magical realism

An update from our thirty-fourth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday February 20, plus some of the output published below This week with Jane we talked about magic or magical realism: stories in which a little magic is introduced into everyday life, often as a metaphor for something important to the life of the main character(s). We discussed the difference between magical realism and fantasy, and agreed that whereas in fantasy we create a whole world that depends on (believable) fantasy for its existence, in magical realism we are fixed in the real world, and a few elements of fantasy slide in. We talked about the magic realism in the myth of Daedalus and Icarus (real humans with their attempt at real, failed wings), and read an excerpt from Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude where a (funny, rather than scary!) trickle of blood with very precise and unrealistic intention moves through the realistic, streets and around the rugs and furniture in its journey to a kitchen in another house, making us question what is really real. We watched movie clips from Amélie and Midnight in Paris, and considered the unlikely but realistic characters and underlying stories in Stig of the Dump and Skellig. And then we wrote! The Writing Challenge: Create your own work of Magical Realism. Write a story set in real, present-day life, with a few magical elements that have meaning for your characters. The Participants: Madeline K, Peri, Leo, Kaidyn, Georgia, Pranjoli, Nova, Julia, Lindsay, Ismini, Margaret L, Tilly, Lina K, Liam, Sierra, Sophia, Anya, Jonathan, Samantha, Grace, Rachael, Sage, Simran, Olivia Z, Ruhi, Angela, Charlotte, Anna, Madeline, Alice, Emma, Yasmine, Elbert, Lucy R, Charlotte K, Oliver, Iago, Reese, Emi, Olivia S, Enni, Hera, Ava Hannah Nami Gajcowski, 10 (Bellevue, WA) Memory Loss Hannah Nami Gajcowski, 10 He walked with a stride so large. He was as quiet as a mouse. So, I didn’t run when he came, because I did not realize that he was there. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around. The man stared at me, his green eyes twinkling like emeralds. His mouth twitched, and his long, black cloak swayed with the wind. His pale skin glittered, and when he turned away, I saw that he had a long cat’s tail. I knew this man. I did. But I couldn’t place my finger on who he was. I couldn’t place a finger on anything. I tried to think of my name, but I couldn’t remember it. I tried to think of my life, but I couldn’t. I realized, suddenly, that I couldn’t feel anything. It was like my nerves stopped working. I knew that I needed a mirror. Who was I? Who was that man? Where was I? What did I look like? I looked down at my hand. They were gray and looked hard as stone. Was I wearing gloves? They were very interesting gloves. What were gloves? Why didn’t I know what gloves were? Were they things to put on your feet? Or were the things on your feet called socks? What were socks? Did I know anything? I looked down at my feet – toes – whatever they were called. They looked as hard as stone. I reached down to touch them, but I found that my body wouldn’t bend. What was my body? I was losing my memory quickly. What was memory? Was it a beam of light that told you things? Was it a sign of hope, destiny? What was hope and destiny? I began to feel very depressed. Dark thoughts took over my head. Would I be able to get out of here? Where was I? I tried to move, but then I realized that I had been turned into stone. What was stone? How much time had passed? What was time? Questions swarmed in my head. Soon, my eyes began to close. Or maybe they were open. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t see anything. What were eyes? I didn’t know. What was a know? What was a what? What was an a? What was a… Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Heart and Brain Peri Gordon, 11 I sat at my plain wooden desk and waited for the lunch bell to ring. I didn’t know how to answer the test question, and unless I cheated, I never would. I stared stubbornly at the white tiled classroom floor. I am not going to cheat, I vowed silently. How much guilt would I feel if I did? Oh, but it would be so easy. The smartest kid in the class, if not eighth grade, if not the school, was my desk partner, and she was off sharpening her constantly-in-use pencil. Her test was not being guarded at all, and it was right next to me. And if I didn’t do well on this test, getting grounded for a week would be right around the corner. It was the logical thing to do, right? And as long as I learned the material for next time… “Yeah, right. I am not going to learn anything from copying Samantha’s answer,” my heart told me. My brain said, “But—if mom and dad don’t find out—” “Well, I would know. And I would feel too much shame,” insisted my heart. “Who cares? This is an important test!” “Yeah, too important for cheating.” That’s when I noticed the staring. Every scholarly, ignorant, friendly, and cruel kid in my class was staring at me. And so was the teacher. For some reason, I burst into tears. What had just happened? I hadn’t said anything. No, no, it was my heart speaking and my brain speaking. Speaking to me—no, speaking to everyone, apparently. “That’s quite enough, Shauna,” said Mrs. Allyseth, my teacher. “We’re taking a test, and we don’t want to hear your mumbling, especially not mumbling about cheating. We don’t cheat in Room 37, do we?” “But, Miss Allyseth,” I said, acting like a child and forgetting to