Eleanor Resurreccion At the time, I was just three years old. My mom, the doctor, and me. The doctor approached me with the flu shot in her hand, and I squirmed in my seat. She got the shot ready, and gently took my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited… I yanked my arm away just as the needle entered my arm. I had not gotten the shot, but I felt a small pain, like a pinch. My mom nudged me back towards the doctor for me to get my flu shot. This time, I didn’t run away, and the needle entered my arm and came out without any protest. I squeezed my eyes shut. That wasn’t going to happen this time, I promised myself. Even though that had been eight years ago, that memory haunted me, and even though I could get a shot without getting freaked out, the idea of small pains from needles still made me flinch, so a blood test was exactly what I didn’t need. “I have to get a blood test?” I asked my mom. “Yes, they are going to do some blood work, and you can be tested for Coronavirus antibodies.” I groaned. I hadn’t gotten a blood test for as long as I could remember, but I knew that I had had one when I was a baby. My stomach turned and I tasted bile forming in my mouth. Was I going to throw up? I gulped. I closed my eyes and counted to three. Better. I trudged over to the couch and plunked down. My mom sat next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. Her medium length brown hair tickled my neck. She stroked my hair. Her serene presence always seemed to relax me when I needed it most. I sighed. I was glad to have her around. I should feel fortunate, I thought. I was lucky to be getting a COVID-19 test. “Well,” I said, mustering courage. “No time to worry about this now.” I masked my worry with a smile and marched out of the room. The following day, Jamie tried and tried to assure me that it would be nothing. “It barely hurts, besides, blood is cool!” my brother exclaimed! I sighed. My brother loves the way his blood looks, and he has had many blood tests because of his allergies and asthma. This was no different for him I thought. He smiled. I frowned. That morning, my parents had gone to get their tests. My mom tried to tell me there was nothing to worry about. “You don’t have to look, and once the needle is in, it doesn’t hurt,” she assured me. “All you have to do is hydrate, before.” “What?” I asked, confused. “I wasn’t hydrated enough, so when they took the blood test, they had to switch arms because no blood was coming out of the first arm.” I groaned. That didn’t help at all! I imagined the nurse sticking the needle in all over my arm, trying to find a satisfactory vein. Millions of tiny pricks of pain all over my arm. I shuddered. We walked to the doctor’s for our checkups during the afternoon, so the hot summer sun was high in the sky. My mask rubbed up against my face and tickled my nose. The sun’s rays burned on my back. We had to wait our turn when we got to the doctor’s office, and the hard plastic chairs that we sat on were cool against my bare legs. When it finally came time for me to take my blood test, I walked, timidly to a room with two chairs. A counter with various medical supplies and tools took up half of the room. I looked around and sat down in one of the chairs. My mom sat next to me. She gripped my hand and whispered in my ear. “It will be ok. Nothing awful will happen.” I felt goosebumps forming on my arms. Was the air conditioning on too much? A large amount of saliva collected in my mouth. I swallowed. I glanced around the room again. Everything was a shade of white – The counter, the shelfs, the chairs, the floor, the wall. I frowned with distaste. I heard the footsteps of nurses and doctors in the hall. Then, the nurse entered the room. A surge of panic rushed through my body. I tried to keep the panic down, but the best I could manage was following her directions without any protest. The nurse tied a band on my arm and located a favorable vein in the bend of my arm. She inserted the needle in my arm, and my blood flowed out. Despite my mom’s advice about not looking at my own blood, I stared, mesmerized by the steady stream. The nurse finally took the needle out after what seemed to be forever, and she fastened a piece of gauze to the injection site. “Do you feel light headed?” she asked. I shook my head. I felt my arm gently. I recoiled my hand. My mom touched my hand. “It wasn’t so dreadful, was it.” My mom stated. I rolled my eyes. I guess she was right about it not hurting.The doctor entered the room with the q tip and the container for my COVID19 test. He talked to my mom for a little bit before giving me the COVID19 test. I watched him with beady eyes, one eye on the q tip in his hand. “This will be a little uncomfortable,” he said. I nodded and sat up straighter. This wasn’t going to hurt I thought. I gripped the edge of the seat and got ready. He gently put the q tip up my nose and counted to three for both nostrils. The inside of my nose tingled, and my eyes watered, even though the q tip hadn’t gone up my nose that far. “See,” my mom said. “That wasn’t so
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Saturday Newsletter: March 22, 2021
A note from Sage Summer School News: Registration is open! And, the age ranges for Emma’s (poetry, memoir, and story writing), Conner’s (playwriting) and Jane’s (creative food writing) classes have all been lowered from 11–14 to 9–14. You can register for these classes and more here. Hello, readers of Stone Soup! I’m Sage, a current Stone Soup intern, and I am writing today to remind you that Stone Soup publishes original musical compositions on its blog, and to encourage you—whether or not you have experience composing—to consider trying to make and record your own song. When I was nine, I decided to write a group of songs as a present for my cousin’s birthday. I had composed little pieces here and there before, but this was probably the first time I had actually set out to create my own music. It was an amazing experience! I assembled a group of family and friends: my brother, his violin teacher, and my mom’s cousin. They played various instruments while I played the piano and sang. I loved being able to “conduct”—directing everyone when and what to play. Even though composing music can seem intimidating, I encourage all of you to try! And if it’s possible, I would highly recommend collaborating with other people when you compose music. It’s so much fun, and there are so many more options and possibilities for your songs. A few things to keep in mind as you sit down to compose: Songs don’t have to have lyrics to convey messages or tell stories. In fact, sometimes purely instrumental songs give a sense of emotion better than words ever could. The theme music in movies is often wordless, and yet it can evoke fear, glory, sadness, and many other feelings. For instance, the theme song to the movie Jaws totally makes listeners on edge and fearful. The music sets the scene for a villain to appear and pounce on the protagonist—a kind of foreshadowing without any writing involved! When you’re composing music, try to think about the goal of your song. What do you want your listeners to take away from it? Do you want to write an eye-opening song or just a fun, danceable tune? Of course, sometimes you just want to mess around with notes and melodies—and that’s perfectly fine too, especially if you’re new to this! But if you’re really trying to impact somebody with your song, keep your ultimate goal in the back of your mind. If you want to compose a piece but don’t know where to begin, something I find really helpful is a theme. For example, when I was writing the songs for my cousin, I had to write them about topics she would find interesting, such as herself and our family. Her birthday also served as a deadline to keep me motivated. Finally, COVID-19 has limited us in many ways, but it has also made us more aware of ways to virtually connect. This is a great time to compose music with a friend who lives somewhere distant! If you’re a writer, team up with somebody who plays an instrument—you could write lyrics, and they could write the melody! Again, collaborating on compositions is such a fun way to socialize. There are so many different types and styles of music; I truly believe there is something for everyone. Hopefully, you feel inspired to start or continue creating your own music and share it with the world. And remember, if you like what you create, we encourage you to submit your work to the Stone Soup Blog. Have fun composing! 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! Young Blogger Leah Musak wrote a stunning poem, “Broken America Must Rise.” Young Blogger Madeline Cleveland reviewed Ivan Doig’s 2006 historical fiction novel, The Whistling Season. Young Blogger Dylan Scrivener wrote a beautiful story composed mostly of dialogue, “Tig and Lomster.” Aditi, 12, wrote a poem about hope for a new beginning. Tarin, 13, drew a beautiful depiction of COVID’s impact.Writing classes and Book Club 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 that 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 November 2020 The Mental Mind Music By Eli Nimchonok, 6 (Toronto, Ontario, Canada) The mind is birthed in the day but in the night it is silent Every day the mind has a memory and removes the math When the mind music comes you hum. Read work from our current issue. 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.
How Stories Work-Writing Workshop #5: The Poetic Turn
An update from our fifth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 15, plus some of the output published below “The turn is the most important literary effect since Homer wrote his epics… It is the dramatic and climactic center, the place where the intellectual or emotional release first becomes clear and possible.” -T.S. Eliot “If there is no turn, no transformative moment, then the poem is a journal entry, at best a laundry list of reflections and anecdotes, or what I think of as a ‘litany of relapses’–the barren passage of time unthwarted, moving predictably toward a predictable end.” -Gregory Pardlo For this week’s Writing Workshop, Conner turned our attention towards the multitudinous uses of the “poetic turn.” Building off an earlier talk on “veering,” the class began with a group analysis of the poem”Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota” by James Wright. We then defined “the turn,” in its purest form, as the point when “a text breaks its deepest and most characteristic habit.” Next, we turned to one of the shortest stories ever written, “The Dinosaur,” by Augusto Monterroso, noting how the story’s independent clause, “the dinosaur was still there,” constituted a turn from the dependent clause, “When he awoke.” Thus, we learned that turns can even occur within a single sentence. We then turned to one of Kobayashi Issa’s haikus in order to denote how turns can constitute hypocrisy and contradiction. Following our discussion of Issa was a reference to Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, which, in its ending, represented a turn into magical realism away from its prior logic of realism. Our penultimate literary reference was that of Lydia Davis’ short story, “Mown Lawn.” We turned to this story as a depiction of multiple turns within a single space—in fact it was a story made up almost entirely of turns! Finally, as a warm up to our final prompt, we spent a minute trying to write out the last two lines in John Ashberry’s poem, “This Room.” The Challenge: Write a story or a poem that uses a “turn.” For example, this can be a turn like the constant shifting in Lydia Davis’ “Mown Lawn,” Issa’s haiku that had an ironic, imagistic shift, or like the turn in Ashberry’s poem, “This Room,” wherein he turns to address the reader. The Participants: Georgia, Jackson, Lucy, Sophia, Svitra, Liam, Aditi, Emma, Zhilin, Simran, Noa, Julia, Sasha, Sinan, Harine, Isolde, Josh, Sena, Alice, Samantha, Emi Isolde Knowles, 9,(New York, NY) The Bird Isolde Knowles, 9 The bird sat on the branch pruning its feathers. They were brilliant blue like the ocean. A butterfly carefully landed in a flower as its delicate wings beat it down. The beat of a woodpecker could be heard in the distance. A cow moved in a not too distant farmhouse. The bird cocked it’s head hungrily at a trail of ants working their way through the forest, every couple of ants carrying a leaf. A twig cracked under a heavy boot sounding not nearly as sinister as the truth behind it. Swoosh! The bullet struck the tree directly under it. The bird was off its perch and flying into the distance a split second later. The ring of the shotgun seemed to echo out. “Harry,” the hunter’s wife called from inside the cabin. “You’ve already caught us a quail, now leave the poor birds alone.” “Calm down. I can’t seem to catch anything anyways,” the gruff man replied. “There there; you should come inside and get your rest. Do any of your clothes need to be stitched up? I’m going to town to buy some new thread either way.” Aditi Nair, 13, (Midlothian, VA) Abandon Aditi Nair, 13 Bubble. Bubble. She watched her drink bubble. The green clear, plastic container Amazed the little girl. It was so perfect, Yet imperfect. Bubble.
