An appreciation of those who participated in our Winter/Spring Writing Workshop Session On April 3, 2021, we held our second official end of term reading, a showcase wherein our authors read aloud their best work in front of an audience. While not all of our authors decided to share their work, the formal reading still served as a way of honoring all those who attended the Writing Workshop, whose sharing of work and space over the course of the session strengthened the writing of everyone involved. So, thank you Madeline K, Sophie, Lena, Hera, Julia, Ava, Sierra, Anya, Margaret, Peri, Grace, Liam, Enni, Nami, Anna, Lucy, Maggie, Lina, Sadie, Reese, Samantha, Katie, Tilly, Nova, Iago, Leo, Georgia, Eve, Simran, Ismini, Jonathan, Yasmine, Analise, Charlotte M, Elbert, Emi, Angela, Emma, Noa, Katie P, Pranjoli, Alice, Tegan, Rachael, Olivia Z, Kaidyn, Lucy, Sage, Olivia G, Olivia S, Ruhi, and Madeline S for your continued participation throughout the course of this session, and for inspiring each other to take your writing to greater heights. We are all so proud of all of you! A summary of those who read and their work, in order of appearance “Eclipse,” a short story by Nova Macknik-Conde, 9, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism. “Book Zero,” an excerpt by Leo Michelman, 11, refined in Writing Workshop #32: Intro to Invented Words and Artlang “Heart and Brain,” a short story by Peri Gordon, 11, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism “The Girl’s Revenge,” a short story by Lindsay Gao, 9, written in Writing Workshop #33: Larger Than Life Characters “Memory Loss,” a short story by Hannah Nami Gajcowski, 10, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism “Nothing but Black,” a short story by Lena Aloise, 11, written in Writing Workshop #35: Emerging From “Sunset,” a poem by Iago Macknik-Conde, 14, written in Writing Workshop #35: Emerging From “Fox Girl,” a short story by Sierra Elman, 11, written in Writing Workshop #33: Larger Than Life Characters “Pedestrians,” a short story by Liam Hancock, 13, written in Writing Workshop #36: Veering “No Way to Escape,” a short story by Rachael Lippe, 10, written in Writing Workshop #31: Chance Operations for Fun, Challenge, & a Different Kind of Expression “Shadow Wolf,” a short story by Lina Kim, 10, written in Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism “The Finish Line,” a short story by Enni Harlan, 14, written in Writing Workshop #37: Antiheroes “What And Is,” a poem by Anya Geist, 14, written in Writing Workshop #31: Chance Operations for Fun, Challenge, & a Different Kind of Expression
writing workshop
Writing Workshop #38: Sense of Place–Beyond Geography
An update from our thirty-eighth Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday April 17, plus some of the output published below In his first class in the spring 2021 series, William visited the idea of of Sense of Space, taking us beyond geography to think about the impact of place on characters in our stories, and consider the sense of place through the emotions of our characters. Quoting Colin Thubron, William urged the class to take their characters with them in their heads and think about the impact of place on characters as individuals: for one, the jungle might be beautiful and liberating; for another, humid and claustrophobic; for another terrifying and synonymous with death. It’s all about perception. We looked at images through different lenses: how might the twisting branches of the trees in the forest look different to Hansel and Gretel when they think they are safe with their breadcrumb trail to lead them out again, and when they realise that night is coming and it is gone? What is the impact of memory on the sense one has of a place? What you see or don’t see, feel or don’t feel, might depend on what has happened there before. The Challenge: Write a short piece that conveys a strong sense of place as it is perceived through the senses and emotions of your character. The Participants: Chelsea, Hanbei, Gia, Maddie, Lena A, Lena, Delight, Julia, Leo, Mahika, Margaret, Peri, Nova, Lina, Pranjoli, Rachael, Wesley, Reese, Helen, Sage, Sierra, Angela, Anna, Madeline, Grace, Iago, Jonathan, Charlotte, Peter, Tilly. Sierra E., 11Mountain View, CA The Dance of the Sea Sierra E., 11 Rays of orange evening sunlight flew down the coastline, taking a calm breeze and charming birdcalls along. A strip of street, shimmering into the sunset glow, separated the sea from general humanity; vehicles in a rainbow of colors rushed down it, in a hurry to return home to their families. A thick, tall layer of green grass ran down the roadside, hiding the ocean from drivers’ view. The sky above was painted a rich, vivid and soothing violet, dotted with heaps of fluffy pastel clouds, as the sea danced. The water rose into frothy white crests, then fell, crashing to the shore, though it scared not a soul, dancing like it did each night, dancing as if it would never stop. The scent of salty sea air became intertwined with the sugary smell of ice cream in a thousand flavors, drifting from a renowned café back on regular land. The tide disappeared again, creating a pathway for the last few humans left on the beach to dissipate. And dissipate they did, laughing, and sprinting up the golden sand dunes that glimmered in the twilight, until the seaside paradise was empty except for its natural inhabitants. The ocean came in again, drenching forgotten shells that had been collected by small children, and breadcrumbs that hadn’t been swept up; the water threw them into the sea, giving the lost items a fresh start among the crabs with their mighty pincers and the twisting, winding stalks of forest-green seaweed. The sky was darkening at a rapid pace; within an hour it would be pitch black, and the sparkling, silver stars would begin to appear. But before then, in the last moments of dusk, the world was tranquil and silent, except for the dance and crash of the waves. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Last Night Peri Gordon, 11 The seat of my wool couch scratched my legs fiercely. The whir of the breeze through the window echoed in my mind, calling for vengeance. I wrinkled my nose at the odor of fish coming from the disorderly place I called my kitchen and scowled at the far-too-large heap of clothing still to wash. I tried not to recall the violence of last night; I tried to instead remember the gentle feeling of the chair I had been in right before and the melodious song that I had been humming thoughtfully. But the incessant buzzing of the pests outside–and most likely inside–and the pleading mews of the kitten I was supposed to take care of drowned out any positivity left, and I kept thinking about the violence of last night. It took me five minutes to summon the energy to get up off of my uncomfortable furniture. I trudged into my bedroom, looking at the stained carpet. My friend, Rita, was there; I hadn’t told her what had happened. She was whistling; I was sure my dry lips would protest if I tried to do the same thing. Rita said, “You like my hair?” My guess was it was styled in a fancy way or something, but I could only focus on how the colors of her clothes–orange and green–clashed so horribly. I mumbled, “Sure,” while still gazing at the floor, still thinking about the violence of last night. I couldn’t bear to be in a room with someone so vigorously optimistic, so I returned to the awful, itchy, expensive, not-worth-the-money-I-payed-for-it couch. And thought about the violence of last night. Lina Kim, 11Weston, FL The Dark Hospital Lina Kim, 11 I glanced around the hospital cautiously and shuddered. The walls were pure white, but I felt as if they were stained with the blood of those who never survived. The doors were clean, the windows shining. It was all a trick. A trap. I clutched my father’s hand. I rarely did, but the hospital gave me flashbacks of my dead mother. I needed comfort. The stench of a thousand disinfectants hit me. I gagged. Dad put his arms around me. We turned a corner and continued walking down the hall. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people had died in this hospital over the years. It scared me that my grandmother might be next. We found the section of the hospital where grandmother was. The man at the desk searched through the names. “Jiwoo Lee, Jiwoo Lee,” the man
Saturday Newsletter: March 27
“Fist” (acrylic) by Claire Jiang, 12 (Princeton, NJ), and published in the June 2019 Issue of Stone Soup A note from William Stone Soup Friends! It is spring in Santa Cruz. My aviary birds are going crazy making new families! The aviary is already thirty feet (ten meters) long, but the parakeets and zebra finches are making so many nests that I am going to have to expand. The quince tree right outside my window is in full bloom, the lemon and Seville orange trees I see just past the quince are laden with fruit. The Mirabelle plum in my backyard has hundreds of tiny fruits, and the wild onions with their white, bell-shaped flowers are glowing in the afternoon sun. It is spring! Finally! I am now two weeks past my last COVID-19 shot. Perhaps by the end of the year we will be back to something closer to normal. Celebrate and support our great writers by attending these two public readings! We have two public readings coming up. One is a reading for the Saturday Writing Workshop next Saturday, April 3, 9 a.m. Pacific. The other is our first-ever official reading by Stone Soup authors. This is a new quarterly reading event. This first one is scheduled for Sunday, April 18, 10 a.m. Pacific. Registration is via EventBrite. Public readings are an important part of being an author. Please support our authors by attending these events. Thank you. Summer school 2021 Register for our many classes at the joint Stone Soup–Young Inklings Summer 2021 program. This year, for the Stone Soup portion of the program, classes will be taught by Editor Emma Wood, Jane Levi, Laura Moran, and our new writing teacher, Conner Bassett. Read more about him in the section below that introduces our new writing class. Spring Saturday Writing Classes Stone Soup digital or print subscribers receive a substantial discount. No student will be left out of classes because of financial considerations, so please write if you need a scholarship. Private registration only at this time. My class resumes April 10 until summer at its usual 9 a.m. Pacific time. Current students have received a private registration link. I look forward to seeing you all again. Register for our new writing class We are opening a second class Saturdays at 11 a.m. Pacific taught by Conner Bassett, a poet, translator, and creative writing teacher at the University of California, Santa Cruz. Conner is a brilliant teacher with extensive teaching experience. He is also Editor Emma Wood’s husband! Enrollment is limited to forty. As with my class, if you need a scholarship, let us know. We don’t want any student who wants to attend kept from the class for financial reasons. Art and Writing Project The amazing painting of a fist by Claire Jiang is a technical tour de force. It is very, very hard to render any object, much less something as complicated as a fist, with such accuracy. I am also impressed with the use of color—naturalistic, but not. And, of course, the fist emerging from black. A shadow. Another dimension. Is it a fist of anger? Should we be afraid of it? Or will the fist open to a hand, asking us to help rescue it from the shadow? What are your ideas? What does this fist imply to you? Try making a drawing, painting, or photograph that, like Clare’s fist, depicts a single object up close. And, like Claire, try to do something that will suggest one or more stories. I like the idea of emerging from darkness—as that always suggest the opposite possibility of falling into darkness. If using photography to make your image, experiment with taking your photographs in low light. You may also want to use a light to highlight the most forward part of the object you are photographing, letting the rest of the object fade into the dark background. If you come up with something cool, please send it to Emma so she can consider it for Stone Soup. Isabel Swain’s remarkable story “Innocent Yet Dire Words” is a true masterpiece. It would be difficult to render its power in just a few words—you would be better off just reading it. But I will say this: the piece interweaves poetry and fiction, long and short sentences, one form emerging from the other in a manner reminiscent of Claire Jiang’s Fist. Along with the form, the story’s content pushes and pulls—one moment you’re laughing and the next you’re in tears. Just as I have encouraged you to consider the multiplicity of meaning held within Claire’s Fist, so too should you look to Isabel’s story as an example of interwoven complexity. Until next week, Book Contest 2021 For information on submitting to the Stone Soup Book Contest 2021, please click here. To submit your manuscript, please visit our submittable site. Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at Stonesoup.com! Last week we had the final writing workshop of the winter/spring session, a workshop on antiheroes led by Stone Soup contributor Madeline Kline, 13. You can find a video of Madeline’s instruction here. Fittingly, Sita, 13, wrote a review on the Gone series by Michael Grant in which she attributes much of the novels’ intrigue to the “villainous antihero.” Stoke the fires of your imagination with Weekly Creativity Prompt #145: Make up a Fictional Government or Country. From Stone Soup June 2019 Innocent Yet Dire Words By Isabel Swain, 12 (Portsmouth, RI) Illustrated by Claire Jiang, 12 (Princeton, NJ) Like the mythical creature, It calls out a sound. Just not a pleasant one; A torture in its own way. Siren. I hold my ears and tell myself to breathe. One, two, three, four . . . 12, 13 . . . 20. This will pass; don’t worry. It’s just a siren. You don’t have to have another Freak Out, Lila. It’s okay, it’s okay. See, it’s leaving? Okay, okay. I open my eyes, slowly uncurl myself from my Freak Out Stance, and take one
