An update from our twenty-eighth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday November 14, plus some of the output published below This week we focused on word choice as a way for writers to be sure they have conveyed their meaning as they meant to, and so that their readers will understand it. We looked at different approaches to considering choice of words, from expanding on idea by showing, rather than telling; to finding alternative words using synonyms and antonyms (with a warning about the possible pitfalls of the Thesaurus!); and a reminder about editing and re-writing (“Murder your darlings”). We briefly compared the first draft to the final version of Wilfred Owen’s poem Anthem for Doomed Youth and discussed how we felt about the various changes he had made–some of them ruthless–and how they strengthened the work. Then, we talked about 6-word stories, and how the work of cutting down one’s work can focus the reader (and the writer) on the key elements of your story. The Writing Challenge: Write a short story in 5 minutes; then spend the rest of the time analysing and cutting it down to the essentials, to make a 6-word story. The Participants: Charlotte, Lena, Georgia, Lena, Sadie, Angela, Anna, Anya, Ava, Charlotte, Elbert, Emma, Enni, Helen, Janani, Jonathan, Juniper, Keyang, Liam, Lina, Lucy, Ma’ayan, Madeline, Margaret, Olivia, Peri, Rithesh, Samantha, Nova, Teagan, Tilly, Ever. Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA Ruins Crumble Anya Geist, 14 Original The wind softly blew, just a puff of breath. But it was a breath, it was alive, unlike the ruins over which it looked. The walls were crumbled and decayed, nearly churned to dust on the ground; the largest structure remaining was an archway where a door once stood. The trees all around the ruins were slumped and hunched, their long delicate fingers bent toward the ground in a perpetual state of mourning. Because in all honesty, this was a funeral. A funeral that had been going on for decades, as the coffin—the house—was slowly lowered into the ground; and the wind was its family, leaving it one last kiss as it departed from the world of the living. Six word version Ruins crumble in a gentle wind. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA The Near-Doom Incident Peri Gordon, 11 Original We were hiking. I didn’t want to stroll. I stretched my legs and launched ahead of my parents, feet flying freely over the sandy trail. The foliage glittered around me like green and brown angels, but I paid no notice. I arrived at a place where a family was, positioned as if struggling to see something, but all I saw was rough, brown ground. They called for me to stop. My parents caught up. “Peri, they were taking a picture!” But no, they were not. The family pointed at a small, slithering thing snaking its way up the path. A rattlesnake. We showed our gratitude to the family that had saved me from doom, and we were on our way. No more running. Six word version Dashing ahead. Snake. Could’ve been doomed. Liam Hancock, 13Danville, CA Demons Liam Hancock, 13 Original Quaking fingers trace the deepest curves of the cup. A glass half full to me, half empty to her. Memories play out in her mind—memories of a battlefield where shells litter the ground alongside fighters. Fighter. She’s a fighter with no weapon. Enemy. She’s an enemy whose hands are clean of sin. Haunted. She is haunted, but those of us who have seen the worst are those of us whose lips are sealed the tightest. Six word version Today’s demons will haunt us tomorrow. Lina Kim, 10Weston, FL Too ManyOriginal Lina Kim, 10 Original A wolf. Two wolves, three wolves. Emerging from the pack. I stand before them. Too many. I am alone; they are too many to count. Will no one come to my aid? The alpha growls. I flinch. What to do? There are too many. Too many to befriend them all, to bend them towards trusting me. Too many to fight. Too many to ignore. Oh, how I wish they could be ignored. I do not wish to be torn apart. I would not wish that upon my worst enemy. Actually, I did once wish that upon my worst enemy. Too many. I cannot run for my life. I cannot fight back. I cannot do anything but stand, stand, stand, waiting to be rescued or torn apart. A rustle. Two, three, four rustles. Several more rustles of the leaves. Is someone coming to save me? More rustles. My pack rushes towards me. To fight against the others. I join them in the fight. I am the Zeta1. I am the general. I will help my family fight. Tonight, We will win. 1the Zeta is the lead warrior in a wolf pack. Six word version I lead my pack into battle. Elbert Park, 8Palo Alta, CA Untitled Elbert Park, 8 Original The rain was pouring. I had no protection. I had maximum adrenaline. I had to run, but I had nowhere to go soon. The coast was nearing, and that meant that either I was trapped and came out dead, or I was trapped and came out alive. I made a berserk run to the coast and soon washed up against it. . . I took for cover in a nearby house. It only took seconds, but for me it felt like an eternity. . . Six word version Rain pours No mercy I’m trapped Lucy Rados, 13Buffalo, NY Untitled Lucy Rados, 13 Original Lola stared wistfully outside the green glass window, waiting for her father, secretly knowing that he wouldn’t show up. It was like this every day, her absent father, her mother lying in bed of a sickness that never seemed to fade. Lola just wanted a normal happy, family. Instead she was stuck in this cycle of being the odd girl, the one left out of the rest of the
William Rubel
Writing Workshop #27: Revising, Rewriting, & Expanding
An update from our twenty-seventh Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday November 7, plus some of the output published below This week we discussed various techniques for revising our writing, reminding ourselves that the process of writing is more often than not a process of re-writing! We looked back over some of the previous writing challenges to think about some of the techniques to use for polishing an existing piece of writing: Would some alliteration work? Could some additional depth emerge from more attention to the landscape or setting? More specific description of character? Writing form a different perspective? Adding a prequel or a sequel? We discussed all these ideas and more, plus the students had some great suggestions–such as changing the tense a piece was written in. The Writing Challenge: Use some of the techniques we discussed to rewrite, revise, expand, contract and improve one of your existing pieces of writing. The Participants: Peri, Lena, Lina, Nova, Liam, Jonathan, Elbert, Charlotte, Teagan, Lena, Maddie, Madeline, Anya, Hera, Angela, Tilly, Rithesh, Samantha, Charlotte, Georgia, Lena, Sadie, Anna, Ava, Charlotte, Emma, Enni, Helen, Janani, Juniper, Keyang, Ma’ayan, Margaret, Olivia, Ever. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Eyes (Revised) Peri Gordon, 11 I lay in my bed late one night, eyes shut tight, trying to fall asleep and failing. I heard the rain whispering outside, the cold, dark, dank rain. I was unusually tense. The brown quilt cover on my bed was a weight pressing down on me. Not a friend. And not a protector from the cold. I breathed in and out and tried to think pleasant thoughts. But every time, an image in my mind would transform into another. A lake would become a raging ocean storm, a rainbow would split into two giant…what were they? I opened my eyes, and I could still see them. They looked like two eyes themselves. Then they disappeared. I must have imagined it, I thought. But…they were so real. I got out of bed and went into the kitchen. Got a snack. Chills were zipping up and down my spine; I was convinced that they would paralyze me. I looked both ways every two seconds like I was crossing a street. I couldn’t prohibit myself from checking for danger, though I didn’t know why. I had never believed in any sort of fantastical dangers before. Dreaming? I pinched myself. My hands were cold. I flinched at their touch, as if it were someone else’s. I did not wake up. I took a deep breath, getting a mouthful and nose-full of the chilled air surrounding me, and went back into bed. Shut my eyes tighter than I normally do. Pinched myself again. No I didn’t…my hands were stiff at my sides. Think pleasant thoughts. I saw the rainbow split into the two eyes again, and I opened my eyes, and they were still there. They were beautiful in a way, shining in the dark, but they were piercing and looked at me accusingly. I wondered what the owner of those eyes was thinking about. Maybe about capturing me and taking me to some terrible, frigid place far from here. I hated the cold, and it seemed to be out to get me tonight. And then the eyes vanished again. My heart was beating rapidly. What was going on? I sat up. My lungs were breathing rapidly. What was going on? Maybe I was afraid of the dark. My eyes were blinking rapidly. What was going on? I tried to walk towards the light switch, though my legs were trembling. Rapidly. The eyes appeared and melded into the face of my least favorite movie villain from childhood. Smooth, pale, and smiling a thin-lipped, malicious smile. Long, dark hair. And the eyes made it worse. I shrieked. That alerted more eyes, more pale villains from nightmares years ago. Then I became one of them. Lina Kim, 10Weston, FL My Minecraft Journey: Autumn Lina Kim, 10 Hi! My name is Autumn, and I’m going to tell you about my journey to the village. I grabbed some food, saplings, and supplies, and set off into the forest. I walked for a couple of hours, and got hungry. It was nearing nighttime, so I built a shelter and planted saplings. I went mining, and wrote a little in my journal. I placed down my bed and went to sleep. In the morning, I picked up my house and put it in my inventory. Minecraft is overpowered that way. I traveled a little further, stopped for a snack, and continued on my way. Later, I built an iron golem to protect me from monsters. I finally arrived, and resolved to improve the village, seeing as it had tiny houses and only some jobs. There were no police, no pet stores, no hospitals, and no food shops, so I made all of those. I also built a wall to protect them from zombie sieges. Once, I was selling apples from my trees, and a villager came up to me and asked for an apple, promising me much more money than what I needed. I gave him an apple, and he fished through his pockets. His pale blue eyes widened, and he handed back the apple with trembling hands. He ran off. I shrugged. Oh, well. If he doesn’t want the apple, he doesn’t want the apple. I went to my house, and I saw someone on my glass roof trying to break it. I climbed up there with my spare grappling hook- my other one was missing- and pushed him off the edge. He died and dropped several riches. And my grappling hook. It turns out that this guy stole all of the money from the man at my apple stand. Once he respawned, I put the robber in jail and gave the money back to the victim. Eventful, huh? Well, I was writing a story when someone knocked on the door. I opened it and a
Writing Workshop #26: Horror
An update from our twenty-sixth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday October 24, plus some of the output published below This week our founder William Rubel and Stone Soup contributor and Writing Workshop member Liam Hancock, 13, led a workshop designed to get everyone ready for Halloween–on horror writing. We talked about the differences between the merely scary and the truly horrifying, and discovered that our members are uncannily good at writing fiction that can keep us all up at night! Read on below for some chilling examples (and you would be well advised to read them on a sunny morning, not immediately before bed…). The Writing Challenge: Write a terrifying piece of horror fiction! The Participants: Nami, Charlotte, Madeline, Margaret, Anya, Emily, Lina, Samantha, Janani, Lucy, Tilly, Gia, Olivia, Jonathan, Enni, Juniper, Charlotte, Rithesh, Ma’ayan, Nova, Liam, Lena, Maddie, Tegan, Ava, Hera, Lena, Nico, Peri, Elbert Ava Angeles, 12Chicago, IL The Dream Ava Angeles, 12 It started out as a regular day. The sun was shining and a cool breeze was blowing. It was a perfect day for a spring festival. But this would not last. I remember—for some reason—that there were tables, round tables, with tablecloths that draped over their sides, standing there in the green grass. For another unknown reason, there were also white plates, napkins, and glasses set upon the snow-white tablecloth. It was like a restaurant, but outdoors. As we set up the last of the chairs, people began to arrive. They found their seats. It was a picture-perfect setting. I remember going into the building. It had a canopy in front, with a single step leading up to the door. Inside this particular building, there were mats—long, colorful tumbling mats—lining the walls and the floor. I played with the rest of the children on these mats, hopping and jumping, knowing that the mats were there to cushion our fall. But we didn’t get to play on them for very long. Suddenly, clouds rolled in, and it began to rain lightly. I watched the adults take the tables and chairs into the building, while sitting on the single step below the door. Some people began to leave, seeing that the festival was cancelled. I remained on the step, watching the rain gather into puddles around the canopy. Then, I suddenly heard crying. It wasn’t a baby crying, but a child, desperately crying, as if crying was its last hope. I turned my head to the right, where the sound was coming from, and felt shivers come over me. There—in front of another building with many gigantic steps—was a younger version of myself. Its face was blurred and distorted, and I could not tell whether it was where the crying sound was coming from. I saw its clothes clearly—it was wearing a gold coat that my mother had bought for me, as well as a light blue pair of pants. Its hair was in ponytails—my usual childhood hairstyle, with blue bows at the roots. It looked normal—like me—but something was wrong. As I stared at it, frozen, terror struck me. The uncanny feeling of staring at your own, younger self, but knowing that it wasn’t your own, younger self washed over me like a wave. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it, and my mouth opened to form three words—“Who—are you?” My horrified whisper must have been heard, because the creature shook its head slowly. As I realized that I wasn’t going to get an answer, feeling came into my legs, and I ran, ran away from the mysterious, uncanny creature that I thought I once was. The mats inside the building were gone, replaced by a wide marble stairway that I dashed down, not feeling the tips of my toes touching the marble, just running, running, running— I woke up, staring at the plaster ceiling. It was just a dream, I reassured myself, just a dream… As I lifted myself up from the bed, I came face-to-face with that same creature from my dream, standing just a few inches away from the side. As I froze with petrified horror, the creature’s mouth broke into a maniacal grin, and it said, in a high-pitched, chilling voice, “Who are you?” The House Lena D., 12 I was going on a hike in the forest by myself. The skies darkened. Rain clouds appeared. Wild rain poured down. I had to turn back, but it was too dark. I wasn’t afraid. How could I be afraid? The dark deep forest. Nothing scary. Just dirt and trees. Then I saw it. There it was. A house. I walked towards it. I knocked on the door. But nobody answered. I waited and waited. Nothing. I had to find shelter. Fast. I shivered. It was so cold. I opened the door. CRRRREAAKKKK! I entered, my hands shaking wildly. The floorboards moved. “Huh?” I gasped. Rats skittered across the floor. “Whew, those were just rats, of course, this is not haunted,” I said, nervously. I stepped on the stairs. CREAK! CREAK! CREAK! I opened a door. It was a bedroom. It looked like it belonged to a girl from long ago. There was a broken bed. It had stuffed animals on it and a pillow that was ripped. One of the stuffed animals looked right at me. I looked away. How odd, I thought. It’s probably not looking at me. Stuffed animals don’t move anyway. I heard some walking. I turned around. The stuffed animal fell off the bed. That’s weird, I thought. It was in the middle of the bed, not hanging off. How could it fall off? I looked away again. The stuffed animal moved towards me on the floor. It smiled at me. Not a happy smile, a scary one. I shrieked. I grabbed my flashlight to defend myself from it. “Back off!” I shouted at it. The stuffed animal’s thread came off. Stuffing was spilling all over. Yet, it was still walking. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” I
