teaching writing

Writing Activity: biography, war, and the power of what is not said, with “My Story” by Yuthilcar Sokban, 12

Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity Map showing Cambodia in relation to its neighbors Vietnam, Laos, and Thailand. Yuthilkar Sokban’s story, simply titled “My Story,” is about war. It starts in 1975, the year Yuthilkar was born and the year a group of people, the Khmer Rouge, led by a man named Pol Pot, came to power in Yuthikar’s country, Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge under the leadership of Pol Pot was one of the more murderous governments of the twentieth-century. Between 1975 and 1979 millions of Cambodians were forcibly displaced from their homes, including the family of Yuthilcar Sokban, the author of this story. Many people were tortured and between 1 and 3 million people (nobody knows the exact number) were murdered. Cambodia only had a population of 8 million. The murderous Pol Pot regime ended in 1978 when Vietnam invaded the country and put an end to the horror that had been visited on the country by the Khmer Rouge. This story was originally published in Stone Soup in 1985. Pol Pot had only been out of power a few years. Readers of Stone Soup at the time could ask their parents about Cambodia as memories were fresh and Cambodia was still in the news. Refugees, like Yuthikar and his family were still arriving in the United States. But as all this happened what is now a long time ago, in addition to asking your parents to tell you about what they may remember of the historic events that underpin this story, you may have to do some of your own research. Yuthilcar’s story is largely about how his family was repeatedly moved from one place to another under Pol Pot, and about their final escape from Cambodia in 1979, after the Vietnamese overthrew the Pol Pot regime, and their subsequent move to the United States in 1981. This is not a story that is rich in detail about place or about character. It is a story that chronicles repeated displacements — including the several moves after arriving in America. As Yathilcar arrived in the United States in 1981 and this story was published in Stone Soup in 1985. The actual physical and mental pain of the hardships suffered is implied but never explicitly described. In this story, for years, the family is hungry, tired, and scared. Though it isn’t mentioned, we have to assume that they experienced and saw frightening things, including other people who are sick and dying or dead. But all of that is outside the scope of the story. This is a story by a survivor. It is a story about surviving from day to day. It is a story about finding life and a future by putting the bad things outside of oneself and just focusing on getting through the day, the week, the month, and finally the years to get to a better place in a better time. Yathilcar does write about his family’s suffering, but offers few details. For example, early on in the story he writes, “Our family life was harder than the first place because we ate only corn.” What he doesn’t say is that corn is not a complete food. If you only eat corn you will eventually get sick and it is even possible to die from a corn-only diet. As a reader, you need to imagine that Yathilcar’s family, and the others living with them, had too little eat and were also all weak from not eating a balanced diet. But, even hungry and weak, they still had to work because the army was telling them where to go and what to do. One way to think of it is that they were enslaved. As you read the story, try to imagine the context and what is not being said or described. For example, throughout the portion of the story that talks about their movements within Cambodia there is a “they” that is never described but is clearly all-powerful. For example, after a mosquito infested night with little food in their bellies Yathilcar writes, “In the morning, they told us to leave the place for a village about three days’ walk away.” This is not a friendly “they.” Bottled water and food are not provided. Nor are proper clothes and shoes or a place to sleep. Being tired or sick made no difference. An entire family, including very young children, is sent on forced moves in a tropical climate. The “they” are soldiers of the Khmer Rouge. You can imagine them armed and brutal. For Yuthilcar’s family, peace comes to them when, with good luck, the arrive in a refugee camp on the border of Cambodia and Thailand, and then are able to move into a United Nations refugee camp inside of Thailand, and then are finally allowed to come to the United States. During the period this story was written the United States was taking in tens of thousands of refugees from Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos–countries that had been upended by years of war in which the United States was a participant. As I write this today (in 2016), there are again millions of families on the move escaping war–but this time the families are from Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Few of these refugees are allowed to come to the United States. Project: Make a Screen Play There is a way that you can think of this story as an outline for a screen play. It offers a plot outline, some characters, and general settings. The opening scene takes place when the author, Yuthilcar, is three-years-old. The Khmer Rouge army captures Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, and then forcibly empties it of all the people living there. In this opening scene Yuthilcar’s family is forced to walk for 15 days in the tropical April heat carrying little more than the clothing on their backs. Imagine the chaos! The fear! The crying! The shouting! The soldiers, the families, the old people, the toddlers like Yuthilcar. What does his mother say to her family? What do the soldiers say to them? What do the adults say to each other? There are

Writing Activity: make the feeling of competitive sport come alive

Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity This activity is built around a story by 11-year-old Ted Nelson, “A Definition of Happiness,” published in Stone Soup in September/October 1985. Winning a medal in a sporting event requires physical strength. It also requires concentration. In “A Definition of Happiness,” Ted concentrates on winning. Win, win, win, he thinks with each stroke. While swimming, Ted also thinks of the “humiliation” of losing. Finally, Ted stops thinking, apparently loses an awareness of his body and where it is, and so he ends the race in a manner he hadn’t dreamed of. Read the story, consider the techniques that Ted has used to tell the story, and work on your project. Project: Write a Story About a Race Unlike Ted who thought only of winning (and his fear of losing), create a character who is aware of his or her body, of how it feels, of where it is going. Make your readers feel what it is like to be an athlete moving quickly. If you are not very athletic yourself, use your imagination. If you write about a swimming race, make us feel how your character pulls through the water, reaching, reaching, stretching arms, kicking legs, feeling the water rush by. If you write about a different sport, think about the specific movements the sportsperson is making, the feeling of the muscles as they run or jump or throw, the thoughts going through their mind. Maybe your character will win. Maybe your character won’t. That doesn’t matter, but give us a character who enjoys working hard, moving fast, having a specific focus, and being strong.

Writing Activity: writing a duet with “What Will Happen to These Woods” by Vanessa E. Beach, 11

Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity This is a story about an afternoon when two people go to the same place, the woods, and do different things—a girl plays while her father paints. They are together, but they are not working, doing, or thinking the same things. This is also a story about a place. It is the story of the woods, its history long ago when it was a farm, and its current history when many different types of people come to use it, some for the quiet pleasure of being outdoors, others to cut firewood, others to dump trash. Project: Two People Who Are Together but Doing Different Things The father paints and his daughter plays. Write a scene or a complete story in which two people are together but each person is doing or thinking something different. Think of several situations before you start writing. For example, on a car trip one back-seat passenger might be looking out the window watching the scenery and thinking while the other plays with toys. Or two people might be in a room, one watching television while the other writes a story. Both characters are “quiet” in the same place, neither is talking, and they are engaged in very different activities and are, for the moment, worlds apart. In opera, there are often duets in which two singers are singing at the same time, but each singing their own thoughts. When writing about two people who act independently of each other but share the same scene, you might borrow an idea from Vanessa Beach, author of “What Will Happen to These Woods?” From time-to-time Vanessa brings her characters together. The daughter makes contact with her father, either by talking to him or by looking at him and thinking about what he is doing. This occasional contact between the characters gives the story its overall structure and at the same time offers insights into the characters’ personalities. Note, for example, the interchange between the girl and her father over the spider. What will Happen to these Woods? By Vanessa E. Beach, 11, Jackson, New Jersey Illustrated by the author From the September/October 1985 issue of Stone Soup Today I’m going off with my father. His hobby is painting, and sometimes he hops in the car with all his tools and goes off to the middle of nowhere and paints. Today he offered to take me with him. As we were driving along in the car, on this old dirt road, we suddenly bounced up in the air. “Look!” my father exclaimed. “Somebody has been along here with a bulldozer and ripped all these trees out. Now it really looks horrendous!” Silently, I agreed. I usually enjoy going off in the woods because everything is serene and beautiful. Now, I thought to myself, nothing will ever be the same in these woods. The car stopped. I got out and walked along a path. Suddenly a huge, fallen-down tree loomed in front of me. It looked very old, since all the bark had fallen off, and it was very smooth and gray colored. Vines covered the end that was lying on the ground. “Hey, Stu,” I yelled (Stu is what we all call my father). “What?” “Are these leaves poison ivy?” “No.” “Good!” I said and climbed onto the tree. I walked all the way up to the top. On the way I noticed a pile of sawdust and brushed it away. Sitting on the top where the tree had been broken, I saw that the limbs had been sawed off. “Somebody’s been getting a lot of firewood,” my father observed, coming over to the tree. “Yep! Somebody built a fireplace, too,” I said, pointing to a circle of cinder blocks, with ashes in the middle. “Uh huh. Did you know there used to be a farm here?” “No.” “Well, there was. Kept horses, too. And that tree you’re sitting on was brought here by someone. It’s a sycamore, and they aren’t native to the woods around here.” “I nodded and he walked off with his sketching board under his arm. “What are you painting?” I shouted after him. “Grapevines.” He must be working on leaf patterns again, I thought. I slipped down off the sycamore and onto the ground beside the fireplace. I followed two tire tracks. A car or truck had been here recently, and the tires had pressed down the tall grass blades. I passed a place where, inside a grove of young trees, there was a heap of junk. I stopped and looked at it. It was ugly; old tin cans rusted, parts of a mattress scattered around, worn tires, old scraps of things people hadn’t wanted. Someone had actually come all the way out here to dump their trash? Actually going out of their way to ruin a once beautiful and clean spot? I walked on. Field daisies bloomed all around me, and bright yellow dandelions too. The fresh spring grasses parted before my feet. Soon the fire tracks ended, and a narrow path took their place. I passed my father, sitting in front of a mass of vines yelling at a bee who was distracting him. I looked around me again. The field daisies had disappeared, and tiny white flowers bloomed in their stead. Darker shades of grass rose up to my knees and swished as I walked. I began to run. The path divided, but I stayed on the one I’d been traveling on. Tall green milkweed plants stood there like soldiers guarding a queen’s courtyard. Leafy little bushes grew like dwarves in a helter-skelter manner. I stopped running. The path went on into a cluster of trees. Beyond them it seemed like there was a clearing, and I could see the tops of higher trees farther away. I wanted to go on but didn’t. Something held me back, or maybe I was afraid of what I might find ahead. I stood there for a minute, then turned