Personal Essay Contest with the Society of Young Inklings For as long as Stone Soup has been around, we have been publishing nonfiction narratives and personal essays/memoir under the “Story” label. This has frustrated me ever since I became editor two years ago because, as a writing teacher, I spend much of my time teaching my students about the importance of understanding the distinctions between genres. The way we approach fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, as both readers and writers, is drastically different. For this reason, I am very happy to announce that Stone Soup is partnering with Society of Young Inklings in our very first nonfiction contest and that, in 2020, we will begin to publish all nonfiction under its very own label in the magazine. But what makes this contest extra special is our partnership with Society of Young Inklings (SYI): we are very excited to share that their team of professional writers has designed a mentorship experience for both the youth and the educators who take part in this contest. To start, SYI invites you to stretch your ideas and elevate the impact of your narrative using the games and activities provided in their quick video series: Spill Some Ink with Stone Soup. Finally, take advantage of SYI’s Tips and Tricks for Revision cheat sheet, which guides writers through specific strategies to bring their narratives even more vividly to life. You can stay in the loop as they add material to further help write and revise your piece by RSVP’ing to their email updates here. Finally, after submission, the first 150 submitters will receive a personalized note from SYI. These notes will highlight a strength in your piece and offer guidance about how to build on that strength in future writing. We are so excited to be partnering with such a wonderful organization and thrilled to be able to offer personalized feedback to many of our writers! Contest Details For this contest, we are looking for excellent, innovative, moving, playful personal essays, or mini-memoirs. We want to hear about any of the biggest moments in your life—the scariest, the saddest, the happiest ones—as well as about some of the smallest—your walk to school or a regular Saturday at home with your brother. Make us laugh! Make us cry! Make us feel like we know you! Length: There is no minimum length. The maximum length is 10,000 words. Deadline: December 15, 11:59 p.m. (Pacific Time). Entry fee: $4 per personal narrative. You may submit as many narrative essays as you would like to the contest, but each must be submitted as a new entry. Other specifications: Please make sure there is no identifying material on the .doc or .pdf you upload: your name should not appear on any of these materials. We will have your information through Submittable. Age limit: The contest is open to writers aged 13 or younger, or those who are still in U.S. eighth grade or its equivalent. To enter: All entries should be submitted here, via our Submittable site. We will not consider entries sent via email. Results We will select and announce three winners, as well as a handful of honorable mentions, by the end of January 2020. We will publish all three placing entries in a 2020 issue of Stone Soup.
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Coconut Pudding: Behind the Story
Editor’s Note: We published Tristan Hui’s story “Coconut Pudding” in the September issue of Stone Soup. In this post, Tristan gives us some background on the subjects she chose to write about. In a seventh grade History unit, every student in my class made a model house of someone living in a certain place, and wrote a creative story based on the culture. I chose to study floating houses on the Tonlé Sap Lake in Cambodia, because the first time I used an architecture book during the unit, it fell open to a picture spread of floating homes in East Asia. It immediately drew me in; I’ve always been more interested in coastal locations and towns near the water than dry, desert-like landscapes. Interestingly, living in a floating home or houseboat doesn’t require citizenship papers. Because of this, many stateless residents live on the Tonlé Sap Lake in Cambodia, or in Vietnam’s picturesque Ha Long Bay. But that was all just background research, to create a basis for my story and model. The plot of my creative writing was originally completely different from what Coconut Pudding turned out to be. I don’t remember it now, but I had come up with something—probably infinitely more complicated—before the unit began. When it was suggested to experiment with different possible plots, I erased the page and came up with something entirely new. That was what ended up being published as Coconut Pudding. I guess it just goes to show… always be flexible and open to new, completely random ideas! The model of the floating house that I made—which would typically be built using lots of lightweight bamboo, wooden post or beam structures with woods like mangrove, and bamboo leaf thatching or corrugated sheet metal for the roof—was really helpful to use in visualizing the storyline once I started to write. Though it wasn’t part of the project to create figurines for the house, I imagined them there, leaning over the railing to wave to a friend or docking a boat filled with fruit after a long day of peddling.
Playing in the Youth Orchestra
My dad parked the car in the parking lot of the performing arts center. I hopped out of the car. It wasn’t the first time I had been there. My family often came here to listen to concerts. But this time, something was different. I wasn’t here to listen. I was here to play. I grabbed my violin and followed my parents to the staircase. I was excited. I had been aspiring to get into orchestra almost ever since I started the violin. What could be more exciting than actually being there? I was also nervous. I knew that orchestra wouldn’t be easy. Was I ready? It was my first time going to the youth orchestra, and I had no idea what to expect. We walked up the stairs to the orchestra rehearsal room. I entered the huge room. The other kids stood at the edges opening cases. In the middle of the room, the chairs and music stands were set up and ready for the rehearsal. The conductor told us that our folders were on our stands. I quickly found mine and sat down. Next to the folder were four songs that we would be playing. I glanced at them. I was curious what they would be. One of them had sixty fourth notes. One of them went all the way into eighth position. All of them would go fast. None of them were easy. I sighed. I had known it would be hard. I hadn’t expected it to be this challenging, but it was fine. I would have plenty of time to learn the songs. At least I hoped so. The conductor came to the front of the room. He welcomed us to the orchestra and gave us information. Then, we started playing. We started sight reading the first piece. My stand partner’s fingers easily moved along the fingerboard of her violin. But I was lost. Still, I tried my best and was able to play some of the easiest sections of the music. I would have to practice the complicated sections a lot at home. I was sure that eventually I’d be able to do it. I’d be ready for the concert in January. Practice makes perfect, right? In the next few weeks, we got even more music. Then, the conductor announced that in three weeks, on October 27, we would have an extra concert with a university orchestra. We were going to play three songs there. One piece went into high positions, it had fast parts, and the whole thing went at lightening speed. It was the hardest piece we had gotten so far, and we didn’t have long to learn it. Preparing for the concert was terrifying. Before I had auditioned to get into the orchestra, my teacher had told me that she wasn’t sure if I was ready. “You’re on the fence.” She told me. But I had been determined to get in. I longed to be part of the orchestra. And when I auditioned, I got in. Still, I wondered if maybe I hadn’t been ready. Maybe orchestra was too hard for me. As the concert got closer, I got even more nervous. I tried to practice the pieces. But although practice makes perfect, I wasn’t sure I could do it in the time I had. Just getting them to a level where I could play most of the notes at the tempo was challenging enough without worrying about dynamics or tuning. It felt like no time before October 27. My dad parked the car in the parking lot of the performing arts center. I hopped out of the car. I grabbed my violin and headed to the door. I was both nervous and excited. Inside, I met many of my friends that are also in orchestra. We talked and laughed as we headed to the practice room. 3 hours later, we sat down in the seats of the auditorium ready to watch the first half of the concert before playing the second half. While the players tuned, we laughed at the typos in the program. Then we listened to the music that was played. It was as enchanting as a witch’s spell. After the songs ended, there was a costume parade since it was right before Halloween. My friends and I whispered about our favorite costumes. My favorite was the peacock. Finally, it was our turn. We got our instruments and took our places on the stage. Then the second half of the concert began. I lifted my violin. The first note sounded loud and clear and the magnificent piece began. I didn’t play perfectly. But, I also didn’t play terribly. When we left, I was grinning from ear to ear. It was a day filled with lots of excitement and fun.
