Our March 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #244 (provided by Stone Soup intern Sage Millen), which asked that participants write a fairy tale with a twist: the princess had to be the villain. With such a fascinating prompt, it’s no wonder we got over 40 submissions! Among those 4o+ submissions were a story about a tiger-poaching princess, a story about a space princess, a story about a princess willing to blow up her betrothed, and a story about dueling Disney princesses. As always, thank you to all you participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Birthright” by Asha Akkinepally, 12 “Her Carmine Eyes” by Eiaa Dev, 13 “Princess Preservation” by Rhea Kachroo, 12 “The Sun Shines Again” by Pranjoli Sadhukha, 13 “The Princess’s Tiger” by Melody You, 12 Honorable Mentions “The Princess Who Didn’t Want to Marry” by Isabella Bhagwandin, 12 “A Land Frozen in Time” by Aaron Duan, 12 “Within the Tower Walls” by Juwon Ha, 11 “Warrior Princess” by Kaia Lee, 9 “Damsel of Distress” by Emily Tang, 13 Birthright Asha Akkinepally, 12 He lay on the hard, cold floor. He led his sister to the dance floor. His clothes were ragged and overlarge. His clothes were perfectly tailored and brand-new. The ceiling dripped with a reeking, unidentifiable liquid. The ceiling was hung with glowing chandeliers. He winced as someone cried in pain. He laughed as his sister twirled around. Someone shoved a tray of stale bread and unripe pear at him. The table was set with a feast of the finest culinary delights. He raised a tin water cup to his lips. The king drank from a crystal wine goblet. He coughed, sputtering at the foul taste. The king let out a strangled cry as his eyes rolled back and his throat turned blue. With a final scream the ruler collap— He closed his eyes. He did not want to relive those moments–those moments when his father died. Those moments that cruelly threw him into this prison, stripping him, too, of his life. Of all he had ever known. Honestly, he wasn’t sure who had it worse. His father’s passing was supposed to be his rebirth. He was supposed to be in the palace, preparing for his coronation. Instead, he was in the kingdom’s most infamous prison, sharing air with its most infamous criminals. “Get up,” a guard barked. All the deference he had once commanded had vanished, replaced by an almost inhumanity. “You have a visitor.” He rose to his feet, blinking matted hair out of his eyes. Only one person remained from his old life—one person believing his innocence, that he did not poison the king, that he did not wish the worst for his own father. A girl entered into his line of sight then, looking out of place in the damp, dark prison, with her layers of tulle and glittering tiara. “Leave us,” she commanded the guards. “But, Your Highness—” She threw them an imposing glare. “I said leave us.” They scurried off, and he had never felt more grateful to his sister. She looked him up and down, examining his wretched state. He expected her to exclaim at how they were treating him, to demand reprisal from the injustice, but instead—“You are rather disappointing.” He recoiled. “Excuse me?” She eyed him disgustedly. “Look at you, reduced to this pathetic mess.” What was wrong with her? “Pathetic? The throne is my birthright! I’ve been working my whole life for it, and it’s wrested from my grip just as I am finally about to taste it! Of course I’m going—” “It’s your birthright,” she repeated softly. “Yes. You did nothing more than exist and the throne was yours.” She advanced closer. “Do you know what you are right now? Useless. Do you know what I’ve been my whole life? Even though I am, by far, the more deserving between us? Even though I am the one who knows our exports and imports by heart, who is fluent in 10 languages, who memorized all the foreign ambassadors’ names?” They were inches apart, and there was a rage simmering in her gaze that he had never seen before. “Useless.” His world was dying more and more with every drop of venom she infused her words with. Or perhaps he was dying—he felt little more than an empty vessel at the moment. She stepped back, smoothing her gown and her expression. “Until now. I’ve always been an excellent multitasker.” Realization dawned. “You killed Father! You framed me!” He was filled with an emotion he’d never experienced before. How could his sister do this? When had she planned it? “All so you could have the crown!” She tsked softly. “Unfair, isn’t it?” She laughed. “I know the feeling. In my experience, when a game’s unfair,” she said, smiling callously, “you change the rules.” She sauntered out. “Never trust anyone, dear brother. Especially your own family.” It was the last thing she ever said to him. The guards scampered back in, and he had never felt more hateful to his sister. He fell back to the floor. His threadbare clothes spread around him. Wet splattered on his face. Someone moaned in agony. The bread and pear nearly broke his teeth. He didn’t touch the water. It tasted bad. Her Carmine Eyes Eiaa Dev, 13 Chirps, croaks, and caws echo throughout the vast, endless forest. The grass glimmers under the sun’s harsh, unrelenting glare. Drops of the early morning dew cling to its fibers, glistening with a keen freshness. Flowers of all kinds, from the extravagant hydrangea to the lethal aconitum, dance in the soothing breeze. But behind its façade of beauty, the forest holds the deepest and darkest of secrets. Obscured by aging vines, a pair of carmine eyes glow with murderous intent. Who would have thought that the bane of the kingdom’s existence was a lot closer than
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Lost and Forgotten
A slow morning takes an ominous turn for a widow The moment her foot touched the pavement, she stopped. She turned around, uncertain about what she was doing, the action having completely vanished from her mind. Nothing jumped out at her or returned the memory. She sighed. It had happened yet again. Shaking her head, she walked, defeated, back to her house, which squatted on the top of the street, firm and resolute despite its size. The early morning sky of pale yolk hung behind it, creating an imposing silhouette. The last owner told her it had stood there for a century, and she reckoned it would stand there for many more centuries to come. The door swung open with its usual welcome creak, ushering her into the kitchen. She half expected Mell to be there, sitting in his usual spot as he sipped coffee and calmly read the paper, which lay open on his crisply creased pants. It was one of his many constants, a sort of reassuring activity he always completed even if a hurricane raged outside. Of course, nothing of the sort happened. It had been months, and there were many more stretching out before her before she joined him. She had stopped the daily newspaper delivery a few weeks ago when her pain had become unbearable, but now a new pain ached every time she glanced at the empty place the newspaper had once held on the kitchen table. Wondering whether she should start up the newspaper delivery again, she heated up the frying pan and gloomily cracked the eggs into the pan, moving through the movements she knew by heart. They sizzled for a moment then settled down, and she turned back to the table, frowning as if there were something she had been thinking about moments before. Unsurprisingly, she couldn’t remember for the life of her. Shrugging, she returned to her eggs, certain that what she had been thinking wasn’t important. Once they were done, she shook the eggs out of the pan and onto her plate, setting it down in her usual spot and slumping into the chair. As she ate, her eyes traveled over the cracked ceiling, the cabinets whose paint was fading, the rotting floorboards dotted with holes, and the windows long ago sealed over by thick layers of dust. Eventually, she knew she would either have to sell the house and move on or spend thousands of dollars helplessly trying to save it from plunging even deeper into the thick moat of disrepair. It broke her heart. She could still remember the shrill, laughing voices scampering between rooms, the feisty anger of a denied child, and the blustering tears over a scraped knee; later, the quiet hours spent poring over one page of a textbook, the anxious look as they awaited their exam results, and the pure excitement and joy reminiscent of childhood flitting gleefully across their faces before vanishing within moments as they quickly regained the teenage mask of gloom and doom. The halls had been empty for a long time now, the rooms shells of their former selves and hidden behind doors that had been closed for so long she’d forgotten if they were locked or not. Another thing lost, another thing forgotten. It was becoming the mantra of her life. Her eyes turned back to her plate. Subconsciously, her hand traveled around its rim, rubbing the well-worn porcelain with her fingers, finding the nooks and crannies of long-ago cracks created by years of disregard, carelessness, and neglect that had turned into an ocean of tiny fractures. The plate wasn’t how it was meant to be—it was supposed to be perfect, uncracked, in mint condition despite its old age—yet somehow, it gave her a sense of belonging. She was supposed to be in good health too; she was still in her sixties, a good few decades away from death, despite her husband’s passing. But her memory was failing her, and it was no fault of her age but rather of a specific kind of disease that had the misfortune of choosing her to fall upon. The name . . . it was on the tip of her tongue. She knew it. She knew it. She knew it, she knew it, she knew it. But it wasn’t there. It felt just out of reach, like a dream you know you remember when you wake up and swear that you do, and yet you can’t recall any details. She dumped the remains of her eggs into the trash and was walking towards the dishwasher when she stopped, staring at the plate in front of her and squinting at the cracks, unsure if she had ever been thinking about them. Shrugging, she slipped it into the dishwasher, the thought already fleeing out the window. Once again, she slid into her seat, this time with a mug of coffee in her right hand, the pale white of the milk mixing into the richer colors of chocolate brown and velvet black. Inhaling, she sat back with the coffee-cinnamon aroma melting around her. She’d taken to adding a dash of cinnamon to her coffee each morning. It was something Mell had done she had always scorned him for, and now it was too late to admit to him how amazing it was. A few cars creaked and groaned by, but other than that, the road was peaceful, another lazy day with many more to come. Of course, she still had so much to do. But, to no surprise, she was putting that off. Yet to what end? It was a question she couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, answer. A dog and his owner jogged by, the dog wagging his tail happily in the sunlight, the man’s labored breathing causing her to flinch and look away from the window, studying her mug instead. The milk had faded into the jaws of the dark colors, and she leaned forward to take a sip— Glass Half Full
Saturday Newsletter: June 11, 2022
Nest Building (Panasonic Lumix DC-ZS200) By Sage Millen, 13 (Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada), published in Stone Soup June 2022 A note from Emma I want to start off this week’s newsletter with some good news and congratulations: Anya Geist’s novel, Born on the First of Two, was selected as a finalist in the 2022 Next Generation Indie Book Awards in the Young Author (Under 25) category. We are so proud of Anya and thrilled this wonderful novel is getting some recognition. Take this as a reminder to add Anya’s book to your summer reading list, and to be on the lookout for new copies with the finalist sticker on the cover! This also reminded me that I have been meaning to share a bit of book news with you all for some time now. In addition to my work as editor of Stone Soup and as a writer, I also work with high school students on their college application essays. And last spring, I published The Complete College Essay Handbook, a practical guide to writing college essays that I co-wrote with my colleague. Writing a practical guide was fun, and also more challenging than I expected. The most rewarding part (aside from being done, hah!) was that putting my process and advice down on paper not only reinforced what I already knew but actually pushed me to refine and improve our process. Writing remains the most powerful I know for thinking through ideas and improving upon them–whether they are the loftiest or the most trivial. Anyway, I am proud of the book and ask you to please consider recommending it to any teenage friends or relatives about to embark on this process, or to any high school English teachers or counselors you may know. Finally, since the subject of this newsletter has been books, I want to take the opportunity to remind you all that our 2022 Book Contest is still open for submissions. It closes on the 22nd of August. I know many of you began your books weeks ago, but if you are still interested–it’s not too late to start working on one to submit this year. We always focus on the fact that good writing takes time and multiple drafts. And sometimes it does. But sometimes it comes very quickly, and that doesn’t make it less or worse than something that takes more time! “First thought, best thought,” as Allen Ginsberg used to say. More than once, I have written something quickly then revised it and revised it, only to realize after a few months that the first draft was the better version. (I am not against revision by any means; many times, I have had the reverse experience–of completely rewriting in revision.) So, for those of you who are curious and excited at the possibility of writing a book–it’s not too late! Happy writing! Anthropology of the Everyday: The Art of Creative Nonfiction, June 13-16 with Laura Moran Do you like writing about your life experiences? Would you like to learn some techniques for making your nonfiction writing more compelling and creative? In this class you will learn a method of personal writing, sometimes used by anthropologists, that combines storytelling with writing about the details of your own everyday life. Students will practice a variety of Ethnographic Writing techniques, from self-reflection, to gathered observation, interviews, and investigation. Students will also participate in an artist-led activity to create a piece of illustrated artwork of everyday life, designed to accompany their ethnographic writing. Refugee Project Half Baked Art Collaboration, June 20 & 22 This workshop will allow participants to work on a piece of artwork in collaboration with a student living in Kakuma Refugee Camp, Kenya. The dates for this set of two workshops are 6/20/22 (9-11am PT) and 6/22/22 (9-10am PT). From Stone Soup June 2022 The Hummingbird Whisperer By Michael Chao, 13 (Rancho Palos Verdes, CA) It was a lazy day in the month of May when I got that so-memorable phone call from my sometimes-bothersome twin sister, May. “Michael, hurry, hurry, come over!” screamed my sister, who was practicing tennis with Mom at a nearby tennis court. “Why? I’m busy!” I shouted back. “There’s two baby birds on the court. I think they’re still alive.” My ears perked up, and instantaneously my irritating sister became my wonderful sibling. “I’m coming right now!” I dragged Dad off the couch and made him drive me to the tennis courts. When we arrived, I saw Mom and May standing over two orphaned rufous hummingbirds, barely a week old. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was my first time seeing hummingbird nestlings. They were only about the size of a stick of gum, pink-colored, and naked, with eyes closed. They shivered and ruffled what little down they had, trying to shelter from the ocean breeze. Delicately, I cupped them into the palm of my hand while using my other hand to block the wind. It was so nerve-racking to hold something so small and delicate. After gently placing the nestlings into a small insect cage padded with tissue paper, I began looking for their nest, hoping to find their mother, who was probably frantically seeking her young ones out. Along the boundary of the tennis court was a ten-foot-tall chain-link fence with ivy covering it from top to bottom. The ivy had grown thick, and probably hadn’t been cut back in years, which would make finding their home, a nest about the size of silver dollar, an almost impossible task. But the “needle in a haystack” chance of finding their nest didn’t deter me. I desperately wanted these little nestlings to live. I searched everywhere—every branch, nook, and cranny of ivy along the borders of the tennis court. After a couple of nerve-racking hours, I finally found the nest. It was located high up near the tree canopy, where neither my father, who is six-foot, three inches tall, nor I could reach. But mother bird was nowhere to be found. I
Saturday Newsletter: June 4, 2022
My Dream (pastel) By Leticia Cheng, 9 (San Jose, CA), published in Stone Soup June 2022 A note from Laura Happy summer! I hope everyone is enjoying the bustle of activities that usually accompanies the end of the school year and is looking forward to some relaxation in the summer sun. This week, I would like to draw your attention to “Two Poems,” by Iris Chalfen. Iris’s first poem, “Springring,” is light and playful, like sunshine itself, while her second, “Sleep,” offers a visceral and sumptuous depiction of giving oneself over to a feeling-sleep, in this case! Despite their brevity, both of Iris’s poems make such effective use of language, drawing on all our senses, so that we know just the feeling she’s describing. Over this past week, I have become quite the expert on sleep! I have Covid (a good reminder that this illness is still very much with us, despite the warmer weather and longer days). Thankfully, being fully vaccinated and boosted, my symptoms are relatively mild. But I know just what Iris is describing when she writes, “We threw ourselves into a lingering feeling. I held that feeling for a moment…” Both of Iris’s poems do a beautiful job of playing with language in unexpected ways, but ultimately drawing us into something familiar and recognizable. Leticia Cheng’s pastel, “My Dream” provides an evocative and vivid complement to these pieces. To me, it feels both fantastical and familiar. For this weekend’s activity, I invite you to use Iris’s poems as an example and write a brief piece of writing that draws heavily upon sensory images. Invite your reader to call upon the imagery you hint at in vivid detail by using a few well-chosen words that draw upon the five senses. As always, if you would like to share your work with an audience of peers, please submit it to us via Submittable! Refugee Project Half Baked Art Collaboration This workshop will allow participants to work on a piece of artwork in collaboration with a student living in Kakuma Refugee Camp, Kenya. The dates for this set of two workshops are 6/20/22 (9-11am PT) and 6/22/22 (9-10am PT). Sign up here! In closing, June 20th is World Refugee Day. I invite you to take some time this month to explore the wealth of material displayed on the Refugee Project web portal. The writing and artwork you’ll find here was all created by your peer artists and writers from refugee backgrounds. Until next time, Anthropology of the Everyday: The Art of Creative Nonfiction, June 13-16 with Laura Moran Do you like writing about your life experiences? Would you like to learn some techniques for making your nonfiction writing more compelling and creative? In this class you will learn a method of personal writing, sometimes used by anthropologists, that combines storytelling with writing about the details of your own everyday life. Students will practice a variety of Ethnographic Writing techniques, from self-reflection, to gathered observation, interviews, and investigation. Students will also participate in an artist-led activity to create a piece of illustrated artwork of everyday life, designed to accompany their ethnographic writing. Iris Chalfen, 8 (Cambridge, United Kingdom) From Stone Soup June 2022 Springring & Sleep By Iris Chalfen, 8 (Cambridge, United Kingdom) Springring Whitewrite Flyhigh Windwing Blossombright Songsoul Mebe Beebold Sleep The calm, warm light filled the room, Our voices, whispers. Laughter untangling into a soundless sleep. We threw ourselves into a lingering feeling. I held that feeling for a moment, Then hid it, Hid it so it could be safe, Hid it so I could carry on, on, In my deep, deep sleep. To read more from the June 2022 issue, click here! Stone Soup is published by Children’s Art Foundation-Stone Soup Inc., a 501(c)(3) educational nonprofit organization registered in the United States of America, EIN: 23-7317498. Stone Soup’s advisors: Abby Austin, Mike Axelrod, Annabelle Baird, Jem Burch, Evelyn Chen, Juliet Fraser, Zoe Hall, Montanna Harling, Alicia & Joe Havilland, Lara Katz, Rebecca Kilroy, Christine Leishman, Julie Minnis, Jessica Opolko, Tara Prakash, Denise Prata, Logan Roberts, Emily Tarco, Rebecca Ramos Velasquez, Susan Wilky.
Saturday Newsletter: March 26, 2022
Untitled By Sage Millen, 13 (Vancouver, Canada) A note from William What a gorgeous spring day it is here in Santa Cruz, California! I hope that as March gives way to April that all of your gardens are at least beginning their spring re-birth. And, with the coming of spring, I’d like to announce that our spring session classes—beginning April 23—are up and ready on Eventbrite! Once again, we are offering two writing classes—mine, Saturdays at 9 AM Pacific, and Conner Bassett’s, Saturdays at 11 AM Pacific—as well as Book Club with Maya Mahony Saturday April 30 and Saturday May 28 at 9 AM Pacific. We’re sorry not to offer a short form filmmaking class with Isidore Bethel this go-round, but hope to once again offer it in the future. In the meantime, please watch some of the amazing short films our students made in the fall session of 2020. In terms of the behind-the-scenes activity at Stone Soup, these last few weeks find us in a lull. Projects are in process. Our website revisions are coming along. Sophia Opitz, our fabulous administrator, and I had a very good meeting on Friday with our web developers. We will start seeing website changes go live next week. Mostly, Sophia and I have been working on the educator pages getting the new curriculum material in shape preparatory to the launch of our site license beta testing program in a couple weeks. I’d like to talk about Sage’s fabulous photograph showing two kids reading Stone Soup under a blanket. As part of our website revision we are making sure that all photographs on the site are by kids. And, I will say, what a difference that is making! Our Stone Soup photographers have a creative flair that sets their work apart. If you are a photographer age 13 or younger and would like to be part of our pool of web photographers, please write to sophia@stonesoup.com. Weekend project: I want you to look at this double portrait. It is a photograph in which we, the observers, share a private moment with these two girls. Unlike most portraits in which the subject is looking directly at the camera, the girls in this photograph are focused on the issue Stone Soup they are reading—December 2021, to be exact! There is clearly lots I could say about how this photograph is framed and lit—the black background and gentle foreground lighting frame the girls to perfection—but in the interest of keeping things simple, I want you to focus on their eyes, on the direction of their gaze. I am not asking you today to compose a picture with careful lighting, as we see here, but what I am asking you to do is take a portrait of someone in the midst of an action—someone doing something alone or with someone else. What I want you to capture is that look where the person is focused on something else. Practicing, reading, cooking, drawing, typing. Doing something on their phone. What I want you to do is focus on the eyes. I want you to take a photograph in which the eyes of the person you are photographing are focused on what they are doing, not on you. There is one kind of intensity when the person you are photographing is looking directly into your camera—so that when we look at the picture they are looking at us. There is another kind of intensity when you capture the look on someone’s face who is absorbed in what they are doing, and that is the intensity I want you to go after this weekend with your phone or camera. As always, if you feel especially good about your photograph, please submit to us via Submittable. Until next time, From the Stone Soup Blog March 2022 Spring By Grace Zhuang, 6 (Vienna, VA) Winds are running around Telling everyone the good news, “Spring is coming!” “Spring is coming!” The little delphinium Looking around Looking for spring. She did not know that She herself is the spring. To read more from the March Issue, click here! Stone Soup is published by Children’s Art Foundation-Stone Soup Inc., a 501(c)(3) educational nonprofit organization registered in the United States of America, EIN: 23-7317498. Stone Soup’s advisors: Abby Austin, Mike Axelrod, Annabelle Baird, Jem Burch, Evelyn Chen, Juliet Fraser, Zoe Hall, Montanna Harling, Alicia & Joe Havilland, Lara Katz, Rebecca Kilroy, Christine Leishman, Julie Minnis, Jessica Opolko, Tara Prakash, Denise Prata, Logan Roberts, Emily Tarco, Rebecca Ramos Velasquez, Susan Wilky.
The Flight of the Fatal Arrow
The author, also known as “the Misfortunate One,” learns an important lesson from the Vile Tree The story you are about to read is a story of idiocy, disaster; it includes attempts and confession, and a lesson. It is a story of a Fatal Arrow, a Vile Tree, the Use, the Mode, and the Means, and it is a story of a Misfortunate One. The story you are about to read is the story of the Flight of the Fatal Arrow, but more importantly, it is a story of how a little boy learned to think first. It is my wish that you will also learn wisdom from this tale. It was a nice summer day when the event occurred. It was hot, it was sunny; it was like any other summer day. It would have been impossible to guess that such a disaster was in wait. I, my brother, and two of my friends had all signed up for a hands-on activity making bows. We went to the Museum of Traditional Bows and sat down in front of a table. The instructor gave everyone a long wooden bow. Under the instructor’s guidance, and with our moms’ help, we tied the elastic bowstring to the bow and wound colored strings around the wood as decoration and support. When we were all finished, we were each given an arrow with a blunt, Styrofoam head. We were eager to shoot it outside in the park near the museum, so after we finished our bows, we ran outside to play. The arrows flew very well, and it was so fun watching them fly off far away. We launched the arrows at a low angle, and the moment we let go, the arrows whizzed away, flying parallel to the ground, and after a few seconds, they either hit something or dropped to the Earth. Then we would run to the arrow and shoot it back. But watching us play, Mom warned us to be careful, because the arrows could hit not something, but someone. It was then that the Accursed Idea came to mind. “Hey, since we can’t shoot arrows forward, let’s shoot them upward!” “Great idea!” the others all agreed. And so we, the stupid children who did not know the consequences of the decision we’d made, began shooting arrows up at the clear blue sky. At first, it seemed as if my suggestion was a brilliant one. Shooting into the sky couldn’t harm anyone, and we didn’t have to waste energy in running back and forth to get the arrows. Also, the arrows could soar very high up into the air. We were having great fun watching how far they could go, pulling the long bowstring as far back as our short arms would allow and letting the string go, listening to the soft elastic twang. No one observed the ominous shadows of the trees surrounding us. It was then that the Misfortunate One picked up the Fatal Arrow. He fitted the Fatal Arrow to his bow and pulled the bowstring back. The wooden bow formed a perfect arch, ready to send the missile up into the clear blue sky. Then the string was set loose. The Fatal Arrow was now in flight, soaring up toward the shining sun. It pushed back all the air molecules that hindered its advance; there were none to block its path. The unsuspecting Misfortunate One looked up at the Arrow, admiring its flight. Up, up, and up the Shaft flew, but then it met the turning point. The Arrow stopped for a split moment, and then the weight of the head pulled it down, and, since the force of gravity was relentless and inescapable, the Arrow began its course of descent. The Fatal Arrow was plunging down to the Earth, but the Vile Tree had no wish for that to occur, and so it stuck out its Vile Branch and stopped the Arrow midair. The Arrow halted; the Tree’s normal force collided with the Earth’s gravitational force; the Arrow’s velocity was zero. In other words, the Fatal Arrow got stuck in a tree. Oh, reader—do try to imagine the horror of the Misfortunate One who had shot the Fatal Arrow! His only, brand-new arrow had gone to a place he could not reach. Was this to be their parting forever? Would he have to go home with a bow without an arrow? How much would he get scolded for his action? And alas, who was the Misfortunate One? It was me. It was me who had shot the Fatal Arrow, watched it reach its maximum height, observed its descent, and with terrible horror, saw it get stopped by the Vile Tree. It was me who had proposed the Accursed Idea, and it was me who was suffering the consequences. And what did I, the Misfortunate One, say? “Oops.” My brother Jay looked up the Vile Tree. “Hmm, I think we can get it out somehow . . .” Thus began our attempts to retrieve the Fatal Arrow from the Vile Tree. Chaos Our First Attempt was the Use of the Stick. The Stick is a very special instrument, and it is useful in many ways. It is used to play with, pretend with, hit with, fight with, attack with, defend with, swish with, swoosh with, poke with, jab with, push with, pull with, dig with, attempt to pole-vault with, and to reach things unreachable with. The Stick can be found almost anywhere, and, as we were standing near trees, Stick was of abundance. My brother picked up a long stick. He held it up and tried to poke at the Fatal Arrow. He couldn’t reach it, and since he was the tallest of us, it was evident that the omnipotent Stick would not be giving us any aid in our endeavors to retrieve the Fatal Arrow. Yet my brother’s creative mind had another plan forming, which was the Mode of Climbing. The Mode of Climbing
Saturday Newsletter: January 15, 2022
The Rise of Democracy, Acrylic | Keira Zhang, 12 (Los Altos, CA), Stone Soup January 2022 A note from Laura This week I want to draw your attention to the play featured in January’s issue, Spring Will Not Die. It was written by a group of Syrian refugees living in Turkey who are members of Karam House, one of our Refugee Project contributing organizations. The play presents a fictionalized account of young people’s pivotal role in the anti-government protests that ultimately fueled the uprisings known as the Arab Spring. When I read this play, I think about a sense of ownership, a sense of belonging, or even entitlement to a place and to people, without which it is nearly impossible to envision change. The play begs the questions: whose world is it to change? Whose job is it to affect that change? The answer, of course, is that it is each of ours. But this notion can only be fully realized with a strong sense of belonging to a community and the social ties that make such a sense of belonging possible. If you are looking for a creative exercise this weekend, I urge you to capture a sense of community wherever it emerges for you, and with whatever medium you choose. Find a place in or around your home or community that is busy with people—preferably a place that you visit often (maybe it’s your own kitchen, a park or café nearby, your school cafeteria) and sit in observation for about twenty minutes. Use all five senses to observe and record everything that is happening around you, either with words or with the visual art medium of your choice. Be descriptive and pay special attention to the people in the space and how they’re interacting with one another. Ask yourself: Who is present and who is absent? Are people differentiated from each other in any way? Does someone appear to be in charge of the space? Do there appear to be spoken or unspoken rules that dictate behavior in this space? In capturing a space and the people that occupy it through your writing or artwork, see if you can capture a sense of community. As always, if you’re happy with what you’ve written or created, we would love for you to share and submit it to us via Submittable! An Update from the Refugee Project I had the privilege of conducting a similar activity to the one suggested here with young writers and artists at Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya this past week. As the young people shared their texts and artwork describing scenes from their daily lives, many things were unfamiliar to me—a description of a confrontation with a lion after climbing down a mango tree and running into the river to escape a snake; hundreds of people lining a dirt road amidst throbbing music and rising dust during a miles-long bridal procession; a boy, alone in the middle of the road, his clothes and shoes tattered and worn from days of walking. But more striking than this were their vivid descriptions of the things that were familiar, the things that we can all relate to—people at the markets catching up and buying goods, “their white teeth chattering as monkeys;” students together after a long day, doing their washing, watering their trees, playing sports, relaxing, laughing, arguing, telling stories and singing together. In other words, their writing captured the universal experience of community as it emerges in daily life. I hope to share some of this writing in The Refugee Project portal of the website soon. To check out more writing and artwork by refugee youth, please visit the website. With best wishes, Congratulations to our most recent Flash Contest winners! Our January Flash Contest was based on Creativity Prompt #185 (provided by Molly Torinus, Stone Soup contributor), which challenged participants to write a story in which the protagonist explained COVID-19 to people in the distant past. What a way to begin the new year! Molly’s thoughtful prompt led to a surge of creativity; these stories took us on journeys to Ancient Egypt and Greece, invented time travel via carrier pigeon, and centered on ghostly interactions. We even received a play set during the end of the Black Death! While each and every story was a pleasure to read, we narrowed down our selections to the usual five winners and five honorable mentions. As always, thank you to all who submitted, and please submit again next month! Congratulations to our Winners and Honorable Mentions, listed below. You can read the winning entries for this contest (and previous ones) at the Stone Soup website. Winners “What Are You Talking About?” by Audrey Billington, 10 (Hillsboro, IL) “Dear Jane” by Finoula Breen-Ryan, 10 (Bridgeport, CT) “The Warning: A Play” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 10 (Brooklyn, NY) “Old Answers” by Daniel Shorten, 10 (Mallow, ROI) “The Ghost of You” by Eliya Wee, 11 (Menlo Park, CA) Honorable Mentions “Covid-19 Explained to Ancient Egyptians” by Poorvi Girish, 8 (Fremont, CA) “Royally Messed Up” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) “Dear People of the Past” by Zayda Parakh, 12 (Chattanooga, TN) “COVID-19.63” by Divya Srinivasan, 12 (Sammamish, WA) “COVID Time Travel” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, NZ) From Stone Soup January 2022 Spring Will Not Die By a group of Syrian refugees in Reyhanli, Turkey with the support of Karam House—Afnan, 15; Ahmad, 16; Fatima, 18; Hayam, 16; Mohammed A., 16; Mohammed, 16; Mustafa, 16; Nour Al Huda, 16; Rasha, 16; and Sedra, 15 Welcome to all our guests. Revolutions, and especially the revolutions in the Arab lands today, aren’t simple events that can be conveyed in a play of less than half an hour. The reality is the blood of the people. It’s not easy to fully portray their pain and suffering. This play may not be one-hundred percent accurate or an exact mirror of reality, but it seeks to present the way in which the demonstrations the youth brought to the streets were driven by their passion for freedom. Thank you for
Saturday Newsletter: December 18, 2021
Bridge in the Snow, Fujifilm X-T1 | Claire Lu, 13 (Portola Valley, CA), published in Stone Soup December 2021 A note from Sarah Happy weekend! I hope everyone is having a calm and restful December. If you haven’t had a chance to read Anya Geist’s Born on the First of Two, which was published on the first of this month, I want to direct you to the excerpt we published from the novel in our December issue (you can also scroll down to the end of this email to read it). We also have a lovely interview on our YouTube channel with Anya and Abhi Sukhdial, (which you can view above) where Abhi and Anya talk about character development, the worlds that Anya created in the novel, real-life inspiration, and so much more. If after watching the interview you find yourself hungry for more, there is a longer, more exclusive look inside Anya and her process writing Born on the First of Two that you can view, here. Coinciding with the interview, we have also launched a book page for Born on the First of Two that includes the interview as well as April Yu’s five star review of the novel. Keep visiting the page for other news—reviews, awards, events—regarding Anya and Born on the First of Two! Anya begins with a powerful prologue that draws the reader in by vividly describing a character’s troubling recurring dream. Without knowing any specifics about the plot, the reader learns of the dream (or is it perhaps a memory?) that plagues this character. As readers, we begin to wonder: what could this mean? Who are these dark figures? And why did her parents leave? This compelling beginning of Anya’s novel reminded me of a recent topic covered by William in one of his Saturday Workshops: origin stories. In William’s workshop, the young writers were challenged to imagine the beginnings of a character who might go on to do significant things. In the post summarizing the workshop, you can find examples from participating writers to serve as examples, if you need them. My challenge for you this weekend is to combine the dream concept from Born on the First of Two and the idea of origin stories. First, come up with a character’s life arc, from beginnings that could be considered quite modest, through a life that takes a surprising turn and challenges the expectations for this character’s trajectory. But crucially, have this character be followed by a memory or dream, whether faded or lucid, of an event that happened in the beginning of their life. How does this dream continue to haunt the character? And what does the dream reveal to the reader about the character’s beginnings? Perhaps it is a tragic dream or memory, as in the case of Born on the First of Two. Or maybe it is simply embarrassing– school children laughing at one of their peers. Think about what you want to convey about the character’s motivations and how an event can shape a person’s life. If you’re inspired to create anything based on this weekend writing activity, please consider submitting it to Stone Soup—we love to read your submissions. Until next time, Congratulations to our most recent Flash Contest winners! Our December Flash Contest was based on Creativity Prompt #181 (provided by Molly Torinus, Stone Soup contributor), which challenged participants to write a creation story for a fictional world of their own imagination. For the third consecutive month we set a record for number of submissions, all of them worthy of recognition. Molly’s ingenious prompt led to a breadth of creativity, with creation stories for fully realized worlds containing mathematical sets with biblical influence to anthropomorphic clouds to a dance recital gone wrong. In the end, we selected our usual five winners and five honorable mentions. As always, thank you to all who submitted, and please submit again next month! Congratulations to our Winners and Honorable Mentions, listed below. You can read the winning entries for this contest (and previous ones) at the Stone Soup website. Winners “Darkness” by Kimberly Hu, 9 (Lake Oswego, OR) “Adventure to the Lost Kingdoms” by Tang Li, 9 (Palmetto Bay, FL) “The Beginning, the End, the Rebirth” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) “The Fearful Cloud” by Julia Ma, 11 (Portland, OR) “The World of the Grand Staff” by Maya Mourshed, 10 (Silver Spring, MD) Honorable Mentions “One Dance” by Audrey Billington, 10 (Hillsboro, IL) “Math: The Origin” by Lucas Hinds, 13 (Lenoir City, TN) “The Creation of Warland” by Sophie Li, 11 (Palo Alto, CA) “Eternalia” by Brooke Negin, 11 (Kanata, ON, Canada) “The Fourth Dawn” by Divya Srinivasan, 12 (Sammamish, WA) Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at Stonesoup.com! Super reviewer April Yu, 13, couldn’t get enough of Anya Geist’s debut novel Born on the First of Two! Don’t miss the latest Book Club Report from Laura Moran, which details the group’s meeting with acclaimed author Lucy Worsley! Young Blogger Ismini Vasiloglou, 12, wrote a glowing review of Tristan Hui’s novel The Other Realm, which won the Stone Soup Book Contest 2020. From Stone Soup December 2021 An Excerpt from Born on the First of Two By Anya Geist, 14 (Worcester, MA) Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. The girl’s breathing was labored and fast, the way it always was when she had this dream, this memory. It was a strange dream; it seemed to linger in her mind, tickling its edges like light in her peripheral vision. She’d had it for as long as she could remember, but she never became quite used to it; every time it came to her in her sleep, she found herself unsettled. The sky was light blue, and the sun radiated its warmth down on the Earth. Birds chirped contentedly in verdant, leafy trees while bees hummed along as they flew from flower to flower, careful not to damage the soft, delicate petals. The girl—then just a baby—sat on the
Book Club Report: When Stars Are Scattered, Victoria Jamieson and Omar Mohamed
An update from our thirty-first Book Club meeting! On October 30th, the Stone Soup Book Club discussed When Stars Are Scattered, by Victoria Jamieson and Omar Mohamed. When Stars Are Scattered is based on Omar’s life in Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya and his journey to resettlement in the United States. The story is told in the form of a graphic novel. When Stars Are Scattered was an immensely popular read among our twelve book club participants, as was evident in our lively and dynamic Book Club discussion. Many participants remarked on how moving they found the book and how it compelled them to dig deeper and learn more about the plight of refugees. As a group we found it equally compelling how vividly the more mundane, everyday experience of life in a refugee camp was portrayed. We learned that Dadaab is such a big camp that it almost feels like a city-with makeshift restaurants and even internet cafes-but it is a city in limbo with no permanent structures. This sense of limbo was captured in the rhythm of Omar’s daily life-the monotony of chores and the weight of responsibility for his brother’s care, the angst over first whether to start school and later how to remain there, and the ebb and flow of friendships all helped to capture Dadaab as a place in flux. We spent time reflecting on what questions we would want to ask about life in a refugee camp and what we found most surprising, interesting, and confronting about Omar’s life. Following this discussion, we listened to an interview of a boy named Muzamill, about his daily life in Dadaab. The questions posed about Muzammil’s life were posed by young people in the United States. The interview was informative, eye opening, and funny! In parallel to our discussions about life as a refugee, we also spent time thinking about the graphic novel format and the various ways in which it enhanced Jamieson’s portrayal of Omar’s life story. Even those who’d never read a graphic novel before are now converts to the genre! We tried our hand at telling an aspect of our own daily routine in graphic novel format and shared these with the group. Remember: if you attended book club and liked what you wrote for this activity, submit it through the Writing Workshop Submission Form and we will post it along with other stories on the Stone Soup website! At the conclusion of our meeting, we had the chance to explore some of the creative works by young refugees through the Stone Soup Refugee Project. If you have not yet done so, check it out yourself, here. Finally, we are so excited to share that on, December 11th, our final Book Club meeting of this session, we will be joined by author and historian, Lucy Worsley, to discuss her book The Austen Girls! Please join us and come prepared with questions for Ms. Worsley!
Stone Soup Refugee Project – 2021
Dear friends and supporters of Stone Soup, As director of the Stone Soup Refugee Project, I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks for your support of this innovative, empowering endeavor as well as of Stone Soup’s broad aim to provide a platform for creative young people across the globe. The Stone Soup Refugee Project was inspired by Sabrina Guo, a Stone Soup contributor, prolific writer and extraordinary activist, and the collaboration she pioneered with Another Kind of Girl Collective, a non-profit which provides an artistic outlet to displaced Syrian girls. Since the launch of the Refugee Project, we have partnered with seven organizations providing on-the-ground support to children living in refugee camps, and those resettled in host countries. Through these partnerships, we have collected over three-hundred pieces of artwork and writing by refugee youth. These creative works are currently on display in our newly created web portal for the project, which you can explore here: https://stonesoup.com/refugee-project/ Our vision for the project: “Will be the next day better.” A drawing by a Syrian refugee child of her idea of a good future. Over the course of the past year and half, we half successfully overcome the limits of the Covid-19 pandemic as we forged relationships, through the help of Zoom, with organizations serving refugee youth in Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya, as well as in Turkey, Lebanon, and Greece, and even along the Syrian refugee trail to Western Europe through the Balkans. In the next phase of the Refugee Project, as we continue to collect creative works by refugee youth for display on the Refugee Project portal of our website, we are also working to expand and deepen our collaboration with current Refugee Project contributors. Our central goal for these ongoing collaborations is to facilitate a substantive, ongoing engagement between our broad Stone Soup audience and the artists and creative works displayed through the Refugee Project. We hope to achieve this goal through several endeavors, including: 1) Delivering creative writing teaching content to young people in refugee camps and those resettled in host countries. This content will be developed by members of the Stone Soup team and designed to help young people to share aspects of their daily lives and experiences that they wish to share; and 2) To facilitate collaborative learning experiences, such as the exchange of creative writing and artwork, between our Stone Soup contributors from refugee backgrounds and our broader audience. As an example of this type of expanded collaboration, planning and logistic development is currently underway between myself and key stakeholders at Kakuma Refugee Camp, Kenya, for me to deliver a portion of my Anthropology of the Everyday summer camp (which I have taught over the past two summers) to young people living in Kakuma Refugee Camp. I will deliver this workshop initially through mobile phone exchange via Whatsap, and once Covid-19 protocols allow, through interactive video conference sessions. The initial delivery of this workshop is set for this coming September, after which we hope to facilitate a creative exchange of the writing and artwork produced by young people who took the workshop in Kakuma Camp, and those who signed up through Stone Soup. Afghan girl, age 10, in a Serbian refugee camp in Bogovadja. Support the Project: To make this vision a reality, we need your help. We have set ourselves a target goal of $10,000 to pilot the program. These funds will go towards the development of workshops delivered to young people in refugee camps, the facilitation of creative exchanges between young people, and the work of collecting and publishing more material on the Refugee Project website. In addition, funds will be used to support our Refugee Project contributing organizations and the young people they serve in the ways in which they deem valuable, such as purchase of supplies and possible scholarship funds. As we have said many times before, the media so often portrays refugee youth as the subject of a narrative. The Stone Soup Refugee Project provides a platform for these young people to tell their own stories, in their own voices. Please donate toward our goal and help us to empower these young people. Thank you for believing in us and our mission. Your continued support has made this project possible. Sincerely, Laura Moran Refugee Project Coordinator Donate to the Stone Soup Refugee Project Recent Work by Refugee Children Mixed media, paper mache using old exercise books, tissue paper, paint, glitter, pen Hala was in Greece for almost 3 years with her father and sister. Her mother was waiting for them patiently in Germany. She loved to draw more than anything. They were living in a squat when Love Without Borders met them and placed them in a house. They used art as a way to heal as well as to pay for basic necessities during their time in Greece. They were finally transferred to Germany to be reunited with the rest of her family. Now Hala is studying German and sends photos of his paintings from time to time, as well as leaving sweet voice messages in German. Khalid recalls: all his friends say something nice about him, that he helps people. He offers friends food, or anything they need. He jokes with his friends. Sometimes during the activity he forgets himself and starts to sing. He is a very natural, grounded personality, very instinctual. He does things without thinking. When asked about the painting, he said it is about nothing. He said, it means nothing. He said, black is for scariness, and red is for blood. Ezgi asked, is this a painting of a monster? The boy said, yes. Ezgi said, let’s talk with this monster. What you want to say to him? The boy said, I am not afraid of you. Ezgi said, what did the monster say to you?The boy said, the monster says, no, you are afraid of me. Answer him, Ezgi said.The boy said a loud, laughing voice, I am not afraid of you!
