. Lol, try to see u then. 😂 All That They Need To Know I heard he was fighting w/ u again today. 🤣 Like it was a fight at all. He grins, leaning back on his bed. The phone is propped haphazardly in his hands. This kid, right? I can’t believe he honestly thinks I like him. Yeah, and? What do u mean, it wasn’t a fight? He frowns, massaging the crimson red scar painting his neck. What the heck? Lol, idk. Just saying, I heard. And I heard that he beat u into a pulp. He laughs softly to himself. Stop it. He tries shutting off his phone, but the next text comes too quickly. He can’t not read it now. Want to video chat so I see how fast I can send u running back into ur room again? His old record is just seconds No, and I won’t go to the park either. I’m done w/ u and ur stupid friends. He bashes the phone on the side of the couch and shoves his head into the pillow. Hey… sry about that the other day. Idk what got into me. A stupid grin plays across his face. Back for Round 2. I’ve had a bad day. Please. He lays listlessly on the floor of the basement, the phone tangled in blankets. The idiot fought u again? Little Mikey told me. On the other end of the video chat, the idiot feeds him lines. Little Mikey’s an idiot too. But yeah. Yeah, the idiot fought me. The box of Band-Aids lays overturned and empty on the mangy carpet in front of him. And did you win? Lol 😝 like u would Somehow, he isn’t laughing this time as the idiot does on the other line. No. And I never do. Congrats on ur victory. He gulps, watching as the other end of the text goes silent. Hello? Hello? Hello? Are you there? I’m sorry. Hello? Scarlet He, 9Scarsdale, NY Japanese Food Festival Scarlet He, 9 Grammar A: The streets were filled with people swarming to get food from the brilliant, bright and beautiful carts. Smells of onigiri, a yummy rice ball with seaweed, ikayaki, a grilled, salty octopus on a stick, and sushi, rice wrapped with seaweed and topped with seafood fill the air. I bite into a piece of pickled radish from my bento. A salty, sour taste fills my mouth with joy. I take a sip from my bottled ramune soda, a spicy type of soda that gets its spice from a ramune ball. My arms are piled with towering food bowls. The smell is so delightful that I want to take off my nose and make it grow wings to fly around and smell the food. Then, I hear a rumbling. Time seems to stop as the bowls all came crashing down. A miso soup bowl splatters on my head, leaving my hair a miso mess. My clothes are splattered with ikayaki sauce. Everyone is looking at me now. What a great day. Grammar B: The smell of asari miso soup fills my nose! I jump
Writing Workshop #21: Metaphor
An update from our twenty-first Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday September 12, plus some of the output published below We were so happy to be back this week for the first in our second series of Writing Workshops, and the twenty-first one we have held this year! This time, our founder William Rubel focused on a very useful figurative tool for writers: metaphor. We started with two simple and common ideas–that a man is a rat and time is money–as examples for discussion. We watched some movie clips and read some specific examples from literature that displayed the power of stating that a character IS another object, animal, or force of nature, from Juliet as the sun in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, via the “spider” Drummle in Dickens’ Great Expectations to Hagrid’s “mane” of hair expressing his lion-heartedness throughout Harry Potter, as well as describing his shaggy look. After half an hour of writing Liam, Simran, Gia, Anya, Peri and Elbert read their work to the group for feedback from William. We heard a selection of stories, long and short, and poems, including haikus; several were powerful responses to the ongoing wildfires in California, and all of them were rich with metaphor and creative imagery. Some of those we heard, and more written during the class, are published below. What a tremendous start to the new season! The Writing Challenge: Write a poem or story that builds and develops at least one strong metaphor. The Participants: Nova, Rithesh, Katie, Charlotte, Georgia, Peri, Anya, Simran, Scarlet, Liam, Maddie, Jonathan, Olivia, Tilly, Samantha, Janani, Helen, Madeline, Ella, Chloe, Ma’ayan, Keyang, Dana, Charlotte, Cassandra, Ava, Jayden, Maggie, Sophie, Enni, Juniper, Sierra, Elbert, Hera, Nami, Dhesh, Sophia, James, Ever, Emma, Gia, Sophia, Eden. Dhesh, 11Fulshear, TX Metaphor Dhesh, 11 His beard was like tangled wires, His eyes were dark, similar to the night sky, His hair was shaped like a hair dryer, Why is he dressed up like this to a Prom, I thought? But, it turned out, he was dancing with my mom! Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA Leaves of Autumn Anya Geist, 14 Leaves twirled through the air, their edges curled as if singed by fire, their vibrant colors beaming as though they were fire. They touched the ground with the grace of a ballet dancer, and then sat silent, waiting for the wind to blow them along. In the night, their color faded with the rest of the day, and they were merely dark silhouettes, phantoms that crept up from the ground. The wind would creep down the roads, through the bony fingers of bare tree branches that made an otherworldly glow in the rare light of the moon, and the chilly breezes would, on occasion, ruffle a few leaves, causing them to crinkle and scrape the sidewalks as they rolled away; a truly ghostly noise. Day dawned, and the leaves burned brighter than ever. They were the sun, strong and shining in the light of daybreak, in the crisp freshness that fell over the world. Any notions of ghosts, of spirits that haunted the world, had been blown away, just as that eerie wind was replaced by fresh gusts that smelled of apple cider and Thanksgiving food. Children giggled gleefully as they walked to and from school, stomping on fallen leaves, catching them as they flew through the air, jumping in neat little piles that blew apart at the slightest touch. Leaves were the harbinger of fall, of that magical time filled with shiny, crunchy apples freshly picked off of trees; of orange Jack-o-lanterns carved into complex patterns, lit by a flickering candle; of all of the good things that made their eyes shine in the cooling weather. And so autumn went, with the leaves that flew gracefully to the ground. Peri Gordon, 10Sherman Oaks, CA Desert Prison Peri Gordon, 10 Water is gold in the desert It’s a superhero Or the last ticket to the show that is life. I’ve been lost here for days A prisoner in an endless jail. The desert is a jail. The lack of water is the executioner. I am at its mercy. The search for water is my final trial. Then what is water? Water is the sign that I am decidedly innocent That my life will be spared. But even if I find it I doubt I’ll ever escape this prison. This desert. Then water just means I stay here longer Lonely and afraid Free from the executioner But not from the jail. Liam Hancock, 12Danville, CA Running From Time Liam Hancock, 12 He runs with his sneakers kicking up gravel, his knees pumping, his hips and chest drawn out with sharp intakes of breath. He is a free man, he is a slave who has broken his shackles and left them in my hands. He is a butterfly who has first sprouted his wings. Once before, he lived as a creature, squirming and writing in my fingers. Could hardly get out of his own way. But he’s liberated now. And is that a cause for celebration? Because I’d kept him in chains for a reason. I’d firmly gripped the keys in my hands, the locks and bolts hanging listlessly from my fingers. Back and forth, back and forth they dangled, like time pressing continuously forward and yet hesitating and moving back again. Time, when he was locked away, was of no value to me. With one variable of Ian’s murder off the table, I had ample opportunity to solve the equation. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I needed to let him go. I had the numbers. I had the memories, the moments. I had everything I needed to uncover him and bring justice, a judge in my black, velvety gown hammering the mallet down onto the broad oak desk. Guilty. Somehow, someway, I knew he was. I had the numbers. I had the equation. But he had me. And I have to face