An update from our seventh Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 29, plus some of the output published below Excess: more than necessary—exaggeration, extravagance, exuberance, abundance, unnecessary, overload, overkill, surplus, luxuriance, improvisation, unrestraint, ridiculous To kick off this week’s workshop, we began with four artworks—Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Dulle Griet, Peter Paul Rubens’ The Garden of Love, Jackson Pollock’s Convergence, and the Sistene Chapel—all of which illustrated, in one way or another, the theme of excess. While we technically defined “excess” as “more than necessary,” the purpose of this workshop was to show how sometimes excess is necessary in order to create the feeling of being overwhelmed or overpowered or repulsed, an idea perhaps best encapsulated in the work of contemporary Australian sculptor Ron Mueck. We looked at a few of his hyperrealistic, larger than life works in order to demonstrate how something almost “too real” becomes grotesque. Following our discussion of Mueck, we looked at examples of Baroque architecture, a style associated with ornamental excess as is the case with St Peter’s Basilica and La Sagrada Familia. We also discussed a piece of Postmodern architecture, the Lou Ruvo Center for Brain Health in Las Vegas, a “non-functional” building more characteristic of a dream or a work of science fiction than reality. We then discussed excess in music, something popularized in the Rock n’ Roll music of the 70’s and 80’s (think Kiss, David Bowie, and Queen), and best exemplified by Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” which we listened to. The last section of the Writing Workshop were devoted to examples of excess in writing as we looked at an excerpt from Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox (exaggeration), Lewis Carroll’s The Jabberwocky (pleasure in its own silly sound making), and, finally, an excerpt from Cormac McCarthy (functional resistance to grammar, repetition of the word “and”). The Challenge: Write as much as you can, as fast you can, without worrying about making sense; write excessively. The Participants: Emma, Simran, Svitra, Liam, Sena, Zhilin, Noa, Georgia, Helen, Aditi, Sinan, Olivia, Harine, Alice, Julia, Audrey, Josh, Isolde, Samantha Emma Hoff, 9Bronx, NY CRACKED Emma Hoff, 9 The ceiling hates me because it is cracked and imperfect and unloved and unfixed and nobody pays attention to it anyways, because they don’t care. Well, I care, but that doesn’t really matter because it hates me the most because I am loved and my life is good and I am not cracked or broken or crumbling and as far as I know, I will not fall and squash somebody and I can move around and I play sports and I write and I read and I draw and I play, but the ceiling isn’t able to do any of that because it is inanimate and cannot move. And I like looking at things, but I think I understand how boring it would be to see the same thing over and over again, my family walking down the hallway, maybe carrying something, maybe stomping, frowning, happy, sad. If the ceiling is inanimate, do you think it can see things? If it can’t it still somehow hates me, which seems impossible, but for now, I’ll say it’s possible and stop the fight and also the confusion, because you probably can’t understand a thing I’m saying, but that might be okay. Georgia Marshall, 12 How Olive Hendrix Broke Her Leg Georgia Marshall, 12 It is a hot day, but I’m not that hot. In fact, I am able to pull a sweatshirt over my head and I am fine. Anna’s complaining about the sun making her hair get all frazzled, so I explain to her that the only one frazzling anyone’s hair is Anna herself. She rolls her eyes at me and pulls out her sketchbook as we wait for the chipped yellow bus to roll up with its paint sizzling off like the skin of a sausage. Anna likes anime, which I hate, so I ignore her asking me if Ponyo or Lu over the Wall is better. Instead, I focus on the bees that are buzzing beside Anna’s ear, which I think are having a fight but are also very polite and don’t want to sting her. I wish they would. That would shut her up. I hate Anna. But she is my best friend, so I guess I shouldn’t hate her. But Olive at soccer practice is a lot better than her, which is unfortunate because Olive is in the hospital and probably dying. Well, no, Olive broke her leg and can’t do soccer and I don’t know where she lives and I am now stuck with Anna on the sidelines talking to Trini Deboever and ignoring me in midfield. I jam my earbuds into my ear and play a blasting rock and roll song that my dad would probably like. I don’t know why I am listening to this. All of a sudden the school bus pulls up on the side of the road and I spring up and claim my seat by the window. I glare at the shrubs in Mrs Porter’s yard as Anna walks right by me and sits next to Trini, who is staring at her phone. She looks up when Anna comes over, and her face glows like a lantern. I’m not kidding. It turns yellow and full of light. Okay, maybe she just smiles and acts all surprised, but I can see through it. I bet her mom is a murderer or something, and she has a knife in her backpack. I want Anna to get away from her as soon as possible but I also hate Anna and wish she didn’t exist. The school bus begins its journey down the road. I wish I had a T-shirt under my purple sweatshirt with skeletons on it because now I am slightly-sort-of-kind-of-maybe-a-teensy-bit hot and I will probably die in a few minutes. Well, no I won’t, but if I did then maybe Anna would
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Why I Chose to Participate in a COVID Vaccine Trial for Teens
Sofia Bernardo, 13 I was scared and confused: school was cancelled because of a virus and it felt like all my hard work was going down the drain. In March 2020, I was in science class at school working with my small group on a climate change friendly building design for our school’s open house, which was scheduled to take place the following week. Just when our project was about ready to show at the open house, we had to suddenly go home and shelter in place. We never got to finish that project. It was a really hard day. I want vaccines for children to be tested and approved so we can get back to school and see friends and family. It’s been clear that the best memories don’t happen via zoom or apart, they happen when we are together. It makes us realize we take our schooling, friends and our family’s presence for granted. Honestly, I’m not a big fan of this pandemic. Although I like spending time by myself sometimes, I miss my friends. The presence of another human body near me. I miss sleepovers, playdates, parties, celebrating the birth of a new cousin and weddings. I hope for a day when we can all go back to school, and I can actually meet my teachers in person, walk to my classrooms and sit down and be able to work on a project with a partner and feel safe. I’m proud of those who’ve done their part in the Pandemic, including social distancing, wearing masks, staying home if they feel sick and being really flexible in a tough year. I am grateful for the essential workers and first responders. My cousin worked as an ICU nurse with Covid patients early in the pandemic. She and her friends are real heroes. In a way participating in the clinical trial is identical to a Random Act of Kindness. Because in a Random Acts of Kindness the small acts alone aren’t a big deal, but when you share them and inspire others to join you they can make a big impact on the world. This is similar to being a clinical trial participant, because in the trials they need over 3,000 kids. You can put a label on which age group data is more important, but at the end of the day, it’s each individual person in the study that is valuable, because they actually make a difference contributing to our world, whether they are 11 or 40. I want to do my part to help end the Pandemic by participating in a clinical trial for a covid vaccine – that’s my Random Act of Kindness. My Experience in the Clinic Ironically, in our science class we are learning about the science behind the mRNA vaccines. I am very fortunate to know the science of what is being injected into my body. And it’s very fascinating to me how the cells react, specifically to the vaccine. The mRNA protein directs cells to produce the virus spike protein, provoking an immune response to that unknown protein. The body has to get used to this spike protein in order to know what to do if it encounters it in the future. My parents found out about the trial and asked me if I wanted to participate. They gave me the choice, and I said, yes! The first visit was long – it was over four hours. They asked me lots of questions, took blood samples and ran other medical tests. After the first shot my arm got sore after the first three hours and it swelled up about 2cm. My arm felt like it was dead by night time, but it wasn’t so painful that I needed Tylenol. There were surveys I had to fill out every day for data collection —the injection site, temperature and general health. After a few days my arm felt perfectly normal and I could exercise and have fun again. The second visit was exciting and scary. Scary because I heard that people got more side effects after the second shot. I answered lots of questions, underwent a few tests and received another shot. I had the same very sore arm and a low grade 99.5 fever later that night. I took two naps the next day. I felt back to normal after just a few days and could move my arm around. I’m looking forward to spending time with my grandma and seeing my friends. Honestly, I’m glad that I did it. It feels good to contribute to science and to humanity. All the kids in this study did one big random act of kindness—taking a personal risk to help others. I’m glad to be a part of ending the pandemic. There are about one billion adolescents on the planet according to UNICEF. I hope by participating in the trial that kids like me will be able to see their grandparents and friends again and go to school safely.
Writing Workshop #44: Dystopian Fiction
An update from our forty-fourth Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday June 12, plus some of the output published below This week, since William is on vacation, we had two special guests leading the workshop. Maddie, who is a part of William’s workshop, and Liam, who now attends Conner’s workshop, led the workshop on the topic of dystopian stories. The two young writers delved into a thorough definition of Dystopian Fiction, plus several recent popular examples of the genre. Many people reading contemporary fiction are likely familiar with this genre, as high-profile series like The Hunger Games and Divergent are bestselling examples. Maddie and Liam went through several examples, and challenged the writers present at this workshop to create their own story in the same vein. The Challenge: Write a story set in a dystopian world or modify an existing story of yours to include dystopian elements. The Participants: Sage, Chelsea, Lena A, Madeline, Helen, Margaret, Peri, Julia, Pranjoli, Nami, Angela, Jonathan, Audrey, Gia, Jaya, Peter, Sierra, Arishka, Grace, Tilly, Mahika, Mia, Iago, Charlotte, Rachael, Lina. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Picture Day Peri Gordon, 11 “I don’t think you understand,” sighed the principal. “If a child misses Picture Day, there will be no makeup date. And Picture Day is not optional.” The principal shook his head at the parent’s ignorance, although he knew that there was no way that she could be better informed. He himself did not know exactly why Picture Day was so essential, but he knew that it must happen every year and could only happen on one day of the year. The mother protested. “If I drive Robbie to Picture Day, then neither of us will be home to take care of his little sister, and the daycare is not open on Picture Day, as you know.” “That’s alright, the little girl can come along, too,” the principal said. “The younger a child gets their first picture taken, the better.” His own words intrigued and somewhat confused him, but that was alright; he was not in the government, so he had no right to know why these things were, just to know these things. The principal could tell that the little girl, lingering behind her mother’s back with the slightly older boy, was not yet in school. But her picture would be taken nevertheless. *** On Picture Day, the brother and sister, Robbie and Sophie, after some protest, put on their finest clothing for their pictures and headed off to the Picture Dome, a black building with a curved roof that let in no sunlight, which would interfere with the process. Instead, the cool building was awash with electric light. Sophie, new to Picture Day, bit her fingernails, ruining the fancy, polished look they had been forced to take on for this day. The girl declared, “I’m nervous.” Her mother scolded her, pulling Sophie’s nails out of her mouth and hissing, “There is no time for nervousness.” But the woman herself was wondering why Sophie’s picture should be taken already. Not many people knew the answer to the woman’s question. But the president, huddled in the corner with his fellow government members, knew everything. He watched as a fellow leader of his, slightly less important but still in the know, used the machine everyone thought was a camera to scan each child’s mind. Of course, it served as a camera, too, so that people would see the pictures and suspect nothing. But the school’s yearbook was a frivolous thing, a distraction. The president himself had not invented mind scanning, but he had figured out why and how it must be used. Each child’s intellectual ability affected how they must be taught to interact with others and how others must be taught to interact with them. It was all carefully planned by top scientists and politicians, so that no one would know of the well-off government members’ secret. As long as the citizens were not in charge, the president would feel pleasure. As long as the people did not control a thing, the government would control everything. And when, in a few weeks, they performed the experiment the government had planned for centuries—the one involving cloning and killing off the original, cloning the clone and killing off the original, so that scientists could make huge advancements—no one would even be aware until it happened. It was all for the best. Lina Kim, 11Weston, FL Memories in Ruins Lina Kim, 11 I pushed the charred curtain out of the way as I stepped outside. The ground was blackened with the ash of everything that was destroyed. Bones littered the ground. Smoke filled the air. My parents and I were one of the only few lucky families. We had somehow survived. I scanned the barren wasteland for a sign. Maybe there was someone alive out there, stumbling through the rubble for shelter. I went about my usual route. I went sixty steps forward, then went to the right thirty steps. I turned right again and went sixty steps. I repeated that until I got back to where I started. I kept searching along the way. I never allowed myself to go even an inch more than sixty steps away from my home. It was the same thing every day. As mom and dad scoured the earth for food, I looked for people to help. It had only been two weeks since the attack, but I had already fallen into a routine. That took up the entire morning. After that, I would go inside the small hut. It had been hastily rebuilt, but was only a very small fraction of the house it once was. It only had two rooms. I would help my parents serve lunch and we would eat. Halfway through the meal, my parents would go to find more food and search for people twice as far away from the house as I would in the morning. I was supposed to
