Write a pitch for an invention that would solve a problem in your life.
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Saturday Newsletter: October 14, 2023
An Archeology of the Future by Emma Catherine Hoff. Cover art by Rebecca Wu, 9. A note from Emma Wood Hello, Stone Soup readers & writers, Earlier this month, we announced that Archeology of the Future by Emma Catherine Hoff, the poetry winner of Stone Soup’s 2022 Book Contest, was released and is available for purchase! Please support Stone Soup and Emma by buying her book today. If you have participated in one of our writing workshops recently, you have likely met Emma! Likewise, if you have been reading Stone Soup for the past couple of years, you will have encountered many of her poems (and maybe one of her photographs!) on our pages. I wish Stone Soup could take credit for making Emma into the poet she is today—and surely we have played some small role—but she came to our classes and our submission pool already a very mature poet with a strong voice and sense of style. I remember being astonished when I first encountered “The Ambassador” in our submission pool—it was dark, surreal, moving, strange. (To me, “strange” is the highest compliment any poem can receive—denoting both originality but also complexity and mystery; a “strange” poem always demands rereading.) Emma was eight years old when she wrote it, and it was the first poem of hers that we published. We are so proud, three years later, to be publishing her collection of poems, which has garnered the advance praise it deserves. Read on for a taste of what others are saying about her collection and further, to read a poem from the collection. Like the Surrealists before her, Hoff can see into the emotional lives of the things we use every day, things we toss around carelessly… If one of my friends had written this beautifully when I was starting out, I would have probably quit, and doffed my cap to her and said “you go on ahead” or more likely, “you’re already there.” — Matthew Rohrer, author of The Others Emma Hoff is a rare poet. And one of my favorites.I am tempted to use the words visionary, otherworldly, untimely, genius. I am tempted to say she flies above the earth. When I read Emma Hoff for the first time years ago, I thought: She’s not from this planet. I thought: She does not remind me of other poets; she makes me forget them. — Conner Bassett, author of Gad’s Book This collection is a garden of eurekas, a cavalcade of astonishments as, stanza by stanza, Hoff delivers the musings of a subtle intellect fed by a deep and abiding empathy for this world. The deftness of the prosody is only matched by its variety. Open it, and read for yourself. — Carlos Hernandez, NY Times bestselling author of Sal and Gabi Break the Universe The delights to be uncovered in An Archeology of the Future strike me with awe, urgency, solace, and compassion. How daring, how beautiful, how extraordinary it is, in this moment of the world when our world feels so broken, that Mt. Parnassas is still at work, and Hoff is a voice so richly sowed. — Jenny Boully, author of Betwixt and Between: Essays on the Writing Life From An Archeology of the Future The Lamp by Emma Catherine Hoff, 1o The light shines innocently, but it blinds me, my eyes become red. I shy from it and still it follows me with its intense gaze boring into me as I walk around the room. I feel the hot bulb, sense the lamp melting and perspiring under its own fever, its own light. The business is done, I think, but my dreams that night are of that still figure creeping up on me, and the next day, I find the lamp standing again. It glares at me and whispers in my ear, burning it, telling me that the sun’s light is not enough. I ask it how it knows, but the sun dies and the lamp is still glowing and I am grateful for it now. We make our way through the darkness until it parts with me, saying it must go, its filament cannot take the strain anymore and that the darkness isn’t as bad as people think. Click here to purchase An Archeology of the Future. 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.
Flash Contest #60, October 2023: Make up an imaginary celebrity and write a story in which they are the main character–our winners and their work
Our October 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #273 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants get into the mind of an imaginary celebrity. We received 60 submissions this month, and they were certainly creative. There were musicians, fashionistas, astronomers, and basketball stars. Even a pirate was dropped into the mix! These celebrities definitely did not disappoint with their antics and reflections on the difficulties (and benefits) of being famous. As always, thank you to all who participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions, listed below, and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Caught in the Spotlight” by Nikita Fishman, 12 “Behind Closed Doors” by Mia Goldschmidt, 10 “A Gloomy Winter’s Night” by Kellyn Hu, 13 “The Star of the Show(?)” by Mary G. Lane, 12 “Fake” by Kelly Shi, 13 Honorable Mentions “Desiderium” by Erin Bai, 11 “The Dopamine Rush” by Sophie Li, 11 “Stupid Fame” by Serena Liu, 10 “Jewel” by Emma Luo, 10 “Virulencer” by Luke Tang, 13 Caught in the Spotlight NIKITA FISHMAN, 12 ~Belle’s Perspective~ My heart raced like a stallion on the brink of a thunderous gallop. I stood backstage, just minutes away from performing, the air electric with anticipation. Mentally, I rehearsed my choreography one last time, each step etched in my mind like a vivid painting. I wiped my hands, now glistening with a sheen of sweat and took a deep, steadying breath. “이제 갈 수 있어요!” Jin, my manager, called out. We’re good to go. There was no time for contemplation, no room for the nagging shadows of doubt. I was swiftly ushered onto a rising platform, its mechanical hum resonating beneath my feet. The deafening roar from the audience grew more pronounced, engulfing me in a tumultuous crescendo akin to a relentless tide crashing against the shore. Now, they could catch a glimpse of my forehead. The cheers triple in intensity. As I officially graced the stage, a luminous sea of lights embraced me, momentarily blinding me. However, I quickly adjusted to the new environment, scanning the crowd, a constellation of stars that stretched before me. “What’s up, Los Angeles?” I roared, my distinct accent adding a touch of authenticity I knew my fans loved. I face-planted onto the hotel bed, utterly drained. I began shedding my backstage sweatshirt with an exhausted groan, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders as it came off. Taking a deep breath, I started the arduous task of rising to my feet, savoring each counted second as I made my way up. I was young, an age of twenty-seven. But after six hours of dancing, twisting my body, and enduring rough days at the gym, there were times when my body felt like it was years away, and sometimes I was a 72-year-old. Just yesterday, on the eve of commencing my world tour, the nurse lifted my shirt upwards, brandishing a needle as lengthy and sharp as a rapier. After finding the center of my back pain, the nurse pinpointed a location between my spinal discs. In the blink of an eye, the petite but menacing dagger pierced my flesh, plunging its venomous fangs into my body. A distinct feeling of pressure followed this as it penetrated deeper, as if a minuscule tunnel had opened beneath my flesh. It was my first cortisone shot ever and recommended by my manager. I wonder what my fans would think if they knew my secret. I managed to sit up straight, reaching for my phone. With a quick tap, I opened Instagram and navigated to the photos I had posted earlier from my performance, diving into the comment section. I was welcomed with an ocean of encouragement and a deluge of heart emojis. An infectious smile plastered my face. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long before the venomous hate comments surfaced, slithering toward me like malevolent demons emerging from the shadows. “She’s flat,” one voice hissed, while another accused, “Wearing such revealing outfits, aren’t you ashamed?” The cruelty peaked with a spiteful command, “Why don’t you wear something respectable for once!” I sighed. I received an abundance of comments like these, and with each nasty remark, their impact seemed to cut even deeper into my tired soul. Wearing more provocative clothes, or what some might call revealing, is simply an attempt to tap into the Western market. Is that so wrong? Furthermore, I fail to understand how wearing revealing clothing automatically equates to negative judgment. Suddenly, I find myself isolated in the middle of cultural conflicts. My Korean fans prefer me to maintain a more cartoonish appearance, while my manager encourages me to leverage my rapping talent by adopting a certain dress style. Suddenly, a loud knock resonated through the room, jolting me from my deep thoughts. “Who is it?” I questioned. “나야, 네 엄마야!” a familiar voice responded. It’s me, your mom! “Oh, come in, Mom!” My mother entered the room, cradling a mysterious black box in her hands. I noticed a subtle tremor in her fingers as she settled on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently envelop my hands within her own, the moment heavy with anticipation. “What’s wrong?” I asked, unsure of my mom’s pale expression. Without uttering a word, she extended the black box toward me, her silence adding to the intrigue. What could this be about? With anticipation coursing through me, I carefully shifted the box lid, unveiling its contents. At the center, a gleaming silver knife and a mysterious note lay in a sea of white confetti. I carefully picked up the message, reading it. I know where you live. I also know where your family lives. I know your address; don’t think I don’t know. ~Jong-Su’s Perspective~ I sighed while running my fingers through my hair. I took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp, cold air. The night’s cool touch brushed against my skin, serving as a whisper of reassurance amidst
