I vividly remember my mom, dad and stepdad around Tyler’s bed, each massaging a different foot and hand.Illustrator Sarah Dennis, 13 for ‘Together’ by Alex Miffiin, 12. Published January/February 2001. A note from William Rubel In the next few Newsletters I’d like to re-introduce to you the Stone Soup staff. As the current September issue marks the first anniversary of Emma Wood taking over as Stone Soup’s Editor, and she also has a new book out this week, we’ll begin with Emma. I’ll start with congratulations on her just-published translation from Russian, A Failed Performance: Short Plays & Scenes by Daniil Kharms. Daniil Kharms (1905-1942) was a Soviet poet, writer, and playwright who worked in the surrealist and absurdist literary traditions. Emma only told me her book (co-authored with C. Dylan Bassett) had just been published yesterday morning. I ordered a copy right away! Is surrealist and absurdist Soviet literature something I know anything about? No, I don’t. But I always order books written by my friends and I always learn something. While this is not a young adult title, I hope the many adult readers of the Newsletter will join me in supporting Emma by ordering her book. If you can also write a review on Amazon that will be extra great. Before I say more about Emma, I’d like to just say, thank you, Emma, for the extraordinary work you have put in this past year at Stone Soup. I can’t believe how lucky we are to have you. Thank you from my heart. In addition to being a translator, a poet, Editor-in-Chief here at Stone Soup, and an editor at other literary publications, Emma is a university instructor, a PhD student, and a marathon runner. I encourage all of you to check out Emma’s website. Like you, Emma sends her work to publications hoping to get published. Here are the literary magazines where her poems appear. I posted a link to this interview in which Emma talks about poetry when she first joined Stone Soup. Whether you are a young writer or an adult reader of this Newsletter, please listen to the interview. Even if you don’t understand the entire interview I know that each of you will find something in it. I find it inspiring. What is poetry? Listen to Emma’s answer. I’ll write more about the other people in the team who bring you Stone Soup next week. This week’s drawing and story from the archive Look at the drawing by Sarah Dennis. I mean, really look at it. What I find remarkable is the amount of information conveyed about the the scene around Tyler’s hospital bed. You see Tyler’s face is scraped up–note the big red patch on the right side of his face–and he has stitches above one eye. The story the drawing is linked to is about an awful car crash (it’s scary in parts–but, spoiler warning, everyone is fine in the end). The two figures in the foreground, Tyler’s mother and step-father, are massaging his feet while his father holds one of his hands. Everyone is looking in a different direction. We are observing an intimate family moment in which the participants in the scene are united around the injured Tyler. He is in physical pain. His family are in emotional pain for him. His grey-haired father looks very worried. I also read worry on the face of the man in the left foreground. His mother, with her red fingernails (nice detail) seems to be the calm one, despite the detail of her neck brace, a remnant of her own injuries from the crash. I sense that she may hold the family together through her calm demeanor and practical solutions. Somehow, I sense that she is the one who said, “Let’s massage Tyler’s hands and feet.” Inspired by this, here is your activity for the weekend: sketch a scene that involves an important moment with other people. Think of something from this past week or two where you were involved with two or three other people, united in a common purpose and doing something. It might be a moment in your family, with friends, out in a public place, or at school. I suggest the doing something part of the idea inspired by the strength of the hand gestures we see in Sarah’s drawing. Give thought to where each person is looking when you make your drawing snapshot. And, as always, if you come up with something you really like, please send it to Emma by uploading it on our online submissions form. Until next week Write a book and get it published: a brand new contest Do you think you can write a whole book? This week we announced a brand new contest, in partnership with MacKenzie Press, challenging you to you to do just that. Do you dream of getting it published? Well, if you win this contest, the prize will make that dream come true! The Secret Kids contest invites entries in three age categories, for longer fiction, either illustrated or unillustrated, in any genre. We’ll write more about this contest over the coming months–the deadline for entries is January 1, 2019–and for today we invite you to check out the contest information at our website (click the link above) and think about writing, revising, editing and perfecting your best work in time to submit your entry by the end of the year. Plus, one last reminder about the Concrete Poetry contest: you have until midnight (Pacific time) tonight to get your final entries in! More deadlines! The deadline for recipe submissions for the December food issue is September 30. As I’ve mentioned before, for Stone Soup we are interested in both the recipe and the headnote, the narrative that precedes the recipe that explains why it is important to you, the author. The December issue is not limited to holiday recipes. This week, I purchased the cookbook, The Bread and Salt Between Us: Recipes and Stories from a Syrian Refugee’s Kitchen. I’ve had the book a few days and my daughter and I can say that the recipes are good. But, what makes this book exceptional is the combination of the text and the recipes. Recipes can often tie us to a memory. Perhaps it is the memory of a dish that was a grandparent’s favorite, or a dish that you
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Saturday Newsletter: August 11, 2018
The forest was serene and peaceful yet alive with hundreds of sounds Illustrator J. Palmer for ‘Swaying in the Breeze’ by Megan M. Gannett, 13. Published November/December 2003. To our adult readers and supporters… In the eternal words of the song from Cabaret, “Money makes the world go around.” A pledge of the equivalent value of one cappuccino a month from each of you who read this Newsletter would be transformational for Stone Soup. Please join with us to support children’s creativity. Thank you. A note from William Rubel Firstly, very special thanks to those of you who have recently made donations. We are so appreciative. Thank you. Recipes for the December issue are due September 15. We need all recipes turned in by then so we can properly test them. This is our second year publishing recipes. Please, read my post on writing recipes and get to work! Also, for your review, here are links to recipes published last December. Parents and grandparents! This is a project that can probably use your help. Thanks. Concrete Poetry extension! I know this is a tough one. We have extended the deadline for the concrete poetry contest one month, to September 15th. You now have a whole extra month to tackle the challenge. Concrete poetry is a piece of visual art made with words. The shape of a person, a pet, the sun, the crescent moon, a square, a car, a tree, an egg, your teacher’s marking pen, desk, shoe, a fading shadow. A squiggly line: worm, snake, stick, dream. Rectangle: brick, bread, phone, a piece of paper. Leaf, flame, splash of color. Tear drop. Here is a classic example of concrete poetry, “Swan and Shadow” (1969) by the poet John Hollander. . Our editor, Emma Wood, describes what she is looking for in this contest as follows: Many readers understand a concrete poem to be a poem that takes the shape of its subject—a poem about a swan in the shape of a swan, for instance. Though that is certainly a type of concrete poem, a concrete poem can also be more than that. A concrete poem is a piece of art to which both the visual and the written element are essential. With just the image (no words), you lose something, just as with only the words (no image), you lose something. A concrete poem is one you need to see as well as hear! The Wikipedia has a good article on Concrete Poetry. It tells us that “the idea of using letter arrangements to enhance the meaning of a poem is old” and is known to go back to at least ancient Greece in the centuries 200 BCE to 300 BCE—a little over two thousand years ago. So, concrete poetry is a new thing, an old thing, and above all else, a real creative challenge! Make it your thing, and submit an entry to our contest. We look forward to reading your work. As always, submit contest entries using our submit page. Until next week, Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at stonesoup.com! This week we have a post from a slightly older young blogger: Olivia Joyce, a student at UC Santa Cruz, has come up with a fantastic activity based around a portfolio we published in the March issue. You can find her call for you to imagine whole new worlds here. In the review section, you can read the latest review from Nina Vigil, this week of The Adventures of a Girl Called Bicycle by Christina Uss. From Stone Soup November/December 2003 Swaying in the Breeze By Megan M. Gannett, 13 Illustrated by J. Palmer In many ways Aubin Tupper was a lonely child, with no children nearby he thought of as friends. Living out in the country with his parents and little brother, he had homeschooled since grade two—it hadn’t taken him long to find out that the public school nearest wasn’t for him. He didn’t hate learning, more the opposite of that, but so many noisy children and frustrated teachers got tiring after a while. He was a quiet, timid, scared little mouse that recoiled whenever someone approached. Aubin had had a love of nature and animals since he was born and a tendency to take refuge in make-believe worlds. He learned to read quickly and was soon consuming thick novels at a teenager’s level. He had a vivid, active imagination and often slipped into it, forgetting everything except the goings-on inside his head. Since Mr. Tupper was a truck driver and away much of the time, the homeschooling rested in his wife’s hands. She did a good job, and soon Aubin and his brother, Forrest, were academically ahead of most kids their age. When Aubin was ten and Forrest was five, their family moved to a different acreage, this one bigger, beside a lake. In the midst of a scattered farming community, there was a school within walking distance, which the boys would hopefully attend and make friends at. To any stranger meeting Aubin he would appear mysterious, different and would probably provoke their curiosity. It was impossible to forget his appearance—wavy, red-gold hair tossed about by the wind; wide, thoughtful, clear, blue eyes and a fine-boned, small, yet strong and healthy figure, which resembled a deer when he sprinted across open fields. His physical being hid his personality; which surfaced only when he was alone, in nature. Aubin was rarely seen without Forrest, a mischievous little boy always running off and needing to be found. He was the best friend Aubin had. That is, the best human friend. When the Tuppers moved to their new home they brought with them the rest of the family: Annie (Mrs. Tupper’s horse), Jake (Forrest’s pony) and Guthrie (Aubin’s beloved black gelding); Whiskers—his companion of a gerbil—and Dan and Baily, two sleek, gray housecats. And of course Fifi, the family’s frisky border collie. Without those animals, Aubin would have felt as if without friends. His wanting for human friends was very small, as he didn’t want to risk
Saturday Newsletter: May 19, 2018
With each round of the pedals I felt more confident that this was the right thing to do Illustrator Sofia deGraff-Ford, 13 for Friends Forever? by Michael Scognamiglio,13 Published September/October 2006. A note from William Rubel In the last two months I have been to Taipei, Philadelphia, Charleston, and Mount Vernon, Virginia! Whew! As I write this at home on a lovely California spring afternoon, the sky blue, the Pacific ocean with its cloud bank hanging on the horizon just a few minutes away, this in-your-face portrait of a bike rider makes me want to jump up from my desk, put on my helmet and head out the door! At least for me, Sofia deGraff-Ford has done a fabulous job evoking the feeling of riding a bike. I think that evoking feelings is one function of art. If any Newsletter readers care to go on a bike ride (or feel the energy of another outdoor activity) this weekend, and then turn the experience into art, go for it. I am sure our Editor, Emma Wood, will be interested in seeing what you come up with. Flash Fiction Contest: Reminder! The deadline for our Flash Fiction Contest is midnight, June 15. Flash fiction is the art of the short-short story. Or, perhaps better put as the short-short-short-impossibly-and-yet-somehow-doable short story. How short? Three hundred words short! I’ll be honest. When Emma emailed me that she wanted us to have a contest for flash fiction I had no idea what she had in mind. So, I did what I am sure most of you do: I looked up flash fiction in the Wikipedia. The term means ultra short fiction. There isn’t a precisely defined word count, but the upper limit seems to be about 1000 words. Emma has structured our contest to have a limit of 300 words. Within that limit, your story must be complete. One of the most famous writers of all time is the ancient Greek writer, Aesop. He lived from 620 BCE to 546 BCE, more than 2500 years ago. He is famous for his fables. The English translation of his fable about the mouse who helps the lion is just 167 words. Here is an index to all of the Aesop fables. Check them out. Aesop’s flash fiction is some of the most famous writing there has ever been. To still be read after 2500 years! That is something. My father did a lot of writing over the last twenty years of his life. He wrote several volumes of his memoirs. A couple of authors I had read in my twenties who wrote (what I now know is) flash fiction had really impressed me with the power of the short-short form. I’d read some of my father’s stories and I’d say, “Dad, these stories are great. But, Dad, these two paragraphs here are brilliant! They tell your whole story.” But, unlike Aesop, he couldn’t bear to give up all those words he’d worked so hard to bring together! But, we think maybe some of you can! Please go to the Flash Fiction contest page and read Emma’s guidelines and suggestions. If you don’t feel instantly inspired then perhaps try going through stories you have already written looking for parts that could be extracted and polished into a tiny jewel. I have one last piece of advice. This is based on my own experience as a writer. When your work is finished, but before you send it in to our contest, read it aloud to yourself. Listen to what you have written. This will enable you to catch tiny errors, like duplicate words that you might not have potted when reading it. And, more importantly, you will hear whether the piece sounds perfect to your ear. Make minor changes, if needed, and then send it in. Good Luck! Creative responses to current events One last thing. As I think most of you know there was another school shooting on Friday. This time, in a small town in Texas. Emma has recently received a few pieces that talk about school shootings, and we thought this would be a good time to share them with our readers in a blog post. You can read our special feature, Kids React to Gun Violence, at our website. If any of you reading the Newsletter who are age 13 and under have something you want to say about the subject of school shootings in America, then please send it to us. There are links for submitting stories, poems, and art on the submissions page. If you have written nonfiction or something that doesn’t seem to fit in a category you see there, then please upload them to the blog category. We hope you are all getting prepared for a creative Summer. Until next week This week on the Stone Soup Blog Don’t miss our Special Feature: Kids React to Gun Violence, with three newly published pieces of work: ‘There is a lockdown on October 23, 2015’ by Aidan McClure, 7 ‘Lullaby’ by Rebecca Beaver, 13 ‘Seventeen Graves’ by Kate Kuan, 11Also new this week, a thought-provoking feature on another important topic: Be Aware of Global Warming, by Antara And finally, this weekend seems like a good time to revisit Lucy Regnier Kline’s piece from March 2018, 5 Ways Children Can Make a Difference From Stone Soup September/October 2006 Friends Forever? By Michael Scognamiglio,13 Illustrated by Sofia deGraff-Ford, 13 “Wheeee!” We must have been going fifty, maybe sixty miles per hour in his new Whaler speedboat, and I loved every minute of it. Janet, lying down in the bow to perfect her supermodel tan, gripped onto the handrails at this sudden shift of speed. I laughed next to Jesse, my six-foot-one, fifteen-year-old friend from two houses down. His sandy-blond hair was erupting from his worn Boston Red Sox cap that looked like it went through just as much abuse as the team itself. His emerald eyes were shielded by a brand new, gleaming pair of black Oakleys so as to impress the ladies. I on
The Basics of Animation: Walk Cycle
Animation is a complicated activity. It may look easy enough, but it’s actually not all that simple. It takes many steps to create even the most simple of animations. In this blog entry, I will be showing how to make a walk cycle, which is a character walking in a loop, in three steps. –Editors Note: The examples that are included here are posted to YouTube. Be sure you have autoplay turned off so that the examples are not immediately followed by someone else’s videos. Step 1: Creating basic shapes The way you always start off any animation is by animating basic shapes. You would start out with shapes like circles, squares, and ovals. However, you NEED to have these shapes very rough and sketchy looking, so they are easy to draw over. Make several drawings (frames) that are only a tiny bit different from each other. The walk cycle linked below is an example of this that I made about a year ago. Walk cycle 1 Step 2: Lineart and Shadow Lineart is just going over the shapes that you made previously so they pop out, and the animation looks much better. Adding shadows is something that some animators do at the same time as lineart, and others do at the very end. I choose to usually do the shadows at this point, as they make the characters more realistic. This next link is this second step that I have animated. Walk cycle 2 Step 3: Coloring Coloring is the final basic animation step. This obviously makes a character completely pop from a background, and just makes the animation more clean and beautiful. I have included the final product in the following animation. Walk cycle 3 Congratulations! You just made an animation!!! Go give yourself a pat on the back and a doughnut for your hard work. Animation isn’t easy, but it’s all worth it! If anything, you come out of animating with the knowledge of what full-time animators who create cartoons and movies have to go through. This particular animation was created through an app available on iPhones and iPads called Framecast. It’s a good program for short animations, and is great if you’re just trying to learn how to animate. I hope you have a great day and hopefully try out animation yourself!
Books vs. Video Games
Books are in many ways a different universe. They lead to imagination and adventure more than any other object or activity. Some might argue that this isn’t true. Well, what else could possibly be so imaginative? Back before electronic devices such as phones, computers, and television, there was no real entertainment besides books and the outdoors. This was not a bad thing; books can be educational, and they massively improve a reader’s vocabulary and language skills. But then video games came along. Video games became the ultimate entertainment, everybody loved them. But they began to be a problem. Less and less people were reading books, rather spending countless hours before their screens. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but eventually, almost everyone played video games or had some sort of console at home. Books were being left alone. Whereas books had some productivity, for they were educational and allowed readers to learn in a fun way, video games didn’t teach anything, and were just, to put it simply, a way to pass time. When one sits down to play a computer game, they are literally just sitting there, doing nothing, at least in real life. The game is designed to make you feel like you are a part of the adventure, the main character, the magic man. But really, you aren’t. You’re simply sitting on a couch, doing nothing. Some might argue, “well reading is the same thing, sitting down, doing nothing”. But that isn’t completely true. When you read, your brain takes in information and stores it in the back of your mind. It increases the level of imagination a reader has. Computer games, however, don’t. They make your imagination worse. Instead of thinking up a brilliant idea for a board game or an outdoor activity, all you can think of is the game, and nothing else seems to appear in your brain. So the real question is, books or video games; which is better? The answer is simple: books. Next time you sit down to immerse yourself in a video game, think about it. Are you really doing something productive??? Do you agree with Lukas? Let us know what you think in the comment section!
The Secret Agent Baker
My name is Jeff and I am like every other normal kid in the world going into the seventh grade. Actually, maybe I’m not normal because my family is rich. My family has a mom, dad, older brother, and younger sister. I am totally different from everyone in my family. For instance, I have never liked summer. On the other hand, everybody else in my family does. I wish my family would let us have more fun. If I ask my parents to get a pool, they say no. If I try to think of something else we could get for fun, like a beach house or something, the answer is always no. My parents just say, “Your brother and sister don’t need a pool or beach house. Why do you?’’ Well, moving on, I know my family better than anyone else. I don’t think my older brother knows I am alive. He is always in the basement. My brother is either on his phone, computer, or x-box. I think basements are gloomy and dark. Don’t forget creepy like my sister’s dolls. My sister is always upstairs somewhere. I think she’s either drawing on her whiteboard or teaching her invisible class. She likes to play school with her dolls and teach them useless stuff! I’m a boy so I don’t like to play with creepy dolls. When I ask my brother and sister if they want a pool, my brother just says no, he’s happy in the basement, and my sister says, “No, I don’t want to drown!” Besides my parents’ favorite word being no, here’s more information about them: Every single morning I wake up to the sound of my dad exercising. I hear the jump rope noises. “Whoooo, whoooo, whoooo,” goes the rope. It makes me giggle a little. I laugh into my pillow because it’s so annoying. So just like my brother and sister, my dad likes his summers. My smart mom is always busy shopping and taking care of everyone in the house. She has no complaints about summer either. So then there is me, Jeff. As I said, I’m totally different from everyone in my family. I like checkers, chess, drawing, reading, and painting. Wait; I feel like I am forgetting something important. Oh yeah! I love to bake. So every summer I sign up for a baking class. My family thinks baking is messy and not a good way to spend my time. I am always the best student in the baking class. The baking teacher always says to my parents, “Your son is the #1 baker in my class! I have never seen anyone bake as wells as him!” When the teacher told them this, my parents would say, “We love to hear that good news! We love that he is the best in the class and hope he does such a good job every single time!” When I heard them say this the first time, I thought to myself, “Really? That isn’t true.” You see, I didn’t think they really cared much that I am so good at baking. I thought what they were really thinking was, “Jeff! Stop wasting your time with this baking nonsense! Be like the other kids!” When we drove home from baking class no one said a word during the ride. When we got home, I ran to my room full speed. When I got to my room, a million thoughts were in my head: “Why are they mad at me? I’m trying to be myself. What’s wrong with that?” I wanted to stay in my room forever, just like my brother stays in the basement. But one night I had a sudden thought. I felt like a koala wondering why he was awake! I thought about how baking is a great activity, that I liked it as much as koalas like to sleep, and that I had to prove this to my family. I went downstairs with my flashlight. I didn’t want to wake anybody up. I looked at the table to make sure I had baking class in the morning so I would be able to carry out my plan. I always leave myself reminder notes if I do. I was right! I did have baking class in the morning! I thought about the one time I missed baking class because my parents had thrown out my reminder note, hoping that I would forget that I had class. I went back to bed feeling happy about going to class in the morning. I slept like a baby. Wait—not like a baby, because babies always scream! I slept like a koala because koalas sleep almost all day. As usual, just like every morning, I woke up to the sounds of my dad doing his exercises. “Whooooo, whooooo, whoooo,” said the rope. I went downstairs for breakfast. I thought about my plan and felt as happy as peanut butter smashed together with jelly. Oh, no! The reminder note about baking class was gone! Well, this time I was not going to forget about my class! I waited until it was time to leave for class. Instead of asking my parents to drive me there, I took myself there on my bike! I knew that if I asked my parents to take me they would say, “Jeff, you don’t have class today.” I outsmarted them! I rushed to class on my bike. At baking class the teacher said, “We are going to make brownies today.” I was surprised! I thought the teacher had read my mind for a moment there, because making brownies was my plan late last night when I woke up. But then I remembered that she had told us that last week. I added a special ingredient to my batter—cocoa powder! When the teacher tried my brownies she said, “This is the best brownie ever! It is super soft and chocolaty!” It was now time to put my plan to work. After class, I
Saturday Newsletter: September 23, 2017
“100 Me’s”. Sophia Lee Bartolini, 11 A Stone Soup selfie contest winner, Spring 2017 A note from William Rubel Selfie Contest #2! Last spring we had a very successful selfie contest. Now it’s fall, we thought it was time to bring it back. Our second Selfie Contest has the deadline of Monday, November 6. The top five winners will receive a prize of a $10 Amazon gift certificate, and will be published in a future issue of Stone Soup. As all of you know, a “selfie” is self-portrait. It is you telling a story about yourself through a photograph. There is a long tradition of artists making portraits of themselves in drawing, in photography, and in painting–the wonderful self-portrait below, painted by Goya in around 1785, could be seen as an early version of a full-body selfie. The mirrors Goya needed to pull off his self-portrait are out of sight, while one of the winners of our spring contest, pictured above, used mirrors as an integral part of her composition, but both of them show us the medium they used to make the work: Goya his paints and easel, and Sophia Lee Bartolini her camera phone and bathroom cabinet mirrors. The ability to take a photograph of yourself while holding a camera that at the same time enables you to see what you are doing is entirely new. You are the pioneers. In one or two hundred years people looking back at photography from this period and will see these kinds of selfies as an exciting new art form. There is room for serious portraits in this contest and we definitely want to see a few photographs in which you compose yourself and look into the camera. But there is plenty of room to be playful too, if that’s who you are. There is a long tradition of artists dressing up in costume before making their self-portraits, and costumes are a great way to say something about yourself. Make a portrait of yourself doing something you love, or are good at; your costume could be a uniform or an outfit for a special activity (like Goya’s hat with candles that helped him see what he was doing as the light of the day dimmed). You can also be dramatic. Photograph yourself in profile. Get motion into your picture. Surprise yourself–and surprise us. As with every artistic endeavor I think you will find that taking risks will pay off! You are permitted to up load up to three images. You can make them each completely different from each other or you can send in three images that are linked in some way. Send in your entries here. Please submit in the Artwork category, and include ‘Selfie Contest, Fall 2017’ in your title. Francisco Goya, Self-Portrait Before the Easel (Autorretrato ante el caballete), circa 1785. Oil on canvas, in the collection of Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, Spain. Forthcoming issues If you haven’t worked on your food stories and recipe submissions for the December Food Issue, please try to spend some time on them this weekend. As I’ve mentioned in previous Saturday Newsletters, a big part of a recipe submission is the headnote–the narrative you write to introduce the recipe. In addition to recipes, we are looking for photographs, drawings, paintings, stories, and poems all about food. If there is a cookbook, food show, food movie or painting you like, then please review it and upload it in the submissions review category. We are beginning to get used to publishing monthly. It is so exciting! It feels as though we have only just published the September issue, and it’s already almost time to launch October. In fact, this week we are proof-reading the PDF of the October issue ready to publish on the 1st of the month, and we have just finalized the writing and art that’s included in the November issue. December is almost complete, giving us everything we need to produce our first print Annual. We hope you are having as much fun this new school year as we are developing your new monthly Stone Soup, and can’t wait to share what you create! Until next week, William From Stone Soup September/October 2000 The Real Mr Vankos By Laura Aberle, 12 Illustrated by Jane Westrick, 12 When Mr. Vankos painted a giant portrait of himself on the side of his house, I heard many mentions of him being totally out of his mind. Everyone in my neighborhood had a house of solid color with shutters of the opposite shade. It seemed to anger them that someone would paint their house more than two colors, like it was a sacred tradition to be dead boring. With so many people against him, I had no reason to disagree with the statement. My natural curiosity got the better of me, though, as usual. For as long as I could remember I had been expected to find things to do, to play by myself if I must. My parents were always working and I was left alone with Anita, who had her hands full with all the housework, and my three younger brothers. When my friends weren’t available, or when no one could drive me somewhere, I would just wander around and try to catch pieces of conversations between the neighbors or see who was putting a new addition on their house next. So I have always been extremely curious—even nosy—and I was no less than captivated by the strange man with the colorful house. “Who would do such an absurd thing?” my nanny Anita muttered early one morning as she was ironing my shirt. “That lunatic was slaving over some portrait for weeks, knowing the only thing he’ll get from it is the whole block thinking he’s nuts. Well, I tell you,” she continued with a littie smirk, “he succeeded in doing that.” She pressed the last crease out of the shirt and handed it over to me, sighing. “That house was so nice before he moved in,” she breathed, putting her hands on her wide hips. “He must have been a very deprived child, wanting all this negative attention. Why doesn’t
Welcome Aboard
I had heard that boarding a train was like entering a whole new world Gusts of wind whipped around the platform, a welcome appearance for the impatient passengers dripping with sweat on this sweltering Beijing summer afternoon. Off in the distance, two whistles blew, piercing the air with their tremulous shrill, ushering in a series of booming clang clang clangs. Eagerly, I gripped my blue suitcase ever so tightly. Sweat in my palms practically melted into the silver luggage handle. Just a few moments before we would board the train… a couple of seconds now… a mere split-second… CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Puffs of smoke from the train funnel rose and drifted in the breeze, and the locomotive stopped still on the tracks, its red hue dimming in its countless journeys. The crimson gleam remained though. A train attendant clad in a dark navy-blue suit and beaming pearly whites unlocked the train entrance. A cluster of voices suddenly bubbled up as everyone clamored to board the train, yearning to escape the burning heat. Only one young woman stayed behind to wave tearfully at her family, yelling a last minute I promise to write! and I’ll miss you! Her parents nodded, ready to let her go as the young woman vanished within the clamoring crowd. I had heard that boarding a train was like entering a whole new world. That it would be an exciting, thrilling adventure. That sometimes you met all kinds of people who could change your life, or become a lifelong friend. It seemed that the world inside this train was bursting with people to be met, things to be seen… People also said that riding trains was the best way to immerse yourself in Chinese culture, as Chinese people routinely traveled by train, and that was just my goal as my family and I boarded the train that would take us on a cross-country route, leading from northern Beijing to the southern China harbors. We were bound for the final stop on the train route: Shenzhen, a mega-metropolis in China famed for being the Silicon Valley of China, for its contemporary architecture and modern, youthful culture. We’d come to visit my uncle who lived there. I had heard amazing tales of Shenzhen from my parents, and I dreamed of the urban adventures I would get to experience. Inside the train, I leaped across the passenger corridors, bursting with curiosity at the unfamiliar newness of it all. I paused to stop and inspect the cogs of an enticing gadget. Or how the window curtains were royal blue and fringed with golden yellow, with phoenix figures imprinted on the fabric… I was so thrilled to be on a real-life train, on a world away from home! Suddenly, my mom called me over. Instantly, I rushed—no, skipped—over to our compartment. This would be our home for the next twenty-two hours. Triple bunk beds were built on either side. Mom and I snagged the bottom bunks—rejoice!—while my cousin got the middle bunk above. Bottom bunk was almost always the best spot, because beside it was an oval-shaped window that gave a view of outside. Underneath was a sterile white table ideal for eating. And the best part was that I could freely amble in and out of the compartment. No having to climb down and fret about accidentally squashing someone’s toes! As we furnished our surroundings, I took out my travel satchel and a pink-and-purple dog-shaped pillow. Our bunkmates soon came in and settled down. They promptly began to doze off. The train would start off shortly. Suddenly, a flurry of voices began to rise. Poking my head out to see the commotion, I heard some people having a heated debate. A woman with high heels sharp enough to stab someone chatted in animated Chinese with her friend, a carefree spirit in her smile. A frail, elderly man with a head full of gray hair, dashed with specks of white, persevered to keep his balance as he walked and took out a pocket-sized leather-bound photo album and lovingly stared at a tiny, grainy, sepia photograph before placing it back. A pair of parents warned their child QUIT climbing on the suitcases or else… A teenager crunched on some chips as she listened to the blasting music in her earphones. She swayed to a rhythm I couldn’t make out, completely immune to the activity rushing around her. An auburn-haired man glued to his cellphone muttered to himself in a foreign tongue, urgently tapping the screen for a response, a ghostly halo framing his features. A young mother with a tied-up bun nestled in her arms a whining and wailing infant. Trailing behind her was her daughter, pulling her mom’s orange blouse, craving attention. Not far behind was the children’s dad, huffing and puffing as he heaved the massive luggage. They settled in the compartment next to us, the baby screaming louder. I wondered about the tales of these people, what sort of lives they had to tell. TWEEEEEEEET! The shrill whistle abruptly sounded, and off the train lurched, giving a violent jolt and leading me to hop into the safe covers of my bed. Grabbing a book, I began to read. Suddenly, nearly three chapters in, I felt someone staring at me. Intently. And for a long time. Maybe it was my sixth sense creeping in. I could hear a pitter patter of footsteps. Then a pause. Who could it be? Looking up, I found a pair of deep black eyes staring at me! Oh! Those eyes belonged to that little girl with the wailing infant sibling! They were thoughtful, glassy eyes, like marbles, rolling around the small room and studying the compartment, my dozing bunkmates, and, most importantly, me. Then she hid behind the wall separating the train compartments. She peeked again. And again! This game of peek-a-boo went on for several minutes, with each stolen glance becoming increasingly longer and more confident. Black bangs framing her chubby face, radiating total
Leaving Emma
Leaving Emma by Nancy Steele Brokaw; Clarion Books: New York, 1999; $15 Having a best friend can make a kid feel like she’s on top of the world. I know, because I have had the same best friend since I was less than two years old. But if something should happen with that best friend, and especially if she were your only friend, it could be terrifying. In Nancy Steele Brokaw’s book, Leaving Emma, terrified is just how Emma feels when her best friend Tem announces that she has to move at the end of the school year. To make matters worse, Emma’s father tells her that he has to go far away for five months and Emma’s mom is so absorbed in her own problems that she can’t even help. Emma feels as though her life is wrecked. Tumbling even further down from her perfect perch, Emma has to deal with dreaded Great-Aunt Grace who played music that “sounded exactly like those old monster movies when the lights in the castle go out, and the thunder crashes all around, and someone is about to be killed.” Emma can’t even tolerate when Aunt Grace comes to dinner! In order to deal with the fear and anger of everyone leaving her, Emma manages to patch together a few talents she barely knew she had. By making some new friends who share her love of art and by confronting other problems, Emma makes it through some difficult times and comes out more than OK. Emma even figures out a way to replace one after-school activity which she had been doing merely to please her father with another activity which she loved, was good at and received much praise for. The characters in Leaving Emma could be typical people in your own neighborhood. Emma describes one nasty girl, Meagan VanHook, as “the most beautiful, talented, intelligent girl in Northpoint Middle School, and if you weren’t sure about that, you could just ask her.” Throughout the story, Brokaw’s vivid descriptions of feelings and situations seem very realistic. Writing “whatever color concrete was, that was the color of my thoughts” made me really understand Emma’s melancholy. Leaving Emma is studded with laughs and thoughts which come together to make this a good book. I would never have chosen this book myself, yet I am glad that I read it and hope you will enjoy it, too. This book is for anyone who enjoys reading about kid problems and has a good sense of humor. Amanda Claire Gutterman, 8Washington, D.C.
A Long Way Down
My legs were shaking, my heart pounding. As we neared the edge of the cliff, I double-checked all my rappelling equipment to make sure it was secure. Quickly, I went through all the safety precautions in my mind. I felt anxious, but not eager for my turn as I waited in line with the members of my group. Fear rose from the pit of my stomach as I realized there was no one else to let in front of me. Slowly, I lowered myself to the edge of the nearly 200-foot cliff. My skin shook like a dozen earthquakes when I reached the belay man, the person who hooks me to the belaying ropes, which keep me from falling. He was tied to a tree probably tighter than his true love would have held on to him. He hooked me up, and I slowly lowered myself over the edge of the cliff, inhaled deeply, and went into a sitting position with both feet in front of me. I closed my eyes, gulped, and began to rappel. I had traveled no more than five feet when a man I didn’t recognize appeared over the edge. With camera in hand he smiled and said, “Cheese,” then snapped a picture of me. “Funny,” I replied. In my head I heard the words, Listen, wise guy, I’ve more important things to do . . . like, say . . . surviving. With camera in hand he smiled and said,”Cheese” My anger was soon forgotten as I reached a point where my feet could no longer touch the rocky wall. Panic took over. The wall was right there, mocking me. I can’t stand to be mocked. Thump, my foot made contact with the wall, causing me to rotate. As I slowly began to spin around an interesting thing happened; my panic vanished. The panoramic view of the surrounding area overwhelmed me. All the different-sized trees were evergreens, which seemed to blanket the hillside. The forest was teeming with life as different types of animals raced across my field of vision. As I looked upward the sky seemed to open up into a blue vastness. A sense of excitement overtook me. I’d been waiting for this moment, night and day, for one long month, and finally my dream had become reality. I began to feel more calm and more relaxed. Impulsively, I blurted out, “My name is Bond, James Bond.” Someone climbing back up the cliff overheard me and started laughing. His laughter made me realize that my sense of humor had returned. As I finally neared the bottom of the cliff, there seemed to be less animal activity. Looking up, the cliff did not seem as intimidating as it did going down. My feet were shaky when they finally touched the soft and muddy ground. Mixed emotions were in the back of my mind. I was happy that the rappel was done, yet longed to do it again. Pride swelled up within me. Traveling the muddy road, I began the long climb upward. Jason Lee, 13Prospect, Kentucky Bonny Reynolds, 13Wannaska, Minnesota
