“Sensation” photographed by Aiyla Syed, 13 (Ashberry, NJ) and published in the March 2021 Issue of Stone Soup A note from Sarah Announcements Twenty-eight of our thirty-five Writing Workshops are now available for public viewing online! In these videos you can experience William’s, Jane’s, Sarah’s, and a handful of our precocious students’ one-of-a-kind instruction. Coming next: the readings from the workshops, which we hope to have up sometime within the next couple months! To find the Writing Workshop videos, click on the hyperlinks attached to our weekly writeup of the Writing Workshops on the Stone Soup website, or go direct to our YouTube channel. Our Young Authors’ Studio Summer Camps with the Society of Young Inklings are now open for booking! Find out more and secure your spot at the Young Inklings website. Weekend Project I was really struck by the cover image from this month’s issue of Stone Soup. Aiyla Syed’s photograph Sensation (pictured above) perfectly captures a moment that feels familiar and playful in a visually compelling way. The composition of the photograph is wonderful. While the main attention in the foreground is Aiyla’s brother jumping in a puddle, the line of the road in the background and the horizon line provide a pleasing frame for the action. And the shadow provides a doubling of the subject that gives the image a really nice sense of symmetry. For me, this photo reminds me of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s famous 1932 photograph of a different puddle jumper. There is also an interesting tension between the stillness of the surroundings and the sudden movement of the splash that Aiyla’s brother is making. What sounds do you think were happening as Aiyla was taking this photo? I think this photograph would be an excellent starting-off point for a story or a poem. For a weekend project, try to capture a moment where a silence or sense of peace is suddenly broken. You can do this with words or through a visual medium. What does the scene look like while it’s quiet? And what is it that suddenly disrupts this peacefulness? Maybe it’s a happy disruption, like a sudden laugh, or maybe it’s more serious, like an alarm. In any case, explore the sensation that occurs when the disturbance takes place. Please send in anything you’re happy with to be considered for the magazine or blog. Until next week, Congratulations to our most recent Flash Contest Winners Our March Flash Contest was based on our weekly creativity prompt #142, asking contestants to stretch the limits of their imagination in order to write a story set somewhere they had never been. As always, selecting the winners was exceedingly difficult due to the abundance of quality work, but this month our editors were left especially in awe as three different pieces were also selected to be published separately on the blog. These writers’ comprehensive world-building ability and infinite capacity for imagination were on display as we received submissions ranging from metafictional meditations on writing to poetic renderings of an encounter with a yeti to Frankenstein’s spinning in perpetuity! We thank all who entered this month’s contest and encourage everyone to keep submitting! Congratulations to our winners and honorable mentions, listed below. You can read the winning entries for this contest (and previous ones) at the Stone Soup website. Winners “Frank in the Galaxy” by Kimberly Hu, 8, Lake Oswego, OR “Complete” by Shriya Roy, 13, Highland, CA “The Legend of Mount Himalaya” by Audrey Li, 13, Scarsdale, NY “Underworld Adventure” by Rex Huang, 11, Lake Oswego, OR “Lost in Blocks” by Scarlet He, 10, Scarsdale, NY Honorable Mentions “Green Ivy” by Riya Agarwal, 11, Portland, OR “Unknown Train Trip” by Charelle Jan Ramo, 10, Hilo, HI “The Ice Jester” by Chelsea Liang, 11, San Jose, CA “Somewhere” by Madeline Cleveland, 11, Belleville, WI “Shipwreck in North Pole” by Roger Krishna, 6, Portland, OR Chosen for the Stone Soup COVID-19 Blog “Going Viral” by Ender Ippolito, 9, Portland, OR Chosen for the Stone Soup Blog “Spring” by Porter Younkin, 9, Medford, OR “Life Inside a Staircase” by Arjun Nair, 9, Midlothian, VA Highlights from the past week online Don’t miss the latest content from our Book Reviewers and Young Bloggers at Stonesoup.com! Pragnya, 12, wrote a review of 2021 Newberry Medal winner When You Trap a Tiger. Young Blogger Vivaan Kartik wrote a helpful and informative article on the value of investment. Check out Avery’s (8) poem, “Learning In-Person” on the COVID-19 Blog for a thoughtful piece on the lingering effects of the pandemic. A painting and a poem from Juliette, 4, on “The View From Our Window During Shelter-in-Place.” From Stone Soup March 2021 Spring By Andy Li, 7 (Hong Kong, China) Spring is green People roam about Roars fill the jungle air Iguanas sleep in the trees New flowers are blooming Great Read more from the March 2021 issue. Stone Soup is published by Children’s Art Foundation-Stone Soup Inc., a 501(c)(3) educational nonprofit organization registered in the United States of America, EIN: 23-7317498. Stone Soup’s Advisors: Abby Austin, Mike Axelrod, Annabelle Baird, Jem Burch, Evelyn Chen, Juliet Fraser, Zoe Hall, Montanna Harling, Alicia & Joe Havilland, Lara Katz, Rebecca Kilroy, Christine Leishman, Julie Minnis, Jessica Opolko, Tara Prakash, Denise Prata, Logan Roberts, Emily Tarco, Rebecca Ramos Velasquez, Susan Wilky.
writing workshop
Writing Workshop #34: Magical Realism
An update from our thirty-fourth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday February 20, plus some of the output published below This week with Jane we talked about magic or magical realism: stories in which a little magic is introduced into everyday life, often as a metaphor for something important to the life of the main character(s). We discussed the difference between magical realism and fantasy, and agreed that whereas in fantasy we create a whole world that depends on (believable) fantasy for its existence, in magical realism we are fixed in the real world, and a few elements of fantasy slide in. We talked about the magic realism in the myth of Daedalus and Icarus (real humans with their attempt at real, failed wings), and read an excerpt from Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude where a (funny, rather than scary!) trickle of blood with very precise and unrealistic intention moves through the realistic, streets and around the rugs and furniture in its journey to a kitchen in another house, making us question what is really real. We watched movie clips from Amélie and Midnight in Paris, and considered the unlikely but realistic characters and underlying stories in Stig of the Dump and Skellig. And then we wrote! The Writing Challenge: Create your own work of Magical Realism. Write a story set in real, present-day life, with a few magical elements that have meaning for your characters. The Participants: Madeline K, Peri, Leo, Kaidyn, Georgia, Pranjoli, Nova, Julia, Lindsay, Ismini, Margaret L, Tilly, Lina K, Liam, Sierra, Sophia, Anya, Jonathan, Samantha, Grace, Rachael, Sage, Simran, Olivia Z, Ruhi, Angela, Charlotte, Anna, Madeline, Alice, Emma, Yasmine, Elbert, Lucy R, Charlotte K, Oliver, Iago, Reese, Emi, Olivia S, Enni, Hera, Ava Hannah Nami Gajcowski, 10 (Bellevue, WA) Memory Loss Hannah Nami Gajcowski, 10 He walked with a stride so large. He was as quiet as a mouse. So, I didn’t run when he came, because I did not realize that he was there. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around. The man stared at me, his green eyes twinkling like emeralds. His mouth twitched, and his long, black cloak swayed with the wind. His pale skin glittered, and when he turned away, I saw that he had a long cat’s tail. I knew this man. I did. But I couldn’t place my finger on who he was. I couldn’t place a finger on anything. I tried to think of my name, but I couldn’t remember it. I tried to think of my life, but I couldn’t. I realized, suddenly, that I couldn’t feel anything. It was like my nerves stopped working. I knew that I needed a mirror. Who was I? Who was that man? Where was I? What did I look like? I looked down at my hand. They were gray and looked hard as stone. Was I wearing gloves? They were very interesting gloves. What were gloves? Why didn’t I know what gloves were? Were they things to put on your feet? Or were the things on your feet called socks? What were socks? Did I know anything? I looked down at my feet – toes – whatever they were called. They looked as hard as stone. I reached down to touch them, but I found that my body wouldn’t bend. What was my body? I was losing my memory quickly. What was memory? Was it a beam of light that told you things? Was it a sign of hope, destiny? What was hope and destiny? I began to feel very depressed. Dark thoughts took over my head. Would I be able to get out of here? Where was I? I tried to move, but then I realized that I had been turned into stone. What was stone? How much time had passed? What was time? Questions swarmed in my head. Soon, my eyes began to close. Or maybe they were open. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t see anything. What were eyes? I didn’t know. What was a know? What was a what? What was an a? What was a… Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Heart and Brain Peri Gordon, 11 I sat at my plain wooden desk and waited for the lunch bell to ring. I didn’t know how to answer the test question, and unless I cheated, I never would. I stared stubbornly at the white tiled classroom floor. I am not going to cheat, I vowed silently. How much guilt would I feel if I did? Oh, but it would be so easy. The smartest kid in the class, if not eighth grade, if not the school, was my desk partner, and she was off sharpening her constantly-in-use pencil. Her test was not being guarded at all, and it was right next to me. And if I didn’t do well on this test, getting grounded for a week would be right around the corner. It was the logical thing to do, right? And as long as I learned the material for next time… “Yeah, right. I am not going to learn anything from copying Samantha’s answer,” my heart told me. My brain said, “But—if mom and dad don’t find out—” “Well, I would know. And I would feel too much shame,” insisted my heart. “Who cares? This is an important test!” “Yeah, too important for cheating.” That’s when I noticed the staring. Every scholarly, ignorant, friendly, and cruel kid in my class was staring at me. And so was the teacher. For some reason, I burst into tears. What had just happened? I hadn’t said anything. No, no, it was my heart speaking and my brain speaking. Speaking to me—no, speaking to everyone, apparently. “That’s quite enough, Shauna,” said Mrs. Allyseth, my teacher. “We’re taking a test, and we don’t want to hear your mumbling, especially not mumbling about cheating. We don’t cheat in Room 37, do we?” “But, Miss Allyseth,” I said, acting like a child and forgetting to
Writing Workshop #33: Larger Than Life Characters
An update from our thirty-third Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday February 13, plus some of the output published below This week we talked about larger than life characters, and the different tools writers use to portray them. The focus was on the first meeting with that character: how can you make it clear from the very beginning that this is a special, memorable, unusual character, and what the key elements are that make them this way? In a group discussion we shared ideas about larger-than-life characters and how we might use how they look, sound, walk, talk, laugh, dress, eat, smell–any aspect of appearance or presence or characteristic to convey a strong impression of who they are. The Writing Challenge: Write a passage in which you introduce a larger than life character, where the reader is encountering them for the very first time. You do not have to describe a bg personality in detail, but do focus on how the initial meeting with the character stakes their claim to importance. The Participants: Lina, Rachael, Sierra, Lindsay, Tegan, Samantha, Lucy K, Hera, Ava, Charlotte K, Eve, Anna, Grace, Simran, Olivia, Alice, Emma, Noa, Emi, Angela, Iago, Charlotte M, Yasmine, Olivia, Enni, Nova, Anya, Madeline N, Leo, Pranjoli, Helen, Madeline K, Margaret L, Sophie, Julia, Sage, Georgia, Ruhi, Syra, Lucy R, Peri, Kaidyn, Lindsay, Tilly, Maggie K, Lina K, Jonathan. Sierra E., 11Mountain View, CA Fox Girl Sierra E., 11 Few were (and still are) able to imagine the wild figure of Fox Girl. But if you saw her, you’d recognize her even if you’d never heard of such a thing. For Fox Girl lived in a faraway town, Ivywood, hundreds of thousands of miles from any large cities. Where she lived, the months of winter never came, and the incredible, unbelievable creatures roamed free. And here, in this world already beyond normal, lived Fox Girl, the one that many came to Ivywood to see. Fox Girl’s appearance was unreal. Stranger than the cyan wolves that managed to fly in the air with their magnificent wings, and stranger than the salmon-pink kittens that would spend their time leaping in and out of the many winding, flowing rivers. Fox Girl, for one, looked absolutely anything but human. While she had several details that resembled a person, most of Fox Girl was elsewhere. She had electrifying shamrock-green eyes that glowed especially in the darkness, while her vibrant amethyst-purple hair that stretched to her toes were unignorable. A bushy, apricot-colored tail tinged with white hung between her long legs and two ears, matching in appearance, stood always perked atop her head. Fox Girl dressed in lively hues which mirrored her animated personality. Fox Girl was one to watch. One to wait hours, days, months, years to see. Many say Ivywood is just a myth told to put young children asleep at night. But if you question me, I’ll always say the same: “No, Ivywood and Fox Girl aren’t a legend. It’s nothing but reality.” Lindsay Gao, 9Dublin, OH The Girl’s Revenge Lindsay Gao, 9 If anyone who hadn’t known better had seen the girl, they would have laughed, thinking “Ha! I could finish this girl off with a twitch of my hand.” But this, ultimately, would not be true. She was quite young, with long black hair that melted into the shadows, pale skin, and a frail, tattered white nightgown. But her eyes, white as snow, glowed with the utmost power. The only way possible to tell if she was angry or preparing to strike was to look at her right hand, where you could see her thumb, which, if provoked, would jerk back one, and then become still. After that signaling jerk, the shadows seemed to slowly crawl towards her victims. When they panicked, she would tell them it was alright, and that she wouldn’t hurt them. But she did. All their bodies were never found. When no one was watching, she might slip away, and you could see the pain, heartbreak, and longing. The feeling that people always assumed she didn’t have or feel. She would let out a sob, a mourning of losing what you loved and being turned into a monster. A monster that you weren’t. She knew people called her “the doll of death”, and she hated it. She wished that she could get away with everything, but then she would remember. The death. The blood. The screams. The tears. The pain. And it. The thing. And she knew, the beast, the one that had killed her family, and caused her sorrow would pay. It did not know that she was powerful, and now, it was too late, for she, the enchantress, the girl it had hurt so long ago, was coming. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Confusion Itself Peri Gordon, 11 It was Wednesday at 9am, I think, and I was sipping my coffee and walking to work when I saw her. Well, first I heard her shouting, and then I looked over, and then I saw the top of her purple stack of hair. I took the time to follow the fluffy pile down to the bottom, and I found a face died green with violet eyes and lips made to be the color of the ocean. Her eyes were wild and gleaming with both happy and sad tears, and her mouth was constantly moving as she ceaselessly talked about some problem that had befallen her. She was so out of place in the quiet atmosphere of this quiet little town that no one could ignore her. It was hard to look away from her face, but I had to see what this woman was wearing. My eyes are still angry at me for exposing them to such a bright, chaotic assortment of skirts and pants and shirts and dresses layered on top of one another, orange and green and blue and pink, spotted and striped and beaded and bejeweled. She wasn’t wearing
