Wounded Soul, by Arina, 14 (Iraq). Arina is in Athens with her mother, sister and brother. She loves to paint, read, swim, learn languages and go to the beach. Her art is currently up in an exhibition in Athens. She’s painted dozens of paintings and her story has brought awareness to hundreds of people around the world on 4 continents. This piece was created as part of Love Without Borders, a non-profit organization for refugees living in camps and shelters in Greece, and published through the Stone Soup Refugee Project. A note from Stone Soup Founder William Rubel Dear Friends — Well, it is again that millions of people are streaming out of cities where bombs and artillery pound people’s homes. The costumes change. The language of pain, tears, and flight does not. Here is a link to the group, Save the Children. Annual Book Contest – August 21 Deadline. It is early March, and so it is that time again—the time to announce the opening of our Fourth Annual Stone Soup Book Contest. Every year we recognize the top novel or poetry collection submitted to this contest. The first prize is for your book to be published by Stone Soup. Books by previous winners like Abhi Sukhdial, Tristan Hui, and Anya Geist, have garnered important national recognition. The deadline is Sunday, August 21, 2022 at midnight in your time zone. There is a $15 filing fee. The winning book will be published in September, 2023. Writing a book is not an easy task. I know that some of you are already working towards this contest goal, including a few of you continuing work on a text you submitted to the contest in 2022. With school and life in full swing, we know that it is going to take an extra degree of organization and discipline to get a manuscript ready to submit by the deadline roughly six months from now. As a writer myself, I can tell you that I am all too aware of the key problem with being a writer: writing does not write itself! We, the writers, can only get our work completed by sitting down at a desk and typing. Stone Soup has your back. The fabulous Naomi Kinsman, founding director of the Society of Young Inklings, a brilliant writing program for young authors, is leading a weekend workshop—Saturday and Sunday March 26 & 27, 10-1 Pacific/ 1-4 Eastern—on how to set yourself up for success as a novel writer. The workshop costs $200. However, if you cannot afford the class, then please write to Tayleigh@stonesoup.com. We want any student interested in starting a novel to be able to attend this workshop. In addition to this one-time weekend workshop, I will be holding a monthly meeting on the last Saturday of every month from March through July via Zoom at 9am Pacific for anyone who wants to meet to discuss their project with me, and to share with other writers. (For the record, I am not involved with judging the contest and do not speak with the judges about authors or manuscripts.) I am not a novelist. But, I am a working writer. I am on my third book. So I can help you with focus issues and the meeting lets you share directly with your writing colleagues. Here are the books of the past winners: Three Days Till EOC, Searching for Bows and Arrows, The Golden Elephant, The Other Realm, and Born on the First of Two. Last year’s winners—Remember the Flowers and Foxtale—are forthcoming and will be published later this year. I’d like to close this contest announcement with a general statement about contests. The primary reason to enter this contest is to provide a deadline to aim for with a project that will stretch your abilities as writers. Every novel stretches the author. First novels are especially challenging. Challenges are good. Challenging yourself is key to becoming a great writer. Every contest has an element of chance about it. Don’t write for the judge. Write to make yourself happy. That way, whether you win the contest or not, you will have created a winning manuscript. Weekend writing project. Today, I am sharing with you one project that I will be teaching as part of my writing class this Saturday morning. The writing project today is something that any of you can do whatever your age—12, 21, or, like me, approaching 70. This project is about the sound of words, and how sounds can carry feelings, even when the words aren’t real words. The trick for all writers is to say what you mean and mean what you say. But literary writers, like Stone Soup writers, have an extra task. That is to use language in expressive ways—even sometimes to use language that has some of the qualities of music. Even I will sometimes think of the past as being, well, simpler, less complex, and less daring than we are today. This is not how to think of the past! One hundred years ago there were many artists doing totally crazy things. Truly crazy things. Like, writing poems with words that don’t mean anything! Words invented for their sounds—for how the sounds make us feel—kind of like how composers choose sounds. The 1916 poem by Hugo Ball that is read in the video, below, is made up of “pseudowords.” Pretend words. The only real limit to creating pseudo words is that you create words that are easily pronounceable, slamdoodle vs. gholtzhtzlp. Please watch the poem in the video, and then, sometime this weekend, find a place and time when you can sit quietly and go into yourself to find the word sounds that will express your feelings, or the feelings of a character you may be writing about. If you are a writer, then think of this as an exercise to help you become more alert to the connection between how the sound of your story (or poem) might affect your readers. I also think that you might find that there will be a place in a story that
writing activity
Flash Contest #40, February 2022: Write a story about somebody who falls into a bowl of tomato soup and into a magical land—our winners and their work
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) Ananya Cronin, 9 (Fishers, IN) The Magic of Tomato Soup Ananya Cronin, 9 “Brooklyn! Lunch is ready!” My brother, Mark, called from the bottom of the stairs. “Coming! I yelled in return. I shut my green science book and hastily arranged my other textbooks, novels, papers, pencils, and notebooks. I glanced at the tiny snow globe sitting patiently at the edge of my desk. Inside was a miniature model of my pup, Henry, with snow piled around him and wearing a bright red Christmas hat. I looked down at his loyal hazel eyes, knowing that this ruffled pile of caramel brown fur would follow me anywhere. I gently dusted the snow globe and tenderly positioned it beside my gleaming laptop. My brother called again. “Brooklyn! Hurry up!” “Okay, okay!” I replied. I stood up, then strolled out the door of my aqua blue bedroom, into the red hallway, down the wooden stairs, through the living room, and into the basil-colored kitchen. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, cabinets lined part of the wall, and steaming bowls of tomato soup sat on the brown table. The smell of sizzling tomatoes and basil filled my nostrils as I sat at the table, eager to devour my food. Within moments, all my siblings were at the table: Lilly, 8, Liam, 10, Mark, 12, and Will, 16. We silently stared at each other, communicating only with our eyes. We all began to devour our food at the exact same moment. The tomato soup tasted like summer in a bowl. A perfect balance of sweetness and creaminess. I dipped my spoon into the liquid substance and raised it to my lips. When I looked up, everyone appeared oddly entranced by their food. Then I heard it. “Tap, tap, tap.” It appeared to be coming from the laundry room. It grew louder and faster. “Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap–tap…” I glanced around, wondering if anyone else had heard the sound. But when I looked, Lilly, Liam, Mark, and Will were all gone. A sense of dread flooded over me. I instinctively reached down to grab Henry’s collar, but my hand met nothing but empty pockets of air. My heart began to thud as I felt a bead of sweat roll down my forehead. I didn’t bother to wipe it away. I took a deep breath and looked down into my tomato soup just in time to witness the tip of my spoon disappear beneath the surface. I reached into the bowl of soup and attempted to retrieve my spoon. Instead of feeling the hard metal of the spoon or the smooth bottom of the ceramic bowl, all I felt was emptiness. I screamed. “AAAAHHHH!!” I tried to pull my hand out of the red creamy substance that strangely gripped it, but found that my hand just went deeper and deeper into the soup, pulling my arm and the rest of my body into the unknown. I don’t know how much time had passed, but when I woke up, I found myself in a soft pile of grass. It tickled my feet, and I giggled, just the tiniest bit. But within a moment I remembered what had just happened. How did I get here? Where am I? Will I ever go back home? I got up hurriedly, feeling as stiff as a tin man in the rain. I used my arms to pull myself forward into a sitting position. I stood slowly. Something in my mind told me I should run. But the other part of my mind wanted to stay here forever in this curious, wonderful place to explore. I wasn’t sure which part of my mind to listen to, but I was certain of one thing: I was very hungry. My grumbling stomach reminded me that it was still lunchtime, and I needed more than just a couple of spoonfuls of tomato soup. I glanced around me, trying to get the lay of my surroundings. There were trees of all sorts, each with leaves of different shapes and colors. Some trees had knots in their trunks that looked like faces and animals, while others had lights that seemed like stars for leaves, each a different color. There were no flowers nearby, just weeds and trees as far as I could see. The
Weekly Creativity #191: Write a Letter to a Fictional Person that Annoys You
Write a letter to a fictional person that annoys you, such as the person who stepped on your foot.