Write the same scene from different characters’ points of view.
point of view
Saturday Newsletter: October 22, 2022
The Fall Impression (gouache) by Serena Li, 10; published in Stone Soup October 2022 A note from Laura This week I’d like to draw your attention to Olivia Lee’s piece of short fiction, “The Note.” For me, this piece perfectly combines a sense of mystery and intrigue that carries the story and makes you want to read what happens next, with an attention to detail—a kind of deep observation—that allows you to imagine yourself at the center of the narrative. As I read this story, I want to know the narrator better. How did she discover the tree, and why is she so certain that the mysterious girl she discovers there wouldn’t want to be her friend? I also want to know more about the mysterious girl. Where did she come from? Why is she there? Did she leave the note alerting the narrator to the hunters? But despite the mystery that the narrative holds, there’s much that I can relate to and imagine clearly, like the appeal of the tree itself with its soft patches of grass beneath and the solitude it affords. Aside from the sharp detail provided in the story, another tool the author uses to help plant the reader in the center of its setting is the use of second person narration. The author uses this narrative style briefly and effectively in the second paragraph. Lee writes: If you felt the grass, you knew that it was very soft. When gazing up, you would see many birds of different shapes and colors sitting on the high branches. You would feel safe under the tree, like it was protecting you from bad things. Using this technique, the author transforms “you,” the reader, into a character in the story, steering you to experience the unfolding narrative firsthand. This weekend, I invite you to try using second person narration in a piece of writing. Play with this style of narration to see how it affects the tone of your writing and how it can act to immerse the reader more deeply in your story. Until next time, A New Magazine Page We are delighted to announce the launch of a new magazine landing page on our website! The new page makes it easier to navigate to the current issue, our archives, and past artwork and writing, all from a central location. We very much appreciated your patience during its preparation and testing phases. Be on the lookout for more exciting revisions to stonesoup.com in the coming months! From Stone Soup October 2022 The Note By Olivia Lee, 10 The path that led to the tree went zigzag, but it wasn’t very long. It had slight curves with small bumps. It was like a stone platform, with barely any cracks. But what was really a sight was the tree. It was a very tall one, its leaves dark green as ripe cucumbers. The branches curled softly, like breezes tickling waves into the air. Under the tree was a spot to sit, with patches of grass covering the dirt. If you felt the grass, you knew that it was very soft. When gazing up, you would see many birds of different shapes and colors sitting on the high branches. You would feel safe under the tree, like it was protecting you from bad things. You would sit there for a long time, but then it would be time to go. The patches of grass would sit still, hoping you would come again. I only saw someone else come once. She was a girl, one who sat quietly under the tree by herself. Often, she would fling one of her long legs over a thick branch while the other leg stayed hopelessly on the ground. I tried to say “Hi,” but before I could, the girl went off into the forest behind the gates to the left of the tree. I wanted to follow her but decided not to because if she saw me, she wouldn’t want to be my friend. I sighed. I came to visit the tree whenever I had time left in my day. Even if I had only a few minutes, I wouldn’t miss a single moment to come to the stony pathway. I’d come here before breakfast, before school, before anything, or after anything. But sadly, I had no one to bring with me. I’d ask my mother, but she was always busy knitting with her sharp darning needle or busy dealing with my sister, who was always running around. I’d ask my father, but he was too busy changing into his work clothes. I’d ask my sister . . . actually, I wouldn’t. She would be too loud and energetic to sit under a quiet, peaceful tree, and people would be annoyed. I’d ask my friend Cindy, but she was just like my sister. Talkative and energetic. I wanted someone who would enjoy the tree with me. …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.
Writing Workshop #70: Point of View
An update from our seventieth Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, October 8, plus some of the output published below During today’s workshop, we discussed one of the most fundamental aspects of creative literature: point of view! We kicked things off with a brief five-minute diary reading in which Nova, Ava, and Pearl shared their brilliant work. The students learned all about the different classifications of ‘point of view,’ from the omniscient third person to the limited first person, and we studied both classic and modern samples of this concept in action. Some examples included The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, Moby Dick by Herman Melville, and Olivia Lee’s story “The Note,” featured in last month’s issue. The students were first challenged to write from either the limited perspective of a single character or from the all-knowing perspective of an omniscient outside narrator. Pearl, Reethi, and Ava shared. Finally, we were challenged to the task of writing a single story from two distinctly different points of view. The participants were given 15 minutes to write from one perspective, and then 15 minutes to write from a different point of view. Pearl, Yueling, Reethi, Peri, Rachael, and Ava all read their fantastic work. Scroll down below to see what the young writers came up with! The Challenge: Write a single story with two points of view changing after 15 minutes. The Participants: Ava, Pearl, Peri, Anya, Celia, Crystal, Greta, Yueling, Nami, Nova, Rachael, Reethi Blame the Squirrels Peri Gordon, 12 Eleanor: It was a summer day, but a dreary summer day, when my older sister, sixteen-year-old Priscilla, came home with a pear and made the dreary day a thrilling one. The sun, a constant cause of misery, was worth it when the light met the fruit, allowing it to glow like the beacon of hope that it was. We had been living off of no more than bread and water for so long I had stopped keeping track, and the prospect of something smooth and sweet on my tongue wasalmost more than my mind could handle. I didn’t know where my sister got this juicy, green treasure, but I knew her intention was to keep it for herself, as that’s surely what I would have done in her situation. In fact, she was smiling to herself, just waiting to devour the treat. I knew that if I didn’t intervene, I might never get to bite into a pear; I might starve to death before I could. So that night, with only the stars awake to witness my treachery (the stars are mischievous themselves and will certainly approve, I thought), I crept into the dragon’s den: Priscilla’s room. It was too easy, the prize lying exposed on my sister’s desk. I sank my teeth in. Then I opened the window, so my sister would wake up and blame the squirrels. Nobody would have to know. Priscilla: It was a summer day, a beautiful summer day, because my English teacher rewarded me with a pear for my exceptional essay, and I could give the pear to Eleanor, my younger sister and greatest joy. The plan was to make it a birthday present, as she would turn seven in two days, but as I walked through the door, I knew from the look in my sister’s eyes that she saw the object I was holding behind my back and would not wait to bite in. I smiled to myself, knowing what Eleanor would do. She was young and impatient, and she had stolen many times before. And that was alright with me. It was our parents’ job to teach her not to steal, not mine. So that night, I stayed awake in bed, wanting to see her take that heavenly first bite. I saw her tiptoe in on her tiny feet, a little mouse with golden hair. I saw the utter bliss on her face as the taste of the pear sank into her mouth. Then she opened the window, thinking I would wake up and blame the squirrels. It was adorable, really, how she was oblivious enough to think that I was oblivious.