Desolation By Sabrina Lu, 13 (Ashburn, VA), published in Stone Soup October 2021 A note from Caleb Happy Halloween, Dia de los Muertos, & Samhain to all who celebrate! For a good scare make sure to check out writing from our 26th Writing Workshop on horror! This week I want to draw your attention to Renee Wang’s brilliant short story, “Memories,” and the artwork that accompanies it, Desolation, by Sabrina Lu. Both of these pieces are linked by the concept of inner reflection. “Memories” is placed within the frame of a man reflecting on his life; Desolation is presented to us through an aerial perspective so that the viewer looks down at the snow globe, as if inspecting it from a new angle, searching for some kind of epiphany. In “Memories,” the man turns inwards in order to escape his “retirement home… as grey as his soul.” In Desolation, we can imagine someone who’s grown bored of looking at their snow globe in its traditional manner and has thus changed their means of perception. But, as we learn by the end of “Memories,” and as is hinted by the title of “Desolation,” neither of these efforts brings happiness: the man deserts his memories for the pleasure of the cherry tree, while the aerial view of the snow globe—an item often associated with the comfort of nostalgia—makes the artist think of desolation. Regardless of these works’ ultimate conclusions surrounding the fruitfulness of reflection or of a change in perspective, this week I want you to pick an object from your house that you’ve grown used to seeing in its typical form. Once you’ve chosen this object, I want you to look at it in a completely different manner—upside down, sideways, from above, from below, anything that’s different—and either take a picture, draw it, write about it, or do some combination of all of these. This exercise is intended to push you outside of your comfort zone and reveal things you didn’t know you knew. As always, if you are happy with what you create and think that our editor, Emma Wood, might like it for Stone Soup, then please submit it to us via Submittable! Until next time, Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at on our blog! Madeline Schor, 13, wrote a stellar essay—”Awareness… Reflection… Awareflectness!”—that relied on a distinct, serpentine memory in order to explore themes regarding climate change, the power of reflection, and the COVID-19 pandemic. From Stone Soup October 2021 Memories By Renee Wang, 13 (Champaign, IL) Theodore Colin looked out from his too-small chair in his roach-ridden room. The majestic cherry tree stood outside, greeting him as always. It was the only color in his life; his retirement home was as grey as his soul. He recalled, as if it was seared into his brain, what his doctor had told him yesterday: he would have only a few days to live. As he’d dragged his feet back to his room, he could hear his nurse weeping, and when he’d told his friends yesterday, a few tears trickled down their faces. As he’d delivered the news to his sister, his only living relative, he could remember the silence that had followed. It was ironically loud. When he had gotten back to his prison, he sat down at his chessboard, randomly moving pieces about. He pushed it away in disgust. But even though the news saddened those close to him, he himself did not grieve. That night, his eyes were sore from staring into space. He could feel the chronic illness eating through him like a mold. It had gnawed at him unflinchingly for so many years, consuming the very thing that was keeping him alive. He rubbed his head and looked up. Again, the flowering cherry tree that stood outside his window was there to smile at him. Even though it was painfully pink, the same color as the cancer that was killing him, its long branches swayed like grass, waving to him, inviting him to relive the memories of his glorious younger days. Suddenly, he was hit with a snowball of nostalgia as he was brought back into his memories. Continue reading “Memories” here… 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.
memory
How Stories Work-Writing Workshop #8: Memory
An update from the eighth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday June 5, plus some of the output published below Memory—fragmentary, incomplete, unreliable, contradictory, a key to explaining the present or future. “For me, there has been no difference in remembering something and creating something. When I wrote my fictional novels they always had a starting point of something real. Those images that are not real are exactly the same strength and power of the real ones and the line between them is completely blurred. When I write something, I can’t remember in the end if this is a memory or if it’s not – I’m talking about fiction. So for me it’s the same thing.” -Karl Ove Knausgaard This week, we began workshop with a light analysis of a few tenth century Chinese landscape paintings, thinking about the techniques at play, how they made us feel, and the words we may use to describe them. After a few minutes of thought, we connected how these paintings, specifically their relatively barren space, the emphasis on blank space over detail, and an inability to tell what’s what, enacted the function of memory. Most important to our discussion of memory in this week’s workshop was the fact that memory, often times, is in fact creation, as brought up in the quote by contemporary writer Karl Ove Knausgaard above. Jumping off from this concept, we moved towards a discussion of memory in the films The Tree of Life by Terrence Malick (a conflation of memory of the past and memory of the future) and Citizen Kane. We watched two clips from Citizen Kane, from the beginning and the ending, in order to show how Kane’s memory before death, that of him sledding, represented a key to understanding his character and the tragic function of memory. The next segment of the workshop was devoted to a discussion of artwork, beginning with a few landscape paintings by Pieter Bruegel the Elder in which the details were not cast in great focus, another function of memory in art. We then took a prolonged look at two surrealist paintings: Magritte’s Memory, and Dali’s The Persistence of Memory, both of which seemed to portray the obfuscation of memory. The final segment of the workshop focused on literature, more specifically the tradition of the “I remember” text, beginning with an excerpt from Joe Brainard’s memoir I Remember, and ending with Mary Ruefle’s essay “I Remember.” The Challenge: Write your own “I Remember” piece. You may write it as fiction or nonfiction, as poem, short story, or essay. The Participants: Josh, Georgia, Emma, Harine, Svitra, Simran, Sinan, Sophie, Sena, Liam, Anya, Madeline, Zhilin, Isolde, Noa, Joy, Olivia, Alice, Samantha Isolde Knowles, 9New York, NY I Remember Isolde Knowles, 9 I remember the days when dragons and phoenixes swarmed the sky. I remember the days when giants shook the ground. I remember the days when mermaids splashed in their ponds. I remember the days when ghouls and ghosts haunted the night. I remember the days when I fell asleep listening to goblins and imps crackling. I remember waking up to find it was all a dream. Svitra Rajkumar, 13,(Fremont, CA) Memories Svitra Rajkumar, 13 Puffs of Jenna’s breath clouded her vision as she rushed down the road. It was a frosty winter day in Mridaria, and the bustling streets were crowded with multicolored gowns. The cozy smell of nutmeg fit the winter mood perfectly. It was her best friend’s birthday, and Jenna needed to get there quickly, although the crowd wasn’t letting her through so easily. Winter in Mridaria was usually not that cold, considering that it was near the coast, but today delicate snowflakes were drifting down from the sky. The dark, paved roads were covered in a blanket of snow. Citizens had tried to clear them in vain; the snow was overpowering. Jenna weaved through the barrier of people, careful not to be noticed. Jenna worked at a part-time job that required a lot of stealth, so she was a master at being furtive. She stopped to check the time, but the impatient Mridarians kept moving. A lady in a silky red gown knocked Jenna over, in an attempt to get to Charlotte’s Jewels, a very popular jewelry shop. Unfortunately, they were having a Black Friday sale today. “Ouch!” Jenna cried out in pain, picking herself off the snow. Her calf had hit a sharp stone on the ground and was now sporting a large gash. Ugh! Now I’ll be late! She looked up to see people staring at her. The Mridarians were awful gossipers. Sure enough, she could see many of them whispering to each other. Ignoring all this she turned around to yell at the woman who had bumped into her, but her silky red gown was no longer in sight. “This is the worst day ever!” Jenna grumbled while looking around for her watch, which had fallen off when she was shoved onto the ground. Ah! There it is! She picked up the watch that was now cold and wet, and stuck it into her coat pocket. Jenna looked up and began to move forward, but tall horse legs blocked her path. “Hello Miss, you look like you need a ride,” an amused voice chuckled. What now?! Jenna looked up, and to her surprise, a boy sat high on top of a white horse waved to her. She recognized that voice, and the crest on the horse’s saddle gave it away. Jenna was standing in front of the heir of Mridaria, the king’s son, and Mariel’s older brother. * * * Before she could figure out what she was doing, Jenna found herself inside the warm palace, sitting on an oversized chair that smelled like her grandmother. What am I doing here?! How did I get exactly where I needed to be? She racked her brain and thought back to the last thirty minutes with the heir. Being with the heir added many risks to Jenna’s situation, but
