William Rubel

An update from our thirty-first Writing Workshop (and the first of 2021)! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday January 23, plus some of the output published below To start our first season of classes in 2021, William focused on the idea of chance: the idea–or even the fact–that life and art is filled with twists and turns, and we don’t know the whole story until it’s over. He used several examples from the work of composer John Cage to explore the idea of chance in composition, the idea that the composer decides on a range of permutations that the performers and audience then use to produce the piece. Similarly, he talked about change ringing, the British tradition of church bell-ringing in repeating yet varied patterns, where mathematics chooses the notes, but the musicians choose how the pattern is heard and Maddie (piano) and William (clarinet) played some patterns. We developed some random word lists, and a numeric system for choosing 6 at random from them, and then everyone wrote for half an hour incorporating those words into their poem, prose or story. The Writing Challenge: Select your 6 random words using a system that truly allocates them at random(!), and use them in your writing at various points to move, disrupt, change or direct the action. Everyone had slightly different words to work with, but the master list included: guinea pig, and, dragon, destroy, watermelon, wolf, jello, global warming, cat, tree, happy, flame, whisper, cinnamon, green, basket, running, moderate, fall, hat, boat, suddenly, skull, mythology, stream, sing, soundlessly, furious… The Participants: Maddie, Peri, Julia, Helen, Leo, Eve, Lindsay, Lina K, Elbert, Kaidyn, Georgia, Reese, Simran, Katie, Samantha, Lucy K, Maggie, Yasmine, Lucy R, Julia A, Rachel, Ava, Margaret, Emma, Madeline, Nami, Siri, Pranjoli, Lena, Charlotte K, Anya, Anna, Aelin, Charlotte M, Grace, Alice, Liam, Sierra, Tilly, Olivia Z, Angela, Jonathan, Julia W, Hera, Louis, Enni, Elise, Nova, Emi, Sadie, Anya. Lena Aloise, 11Harvard, MA The Evolution of an Author Lena Aloise, 11 I remember standing at the very top of the jungle gym. While two chestnut braids swayed down by my hips And bangs, in need of a trimming, fell down over my eyes. And little dollhouse people bustled about below. I remember quietly, Quizzically surveying my domain. As a ravenous confusion gnawed away At a corner of my consciousness. Why did those surrounding me take such pleasure In filling meaningless shapes with garish crayon colors And standing at the front of the line? I remember opening the pink lunchbox My mother had lovingly filled that morning. And taking out a bunch of grapes Pretending I was a hungry dragon Going grape picking. Do dragons like grapes? I giggled at the thought of a bloodthirsty beast Eating a fruit salad. I remember Suddenly pointing to a thick novel, Collecting dust on an overhead shelf. Pulling it down And hoisting the cover open. Harry Potter I read And the Sor—-cer—-ers Stone “Maybe when you’re older.” my mother reassured me, Tentatively placing it back up on the shelf. But later that night Inevitably destroying my five-year-old innocence Hauling the book to my bedroom. Letting myself slip beneath the surface Into a place where words formed a perfect melody And the story rolled off my lips Sweet as spun sugar. I remember. Picking up that despised crayon box. Pulling out a shade of sparkling blue And making the words Once upon a time. . . Sierra E., 11Mountain View, CA The Guinea Pig Left Behind Sierra E., 11 The guinea pig shuffled around, pacing in her cage, and padding about on the soft scraps of wood beneath her paws. She had been waiting in a lonely, desolate classroom for nearly a month now, wondering if anyone would ever return. Blasts of scalding heat would occasionally float through an open window, and the soft, comfortable evening breeze would come along after. This guinea pig was quite a sociable one, always grateful to have the students and teachers around when they were, but now that there wasn’t a human in sight, she found herself bored from morning to night. It was a sunny, summer Sunday afternoon. A child sat in his backyard on the cool grass under the shade of an ancient willow tree that had been planted long before his birth six years back, playing joyfully beneath the chirps of cheerful birds. He lived right beside the local elementary school, where there were often mysterious whistling sounds echoing out of it. Today’s noise was especially loud, and the boy was also in the mood for adventure and mischief, so he sprinted around the bushes of his yard and past the school gates one building down the street. The guinea pig whined as loud as she could. Still? Still no one? Why did all of the usually friendly ones at the school suddenly want to starve her? She was always well-behaved. Up until now, at least. Gnawing on the bars of her cage which suddenly felt like a prison cell, she broke free, and took a flying leap off of the dresser that she had sat on for so long. She fell painfully onto the gray-speckled tiles of the classroom floor, whimpering harder than ever. The boy ran faster. And faster, into his classroom he had spent so much time in the previous year. “Patches!” he shouted, “Patches? Is that you?” The child burst through the door of Room 302, shocked to find the beloved class pet lying abandoned on the ground. “Patches!” he cried, worried, as he kneeled down to lift the creature into his hands. The tiny guinea pig turned up its small, piebald-colored face to view the child with its own dark eyes. The creature smiled the best she could, feeling comforted at last. With that, the boy took off running again, and disappeared down the school halls and all the way back home, ready to care for the guinea pig that would be his for the remainder of summer. Lindsay