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Saturday Newsletter: February 19, 2022

Out of the Window (iPhone 11) By Ohad Harosh, 8 (New York, NY), published in the February 2022 issue of Stone Soup A note from Laura Mired in February’s deep winter snow and cold, like many of you may also be, and stuck at home for much of the time during this current Covid surge, my awareness of a sense of place is at its peak! As our Editor, Emma, reminds us in her opening note of the profound influence of our surroundings on our experience in the world, I invite you to consider, as you read the February edition of Stone Soup, the role of setting as a literary device. Consider Ava Cai’s piece, “Honey Dipped in Celery,” in which we are provided with a thick description of a brief slice of time spent inside a classroom during silent reading period. I love the rich detail in which the author describes the classroom setting and the playful way in which she reveals herself through these surroundings. Like, I imagine, many of you, I can relate to the sense of captivity while willing a clock to tick during silent reading time, as well as the sweet feeling of freedom the moment your hand touches the doorknob to leave. Part of what illuminates these experiences and makes them so relatable, is the detailed description of setting the author provides: the dim light with the broken bulb flickering above, the tree beyond the window whose leaves blur together with distance, the clock hanging on the wall whose red arm ticks rhythmically while its black hands crawl ever so slowly, the stale, sterile smell of the bathroom. Now consider how the author utilizes all this rich detail to reveal something of themselves. What do we learn about the author through her experience in this particular setting? Through her description of a stagnant, quiet room, we learn that the author doesn’t like to sit still for long periods of time, that she craves movement, fresh air, stimulation. Setting, in this piece, is used as a literary device to reveal something we didn’t know, in this case, about the author herself. I invite you to pay particular attention to setting in your next piece of writing. See if you can manipulate your depiction of place to point to some kind of broader meaning, idea, or thematic element of your work. For example, what might a description of a home reveal about the family who has resided there for generations? How might the early morning sun, slowly creeping along the wooden floorboards of an empty kitchen, point to the excitement or restlessness of a main character? As always, if you’ve written something you’re proud of, please share it and submit it to us via Submittable! With warm winter wishes, Congratulations to our most recent Flash Contest winners! Our February Flash Contest was based on Prompt #190 (provided by intern Sage Millen), which asked that participants write a story about a character who falls into a bowl of tomato soup and into a magical land. The whimsical yet specific prompt served as the perfect vehicle of creativity for our participants as we received more submissions—43!—than we ever had before! While every story was naturally based upon the same premise, these stories could not have had more variety. Submissions ranged from an epistolary story addressing a corrupt king to the origin story for a pet rabbit to a story surrounding the subsequent events of the eerie, dystopian “Orange Day.” As we received a record number of submissions, we found it extra difficult to choose only ten stories worthy of mention, so we added a sixth story to our honorable mentions. As always, thank you to all who submitted, and please submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “The Magic of Tomato Soup” by Ananya Cronin, 9 (Fishers, IN) “Dear King Solanum” by Sophie Li, 11 (Palo Alto, CA) “Tomato Island” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 10 (Brooklyn, NY) “The King Who Fell into a Bowl of Tomato Soup” by David Yu, 11 (Hong Kong) “Ten Times” by Natalie Yue, 10 (San Carlos, CA) Honorable Mentions “It Started with the Tomatoes” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) To”Clara and Whiskers” by Elizabeth Sabaev, 11 (Forest Hills, NY) “Reality or Subconsciousness?” by Emily Tang, 12 (Winterville, NC) “Colors” by Liyue Sally Wang, 11 (Newton, MA) “Wish upon a Dream” by Eliya Wee, 11 (Menlo Park, CA) “Gone Tomatoes” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, NZ) Ava Cai, 12(San Jose, CA) From Stone Soup February 2022 Honey Dipped in Celery By Ava Cai, 12 (San Jose, CA) The quiet classroom was like a prison. The lights were dim, and a broken bulb flickered softly above me. I had never liked the dullness of this room, nor did I like the quietness of reading time. I sat in my assigned seat and flipped through a book about spaceships. The cover was slightly dented, and some of the pages were half torn. I managed to make out only the picture of the Apollo lunar module. I closed the book and placed it on my desk. I leaned back in my seat and let my head dangle off the tip of the blue plastic. I stretched, making all my muscles bunch up, then relax again. I let out a satisfied sigh and sat up, looking around the room. Everyone was still reading besides my teacher, who was swiping furiously at his phone. I shifted into a more comfortable position and began trying to count the leaves of a tree out the window. It was not too far away, but I could only make out the size and shape of it. It looked like a green cloud with two ears on top. I rocked impatiently in my chair, waiting for the teacher to signal that class had ended. I looked up at the clock and then leaned back in surprise. It was only 2:06!

How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #26: Defamiliarization

An update from the twenty-sixth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday February 5, plus some of the output published below “It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.” -Anais Nin “The purpose of literature is to impart the sensation of things as they are perceived and not as they are known. The technique of art is to make objects ‘unfamiliar.'” -Viktor Shklovsky This week, Conner was unable to attend due to the birth of his second child, Sawyer Cruz Bassett-Wood (congratulations, Conner!), so his assistant, Caleb Berg, led Conner’s lecture on defamiliarization. To begin, Caleb familiarized—ha ha—the class with the concept of defamiliarization as it pertains to art: the artistic technique of presenting to audiences common things in an unfamiliar or strange way so they could gain new perspectives and see the world differently. We focused on the art of Leonora Carrington and Pablo Picasso in painting, noting their unique ability to portray the ordinary in spectacular, often dream-like ways. Finally, we looked at the poetry of Paul Celan and Velimir Khlebnikov, paying particular attention to Celan’s “An Eye, Open” and Khlebnikov’s “When Horse’s Die.”  The Challenge: Write a story or poem in which one or more objects/scenes are defamiliarized. That is, transform one or more objects/scenes so that they represent the feeling they produce. Create, as Anais Nin says, “new meaning.” The Participants: Lina, Emma, Josh, Amelia, Penelope, Zar, Samantha, Alice, Ellie, Nova, Quinn To watch more of the readings from this workshop, like Emma’s below, click here.  Emma Hoff, 9(Bronx, NY) The Lamp Emma Hoff, 9 The light shines innocently, but it blinds me, and my eyes become red. Did it glare at you? It glared at me. I shied from it and still it followed me with its intent gaze, boring into me as I walk around the room. I can feel the hot bulb, feel the lamp melting and morphing under its own heat, its own light. The business is done, I think, but my dreams that night are of hot light burning me, and the next day, I find the lamp, standing again. The lamp glared at me once again, and whispered in my ear, burning it red-hot, telling me that the sun’s light will not be enough for me. I ask it, what does it know, but the sun dies and the lamp is still glowing and I am grateful for it. I make my way through the darknes with this lamp, until it parts with me, saying it must go, saying that its lightbulb can not take the strain anymore and that it will lie peacefully, saying that the darkness isn’t as bad as people think. We both give in to the shadows, my lamp is happy, unmoving, unthinking, not glowing, but I am dragged away by figures cloaked in black, and I am crying.