This story, told from the point of view of the first person, is short but wound tight, like a spring. The story flows from beginning to end, concluding in a climax, Piper has succeeded in doing something that is very difficult – getting the reader of a short story to so identify with the character that we, too, feel the relief of the ending, we, too, feel overwhelmed by what is happening and a sense of exhilaration as we read the last words! How does Piper do it? She does it by immediately making us feel our own body – “My palms are sweaty. My whole body is tense, waiting. I’m up next.” These are the feelings we can all relate to, whether or not we have ever participated in a music competition, and the direct language makes us relate to the feelings immediately. Piper creates an almost dream-like state in which we are acutely aware of our body but also of external events, like the leaves falling. She creates a psychological place where we hear sounds differently – “My name dives down upon me, echoing as it comes.” This is a work of great creative power, on in which the experience of tension and tension released is thoroughly imagined and then translated into powerful word-images and word-feelings. Project: Write a short short story about a tense moment. Start your story, as Piper does, when you are already in the midst of the tension. Use the first person, the “I” and the “me” voice, to help your readers identify with the moment. Think of your story as a spring being wound tighter and tighter to finally, suddenly, at the end, in a tremendous release of tension, unwind. Tension has its physical effects, like sweaty palms and difficult breathing, and it also creates dream-like states where we get focused on certain sights and sounds. Write the first draft of this story in one sitting. After first imagining a super-tense situation, let the feelings pour out, like a flood. Think of this as a story written in one breath. From Stone Soup, January/February 1994 Will They Like Me? By Piper Dorrance, age 12, Danville, Pennsylvania MY PALMS ARE sweaty. My whole body is tense, waiting. I’m up next. At ten years old, my six years of fiddle-training are being put to the test. The Ligonier Highland Games, more specifically, the Fiddle Competition, has begun. Winning last year gives me a speck more confidence, but it also means I have more to lose. As I wait, the cold morning air blows itself out and the warm air of the afternoon replaces it. It is a sunny autumn day and the brassy- and rusty-colored fallen leaves dance crazily to the music of the fiddler in the soft breeze outside of the sturdy gray pavilion. I look longingly out and wish that I could be out dancing with those leaves instead of sitting still, waiting for the last note of the person ahead of me. That note comes. I get ready, setting my fiddle on my lap. My name seems to be floating above my head, hover-ing, waiting to strike. My name dives down upon me, echoing as it comes. I take a deep breath and get up. I mechanically walk up the steps to the stage, almost in a trance. I look down. The ground is miles away and the silence, oh the silence! It gives me chills. The judge looks at me and goes back to her work. She finishes. Her papers are put aside and a fresh one passed to her. She looks at me and motions for me to start. I let go a long, deep breath. I walk up to the microphone and adjust it. I open my mouth and somehow my song titles come pouring out. The silence roars over me and tears me apart. I raise my instrument up to my chin and play like I’ve never played before. My air is slow and full of love. My march pounds out a booming pace. And last, but not least, my strathspey runs along merrily with a dancing melody. I am done! Never in my life will I forget this moment! A great clapping soon covers over me. It feels sensa-tional! The judge is clapping and my teacher beside her is doing the same! My parents are clapping! Suddenly, my cousins are there clapping too! People I don’t even know are clapping! They liked me! They really liked me! © 1994 Children’s Art Foundation
teaching writing
Writing Project (non-fiction): using personal experience to develop understanding, with “Experiencing Home” by Yodit Lemma, 12
Map showing location of Ethiopia, courtesy https://www.worldatlas.com Experiencing Home by Yodit Lemma War and Peace. It has always been true that somewhere in the world there has been war and in other parts there has been peace. But now, with television, those of us who live in peace see war every day in our houses as the war takes place. The war on TV looks real and makes us think that we know what war is like. In reality, however, the war we see on TV is a story safely contained within the television set. It feels like something happening to somebody else. Yodit’s story is about a trip she made to Ethiopia in 1994 to see her family. It is a story about self-discovery and is exceptional for the honesty Yodit brings to her description of her own feelings. For example, at first, when Yodit sees poor people who are begging, she turns her back on them. Only after some time does she let herself feel the human and personal tragedy of the people around her. Even though this story is non-fiction, Yodit uses literary techniques to tell her story. Pay particular attention to the last paragraph in which Yodit shows us how the memory of war now lives in her and how, even while playing cards, living a normal life, she has become changed by her experiences. Project: Write about a Personal Experience That Made You Understand Something on an Emotional level. Intellectually, Yodit knew about the war in Ethiopia before she went there. But emotionally, she hadn’t really understood. Many of us read about homeless people living on the streets of the big cities. Many of us pass homeless people every day. But almost all of us, like Yodit, just walk past them without stopping. Go somewhere with your parents where you can meet people whose lives are very different from you own. Talk to them and then write about your experience. The difference between the way a journalist writes and the way you should write is this: a journalist doesn’t include him- or herself as a character, while you should. Tell us, as Yodit does, how what you see affects you. How does it make you feel? Experiencing Home by Yodit Lemma Age 12, Blantyre, Malawi First published in Stone Soup Magazine in March/April 1994 I think it is hard for people to believe things unless they experience or witness them. I once had an ex-perience. I experienced the results of how war came into a city and destroyed people’s homes and jobs. Not only did I experience this but witnessed struggles for freedom that created broken hearts and famine. In the summer of 1992 I visited my homeland Ethiopia, longing for a happy and enjoyable holiday. But when I went there I saw soldiers in their camouflaged army suits one after the other with huge guns over their shoulders and children without homes, sleeping on the pavement. These things began to frighten me and fill my heart with sadness. Then I knew that what I thought to be a holiday was not going to be one. Many people, young and old, would come up to me and ask me for money with longing faces. At first, I would turn my back on them. But as time went on, I started to feel sorry for them and began to share the few cents I had in my pockets. There was one man in particular that I gave all my money to that day. It was when we were traveling to my grandmother’s house. We had stopped for a road check and were ready to leave. Just before we left, this poor man dressed in rags and fairly thin came to me through the car windows and pleaded for money. So I gave him the money I had. The rest of the way to my grandmother’s house I wondered about my country. I felt as if I should blame someone for all the hunger and poverty. But I didn’t know who to blame. That summer my fifteen-year-old cousin, Lidet, told me the different things she experienced or heard about during the war. Many times, she had to stay at home because soldiers would shoot anyone they saw, thinking that this person was on the opposite side. She and all my family there were very frightened. Many of them began to cry because they never knew what would hap-pen next or what would become of them. Once many teenage orphans were asked to fight in the war. But they did not agree and tried to run away. Then, suddenly, long thunders were let from the guns of soldiers and lives of innocent people were lost. As Lidet told me this story my mind refused to accept it. I questioned why were people like this? Right then war entered my mind. All people could think and care about was war. Among the tragic events that occurred, there’s one about my grandmother that I could never really believe happened. It was said that there was a time in her village when people went crazy and shot everyone and everything they saw. As she was opening her door to go outside, a bullet swished inches past her eyes and hit a mirror. This event also gave me a fright and was harder to believe than any other event. This was because my family and I were always safe here in Zambia and yet my relatives in Ethiopia were in danger. That summer I experienced results of tragic events, but I also had a great time with all my relatives and friends. On dark, stormy nights we would sit around the fire and play cards. As I got ready to say, “A-shea-ne-fku,” which means “I win” in Amharic, the heavy orange, purple, and red flames of the fire caught my attention. I gazed as I remembered all the tragic and maddening events I’d heard about. In the background I could hear my name.