Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity This is a short short story about someone who lights a fire in a fireplace, watches it burn for a while, letting his imagination wander along with the flames, and then, bored, goes away from the fire to do something else. The character finally returns to the fireplace, but only after the fire is out. This story has a beginning (lighting the fire), middle (the fire is burning and the character is dreaming), and end (the character returns to the dead fire). Project: Describing What You See Think of things you have watched closely, such as fish in an aquarium, rain falling outside a window, traffic on a street, or clouds in the sky. Decide on something to write about. Then think of a character who, in your story, will see what you saw. Show us what that character sees and how that character responds to what he or she has seen. Remember, this character is not you and may act very differently from the way you act. Author Campe Goodman’s character in “The Fire” is not given a name and his physical features are not described. But writing fiction is like making magic: because Campe describes the fire so well, and because he shows us how his character does things—how he lights the fire, how he dreams for a while and then gets bored with it all—we get some idea of what this fictional person is like. Campe gives his story structure (a beginning, a middle, and end) partly by choosing to describe a process (burning paper and wood) that involves dramatic change. You can do the same if you choose to describe something like the sky as it turns dark at night, or a cloud as it forms, turning from wisps to a fantastic shape and then back into wisps. The Fire By Campe Goodman, 12, Norfolk Academy, Norfolk, Virginia From the September/October 1985 issue of Stone Soup The pile of logs and paper lay lifeless in the fireplace. I lit a match and wondered how this could produce my mind’s picture of a roaring, blazing fire. I pulled back the chain curtain and tossed the flickering match in. Soon flames shot up from the paper leaving an inky black trail wherever they wandered. The smaller pieces of wood began to glow, and gradually tongues of fire enveloped them. I could no longer distinguish between paper and wood, for the dancing fire blurred everything. Slowly the flames soared higher and higher as a red veil crept over the logs. Now the fire was a mountain range with jagged red peaks rising and falling. Twisted ghostly shapes could be seen weaving in and out among the flames. Little by little I lost interest in the shapes and walked away. I returned later to find the fire blackened, trying to find life in the few remaining embers. These gradually faded out, too, leaving me with only memories of the fire.
writing activity
Writing Activity: personal integrity and family history with “Homemade Crop Duster” by Vivek Maru, 10
Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity This story by Vivek Maru is a moral tale. It is about personal integrity and the “right” way to live. “Homemade Crop Duster” may be a “true life” story or it may be “made up.” Most probably, like many good stories, it is a mixture of both. Stories that have a moral often read more like lectures than works of fiction. “Homemade Crop Duster” works well as a story because Vivek doesn’t lecture. Vivek lets his characters show us how to act. We are not given a lecture about right and wrong. Project: Personal Integrity and Family History Vivek tells us that this is a story about Grandpa Maru, his father’s father. He says that sometimes, when he finds it difficult to follow his religion, he thinks of this story and it gives him strength. Talk to members of your family. Find out about a time when someone in your family (a brother or sister or parent or grandparent or even a great-grandparent) made a sacrifice for an important principle. I would proceed with this project this way: first, record the facts as if you were a reporter, getting down the who, what, when, where, and why of the story. Be sure to write down the principle that a family member was upholding. Second, take this reporter’s notebook entry and make it into the best story you can. The goal is to make your story feel like it is the truth and not read like a dry statement of facts like you might find in the newspaper. To transform your notes into an exciting story, you will have to let your imagination roam. Feel free to enlarge upon the facts, make up characters that didn’t exist, and add details and dialogue you weren’t told about to help make the story come alive. Homemade Crop Duster By Vivek Maru, 10, Huckleberry Hill Elementary, Brookfield, Connecticut Illustrated by Kerry Hanlon, 13, Brookfield, Connecticut From the November/December 1985 issue of Stone Soup In a country far away called India, long ago, there lived my father Hans, then eight years old. My father’s father, Grandpa Maru, was a farmer, and a good one. Grandpa was a very religious man, and that’s why my father is too. One of his many beliefs was nonviolence, and to be strict about it. This meant no fish, eggs, or meat to eat, and most of all, to never hurt or kill any human, animal, or even insect. So in the farm Grandpa never used bug spray or any other insect killer to preserve the crops. He only used natural ways. Since his family had a very small farm of only two acres, and three children to feed, Grandpa had the oldest son, my father, work on the farm also. They lived in a village, but the farm was on the outskirts of the village, about a twenty-minute walk. In India it was a tradition to have your farm a distance away from your home. My father would have to go early in the morning, accompanied by Grandpa, to work on the farm. Most of the time my father had very merry times at the farm, watching and learning about farming. He acted older than his age. I truly think he was dedicated to agriculture. His father was also very surprised and happy about the way his son could “do it right.” Life was going very well for my dad when he was eight. But one day just before the harvest time, a faint yell caught Grandpa’s ear. It said, “Grasshoppers! Grasshoppers! Lots of them coming this way!” At first Grandpa took it calmly, thinking it was just a youngster joking. But then his own son came running home from school saying, “Daddy, Daddy, come on! We have to save our crops! There’s a cloud of grasshoppers—you won’t believe it—and they’re heading straight for our farm!” Then Grandpa started worrying. “Oh, my gosh! Run to the farm! Wait! We shall not use bug spray. Get as many ropes as you can and start tying them together,” he told my father. “Yes, Daddy,” my father replied, unsure of the purpose of the ropes. By the time my father had started tying, Grandpa was off to the farm. It was a red hot afternoon and my dad didn’t have shoes! He finished tying and Grandpa spread the two-hundred-foot rope he had made across the field. Grandpa told my dad to take one end of the rope as he took the other. “O.K., I shall do as you say,” my father said, still not knowing the purpose of the rope. “All right, now run as fast as you can,” Grandpa told him. “I’ll beat you across the field,” quipped my father, now getting the idea. The rope dragged along the crops, swooping up the grasshoppers and shooing them away. At first my father sprinted and was ahead of Grandpa, but after many times, he got tired. He slowed his run to a fast jog. “I thought you said you could beat me,” challenged Grandpa. This stole my father’s honor so he speeded up to a pace that was fast, but that he could keep for a long while. For if he couldn’t move the rope fast enough it would not go under the grasshoppers and would not budge them. But after about forty-five minutes, like any boy his age would, my father got tired. Again he slowed down. This time Grandpa was desperate. “Come on, boy, run! We’ll never get those grasshoppers out,” scolded Grandpa. “I’m trying, Daddy, but I’m very tired,” replied my father. “Well, try harder!” Unfortunately this carried on for quite a while, but fortunately my father’s aunt had come to visit. This aunt was my father’s favorite. “What are you doing here, Bahen?” Grandpa asked her. In India, brother calls sister “Bahen” and sister calls brother “Bah.” “I was told I could find you here,” replied Dad’s aunt. “I’ve brought a
Writing Activity: exploring multi-layered meaning and limits with “The Captive” by Nicholaus Curby, 12
This writing project explores the idea of captivity in many forms helping young authors think about different ways characters might not be free to do as they like. Introduction to this Stone Soup Writing Activity In this story by Nicholaus Curby, the eagle, locked in its cage, is obviously a captive. The eagle is a captive in the same way a person in prison is a captive. Most people, when they think of captivity, think first of this type of imprisonment—the kind where locked doors keep you in. But in life, and in Nicholaus’ story, being captive has more meanings than simply that of being locked in a small space. Sam, the man who owns the service station, is a captive of his selfishness. He can only think of himself and can’t think of the eagle and what is best for it. Will, who works for Sam, tries to see life from the eagle’s point of view and comes to the conclusion that the eagle should be freed. But Will is himself not really free to do what he thinks best for the eagle. You could think of him as captive of his position as a boy and employee. As a writer you will find that if you can show the ways your characters are held captive by their emotions, or by their role in life as parent, teacher, child, etc., your characters will come alive and seem more like real people. Project 1: Captive of an Emotion Sam seems like a nice man so you’d think he would feel in his heart that the eagle, once so strong, should be allowed to fly again. But during the first part of Nicholaus’ story Sam doesn’t seem able to spend any time thinking about what life might be like for the eagle in the cage. Why not? In my opinion the reason is this: Sam’s selfishness. Sam’s “likes” the eagle and that is why he keeps it. This selfish attitude makes Sam captive, keeping him from his better, more generous self. Using your own life and that of your family and friends as references, create a character or characters who are captives of their emotions and feelings. Create a character or characters who, because of how they feel—selfish, tired, lonely, happy, angry—can only see life from one perspective and thus can’t act exactly as they or we might wish they would. Project 2: Captive of a Social Situation Sometimes we are prevented from doing what we want to do by doors that are locked—like in prison. But most often we are kept captive by less obvious means than locked doors. Create a character like Will. Will could easily have let the eagle go. All he had to do was open the cage. No one used physical force to keep him away from it. But Will wasn’t really free to do as he liked. As a boy, and as an employee of Sam’s, Will wasn’t free to let the eagle go. As you create your character, try to keep clear in your mind the limits imposed on your character by his or her position. The Captive By Nicholaus Curby, 12, Vallejo, California Illustrated By Justine Minnis, 11, Santa Cruz, California First published in the November/December 1985 issue of Stone Soup Will Turner scrambled down the mountain trail from his house to the valley. He couldn’t be late for his first real job! Although early morning mist half hid the valley, he could see the big sign that marked his destination: SAM’S SERVICE STATION: FASTFOOD AND FUEL Then Will saw something move outside the building. It looks like an animal inside a cage, Will thought, as he started to run. But investigating had to wait. Sam Dickson was standing at the station door. “Hello. I’m glad you’re here!” Will’s new employer tapped the walking cast on his left leg. “This broken ankle makes working hard. I can use your help.” The morning was busy. Pumping gas, wiping windshields, fetching soda pop, Will forgot the movement he had seen in the fog until eleven o’clock. Then he ran around the building. In a cage, a large eagle ruffled his bronze feathers and cocked his head as Will approached. Mr. Dickson hobbled up. “Isn’t he a beauty? Found him hurt, but he’s well now.” “First one I’ve ever seen,” Will said. “How’d you like to take over feeding him?” “Yes sir! But keeping an eagle, isn’t it against the law? Why don’t you let him go?” “Let him go!” Mr. Dickson echoed. “Why, I saved his life, besides, I like him.” Later, Will carried out a tray of meat scraps. He slid it into the cage. “Here, old fellow.” The eagle’s strong beak tore the meat scraps, and soon the tray was empty. Will stared uncomfortably as the bird pushed fiercely against the cage. “If you were free,” Will declared, “you could find your own dinner.” Will loved his new job. Only one thing bothered him—the eagle. Somehow it seemed wrong for such a splendid creature to be trapped. “I’ve been reading about wild birds,” Will said one afternoon when Mr. Dickson was resting his leg. “Did you know eagles keep the same nest year after year?” He glanced at his employer. “Bet your eagle’s thinking about his home right now.” “Nonsense,” Sam Dickson said sharply. “That bird has a good home right here.” “I guess so,” Will murmured, afraid to say any more. When Will arrived early the next morning, heavy clouds were gathering overhead. He knew they signaled a big storm. “Maybe you should go tomorrow to go for supplies,” he said to Mr. Dickson who was writing a list. “Nope, I always go on Tuesdays. Don’t worry, son. I’ll be fine.” Sam Dickson climbed awkwardly into his red pickup truck. “Remember to buy ketchup,” Will called as the truck pulled away. Before it disappeared, thunder sounded, and a downpour began. Only one customer appeared all morning. “Roads are bad,” the driver
