Wink by Sierra Glassman, 13 (Watsonville, CA) Published in Stone Soup October 2019 A note from Emma Wood What are some moments of high emotion in your life? This is a question that Naomi Kinsman, of Society of Inklings, asks in one of her videos from the SYI series, which will guide you through the process of writing your very own personal narrative for our fall contest. It is the perfect question to begin your reflection and brainstorming process. A personal narrative is often most powerful when it explores these moments of high emotion. And, as Naomi notes, these moments can be about any emotion—whether that’s fear, embarrassment, happiness, sadness, gratefulness, excitement, anticipation, nostalgia, love, anger, or anything else you have experienced! SYI’s videos are a truly excellent resource, and we hope you will continue to follow along with Naomi as you craft your own personal narrative. I have decided to highlight Daniel Shaw’s personal narrative, “The Tree Outside My Window,” in this newsletter. Although we published his piece in Stone Soup as a story, he told us in his cover letter that it was, in fact, a true story—in other words, a personal narrative rather than a piece of fiction. I love this piece because of its surprising approach to a common narrative: Daniel has recently moved to a new apartment. However, instead of telling us the story of this move in a straightforward way, he focuses on the new tree outside of his window. Seeing it “gently swaying in the wind” prompts him to remember another tree, the outside of the window in his old room. What follows is a beautiful series of memories involving that other tree. By the end of his narrative, Daniel has accepted the new tree and also found a way to remember the old tree. I encourage you to read his narrative closely as you begin to think about your own. What makes Daniel’s work so powerful and moving is not only its unusual approach but the detail of his descriptions and the specificity of each moment he describes. Remember to submit your personal narratives by Dec. 15; we can’t wait to read them! Our Fall Fundraiser, 2019: The Refugee Project We are raising funds to support the production and publication of creative work by children in refugee camps around the world. We have already almost reached our target of $5,000 to support workshops run by and for kids in camps, a special issue of Stone Soup, and associated projects—and we want to keep going! You have already helped us fund workshops in the Za’atari camp and put us in touch with other great organizations we can work with to expand our efforts. Please help us raise the money to continue this work. You can read more about this initiative on our website and help us by sharing the link with others. Thank you. Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at Stonesoup.com! “Sci-Fi: Science or Fiction?” is the latest from Marco’s blog series. Learn about the distinction between “hard” and “soft” science fiction. Do you have a preference for one over the other? Leave a comment to let us know! Abigail writes about the pit bull dog breed on the blog this week. Read the post to find out more about the “hasty and harsh generalization about pitbulls” that are often circulated in the media. “Pitbulls: Monsters or Misunderstood?” takes into account many aspects of the debate. From Stone Soup, October 2019 The Tree Outside My Window By Daniel Shaw, 11 (New York, NY) As I stood in my new room, as decided at Burger Heaven on Tuesday, I looked around and saw a blank white wall, two closets, and two windows. I looked out the window on the left and saw a beautiful tree outside my window. It was gently swaying in the wind. I remembered the other tree outside my window in my old room. You could see the roughness of the bark, and the leaves slowly turned yellow, orange, and red as we got closer and closer to the end of the fall. The tree was wise and old. It had a posture that was relaxed but knew everything at all times, like Yoda! One day, I asked my dad if I could go play laser tag with my friend Michael. “You know why you can’t,” he said. Unfortunately, I did. My dad was against all types of guns or weapons. I understood why, but I was still frustrated. “But all of my friends are going and I don’t want to be left out because everyone will be talking about it at school,” I told him. He said: “Just because your friends do it doesn’t mean you have to.” I stormed into my room. Then I looked out the window, and I thought about the tree. It couldn’t do anything people did. And people didn’t respect it. They even had their dogs pee on it. But it was content to just watch the world go by…/MORE 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. Stone Soup’s Advisors: Abby Austin, Mike Axelrod, Annabelle Baird, Jem Burch, Evelyn Chen, Juliet Fraser, Zoe Hall, Montanna Harling, Alicia & Joe Havilland, Lara Katz, Rebecca Kilroy, Christine Leishman, Julie Minnis, Jessica Opolko, Tara Prakash, Denise Prata, Logan Roberts, Emily Tarco, Rebecca Ramos Velasquez, Susan Wilky.
contest
Congratulations to our Book Contest 2019 Winners!
First Place Three Days Till EOC by Abhimanyu Sukhdial, 11 (Novel) Second Place The Golden Elephant by Analise Braddock, 8 (Poetry) Searching for Bow and Arrows by Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 11 (Poetry) Third Place Elana by Hannah Nami Gajcowski, 9 (Novel) Honorable Mentions Leather Journal, Abhainn Bajus, 14 (Poetry) The Hidden Key, Peri Gordon, 9 (Novel) Frozen Nocturne, Sabrina Guo, 13 (Poetry) The Demisers, Zoe Keith, 11 (Novel) Last Birthday Boy, Olivia Ladell, 13 (Novel) Family of Spies, Micah Lim, 10 (Novel) Escape the War, Priyanka Nambiar, 13 (Novel) A Brief Encounter with Chaos, Anyi Sharma, 11 (Stories) We are excited to announce the winners of Stone Soup’s first annual book contest, and we can’t wait to share their work with you in 2020. Although we are only able to give official recognition to a handful of writers, all of us were blown away by the care and effort put into these manuscripts. Writing a book takes time, patience, and dedication, and these writers proved to us that they have these qualities in spades. Once again, as with previous contests, we were moved by how many of these manuscripts dealt with climate change in one way or another. Our winning novel by Abhimanyu Sukhdial, Three Days Till EOC, takes a powerful, creative approach to this topic, as does Analise Braddock in many of her poems in her collection. The Golden Elephant. Meanwhile, in her poetry collection, Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer explores themes of historical and political loss alongside the enduring beauty and solace found in nature. Finally, in Elana, Hannah Nami Gajcowski takes us on a mad, magical adventure through an alternate universe. All of the books will be forthcoming in 2020. We can’t wait for you to read them!
Climate Change stories from our 2019 Podcast Contest: “No Longer Blue,” by Olivia Park, 12
https://soundcloud.com/user-28081890/no-longer-blue/s-3Ks0r I walked back and forth in my room, looking out at skies that were no longer blue. The television droned on. “Oxygen levels are steadily decreasing, and oxygen costs are higher than ever. On to today’s weather, in New Delhi, 679 micrograms of PM 2.5 and high temperatures of . . .” I laughed, the sound becoming louder and louder, and I knew I had to stop. I couldn’t. I rolled around on the cold blankets. I could become rich. All I had to do was tell the people that oxygen was running out. Raise the prices. The world would believe that I was diligently handing out oxygen to the poor people of India. Everyone was overreacting, talking about how people needed more oxygen, blah blah blah, but I didn’t believe them How bad could conditions be? I laughed and laughed, until my throat was hoarse, and then laughed some more. I jumped on my bed, onto my couch, trying to touch the ceiling. Someone pounded on the door and yelled, “Stop screaming!” I looked up and sighed. No one could stop me. I skipped outside and yelled at the buildings, “Take THAT!” I stretched luxuriously, and walked up to my car. I drove to my factories in my family mountain, where we produced oxygen. I got out of my car to remove the heavy metal fences that were filled with stickers like “Private Property” or “No Trespassing.” I stopped by the factory to get a bottle of water. One of the only clean places in India, Mt. Kodachadri was perfect for hiking. I payed no attention to the road as I walked, watching concerts of my favorite artist. A few minutes later, I was hopelessly lost. It was dark and foggy, and I thought I could hear a tiger in the distance. I shivered. It was getting colder by the minute. My battery was running out, and I kept tripping over roots. I kept walking for who knows how long, faulting my neighbor. Stupid neighbor. If she hadn’t yelled at me, I wouldn’t have had to walk around my mountain. I wouldn’t be here, lost and hungry and cold. Worse, it started to rain. Soaked to the bones, I walked and walked until I stumbled upon a small tent. A small fire remained near the foot of the tent. There was light inside. The whole mountain was surrounded by signs; it was impossible not to run into one, especially this deep inside, not that I knew where I was, but I just had this feeling I was near the heart of the mountain. Anyhow, it was their fault for trespassing. I unzipped the entrance and crawled in. A man, maybe in his mid-forties, looked up, surprised to see someone crawl into his tent. In his lap was a 4-ish looking little girl, with her dark hair in a braid. The girl was tiny, and had sallow, sunken skin. Her lips were tinged blue, and her big eyes stared at me. An intruder. She lifted her head, and as soon as she did, she started coughing. It was a while before she stopped, and even then, she was wheezing, She hugged her little teddy bear tight and coughed, as if it was her lifeline. I stared at her, a small lump forming in the pit of my stomach. “Natasha has asthma. It’s a result of the pollution.” I looked up. I had forgotten he was there. I cleared my throat. “This is private property.” He nodded, and said, “I only stay here for a day. Once a month.” As if that made up for trespassing. He pointed his chin to his daughter. “She. . . has trouble breathing in the city. But both my wife and my work are there, so. . .” Thunder tumbled, and I flinched. “Would you like Bee-Bee?” She caught me cringing, and offered her tattered old teddy bear, its once-polished eyes dulled from all the times she had rubbed it. I slowly took it from her. Our hands touched, and she smiled at me, eyes sparkling. And then she started coughing. She hacked. She coughed. Her lips took a shallow blue hue, and I thought I could see blood on the edges. Her father put a cloth to her mouth, and patted her on the back. I could only look on, horrified, as red blossomed onto the white cloth. The stone became heavier. It dropped lower into my stomach, and I realized what the dirty feeling was: guilt. Why was I feeling guilty? I held the teddy bear, thinking. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel the need to chase these strangers away. I sat thinking for some more. Soon, I stood and left without a word. Now, three years later. I am walking around, looking at the kids covered in dirt. I help a child struggling to depot a sapling. Brushing dirt off my shorts, I walk into the building. Avoiding various tents, I check the oxygen income, and straighten the sign that reads: “Free to Those in Need.” Glancing at the capsules full of oxygen, and within them, children, I smile. I breathe deeply, a feeling of accomplishment creeping through me. I open my eyes, only to see a blur of pink running towards me. Natasha flies up into my arms. Her eyes sparkle even more than the first time I met her, and she looks healthier than ever. Her cheeks are rosy, and her face is no longer blue. Sources: New York Times: Choking in New Delhi https://www.vox.com/energy-and-environment/2018/11/8/18075340/delhi-pollution-diwali-india
