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These two illustrations were commissioned by Editor Gerry Mandel for our upcoming July/August 2017 issue. On the left, an illustration by Catherine Chung, age 13, for her own story, "Welcome Aboard." On the right, an illustration by Elena Delzer, age 13, for "A Horse Named Seamus."
Call to all young artists!
There is going to be more art in Stone Soup. Starting in September, we will be publishing art separate from story illustrations. The four best images sent in this week will be featured in next week's newsletter. Please upload images to our submissions page.

A Note from Editor William Rubel

Behind the scenes lots is happening at Stone Soup. Jane Levi, our new operations manager, is getting us set up so soon, probably defined as within a couple of months, we will be running efficiently in our virtual office configuration. Many of our back office systems are in flux as we move to a fully automated system for subscriptions. Michael King, our go-to person for just about everything, is responsible for customer relations. Michael is setting up a modern FAQ system for us so you will soon be able to answer more of your questions at our site online. I will be more formally introducing new staff in a few weeks -- I want to introduce everyone along with a coherent explanation of future plans. But I do want to say that Emma Wood, a poet with an MFA from the prestigious Iowa Writers Workshop, has joined our staff and is developing ideas for upcoming issues. I can also say that, beginning in September, we will be increasing the frequency of publication to monthly, though probably still with a combined Summer issue.

Last week's newsletter was short because the website was down, owing to an error made as it was shifted to a new server. The site is now transferred and opening many, many times faster than it was before. It is also more secure. In the change, however, we lost our Stone Soup Store with the Stone Soup Anthologies  for sale. We hope to have that back up next week.

 

Here it is! A photograph from last week's reunion of Stone Soup founders, taken at Porter College, University of California, Santa Cruz (UCSC), which is where we started the magazine. From left to right: William Rubel, Richard Hof, Ziggy Rendler-Bregman, Ivan Rosenblum, Darryl Ferrucci, and Gerry Mandel. Ivan, a pianist, was our faculty advisor. The only one not pictured is Laura Garcia, who sadly died a few years ago.

 

 

And here we were in 1974! I am sure you can work out who is who. Darryl is the child. When he was 10 and I was his babysitter at 20, he remembers that I told him that when I am 80 and he is 70, and we are both sitting on a park bench, people would think that we were same age. Not 80, yet! But, in answer to the question young readers of this newsletter might have, like, how did it happen that our hair turned gray, I recommend you go to YouTube and watch the song You Have Deceived Me from Pirates of Penzance. My 10-year-old daughter loves this song. It is a song about how it is that our hair has turned gray. It answers the question about how this happened with the direct, and realistic, answer, "It's gradually got so."

 

From the Stone Soup issue:
May/June 2017

Maple and Marmalade

Written by Fiona Mulley, 13
Illustrated by Maya Work, 12

A loud knock sounded on Violet's dressing-room door. "Places for Act One!"

Violet leapt up from her dressing-table stool, her breath quickening. A little shiver of nervous excitement ran down her spine as she peered into the mirror one last time, checking anxiously to see that her microphone was in place. She didn’t look quite like herself; the reflection staring back at her from inside the frame of lights was not the image of a thirteen-year-old girl but that of a young Civil-War-era woman. What with the stage makeup, full hoop skirt, and her normally loose hair gathered into a stately bun, she scarcely recognized herself.Violet slipped her hand into the hidden pocket in her costume and groped about, closing her fingers around a pebble- like object. It was a small piece of wood, its surface was smooth and soft; the bark had been whittled away. She drew it out of her pocket and gazed at it wistfully, slipping into a reverie.

She could remember . . . .

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