times argus index 2012-13

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

THIS WEEK: Wishes

YWP is supported by the gen-

erosity of foundations, businesses

and individuals who recognize the

power and value of writing. If you

would like to contribute, please

go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to

YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401. Special thanks this week toBAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS

THANKS FROM YWPABOUT THE PROJECT YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps

them improve and connects them

with authentic audiences. YWP

runs youngwritersproject.org and

the Schools Project, a comprehen-

sive online classroom and training

program that works with teachers to

help students develop their writing

and digital literacy skills. To learn

more, go to ywpschools.net or con-

tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

hundred submissions from students in Vermont and

New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students,

we select the best for publication here and in 21 other

newspapers. This week we publish work in response

to the prompt, Wishes: What are your three wishes in three sentences or less?

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Dear ReadersThis is the final week of Young

Writers Project’s student writing in

this space for the 2012-13 school year.

Thanks for being with us. We hope you

enjoyed it.

We’ll be back with more in Septem-

ber, but in the meantime, you can con-

tinue to see great writing on youngwrit-ersproject.org and on Vermont Public

Radio at vpr.net through the summer.

YWP has many to thank for this

Newspaper Series, including the editors

and publishers of Vermont’s newspa-

pers who value the importance of writ-

ing and affirming students’ best efforts. Please support your local newspaper!

YWP also salutes the young writers

and photographers who consistently

amaze and inspire us with their work,

and the teachers and parents who en-

courage them.

And young writers, YWP has men-

tors and readers who are eager to read

your summertime submissions on

youngwritersproject.org, so don’t stop

writing just because the sun is shining!

— GEOFFREY GEVALT, YWP FOUNDER AND DIRECTOR, AND SUSAN REID, PUBLICATIONS COORDINATOR

© Melissa Stewart/Essex High School

Three wishesBY MADISON HENDERSON Grade 5, Barre City Elementary School

I wish for a beautiful Amazon garden

that’s a place for people to use plants to

heal wounds or sicknesses.

I wish for a parent-only cruise ship

so all parents can relax, especially my

parents.

I wish for a zoo full of endangered

animals, like tigers or red pandas, so we

can have those animals around for years

to come.

BY VANESSA GREIG Grade 5, Barre City Elementary School

Do I wish for care?

Do I wish for company?

No, I wish for you.

BY TEAGAN ATKINS-LESLIE Grade 5, Barre City Elementary School

I wish for $1 million so I could help

my mom. I would use it to buy my mom

a mansion because my mom has little

money and I love her.

The mansion would be in the coun-

try because it is better and safer in the

country and it would have a big room just

for my mom and rooms for me, my two

sisters, and my Meme.

BY GREG SILKGrade 5, Barre City Elementary School

I wish for three more sentences –

whoops, I just used one.

I wish to be 14 so I can join the fire department because most of my fam-

ily works in emergency services like

field medic, fire department, police, or S.W.A.T.

I wish to be able to help people.

BY DAMIEN BARNETT Grade 5, Barre City Elementary School

I would wish for $1 trillion so I could

buy a pony and 10 monkeys and ride my

pony while my monkeys clean my room

and do my homework.

Then I would donate half to buying

houses for people with no homes.

I would donate the rest to research

on cancer because lots of people die of

cancer every year.

BY YOHAN AVILA Grade 11, Spaulding High School

Three wishes is not only about your

needs, it is also about your dreams; it is

something you really want from the bot-

tom of your heart.

Wish 1: I wish for my siblings and I to

graduate from college with flying colors. Wish 2: I wish for everyone to live

united with their family.

Wish 3: I wish the violence and wars

to be eliminated from the whole world.

BY EMILY MCMAHON Grade 5, Barre City Elementary School

If I could wish for anything,

anything at all,

I would wish to have stretchy powers.

I would wish for stretchy powers so I

could be in disguise.

If you think about it,

you could really do anything

by transforming – you could grow wings

and flyand this is why

I really want stretchy powers!

BY EMILY HENRYGrade 5, Barre City Elementary School

If I could wish for anything in the

world, I would wish for $1 billion for

research to find medicines to cure many sicknesses because it would save so many

people and that’s worth any amount of

money. I would wish for $5,000 to use

for charity to help the poor get meals to

survive so they don’t die of starvation.

The last thing I would wish for is

world peace in all countries forever so

there would be no more wars because

so many people die in wars or get badly

injured.



THIS WEEK: Fairy tale

YWP is supported by the gen-erosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,

Burlington, VT 05401.

Special thanks this week to

BIRDSEYE FOUNDATION

THANKS FROM YWPABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehen-sive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or con-tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.






to the prompt, Fairy tale: Write a fairy tale that

includes the phrase, “one thousand peas.” To read

more, go to youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Kevin Huang/Burlington High School

MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE

IN BURLINGTON AND BRATTLEBORO!

Send your best poetry or prose to be considered for Millennial Writers on Stage

at the Burlington Book Festival on Sept. 21 or the Brattleboro Literary Festival on

Oct. 5! Send as a blog on your youngwritersproject.org account (If you don’t have

one, it’s easy to sign up); click Newspaper Series and the prompt, Millennial. Or email your submission to [email protected].

Anders and the peas

BY ANDERS SHENHOLM

Grade 6, Main Street Middle School

There once was a kingdom called Agon in which King Po ruled justly. He ruled the villages of Kancom and Trela.

In Trela there was a farmer named Anders who was famous for the fine, lus-cious quality of his meats and vegetables.

One year, the king had a craving for meat and bred his own private stock of animals.

Every day he would order his men to slaughter one pig, one cow, and one lamb. Afterwards he had a huge feast with a reputation that soon spread through the land.

The king did not realize that soon all of his personal stock would be gone.

The next year there was a famine caused by a spread of veggie-bugs feast-ing on the fruits and vegetables of the nation.

Farmer Anders could only scavenge 1000 of his precious peas.

The faeries of Agon did their best to preserve the precious vegetables with magical spells, but soon only the 1000 peas remained.

Anders, with his huge supply of sheep, cattle and sows, was willing to make Po a deal.

He would trade him 1000 cows, 1000 sows, 1000 sheep, and 1000 peas for the entire kingdom of Agon.

The king was so overjoyed to see the fine meats that he handed the kingdom over easily. What the king did not want was the peas.

He scoffed, “The peas are as small as a newt’s brain and are of no worth at all.”

So Anders kept the peas and planted them in the soil long abandoned by the veggie-bugs.

The peas grew to be grand and tall vines which each bore 1000 peas. The famine came again in the form of meat-bugs that ate all of the dethroned Po’s animals.

For each of the million peas sprouted, Anders planted one more. Soon when the meat was gone, he was the sole possessor of food.

People came from all over to appeal to his generosity. He was soon the respected ruler of all the grand lands of Agon.

And so he lived happily ever after.

A thousand and one

BY ELEANOR BRAUN


Long, long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived an old gnarled tree. This tree stood for millions of years, its bark becoming thick with the time of many winters, peeling and growing, swaying and standing.

It was an oak, stationed solitary on top of a grassy hill in a clearing in a forest of 1000 elms. This forest was discovered by man in the tree’s 1,274,361,209th year. They chopped all of the elms down, leav-ing only the oak to wind its roots through the rich soil, surrounded with the ringed stumps of the elms as a constant reminder of what once was.

... It snowed; it was winter. The branches of the oak were soon laden with white, frosty snow. An ancient witch came one frosty winter day, trudging through the heavy snow. She creaked her brittle limbs and slowly ascended the tree. When she reached the top, trembling from the cold, she began to chant in a low, wavering voice, “One thousand peas, one thousand peas. Come! Grow here, in the space of these trees. Grow tall, tall and strong, till ye this world belong. One thousand peas, one thousand peas.”

Soon, the snow began to melt away and fresh green sprouts emerged from the moist soil... In only a few short hours, the field and all of the surrounding area were covered with pea plants bursting with peas. The next day, the very king who had ordered all of the elms razed rode down the field, where the king wondered at the warm temperature and the strange plants, pea plants, that covered the field. Despite the mysteriousness of the situation, the peas looked good, and the king was hun-gry. He called for one of his servants to pick him a handful. His servant faithfully obeyed. The king bit into a pea carefully and exclaimed, “Delicious! Bring me more!”

He ordered all of his servants to go pick peas for him... He sat there and ate and ate. He began to grow fatter and fat-ter. When the very last pea was brought to him, he tipped out of the carriage. When he hit the ground, his body started chang-ing, twisting, expanding, hardening, and splitting. One of his servants fainted, and the others ran away, for he had become 1000 trees, filling the field once more, 1000 elms. The witch had done her job well. The oak, which stood for millions of years, its bark becoming thick with the time of many winters, peeling and growing, swaying and standing, had the company of the very one who had taken his trees away not so long ago.

THIS WEEK: General writing

YWP is supported by the gen-erosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burl-

ington, VT 05401.


GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE ROASTERS


YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.


hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New

Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select

the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers.

This week we publish work in response to the prompt for

General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org,

a safe, civil online community of writers.

©Isabella Byrne/Sharon Academy

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE

PRESENTED BY YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT AND VERMONT PUBLIC RADIO

Send your best poetry or prose for performance at the Burlington Book Festival

on Sept. 21, 2013. Submit as a blog on your youngwritersproject.org account (If

you don’t have one, it’s easy to sign up); click Newspaper Series and the prompt, Millennial. Or email your submission to [email protected].

Many-colored daysBY CODY MARA

Grade 8, Crossett Brook Middle School

On golden yellow daysI am heavenly,like cloudsflyingin the sky.On strawberry red daysI am in love,like puppy dogsrolling aroundon the floor.On timber wolf gray daysI am a discombobulated,turtleslow movingin the grass.On charcoal black daysI am in agony,like smokemoving lowin the house.

Short and sweetBY EVIE CASERTA AND NADIA SCOPPETTONE


TEARS

Silent tearsDripping down my faceWashing away my worries–EvieRAIN

Large, splattering dropsSoaking into soggy groundClouding up a sunny day–NadiaFOX

The clever, sly foxSlinking around the forestA sharp eye watching–EvieSTARS

Twinkling, shiny starsGleaming in the nightA shower of diamonds–NadiaMIRRORS

Honest exposureShowing your true selfRevealing your fears–EvieMORNING GLORY

Budding flowerGlistening blueNew life–Nadia



Sway into eternityBY SARAH WELLS

Grade 12, U-32 High School

The candles have all burned out,and the wine has been drunk.Cheeks have been kissed and at lastthe party has come to an end.

Guests totter home,starlight ablaze in their eyes,but they’ve all left their voices behind.

The air still vibrates,with the ringing laughter.The ghosts twirl down the hall,champagne in hand and smilesgracing their features.

They join the others,those from timeseven further from present.The guests who just never went home.The footsteps of the living step softly around,fearing the unseeable inside.For they know what the guests do not – all songs must end, and all lights will go out.

Someday the memories will fade,and the rooms will just be rooms.As the final resounding notesfade into oblivion.Sadly, every party must end.But for now,let them dance.Swaying to the music, through the years,and into eternity.

An ocean secretBY MADISON HENDERSON

Grade 5, Barre City Elementary School

I have a bond nobody can breakWith the waves that give me freedom day and nightWith the sea and its creatures who play all day longWith the fish whose scales glitter in the sun, like mineWith the seaweed as long as my hairEven though I long to live on land, I never canDays can pass but you’ll still comeI have a bond with you, too My one, true human friend



THIS WEEK: White lie & Scared



New Hampshire in response to writing prompts. The

best writing is selected for publication here and in 21

other newspapers and on vpr.net. This week, we pub-

lish work in response to the prompts, White lie: Write

about a white lie that grows; and Scared: What really

scares you? More at youngwritersproject.org.

YWP is supported by the gen-erosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.


CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS


YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training pro-gram that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP

MILLENNIAL WRITERS

ON STAGE

PRESENTED BY YWP AND VPR

Send your best poetry or prose for

performance at the Burlington Book

Festival on Sept. 21, 2013. Submit as

a blog on your youngwritersproject.

org account (If you don’t have one,

it’s easy to sign up); click Newspaper

Series and the prompt, Millennial. Or email your submission to [email protected].

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Josh Kenyon/Essex High School

YWP PERFORMANCE NIGHT

THURSDAY, MAY 30

NORTH BY NORTH CENTER

12 NORTH STREET, BURLINGTON

Performance poet Lizzy Fox will lead a writ-

ing and perfor-

mance work-

shop, Rhythm

of Change, 5

p.m. - 6:30 p.m.

Stick around for

open mic and

pizza, 7 p.m. -

8:30 p.m.

More details at youngwritersproj-

ect.org or call (802) 324-9538.

FREE AND OPEN TO ALL AGES

You regretBY MOLLY POTTER


Saying yes when you mean noSaying black when you mean whiteSaying like when you don’tIt’s all the sameThey come back to haunt youYou get yesYou get blackYou get something you don’t wantAnd you regretAt the time it seems like no problemIt makes sense in your headAnd you think it makes sense in theirsBut the sense it comes down toIt’s a lieA white lie

Begin to end BY EMMA FILKOWSKI


I know it was wrong.I shouldn’t have said it.I knew not to do itBecause I knew what would happen.I knew it would grow and grow and grow.It was wrong, but I did it anyway.It started at the beginning,but hasn’t even begun to end.I met you, we talked, and that was it.But then, it just came over me,A lie I never would have thought to tell.But I did and I know it was wrong.You were stunned.You looked at me like, like I was an animal.I am sorry. I regret everything.But we both know that neither of uscan forget anything.

UnknownBY SARAH WELLS


The maw of the great,dark,unknownwas gaping menacingly before me.The air around it seemed to boiland I stood paralyzed on the threshold.The others,who’d stood by my side like ancient pil-larshad faded away.Swallowed by the monsteror reduced to rubble by internal forces.I stood to face the beast alone.Without even memories or versed wis-dom to aid me.The past had no applicable wisdom to offer.The past would never again have wisdom to offeruntil the monster was faced....Shadows fell asideas I approached.The beast roared againand I was gone.

YWP ON VPR YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER

EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.

CHECK IT OUT!

THIS WEEK: Farm Project winners




VERMONT COMMUNITY

FOUNDATION



Shatter BY CALLISTA BUSHEE

Grade 8, Home School, East Wallingford

On the second Friday in January, a calf was born at Seward Farm in East Wall-ingford, just 10 minutes from my home. She wasn’t out of the ordinary; in fact, she was anything but different.

The heifer, the first female calf in several months of bulls, had a thick-headed temper to her, like her mother, and boasted her rudeness from day one.

But that Monday, one of the two days I spend volunteering at Seward’s each week, she caught my eye.

We usually only name registered or special calves, and she was neither.

A bit smaller than most, her size was the only unusual trait about her, with regular markings and, of course, her tough disposition.

However, the calf’s strong will was much like my own, and she grew on me.

With permission from Art and Dave Seward, the two wonderful guys who own and operate the farm, I named her Shatter for her white markings, which in some places looked like shattered glass.

With time, Shatter became more even-tempered, and her affection for me grew.

After I’d trained her to give me her hooves upon request and a few other use-ful tricks, I began working with her on a halter, walking her any chance I got.

Bit by bit, Shatter worked her way into my heart, funny little nose first.

Working at Seward’s is by far the highlight of my week, not only because of Shatter but because no matter how grim things look, Art and Dave always find a way to laugh. One way or another, they cheer you up, and they have showed me that even in the toughest situations, you can always find a way to smile.

Callista Bushee and Shatter at Seward Farm, East

Wallingford

Dusty Creek FarmBY KELSEY EDDY

Grade 9, Mill River High School

I turned the doorknob and walked into the milk house. The milk container was cold, as expected, and the family had not started without me.

I walked through the milk house and went into the barn. I walked down the aisle, looking for my grandpa.

“Hey Sprout, you here to help out or talk to the old lady?” he asked.

We both laughed. My grandpa had a great sense of humor, and always called me Sprout.

“Go clean off the calves,” he said, all business-like...

I always loved cows, even though they were huge compared to me, and much stronger, but most of them were nice... Cows weren’t like dogs, but they had their own ways into my heart...

Milking a cow is complicated because there are many dangers. If the cow is used to another person, she will sometimes refuse to allow others to clean her.

“Blonde” was the one who did that. She only wanted my grandpa to milk her, and we didn’t argue. Some of our cows we have to sing to, so they will calm down; some you just have to yell at and tell them you’re the boss.

My grandpa was the toughest man around the farm. Unlike me, who can be scared of cows at times, my grandpa was tough and fearless, even though he had his limits. He was the best grandpa I could ask for. My grandma was right with him; she loved the farm, and her grandkids, and always pushed herself, no matter what...

Farming was my life, all the hard times that we had to work through, from hay season where my dad and I raced to beat thunderstorms in the hay wagon, to fixing broken water tubes that water all the cows, to going in knee-deep water during Hurricane Irene to save the cows from drowning in the field, to the death of calves, that always silenced the barn-yard. There were also good times that I will never forget, like watching my little sisters feed the calves, playing and brush-ing the calves, seeing a baby calf being born, grandpa teaching me how to drive the tractor, staying up all night talking about all the fun we have, and all the little things that I hold so dear...

But now, as I look around at our cows, hear the sound of the farm, remember all the good and bad, I can’t help but cry, because all this, that I grew up to know and love, is being sold this summer.Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-

ect.org/node/ 79906

Carley Malloy, here with Lola, is the 9th generation on her family’s farm in North Thetford.

Congratulations to the six winners of the Farm Project writing challenge! Three of the writers are featured on

this page today. The Vermont Community Foundation, sponsor of the challenge, will award the writers $50 with an additional $50 donation to a local food or farm nonprofit of the winners’ choice. Seventy-seven writers participated in the challenge, showing that farming and local food matter to young Vermont-ers. To read all the winning submissions, go to youngwriter-sproject.org.

Summer on the farm

BY CARLEY MALLOY

Grade 7, Thetford Academy

I’ve decided that a family farm is a lot

like a barbed wire fence; running smooth for a little while, and then running into a twist or barb that slows things down. My last year and a half has been spent working on my grandparents’ farm. Each day has been a new adventure, and I often

catch myself looking back and saying, “remember the day…”

I like summer on the farm the most; the weather has warmed so the barn can be left open and I can hear the jingling of chains as the cows turn their heads to look when I come in. Summer on the farm means haying, fencing, cleaning up the winter’s mess, and letting the cows outside to stretch their long legs...

Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-

ect.org/node/ 80476

THIS WEEK: Promise & General




FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS







newspapers. This week we publish work in response to

the prompts, Promise: Write about a promise you made

but couldn’t keep; and General writing. Read more

great writing at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Margaret Slate/Peoples Academy

THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE

Watch this newspaper and youngwritersproject.org

for the six winners to be announced next week!

Sponsored by The Vermont Community

Foundation’s Food and Farm Initiative



NEXT PROMPT

Vacation. Recall a specific mo-ment on a favorite vacation and describe it. Or imagine your perfect vacation. Alternate: General writ-ing. Due May 17

The day the ink dried

BY SARAH WELLS


The crinkled paper, yellowed with age, shook slightly in the hand of its holder.

He was staring intently at the ink marks upon the page and with a free hand covering his mouth in a mixture of horror and piercing regret.

“I’ll be with you until the very end,” his eyes quickly read, “until the sun refuses to shine – until air no longer satis-fies our lungs, I’ll be there. I promise.”

The tears that had been stinging his eyes welled up over their banks, and the next sentence was hidden from view.

He knew it nonetheless; it was he who had written it, after all.

“I love you, my dear, and I’ll see you soon.”

Soon. The letter had been written four years ago, and yet that “soon” had never become any more tangible than the day the ink dried.

The man sucked air deeply into his lungs and blinked furiously.

He had intended to return home – of course he had.

He had intended to see her again, those bouncing curls, that freckled face...

Something just got in the way. Life, he supposed. Days had turned into weeks, and the letter had gathered dust.

“I’ll send it tomorrow,” he’d often thought.

Tomorrow had finally come, and it was far too late.

The man folded up the letter reverently and thrust it back into frozen amber past.

She’d died a week ago. That’s what had finally brought him

home. Home to a town so lacking in sub-

stance that you waded through piles of memories waist high and lived in a hun-dred different times at once.

Out the window he caught sight of a black shape moving west, toward the cemetery.

The man stood up stiffly and took his hat from the chair behind him.

He wasn’t going to the funeral. All the words he’d meant to say four

years ago had dried up, and the thought of conjuring up some new, meaningless, half contrived words for the benefit of her family was, simply put, too painful.

The ink had dried long ago, and there was no way to remove the damage.

The promise broken

BY KYLE COBURN

Grade 11, Chelsea Public School

The promises, so many, so brokenThings I can’t bear hear spokenEvery success, triumph, and victoryThey all might as well have been trickery

I have won nothing in the endThese stinging truths I cannot bendI have crushed my own dreamsTorn out all of the seams

Our love once twirledI could have promised you the worldYet I promised my heartI was the one who failed his part

My love is the promise brokenSo much pain left in words unspoken

BY EMERY BRUSH


Oh when I was 5 years old, I wish some-one had told meThat money wasn’t gold, and the world wasn’t free,But now that I’m older I can finally see What’s wrong with the world and what’s wrong with me...So stand up now and look at me,

What am I meant to be?Oh when I was 10, I went to sendA letter to my mom just around the bend,But I spent the money on a ballpoint pen,Oh now I know that was the end.Oh now that I’m older I can finally see What’s wrong with the world, and what’s wrong with me.So stand up now, and look at me,What am I meant to be?

What am I meant to be?

NEXT PROMPT

Music. Choose a piece of music and write a story that flows from it. Tell us what music you were listening to. Alternate: Three wishes. What would you wish for? Tell us in three sentences. Due May 10

THIS WEEK: Climate change

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and in-dividuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT

05401.


VERMONTIVATE



This week, Young Writers Project publishes some of

the winning entries in the YWP Climate Change Writ-

ing Challenge. Seven writers were honored and given

$50 awards by Vermontivate (the community sustain-

ability game) at an Earth Day celebration on April 20.

Go to youngwritersproject.org/vermontivate to read

all the winning submissions.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Nate Ertle/Essex High School

THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE

Watch youngwritersproject.org for the six winners

to be announced soon!



PLAY VERMONTIVATE!

The community sustainability

game that ends with a huge

Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream Party!

Find out more at vermontivate.com

The Green CampaignBY ROBIN CHADWELL

Grade 9, Sharon Academy

The idea was not neat and organized, but it was what the world needed at the time.

Gather by the thousands in the biggest cities around the world, and demand that every human being devote him or herself to what was then an impossible cause – saving the Earth from global warming.

Green shirts, pants, dresses, hats, and scarves filled street vendors across the globe, giving the fashion industries around the world no choice but to embrace the Green Campaign.

But that was merely the beginning.Famous musicians, actors, and athletes inspired their nations to rise to the challenge,

and take the Green responsibility upon them.Instead of playing video games and watching television, it became the new normal

to see children outdoors, playing tag underneath water sprinklers that soaked gardens with health and beauty.

It was a wonderful thing, knowing that we all wanted the same thing… a long and vigorous life on a healthy planet.

A new era was born through the love and happiness that resided in our hearts. I felt very lucky indeed, to know that I was not alone in my belief that humanity could be wonderful.

It was an awakening to our potential, and the power we have to change the world.I am quite certain, even with Alzheimer’s knocking on my door, that I will never

forget the year that everything changed for the better. It was the year 2030 – two decades ago – when the Green Campaign began, and

even though it has come to an end, green continues to be the world’s favorite color.

Just imagineBY KATIE FERGUSON


Just imagine the world in all of its stages.It’s been so different throughout the ages.Imagine the good and imagine the bad.Does this make you sad, happy, mad?First imagine the forests and fields and lifethat were here before we caused such strife.Imagine the beauty of an untainted world,a place where pollution is only a word.There, animals roam and nature is free.That world is as perfect as it will ever be.There, life is good, not easy, but good.How would you bring this world back if you could?Just imagine the world in all of its stages.It’s been so different throughout the ages.Imagine the good and imagine the bad.Does this make you sad, happy, mad?Then imagine what the world will be-comeif we keep polluting, if we are so dumb.It’ll become a bare wasteland if we don’t take a stand,And we humans need all of this land.Our world would be drab and full of decay,with extinct animals and tides rising every day.It would even be hard to get clean air.I fervently hope that I never live there.Just imagine the world in all of its stages.It’s been so different throughout the ages.Imagine the good and imagine the bad.Does this make you sad, happy, mad?Which world do you want? You know, you can choosewhich world you get and which one you lose.You can get a clean planet by lending a handto the world that is trying to take a stand.Reduce, reuse, and recycle are the three first things.Do these to help the planet grow wingsto fly away from smog, trouble and strifeand into a better way of life.

Is it going to be us?BY TAYLOR GARNER

Grade 10, Mount Mansfield High School

Is it going to be us?That watches our planet die away?To watch our oceans poisoned,our valleys burned,and my soul left to deteriorate?Is it going to be us?That watches our mountains cut down,our atmosphere, toxic,and the rains turned black?Is it going to be us?That have to tell our grandkidsthat our governments didn’t help their planet when it needed it the most?That that’s the reason they wear gas masks to school,and need to be inside during the acid rain storms?That we murdered the planet?Is it going to be us?



Six-word storiesBY JOE FRANCO

Grade 6, Calais Elementary School

The boy smiled, I smiled back.We eat; we’re the eating club.I slide into second base, yippee.I land on my face, ouch.I am jealous of my toad.I wish I could fly high.I see people laughing and crying.I eat wonderful food all night.This is a really joyous occasion.We sing merry songs all night.We all howl to the moon.He’s proud, he tied his shoe.Pizza is good for your heart.

THIS WEEK: Six words

YWP is supported by the gener-osity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burl-

ington, VT 05401.


BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS






we select the best for publication here and in 21

other newspapers. This week we publish work in

response to the prompt, Six words: Write as many

six-word stories as you can. To read more, go to

youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Andrea Marie Neville/Chelsea Public School

BY HONOUR LINDSEY GREENE


Life is just a flip-flopped puzzle.Live great, love laughter, become merry.Mary’s little lamb hates pioneering paths.Writing is a swirl of imagination.Flying through the skies with you.Money makes greed; greed makes hate.Undecided’s OK. It means you’re think-ing.Time ticks on, but feelings freeze.Shoes are funny. They just are.Sticks and stones usually hurt less.Makeup covers up true natural beauty.For friends, quality outnumbers any quantity.

BY JUSTIN A. MURRAY


It was the mistake of my life.I couldn’t help her. I’m sorry. Bob ate a big, yummy pie.The stars danced in the sky.I’m so hungry I’ll eat plastic.No, I was not just dancing.Darkness swept over all of us.Go! There’s no chance for me.The burgers were wonderful! Thank you.I don’t know why, no, nope.

NEXT PROMPTS

Technology. Your cell phone is broken and you can’t get a new one. It’s your first day without it. What happens? Alternate: Photo 11. Write a story about the photo below. Due April 26.

Long ago. Write a journal/diary entry of someone from a different time period, past or future. Alternate: Being right. Describe a time when you were sure that you were right, but someone else refused to see your view. Due May 3.

BY LILY MATTOGNO


Everyone starts to stare at me. I run away from my cat.Why are clowns so very scary?Keep calm and throw the cheese.I am obsessed with Doctor Who.They all need to scream again!Everyone needs a time to smile.

BY ANNA COOK

Grade 11, Oxbow High School

Homework piles up, watch TV anyway. Shiver. Shake. Wait for rescue team.The ball arcs...hold breath...goal!Buildings burn, people watch in terror.Wore heels; fell in big puddle.Don’t look now: teacher behind you.

Rain falls lightly. Look for rainbow.Rope swinging over river. Drop now!Spring fever; say goodbye to snow.Dropped my keys in the gutter.Danced around living room. (No life.)That cloud looks like an octopus.Got paint all over new jeans.Wait, we had homework due today?Laughed till I cried. Good times.

BY OLIVIA BATES


Daydreaming is the time you’re free. A ghost haunts you at night.Scared. All alone, in the night.A cold breeze blows my hair.Ocean waves crash against the sand.

YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences.

YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and The Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at 802-324-9537.

ABOUT THE PROJECT



The drum beatsBY PHOEBE PACHECO

Grade 8, Harwood Union Middle School

(I want to remember the people in the back of

the room who often long to be remembered.

I was one of those people. I am one of those

people. I will not forget.)

The drum beatsSoftlyBarely sounding above the whispersThat encompass the roomThe drum beatsLightlyPeople unknowingly matchingTheir footsteps to the rhythmThe drum beatsQuietlyBreaching the consciousnessOf those who choose to listenThe drum beatsGently

They begin to turn their headsSearching for the sourceThe drum beatsMildlyAlmost all begin to noticeExcept the few, lost in their own exis-tenceThe drum beatsPowerfullyCausing all to hearWondering expressions begin to formThe drum beatsLoudlyStopping all conversationBecoming the conversationThe drum beatsDeafeninglyAnd ceasesThe rhythm playing no longerThe drum beatsSoftlyAs it always has beforeNo one even noticing it’s thereThe drum beats

THIS WEEK: Rhyming & General

YWP is supported by the generos-ity of foundations, business and in-dividuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT

05401.


GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE

ROASTERS

THANKS FROM YWP






to the prompts for Rhyming poetry and General

writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.

City lightsBY RACHEL E. FICKES

Grade 7, The Riverside SchoolHometown: Peacham

City lights blaze behind chain link fence,Car headlights glowing white.The stars drowned out in a saddened sense,The darkness lost in light.The people who go with themselves in mind,Each challenging the rest.They seen to think they’re one of a kind,That they, themselves, are best.I look and see these city dwellers,And how they come and go.The listeners, the gossip tellers,Their followers in tow.A pool of light gathers on the walk,A street lamp flickers on.A few moths see, and come in flock,the light they dwell upon.City lights blaze behind chain link fence,Car headlights glowing white.The stars drowned out in a saddened sense,The darkness lost in light.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK


NEXT PROMPT

Scared. What really scares you? Why? Tell a story about when you confronted it. Alter-nate: White lie. Write about a little white lie that grows and turns into a bigger lie until you can’t keep up. Due April 19

Line of segregation (Rosa Parks)BY AVEN WILLIAMS

Grade 8, U-32 Middle School

The invisible line watches allHolding me with hard eyes until it confirms I am on the correct sideI keep walking until I am behind itOnly then does it drop its gazeThe line, the white line with no emotion for a weary black woman returning from a hard dayIt keeps track of its victimsKeeping them in orderWhite and blackGood and badClean and dirtyThe line does its jobI close my eyes and watch it melt awayWishing it would melt awayMy eyes shoot open at the sound of a voiceA deep gruff voiceA white voiceWhite, fake purity blinds meThe line fixes its cold eyes on meLooking me overThen it swiftly obeys its masterContorting itself so that it also corners off the seat I currently occupyThen it smilesA ruthful smile and laughs a high-pitched wicked laughA white laughIt knows that it will winIt always winsI stare it down, eyes full of confidenceFire licks at the coalsWhen the line settles, it returns my gaze with a soul-seeking stareFireWicked white fireIt burns me from inside outI hold onSweat beginning to dance on my foreheadThe line shifts its gaze before I doStrong arms pull me upPinching, prying me from my seat of honorThey haul me down the aisle with my head held highBehind me I can hear itThe line squeals with laughter and leapsdancing in the sweet air of victoryThe line has done its jobThe line has wonThe line always wins

Red hat, black boots

BY AVA KENDRICK


The sun shone brighthigh in the sky.The grass wavedat the little boy.Red hat bobbing,black boots dancing,and yet,his heart was sobbing.There was no sunand no blue sky.There was only dead grassin his shattered heart.Why would the sun shinewhen his daddywon’t be coming home?Red hat tilted,black boots still.Blond hair glinting,blue shirt ruffled.One drop fell.One singular drop.A clear drop.A tear drop.





ington, VT 05401.


MAIN STREET LANDING






to the prompt for General writing. Read more at


PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Alia Jenkins/South Burlington High School

THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE

WIN $50 FOR YOU

AND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM

NONPROFIT OF YOUR CHOICE

WRITING PROMPTS

AND CONTEST DETAILS AT

youngwritersproject.org/farm13

DUE FRIDAY, APRIL 12

Sponsored by the Vermont Community


NEXT PROMPT

Dislike. Write about something that disgusts you, no matter how wrong, distasteful or awkward it is. Alternate: Fairy tale. Write a fairy tale that includes the phrase, “one thousand peas.” Due April 12

Let’s talk

BY SARAH WELLS


Sometimes it’s the meaningless conversa-tionsthat are remembered the most.The trivial chatterthat provides something to ponderwhen silence would leadto distressing thoughts.I’d rather talk about nothingthan not talk at all.There’s always the chancethat the common sentenceswill morphinto something complex into something utterly simple –into the answer to a questionyou hadn’t known you’d asked.So let’s talk,and give our minds time to followthe waltz our words will form.Finding things we didn’t know were lost.

Runaway rooster

BY SOPHIA SCOPPETTONE

Grade 12, Montpelier High School(Inspired by Paul Gauguin’s Yellow Haystacks)

The haystacks are yellow,The dirt is red.The straw pile’s suspiciousso she pokes in her head.Her sister looks too,surveying the land.She’s so nervous, she’s shaking;it’s blurring her hand.Where on Earth could he be?they say to each other.What will Dad say –Oh god, think of mother.“Silly girls,” I want to say.“Don’t you know?Roosters don’t hide in haystacks –how on Earth would he crow?Look behind you, that’s right,just stop, turn around.You will see your pet roosterright there on the ground.”But alas, they don’t listen;they think they know best.So the rooster will wanderaway from its nest.



ABOUT THE PROJECT



THIS WEEK: General writingEach week Young Writers Project receives hundreds

of submissions from students written in response to

prompts or as general work. A team of students helps

select work for publication in this and 21 other news-

papers. This week, we publish writing in response

to the prompt for General writing. Read more at



ington, VT 05401.


THE TURRELL FUND

THANKS FROM YWP YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehen-sive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or con-tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

NEXT PROMPTS

Mystery. Something very strange just hap-pened, and you don’t know how or why. Write a story. Be succinct. Alternate: Photo 10. Write about this photo. Due April 5

Dislike. Write about something that disgusts you, no matter how wrong, distasteful, or awkward it is. Alternate: Fairy tale. Write a fairy tale that includes the phrase, “one thousand peas.” Due April 12

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Ashley Warren/Essex High School

THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE

WIN $50 FOR YOUAND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM


WRITING PROMPTS

AND CONTEST DETAILS AT: youngwritersproject.org/farm13

DUE FRIDAY, APRIL 12



For 7 billionBY LYDIA RAYMOND


Do it for me, do it for youDo it for the caterpillar in its cocoonDo it for the birds that fly high in the skyDo it for the people who just walk on byDo it for the squirrels hibernating in their treeDo it for the hard-working, honey collect-ing bumblebeeDo it for the earth that has been too for-giving of the human raceDo it for the gazelle running at a fast paceDo it for the giraffes munching on leavesDo it for the swans feeling spring’s breezeDo it for all of the worldEvery boy and every girlDo it for you, plus 7 billion people, tooSaving the world is what we must do

A rainstormBY SARAH WELLS


I’ve something to saybut no words to say it with.No combination of letters,commas or dashescan capture the unfinished imageechoing around my mind.There’s a raging storm,a quiet snowfall –a stifling lack of sound.

Ravaged groundsimply covered over,and an aching desire for rain.There’s always something calmingabout a rainstorm.Washing away the dirt, the days.Bringing the world back to equilibrium.A quietnessmixed with the noise of the world;raw and real.The world could use some rain these days.To melt away the lies,and cleanse all that’s broken underneath.

SilentBY PHOEBE PACHECO


They say when we’re youngThat we’re afraid of everythingBut can do anything.And yet, as we grow olderThey tell usNot everything is rightAnd we shouldn’t be afraid of anything.But I am, I am afraid,Afraid to be afraid,To think the wrong thoughts,To speak the wrong words,Afraid to do anythingFor fear of losing everything.Silent.Why do we feel this way?What has made us so terrified,Made us lose our will to speak?They need not change their laws,Telling us we can speak our minds,For we don’t.We only speak what we think they want to hear.Stripped awayIs freedom of speech,Not by lawmakers,Not by government,But by our peers,Our enemies,Our friends.And so we sit,Our lips tightly sealed,Too afraid to say a word,Fearing the dayWe might say the wrong thing,Fearing the dayWe are no longerSilent.

Photo 10 © Katy Trahan/

Essex High School



ABOUT THE PROJECT

THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE

WIN $50 FOR YOUAND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM


PROMPTS:1. FARM: Share a story about a farm or farmer that you know. Write about an experience you’ve had on a farm, or, if you live on a farm, the daily joys and challenges your family faces. Tell a specific story or anecdote to bring it alive and to show why farming is important in Vermont.2. FOOD: There’s so much great food that’s grown or made in Vermont. Your family may have a farm, garden or buy food that comes from the area. Share some of the wonderful and challenging things about getting, growing, cook-ing or eating local food. Tell about a specific experience you’ve had or hope to have with local food.SUBMIT: Write on your YWP account, click prompt “Farm13,” or email [email protected].

DUE FRIDAY, APRIL 12Contest details at youngwritersproject.org/farm13



THANKS FROM YWP

NEXT PROMPT

Promise. Write about a promise you made but couldn’t keep. Alternate: Strength. Write about a time when you had to be strong, physically ormentally or both. Due March 29

THIS WEEK: Photo 9 & General


ington, VT 05401.


VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE





newspapers. This week, we publish work in response

to the prompts, Photo 9; and General writing. To

read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Eve Pomazi/Brattleboro Area Middle School

Photo 9 © Carl Mydans

(Library of Congress)

FacesBY WALKER BEAN


I feel the cool water droplets run down my arms a I paddle across the misty lake. Every time I pull on the paddle my arm burns for I have been doing this for hours and still have a fair way to go. The mist parts in front of me to reveal an island as I knew it would for I have paddled this route many times before. The island has tall 20-foot cliffs rising directly out of the water and casting shadows on anything near. As I look, great trees rise out of the island as if growing in front of my eyes. I see an old and beaten house standing forlornly on the cliffs with a dog howling longingly out of the top window.

But I barely see any of this because a great foreboding has fallen across me and I fear for my life as I paddle past for all that I am worth. When I am a safe distance away, I look back and see something that I do not expect. Faces, proud regal faces staring at me unblink-ing. I turn away from the faces and paddle home. It has been 27 years since that hor-rifying day but I remember as if it were just a few weeks ago.

Magical placeBY DARIAN PARTLOW

Grade 4, Barre Town Elementary School

At the other side of the rainbow, there is a magical land of fairies and lepre-chauns and a very small band. With trolls and unicorns and monsters. A magical place where you can go, too.

With walls of silver, fountains of gold, a little old bridge that is the home of a troll in this fairy tale place where there are fuzzy trees, pathways of candy and lightning bugs. A magical princess of the forest, of course; this place is a home to all creatures indeed.

The most important thing in this magi-cal land is love and friendship that never ends.

This could be the best place to see. Just use your imagination and dream, and you will seek this magical, wonderful place, just a step or two away from you.

Take my hand. We can take a little peek at what you may see on the other side of the rainbow!

The drifting wishBY KATHRYN PILLIOD


I’ve wished a thousand wishes, blown out a thousand birthday candles, and imagined that the small trail of white smoke that floated lazily up was leading my wish into the sky, to some fantasti-cal wish granter, up there somewhere, who grants every wish for us all. I’m not alone, I suppose. Everyone has wished so many wishes, and wondered where they go. Wishes for trivial things, like the pony or the doll house. Then older wishes for friends, a boyfriend, a home. We wish for love, and we wish for perfection...Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-

ect.org/node/79238

THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE

WIN $50 WITH A MATCHING $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM NONPROFIT

OF YOUR CHOICE

PROMPTS:1. FARM: Share a story about a farm or farmer that you know. Write about an experience you’ve had on a farm, or, if you live on a farm, the daily joys and challenges your family faces. Tell a specific story or anecdote to bring it alive and to show why farming is important in Vermont.

2. FOOD: There’s so much great food that’s grown or made in Vermont. Your family may have a farm, garden or buy food that comes from the area. Share some of the wonderful and challenging things about get-ting, growing, cooking or eating local food. Tell about a specific experience you’ve had or hope to have with local food.

HOW TO SUBMIT: Use your YWP account, keyword Farm13, or email your entry to [email protected].

DUE FRIDAY, APRIL 12Contest details at youngwritersproject.org



NEXT PROMPT Six words. Create as many six-word stories as you can. Alternates: News story. Write an opinion piece based on a current news story. Take a side and make a persuasive argument – in a maximum of three paragraphs; or General writing in any genre and any style. Due March 22

THANKS FROM YWP

THIS WEEK: Eternal & Package

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and in-dividuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT

05401.


PHYSICIAN’S COMPUTER COMPANY


hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New

Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select

the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers.

This week we publish work in response to the prompts,

Eternal night: The sun doesn’t rise one day or the next

day. What happens?; and Package: A package arrives for

you. What’s inside? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Audrey Dawson/Westford Middle School

ABOUT THE PROJECT


Inside the box BY MOLLY POTTER


Inside the box,calm as the trees swaying with the rhythm of the wind,fluffy as the white powder snow,active as a deer running through the meadow,shy as a butterfly flying high in the sky,bright as the sun, on a warm summer’s day,cheerful as a bird singing a love song,and social as a puppy running in the grass.It may sound complicated,but open it up,really in the box,is just me.

Dragon ate the sunBY EMMA RIDDLE

Grade 5, Barre City Elementary

Trees. Tunnels. Graffiti. That was pretty much the only thing Max saw on this train... Max was only 4, but he was interested in lots of things, especially China. “I’m bored,” Max groaned.

Then his 11-year-old sister, Ellinor, put her 3Ds down and said: “Wanna hear a story?”

“About China?”“Uh huh.. OK, here goes. It was some

time in the 1200s, I don’t really know

when exactly, and this tale probably isn’t real, but there was a girl and a boy, about my age in China.

The girl was Ming Ming and the boy was named Yang. Ming Ming had long, shiny black hair and was on the honor roll. She had always lived in the city she was in, but Yang had just moved there. He had red hair and like most of the resi-dents, believed in “gods” but Ming Ming tried to convince him otherwise.

“One day Yang’s family was at Ming Ming’s house overnight. The two were best friends, so they had fun, except when they woke up. The sun didn’t rise...”Read the full story at youngwritersproject.org/

node/78785

SunlessBY SARAH WELLS


The warm sunlighttouched upon my eyelids,but only in the dreaming darknessbeneath them.Were I to open my eyes,there would be only inky darkness to greet me.No glowing leaves,no swirling ribbons of silver dancingupon streams.There would be no shades of darkness,no visible bordersto put our thoughts between.How could we separatethe different parts of ourselves,when there no longer existeda black and white,a light and dark?People began to wander, and tripand wait.Wait for some enlightening,some illumination.Without light, the darkness came to lack meaning.The struggles of the light made little sensein a world full of the blind.One by one they came to dwellupon their memories.The gentle breezes of summerslong gone by,and the lulling sting of a sunburn....All safely stored awayfrom the darkness that had swallowed them.




ABOUT THE PROJECT

Moment of wonderBY YOHAN AVILA

Grade 11, Spaulding High School.

Hello everyone, my name is Yohan Avila. I am very pleased to write on this Web site (on Vermont Writes Day) for the first time to share a little of my joy.

I’m from Honduras. I had to wait many years to stay with my mother again. That was very sad and hard, too.

Anyway, the first time I got on a plane was to come to the United States of America in January, 2012.

As a person with hopes of more oppor-tunities, I felt very happy about it because I can have many opportunities.

The first few hours, everything was like magic because I was succeeding with many of my big dreams.

Every single day I’m learning new and good things and meeting new friends. Vermont always will be like my home, especially Northfield, a very nice town with lovely people.

I’m a Spanish-speaking person and I’m very proud of my country and culture.

I love Vermont because people are very nice, respectful and friendly. I hope everyone has a nice day. Thanks!

Ghost storiesBY NAING AUNG

Grade 11, Spaulding High School

When I was 10, I lived in the jungle with my cousin John. He took care of me when my uncle went to work. My uncle didn’t come back home until midnight. We had to do everything by ourselves. On the left side of our house, we had a huge tree and many birds were sleeping on it every night. John and I enjoyed our time together.

John was a great storyteller. He would tell me ghost stories before I went to sleep. When I was a child, I was really naughty. I always did what I wanted, when I wanted. Sometimes, I wouldn’t go to bed until midnight. This is why John would tell me ghost stories to put me to sleep. However, I heard these stories every night and I didn’t want to listen. I would sit up in my bed and look at the full moon. The moon would smile at me and sometimes the moon would cry at me. One night, John told me a different story about a little fatherless boy. It was really interesting and I didn’t want to fall asleep...

To read the complete story, go to

youngwritersproject.org/node/77634

Calling me homeBY LEAH KALISKI

Grade 7, Thetford Academy

The pavement is wet beneath my feetLast night’s rain has made it soMother’s scarf behind meI’ll never let it goSun shines on in front of meThe moon is in the backThey’ll be expecting me home nowBetter be heading backWoods on either sideBlack in the fading lightSun’ll set in minutesSun’ll set tonightThe blue sky is fadingNow into the nightClouds’ll gather hereRain’ll come tonightMama in the distanceCalling me homeSees her scarf behind meBringing the night home

FarmingBY MELODY EMMONS

Grade 6, Berlin Elementary School

I remember my uncle’s farm and it was all work and no fun for almost the whole day, but at the end of the day, it was a fun time for us all.

We all had to get up early in the morn-ing to have the work done in that day.

The first thing we did was to go to the farm and wake up all the animals.

The cows had to be milked, eggs had to be collected, the animals fed, and we had to try to give Big Red, the pig, a bath. Big Red is not very nice. In fact, he is not nice at all. He is not fat, but he is a strong pig and the only male pig on the farm.

The thing that was the most trouble of all was the garden. We also fixed the fence for the animals by the swamp that used to have ducks...

THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by the gen-erosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT

05401.








to the prompts, Photo 8 and General writing. Read

more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.

© Katlyn Schmigel/Essex High School

CLIMATE CHANGE

WRITING CHALLENGE

Write about one of the biggest issues of our time. Prizes and recognition

on Earth Day!

See contest details and writing prompts at

youngwritersproject.org

Presented by Young Writers

Project and Vermontivate – the

sustainability game for Vermont

communities

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Photo 8 © Kayla Rideout/Essex High School

NEXT PROMPT

Outrageous. Write a story that begins, This is the funniest story I’ve ever heard… Alternate: Thirty-five. You wake up and you are suddenly 35 years old. What is your life like now? Due March 15

THIS WEEK: I believe & Reflection

YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and The Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at 802-324-9537.

ABOUT THE PROJECT

Each week, Young Writers Project receives submis-sions from students all over Vermont. We select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish responses to the prompts, I be-

lieve: Finish the thought; and more Reflection: What is something you wish you had been told when you were 5? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.



YWP is supported by the gener-osity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burl-ington, VT 05401.


JANE B. COOK CHARITABLE TRUSTS

THANKS FROM YWP

Always be thereBY ELLEN EMERS

Grade 10, Hazen Union High School

I believe you will always be there for us.Although you might no longer be here in body,You will always be here in mind.Although we might never hear your voice again,Your ideas and your spirit will remain with us.Although we will never forget the pain of the past,We will learn to accept the healing of the future.No matter where we go or what we do,We will always have you in our hearts and minds,Knowing that you are everywhere we walk:In the whispering summer breeze,In the sparkling winter snow,In the eyes of a soaring Great Blue Heron,In the rippling, gentle waters of the ocean,And in the beautiful music that will never stop playing.No matter how much regret we feel,We will not dwell on it, but instead live for today because we now know that today could be our last.And when we do feel regret, when we do feel sadness,We will turn to one another and remem-ber only the good,Only the happiness and safety,Only the wonderful times that we never want to forget.

I wish I had knownBY KRYSTIN HOLT

Grade 8, Twinfield Union School

There are many things I wish I had been told when I was 5, many things I wish I knew. One thing that really stands out to me is I wish I had been told that friends will come and go; some may hurt you and you might hurt them. I wish I had known that I might not always have the same best friend...I wish I had known that the girls I once called my sisters would not always be there... I wish I had known that some girls gossip and spread things that are mean and hurtful. I also wish I had known that you should never assume things without the full story, and when something is indirectly said about you, to let it go in one ear and out the other.

If I had known these things when I was 5, I would have been prepared for the ups and downs of friendship.

Pleasant lies BY SARAH WELLS


As children,we lived in a world of pleasant lies where stories grew feet and walked away,with wide-eyed babes following behind,dreams trailing from their sleeves. Endingsweren’t a sad thingand lovewasn’t complicated. We were taught that lifewas painless.Growing older,we discover cracks in the lovely guise, the petrifying chasms that hide in the shadows. We discover that life is far dirtierand complicatedthan our parents and bedtime stories had led us to believe. Dreams fade to reality,and with the final notesof the childish melody,a sadness settles gently upon the landscape.Not all endings,after all,are happy.

Fruit Roll-UpsBY ELAN MAYO


Sherry was my neighbor. She was two years above me, my sister’s grade. She lived across the street in that white house. Well, white was an exaggeration of the chipped, yellow-gray paint. The shades were always down, that huge RV parked outside, the yard filled with scraggly weeds and an overflow of dandelions.

She’d come across the street in her Hannah Montana tank tops, neon gau-chos, and DC sneakers, her sweaty fists clenched around three Fruit Roll-Ups, one for me and two for her. Sherry had one streak of green hair and one purple. We’d sit under the tree and silently pick apart the paper and candy. Mom would stand in the window and watch. Mom would never let me go to Sherry’s house. When she would leave, my sister would come running out into the yard.

“Mummy says she’s a bad person. Mummy says she has mean parents,” Katharine would scream and run back inside. After a while I started to retreat from Sherry and when she’d come skip-ping over, beaming and humming, I’d say I had to go and scurry inside. Eventually she’d stop coming over and when I was lonely I’d play with Katharine.

I wish my mom had told me that there are all kinds of people. They moved away December of third grade, no one knew where. Sherry was just a 7-year-old with lots of spirit, Fruit Roll-Ups, and a great need to share. I wish my mom had told me that.

Slam dunkBY MACHLAN PETTERSEN


I wish that when I was 5 years oldI had been told many things,Maybe how to eat healthySo I wouldn’t be the slowest runner in my classOr how to win a fightSo I wouldn’t get beat upOr how to throw a footballSo I wouldn’t play kickball each day.What a dumb game.But no, I learned how to count to 10And how to read booksAnd how to spell dog.What I wanted most of all, though,Was that someoneTold me how to do a slam dunk.If I could jam upon the rim,Other people would look at me and say, Wow, he’s so cool.And I would play basketball,Not kickball.What a dumb game.

© Lindsey Stuntz/Woodstock Union High School

CLIMATE CHANGE

WRITING CHALLENGE

Write about one of the biggest issues of our time. Prizes and recognition!

Respond to these writing prompts:1. The year is 2050. Looking back, the climate crisis was solved in the most unexpected ways. You were there for a crucial moment. What happened?Or 2. Do you believe the world can solve the climate crisis? Tell us why.

Contest details at youngwritersproject.org

Presented by Young Writers

Project and Vermontivate – the

sustainability game for Ver-

mont communities

PHOTO OF THE WEEK



ABOUT THE PROJECT

THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes DayHundreds of students, teachers and school administra-

tors participated in Young Writers Project’s annual

Vermont Writes Day – taking just 7 minutes on Feb.

7 to write! This week, we publish writing in response

to Vermont Writes Day prompts, Moment and Robots.

Read more at vermontwritesday.org and at youngwrit-

ersproject.org.

YWP is supported by the gener-osity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burl-ington, VT 05401.


AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION

THANKS FROM YWP

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Alia Jenkins/South Burlington High School

WRITING CONTEST

Vermont students in 7th and 8th grades: Write a short essay about an amaz-

ing school meal experience and win prizes! One winner from each of Vermont’s 14 counties. Find out more at hungerfreevt.org or email [email protected].

NEXT PROMPT

Lesson. You are sitting in a park and an old man sits down beside you. At first you are annoyed, but he teaches you something you had no idea you could do. Alter-nate: Rhyming poetry. Follow any strict rhyming scheme. Due March 8

When robots cameBY AUDREY BARNETT


Think of the darkest, most horrifying thing in the world. That’s right, I was do-ing a math test.

I grabbed my weapons of choice, a calculator and a big eraser.

Just as I took those steps to begin, my heart started pumping faster. I was so nervous I dropped my pencil and missed the first 23 seconds from when the teacher said in that booming voice, “Begin!”

I flew up and nearly fell out of my chair, hoping to catch up on those pre-cious missed seconds.

Thunder shook the building and the norm of that terrifying time of test taking began. But that all changed when the robots came...

Getting my licenseBY SEFIK IBRAHIMOVIC

Grade 10, Spaulding High School

The moment I’ll never forget is when I got my license. On Jan. 18, 2013, I woke up and got ready to go to the DMV.

I got there around 8:35 a.m. I was waiting at the door and then the lady told me to come on in. She gave me some pa-pers to fill out and then said, “Let’s go.”

I got in the car, crazy nervous, then she told me to turn the car on and to check the e-brake. After that, she told me to leave the parking lot and to go right. After a couple rights and lefts, she told me to pull into the DMV parking lot. I stopped the car and she told me that she took off seven points.

“So I passed, right?” I said. She said yes. At that point, I was the happiest per-son in the world. She told me go inside and get my picture taken.

After I walked out and got my license, my dad said, “Congratulations.” That’s the moment I’ll never forget.

Kayak sleddingBY NATHANIEL LAUNER


A couple strokes of the dual paddle and the kayak gradually moved forward. Soon it was moving quickly, with me stranded inside, helpless to whatever it may do as it crested the top of the snowy hill and started racing down. It was a moment that I will never forget.

Kayak sledding. My neighbors and I had heard of it but never considered trying it until last weekend. The thought had seemed absurd; carrying a 200-pound boat all the way up the steepest hill in walking distance and then cruising down with no control. Yet it is one of the funni-est ways to spend a cold winter day.

As I flew down the hill I found that the heavy boat was much quicker and more agile, almost as it is in water, but with one huge disadvantage. There was no steer-ing.

Instead, all you could do was hang onto the sides and hope for the best. Mid-hill, the kayak was verging on what seemed to me like near bobsled speeds and then it went out of control.

DiabetesBY ISLEY SERVICE

Grade 6, Warren School

One memorable moment I will never, ever forget is when I had my first shot as a diabetic. On St. Patrtick’s Day, we headed an hour away to Fletcher Al-len Hospital where I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. This wasn’t a big surprise to me because my dad, uncle and grandfather all have diabetes. My parents knew the day would come eventually, and that day was March 17, 2007.

They told me some pretty scary things that day, but the scariest of them all was when they told me I would have to take shots for the rest of my life. All my life my dad had diabetes and I saw him take shots every day. I had never even consid-ered me having to do that for the rest of my life!

That night in my hotel room I took my very first shot. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. It probably took me a whole hour to work up the nerve to actually stick a needle into my body. You can imagine how scary it was for a 7-year-old!

When I finished crying, my mom spoke in an I-know-you-don’t-want-to-do-this-but-you-have-to-and-I’m-sorry tone. Then she jabbed it into me so fast I started sobbing all over again. That was the start of a new era of my diabetes. That was the start of taking shots for the rest of my life.

Photo 7, Reflection & I like...



ABOUT THE PROJECT



Running fromthe whistleBY KAY BUSHMAN


I still hear the train passing sometimesAnd I know that there is a metaphor in there somewhere.I knew it once, when I was drunk with discontent and hung over on the promise of happiness.I still feel it in my feet –The possibility of being someone newBut I don’t let it get to my head anymore.To the brakeman in the last car I say this:Leave before you are running from the whistle.

I likeBY DAVID MOODY

Grade 4, Homeschool, Cabot

I like the chickadees that come to our feeder. They always look at you as if they are wondering why you are watching them, and then they take a seed and go.

I like sledding on our sledding hill because if the snow is crusty enough you can go all the way to the road.

I like making gourd birdhouses out of the gourds I grew last summer...

I like playing soccer; my favorite posi-tion is middle offense.

I like mountain biking at Craftsbury and Kingdom Trails. My favorite trail is Kimmers, a steep downhill trail with big jumps and tall berms.

I like taking broken appliances apart and making new things with the pieces...

I like bird banding – it’s fun to hold the birds.

Rain and hailBY KATE MCKAY

Grade 5, Homeschool, Calais

I like the breeze on a hot, sunny day.I like the feeling of a cool day in May.I like the rain, I like the hail,And taking long hikes up new trails...I like to hang out with my friends,Our video chats never end.I like our play dates and our sleep-overs,And when we find four-leaf clovers...I like to dance around the house,Doing leaps as quiet as a mouse.I like to spin, I like to twirlBecause, of course, I am a girl...

You can read the complete poem at


SnowBY TONY ROWELL


Snow is a beautiful thing.Nothing is as beautiful.Oh! How beautiful!Wow, so beautiful!

Tick, tick, tickBY KATE PIERPONT


I thought I looked good.I sniffed my shirt to makesure. Got a whiff of Old Spice.My clothes were clean. Teeth brushed.Wallet with cash. Good to go.So I waited.It was 2:50. She wassupposed to call me at 3.I wandered around my empty house,contemplating if, when, I picked her up, do I go to the door? Do I get out and hug her? Do I open the passenger door and just smile? 2:57.So I waited.I was so nervous. I drummedmy fingers in rapid successionon the counter. I crackedopen a Dr. Pepper.I held myself back fromcalling her. She said she would callme when she was ready.It’s 3:05. How long doesit take for a girl to get ready?So I waited.At 3:30, with a grievoussigh, I threw myself downand stared at my mother’sold clock. I stared. And stared. Until I became one with the clock.Tick, tick, tick.I grabbed a book absent-mindedly.3:55. 4:00. 4:10.I would not stop waiting. I just gazed down at the book, and thoughtabout her. Her dark brown hair,musical laughter, long, eleganteyelashes. Thinking about hermade me hope, it’d remindher to call me.I picked up the phone, dialedher number and flicked my gazeto that blasted clock. 5:30.She answered. Her voice wasbreathless and light.“Oh! Hey!” She piped in an unusuallyairy tone. I heard laughter in the back.“I’m busy. Lemme call you back.” I hung up the receiver.So I waited. With precise slownessI waited until it got dark.And I still waited. My eyes lockedto the clock.Hours went by. She never called me back. The hurt didn’t register. So I waited.

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,



UNITED WAY

OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY

THANKS FROM YWP




we select the best for publication here and in 21

other newspapers. This week we publish work in

response to the prompts, Photo 7; Reflection: What is

something you wish you had been told; & I like...

NEXT PROMPT

Egg. You go outside one day and find a big, purple egg in your backyard. You keep the egg for a few days and then it hatches. What happens? Alternates: General writing; or Photo 9. What’s the story in the photo above?Due March 1

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Jenna Rice/The Sharon Academy

Photo 7 © Brady Bessette/

Essex High School

!

THIS WEEK: Dialogue day & General



ABOUT THE PROJECT

Painting in foreverBY CARLY MARTIN

Grade 12, Montpelier High School

“Mom, what are you doing?”“I’m painting.”“On the walls, Mom? Why are you paint-ing on the walls?”“I thought they were too white; it feels like a prison, don’t you think?”“No, not really. Please stop.”“Don’t touch me.”“Ah, you got paint all over me. What are you doing?”“Oh, stop crying. You’re so weak, just like your father. Danny, what did I tell you about that wall? I don’t want it painted.”“Mom, who are you talking to?”“What, are you blind? Danny! He’s stand-ing right there. God, didn’t I teach you manners? Stop being so rude!”“There is no Danny. Did you forget again?”“I didn’t forget anything. Just leave me alone.”“Mom, please, would you just stop? Just take the pills like the doctor told you.”“What did I tell you about crying?”“Fine.”“Finally, some peace and quiet, right Danny? What, Danny? You don’t like the blue? I thought it was a marvelous color. Reminds me of the sky, don’t you think? Yes, you’re right, a sun would be a perfect addition. Splendid!”— “911. What is your emergency?”“Could you please send someone? My mother has lost it again.”“...Can you describe for me what is happening? Do you feel like you’re in danger?”“No, no, I’m not in danger; she’s just painting all the walls in the house and talking to him again.”“Who is she talking to?”“My brother, but he’s been dead for almost two years...”— “... Dad, I just did what you told me to do.”“I know... it’s going to be OK.”“But they’re not going to send her away again, are they?”“No, we are sending her away, not them. It’s in everyone’s best interest.”“Wait, what? What are you talking about? Why aren’t you listening to me? Dad, stop! Don’t do this.”

To read the complete version of this story, go

to youngwritersproject.org/node/74768




BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS

THANKS FROM YWP






to the prompts, Dialogue day: Tell a story using

only dialogue; and General writing. Read more at


PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Coyote Farrell/Richmond Middle School

Drugstore oasisBY SOPHIA SCOPPETTONE


I believe that even the least exciting things can seem amazing if you are bored enough. I realized this after going on a two-month drive across the country with my family. This trip definitely had some highs and lows. One of the lows was driv-ing through South Dakota.

I was in a very bad mood. We had been camping for the past week, and I hated camping. I was sick of sleeping on the hard ground, driving three miles to take a shower and getting lost in the camp ground. My sister Anna was in a bad mood because we had been driving for the past month and she dislikes long car rides. My other sister Nadia was in a bad mood because Anna was distract-ing herself by singing every Taylor Swift song ever written and Nadia hates Taylor Swift. My dad was in a bad mood because, while the road we were on went past lots of lovely dirt, there are only so many times you can pull over the car to take pictures of it, so he no longer had an excuse to get out of the car. My mom was in a bad mood because everyone else was in a bad mood.

Then, out of nowhere, we saw it. A billboard. Something other than dirt. “Quick, take a picture!” my mom said. We got closer, and were able to make out the writing on the dusty and torn sign. “Only 100 Miles To Wall Drug Store.”

“You have to be kidding me,” my dad groaned. “The only thing within 100 miles is a drug store?” But sure enough, for the next 100 miles, we now got to see dirt and billboards, all advertising Wall Drug Store. 95 Miles to Wall Drug Store... 50 Miles to Wall Drug Store... 25 Miles to Wall Drug Store... 3 Miles To Wall Drug Store... 1 Mile to Wall Drug Store... Then finally, we saw it. Wall Drug Store.

It was on the side of the road, look-ing like an old country store, but much bigger. We went up the wooden steps and through the front door. We then realized that this was not any ordinary drug store. This was, officially, the world’s biggest drug store. It said so on a sign next to a stuffed chicken with a rabbit head and antlers. Wall Drug Store had a lovely collection of stuffed animal parts stuck together. It also had its own clothing line, shoe store, high school (the graduat-ing class that year was 18), and even a church.

We ate lunch in the Wall Drug restau-rant, but it wasn’t very filling. My dad declared the food “ridiculously over-priced,” and refused to buy more than

(continued)

two sandwiches for the five of us to split. He supplemented by buying us all candy which was declared “cheapest candy in the world,” a decision which he regretted later when he was stuck in the car with three very sugar-high kids.

We ran around and amused ourselves by taking pictures with ancient manne-quins and going in the various shops, en-abling us to get much needed space from each other. I bought several postcards for

my friends, all saying, “I went to Wall Drug Store,” while my sisters tried on all the cowboy hats in the hat shop. My dad poked around the china shop. My mom went to the church to pray that we would make it home without killing each other.

And that is how, something as ordi-nary as a drug store managed to entertain my family for three hours and became the highlight of my entire day.


YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and The Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. Learn more at ywp-schools.net.

ABOUT THE PROJECT



SnowBY ISAIAH QUITTNER


Snow covers Vermont like a blanket,putting the earth underneath to sleepafter a long summer’s reign.Snow falls down in beautiful minute flakes before joining the clustersthat so many have joined before.Snow gets caked into my wristand it’s unbearably cold, sending chills up my arm.Snow is perceived as dismal andunadorned to some, but with the right eye, you can see the splendor in it.Snow gathers, making it impossibleto run in the cold bleached powder. Snow cancels my school day,leaving me with a feeling of relief.Snow gets stomped, sculpted,plowed and everything else.Snow is a cushion for the tired,and the hushing wind a lullaby for the ear.Snow, as great as it is, melts and leaves like everything else.

Mad River GlenBY JOE FRANCO


Yes, Mad River! We are going to Mad River on a snow day.

It is January 13; I have no idea why they called it a snow day but I am fine with it. Thank you, Lord!...

We are at Mad River Glen. I love skiing!

The feel of the wind in your face, the view from the chairlift, the excitement of going down the mountain fast, moguls, cliffs, jumps, it is all good...

Read the rest of this story at young-writersproject.org/node/75531.

Single chairBY TREVOR PATTERSON


In this picture, I see the single chair at Mad River Glen. There is fluffy powder everywhere you look.

To the left is Paradise and below the chairlift is Chute and straight ahead is Upper Antelope.

Out of those three trails, I like Para-dise the best, because it is in the woods and there are cliffs.

When you are on Paradise you can merge off to the side onto an unmarked trail called “Falldice.” It is a trail between Fall line and Paradise.

When you go down Upper Antelope a ways you will see a small marked trail called 20th Hole.

It is not actually inside the ski bound-ary but a lot of people go on it because there is a lot of snow after a snowfall. It is a long, tight woods trail and a place to find powder!

According to Ski magazine, Mad River Glen is the hardest terrain on the East Coast of the U.S...

Read the ending of this essay at youngwritersproject.org/node/75592.

THIS WEEK: Photo 6




ORTON FAMILY FOUNDATION






to the prompt to write about the photo, right, of Mad

River Glen or about winter in general. Read more at


PHOTO OF THE WEEK


Photo 6: Tower 22, Looking East. Mad River Glen

© Jet Lowe, 2006 (Library of Congress)

Vermont Writes DayFebruary 7, 2013

Join YWP and Vermont schoolsfor a statewide day of writing!

Set aside just 7 minutes on Feb. 7to write.

Find out more at vermontwritesday.org.

NEXT PROMPTS

Package. The UPS truck arrives with a huge box addressed to you. What’s inside? Who’s it from? Alternate: General writing. Due Feb. 15

Eternal night. You wake up one morning and the sun doesn’t rise. It doesn’t rise the next day either. What do you do? Alternate: Silver lining. When bad things happen, how do you recover? Due Feb. 22

THANKS FROM YWP

The stopping liftBY SUNNY INGRALDI


The wind whooshed by my face and I felt its sting. I glanced to the ground and froze. We were much higher up than I thought we would be.

“Umm, Cheyenne, I’m scared,” I said to my best friend who was sitting next to me. She laughed and jumped in her seat. The whole chairlift wobbled and I let out a yelp. I had never been on the lift before and I was afraid of heights. “Cheyenne! Stop it!” I yelled. I had my eyes clenched shut and my face was starting to burn.

“God, Sunny, it’s fine. This thing is perfectly safe!” Cheyenne said. Right as she said it, the whole lift stopped.

“This is normal, right?” I asked and looked at Cheyenne. Her face had gone pale and she was freaking out.

“I’ve never been on one of these and had it stop. Someone probably is having trouble getting off,” she said.

I could tell she didn’t really believe it though. “It’ll be going again soon.” I glanced around and noticed that if we fell, we would probably never be seen again.

That may have been a little over-dra-matized, but I couldn’t tell. Cheyenne and I both let out a yelp as the lift jerked back to life. We were OK and nothing bad had happened to us.

After we finished our skiing, I made Cheyenne go back up with me to go again, and this time, I wasn’t scared.

Fun Fitness FridayBY JACK FANNON


...I love skiing. Every Friday our school does something called Fun Fitness Friday. You can go either Nordic skiing, skating or alpine skiing.

We ski at Mad River; it is so quiet you can only hear your skis sliding. We look forward to it all week. Read the rest of this story at youngwriter-sproject.org/node/75529

ABOUT THE PROJECT YWP NEWS

Mine alone to holdBY KYLE COBURN


Dulled to brightest shineDarkened to full radianceChilled to nurturing warmthSaddened to true happinessScraped to sanguine smoothnessBroken to stoic solidityFlawed to utter perfectionScarred to purest beautyBeing with this personLeaves wonders to be toldBut only I shall truly knowFor she is mine alone to hold

Shallow perfectionBY JENNA RICE

Grade 10, The Sharon Academy

You were ideal. That is, from a shallow point of view. With your beautiful brown eyes, and straight hair, falling past your shoulders.

Two years my senior, you were beauti-ful and popular. You had it all, varsity soccer, basketball, and lacrosse, and that perfect 4.0 GPA.

You had money, and a wonderful boy-friend attached to your arm. But perfec-tion is a dream, a shallow illusion.

You know, I cried every night be-cause of your bullying. I played on your basketball team for just three months, one season.

It was my favorite sport, now because of your criticism I fear it.

Every day, I thought about quitting the team, every day I went home and cried because you drained my energy to fuel yourself. You were far from perfect.

YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training pro-gram that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

YWP is supported by the generos-ity of foundations, business and indi-viduals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwrit-

ersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite

8, Burlington, VT 05401.


THE TURRELL FUND






to the prompts, Object: An inanimate object comes

alive and tells you how it really feels; and Ideal

being: What makes someone an ideal person?

NEXT PROMPT

Three letters. Choose three letters.

You can write a poem or a short story,

but all words must either start or end

with these letters. Alternate: Bottle.

You’re walking along the beach and

a bottle with a message inside washes

up on the shore. What is the message?

What do do you do? Due Feb. 1.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Set flour to the wind © Emily Aldrich/Grade 7, Mount Abraham Union Middle School

THIS WEEK: Object & Ideal being Vermont Writes DayFebruary 7, 2013

Students, teachers, writers!

Across VT and NH, people are setting aside just 7 minutes on Feb. 7 to write!


Walls alike BY MICHAELA STERLING

Grade 9, Rochester High School

One day while sitting alone in my roomI heard a voice come out of the blueConfused and baffled, I sat in aweAnd listened to what was being spoken“I’m just like you,” the voice first said“With my walls built up around me”Curious, I asked, “Now how is that”And his explanation went a little like this“My walls stand guard around meAnd they protect me from any dangerAlthough they keep out the badThey keep out the good as well”“That’s nothing like me,” I defensively saidAs I denied the hard, harsh truthThinking to myself, I put two and two togetherAnd sadly came to this conclusion I harden my feelings and use them as wallsAnd yes, I use them for protectionI hide myself in a sea of thoughtsDenying all requests for me to come outBecause my mind is my safe placeI never took the time to noticeHow much I miss out on happinessAnd laughing with a group of friends

You, idealBY NICOLE PIERPONT


You were ideal.You cared like no one else I knew.You loved like no one else can.Judgment only came with a reason,And reason always had a purpose.You were perfectly imperfect.Because no matter how many timesYou laughed at your own corny jokes,You were just trying to make someone smile.Your hugs were understanding.With your warm embrace,You could comfort my worst nightmares.Your smile was mesmerizing,Every crease that surrounded it was proofOf years of laughter that you shared with so many.You were so forgiving.For how many can say that they have lovedAll six of their kids?Despite the fact that we all had a different set of parents?Three of them, biologically yours.The other three of us, adopted.You took us in...Read the ending of this poem at http://young-

writersproject.org/node/74154

Bubbles BY CALEB QUITTNER


I sit in my room alone on a boring weekend afternoon. I scan my surround-ings for something that might distract me for a while. A tube of bubble-blowing soap sits alone in the corner of my room. I haven’t touched it for months. I used to love bubbles. The memories of my bubble-loving days come to me.

I always used to try and make shapes

out of them when I was little, like they did on Sponge Bob.

A moment later I have the soap container in my hand and I am twisting off the cap. I give a slight chuckle when I find myself moving the ring that the bubbles come from in an attempt to make an oblong bubble. I know it isn’t possible.

My finger moves towards a bubble that is a little bigger than a fist. With my finger no more than two inches away from the bubble, I hear a scream, “Nooooooo!”...

Read the ending of this story at http://


THIS WEEK: General & Photo 5



ABOUT THE PROJECT

Mason was a skierBY ELAN MAYO


Mason was a skier. Yeah, sure, there’s basketball. Soccer, he was good. Really good. But skiing.

Something about the wind, the dryness of the air, the closeness of the sky above.

More intimate. Yes, intimate, that was the word he struggled to find.

Granddad had taught him. Mason wasn’t afraid really, he’d just

look up at the old man’s face and the warmth of that solid

weathered look would let him freely slide down the

mountain. After the accident Mason stopped.

Dad tried to take him but he’d never loved

it. Only until freshman year did

he start again. Ski team.

Now they wouldn’t

let him back on.

Said he was

unstable.

Pain

shouldn’t

have let him.

Permitted to go out

once in awhile, Mason

guessed it was the holiday spirit.

Probably thought he longed for the mistletoe,

the ginger snap cookies, the aroma of the freshly cut trees.

The snow in the city was dirty, dark with grime. Slush and ice move

beneath. Mason breathes the fumes, coughs, sits down. The air is not

like up on the mountain, cold and stiff. New York is flowing and sickly warm.

The sweet smell of warm pretzels, Starbucks lattes, overflowing trash cans. The

park is still, except. There’s a bird, red. Once he would’ve known the name. Guess the

cancer makes you forget it all. He wanders a little, hard to move with the tank and tubes

trailing after. The sky is sharp grey. Snow falls gently. All is still, except. A red bird. Landing

on a still old man. His eyes gaze north, towards the mountains, towards the winter tale he once lived.

This poem is being reprinted in the writer’s intended shape poetry style.

The Prince of NightBY CHERISH AMANDA GREENE


The Prince of Night and Woodland Airwith heart so heavy, yet face so fair,once came to me when I was young,just after set of twilight sun.He sang to me the sweetest songsof birds and stars and goings-onin the wood so far below,where only fools dared e’er to go.He bid me come, his smile so brightit shamed the moon, it felt so right.And from my window I was ledwhere earth meets sky. And on a bedof silver grass laid we there, in the night and woodland air.“This is my home,” he said to me.“Can’t you feel in every treethe freedom of this unknown place,the majesty of untouched grace?”I smiled at him, all rosy cheeked,and watched a fawn, so quiet and meek,come bounding by. It made me smile.“This all will die in a little while.”I turned to him, confused and scared,and to my listening ears he baredthe secret worries he had grownas he watched from celestial throne.“The earth does cry,” he said to me.“It’s in the quakes, the air we breathe.From water rushing in from sea,to every stump and fallen tree.This world we have is not our own.”And with that, he took me home.He led me to my own soft bed,then kissed the top of my bowed headand wiped the tears that stung my eyes.“My dear, nothing may have to die.Tell your friends the things you know.Share with them what you’ve been shown.With all your help, perhaps some dayI’ll come again. To you, I say,the future is within your hands.Take this news to distant lands.Only you can save my home.Remember, you are not alone.”He disappeared and left me therewith tear-stained eyes and heart of care.So went the night he met me there,the Prince of Night and Woodland Air.




A.D. HENDERSON FOUNDATION

THANKS FROM YWP

Each week, Young Writers Project receives hundreds of

submissions from students in Vermont and New Hamp-

shire. With the help of a team of students, we select the

best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers.

This week, we publish work in response to the prompts,

General writing and Photo 5. You can read more at


PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Jenna Rice/ The Sharon Academy

Photo 5 © Anna Mechler/Essex HS

Falling up BY JENNA RICE

Grade 10, The Sharon Academy

Who would have thought the world could beanything but ordinary?Well, certainly not….me!But here I find myself falling up,gravity gone and I’m like, “Was-sup?Dude, I’m falling up!”I’ll explain: this morning, I tripped and fell.I took a tumble and gave a yell.But then I was like,“This is swell!Dude, I’m falling up!”Off the ground and in the sky,I guess that now I can fly,and all the people passing byare like, “Dude, she’s falling up.”I see my dog below on the ground,frantically barking and running around.I’m sure I did him astoundbecause he’s like, “Dude, she’s falling up.”My head punched a hole in the ceiling,it was not a good feeling;and the pain left me squealing.But then I was like,“Hey, this is okay,because, dude, I just fell up!”

Vermont Writes DayFebruary 7, 2013

Students, teachers, writers!

Across VT and NH, people are setting aside just 7 minutes on Feb. 7 to write!




KEY BANK








to the prompt, Light/Dark: Write about contrasts.To

read more, go to youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil

online community of writers.

© Liu Brenna/Essex High School

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

THIS WEEK: Light/Dark Rich versus poorBY CARMELLITTA LE

Grade 6, Barre City Elementary School The poor and the rich life,two separate things.One glamorous,the other suffering.Two livesso different from each other.The rich life,so wonderful yet so lonely.The poor life,so miserable yet so happy.One with so much moneylike a dream come true.The other penniless,but still striving to live.Why are these lives so different?It’s like the moon versus the sun,so different from each other,like happy against sad,like water against fire.Two lives so separate from each other.The rich versus the poor.

Falling up BY CARLY MARTIN


“Can you see that?” his voice echoes across the cave to me.

“I can’t see anything; it’s dark.” His deep laugh is the only reply.

I’m struggling to suppress the urge to totally freak out. I’m stumbling through the dark, and my only thought is the ceil-ing is going to fall in on me. “Brian, come on; can we just leave? Please?” But I know my pleading is worthless. His mind is set on some goal that I haven’t even dreamed of yet.

“Don’t worry so much,” he calls back to me. Maybe it’s back, I’m not quite sure because the words reverberate all around me and direction is completely lost.

“I don’t know where you are; I don’t even know which direction I’m going in,” I mumble, but it comes out more like a roar because the cavern picks up the words and throws them around.

“That’s kind of the point,” he calls from somewhere. I hinge on the essence of his voice. I reach out somewhere in front of me with the insane hope that I can grab it and never let go. I’ve never loved a sound so much, the sound of not being alone.

“I hate your points,” I say, and just as I take another step, I slip. I fall face first in a crumbling explosion and clumsily smash my head on the smelly, wet rock floor. I roll over, soaking in the stench and realize that I will probably die in this ridiculous cave. Pain washes over my body, and as much as I don’t want to die, moving doesn’t feel like an option.

“Did you fall again?” For a second, I think he’s standing right over me, but the echoes are so deceiving.

“What do you think?” I grumble back, inspired by my new infuriation to stand up and survive just so I can give Brian a solid fistful of my mind.

“Would you hurry up? I’m going to be married with seven children by the time you get here,” Brian calls, and suddenly a stiff arm is gripping my shoulder. “Thank God I have hearing like a bat; you nearly ran me over. Come here; stand right there.” Somehow he knows exactly where to put me. “You ready?”

“Ready for what?” I reply, but before another agitated remark can pass through my lips, my breath is taken from me. The light at first is blinding, and I have to squint to really understand what I’m see-ing. Crystals dangle from the ceiling and spiral downward perfectly to the floor. They spread out like water splashing across the cavern floor. The cheap light of the flashlight is dancing in spirals about the cave.

“I know sometimes this is hard,” he whispers; he’s sitting on the cavern floor, staring at the light. “But this, this is what I wait for, all the darkness for beautiful moments like these.” I can’t really think of anything to say back, maybe because I’m still a bit blinded or I’m totally shocked by his real-life metaphor. “I know you have to wonder why I would suffer so much.” He smiles, staring off at the light.

“Don’t worry, Brian, I’m never going to wonder again.” My little brother, who isn’t so little anymore, stands up and wraps me in his bear-like hug. I know now that he will always be better than me because I would never get to see the world with the colors he does.

NEXT PROMPT

Invisible. Imagine that you are

invisible for a day and could be anywhere at any time in history, witnessing without participat-ing. What do you see? Alternates: General writing; or

Photo 7. Write a poem based on the photo above. Due Jan. 18

Isn’t that something?

BY KATE PIERPONT


When waves crash on the side of aSlowly rocking boat, isn’t that some-thing?When your mother looks into yourEyes, and you know you couldn’tAsk for a better person…Isn’t that some-thing?I smile at you. You just roll yourEyes at me, but I really knowYou can’t help but laugh when youTurn away. Aren’t we something?When the sun spikes off the slickSurface of the snow, and the horses’Hooves pound and crack each layer,Leaving their large paths behind,Their manes whipping in the wind,Their necks twisting in the raysOf sun. Ain’t that something?When you look into a mirror and you seeWhat you are meant to be, and thenSomebody joins you, but you can’tSee what they were meant to be….Isn’t that something?Life is like a brass lock, and we are the key.Unlocking all the secrets, likeOne big puzzle, that no one but us under-stands.Aren’t we something?A proud, confident smile.Chin held high. Just the beginning of aWoman. Intelligence lies in those eyes.Aren’t I something?Pretty blue eyes. An understandingGlance. A life well-lived,But more to live. A woman already made,Teaching the others how toFollow her footsteps in the sand.A love held onto forever.Aren’t you something?Aren’t I something?Ain’t we something?Yes. We are.

Broken wings

BY SARAH WELLS


Outgrowing your favorite shoes,lucky sweateror well-worn jeans.Hair traversing blonde,red and raven.All signs of growing up;but not the symptoms.

Storing the mementos of childhoodaway on a shelf,the world seems to shrink.Age speeding up to meet youwith its grizzly embrace.The shine of innocence,and the wonder of youthall start to dim.

Reflections around you shift,and change.The pedestals upon whichall your heroes stoodstart to crumble.All those childish godslose their wings.

You discover what everyone elsehas known for years.Our world is one lacking in heroes.Lacking in reasonor rhyme.And once something has been seen,it’s impossible to forget.



THIS WEEK: Family & General

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.


VERMONT COUNTRY STORE








to the prompts, Family: Write about a moment or

experience with a family member that changed you; or

General writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.


Congratulations to Jenna Rice, a sophomore at The Sharon Academy, whose photo was

chosen as Photo of the Week. Jenna says, “I took this photo when I went on an exchange

trip to Saint-Gaudens, France. I stayed with a family, and one day I couldn’t help but notice

how beautiful the lighting in the window was. The sun was shining directly behind it so

anything I put in the window to photograph became a silhouette. I had quite a bit of fun

playing around with this. I eventually decided that I wanted to be in one of the photos, so I

put the camera on a tripod and used a self-timer. So the girl in the photo is me.”

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

NEXT PROMPT

Kindness. You have performed an act of kindness. What is it? How does it make you feel? What hap-pens? Alternates: Unsafe. Describe a place or circumstance where you felt unsafe; or General writing. Due Dec. 21.

The flood

BY CHERYL PARKS


The flood.I was devastated. Everything was gone forever.Everything had a thick dust that was unmovable.My porch was in my neighbor’s front lawn.My bike was under the shed.If it wasn’t for my family, I would be a wreck.They took my mind off the floodby playing board games, soccer and going to the movies.They gave me a shoulder to cry on.They helped me buy things for my room.The flood.

YWP’S DECEMBER SLAM

YWP, 12 North Street, Burlington

Friday, Dec. 21, 7-8:30 p.m.

See you there!

Farm boy’s lamentBY GRACE WOODRUFF


When I wake up,my stomach tingles with hunger.My back is sore from sleeping on a pallet,and my eyes start to droop with exhaus-tion.Despite my problems,I arise from my straw bed,grab my shovel,and head out to the farm.For hours in the hot sun IDig and plant,Dig and plant,until the cruel sun hides behind the moun-tains.My body shakes with cold,I don’t know if I can take it any longer,This life is getting old.

A day on the farmBY LIAM HILFERTY

Grade 7, Crossett Brook Middle School I have just finished milking the cow

and am bringing the milk to the house. I give the milk to Ma and she starts to churn it into butter. I start to head towards the wood shed.

It is early November so I need to get wood. The cold grips me with its icy hand. I am running low on wood so I must gather and split some more soon.

Pa is out hunting and will be back in an hour. Hopefully he can bring back a buck. If he doesn’t we won’t have anything for supper. Dwelling on this thought, I start to trudge back through the snow with the wood, towards the house.

ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training pro-gram that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP

THIS WEEK: Photo 4

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12

North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT

05401.


CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS

THANKS FROM YWP





newspapers. This week, we publish responses to the

prompt, Photo 4 (right) by Jack Delano in Dummer-

ston, VT in 1941. Read more great writing at young-

writersproject.org.

NEXT PROMPTS

Kindness. You have performed an act of kindness. What is it? How does it make you feel? What happens? Al-

ternates: Unsafe. Describe a place or circumstance where you felt unsafe;

or General writing. Due Dec. 21.

Puns. Have fun with a play on words (i.e. cereal number, sell phone, etc.). Try to fit in as many puns as you can. Alternates: Essential. What’s one thing you absolutely could not live without? Why? or I believe...Start a piece with these words, I believe. Due Jan. 11.

Photo Prompt 4 © Jack Delano, Dummerston, VT,

1941 (Library of Congress)

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Eve Pomazi/Brattleboro Area Middle School

Simple touchesBY CARLY MARTIN


“Can I see your hands?”“My hands?” My voice crumbles in my

throat. How could I say no? I reach out hesitantly, placing my hands palms up.

His delicate fingers wrap around them tightly at first, as though he doesn’t want to let go. I can see in his eyes the wonder. I want to ask a thousand questions, but my mouth and my brain have decided to protest one another. He lets go so that he can rub his palm over mine. He traces the small callous at the base of my fingers. I don’t know how long we stand there with him drawing circles around my palm.

“Have you ever been to war?” his hands don’t stop moving over mine as the words pass through the silence between us. I sense the simple curiosity has some deeper meaning, but my words escape me. “No,” I reply, concentrating on keep-ing my hands from shaking under his keen eyes.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” The words are muttered and I think I must have misheard him. As much as I could pretend the words escaped along the gust of southern wind, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.

“Yes, he’ll come back.” We both step back as though we both

know it’s a lie. The space between us doesn’t seem to be enough so I stumble back another step, pushing my hands deep into my pockets. “Do you want the picture, sir?” he asks politely, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops.

“Yes, just stand there like I told you.” I step back to my tripod and line up the shot. “That’s good,” I tell him and he stands there staring accusingly at me. He knows I lied, I think as I snap the shot.

“Here,” I say desperately, pulling a dollar from my wallet. He takes the paper and rubs it between his two hands. As I pack up my things he stands there, un-moving with the dollar clasped between his two hands almost as though he’s about to pray. For the first time in a long time, I realize how worthless money is. It wouldn’t bring home the boy’s father, it couldn’t end a war, and it wouldn’t heal him when the war broke him. I look down at the hands he had touched. They were old wrinkled things to me, but to that little boy, they had the power to heal. I reach out to him, palms up, and he lets the dol-lar fall. We stand there, him memorizing each wrinkle on my tired hands until I no longer have a concept of time.

“He had hands like these, hands that could build things. Hands to heal the world.”



Season’s change BY ALIZA SILVERSTEIN

Grade 11, Homeschool, Hyde Park

She walked upon her daily treadthrough leaves so crumpled, color fled,that, as is oft’ the case, I find,it seemed another went behind.

She walked along with double shades:the crunching and the sunless maids,and listened to the earth as sleeppreceded where the snow would creep.

Her crunching shadow paused its step(to watch the mountain range reflectthe sky, as turquoise as the sea),and, mirrored stillness, so did she.

The leaves have lost their lustre now,the summer birds have ceased their row,the time for change of hands has come:the fall towards rest, the winter from.

She saw another woman go,along a path of newling snow,so crunching-dry that oft’ I find,it seems another walks behind.

They pause a moment when they meetand dip their heads but once to greet,then Fall moves on, and Winter stays,as stilling ice begins to glaze.

YWP is supported by the generosity

of foundations, business and

individuals who recognize the power

and value of writing. If you would

like to contribute, please go to

youngwritersproject.org/support, or

mail your donation to YWP, 12 North

St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.


Birdseye Foundation


YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with au-thentic audiences. YWP runs young-

writersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online class-room and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net

or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.






to the prompt, Winter Tales: Tell a narrative about

winter in poetry or prose. To read more, go to


NEXT PROMPT

Reflection. What is something you wish you’d been told when you were five years old? Al-ternate: Photo 6. Write about this photo of the single chair at Mad River Glen. Due Dec. 14

VERMONT STAGE COMPANY

PRESENTS

WINTER TALES

Dec. 5-9

FlynnSpace, Burlington

Don’t miss this special holiday

tradition, which includes

a selection of writing from

YWP’s Winter Tales prompt!

© Jet Lowe (Library of Congress)

THIS WEEK: Winter Tales

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Erin Bundock, Grade 9, Champlain Valley Union

High School

EvergreensBY EMMA COSGROVE


I see the snow falling as gentle and whiteas soft pillows with down feathers.I hear no chirping birds in daytime or crickets at night.I smell the warm and hearty foods of the cold weather seasonand the scent of evergreens.The days are cold and the nights even colder,but the warm drinks, like hot chocolate and tea,and the foods, like Christmas cookies and stews, accompany that cold, cold weather.The days are no longer long as they were a few months ago.The sky begins to turn a dark, grey tint to remind us that there will be another long cold winter night awaiting.

Mason was a skierBY ELAN MAYO


Mason was a skier. Yeah, sure, there was basketball. Soccer, he was good, re-ally good.

But skiing. Something about the wind, the dryness of the air, the closeness of the sky above. More intimate. Yes, intimate that was the word he struggled to find.

Granddad had taught him. Mason wasn’t afraid really, he’d just look up at the old man’s face and the warmth of that solid, weathered look would let him freely slide down the mountain. After the accident Mason stopped.

Dad tried to take him, but he’d never loved it. Only until freshman year did he start again. Ski team. Now they wouldn’t let him back on. Said he was unstable. Pain shouldn’t have let him.

Permitted to go out once in awhile, Mason guessed it was the holiday spirit Probably thought he longed for the mis-tletoe, the ginger snap cookies, the aroma of the freshly cut trees. The snow in the city was dirty, dark with grime. Slush and ice moved beneath.

Mason breathed the fumes, coughed, sat down. The air was not like up on the mountain, cold and stiff. New York was flowing and sickly warm, the sweet smell of warm pretzels, Starbucks lattes, over-flowing trash cans.

The park was still, except there was a bird, red. Once he would’ve known the name. Guess the cancer makes you forget it all. He wandered a little, hard to move with the tank and tubes trailing after.

The sky was sharp grey. Snow fell gently. All was still, except a red bird landing on a still old man. His eyes gazed north, towards the mountains, towards the winter tale he once lived.

Winter’s natureBY MATTHEW SKELLY


A cold blizzard breeze,a soft blanket of snow,a hard sheet of ice,an ended river flow.The wolf cries mourningly,the hare hops unknowingly.The bobcat is about to pounce;the rabbit shall be trounced.A pine bough weighed with snow,glistens in the sunlight.A peeling, bare white birch,is dead by skin but alive at heart.The skies grow grey with clouds;the crescent moon pierces them.The night, black as a raven,is streaked with blue-green aurora.

Winter’s songBY REBECCA VANDEN BERGH


Walking through the deep snow is like wading through molasses. It takes so much effort, and by the time you are tired, you are too far to turn back.

But then, you get to the spot where all you can see is the glistening snow crystals shining like exploding stars in the night sky. Winter has taken over the Earth and the sky fades to dark much earlier than you want. You bundle up for the long winter ahead that won’t let up until the first bird sings its song to the sun.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Each week Young Writers Project receives hun-

dreds of submissions from students written in

response to prompts or as general work. A team of

students helps select work for publication in this

and 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish

writing in response to the prompts, Alone: I stood

at the window, watching the red tail lights disap-

pear... Finish the story; and Listen: Pick a moment

and listen. More at youngwritersproject.org.

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, business and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12


05401.


VERMONT COMMUNITY

FOUNDATION



NEXT PROMPT

Object. An inanimate object comes alive and tells you how it really feels. Alternate: Excuse. Create the wild-est excuse you can think of for why you didn’t do something, why you were so late, why you can’t go. It must stretch the imagination yet still remain credible. Due Dec. 7

© Jamie Ferguson/Milton High School

Congratulations to Jamie Ferguson, a junior at Milton High School, whose photo of a

salamander was chosen as YWP’s Photo of the Week. Photographers and artists, send

YWP your photos and scanned artwork for publication. Find out more at youngwriter-

sproject.org.

Dreaming of spaceBY ALEX SMART

Grade 4, Union Elementary School

I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear. Then I was suddenly lying on the shed.

“What’s going on?” I thought as cold air filled my body, making my blood turn to ice.

Then I saw something that I’ve always dreamed of: Space, planets, stars and black holes whizzed past my window.

I was falling! Falling through the Earth, through the solar system, until I was breathing again.

Then I got the feeling you get when you can’t find your mom in a supermar-ket: Lost!

Something opened the door and every-thing went black. And I was back in my shed.

This prisonBY REBECCA VANDEN BERGH

GRADE 7, Main Street Middle School

I stand at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear.

I never expected this to happen, that I would end up here in this prison.

My jailer pulls on my arm, excited that I am here. I don’t know why. Going to jail is hardly something to be excited about.

Glancing around my cell after my guard finally pulls me in, I think maybe this won’t be so bad.

After all, I am just going to be here for the weekend.

Plus, my mom is right: I do need to get to know my Grandma.

Broken glassBY SARAH WELLS


I stood at the window,watching the red tail lights disappear.The silence in the empty house rose to a crescendo and I found myselfirrevocably alone. Fragments of the night swirled dizzyingly around my head.There was no taking back what had been said.The fragile bridge of glassthat had held us to each other was broken,smashed into a thousand painful shards,and with my own hand. Gravity from the darknessstarted to pull at me from either side.Pulled me downand made me face what I’d done.

Sitting on the groundamong the shards of our past,I found it hard not to weep.Not for you, nor me. But for another sacrificed future,another fragile happiness,finally giving way under the apathetic weight of reality.

THIS WEEK: Alone & Listen

Something callingyour imaginationBY MOLLY POTTER


Listen,you may hear what you never have before,someone from up above saying hello,or something calling your imagination,someone needing your immediate help,or something wanting your attention.You may hear something you will never forget,something you can use for the rest of your life,or something you could tell someone to get through the day.Listen,hold still.Do you hear that?

YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

IS ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK!



PHOTO PROMPT 3


of foundations, business and

individuals who recognize the power

and value of writing. If you would

like to contribute, please go to

youngwritersproject.org/support,

or mail your donation to YWP, 12


05401.


MAIN STREET LANDING






to the prompts, Photo 3; and General writing in any

genre. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.

© Karlo Fresl/Essex High School, 2011


NEXT PROMPTS

If only... Write about a situation in which you wish you had done things differently. Alternates: Dialogue day. Tell a story using only dialogue; or General writ-ing in any genre. Due Nov. 30

Object. An inanimate object comes alive and tells you how it really feels. Alternate: Excuse. Create the wildest excuse you can think of for why you didn’t do something, why you were so late, why you can’t go. It must stretch the imagination yet still remain credible. Due Dec. 7

In a placeBY MADELINE STRASSER


In a huge desert,a small pond.In a place without food,a mysterious garden.In a place full of darkness,a small light.In a place full of crime,a good deed is done.In a place full of hate,one small bit of love.It only takes one tiny pieceof the puzzleto change everything.

Favorite seasonBY ELI RIVERS


When winter comes,The ribbon candy comes out;the cold crisp air bites at my face.It will be great, no doubt.The outdoors is my base.I give my friends a shoutto go and sled race.I go out in the snow and mess about.I will make a fort in my special place.There is plenty to do, so no need to pout.If you are bored, that’s a disgrace.When winter comes, I am happy.

October songBY ALIZA SILVERSTEIN

Grade 11, Homeschool, Hyde Park

Winter teases with frosty nights,gardens shrink in October blights.This month of them all is cruelto take the leaves and warm air, too.

And yet when sunlight pinks a cloud,or morning mist calm lakes enshroud,this month of all is sweet, it seems,a time for peace – a time for dreams.

And if you feel the wind’s cold bite,then face the sun, still warm and bright.And if at dusk the color fades,then watch the sky, alive with shades.

This month of them all is dear;this month, most, is calm and clear,as empty trees bring forth to lightthe scenes two seasons hid from sight,and find, each morning, that the grasshas, fairy-touched, turned into glass.

For all these things and more I stayto watch the geese go on their way,as sunlight limns each thing in golds,cast as if from precious molds.

Lost in thoughtBY KATE PIERPONT


Sometimes I lie awakeAt night, and wonder what itWould be like to fall in love.To trip right into that onePerson that you fantasizeAbout when you’re all alone.What would it be like to haveTheir arms around you?To hold onto their hand when theWaves in the ocean try to pullYou down, seeing theirHair blow in the salty windAnd see the truth in theirEyes. But what if they lied?What if they left?What if you fell in love butNobody caught you?You would stumble in aLife of loneliness.Don’t think like that.Live life to the fullest.Be yourself, because life is tooShort to be anyone else.Wake up, your time is running out.Go find the person who willCatch you. The person who will miss youWhen you’re only a room away.The one who is your secret-keeper.Look into their eyes and know thatYou are theirs.Find them.Lose them.Make a mistake.Find them again.Fall in love.Don’t get lost in thought aboutWhat you don’t have.Run and find it.And when you find what you are looking for,Don’t let go.

My smile hidesBY SARAH RUSSO


I push open the windowand sit on the ledge.The cold wind is whippingmy face and my legs.I love the nightbecause with what I can see,not a single beingis awake, besides me.I lean out the windowand at the coldness I gasp.I think to myself,“I wish night would last.”Away my thoughts wisp,at the moonlight’s soft kissand the hushed sounds of nightfill me with delight.The sun is asleep,like I maybe should be.But I don’t even blink,I don’t even think.When finally, I open my eyesI see the night owls flyto my smile that’s hidden,high in the sky.





VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE







newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to

the prompt, Flying: You are flying blissfully and effort-

lessly over the countryside. What do you see and feel?

Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

NEXT PROMPT

Ideal being. What do you think makes someone the “ideal” per-son? What is the most important characteristic that a person must have? Al-ternates: Change. Write to the president of a company, real or fictional, about a product that you think must be changed; or Photo 5. Write about the photo above. Due Nov. 23

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Danielle Kracum, Rutland High School

© Anna Mechler/Essex High School

Congratulations to Danielle Kracum, a senior at Rutland High School, whose photo was

chosen as YWP’s Photo of the Week. Photographers and artists, send YWP your photos and

scanned artwork for publication. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org!

A Vermont view

BY AMBER STROCK

Grade 11, Oxbow High School

My body was elevated far beyond the ground. Though I would normally have felt terrified, I felt a sense of serenity. Gliding through the air was a feeling beyond any I had ever known. My body felt weightless. To make everything so much more blissful, the Vermont view was breathtaking.

When I began my journey, my body swept over Lake Champlain. The sun shone directly behind me, and I watched as my shadow danced across the surface of the dark blue, clear lake water, follow-ing my every move. A second later, I was soaring above Burlington, passing Church Street and the crowded streets full of tour-ists, locals and college students.

Within minutes, I was above Montpe-lier. I gaped in amazement as the capitol dome sparkled in the sunlight, throwing rays of light in every direction.

After passing over the beautiful cities of Vermont, I wanted to see what I loved most. When I arrived, I found myself in awe. On a beautiful sunny day, Vermont’s landscape was beautiful. The leaves were that perfect peak color. From above, I was able to catch that ephemeral moment when the colors were at their absolute best, just before they begin to fade and fall into the dreary dullness of winter.

From above, I was able to fully ap-preciate the beauty that had always been right in front of me. I fell into splashes of orange and red, letting myself drift into absolute bliss. At that moment, I realized I was in perfection high above the most beautiful place.

THIS WEEK: Flying A far away reflection

BY SARAH WELLS


The greater the distance,the stronger the pull.Or so the idiom goes. From far away things look simple, uncomplicated by the tangle of everyday life,Untainted with its gentle sorrows. If we could live just above the treetops,or just above the clouds, how simple our lives could be,Depending on only the whimsy of the wind. From our perchsomewhere between the end of the worldand the start of the universe,we would see all the beauty that life has blurred:The earthly set of stars that await, only needing a candle and night to spark, Small twinkling lightsof various colors and strengths,reflecting the night sky above them,A city coming alive with an infinite amount of possibilities,an infinite amount of untold stories, Silent and deafening at the same instant. There’s something beautiful about life at a safe distance,Far enough away to slowly untangle the broken hearts and cracking dreams. And finally enough timeto find where they belong,Piece by piece until all that remains is a twinkling veil of midnight blueand all the possibilities the night sky can hold.

New world up above

BY MOLLY POTTER


Alone, wild, free,Flying high above everyone in this world,I can feel the cold air brushing my neck and hear nothing but myself taking deep breaths.Up here I am free from the people I love,from the people I don’t get along with,and from the life I live;I am just myself.I am as wild as a bird flying South for the winter,or an owl flying from tree to tree in the dark of the night,or an eagle with its large wing span look-ing for prey.I am alone, nobody talking to me, nobody annoying me or giving me words of encouragement.Up here I am alone, wild, free.

THIS WEEK: Haunted & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New

Hampshire in response to writing prompts. The best writing is selected for publication here and in 20 other newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompts, Haunted. You enter an abandoned house and things turn scary; and General writing. Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.


of foundations, businesses and individu-

als who recognize the power and value

of writing. If you would like to contrib-

ute, please go to youngwritersproject.

org/support, or mail your donation to

YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burling-

ton, VT 05401.


PHYSICIAN’S COMPUTER COMPANY

THANKS FROM YWP

ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprofit

that engages students to write, helps

them improve and connects them with

authentic audiences. YWP runs young-

writersproject.org and the Schools

Project, a comprehensive online class-

room and training program that works

with teachers to help students develop

their writing and digital literacy skills.

To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or

contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

© Sarah Wells, U-32 High School

NEXT PROMPT

Light/Darkness. Use the idea of

extreme contrast in any way you’d like,

such as day vs. night, good vs. evil.

Create a story or poem that centers on

extreme contrast. Alternate: Super-

power. You are granted superpowers:

What superpower would you pick and

why? Imagine an anecdote of you us-

ing that superpower. Due Nov. 16

La Maison Rose

BY SARAH WELLS


With pale walls of dusty rose,growing dustier by the day,the little building,on top of the little hill,refuses to lose the battle. Its emerald shutters still reign valiantly over the street,A street whose wear is written upon its face.A memento of the modern age sitsonly too near,Speckled in the rebellion of its time.But it’s not the loud youththat captures the attentionof those passing by.From small children,grasping their red balloons against the wind,to old men,

baguette under arm,these watchers of history see the ever lasting.La Maison Rose,as it was back when it was the loud youth.Dazzling the ‘20s with vibrant color,much more vibrant than that from the dusty times before it.La Maison Rose,accompanying the velvet croon of saxo-phones and accordions.Bathing itself in richtobacco smoke.La Maison Rose,letting its paint fade with dignity.La Maison Rose...refusing to be forgotten.

Haunted fields

BY JACOB HATCH


They say these fields are haunted,That many battles have been fought here.The blood of innocent citizensHas been shed here,Fought for slavery,Fought for freedom,And all that’s leftIs the howling of the night,The disasters caused,The inventions made.People sayThe Civil War was the deadliest,Most disastrous,Pain-inflicting war,The loss of over 620,000 innocent people.People sayIf you listen closely,You will hearThe dead soldiersWhispering your name,Screaming in agony,Begging for help.People sayAt night,You can hear the sounds ofThe horses scrambling,The wild gunfire,The destruction being caused.No wonder they say these fields are haunted.

In the graveyardBY MAE BROWNING

Grade 4, Union Elementary School

I was running home. I needed to get ready for my adventure. I grabbed a phone and grabbed a bat.

“This is going to be a long day,” I said, while running out the door.

One minute later, I was in the grave-yard, heart beating as fast as a lightning bolt.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Somebody was coming.

I dove behind a grave stone. After about five minutes, I peeked

over the grave. She had a gun in her hand and was

turning towards me, so I ducked even lower. A couple seconds later, I peeked again.

“This can’t be true. I must be dream-ing,” I said to myself.

I rubbed my eyes but she was still there when I opened my eyes.

I knew I had to do something, so I grabbed the bat and charged...

PHOTO OF THE WEEK


Congratulations to Kevin Huang of Bur-

lington High School, whose photo was

chosen as YWP’s Photo of the Week.

Photographers and artists, send YWP

your photos and scanned artwork for

publication. Go to youngwritersproject.

org and upload your work as a blog.

Relative silenceBY SARAH WELLS


All I could hear was the quickening beat of my heart, and the shouting.

The little girl was staring up at her mother with watery eyes and cheeks flecked red with anxiety.

Her mother, who looked as if she’d already been quenching her thirst that morning, was throwing insults and curses into the little girl’s face and shaking her fists in the air. The little girl could only sniffle in reply.

Every inch of my body was screaming to stand; screaming to help. Despite my rising anger, I found that I couldn’t even look in their direction.

Littered throughout the room I saw other observers acting just the same. They were staring into space but listen-ing intently. The expressions on their faces ranged from mild annoyance to true empathetic pain.

Another shout broke the relative silence and I closed my eyes. Biting my lip, I tried to muster up the courage to interfere. I waited for the anger to spread and ignite some sort of action, but I only felt myself shrinking further away.

A sharp inhale of breath foreshadowed a sob, as the little girl lost her fragile composure and started to cry. An icy chill dripped down my back and I flinched at the noise.

“Now,” I thought, “I’ll do it now.” I counted to five. And then I counted to

five again. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the mother looking at the crowd.

It seemed to be slowly dawning on her why everyone else was so quiet.

“We’re leaving,” she said, grabbing her blubbering daughter roughly by the arm and heading toward the exit.

The little girl looked behind her with searching, hurt eyes.

Shame set in and I once again found that I couldn’t meet her gaze.

THIS WEEK: Observer

& Photo prompt 2Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred

submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire in response to writing prompts. The best writing is selected for publication here and in 20 other newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish responses to the prompts, Photo 2; and Observer: You witness something frightening or wrong. What is your response? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprofit that

engages students to write, helps them improve

and connects them with authentic audiences.

YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the

Schools Project, a comprehensive online class-

room and training program. To learn more, go

to ywpschools.net.

PHOTO PROMPT 2

© Becca LeBlanc/Essex High School, 2011

EscapeBY LAUREN JANE HALAQUIST


I drive in my 1977 Ford. I chug along the open road. The land is so flat here, so vast. I’ve been driving, 17 hours so far, only stopping to quench the thirst of this ancient and dilapidated vehicle.

As I move on down the road, I have flashbacks. The fighting and how it never stopped. The feelings and how they seem to leave the dark corners, and depths of my soul. And the con-stant feeling of being trapped.

As the memories bubble up, my eyes water. Small tears escape from my eyes. They remind me of pearls. A beautiful thing created from just the opposite. I wouldn’t say I like crying, but it helps me. It reminds me that I’m still here.

Once the storm inside my head settles, I again focus on the landscape. Open sky, a dark periwinkle in color. The soft tan shade of the grasslands, it’s so warm, so inviting.

The road, in front, behind and under-neath me. A pathway in the turmoil that is my life.

Soon, I approach a sign, the first one in at least two hours. It’s a speed limit sign, and it reads 75. I ponder for a moment, then apply more pressure to the gas. I gain speed. Soon I am whiz-zing by the grass, the mountains, and the world at 95 miles per hour. I feel unstoppable. But soon, I begin to slow down. And all is as it was, a steady 50. The periwinkle sky dims to black. The stars wake up, and start to sparkle. I pull over into a field. I hop out to stretch my stiff muscles. I move to the back of my truck and open the tailgate. I grab my sleeping bag, and unroll it in the bed of the truck, and snuggle in.

As I lay down, I stare up and gaze into the stars. There were never stars like this at home. I think it’s the hills and mountains. They don’t allow anything in, and allow no emotions or issues to escape. But here, wherever I am at this moment in time, is the op-posite. The infinite prairie allows me to breathe, and to be free.

NEXT PROMPTS

© Jack Delano, Dummerston, VT, 1941 (Li-

brary of Congress)

Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, descriptive poetry or prose. The best will be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burl-ington (Dec. 5-9, 2012). Alternate: Favorite place. What is the special place where you really like to be, where you feel most alive? Imagine yourself there and tell a story about it. Due Nov. 2

Family. Write about a moment or experience with a family member that changed you. Alternate: Photo 4. This boy has something to say. What is it? Due Nov. 9

WRITERS

WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE

PUBLISHED IN THIS NEWSPAPER?

Do you need a spark to get started?

We have dozens of prompts at youngwritersproject.org.

Check them out and send YWP your writing as a Newspaper Submission!

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individ-uals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contrib-ute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burling-ton, VT 05401.



THANKS FROM YWP

THIS WEEK: Elevator, Habits

& General writing

YWP is an independent non-profit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences.

YWP runs youngwritersproj-ect.org and The Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at 802-324-9537.

ABOUT THE PROJECT



The road to IslamabadBY NINA MERRIAM


Build me a road to Islamabadso I may simply justbreathe the air,cool and sweet,the desert windkicking up dust in the distance,chokinglike a soul lost to grief.But the road meandersover seas and under mountainsthrough forgotten landsto the people who remembermore than just a passing summer.Build me a road only we can see,you with your sunglassesand I with a camera and a distracted smile,naively strollinginto the next day,ignoring boundaries,memory never failing to revealthe reality.But if you buildmy roadto The City of Islam,will you toobe swept awayby the coarse desert wind?

© Levi Beavin/Main Street Middle School

Congratulations to Levi Beavin, an eighth grade

student at Main Street Middle School in Montpelier,

whose photo was chosen as YWP’s Photo of the Week.

Photographers and artists, send YWP your photos and

scanned artwork for publication. Go to youngwriter-

sproject.org, create a blog, upload your work, choose

“Photo Submission” as the genre, click “Yes” for the

Newspaper Series, and include a high resolution ver-

sion of your work as a file attachment.

NEXT PROMPTS

Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, descriptive poetry or prose. The best will be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burl-ington (Dec. 5-9, 2012). Alternate: Favorite place. What is the special place where you really like to be, where you feel most alive? Imagine yourself there and tell a story about it. Due Nov. 2



JANE B. COOK CHARITABLE TRUSTS

THANKS FROM YWP

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of readers, we select the best for publi-cation here and in 20 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Elevator: You’re stuck in an elevator with a stranger. What happens? Habits. What’s the worst habit you’re willing to admit to? and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

Annoying habit BY KYLE COBURN


There is one annoying thingThat is a habit of mineWhenever I write a poemThere must always be some rhyme This habit isn’t exactly badBut more of an inconvenienceFor to write a verse without a rhymeGives me quite a grievance

It matters not the strictness of rhymeAs long as it existsIrritating as sometimes this habit can beI know it will always persist

So instead of trying to break this habitI actually gave it a homeI now embrace this habit quite stronglyGiving my poetry a style its own

CELEBRATION

OF WRITING

IN MONTPELIER

OCT. 27

Every year, Young

Writers Project pub-lishes an anthology of the year’s best student writing and photos. On Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of An-thology 4 with a day of celebration and writing workshops in partner-ship with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier.

Special guests this year include entertainer Rusty DeWees, author Katherine Paterson and the student writers and photographers who are featured in the anthol-ogy! To register for workshops and to find out more, go to young-writersproject.org.

On the elevatorwith Timmy BY KAYLEE MARTIN

Grade 8, Central Vermont Catholic School

I swear, I’d been in there for six hours. Timmy kept saying it had only been five minutes, but I didn’t believe him.

I was supposed to be at my dance recital, but instead, I was stuck in this elevator with a stranger named Timmy.

I didn’t want to talk to him, but he never stopped talking.

“What’s your name?” he asked me in an annoying voice.

“Vicki,” I mumbled. “Where do you live?”“Why do you need to know?”“No reason. Hey, do you like flow-

ers?”“Um...yes.”“Then let the flowers in your soul

grow with my organic juice.” He took out his juice box and started

laughing. He was getting on my last nerve.

“Hey, do you....” He started talking, but I cut him off.

“Listen...um...who are you?” I asked.“Timmy.”“Listen, Timmy. You are driving me

insane. Just stop talking to me or making annoying noises.”

He started making annoying noises and wasn’t listening.

I yelled, “Just stop! You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.!”

He was silent. He looked away sadly, just looking at the wall. I had to say I was sorry.

“Listen,” I spoke softly, “I’m sorry.”Just then, the elevator doors opened

and we both shuffled out, happy to be get-ting away from each other.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

NEXT PROMPTS

Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, descriptive poetry or prose. The best will be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual Winter Tales produc-tion at FlynnSpace in Burlington (Dec. 5-9, 2012). Alternate: Fa-vorite place. What is the special place where you really like to be, where you feel most alive? Imagine yourself there and tell a story about it. Due Nov. 2

That goodbyeBY KAY BUSHMAN


It was the hazy almost-drunkennessThe rush of blood to the headThe city noise below usThe way the fluorescent light hit trunk-like legs with peculiar simplicityIt was the lie of it allThe new, disorienting perspectiveThe alcohol-induced braveryThe humor in all that pain.

It was the outreached handThe unexpected martyr-like sadnessThe reflection in those familiar eyesThe inability to interpret any emotion.

It was that room –Those close quarters, that cot bedThe thin walls – whispered wordsAn incapacitated brain couldn’t interpret.

Maybe it was the late hour –The drinkers in the streetThe feeling of giving up without a fightThe oppression of a summer breeze.

It was the waitingThe patience of it allThe expectancy, the anticipationThe crushed feeling, the sinking feeling.

It was the way everything solid was sud-denly slipping awayThe desperate grappling to regain groundThe helplessness of being replaced.

It was the defeat in the aftermathIt was the wayBoth sides had some sinking impression of a diverging path

It was the silence in it all.

Trip to VietnamBY CARMELLITTA LE

Grade 6, Barre City Middle School

When I was 3 years old, I went to a wonderful place called Vietnam. From the airplane, I looked out and saw the beauti-ful scenery. There were so many beaches that it looked like the sand could make an entire desert. The trees were as high as the sky and there were birds of all colors. Then we landed, plop.

I hid behind my dad and started to cry because there were so many strangers, but luckily my dad’s sister worked at the air-port, so after she came, I got a little better. We talked for a bit and then she took my brother and me to a cafe. When we got there, I could smell the wonderful food in the air and my stomach was rumbling. I couldn’t wait anymore so my dad ordered a Vietnamese dish for me called Pho.

After my dad’s sister finished work, there was two motorcycles. My dad rode on one and she and my brother and I rode on one. I got to ride in the front. It was really fun.

When we got to the house, my mouth dropped because it was so big and there were awesome dragons in the front of the house and a giant fountain (giant for a 3-year-old).When we went in, my dad’s mom was already cooking for us. The food was wonderful! Then all of a sudden

there were two giant dogs barking at me. I was so scared.

After we got the dog thing under con-trol, we went around the house exploring. I found the barn that had a terrible smell and I went to the front where the flowers looked like they were dancing.

Then I saw that the trees’ leaves looked like little smiley faces. Everything was so wonderful. Then my dad’s mom was going to the store, so I went with her. I had never seen so many stores in one place in my life. There were stores that sold fruit, some sold vegetables, and most sold silk clothes. She bought me two pairs and I was really happy because they had cute designs on them.

The next day we went to her friend’s house and her friend’s dog had just had puppies. She gave me a puppy and I was so happy! The next day, my 21-year-old cousin brought me to the pool and I went into the deep end and there were little shooting things that squirted water up. Afterwards, he bought me ice cream, and at night he took my brother and me to the fair. Then we went to Saigon for a few days. While we were there, I missed my dog a lot. When we got home my dad’s mom looked sad and I asked her why. She told me that my dog died. I was heartbroken and I cried and cried until I couldn’t cry any more. I was so sad that she bought me two baby Chihuahuas. Soon my adventure ended and I went back home.

THIS WEEK: Remember& General writing


Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Remember: Write about your earliest memory; and General writing.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Lydia Smith/Grade 9, Homeschool, Charlotte

Photographers and art-

ists, send YWP your

photos and scanned

artwork for publica-

tion. Go to youngwrit-

ersproject.org, create

a blog, upload your

work, choose “Photo

Submission” as the

genre, click “Yes” for

the Newspaper Series,

and include a high

resolution version of

your work as a file

attachment.

Darknesswithout light

BY SARAH WELLS


One has to wonderwhat would become of Darknessif there were no Light?If Evil finally won,what victory would it really be?Not a single ‘hero’ to rise out of the ashes,not a street lamp,candle,nor skyward glow to pierce the ever-present night.In a world where no one knows Light...would those people even know DarknessOr would both cease to exist without the other?Because even the strongest of shining lightscasts a shadow.

YWP NEWS

FRIDAY NIGHT SLAM

Join your fellow poets on Friday, Oct. 19, 7-8:30 p.m., and slam your best work at Young Writers Project headquarters, 12 North St., Burling-ton. Arrive by 6:45 p.m. if you want to slam. Free and open to all ages.

CELEBRATION OF WRITING

Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the year’s best student writing and photos. On Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of Anthol-ogy 4 with a day of celebration and writing workshops in partnership with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier.

ABOUT THE PROJECT



AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION

Join Young Writers Project and the Vermont College of Fine Arts in a Celebration of Writing!

This is a day-long event with speakers, workshops and a presenta-tion of YWP’s annual Anthology of best writing with some of the young writers reading their work.

Find out more at youngwriter-sproject.org.

YWP CELEBRATION

OF YOUNG WRITERS

COMES TO

MONTPELIER, OCT. 27

THIS WEEK: Photo prompt 1

& General writing


Hampshire in response to writing prompts. The best writing is selected for publication here and in 20 other newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompts, Photo 1 and General writing. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.



UNITED WAY OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY


YWP is an independent non-profit that engages students to write, helps them improve and con-nects them with authentic audienc-es. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

PHOTO PROMPT 1

© Caitria Sands/Essex High School

BRATTLEBORO LITERARY

FESTIVAL

YWP presents Millennials on Stage (the Brattleboro edition) at the festival. Don’t miss the next genera-tion of great writers on Saturday, Oct. 13 at 1:15 p.m. in the Hooker-Dunham Theater, 139 Main Street, Brattleboro.

YWP POETRY SLAM

Join your fellow poets on Friday, Oct. 19, 7-8:30 p.m. and slam your best work at Young Writers Project headquarters, 12 North St., Burling-ton! Arrive by 6:45 p.m. to get on the list!

Alone. Write a piece that begins with the following line: I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear... Alternate: Listen. Pick a moment – in the hall at school, in the general store, anywhere – and listen. Choose the most interesting conversation you hear and base a story on it. Due Oct. 26

NEXT PROMPTS



Story of ashadowed heartBY KYLE COBURN

Grade 11, ChelseaPublic School

The waves were calmThe sand was warmFrom that day onShe’d be forever forlornShe met him thereShe lost her breathHow she would fareWould feel like deathShe wished to be hisTo stay by his sideFor as long as she livedUntil the day that she diedSo her dream was bornWhen their eyes first lockedHer heart was then swornAnd they hadn’t even talkedHer hope began to dieAfter several years passedTo keep her dream aliveShe’d go where they met last

She’d visit the beach dailySimply sitting in the sandDreaming to her contentOf holding his handThe visits became vitalShe stayed day after dayHerself, her arms cradledShe had lost her waySo she sits and waitsA shadow over her heartPraying for a dayWhen he’ll play his part

MORE YWP EVENTS

TryBY SARAH WELLS


I never realized how alone I’d beenuntil I found you suddenly by my side.I flinch at each touch,doubting its existence.How can this be real?

I’ve always been the odd number,the person lingering in the back,the child humming to herself.It’s who I am.Who I was.But now...

Every tender word you say, I twist.I turn it into a snide comment,a sarcastic remark.Which is easier than accepting the truth,that thoseperfectly chosen wordsmight be true.It’s much more difficult to let go of this cliffthat I’m gripping with all my might,and let myself fall,no plan,no parachute.Just you.

I’ll trust in those eyes, that firm grasp.I’ll believe you won’t let me down.I’ll let that humming little girl sing her song,and the girl in the back of the room dance.As long as you’re by my side,I’ll try.

GreenBY DANIEL COPPING

Grade 4, Barre Town Middleand Elementary School My favorite color is green.I live in Vermont,The greenest state in the United States.The mountains are so green.They are greener than a tree.There’s lots of other colorsLike blue, purple, and red.But my favorite color is green!It’s a very pretty color.It is so awesome.It’s better than cake and ice cream.


YWP is supported by this news-paper, foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. To help us help young writers, please go to young-writersproject.org/support, or mail a donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.


Bay and Paul Foundations

THANKS FOR SUPPORT

YWP is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences through the Newspaper Series (and youngwriter-sproject.org) and the Schools Project (ywpschools.net).


hundred submissions from students in Vermont

and New Hampshire in response to prompts. The best

writing is selected for publication here and in 20 other

newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish

work in response to the prompt, General writing. For

more, go to youngwritersproject.org.

Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the year’s best student writing and photos. On Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of Anthology 4 with a day of celebration and writing workshops in partnership with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. Included this year are writer Mia Eaton of U-32 High School and photographer Coyote Farrell, below. More details at youngwritersproject.org.

The way he looked at usBY MIA EATON

Grade 11, U-32 High School (2011-12)

He was like the feeling you getwhen you inhale a winter day.Crisp eyesgreen, veined.Cold.Teenage morning-feet shuffledacross linoleumand metal chairs scraped.He looked at us. So deeply.Glowed in the light of the projector.And zippers unzipped.Crisp eyes.Tinted with ivory, and sand.He looked at us. So deeply.His figure rose, into the creamy lightfrom the wheeled seat.Long stridesRows of desks.His slender fingers scrawledin chalkMr. Smithfor the class.He looked at us. So deeply.

YWP ANTHOLOGY CELEBRATION

MONTPELIER, OCT. 27

© Coyote Farrell/Richmond Middle School, 2011

ABOUT THE PROJECT

London in fogBy Sarah WellsGrade 12, U-32 High School

Heavy mist muffles the sun’s setting rays.All throughout the winding streetsand the lush green parks,London sleeps.Fog swirls across the Thames,as it slowly laps upon its banks.Under this darkness,this mysteriousand beautiful fog-drenched darkness,a different London comes alive.A London where ghosts of days gone byemerge from the rolling fogto tour their majestic city once more.One can hear a distinctive clopping over bridges,the distant whistle of a bomb...The thrum of a steam boatand the tolling of the clock tower.The clock’s amber glow colors the abun-dant fog,illuminating the bustles and pocket watches of those ghostly men and women of long, long ago.Thus is the night of the ancientand stoicLondon Town.Known best by those who lived through it all;the river, the tower,and the fog.

Tides pushingBy Margaret SlateGrade 11, Peoples Academy

Time marches onThe inevitable futureOnly seconds awayTides changingBringing floodsBarricades put upBut only in our heartsWe don’t want to changeBut if we don’t bendThen surely we shall breakAnd be overwhelmed by the tidesTrying to preserveOur heartsAnd our homesFrom invadersAnd spiesWho seek to infiltrateBut it’s only usSeeking a scapegoatFrom the tides we let inIt’s up to ourselvesTo save ourselvesFrom ourselvesChange isn’t badBut only if we let the tides flowPush backAnd we will fallLet them throughAnd we shall be strongWith themTogetherWe can shape our futureBut only if we learnTo bend a little

Photographers and artists! Send Young Writers Project your work for publication! Go to youngwritersproject.org, create a blog and upload your photos and scanned artwork. Use keywords, Weekly Photo.

NEXT PROMPTS

Haunted. You and your friends are exploring an old, abandoned house when things suddenly turn scary. What hap-pens? Alternates: Candidate. Write a short, catchy political ad for yourself. Whether you’re running for President of the United States or local office, convince voters to vote for you!; or General writ-ing in any genre. Due Oct. 12

Flying. You are flying blissfully and ef-fortlessly over the countryside. What do you see and feel? Alternates: Fan. Write a fan letter to someone. It can be a celeb-rity, a loved one, an 18th century poet – anyone; or Photo 3. What happened here? Or what is about to happen? Due Oct. 19

Photo 3 © Karlo Fresl/Essex High School 2011

Unfounded claimsBY NATHAN BUDGOR

Grade 12, Northfield High School. 2012

Isn’t it disturbing how our judgments of someone can prevent us from being a part of a person’s life?

Sure, she might have a big nose, or he might be an extremely eccentric or odd person, but does that really mean any-

thing in the grand scheme of things?It is rather shallow to limit yourself

based on appearances and rumors. Maybe these traits we so detest and

reject make that person unique, and worth our while.

Instead of sitting there silently scan-

ning them with our eyes, we could get up and initiate a conversation. Initial contact is the hardest thing to do, in my opinion, and it is all a simple set of interactions that leads down the path of friendship.

But to deny a person without giving them at least a few chances, and trying to understand them is the most cruel thing we could ever to do to someone.

We miss so much in life by doing so, and our whole future could be changed by it. I know mine was.

YWP is supported by this newspaper, foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. To help us help young writers, please go to youngwritersproject.org/sup-port, or mail a donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.


A.D. Henderson Foundation

ABOUT THE PROJECT

Young Writers Project is an inde-pendent nonprofit that engages stu-

dents to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences through the Newspaper Series (and youngwritersproject.org) and the Schools Project (ywp-schools.net), a comprehensive on-

line classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop writing and digital literacy skills.

NEXT PROMPTS

Every year, Young Writers Project publishes an anthology of the year’s best student writing and photos.

On Saturday, Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of Anthology 4 with a day of celebration and writ-ing workshops in partnership with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. For more details, go to youngwritersproject.org.

YWP ANTHOLOGY

CELEBRATION OCT. 27

Elevator. You’re stuck in an elevator with a stranger. Create a short story, shaped primarily with dialogue, about your interaction with this person who is either an-

noying, funny or terrified. Alternate: Habit. What’s the worst habit you’re willing to admit to? Write about the great lengths you go to, to break this habit. Due Sept. 28

Awesome. Write a mini-story (maximum three paragraphs) without adjectives. Find the perfect noun for everything in the story. Alternates: Observer. You witness some-

thing frightening or wrong. Don’t describe the scene; focus on your own response; or Photo 2. Write about this photo. Due Oct. 5

Go to youngwritersproject.org todayand start writing for publication in thisand 20 other newspapers and VPR.net!

Photo 2 © Becca LeBlanc/Essex High School 2011

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

Calling all artists and photographers! Send us your photos and scanned artwork for publication. Go to youngwritersproject.org, create a blog, upload your work, choose “Images” as the genre, click “Yes” for the Newspaper Se-

ries, fill out the information boxes and “Save!” The best work will be published in this and 20 other newspapers in Vermont and New Hampshire!

BRATTLEBORO

LITERARY FESTIVAL

Young Writers Project is excited to be part of this three-day literary extravaganza, Oct. 12-14! Writers from K to 12 are encouraged to send us best work to be selected for presentation at the festival on Fri-day, Oct. 12 at 7 p.m. Use keyword, BLF. More at youngwritersproject.org.

THANKS FOR SUPPORT

YWP NEWSTHIS WEEK: General writing



New Hampshire in response to writing prompts and


newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish

work in response to the prompt, General writing. Read

more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online

community of young writers.

Public speakingBY FRANKIE GWARA

Grade 12, Northfield High School, 2012

Public speaking, just saying those words brings a flood of emotions that deserves a sigh. Where do I start? Public speaking, well, I would rather just get it over with. I dislike having to present, but when it comes to reading aloud, I nor-mally don’t get so flustered about it.

First, I am self-conscious of my own work, second of all, presenting is much different than just reading aloud. You see, when I present, I fumble over my words and screw up the sentences. It is very ob-

vious that I am flustered and I try to keep a calm attitude, but knowing me, because I am me, I screw up. My heart starts to race, my brain is in frantic overload...I just don’t know what to say or how to act. I get flustered and I fumble my words a lot.

When I read publicly, the only things I have to worry about are being loud enough and mispronouncing words...

Public speaking for me is like a two-way street. I cannot present, but I can read to an audience as long as it is not something of mine that I am reading. In either case, I do get nervous and my heart starts to pound. Sometimes I get a little ahead of myself, but I try to go on. Public speaking isn’t a walk in the park for me.

times argus index 2012-13

Documents