An update from our sixty-first Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, March 12th, plus some of the output published below In this workshop, William went over the concept of Stream of Consciousness. He emphasized the lack of traditional structure in Stream of Consciousness writing, and the wondering and wandering nature of the style. The writers saw examples from literature, including Virginia Woolf and T.S. Eliot. As a mini-writing challenge, William played a clip from a silent French film and asked the writers to imagine a stream-of-consciousness from the perspective of the woman in the film. The Challenge: Let the thoughts of your character run freely. Focus on sights, thoughts, feelings, sounds. The Participants: Agatha, Eliana, Lauren, Yueling, Liam, Stella, Kate, Elbert, Peri, Anya, Rachael, Ananya, Kelby, Iago Peri Gordon, 12Sherman Oaks, CA Bad Dog by Peri Gordon, 12 Her Hand reaches Stroke, stroke I love— No, don’t leave Wait— Slam Alone School. Tail Chase, chase, pant Where’s the food? Yesterday’s was good Combined with stroke stroke and music from black and white thing Hoop jump! Treat Hoop jump! Treat Hoop jump! Treat Hoop? Not again Run away Couch Click, flash, see myself tiny Soft hand soft hand stroke stroke Just like her Still at school? Ahhhh Treats without jumping Happyslurplick Couch suddenly gone Suddenly hard brown tiny balls Food! Yuckyewwblech! Like when I licked the old woman’s skin She was so nicesweetgentle but I should have never licked her skin But she was so nicesweetgentle Just like her Still at school? Bite Yuckkyewwblech! Brown balls go flying Deep voice “Bad dog!” Shrill voice “Waffles! Bad dog!” Waffles I think that’s me Or is it sweet round thing with little boxes? I think it’s both But “bad dog” usually means me Usually followed by angry shouts “Bad dog” comes after things like ripping up bed Or running away Or I guess making food go flying Is it even food? She would never give it to me Deep voice and shrill voice people aren’t as nice She is nicer Still at school? Ugh Couch Wait Wait Wait Close eyes Peek Close eyes Peek Blurry silhouette outside Door opens Run run run trip run run run ouch run run shatter noise she’s home!!! Kisskisshappyslurplicknicesweetgentle I love her Soothing voice almost blocks out deep voice and shrill voice saying “Bad dog!” “Bad dog” is okay when I can hear “good dog” too
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #31: Irony
An update from the thirty-first Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday March 12, plus some of the output published below By popular demand, this week we focused on writing the concept of irony. We began with a few basic definitions of irony: the difference between what something appears to mean versus its literal meaning, the difference between what someone says and what someone means, and the subversion of expectation. We then discussed four different types of irony, beginning with the most common form, dramatic irony, defined as when the reader knows something that a character does not know. Olaf from Frozen, for example, we identified as an example of dramatic irony as he sings about loving summer while we, the audience, know the summer is what will be his demise, an ironic device also found in the form of Ahab in Moby Dick. The second type of irony we discussed was situational irony, defined as when the expected outcome of a situation is reversed. One such example of this was found in The Wizard of Oz, as the four primary characters in search of the great wizard found out his appearance was just a charade, and that the characters had within them what they were searching for all along. We also, of course, talked about Alanis Morrissette’s infamous song “Ironic,” and changed a few of her unironic lines so that they were actually ironic. The next type of irony we discussed was verbal irony, defined as when a character says the opposite of what they mean, exemplified by Polonius in Hamlet when he says “to thine own self be true,” the irony being that Polonius is himself a lier and a con-artist. The final and most complicated type of irony we discussed was formal irony, defined as when a work of art calls attention to itself as a work of art. In order to reinforce this type of irony, we looked at Ron Padgett’s poem, “Poem,” and the artwork of Jackson Pollock, which calls attention to itself as a painting by representing literal paint on a canvas. The Participants: Amelia, Penelope, Emma, Sophia, Nova, Gwynne, Lina, Josh, Quinn, Ellie, Samantha, Ethan, Amber, Alice The Challenge: Write a story, scene, or poem that uses at least one of the four forms of irony discussed. To watch more readings from this workshop, like Emma’s below, click here. Emma Hoff, 9(Bronx, NY) Irony Emma Hoff, 9 “You can climb up the rope,” said Sarah to Lucy. And she almost wanted it to be true because she meant to say, “I won’t be able to stand it if you fall off again.” Johnny thought he could get straight As if he pretended to be listening while he was really drawing his teacher, but he was caught after a whole month of him acting and was told that report cards would be given out in three months and that he should give up his whole charade.eds courage to build a school ! Belle’s fish was going to die, and she didn’t want her mother to get rid of it by flushing it down the toilet, but the fish died while Belle was in school, and Belle’s mother couldn’t stand looking at its dead body, so she disposed of it and got a new fish which she claimed was Belle’s perfectly healthy “old fish.” Belle never guessed and neither would Johnny have if he hadn’t been told. And Lucy fell off the rope and Sarah ran outside and cried. And Sarah read this very poem and thought about Lucy, and Lucy read it and thought about Sarah, and Belle finally guessed what she would never have guessed and Johnny remembered. And Belle’s new fish swam around until it, too, died, but Belle was guarding it with a pitchfork. And this poem unspiraled like a ball of yarn and stuck to Johnny’s cheek and made him sulk. And Lucy pretended to hug Sarah but slapped her instead, and Sarah did some more crying. And the rope in the gym sat depressed and sad and decided that it would never be climbed again, and Johnny’s drawings of the teacher were found by Sarah, who gave them to Belle, who gave them to Lucy, who gave them to the unclimbable rope, covered in post-it notes and protecting every last line of poetry that comedy concocted.
Flash Contest #41, March 2022: Write a story that has a frame narrative—our winners and their work
Our March Flash Contest was based on Prompt #194 (provided by contributor Molly Torinus), which challenged participants to craft a frame narrative—like a story within a story—for their submissions. This delightful prompt readily invited experimentation with form, and we weren’t disappointed—one story went “Behind the Scenes” to show the editing processes and inner workings of the story itself! Others ranged from riffs on creation myths to campground misadventures to conferences wherein time travelers presented on their unique eras. As always, thank you to all who submitted, and please submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “The Element” by Kimberly Hu, 9 (Lake Oswego, OR) “Speakers of the Past” by Sophie Li, 11 (Palo Alto, CA) “A Way Out” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) “The Last Chapter” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, New Zealand) “Nightbear” by Melody You, 11 (Lake Oswego, OR) Honorable Mentions “Useless Sidekick” by Dalia Figatner, 11 (Mercer Island, WA) “Hope and Amelia” by Noelle Kolmin, 10 (New York, NY) “How the Skunk Got Her Stripe and the Kangaroo Her Pouch” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 10 (Brooklyn, NY) “Behind the Scenes” by Emily Tang, 12 (Winterville, NC) “Earthquake in a Book” by Karuna Yang, 11 (Outram, New Zealand) Kimberly Hu, 9 (Lake Oswego, OR) The Element Kimberly Hu, 9 Xi smiled at Ari. The Story begins once upon a time, a long, long time ago. “Isn’t that how all stories start?” Ari asked curiously. Yes, Xi minded softly. But this long time ago is special. Her growing wrinkles creased into a sincerely joyful grin. “How?” You will know when you’re all grown up and you’ve matured. “But I am!” Ari went on her tiptoes in an attempt to look serious and tall. Xi smiled again, breathing hard, summoning up all the energy of her cursed immortality to express her once-beautiful face, wishing she could chuckle, laugh, talk, like a real great-great-great-and so on-grandmother would to her great-great-great-and so on-grandchildren. Oh, not quite yet. “Humph.” Ari folded her arms and pouted. Let me begin the story, Xi minded. “Okay,” Ari said, brightening up. Long ago, there was an Element. The Element that created the five you know: fire, water, air, and earth. That time, the world was nothing. Just nothing. But the nothingness grew restless, impatient, and weary, despite it being nothing. Suddenly, something bursted from the nothingness, shattering it to nonexistence. Nothing did not exist. There is always something, Ari. Always. Some people may say, “Oh, there’s nothing there.” But that’s never true. Since the bursting shone over nothingness, there has always been something. And what was that something? That something was that Element. It shone, it glittered, it glowed, it gleamed, it shimmered, dazzled, twinkled, sparkled, glimmered. That element found itself in the midst of darkness without the knowledge that it had created the darkness itself. Darkness is always the substitute. The alternate. When something disappears, darkness takes over. Apparently, well, the nothingness transformed into darkness. But it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The Element was the only one that beamed into the darkness, laser-striking it to light. That was the second thing The Element created. Yes. Light. One does not need a wrench and some metals to create something, Arikalar. Nor a paintbrush and canvas or a pencil and paper. It’s cause and effect. It’s imagine and create. The Element’s birth had a purpose. Everything has purpose, Arikalar. Your home. Your trees. Your birthmark. Your sea. “Wow,” Ari breathed. Keep quiet, Ari. The Story is sacred. “Right. Right. Okay,” Ari cocked her head to one side curiously. From natural instincts, the one thing that came immediately when the nothingness held its breath for too long, like it was not yet powerful enough to overthrow the nothing nothingness, but it just would come on call. Nothingness…maybe you would consider nothingness as dreamless slumber, but you are wrong. In slumber, you still feel. You touch. You don’t realize it but you are almost painfully aware of your warm, safe bed. You don’t realize it is full of mindful and yet mindless danger. You don’t realize it but you are thinking, thinking. Maybe you would consider it not thinking at all but just resting your brain. You know that your brain is restless but your inner mind rests. You are wrong. Xi could tell from Ari’s expression that she was thoroughly confused; she looked as if she were being lectured, keeping scientific and knowledgeable thoughts in her mind for days. Maybe you’ll understand when you’re older. No, I’ll understand! I mean, I am understanding! Ari tried to say through her face. Xi shook her head, trembling, summoning her delicate spirit and soul, begging it to give her the last strength of her eternal painful, agonizing, and excruciating life. The Story must be passed on, she told herself. Mistakes of the past you learn from, old Xi. You forgive and forget. You must go on. Xi fought the urge to close her eyes and clear her innerly inner mind. She must pass the Story on. Going on was perhaps the most difficult of everything possible, which was almost impossibly great and vastly immense. Immortality was supposed to be a great gift and a great fortune, but she had led herself to its cursed power, she remembered. Let myself experience the pain of my selfish deeds, she told herself silently. Don’t be foolish. The greed for immortality is your most major mistake, and you must go on. Xi concentrated her mind and willed. She summoned the last of her curse ineffably. The inner mind. The nothingness. The somethingness. All utterly wordless. There are never enough words. Words are not for magic. Mind is for magic. Words are for survival. Suddenly a jolt of seeming unconsciousness struck Xi. Her expression faded abruptly, transformed into dull dead. So abruptly that Ari screamed incredibly high-pitched and gasped loudly, even though she knew that no one could hear. Dead. Her
