An update from our seventy-fourth Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, November 12, plus some of the output published below This week, workshop assistant Liam Hancock challenged the students to step outside of their comfort zones and incorporate two or more separate genres into a single work of fiction. The young writers were shown a collection of mixed genre works, from Beethoven’s famed Ode to Joy to Lewis Carrol’s “The Jabberwocky,” and then asked to extract the genres present within these masterpieces using even the most minuscule of clues. After a brief five minute warm-up inspired by Kurt Vonnegut’s “Self Portrait” and “The Procession” by Henry Miller, in which Rachael and Nami read their incredible work, we moved into our 30-minute writing period. The young writers were asked during this time to write a coherent work of fiction including one genre they conventionally write in and one that they generally avoid. Yueling, Greta, Pearl, Ava, and Peri shared. The Challenge: Select a genre that you would like to write in. Then, think of a genre you generally avoid. Try to include both genres within one cohesive piece. The Participants: Anya, Ava, Celia, Crystal, Greta, Katelyn, Nami, Nova, Pearl, Peri, Rachael, Reethi, Yueling The Claustrophobic Genie Peri Gordon, 13 My hand caresses the smooth surface of an ancient lamp, chilling my wispy indigo fingers and inviting me to come inside. Distracted, I just barely manage to pull my hand back before I’m transported into the lamp’s cramped little world—maybe for centuries. I’m not ready to get in my lamp yet. I haven’t even chosen a lamp. There are so many of them, stretching as far as the eye can see through this miles-long cavern, each one gilded and bejeweled, and I’m supposed to find my “perfect match.” I’d be happy with any of these lamps—if one can actually be happy to be stuck in one place for so long, even if it’s a miniature palace in there. At least time speeds up inside the lamp, so the centuries won’t really feel like centuries. Still, I’m dreading it—I’m already tired of this metal, metal, and more metal, and it’s only been two hours of searching. Genies are supposed to be wiser than humans, and yet humans are the ones who say, “All that glitters is not gold” while genies seem to think gold and glitter make life worth living. I move on to the next lamp. It’s pretty, beset with amethyst, sapphires, and silver flowers, but it’s so tiny I don’t even want to think about shrinking to fit in there. Let’s face it: I am a claustrophobic genie. I start to simply search for large lamps. It takes a half hour, but I finally stumble across one that’s the size of a pumpkin. It kind of looks like a pumpkin, too: round with a handle that sticks straight up—and yes, the handle would work for a human trying to set me free. Contrary to popular belief, not every lamp has to be rubbed to be opened. I like this lamp: It’s roomy, it’s easy to open, and it still manages to be pretty. The top and bottom are covered in rubies, the middle in topaz. Knowing I won’t find anything better than this and that I’ll never be more ready than I am right now, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and touch the lamp. Five seconds go by, then I’m sucked in, screaming, shrieking, and, worst of all, shrinking. When I open my eyes again, I doubt that I have opened them. I’ve always been told that the inside of my lamp would be beautiful, but all I see is darkness. “Don’t tell me you chose wrong,” says a rich, malice-filled voice. I blink. Suddenly, a spotlight appears on what looks like a cross between a genie and a human skeleton. He grins as I step back, shutting my eyes and hoping that I’ll wake up back in the gold-filled cavern. “Chose wrong? You mean, the wrong—the wrong lamp?” I manage to say. The skeleton nods. “You’re a wayward genie. You chose based on the wrong factors—size, or beauty, or convenience. The lamp didn’t call to you. You’ll have to pay the price for that.” “Where—where am I?” “Welcome to the Lamp of Darkness. Unlike in an ordinary genie lamp, time doesn’t speed up here. You’ll be trapped here for eternity—and suffer through every second of it. No human will ever find you here.”
mixing genre
Weekly Writing Workshop #16, Friday July 17: Mixing Genres in Writing
An update from our sixteenth Weekly Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop, plus some of the output published below The Stone Soup Weekly Writing Workshop is open to all Stone Soup contributors and subscribers. Every Friday, we meet for an hour-and-a-half via Zoom to respond to a new writing challenge, write together in our virtual room, and then share what we have written with one another. Our session on July 17 was joined by young writers from across the US, as well as in France and the UK. This was also the second time we have had a participant lead the Writing Workshop; Stone Soup contributor Liam Hancock, 13, led us in a very fascinating presentation about mixing genres of writing. Thank you, Liam! Our discussion started with a brief definition of “mixing genres,” or “cross-genre,” which is when a piece of writing uses more than one genre. This was followed by a clip from the 2009 movie-adaptation Coraline, and more information about the book (which is by Neil Gaiman). Liam talked us through identifying different genres in Coraline, and for the most part, we all agreed that it was a mix of horror and fantasy. After this, we learned a little bit about nonsensical poetry, and how it can be an example of mixing genres. The poem we analyzed was Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll. Next, we looked at a few portraits, and thought about how people can represent mixing genres. Finally, we listened to an excerpt from a jazz song performed by Bessie Smith, Sobbin Hearted Blues, and talked about how music can also include cross-genres. Altogether, cross-genre was a very fun topic to learn about and gave rise to some great discussions! Read on to experience some of the powerful writing created in the workshop! The Writing Challenge: Write a story, poem, or play which mixes genres. The Participants: Liam, Heather, Ever, Nami, Sophia, James, Aditi, Kanav, Simran, Ma’ayan, Sasha, Shel, Charlotte, Suman, Vishnu, Araliya, Tilly, Abi, Anya, James, Michele, Sneha, Sonal, Enni, Ally, Abi, Madeline, and more… Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA The Boy in the Basement Anya Geist, 14 A little boy Was in the basement Of a house so old and crumbly The doors were rotted The windows cracked The floors creaked and groaned And every night When the moon shone upon A scraggly tree out front The winds would blow And wrack the house In ghastly shivers and chills The little boy did not mind, though For unlike you might think, His basement was not moldy and gross It did not brim with fungi Nor be as cold as ice Nor house the same dreariness as everywhere else The basement was small With concrete walls And a flickering light overhead But the boy had painted the walls Had painted the ceiling, the floor In a flowery garden Meadows stretched As far as he could see And clouds dotted the sky The boy’d rest Upon a drawn willow tree And slowly close his eyes As he rested As he drifted into sleep Dreams would come -But were they dreams? Or was he truly transported To the fields which made up his life? Heather Sierra, 10Mountain View, CA Mio Heather Sierra, 10 Mio Akiyama had always been the odd one out. She tried to blend in, at home, at school, but no matter how hard she tried, she always stuck out. It wasn’t that she looked different, no. She looked nearly identical to the other girls in her class. She had long, black hair, and gray-brown eyes. That wasn’t it. And she wasn’t poor or rich either, somewhere in between. It was that Mio was left handed. . . and because of her friend, the only friend she had that made her stick out from the crowd. Mio stood on the porch of her two-story house, clutching her schoolbag. She watched carefully, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted by any of the other kids at her school. No! Mio thought, seeing two girls walking down the concrete street. One had short, brown hair, laughing. The other had long black hair, and was gripping the other girl by the arm. Mio, embarrassed at being seen, ducked back into the house. I guess I’ll. . . wait. Mio decided. “Mio!” Mio heard a voice, her friend Ritsu’s. Oh no, not now! Mio cracked open the door of her house to see Ritsu. “Hi.” Mio said shyly. “Hi!” Ritsu grinned. She had short, brown hair; her bangs held up with a yellow headband, “C’mon, hurry. We ’ll be late for fifth grade! Move it! Move it!” Ritsu grabbed Mio’s left hand and jerked her down the street, chasing the two girls up ahead. Wham! Mio and Ritsu crashed into the two girls up ahead, the two that Mio had intended to avoid. “Ow-meow!” one of them mewed. Cat? Are they cats? No way! Mio thought. She opened her eyes from where she’d bumped the laughing girl’s back. Instead of the uniformed girl she’d just seen less than ten minutes ago, she saw a brown striped tabby. How could this have happened? Mio thought. “Ritsu! Come back!” Mio yelled, spotting Ritsu up ahead. But when Mio squinted closer at her friend, she only saw another cat, this time a black one. Mio shuddered, breaking into a panicked run. She arrived at school, and leapt into her classroom, only to find the the striped tabby and a black-and-white cat there. Those two girls! They’re those cats! Mio realized. “Oh, it’s you.” a voice sneered. Mio whirled around to find the striped tabby. “H-how c-can I u-understand y-you?” Mio stuttered nervously. She glanced frightened around her classroom. It was normal, like the one she’d had the year before. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just desks and bookshelves. The tabby didn’t answer Mio’s question, but continued, “Mio Akiyama, what are you doing here without your protection?” Mio turned away shyly, but turned back. Ritsu wasn’t her protection! “M-my p-protection?” Mio asked, quieter than she’d wanted. “Haha, Ritsu.
