“Shoes” (pencil)From the “Everyday Objects” Workshop (2017), run by Hands On Art, at the Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya, and published in the May 2021 Issue of Stone Soup A note from Tayleigh An Update on Stone Soup’s Refugee Project We are so excited to announce that the Stone Soup Refugee Project Website is now up and running! The Stone Soup Refugee Project provides a space for children and young people displaced by war, social collapse, and climate change to publish their creative work to share amongst themselves and with the world. We would like to express our heartfelt gratitude to all of the contributing programs and young people who have entrusted us with their writing and artwork and to the generous donors who have made this project possible. To explore our entire collection of creative work by young people living as refugees, please visit the Stone Soup Refugee Project website. Quarterly Reading on June 6th Are you registered for our second Quarterly Reading of the year? At this virtual event, we’ll have contributors from the April, May, and June 2021 issues of Stone Soup read their work. And, if you’re a contributor to one of these issues and you’d like to participate, you can submit your piece or an excerpt from your piece that you’d like to read to this Submittable category. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact Sarah at sarah@stonesoup.com. A Little Bit About Me Since this is my first newsletter, allow me to introduce myself! My name is Tayleigh, and I handle the customer service side of Stone Soup. I also work as a personal assistant to Stone Soup Founder and Executive Director William Rubel. On my days off from the magazine, I work at a local garden store. I graduated from the University of California, Santa Cruz in December 2020 with a BA in history, with a special focus on Italian history. La mia passione è la storia italiana! Weekend Project Returning to the subject of our Refugee Project, I wanted to highlight the striking piece Shoes, which was composed during the “Everyday Objects” Workshop (2017), run by Hands On Art at the Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya. What a stark yet evocative work of art! Many ideas could be read into this image, but what I see is one crisp, white shoe, its form straight, juxtaposed against its own shadow—smaller, crooked, edges blurred. Two sides to the story. What appears on the surface as sharp and clear muddles itself through reproduction, as in a reflection or a shadow. The image asks whether we lose some of the sharpness of our forms, our luster, in our shadows and reflections. Julia Marcus’s poem, “A Window in the Evening,” sheds some light on these questions. The melancholic speaker of the poem lingers on an image in the window blurred by their own breath, through which they “draw [their] name in the vapor” and “wipe it all away.” I’d like to focus on their breath, the vehicle that drives the blurry reproduction of “every sharp detail of [their] body” reproduced in shadow. Thus, the clarity lost in the speaker’s shadow is their own fault, their breath functioning as a metaphor for doubt brought on by self reflection. This poem, like Shoes, asks whether we lose some of ourselves in shadows and reflections, and answers back with another question, itself a reflection—is it our innermost self, our breath, that causes the loss? This weekend, I want you to write about someone who functions as their own worst enemy by way of excessive self reflection. In essence, their own obsession with the question of “Who am I?” should be precisely what keeps them from finding out. As always, if you like what you’ve written, please send it to us at Stone Soup for consideration either in the magazine or on the blog. Till next time, Book Contest 2021 For information on submitting to the Stone Soup Book Contest 2021, please click here. To submit your manuscript, please visit our submittable site. Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at Stonesoup.com! Aditi, 12, wrote a review of Jennifer A. Nielsen’s “inspiring and motivating” 2019 novel Words on Fire. Young Blogger Janani Devendran posted the first installment in their mini comic, Web Wars. Nora, 13, wrote a review of Newbery award-winning author Lois Lowry’s (author of The Giver) 2011 historical fiction novel Like the Willow Tree. Idan, 11, wrote a personal narrative, “No Peconic in Pandemic,” about his experiences dealing with the fallout from COVID-19. Elias, 9, wrote a poem inspired by his experiences with the pandemic. Writing classes and Book Club Are you looking for classes to inspire, improve, and practice your writing with great teachers and a group of like-minded young writers and readers? Join us! We do charge fees for our clubs and workshops, but we try to keep them as low as possible, and we offer discounts to subscribers and scholarships to students who need them. Contact us at education@stonesoup.com with any questions. Writing Workshop: we have two writing groups for spring/summer that meet via Zoom every Saturday (except for William’s class, which does not meet for the last Saturday of the month). Come write with us and share your work with your peers. Find out more and register for a workshop at Eventbrite. To see some of the great work produced by current workshop members, read contributions published at Stonesoup.com, or join us at one of our free public readings! Book Club: a book club for writers that meets via Zoom on the last Saturday of every month. Find out more and register for book club at Eventbrite. Check out which books we are reading on our website. Young Author’s Studio Summer Camps: we are offering a wide range of classes through the summer jointly with the Society of Young Inklings. Each camp runs for two hours per day, Monday through Thursday. All details and bookings via Society of Young Inklings. From Stone Soup October 2020 A Window in the Evening By Julia Marcus, 13 (Culver City, CA) I press my face against the glass, blowing circles of air onto its cool surface. I step back, looking at the filmy, blurred image that faintly appears
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
About the White House
This year I watched the whole election. I have wanted to know what it’s like to live in the White House. I’ve heard there are like 50 bathrooms. I want to know the truth about living in the White House. History The White House was built on October 13, 1792. The White House and its grounds are 18 acres big. It is located on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C. John Adams was the first President to live in the White House. The White House was designed by James Hoban. The White House has three parts: The East Wing, The West Wing, Executive Residence. Rules of Living in the White House Living in the White House comes with many rules. You can never open windows, not even to let in the fresh air. Of the many jobs in the White House, there is no interior designer. The first lady is to hire a designer the first family likes. As you can see living in the White House comes rules. Inside the White House The White House consists of 32 rooms, 35 bathrooms, 412 doors, and 28 fireplaces. According to Joe Biden, the White House is “a gilded cage, in terms of being able to walk outside and do things.” The White House is six stories tall. There are two basement levels, a ground floor where staff works, a state floor for events, and two floors where the first family lives. The oval room is blue and has been blue since 1837. There are also a red and green room. The east room is the biggest in the White House. It is meant for speeches, ceremonies, and concerts. The State Dining Room can fit 150 people. The Lincoln Room has furniture from Abraham Lincoln’s time. The Yellow Oval Room is located above the Blue Oval Room and is the first family’s living room. On the top floor is a Solarium, it has floor to ceiling windows. There is also a bowling alley in the basement. They also have a movie theater. There are two bunkers in the White House. There is an Oval Office which is where the president works. The Resolute Desk in the Oval Office is from the 1800s and weighs 1000 pounds. The Cabinet Room is where the president meets with the ministers. The vice president also has an office located in the West Wing. There are a lot of rooms in the White House. Conclusion I hope you learned about the White House. During my research, I learned that the White House has 35 bathrooms. The White House is huge! I hope to one day visit the White House myself and look at everything inside. Sources Weber, Asher. “Strict Rules The First Family Must Follow In The White House.” Icepop, 8 Oct. 2020. Web. 16 Feb. 2021. “Inside the White House.” The White House President Barack Obama. Web. 16 Feb. 2021. McDowell, Erin. “8 presidents and first family members on what it’s like to live in the White House.” Business Insider. Web. 1 Mar. 2021. “The White House has 132 rooms and its own restaurant. Here’s what it’s like inside Joe Biden’s new home.” Insider. Web. 2 Mar. 2021.
Writing Workshop #42: Ekphrasis
An update from William’s forty-second Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 22, plus some of the output published below William started off the Writing Workshop by explaining the concept of Ekphrasis, which typically refers to translating one piece of art from one format to another. As an example, William highlighted the poem “The Ambassador” by Emma Hoff, which was published in the January 2021 issue of Stone Soup. Emma’s inspiration for the poem was a painting by Italian painter Giorgio de Chirico (picture to the right). Additionally, William discussed Homer’s description of Achilles’s shield, Lucian of Syria’s description of a painting lost in ancient times, and later Boticelli’s painting that interpreted Lucian of Syria’s description. The Challenge: Write a piece that utilizes the technique of ekphrasis by reimagining a visual work of art into words. The Participants: Sierra, Mahika, Charlotte, Madeline, Julia, Lina, Reese, Nova, Mia, Hanbei, Iago, Reese, Peri, Gia, Jonathan, Nami, Sage, Lena A, Wesley, Rachael, Angela, Audrey, Grace, Delight, Jaya, Lena, Helen, Chelsea, Leo, Margaret. Nami Gajcowski, 11Seattle, WA The Face of Time Nami Gajcowski, 11 I talked, but I could hear my words filing into her ear and out of another like a string of music notes. She held her violin at playing position, but when I asked her to play something, she just looked at the brown mahogany that the instrument was made out of and didn’t say anything. I took out my violin and played a drawn-out and mournful tune. She didn’t notice, or she didn’t care. I wasn’t sure which. I was impatient. I couldn’t teach music to a student who would only stand motionless. So, I sent her away a half-hour early.She didn’t move, but she said the first thing I heard her say during this violin lesson: “I will leave when I want to.” She wasn’t being defiant. Or maybe she was, but she used her words and twisted them into an innocent tone. So, I let her stay. I let her stay and stare at her violin. I made stabs of conversation. She never responded. I tried playing a lively tune. She continued to look like stone. Out of the blue, she stood up. Still holding her violin, she went to the coat hanger and grabbed her brown cloak off the golden hook. She set down her violin to fasten her cape. “Are you going?” I asked. She finished fastening her cape and grabbed her violin. It was eerie the silence that she made. Her footsteps didn’t make a sound. Her cape didn’t rustle. She opened the red doors, and quietly stepped outside my house. I stared at her. Something was intriguing. I knew that there was more to uncover to her. I felt that her silence held a secret. Maybe deep loss or unbearable pain. However, when her mother had dropped her off at my house for her first violin practice, she had maintained a stiff smile. That was probably for her talkative and over-eager mother. But when her mother left, her lopsided smile diapered, and she took a seat in front of my desk. She swiveled the chair to face my direction, and she picked up her violin as if she were about to play. She never did, though, and then that’s when I began to speak even though I wasn’t sure if she was listening. I stared outside my window. She walked down the street that was wet from rain, her violin in hand. I didn’t know where she was going, but there was something peculiar about her footsteps. Unlike when she was in the house, her footsteps made an ominous and echoing sound. I could hear her footsteps from across the street. The rain wet the ringlets of her brown hair. Though it wasn’t the brown I saw in my house. It looked a different color. Though if it were a color, what color was it? It seemed to change with the wind. It was unpredictable. It was changing. She looked like the corpse of time. Or maybe she was time itself. Her figure suddenly changed from a 12-year-old girl to an adult with a broad stance. She seemed to be ageing by the minute. Then, she disappeared. Had she died? No, now she was a baby. An innocent and gentle baby. There was nothing more to her, but she kept on crawling down the street as she began ageing again. However, there was something odd with the street. I had walked down it many times before, but something was different. It stretched out and into the rain. It was never-ending. The cheery buildings turned a drab grey. I could still see the girl. She was walking, but instead of going farther down the street, she seemed not to be moving forward. Suddenly, she turned back into the girl in my house. When I was teaching her the violin. She was the 12-year-old girl with brown hair that matched the color of her cape. I touched the window. Its smooth glass was now somewhat bumpy. Smoke billowed out of the girl’s cloak. The street turned to normal. The window became smooth. The girl disappeared. I never saw her again, but little did I know, she would change my life. Lina Kim, 11Weston, FL Horses in the Snow Lina Kim, 11 The two majestic horses plunged through the snow, tossing snowflakes off of the ground. The mare on the left had fur the color of a chestnut and a mane and tail the shade of peanut butter. A light sprinkle of snow coated her back. Beside her, on her right, was a stallion, black as night. Both had a small streak of white starting on their foreheads between their eyes, reaching down until it touched their muzzles. Snow-covered trees reached up to touch the light orange-pink sky. One tree’s thin trunk had bent over. The red-orange leaves coated in white reached to the ground desperately, but the trunk refused to give in,
