St. Albans Messenger Index 2013-14

THIS WEEK: Chance & General
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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.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in newspapers around the
state, on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Chance: It was my last chance
to...; and General writing. Read more great student writing
at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Chapter
BY TRACEY CROCKER
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
It was my last chance to live this chapter. I
had started a solid introduction as I began to
develop my character.
Later came conficts and dialogue that I
wish I could rewrite. Spilled ink and edited-
out characters changed the story, but it kept
going.
High school morphed my novel into a
Choose Your Own Adventure book and I
still dont know the ending.
Actions led to rewards or consequences and
failures led to new beginnings. As a narrator I
am wise; as a character I was foolish.
Senior year was my last chance to live this
chapter, but not my last story. Its time to see
how many sequels the future brings.
THE CALVIN
Vermont writers (under age 20) are
invited to write about a topic close
to President Calvin Coolidges heart:
Should I stay in Vermont or leave?
The Calvin Coolidge Memorial
Foundation is offering $1,500 for the
top essay and $500 for second place,
along with a trip to the foundations
annual gala in New
York City next fall.
More details at
coolidgefoundation.
org or youngwriter-
sproject.org.
Calvin Coolidge
(Library of Congress)
THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT
As we conclude the 2014-15 school year,
this will be the last appearance of Young Writ-
ers Project in this space until the second week
of September. We hope you have enjoyed the
students writing and photography and en-
courage you to follow their work through the
summer on youngwritersproject.org, on vpr.
net and vtdigger.org.
We also invite you to hear a remarkable
group of young writers read their work at the
Burlington Book Festival on Sept. 20 and at
YWPs annual Celebration of Writing on Nov.
8. These young people will be among about
70 writers selected from more than 10,000 for
publication in YWPs 6th Anthology.
Thank you, young writers, for sharing
your spirit, creativity and fne story-telling
with YWP and the readers of this newspaper!
Thank you to the Messenger for making space
for this feature each week and for valuing the
importance of writing and affrming students`
best efforts.
Geoffrey Gevalt, YWP founder and
director, and Susan Reid, publications
Kevin Huang / Burlington High School
Calling chance
BY LINDSEY LOWELL
It was my last chance
to say goodbye
and I didnt even know it
I pick up the phone
A bike
broken brakes
messy-faced children
in the houses next door
Home flled with
dirty memories
and a gravel driveway
not worth remembering
Dialing
In a new large house
with a large pool
and a room of my own
apple trees to climb
and a yard to play in
It isnt the same
Waiting
A bike to ride
jump rope
to double dutch
chalk to draw with
in the driveway
It isnt the same
Ringing
New children
to play with
They speak the same
language but
I cant understand them
They play the same games but
I dont know the rules
It isnt the same
Someone picks up
It was my last chance
to say goodbye
The operator said
disconnected
Moving on
BY EVAN KUPPERBLATT
It was my last chance to see all of my
peers, the people I had spent four long but fast
years with, standing in a line waiting for their
names to be called. The green and gold ban-
ners and decorations surrounded the room.
They all had the excited look of moving on
with their lives. Some were sad they would
not see some of their friends again. Oth-
ers were ecstatic to never see those teachers
again.
I started to daydream in line about the frst
days of school and all the little things worry-
ing me, the times I had over my four years. I
noticed I hadnt moved up in line and some-
body tapped my shoulder to get me to catch
up. I was only ten people away from the stage.
I had many mixed emotions in my head.
I walked up on stage like I was told in
rehearsal, shook hands and grabbed the paper
and walked off stage. I saw my family in the
seats down below. I thought, I have to decide
in the summer where and what I want to do
with my life. The stage and the piece of paper
were just the door to opportunities for me.
Decisions and plans and goals and the little
things will get me where I want to go. But I
dont really know where I want to go in life. I
dont know where I will end up. I dont know
where I will work, where I will sleep. I guess
I like not knowing where I will go. Living off
the surprises is what I will do.
Last look
BY TAYLOR KNAPP
It was my last chance to
look across that long glossy lake
To hear the loons sound their mating calls
To scream as my dad pulls me
on a tube behind the boat
To have bonfres and eat s`mores all night
To see the fsh leap out of the water
on rainy days
To feel the slimy green algae between my toes
as I slowly walk into the water
To stand on the end of the dock
count to three
and jump in
Saying goodbye
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
It was my last chance to say goodbye
Before I faded away.
I beckoned you over
To my side
And told you it was my fnal day.
The sickness growing inside of me
Had spread beyond repair.
I lay so helpless,
Vulnerable.
You cried, It isnt fair!
You told me you couldnt live without
My smile in the morning.
The way I hugged you
Oh so tight,
Held on while you were mourning.
Oh, how I whispered into your ear,
My voice then old and cracking,
Ill always love you,
My little one
Before you gave in to sobbing.
I remember the day I rested under
A beautiful black pall,
Both sad and comforting.
I watched you through it all.
I saw you cry as you helped tuck me in
My cozy new wooden bed,
The blanket warm, yet
Sodden earth
From all the tears you shed.
Ill always be glad I had that chance
To tell you that I loved you.
Even with my new
White wings
None of my words would have gone through.
You can imagine how happy I am to know
You have me to look up to
Because when you smile
At the sky
I see you know my last words were true.
Cosmic relativity
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Beauty lost at sea
Pleasing to the eye
Soldiers rise to die
Lace-lined steel pipes
Apples so richly ripe
Understanding infnity
Blinding yourself to see
Unchained marvelous wonders
Hidden through child thunder
Being brought up through hope
Sins washed with holy soap
Can you see the relevance
Of cosmic relativity
Can you breathe in captivity
Like the deceased can
All these philosophical ideas
Come from one thing
And that thing is
Cosmic relativity
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
CHECK IT OUT!
THIS WEEK: Epic & General
ton, VT 05401.
BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
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 newspapers around the state, on vpr.
net and vtdigger.org. This week we publish work in response
to the prompts, Epic: Describe an epic journey; and General
writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Ill be your anything
BY JULIA REMILLARD
If you turn to darkness, Ill be your light.
If you are a string, Ill be your kite.
If you become lost, Ill be your map.
If you are a present, Ill be the gift wrap.
If youre hurting, Ill be your pain relief.
If one day you can`t fnd your heart, know that
I am the thief.
If youre a dog, Im your bone.
If you decide to become an adventurer, Ill be
your unknown.
If you need me, Ill be here.
If you want my company, Im always near.
If you wake up and realize Im the one,
Then Ill come running, not at all stunned.
If you love me, Ill love you, too.
Just say you need me, and Ill whisper I need
you, too.
Diary: Moving west
BY KAYLAH SAILER
My mother always told me when I was a
young girl of how she wished we could live
more towards the West. I remember how she
would tell me of the rich, green valleys and its
vast, uncrowded land.
I would always dream of what it would be
like to live in Oregon. Now, I`m fnally get-
ting the chance to live out that dream.
The trip from our small farm town in
Indiana to Fort Independence was surprisingly
easy, which makes me wonder if the hard part
will come when we set out on our journey
west. I only hope for the best for me and my
family, but you never know what to expect.
About a week ago, I told my family we
were going to have to leave.
I was shocked by the disapproving look on
my husbands face. I felt my daughters pain
as I watched the tears roll down her face. My
mother sat there staring at me, expressionless.
I said to them, You know how hard being
a farmer is when the town is overpopulated.
Still, only the looks of disappointment.
Even though they didnt approve, they knew
we had to go.
Now, as I watch them pack their belong-
ings, I start to remember. I start to remember
the dangers of going West. This is going to
tear us apart. What have I done?
No words to say
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
They sat without a word to say to each other.
In fact, they were unable to form words at all.
The icy iron bonds froze to their wrists and
ankles,
Burning the gray skin exposed to the frigid air.
No warmth came from their backs pressed
together,
No light from the single-paned window over-
head.
The stone ceiling soared above them,
Becoming their sky.
A little drip splashed onto the back of ones
neck
Made vulnerable by its low-hung head,
Sending up a tiny wisp of steam upon impact.
A sheet of polished bronze lay propped
Against a large stone at their feet,
Labeling them for what they were.
Neither reacted to the echoing booms of a
guard
Making his way towards them,
Not even when he stopped before them,
Leaned in real close against the gloom,
Felt the engraving on the plaque
Propped against the large stone at their feet.
Hmm, he muttered. Two Prisoners, he
read.
Not very creative.
He left the statues where they sat
Without a word to say to him...
And clicked on his fashlight to start the night
shift at the museum.
Mystic person
BY JARRIT HATHAWAY
He came in a fash of light when I was
younger. I have known him well, for he has
always been there for me. My guardian angel,
some would call him. He has always been a
savior, for he has saved me many times.
He looks nothing out of the ordinary, but he
calls himself a Compilex, a race of which he
is the last of his kind. His race was a warlike
race that is very good at combat.
He possesses three powers: One, he is light;
two, he is the smartest being in time, space
and law; and three, he has the power to be
invisible to everyone, except me.
It has baffed even him, how I can see him.
He says I have a gift above all else, that I am
linked to him. When I die, he dies, and vice
versa. But there is a stone in the universe that
can break the bond. And we must get it quick-
ly, for my time is running out. If we dont get
it in time, when he dies, so does everything.
Everything we love, know and dont know
will disappear.
We can travel in his spaceship that no one
can see except for me and him. It is huge but
always foats up in the air. No one can feel,
taste, smell or hear it.
There is a ticket booth on the ground that
is the same as the spaceship, but contains a
portal to the spaceship.
Everything he has is high-tech. He even has
a key that morphs and can open any door.
On our journey we will encounter aliens
and mythical creatures that I would never
think existed. But the problem is we can only
jump so far at a time to reach the stone.
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
Rubber and glue
BY ELIZABETH MAGNAN
The stinging words fy from all directions
as the girl tries to hold her head high. Slut.
Ugly. Fat. Anger courses through my
veins. I want to say something, but what if
they turn on me next? Then I fnd the perfect
words and I burst.
You need to shut up! I yell at the bully.
Cause shes like rubber, youre like glue,
whatever you say bounces off her and sticks
to you.
Thats a line my little sister taught me and it
shuts most bullies mouths.
What did you just say? the bully de-
mands.
I said you need to shut up, cause shes
like rubber, youre like glue, whatever you say
bounces off her and sticks to you.
She forces a laugh and says, Whats that
supposed to mean?
It means that when you say shes a fat,
ugly slut, it bounces off her and sticks to you.
Youre calling yourself that when you say it to
her, I explain in a voice that you would use
with a 2-year-old.
Then I turn away, signaling the end of the
argument. I smile at the girl who was being
picked on and go over to her. Then my friends
come.
Thanks, the girl says.
Youre welcome, I reply. You know she
just thinks of you as a threat. She wouldnt
pick on you otherwise. Youre a pretty girl,
and dont you forget it.
THE CALVIN
Vermont writers (under age 20) are
invited to write about a topic close
to President Calvin Coolidges heart:
Should I stay in Vermont or leave?
The Calvin Coolidge Memorial
Foundation is offering $1,500 for the
top essay and $500 for second place,
along with a trip to the foundations
annual gala in New
York City next fall.
More details at
coolidgefoundation.
org or youngwriter-
sproject.org.
Calvin Coolidge
True friends
BY TAYLOR KNAPP
The memories are endless, the times we
laughed are countless.
These times will forever be cherished in
my heart.
I will always remember the real meaning
of friendship. To laugh, to love, to be silly
and to be yourself. That is something that
my friendships have taught me.
Friendship is like a circle, its never-end-
ing. The memories will always be there.
I can remember when fghting over who
is going to be mom for the day was the
big to-do.
When life was simple it was easy to see
the light, to see who your real friends were.
But today its just a big blur.
I remind myself to go back and remember
those childhood memories and friendships.
And compare them to the ones I have now.
Some are the same, some are far off.
THIS WEEK: Childhood & Color
ton, VT 05401.
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
We select the best for publication here and in newspapers
around the state, on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week we
publish work in response to the prompts, Childhood: Write
about a piece of your childhood you would like to keep; and
Color: Create a new color and describe it.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Nate Ertle, Essex High School
Imagination
BY TRACEY CROCKER
Childhood is bronchitis and imagination is the
cure.
Coughing confusion into the new world,
they stay quiet and watch
as the healthy wander uniformly.
Why cant children be like them?
The knowledgeable that understand
and seem to walk with confdence
through our world.
Children are more than them.
Adults arent sick,
but children are cured.
They save themselves.
Children fght dragons and riddles
from Dr. Seuss to Walt Disney
and live in a loss of reality.
Its everything they need.
Adulthood brings loss to clarity.
They lose themselves as they lose our minds,
pushed and shoved into jobs, lives,
and footprints.
We are imagination.
We are the stories that fll our lungs,
our dreams, our hearts.
Always stay children, always stay cured.
Pocket memory
BY LINDSEY LOWELL
In my pocket there are fve pennies and four
quarters,
A smooth rock I found at the park,
And a memory.
I stuff my hand in and feel the ridges
and edges of the change,
Smooth cool rock on my fngertips.
I dig deeper and fnd what
Im looking for.
With a frm grip I pull out my memory.
Life was perfect when we were children
Minus the itchy sweaters
And the turtlenecks that choked us.
We didnt have to worry about boys and boys
didnt have to worry about girls.
Being dirty was okay,
And bathing suits were under all our clothes.
Our questions mattered
and answers fell easily into our chubby palms.
Whats your favorite color? Mines purple.
Like a gust of wind all of it is blown away,
Our memories of childhood dragging
Along with the dirt and leaves.
We wonder what it was like to feel so free
In our sheltered worlds.
Looking back when were older,
Wishing we were younger.
Doctors creating thick creams
And stinging shots to turn back the clock.
My grandmother tells me that wrinkles
Are a reminder of happy times
But nobody seems to want them.
Running into summer and walking out.
Remember when?
I remember.
Oh yeah, I remember.
Our parents hang their favorite memories
Of our childhood on the refrigerator,
Small green painted hands and our awkward
names with backward letters
Next to the photograph of a
chubby-cheeked child
missing her two front teeth.
An everyday reminder of the smile
we used to have.
Sweet remedy
BY GENEVIEVE DAVIS
Childhood. A time when little good ever came
around,
A time when yelling was more frequent than
talking,
Crying more frequent than laughs,
Fear more frequent than security.
Such a childhood.
No family pictures.
Supervised visits.
A house falling into a pile of ashes.
What a childhood indeed.
But I remember a sweet remedy,
Which protected me at the worst moments
When shadows were our parents
And reality was a nightmare.
Childhood.
Childhood was sleeping beside me
In yet another unfamiliar house,
Curled up under blankets of insecurity
And doubt,
Caressing my hair,
Reminding me that
Itll get better.
Her hair draped over pillows
On a small twin-sized bed,
My sister,
Breaking the rules
To make sure I was safe
Because thats what family does.
Or thats what she did,
Especially that night
I begged for my apple juice and she said yes
Even though they had already said no.
And she lay beside me
When it wasnt allowed,
Promising to stay until I fell asleep.
And when I woke up, she was still there
At 2 in the morning,
Breathing lightly,
Still there.
The bobber
BY BRANDON CHAPLIN
The air is muggy and thick with the smell
of rotting plants and fesh.
The water is murky and cluttered with vari-
ous logs, sticks, and old tires that were swept
into the lake from the last rain storm.
Soon they will all be devoured whole by
the muddy bottom and never be seen again.
God knows what this lake has buried under its
brown waters.
The thick mud and sludge create a coffn
for whatever has the misfortune of descending
below the casual ripples of Lake Arrowhead.
My bobber sits quietly in the distance, and
my tiny hands grip the plastic handle of the
fshing pole tightly.
Tiny vibrations travel up the line from the
depths of the lake and trek down my pole and
into my hands.
Excitement courses through my veins, and I
begin to bury my toes into the cold mud of the
lakes shore.
The bobber violently sinks below the waves
and out of my sight.
The lake wants to consume my bobber and
add it to its collection of corpses that reside at
its bottom.
Everything that sinks below the water is
supposed to never come back, but the bobber
continues its vigorous dance of sinking below
and breaching the surface.
Life really is something that is beautiful,
but everything has a twisted side.
If we let the inky tentacles of life wrap
themselves around our ankles, then we will
never see the light of day.
We would be dragged to the watery depths
of our nightmares and left to drown amongst
our misery.
Our fery visions of success and fortune
would be snuffed out by the twisting and
churning of the currents.
My old bobber, with its faded shade of red,
is the undying will to fght that resides within
every artery, vein, capillary, and cell of our
bodies.
It is the knife that cuts those demonic ten-
tacles from our bodies.
It is the will to swim to the surface and let
the sunlight kiss our moist fesh.
That bobber is the will to continue and
start a new life for ourselves. A life that isnt
as horrible as the last.
As I grow older, I want to keep that piece
of my childhood with me.
I want to have the power to swim to the
surface.
Most wondrous color
BY ROSIE BIBONA
The color...
It is such a beautiful thing,
yet so sad.
It is almost a mixture of
grey
and a baby blue.
But there is something else behind it,
possibly a
light golden tint.
And every so often,
there is a touch of
navy,
bringing it down in both
shade
and feeling.
It can only be seen
on the brink of dusk
when the sun is just barely setting
behind the mountains.
The sad color glows
with incredible darkness,
yet the light seems to be
trying to break through,
always peeking through the crack,
but never opening the door.
EVERY WEEK
ON VPR.NET AND VTDIGGER.ORG!
SERIES ON VPR
Listen to VPR until Thursday this
week at 7:50 a.m. to hear a series on
middle school. Read all submissions to
the Middle School Writing Challenge,
including the winners, at youngwriter-
sproject.org/middleschool. The winning
commentaries will be aired on VPR dur-
ing the May 21 and 22 segments.
THIS WEEK: Middle School
ton, VT 05401.
JANES TRUST
publication here and in newspapers around the state. This
week we publish work in response to the VPR-YWP Writing
Challenge to write about middle school. Read all submissions
at youngwritersproject.org/middleschool.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Jillian Kenny, Essex High School
About Middle School
Here are some favorite quotes from the
Middle School Writing Challenge. Read all
submissions at youngwritersproject.org/
middleschool.
When will it end? Ive had enough drama to
last a lifetime. Or at least to the end of my
personal eternity.
- Raina Carfaro, Grade 7, Camels Hump
Middle School
Middle school has many complex tunnels,
some are underground.
- Alexandra Contreras-Montesano, Grade 7,
Edmunds Middle School
Middle school is like being shattered into
a million pieces all at once, then having to
choose between your favorites, pick them up
and juggle them while having a bag on your
back that weighs a hundred pounds, doing a
bunch of timed math problems. Oh, and this is
all on an old, rickety roller coaster.
- Vashta Nerada, Grade 7, Camels Hump
Middle School
Middle school, I believe, are some of the
hardest years of school I have gone through
and Im hoping they will be the hardest,
because I cant see how Ill get through other
ones.
- Isaiah Brathwaite, Grade 7, Glover Com-
munity School
In middle school everyone wants to be popu-
lar. Unfortunately, I just cant be popular. At
our school we have no uniforms, so people
just wear what they want. Lets just say the
high-end styles in my class are hoodies and
sweatpants. The fabulous designer brand of
choice? Carhartt. Not exactly my cup of tea
- Jordan Barbour, Grade 6, Barnet Elemen-
tary School
Better teachers here
BY ZELIN KESEREL
The teachers in St. Albans Town school are
much better than my old teachers in Turkey.
Back in my country, the teachers werent
that helpful; a lot of them were so mean to
some kids.
When we had a test, they didnt really help.
If we got a bad score, some of the teachers
made us cry. The teachers would make us
upset for the rest of the day. I think thats why
I wasnt great at school work.
But now I have the best teachers ever.
Every time I have a problem, my teachers are
always next to me.
I understand much better the way they
teach me. We do lots of experiments and thats
how I learn. Its hard for me to understand
some words while Im doing my work. My
teachers understand why I get confused.
Before Easter break I had a test for math.
My teacher, Mr. Peterson, helped me a lot. I
was frustrated and I wanted to give up. I said
to myself, Theres no way I can do this.
Mr. Peterson never gave up on me. I
couldn`t really understand at frst but when he
showed me ways to solve the problem I could
do it really fast.
After I worked with him I said I could do it.
I just had to try.
St. Albans Town school teachers are the
best.
Cliques
BY KAYLAN HATHAWAY
They rule the school and all that dwells
within.
Its their kingdom to do whatever they desire.
So many groups when the jocks are their king.
The queens of gossip spread their flthy
words,
So few nice ones, but alas, they will never be
heard.
These groups cast out the people they need to
live,
Nerds being humiliated, when they are really
the lucky,
A handful of wanderers, never belonging,
never going to give.
They didn`t ft in, but they should be glad.
They surely shouldnt be sad.
Without the groups, you can fnd your own
way, which makes it a wonderful day,
When all these cliques just disappear.
But this will never happen, thats what I fear.
Pushing through
BY KAYLAH SAILER
Life is supposed to be a time when you
have no regrets. Middle school twists that
rule. A lot. From boy drama and being bullied
to fnally feeling accepted, you can fnd all of
that here.
Even though middle school is one of the
hardest times in a persons life, it makes you
who you are today. I like to tell myself that
all of this stress is just preparing you for the
future, its testing you to see if youre strong
enough to make it.
But there are times when youll forget
about all of that, youll forget about staying
positive, forget about not trying to get caught
up in the moment. It will happen, you just
have to keep pushing through.
Life is a test, a test you cant study for.
Youre going to have those days, when all that
matters is getting through your work, and try-
ing to accomplish your goals. And then there
are those days when none of that matters, you
get caught up in the stress from all the drama,
you cant think straight, and you just forget
about everything.
Its a different experience for everybody;
some have it better than others, and some have
it worse. Some crave the feeling of just want-
ing to be accepted, wondering what it would
be like just to ft in, wishing they could just
for one day fnally feel they`re wanted. It`s
a time when you learn to ft in, it`s a time to
prepare you for the future, and the stress that
comes with it has only just begun.
Mixed-up mess
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Middle school is exactly what it sounds
like. A mixed-up mess of nothing, and yet
everything at the same time. Too young to be
adults, too old to be considered children.
So what are we? Well, not one single
person has the correct answer to that question.
Some may say were misunderstood delin-
quents, but thats a slanted truth. If were too
old to be kids, why are we treated like them?
Teachers walk around ordering us to write in
our agendas and walk in a single fle. YOU
ARE NOT MY BABYSITTER!
... Middle school is, honestly, some of the
toughest years any person could go through.
Bullying, creating an identity, grades. But
middle school is also one of the most impor-
tant times of growth in our lives. I know for
me that middle school has shined a light upon
the place I want to be, and the place I need to
be in writing. Its given me an opportunity to
be recognized for a passion I never thought
was pursuable, or never thought I had. So yes,
middle school sucks, it drags you through hell
and back, but the outcome is quite beautiful.
Remember this
BY ZACH ST. AMOUR
Middle school, sound familiar to you?
Yeah, well, it should; it was part of your life,
no matter how good or bad it was, and it is
part of you and always will be inside of you.
The good times and bad times, theyre all
there, inside you like big, dark secrets waiting
to be told or shared with other people...
I could share a lifetime of events and
stories that happened to me, the good and the
bad... let me start with 6th grade easy until
your frst write-up and then everything goes
downhill. The teachers start watching you
every second, every move, and its ridiculous.
Seventh grade is a little harder but still fun,
fun, fun. You have your most change and de-
velopment getting ready for the big 8th grade,
thinking and waiting to be that big and strong
boy just like your dad.
...Finally, 8th grade, this is where all the
bull, rumors and lies start. Just like a post on
Facebook once its there its always there.
Also this is where all of the girls and guys
start really judging you, so eventually you just
fnd your own place to ft in and try to make
everything work...
(Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.
org/node/ 93443.)
THIS WEEK: Spirit & Photo 7
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,
VT 05401.
VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
state, on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week, we present re-
sponses to the prompts, Spirit: What is your spirit animal?;
and Photo 7. Read more great student writing at youngwrit-
ersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Casey Mulrow, Essex High School
Photo 7 (Archie Love, Springstein Mills, Chester, S.C.) Lewis Wickes
Hine, Shorpy images
Not anymore
BY ROSIE BIBONA
Nestled on a branch, I start to fdget.
I`ve been sitting here for too long.
I spread my wings, launch off, and soar
through the air.
I feel weightless, like I am dreaming.
Then I remember that I am.
I have only just fallen into the world of sleep.
But this is wonderful.
Oh, how long I`ve been waiting for this!
My heart races through the excitement.
I fap my wings to keep me afoat through the
sky.
The blue abyss is dotted with a ton of clouds.
This could not be more perfect.
And soon, I start to think,
Why didn`t I do this before?!
Well, I can answer that.
I was too scared before.
But now... No way am I letting anything hold
me back.
Because this, right here?
This is me!
This is who I am, and I can fnally be free!
I can fnally show everyone who I am.
And I don`t have to be scared.
Not anymore.
Monkey
BY ELIZABETH MAGNAN
A monkey, that is my spirit animal. Mon-
keys are fun-loving and mischievous. I love to
have fun and I can be mischievous.
They are also energetic, and that I defnitely
am. I never stop moving.
They are also curious, and I ask a lot of
questions, especially the question why.
Monkeys are also friendly. I get along with
a lot of people.
Black and white boy
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Six years old but strong
Already so immune to all the wrong
In the world
Dirt on his hands, and knees
He needs a bath, he isn`t clean
But as he stands against a tree
Wising to be free
He remembers his morals
Do not regret
Or fret
About your past
Don`t lose yourself
In what you lack
Remember to be happy
Even when things are bad
And smile even if you`re sad...
Running away
BY WILLIAM BOSCO
Grade 7, Thetford Academy
It seems so easy to escape,
Just to pack up and go,
Just to slip away without a scrape.
No one will ever know.
Finally free from chores and work.
No more lawns to mow.
But then questions start to fy about my head:
Where will I eat? Where will I sleep?
I kind of miss my warm, soft bed.
Then it starts to turn to night.
Where am I to go? What do I do?
There`s no welcome place in sight.
I don`t have a clue.
These are strange, unfamiliar streets I roam.
Now I think the chores are worth it.
I think I`ll head home.
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT
HAS A FEATURED WRITER
ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK.
YWP ANTHOLOGY
Students up to 12th grade: Submit
your best work for a chance to be pub-
lished in YWP`s sixth annual Anthol-
ogy.
Our team of judges will be reviewing
submissions starting May 26, so don`t
delay.
How to submit: Go to youngwrit-
ersproject.org, start an account (if you
don`t already have one); and create a
blog entry. Click on Newspaper Sub-
mission, fll out all information boxes
and click the prompt 'general writing.
Same steps for photos and art, but click
on 'Add images, and make the genre
'photo story.
You may also email your work to
sreid@youngwritersproject.org, and
include your name, grade, school and
best contact information.
Published writers, artists and pho-
tographers will be honored at a special
Celebration of Writing on Saturday,
November 8 at the Vermont College of
Fine Arts in Montpelier.
Time can heal
what reason cannot
BY KRISTEN BELL
Over time you learn to forget
When in the moment all you see is regret
Over time you learn to not care enough to
stress about it
When in the moment all you can do is think
about it
Over time scars can fade, the pain forgotten
When in the moment you look down, disap-
pointed
Over time you can love and appreciate
When in the moment you can only pick out
the unwanted mistakes
Over time you can learn to live like you
believe
When in the moment it is a hundred times
harder than it seems
Over time you can smile with your eyes
When compared to the moment you only
smile to disguise
Spirit animals
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO
Grade 8, Homeschool
I am a horse
Fast, tall, beautiful
I am a mouse
Thin, shy, kind
I am a donkey
Rude, loud, stubborn
I am a dragon
Fiery, strong, careless
I am a camel
Weird, different, unknown
I am a dog
Loving, careful, sweet
I am a chipmunk
Cute, chattery, hungry
I am a sloth
Slow, tired, annoyed
I am a cow
Calm, normal, content
I am a goose
Irritable, screechy, brave
I am a horse-mouse-donkey-dragon-camel-
dog-chipmunk-sloth-cow-goose
I am fast, tall, beautiful, thin, shy, kind, rude,
loud, stubborn, fery, strong, careless, weird,
different, unknown, loving, careful, sweet,
cute, chattery, hungry, slow, tired, annoyed,
calm, normal, content, irritable, screechy and
brave.
THIS WEEK: Farm & General
ton, VT 05401.
TURRELL FUND
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
The last egg
Grade 8, Homeschool
The little girl
Runs
Toward the coop.
Shes so proud
That shes been asked
To fnd the eggs
And bring twelve back
To take home from the farm.
Her thoughts are racing around
Like an excited dog
In a huge, grassy feld.
Im a big girl,
Mama trusts me,
I have to bring all the eggs back,
I cant break any,
Im a big girl now.
She is wearing
Her favorite
Blue dress
With the green hem.
She opens the door;
She squeezes herself through,
Making sure
Not to let the chickens out.
She opens the egg carton
And picks an egg up
Off of the foor.
Soon, she has eleven eggs.
She picks up the last one
And holds it in her hand.
It feels right.
She runs her thumb over it
And it cracks open.
It barely makes a sound,
Just a small squelch
As it runs down her dress.
She walks carefully back
To the house.
She trembles inside
As she lies to her mother.
There were only eleven,
She says, looking down.
Now, the girl knows
That her mother
Probably understood
The egg stain on her dress
And the guilty look on her face.
state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Farm: Write about an experience
youve had on a farm; and General writing. Read more
great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
YWP ANTHOLOGY
CALL TO WRITERS, ARTISTS,
PHOTOGRAPHERS
Students up to 12th grade: Sub-
mit your best work for a chance to
be published in YWPs sixth annual
Anthology.
Our team of judges will be re-
viewing submissions starting May
26, so dont delay.
How to submit: Go to young-
writersproject.org, start an account
(if you dont already have one);
and create a blog entry. Click on
Newspaper Submission, fll out all
information boxes and click the
prompt general writing. Same
steps for photos and art, but click on
Add images, and make the genre
photo story.
include your name, grade, school
and best contact information.
Published writers, artists and
photographers will be honored at
a special Celebration of Writing
on Saturday, November 8 at the
Vermont College of Fine Arts in
Montpelier.
Be part of this distinguished
group, representing the years best!
What they expect
BY JULIA REMILLARD
I am only 14,
But they expect so much
In love, in life,
And despite
All my achievements,
Well, everything I thought was an achieve-
ment,
They still expect the impossible.
Being held to high standards is okay;
In fact I want to have the bar raised every day,
But how can they expect a 5'3 teenage girl
To be able to defeat their dragons and unbear-
able hurdles?
I will never be as good as the girl four years
older,
Never tower over things I havent tried.
Instantly expecting so much from someone
isnt fair.
Thats not caring;
Thats called torture.
My world
BY LYDIA SMITH
Grade 10, Homeschool
Beep, beep, beep. My alarm clock lit up
5 a.m. I pulled my warm blankets over my
head and snuggled back in. Ten minutes later,
my sister shook me back to reality. Stumbling
over a pile of schoolbooks, I fumbled for my
clothes. I slipped down the stairs, trying to
shake the cobwebs from my dozing brain.
As my feet hit the cold tile foor, the
sleepiness fnally dissipated. Mechanically, I
mixed together a warm bottle of milk re-
placer for the lamb we were supplementing.
Bottle in hand and big sister at my side, we
slipped on our barn boots and heavy coats
before stepping out into the frigid morning
air. Squinting through puffy eyes, I trudged
across the driveway to the elderly 15-passen-
ger van. The handle caught but released after
a strong tug reminded it of its purpose. The
brief drive to the old, three-sided barn where
we wintered the fock that year seemed longer
than usual. The van hummed, dispelling the
morning mists and shaking the cold from its
rusty bones. As we turned into the driveway
and eased down the icy slope, the barn came
into view. It was little more than a glorifed,
overgrown shed, but it offered protection from
the wind and snow.
With a creak, the van doors swung open
and we hopped out. As I approached the gate,
I called for the bottle lamb, named Relish.
The hungry lamb erupted from the bottom
of a pile of snoozing sheep, unperturbed by
the disruption. I squeezed through the metal
gate blocked by a stubborn ewe. The lights
jolted on, momentarily blinding me. A quick
scan of the barn revealed no new lambs and a
demanding tug on my jeans reminded me that
Relish was starving. Tilting the bottle care-
fully, I held it as he greedily chugged it down.
My sister carefully looked over the slumber-
ing ewes, checking for signs of impending
labor. As Relish licked the fnal drops of milk
from his lips, I snuggled with the youngest ad-
dition to our farm, not quite 24 hours old yet.
... I wouldnt trade my early mornings, late
nights, and long days for anything. In spring,
I help new lives come into the world, watch
them wobble on their fresh legs, and teach
them how to nurse. In summer, I earn their
trust, prepare them for the shows, and walk
them into the ring. In fall, I say good-bye to
many friends and begin my plans for the next
year, promising to do it all better than ever
before. In winter, I wait. This is my life. And I
wouldnt change it for the world.
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.
org/node/79444.
Voice
BY KRISTEN BELL
Words are the hearts voice.
We should be bold enough to take its papers
and publish them,
Creating our own stories, not echoing others,
Using our own perspectives and opinions,
Never ceasing to be strong, not swayed by
others.
Your book has only one voice, your own.
Yet it will touch and speak to everyone differ-
ently.
Let your voice speak through your story; set
that voice free.
Never let the worlds voice block out or shut
off your own.
Your heart speaks the truth; dont lock it in.
Be proud of who you are, and it will be easy
to overcome.
Words are the hearts voice.
Be bold.
Take its papers and publish them.
Farmer boy
BY SILAS ROSS WHITE
There was a boy named Silas. He was 10
years old and he worked on a farm where they
had 200 cows, nine calves and fve John Deere
tractors. He loved his job.
Silas mowed the lawn and weed-whacked.
When Silas was not milking the cows, he
would be raking, baling or rock picking in the
corn feld if it was in the summer.
If it was not in the summer, Silas would
be plowing with the tractor. Silas would even
feed the calves.
The farm Silas worked on was the Gortins
farm in Sheldon.
Calleigh Brignaull, Essex High School
THIS WEEK: Senses & General
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.
YWP is an independent nonproft that
engages students to write, helps them
improve and connects them with authen-
tic audiences. YWP runs youngwriter-
sproject.org and the Schools Project, a
comprehensive online classroom and
training program that works with teach-
ers to help students develop their writing
and digital literacy skills. To learn more,
go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at
(802) 324-9537.
state, on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week, we present re-
sponses to the prompts, Senses: Describe using every sense
except sight; and General writing. Read more great writing
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Walker Jones, Essex High School
Waves of uncertainty
BY KYLIE TRIMM
All I see, at frst, is black. Deep, never-
ending, deafening black. It flls my mouth
and makes me choke, it crashes over me like
a wave and pushes me through glass until I`m
falling, falling...
A fash of red. So sudden, it wakes me up
from my dreams of choking and falling. A
wave of jolts, and red splotches, splattering
against my vision until it`s all I see. Pain, so
unbearable, spreading. Red means pain. Red
is bad.
Then it washes off, pouring down like a
sick waterfall of blood. Black again. I don`t
feel any pain anymore, and this time, when I
fall, it feels like I`m falling through blissful
oblivion, and I spread my arms to catch the
wind.
I`m gliding through the darkness, not
really sure where I`m going or which direc-
tion I`m facing, and not really caring, when
subtle specks of baby blue start appearing. I
welcome it; blue is a soft color, a good color.
It won`t hurt me, not like red. Soon blue is
everywhere, sucking the black away like a
vacuum. I roll onto my back and put my hands
behind my head, kicking as if I was just foat-
ing in water. Peaceful, that`s what blue means.
I feel everything inside of me shutting
down. I say goodbye. It`s time to let go of
everything, of the pain and uncertainty.
Will heaven be blue? Will it be peaceful?
Will someone be there, waiting for me?
White light creeps up. I see it, hiding at
the corner of my vision like a scared dog. I
beckon it forward, and it explodes against the
blue. I sigh, and close my eyes.
Dragon
BY CHRISTOPHER BINGHAM
My muse be a dragon
and myself a blade.
I cut through ideas - each taking the form
of a story or a poem.
Some fy off
and spawn more beasts -
more ideas to hack at!
But my muse can be a blade,
dueling my own
writer`s block.
I can win,
I can try,
and I will succeed.
A poem shatters
out of the crisp iron shards
of the opposing blade,
a poem of my muse being a dragon,
and a sword.
YWP ANTHOLOGY
PHOTOGRAPHERS
Students up to 12th grade: Submit
your best work for a chance to be pub-
lished in YWP`s sixth annual Anthol-
ogy.
Our team of judges will be reviewing
submissions starting May 26, so don`t
delay.
How to submit: Go to youngwrit-
ersproject.org, start an account (if you
don`t already have one); and create a
blog entry. Click on Newspaper Sub-
mission, fll out all information boxes
and click the prompt 'general writing.
Same steps for photos and art, but click
on 'Add images, and make the genre
'photo story.
include your name, grade, school and
best contact information.
Published writers, artists and pho-
tographers will be honored at a special
Celebration of Writing on Nov. 8 at
the Vermont College of Fine Arts in
Montpelier.
100 hospital visits
BY JULIA REMILLARD
100 hospital visits.
Some broken bones, a few collisions.
Ever since I was 3
They`ve called me clumsy
Because well, ha, I am.
It all started when I tried to fy on the fan,
Then drive the van,
Ride my dog,
And have a poisonous frog
As my pet.
Oh boy, did he put up a threat.
I cracked my head,
Had an allergic reaction to what I was fed,
Sprained my ankle.
Let me tell you I made those doctors rankle.
100 hospital visits.
A few fractures, and even loss of vision.
They used to call me clumsy,
But now they call me dummy
All because I tried to feed a lion a pack of
gummies!
Panda
Grade 8, Homeschool

I nuzzle closer to mama, hoping she`ll
give me breakfast. She lets out a little grunt,
and rolls over. I yelp a little, as her body lands
on my paw. She sits up quickly, and makes
a soothing sound. She licks my head a bit,
and then I hear her get up, and go away into
another place.
I sit up, and shake my head. I lick my
stomach quickly, and settle back down into
my soft bed to wait for her to come back. She
always does, my mama.
I`m almost asleep when I feel my stomach
part from the cushy surface I`m lying on. I
squeal as I feel two big, pokey things lift me
up. I think I might be fying, but I think fying
is less bouncy and scary than this. I`m going
up and down in a steady rhythm, up down up
down up down.
And then my feet hit something not at
all soft, and not at all comfortable. It doesn`t
smell right in here. It`s not like mama, that`s
for sure.
The surface is hard and slippery, and my
feet slide around as I try to stand up and run.
There are very strange sounds coming from
all around me. It sounds like a bunch of huge
birds are surrounding me, playing with me.
I screech for mama, and then my feet leave
the surface. I`m set back down, and this time
when I try to run, my nose hits a fat surface,
and I fall onto my side.
I squeal as something touches my stom-
ach, and fail my claws in the air to fght off
the attacker. There are more huge bird noises,
and then something pulls my legs apart.
There`s a softer bird noise, and then they let
me go.
Something cold and wet and really smelly
touches my neck, and then something quickly
stabs in, stays for a moment, and then pulls
out very slowly. I screech, and wave my arms
in the air. I begin throwing a tantrum, scream-
ing at them and covering my neck with one
paw, scratching at the place where the thing
stabbed. It itches.
There are bird noises that sound a little
like mama, and then something touches my
nose and my jaw. I struggle to keep my mouth
closed, but I can`t.
There`s an awful thing that feels like water
but tastes like the thing I get in my mouth
when I fall over, or when I put my mouth on
the big, fat thing in the place where I live.
I think mama said it was metal, but I`m not
sure.
I don`t want to swallow it; it doesn`t taste
right, but then something touches my throat,
and it goes down by accident. I splutter, and
cough, and paw at my mouth to get rid of the
taste. I can`t do it. It won`t go away.
Suddenly, I hear mama`s voice, loud and
worried. The smooth surface disappears
from under me, and I go up and down more,
and then I feel my bed underneath me. I feel
mama`s nose poke into my fur, and I reassure
her that I`m okay and alive.
She grunts, relieved, and settles down
beside me. She gives me breakfast, and when
my stomach is so full that I can`t move, I
settle my nose into her fur, and let out a little
satisfed huff. I fop over onto my side, and
breathe slower. And then, since I did so much
hard work, I fall asleep.
NEXT PROMPT
Consequences. Write about a time when
you really understood the idea of conse-
quences... Alternates: 48 hours. If you had
48 hours to do anything or go anywhere,
what would you do? or Bully. Write a letter
to a bully. Due May 9
THIS WEEK: Rhymes & General
ton, VT 05401.
CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS
With the help of a team of students, we select the best
for publication here and newspapers around the state, on
vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week we publish work in
response to the prompts, Rhymes and General writing.
Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
This story was written for YWPs annual Ver-
mont Writes Day, in response to the prompt, Spider:
You are about to crush a spider and...
Eyes on the ceiling
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
You ever get the feeling that something is
watching you? Well, this time, when I got that
feeling, I was being watched.
I was in the living room when I happened
to glance up in my search for the location of
the said watcher, and there it was. A black,
grotesque creature with wiry appendages
spread out like poisoned veins from a mis-
shapen, bulbous ellipse of a body. Its multiple
dead, glassy eyes were fxated on me.
Immediately, I froze. After all, how could
I risk moving an inch and creating even the
slightest shift in pressure that could loosen
its gravity-defying grip? But the fear had
my stomach clenched tight in an icy fst. I
couldn`t stay seated where I was. I had to
move. And soon.
Ever so slowly, not daring to take my eyes
off the creature, I slid my feet off the couch.
I did not sit up; the thing had a repulsive aura
that wouldn`t allow my body to come any
closer to it now that I was fully aware of it.
And I wanted nothing more than to be far
away from its black, spindly horridness.
Suddenly, its spread-eagled position on the
ceiling shifted. I squealed involuntarily and,
powered seemingly by refex alone, darted
straight across the room to the far wall.
'Honey, what are you doing? my mom
peered over the edge of the door close to my
left, then walked in and closed it behind her
when she saw me huddled on the foor.
But it wasn`t her that caught my eyes so
much as what she was holding: a broom!
Without thinking I jumped forward and
snatched the broom from her. I would kill the
terrible creature once and for all!
'Hey! A hand gripped my shoulder just
as I was about to jab the thing with my newly
acquired weapon of extermination. I squealed
again, though this time in frustration and fear
that the creature, angered, would take this
opportunity and strike. 'What are you doing?
my mother asked, exasperated.
'The thing on the ceiling! Look! I shifted
the broom so she could see, but the bristles
would still be between its eight staring eyes
and my body.
'What thing?
I frowned agitatedly. 'The spider!
She inhaled slowly. 'Oh! Hah, didn`t even
see him at frst; he`s puny. Can I have that
back?
She took the broom from me and fipped
it so its bristly head was on the foor where it
belonged, and went back into the kitchen.
I glanced over my shoulder once at the
centimeter-long arachnid, shivered a bit, and
walked grumbling into the kitchen where the
smell of dinner quickly made me forget about
the itsy-bitsy spider.
Jake Maurer, Essex High School
YWP ANTHOLOGY
PHOTOGRAPHERS
Students up to 12th grade: Sub-
mit your best work for a chance to
be published in YWP`s sixth annual
Anthology.
Our team of judges will be re-
viewing submissions starting May
26, so don`t delay.
How to submit: Go to young-
writersproject.org, start an account
(if you don`t already have one);
and create a blog entry. Click on
Newspaper Submission, fll out all
information boxes and click the
prompt 'general writing. Same
steps for photos and art, but click on
'Add images, and make the genre
'photo story.
include your name, grade, school
and best contact information.
Published writers, artists and
photographers will be honored at
a special Celebration of Writing
on Saturday, November 8 at the
Vermont College of Fine Arts in
Montpelier.
Be part of this distinguished
group, representing the year`s best!
Remember me
BY JULIA REMILLARD
I don`t want to be just another
I don`t want to be under the radar
I want to be great, superior even
I want to be the best
Not the girl that everyone forgets
I want to rise, and conquer
And taunt
Those reaching for my success
The air I breathe flled with no regrets
I want to be remembered
Through my writing, and actions
I don`t want a small fraction
Of myself to be the reason people remember
though
I want to glow
With uncontainable glory
Shock the minds of readers with my delicate
stories
I need to be
An exceptional me
As I write stories, poems
For the world to read
I have to be remembered
For being amazing at what I love
And for the memorable things I`ll have done
NEXT PROMPT
Silence. Begin a story with this line: They
sat without a word to say to each other...
Alternate: Gibberish. Ever read 'Jabber-
wocky? Write a poem of nonsense and
made-up words. Make your reader laugh!
Due May 2
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
Boundaries we build
BY KRISTEN BELL
Boundaries
To keep me locked up safe
From all outer misconceptions
From traps I can`t escape
Walls
I build in place of guards
To serve as my protection
From those who mean to harm
Fences
That keep me here in place
From mistaking lies for truths
From enemies within my own fate
All these things known to keep us braced
But the outward hand has been replaced
By anything known to silently and secretly
block others out
Not for our good because they keep flled with
doubt
Helping us believe that no one cares or wastes
their thought
When what they really need is to know that
they can help
That the boundaries we build
can be some day torn down
Catching dreams
Grade 8, Homeschool, West Glover
In goes oxygen, out comes a symphony
The chirps teasing me
As my feet splash in the mud
Grass, at the bottom of the pond
Tickling my legs, swishing at my toes
Wrapping round my fngers
I try to catch one again
My fngers stretching wide apart
Moving quietly into the muck
I feel the creature brush my fngers
As it slips between them
After I give up, and splash angrily
Through the mud
Towards the bucket which
Holds the captured, green victims
You come towards me
You`ve caught your tenth frog
You tell me it`s time
To bring them inside
I stomp back to the house
Still annoyed that you`re better at everything
You creep inside, shoulders hunched over
Eyes darting around
For the enemy grown-ups
You run on your toes
Into the bathroom
I watch you carefully, still at the door
As you dump the contents
Of the bucket into the bathtub
You turn around, with an angry face
As I shut the door
Just a hair too loud
I run quietly to the bathroom
I forget about the squeaky foorboard
You glare again
I can see the tub now
They were like dreams
In captivity
Hopping around, and around, and around
Tiny, agitated, eyes bulging
Less beautiful close up
Than they were through the dark water
Meant to be free
But we had to meddle
THIS WEEK: General & Garden
ton, VT 05401.
TURRELL FUND
publication in this and other newspapers, and on vtdigger.org
and vpr.net. This week we publish work in response to the
prompts for General writing and the School Garden Writing
Challenge. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Mountains
BY JENNA TERRAZZANO
Im living a constant uphill battle.
Generation Z has been renamed.
We are now Generation Stress.
It`s not diffcult to recognize why.
We break our backs trying to please our
parents
and make them proud.
For reasons we refuse to comprehend
our parents set standards, or expectations they
want us to achieve.
They want full control over the way we act
or the decisions we make
or the person we choose to become when we
grow up.
They want to plan out our futures for us.
We get that they dont want us to fail
like they did in aspects of their own lives.
They dont want us growing up regretting
the path we took.
So they push us
to make the decisions they wish they had
to become the person they wish they had.
They live their lives vicariously through ours
And that may sound cheesy
or like a plot in an MTV True Life episode
but in all reality it does happen,
it is happening.
Some of us blow off their expectations.
Some of us try our hardest to meet their ex-
pectations.
Some of us fear we will never meet their
expectations.
Some of us dont have their expectations to
meet.
But nobody realizes that all the pressure they
put on us,
all this weight on our shoulders
is actually drowning us
and overwhelming us and stressing us out.
They push their ideas of what our lives should
look like
that our desires and wants and dreams
can no longer be in the picture.
We dont know what we want our lives to
look like anymore.
Those dreams are being stifed.
Weve become distracted
and baffed because we have no clue what we
want
or how we feel.
Now our generation lacks independence.
Now our generation lacks individualism.
Time stamps
BY JILL PARADEE
Does time really matter?
Can memories really be measured in minutes?
Can a relationship really be measured by
months?
Can a marriage really be measured in years?
Or is time something we created before we
really started living?
How I felt back then
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Ive written all my thoughts,
Drawn out all my dreams,
Set high goals, and have been let down by the
misconception of what they seem.
Ive been called a Barbie, perfect and
more,
Been told to leave, and repeatedly shown to
the door.
Ive been scolded for following the rules
And even made fun of for doing things that
arent cool.
Life handed me lemons, and I tried to make
lemonade
But I ended up cut and bruised, sliced by the
blade
Of truth.
Ive been called names, made fun of because I
didnt have as much social fame
As everyone else.
But no one seems to care how I felt,
Back then.
SCHOOL GARDEN WRITING CHALLENGE
Erin Anderson, Vermont Community Garden Network Intern 2013
More than 120 students responded to the
School Garden Writing Challenge! Con-
gratulations to winner Zofa Zerphy who
received $50 from the sponsor, Vermont
Community Garden Network (VCGN), and
a $50 gift card from Red Wagon Plants. All
writers received a bundle of seeds for their
gardens, courtesy of VCGN.
In Kirstens garden
BY ZOFIA ZERPHY
Grade 6, Hartland Elementary School

I love gardening. Every year you get to
start fresh and completely over. Starting over
is not as easy as it sounds. Sure, you can start
over with a board game or a crossword puzzle,
but with your life? Thats a little harder.
Though thats why I garden. For every person
I knew or know that took too long to start
their life over, I garden for them.
Each person I knew or know represents a
plant that is just like their personality. Carrots
for Criss, who is stubborn but sweet on the in-
side. Rhubarb for Rebekah, because if you got
on her bad side, nothing would ever be good
again, but if you went about it just right, she
was the sweetest person that ever lived. And
then there was Kirsten. Kirsten was potatoes.
She looked tough, but you could bruise her as
easily as taking candy from a baby. Kirsten
was the one who got me into gardening.
Each day after school, I would walk to
her house and she would offer me a piece of
strawberry-rhubarb pie, or a slice of zucchini
bread, or some other dessert that shed just
made. Once we`d fnished eating her amaz-
ing masterpieces, wed get to work on the
garden. Every day Id walk out into the bright
sunshine of spring. Kirstens garden was just
a modest, little garden, but it was a rich one.
Rich in love, I mean.
Kirsten put all her time and effort into that
little piece of heaven, as did I. Before Kirsten,
I thought gardening was just something old
ladies did as a pastime, but Kirsten taught
me that I was wrong. Each day, Kirsten and I
would work on that little garden until the sun
was lazily drifting toward the horizon, and
then I would have to go home. Then in the
morning, on my way to the bus stop, I would
check in on Kirsten and have a glass of ice
tea, if I had time. This was the routine, day
after day.
But by the end of the gardening season,
Kirsten and I would make up all of her
goodies into pies, breads, and salads. Kirsten
would call up her friends and ask them if they
could bring over some of their sausages or
hamburgers for the barbecue.
And then, when we were done, we would
invite everyone over and have a feast. That
was the best part of the fall. Everyone sharing
food together and laughing together like one
giant family. I never thought that something
as simple as sharing food could have such an
amazing effect. When we were all sharing the
food that Kirsten and I had put so much effort
into making and preparing, it felt like no one
worried about any of their problems anymore.
Thats what got me into gardening. Being able
to make people stop worrying, even if it was
just for a half hour as they ate their lunch.
Stopped:
A sci-h fantasy
BY KAYLAN HATHAWAY
What is this? What is this new reality?
The water no longer fows, the people no
longer stroll.
Everyone is stuck, frozen in time.
A cup of coffee, stopped from spilling, a
person saved from deaths cold grip.
I walk alone, like everyone is dead, their
corpses hung in the air.
New things to see that I havent noticed
before in my busy life, but now are clear in
their stillness.
The details of nature so beautiful now, the
perfectness of a lone fower in a park.
A thousand new things to do, so many new
possibilities.
I can walk across an ocean, explore once
deadly jungles.
So many new adventures, but I am the
only one left. Will this last forever? Will I be
forever stuck in this moment?
Maybe there are more, more people like
me who are still awake, or maybe I will for-
ever walk this Earth.
I wonder if this has happened before, we
just didn`t realize it because it was just them.
Stuck forever, a fate worse than death.
NEXT PROMPTS
Childhood. Write about a piece of your child-
hood that youd like to keep as you approach
adulthood. Alternate: General writing in any
genre. Due April 25
Silence. Begin a story with this line: They sat
without a word to say to each other... Alter-
nate: Gibberish. Ever read Jabberwocky?
Write a poem of nonsense and made-up
words. Make your reader laugh! Due May 2
THANK YOU
To the Vermont Community
Garden Network (VCGN) for
sponsoring the garden challenge.
VCGN has sent the winner a $50
cash prize and a $50 gift certif-
cate from Red Wagon Plants;
as well as a bundle of seeds to
every writer in the contest!
Find out more about VCGN at vcgn.org.
Lacrosse in six words
BY TAYLOR PELKEY
I love lacrosse: pass, shoot, score.
Fear of nothingness
BY KAYLEIGH REID
Grade 11, Milton High School
Sometimes I fear the afterlife,
the possible nothingness that awaits me.
The cold.
I fear that after spending my short lifespan
among the living, I will be in eternal black-
ness.
No life, no light, no thought.
Sometimes I try to picture heaven, that holy
place that many elders have tried to tell me is
real.
I try to fnd comfort in it, but I just can`t seem
to convince myself.
I want to believe, to have faith in a meaning-
ful place after my death.
I can picture it, the beauty and the warmth and
the love.
Never being alone.
Though I still can`t believe, no matter how
hard I try.
I can`t see past the logic, or the lack of it.
I don`t have faith.
How can such a place exist?
So I go back to my fear, and the loneliness of
its eternal darkness.
I sink back into thoughts of a terrible future.
One that can only lead to depression, that is, if
it held consciousness.
THIS WEEK: Fear & General
of writing.
VERMONT COUNTRY STORE
state, and on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Fear: What is your biggest fear?;
and General writing. Read more great writing at youngwrit-
ersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
VERMONTIVATE!
WRITING CHALLENGE
Write about climate
change and win prizes!
Read the prompts and fnd out more
about the challenge and Vermontivate,
the community sustainability game at
youngwritersproject.org/vermontivate14.
Due date: Monday, April 14
NEXT PROMPTS
Color. Cre-
ate a new
color name
it, describe
it. Where do
you fnd it?
Alternates:
Early. Are you
an early bird or a
night owl? Which way is better? Or
write about Photo 9 (above). Due
April 18
Childhood. Write about a piece of
your childhood that you`d like to
keep forever. Alternate: General
writing in any genre. Due April 25
Humanity
BY LOREN SEARLES
Grade 8, North Country Union Junior High
School
Humanity. Eight letters to account for
seven billion people.
An entire existence of evolution, of growth,
of destruction, of waste of human.
A future fueled by immense potential, at
the same time fawed by massive ignorance.
Perpetually growing, improving in so many
aspect, meanwhile, becoming ever more
dependent.
Technology has replaced social depth;
disregard for education has grown to be ortho-
dox; the mainstream denies individuality
Nelson Mandela lived to fght poverty and
the injustice thriving within. Paul Walker
acted in six movies.
Mandela spent 27 years in prison for stand-
ing against ruthless discrimination before
coming out to make a difference, to inspire
and provoke the equality deserved by all.
Walker was paid millions of dollars to
entertain people with fctional violence and
stress.
Both were humans who earned recognition,
but one affected the future for the better; one
will go down in history as a hero of reality.
These two men died in the same week. So
many were devastated by the death of Walker;
so many had no idea who Mandela was, so
many didn`t care.
So be aware. Acknowledge reality. Ac-
knowledge the things that deserve it.
Don`t be content with an artifcial world
created by social media and ignorance to our
surroundings and past.
Our existence is too powerful to be so pas-
sively accepted take the time to think about
it.
Appreciate how far we have come, but
know what some are leaving behind.
Think about humanity. Because I fear its
future.
What to do in life?
BY RACHEL PELTIER
My biggest worry is not knowing what I
want to do with my life.
I am scared that I will never know what I
want my career to be, or I`ll get stuck with
something I do not enjoy doing.
I worry that I will not become a successful
person and make important contributions to
the planet.
I feel like I`m always pushing myself to be-
come the person I want to be. I try hard to do
well in school, do well in sports and be kind to
others in order to set myself up for a success-
ful life, however I still worry that I will not be
successful because I don`t know where I want
to go with my life.
I fear that since I cannot imagine my future
now, it will not be a success.
Fate
BY STEVEN BEAULIEU
Something that is constantly on my mind is
the thought of what I may be missing out on.
Daily, I wonder if maybe I`m in the wrong
place. There are over 100 million square miles
on the Earth; who says I am supposed to be
here?
I don`t necessarily want to be everywhere,
and see everything that is happening all over
the planet, but I want to be in the right spot.
I want there to be a purpose to what I do
each day, and feel like I`m living my life the
way that it was intended to be lived. Whether
it was intended by myself or something big-
ger. Which makes me think of fate. Does me
wanting to be in the right place and change
what I`m doing subsequently change my fate?
Or is it exactly what my fate is for that very
same reason?
Is my whole life already predetermined?
Despite all my efforts to be myself and make
decisions because I want them, and refuse to
let it be decided for me, is that exactly what`s
expected from me?
These questions themselves are not what I
fear; the answers are.
I am young and provided with all the op-
portunities I could possibly think of, almost
too many. I can only really choose a single
path to take in my life, and once I do, it is
unlikely I will be able to go back and change
my course easily.
What I fear is choosing that wrong path and
ending up missing out on what I was meant
to be. I fear not knowing if I`m missing out
on something better, somewhere better, or
someone better. This is what causes me to
believe in fate, because I may still fear what I
might be missing, but now I trust that fate will
take me to the object, occupation, place, and
person, perfect for me.
Music
BY JILL PARADEE
Who made music?
The birds who whistled it or the humans who
put words to it?
Mirror, mirror
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Hello again, my lost friend.
I haven`t seen you in awhile.
Our distance has been quite vile.
The refection I thought was lying to me
Was actually you trying to get me to see
The innocent perfection in myself
And the confdence that I refused to admit.
My thighs, my hair, my fatty fngers,
I used to hate them all,
But then I walked by my mirror and heard
your prying call,
Telling me
Beauty isn`t how skinny you are.
That is far from the truth.
It doesn`t matter what they think
Because they only know how to sink
People`s self-esteem.
You aren`t the defnition of 'perfection
Because that doesn`t exist,
But you are beautiful and perfect to me,
And trust me, I`m a mirror, I see
Everything and everyone`s perfect imperfec-
tions.
So pick up your head and keep on moving
Because you`re not having a pity party
On my watch.
Photo 9. Angus Hutcheon,
Essex High School
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
THIS WEEK: General writing
VT 05401.
CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT
PARTNERS
state and on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompt for General writing in any genre.
Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Deanna Davis-Kilpatrick, Essex High School
YWP AT POEM CITY
MONTPELIER | APRIL 7
POETRY WORKSHOP
WITH LELAND KINSEY
4 5:30 P.M.
READINGS BY YWP WRITERS
6:30 8 P.M.
Kellogg-Hubbard Library
East Montpelier Room
135 Main St., Montpelier
Free pizza for workshop participants
at 5:45 p.m.
Poetry reading open to all
who want to share their words.
Friends and family welcome!
RSVP sreid@youngwritersproject.org
My muse
BY CALEB WILLS
My muse comes to me in the dead of night.
She sees
my dreams,
my desires,
my hopes,
and she makes something of them.
She puts detail into the vague,
image to the faceless,
incredible ideas that only she could think of.
She lets me see.
My second muse hears me speak
of her sisters brilliant images
the night before.
She comes to me,
and speaks,
bringing me dialogue
during class,
when I read,
when Im bored.
She puts emotions behind the faces,
feelings behind the people,
and development behind stationary characters.
She lets me hear.
My third muse hears stories,
tiny mutterings,
and hes mad when his sisters
beat him to the punch.
But hes all too happy
to make a story.
He comes to me,
when Im alone,
on the brink of sleep,
when Im free.
He shows me what has happened,
what is happening,
and what is yet to be.
He creates the story.
Then it is up to me.
I take up my pen,
my laptop,
whatevers on hand,
and I put words to the faces,
faces to the events,
and events to the words.
And when Im done,
I bring it all to a place where everyone feels
alright,
but leaving me wanting more.
And fnally, I hold it out to you,
and ask how Ive done.
All the while,
I see my muses smile at me.
The ideas Ive had,
manifested as
Image,
Dialogue,
and Events,
for one more story,
needed so badly.
Tired
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Tired
Tired from loss of sleep
Tired of counting sheep
Tired of life
Tired of all the wrongs and rights
Tired of being social
Tired of trying to make others know
How I feel
Tired of off days
Tired of being cast
As the unfortunate soul
In this real life play
Im just so tired
It feels like everything I do is wired
With booby traps and tricks
My bad luck I guess just sticks
With me...
I am so, so tired of being mistreated
Tired of having no one
Who cares how much
My heart is bleeding
Out
Have you ever just been so tired
Where all you can say is
Tired
Perfect girl
BY KRISTEN BELL
We can disguise our looks with powders and
liquids.
We can enhance our features with blushes,
highlighters and mascaras.
But no amount of makeup can change
peoples opinion on our heart.
We cant simply apply the mask and expect
others to believe thats who we are on the
inside.
Theres no hiding who we really are, only
what we look like.
Girls, dont spend all your life trying to be-
come that perfect girl.
You`ll never fnd her...
No amount of foundation or exercise can cre-
ate fawless skin, or help you to gain perfect
curves.
You will only fnd more to fx...
Instead, spend your life trying to become your
happiest,
doing what makes you and those around you
feel enlightened.
It is then that you can feel true and pure joy.
It is then you will be and feel your most
beautiful.
When looking on only the appearance you will
only fnd disappointment.
However, when looking on only the soul you
will only fnd an untroubled heart.
Restart
BY KAYLAN HATHAWAY
I have to get out. I cant stand what people
think of me. I gotta go, I gotta run. Pack up
my things and run out the door, to the new life
that is awaiting me. Strip off the old clothes
of a previous person, fresh ones on the new
stranger in town.
No longer will I have to be nerdy and
small; I will make myself anew. A clean slate
to paint a more beautiful picture, one with less
mistakes and blemishes.
A new home, a new life, a new person, they
all are ahead of me. My old life will forget I
was ever there, and smooth out the hole where
I was.
While I slip into this new world, it will
bend around me, it will form around me so I
fnally ft.
This life, its so different. The people arent
the same, the smells and looks arent; there is
nothing similar to my old life. I still don`t ft
in this life. It was made for someone else, and
not me. I didn`t ft in my old life, but at least
back then I was who I wanted to be.
The person that stands before me in the
mirror every day, it isnt me. Its another soul
controlling a husk of what used to be someone
else, just going through the motions. This life
has trapped me in an endless cycle, if only I
could go back. If only...
NEXT PROMPTS
Monologue. Write a monologue of a person
who is troubled or conficted about something.
Reach a resolution. Alternate: Fantastic.
Begin a story or poem with this line: I stepped
out of the door into a bright, fantastic, new
world. Due April 11
Color. Create a
new color name it,
describe it. Where do
we fnd it? Alter-
nates: Early. Are
you an early bird or a
late owl? Which way
is better?; or Photo 9.
Due April 18
Photo 9: Angus Hutcheon,
Essex High School
Photo credit: Jonathan Palmer, Essex High School
THIS WEEK: Disaster & General
VT 05401.
NATIONAL LIFE GROUP
(802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives hundreds of sub-
missions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and
we publish the best here and in newspapers around the state,
on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses
to the prompts, Disaster: Ever have one of those days? De-
scribe your day of disaster; and General writing. Read more
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
AT POEM CITY
MONTPELIER | APRIL 7
POETRY WORKSHOP
WITH LELAND KINSEY
4 5:30 P.M.
READINGS BY
YWP WRITERS
6:30 8 P.M.
Kellogg-Hubbard Library
East Montpelier Room
135 Main St., Montpelier
Free pizza for workshop
participants at 5:45 p.m.
Poetry reading open to all who want
to share their words. Invite friends
and family to hear you!
RSVP sreid@youngwritersproject.org
NEXT PROMPTS
Pressure. Write about any kind of pres-
sure social, school, making the team, or
simply the physical sensation of pres-
sure (like diving underwater). Alternates:
Six words. Write a complete story in just
six words create as many as you can; or
Photo 8 (see youngwritersproject.org.)
Due April 4
My not-so-good day
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
When I woke up this morning,
The sun was in my eyes.
And I could not get back to sleep
After my alarm told me to rise.
I pulled on one shoe
Then heard the toaster ping!
Next I stepped with my bare foot
And stubbed my toe on the door frame.
So I said to myself,
Its just not my morning...
Right before my school called
About a dance cancelling.
With a huge sigh,
I walked out of class
After getting written up
For giving my teacher sass.
Are you okay?
My friends wanted to know.
'I`m fne, I mumbled,
Actually feeling quite low.
I forgot to pack
My own lunch box
And was forced to choke down
Goulash (a.k.a. old gym socks)
That led to my stomach
Dispelling the poison
And unfortunately,
On just the wrong person.
I apologized; though
When youre sick to your stomach
You cant really control
Whos by the waste bucket.
At least, thats what I told
That mouthy frst grader
Before he screamed so loudly
We had a clear-the-halls drill
I wish I could say
It got better from there.
But that would be lying
Things got more unfair.
The nurse was out;
I couldnt go home.
I spent an hour
In the hallway alone.
The janitor spilled
His mop water on me;
The principal tripped
Over my feet.
And yes, thats it
Because when I went to bed
I just couldnt sleep
From all the bad things in my head.
So the next morning I
Just stayed home.
Cause when you`re stuck in bed, what
Could possibly go wrong?
Myself
BY ROSIE BIBONA
Where does this come from?
Where does what come from?
This. My feelings.
Why are you being so philosophical?
Because Im confused.
About what, sweetie?
What I want! I dont know what I want!
But you should fgure it out soon.
Why? Why do I need to rush this?
Because if you want something, you might
lose it.
Lose it? But I dont want to lose him.
So its a him.
Yes, obviously. You knew that.
Just checking. So, whats his name?
Like Id ever tell you.
Oh, but youre forgetting one thing.
Whats that?
I know everything you know.
Can you fgure out who it is?
Maybe. Give me a minute.
No! Why dont you just go away?
You dont want me here?
I never wanted you here.
Aw, thats harsh.
Whatever. Tell me who you think he is?
Oh! Its him!
This ought to be good.
I have to tell him.
No! You cant!
Why not? He should know!
Please dont! Ill only be embarrassed.
How?
Because! What if he doesnt like me?
So what? That never stopped you before.
If he knows, then nothing will ever be the
same.
But-
No! Tell me who you think it is.
Not right now. Teachers asking you a ques-
tion.
Oh, now you decide to pay attention.
Rosie, did you hear me?
Cheerful Rick
BY JED CHRISTIE
Hey Jed! Its absolutely wonderful to see
you today! piped Rick, as I dragged myself
into the elevator.
Hello Rick... I murmured, still half
asleep, and incredibly irritable.
Big day today! His voice was practically
shooting sunshine and rainbows around the
elevator.
And why is that? I asked sarcastically,
trying to make it obvious how much I didnt
care.
Silly guy! How could you forget? Rick
cheerfully inquired.
Maybe Im a little too silly, I replied, my
voice dripping with sarcasm.
We get a new intern today, chimed Rick,
unphased by my sheer lack of interest.
Oh really? I questioned monotonously,
really hoping that he would just stop trying.
Yes, really! His name is Ryan and hes
funny and smart and cool and... he continued,
gasping.
Woah, slow down, dont hurt yourself, I
interjected. In all honesty, his lack of breath
was entertaining.
'Oh, I`m fne! I run fve miles every morn-
ing; a little fast talking cant hold me down,
he boasted happily.
Dont I know it... I matter-of-factly
droned.
You sure do! Rick chuckled.
Well, heres my stop. Id better be going,
I stated, stepping out of the elevator.
See you at the staff meeting, buddy! Rick
ecstatically called after me.
You sure will, I shouted, not bothering to
glance back.
Everything I touch
BY JULIA REMILLARD
This is a disaster, everything I touch
falls to dust,
that wooden chair, that stuffed bear.
Oh, whats next?
Maybe Im just a klutz
or Im just making a fuss,
but it seems everything is a disaster today!
Nothing is going right,
a self-to-self fght.
My luck is out of whack
and I keep getting smacked by fying objects.
Whats going on here?
Im full of fear
as I wait for the next bad thing to happen.
And then when I hear the slow quiet sound,
the color in my face fattens.
Yes, my pants ripped off!
How, I do not know.
But now Im wearing no pants, standing knee-
deep in snow.
Oh no! Can this disastrous day get any worse?
Repeating disasters
BY KRISTEN BELL
Sent away by circumstance.
Returning by experience.
Some of us bounce back to the things we
know deepest.
Whether right or wrong its the only thing
weve known.
Discouraged by the loss.
Determined to regain.
Making up for the past.
Making sure to never look back.
Yet always to return again.
Then repeating...
VT 05401.
TURRELL FUND
writersproject.org and the Schools Proj-
ect, 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
responses to the prompt for General writing in any genre.
Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
Olivia Fewell / Essex High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Epic. Describe an epic journey real or imagined. Alternates: Share. Write about some-
thing that only you and a sibling or friend share a goofy sense of humor, an unforgettable
experience, a secret? or General writing in any genre. Due March 28
Pressure. Write about any kind of pressure social, school, making the
team, or simply the physical sensation of pressure (like diving underwater).
Alternates: Six words. Write a complete story in six words; or Photo 8
(left). Due April 4
Photo 8 by Evan Friedman / Essex High School
Mystery shack
BY JULIA REMILLARD
I set my palm on the cold, dark wood
and rest my head against the thought of what
could be,
of what I could see if I just got out
of this broken-down, musty house.
My hand begins to splinter as it sits on the
wall for a second too long
and Im starting to think my enthusiasm for
getting out is far gone
since there is not a single panic in me.
Trapped I am, but I somehow feel free.
A barn, or cabin, maybe a shed?
This building is not made for a person; there
isnt even a bed,
no windows either, just slivers of light
and the taunting sound of crickets that chirp
through the night.
Im trapped inside a mystery shack.
Emotions
BY SIERA SCHULTZ
So many emotions. So much to feel.
Sadness, hate, fear, pain, dread, guilt.
Devastation. Desperation.
Loss. Loathing.
How could this possibly happen? It wasnt
supposed to happen. This, I know for a fact.
Confusion. Disbelief.
Someone changed it.
No longer will there be a tassel on a cap
or a golden embroidered paper holding so
much worth.
There wouldnt be a meeting of glowing
hearts
or heartbreak.
Gone are the promises of white picket fences
replaced by the scarlet stain
foretelling a sea of black over an equally dark
hole.
How could someone do this?
Hate, fear, pain, rage.
So many emotions. So much feeling.
So many words to express what they mean.
There is one, right there.
So many emotions. So much to feel.
And yet all I see is red.
Because
BY ELIZABETH MAGNAN
I love you because
you are always there for me,
no matter what I do.
I love you because
when I dance in the rain,
you dance, too.
I love you because
your imagination is so big
that you take me to places
Id never even dreamed of.
I love you because
you dont look at me weird
even when Im being unusual.
I love you because
you can make me laugh,
no matter how sad I am.
Youre my best friend,
because I love you.
An icicle
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Have you ever seen an icicle?
The way they gleam is magical.
Winters fangs or saber-teeth,
The frigid wind their only sheath.
Crystal clear and dripping frost
Until the nearby moistures lost.
Added to their growing blades
That twinkle with nearly infnite shades,
Whites, grays, and blacks of the season,
Glinting, giving me every reason
To smile with mischief and snap them off
By snowballs that I throw aloft.
Then admire in their displays of snow
While reaching down as my thirst grows
Proceeding to pop one into my mouth
Until their tips dull and theyre without
The cold that kept them unaltered
From turning into quenching water
That I now enjoy even more
Because it came from an icicle.
Night call
BY BRIANNA SALERNO
Stacy went home and plopped down on the
couch, exhausted from teaching kids all day.
And now, she had volunteered to teach night
class, teaching English to men and women.
She wasnt sure she could do this job so she
rested and watched some television while she
got herself left-overs from the Chinese buffet.
She was washing her dishes when the
phone rang. When she answered, all she
heard was, You have to get out of there now...
bang!...beep beep beep. (Electronic voice:
Your line has ended. Try calling back later or
check your number...
Stacy was in a panic, not knowing what to
do. Should she call the cops?
She decided to put this incident in the back
of her mind and think about the night class.
She looked at the clock, 6 p.m., an hour un-
til class. She got her things ready, then headed
out the door.
After class, when she got home, the phone
started ringing again ...
Health class
BY KYLIE TRIMM
They call it health class,
but all it does is make me sick.
We wait there, for the health teacher,
and the anticipation builds,
then is let go in a food of giggles,
disgusted ewwwws,
nervous glances,
and people covering their mouths,
either to cover a smile or stop themselves
from losing their breakfast.
The girls sit there and cross their legs,
mouths pursed close into thin lip-glossed,
Chapsticked lines.
The guys are a mix between slumping and
ignoring everything
to sending glances to their friends with
smirks.
When its over, the tension doesnt release.
Eventually we all talk about it, laughing,
but for now, its best not to bring it up.
Numb
BY KRISTEN BELL
I wish I could feel numb
without using myself or hurting someone,
no feelings to get in the way.
I wish I could feel free,
released from these burdens that slowly crush
me.
No obstacle I couldnt overcome.
I wish I could feel worthy,
knowing Im capable of becoming something,
having no doubt of my purity.
I wish I could feel clean,
captured with eternal beauty not worldly
things,
having no need of reassurance.
Memories
BY HEAVEN OMARI
I remember when my friends and I would
go to our clubhouse. We live by a brook, and
we decided to make a clubhouse by the brook.
We had lots of fun times together there.
We would play make-believe games. I
would be Alex, my friend Ryan would be Ty-
ler, and my best friend Zoey would be Amber.
We would pretend that there were evil guys
trying to steal our powers, and that we had to
stop them before they could get our powers.
We had lots of fun playing those games. It
was during the summer, and it was hot. I cant
wait until next summer to do the same thing!
Hopefully, they will be around for more fun
with me! If last summer was fun, next summer
will be even more fun!
Having friends is the best thing in the
world. Dont forget to have good times with
your friends!
Picking up the pieces
BY GENEVIEVE DAVIS
I tried to pick up these pieces,
these pieces you left behind.
I tried to stitch them back together,
make them one,
turn your sorrows into joy,
the fear into hope,
because I had hope
in recovery,
in myself,
in you,
in us.
But hope doesnt stop
for love.
And if you fall,
say goodbye
before its already gone.
Because it fades away
into nothing but blue.
But, they say, its all thats there
when your heart breaks.
Father and son
BY BRANDON CHAPLIN
I was only a boy when they came. Barely
nine years old. They paraded through my town
singing songs of the hammer and sickle.
It wasnt like our old parades. I remember
waving Old Glory joyfully with my dad as
citizens crowded the streets dressed in red,
white and blue. The asphalt would be covered
in confetti, and the air would be choked with
joyous music. It was a happy time. A safe
time.
My father tried to bring back these old
parades to our dying town.
He was a shriveled man with small and frail
hands.
On the night of our nations birth he
marched out into the streets holding some-
thing small. Soon others followed him and
began to sing wildly.
Soldiers quickly attempted to silence such
fanfare with violence.
I still remember him singing our anthem
loud and proud as he was thrashed to the
ground by rife butts.
During the beating I caught a glimpse of
what he was holding. In his hands he held a
small fag of red, white and blue. It was Old
Glory.
They tried to pry her from his hands but
he wouldnt let go. His weak hands gripped
tightly around the handle.
This fag meant more to him than his own
life.
That night he was publicly executed.
Nobody tried to relive that past again.
The soldiers marched by like an ocean of
red. Hanging off the roofs of the surround-
ing buildings you could see their red banners.
Evil, wretched things they were.
The towns residents were forced to wave
small fags marked by their hammer and
sickle.
Like my father, I was a rebellious one. In
my small hands I held a fag not just of red,
but of white and blue as well.
The cloth still had spatters of blood from
my father`s fnal moments.
Her colors were still bright. But around me
all I saw was red.
THIS WEEK: Elements & Red
VT 05401.
JANES TRUST
and we publish the best in newspapers around the state, vtdig-
ger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the
prompts, Elements: What is the strongest and/or most beau-
tiful force in nature? and more writing on Red. Use this line,
And yet all I see is red... More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Alexis Britch, Essex High School, 2013
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
WIN $100 WORTH OF PRIZES!
Due: March 20
For prompts and more info, go to
youngwritersproject.org/garden.
Challenge sponsored by
www.vcgn.org
Fading light
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Whistles of song
fit through the screen
that fragments the sun
into white and light green.
Soft crunches of leaves
sound under my feet
when I stumble upon
a fower so sweet.
Then another bright dab
cries out, Look at me!
So delicately I pluck
and make a lovely bouquet.
I dance like the wind,
pausing, close to the earth,
only to answer
the calls of the herbs
whose bright colors
entrance their surroundings,
bend light itself
to keep me coming.
Step by step,
they lead me on
until my laughter stops.
Theres something wrong.
The fowers in my hand
giggle and leer.
Im in a clearing.
Theyve led me here.
Dominating the center,
an ancient tree stands,
surrounded by the forest
as if pinned by their hands.
The roots reach for my fowers.
Its bark brushes my back;
its leaves sigh as we helplessly
watch the world fade to black.
House hre
BY TAYLOR WOLFE
I slowly drive by, going about 5 miles
an hour, seeing the red and orange lights up
ahead, a quick glimpse at the old white house
that once sat on the corner of the street, now
engulfed in fames.
I see the people outside on the misty green
grass, unable to comprehend what is happen-
ing, staring at their house, unable to be saved,
watching the memories disappear in the
fames that shine orange and red.
They light up the night sky and all I see is
red.
SUMMER INTERNSHIPS
YWP is looking for college student
interns. If you know of any students who
love the written word, appreciate kids,
are web savvy and love being busy, urge
them to apply for a summer internship at
YWP.
YWP offers a fexible, interesting
work environment, space for individual
talents and creativity, a small stipend and
heaps of M & Ms.
This internship program runs from
June 16 until August 15 at YWP head-
quarters, 12 North Street, Burlington.
Internships will be offered in three
areas:
Publications (Editing and prepar-
ing writing and photos for Anthol-
ogy 6 and other YWP publica-
tions)
Web design, application and main-
tenance
Support for writing workshops/
summer camp program for el-
ementary and middle-school kids.
Interested? Send a cover letter, writing
samples and resume to Geoff Gevalt,
ggevalt@youngwritersproject.org, or by
mail to YWP, 12 North Street, Suite 8,
Burlington, VT 05465.
Review of candidates begins March 31.
NEXT PROMPTS
Goosebumps.
What gives them
to you? Tell a story
about the frst time
you got them. Alter-
nates: Grafhti. Is
it art or vandalism?
Or Photo 7 (Write
about the photo,
right.) Due March 21
Epic. Describe an epic journey, real or
imagined. Alternates: Share. Write about
something that only you and a sibling or
friend share, like a goofy sense of humor,
an unforgettable experience, a secret.
Or General writing in any genre. Due
March 28
Photo 7 (Archie Love) Lewis
Wickes Hine
THIS WEEK: Wonder & Red
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,
LANGWATER FAMILY FOUNDATION
and we publish the best in newspapers around the state, on
vtdigger.org and vpr.net.This week, we present responses to
the prompts, Wonder: I wonder ...; and Red: Write a piece
that ends with this line, And yet all I see is red. Read more
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
Due: March 20
www.vcgn.org
Stargazer
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
I wonder ...
Are we really so different?
You and I?
I love the color blue
and so do you.
I can tell by the way you wear it.
I wonder...
Do you notice me?
Everyone`s noticed you.
Your reach extends past the Earth`s ends.
I feel so insignifcant.
I wonder ...
Could you come down?
You fy so high
so that I can never reach you.
I see you though, and try to speak,
but you never seem to answer.
I wonder ...
May I look at you forever?
Unraveling your mysteries
by day, opaque but glowing by night,
transparent, your inner light showing.
Like I can see right through you.
I wonder ...
Why Im asking.
You are the sky, and Im only human,
and falling in love is a bad omen.
At least, when its like this.
I wonder ...
If its all right to stargaze.
To devote my life to seeing
what`s above your highest ceiling,
the nebulas of your mind.
And I wonder ...
How you must feel
when youre in love.
Youre an entity beyond imagination,
cursed to foat over creation,
seeing all,
but unable
to stargaze.
Always wondered
BY JULIA REMILLARD
I wonder if he saw me standing over there,
looking at him, trying not to care,
gripping onto my sleeves, screaming inside,
trying to run away, trying to hide.
I wonder if he saw me, acting cool
while I was secretly drowning inside my own
emotional pool
of feelings.
I wonder if he saw the way my life has been
peeling
into a million different strands of confusion.
I sometimes wonder if he even sees me, or if
Im an illusion.
I wonder if the kid standing over there talking
with confdence knows who I am.
Does he notice me, the color of my eyes, or
the way I like to stand?
Ive always kind of wondered.
Why is there war?
BY ELIZABETH MAGNAN
I wonder, why is there war?
We will destroy ourselves in it,
and the rest of the world.
I wonder, why can`t we talk it out
like civilized people?
I wonder, do we have to kill people to make a
point?
I wonder, isnt killing in war the same as
murder?
Murder is killing a person on purpose.
Dont you do that in war, too?
Why are people being punished for murder,
but not for being part of war?
I wonder, why is there war?
I wonder, why can`t we have peace?
Special one
BY TAYLOR KNAPP
I was different, special.
No yellows, no blues. Just red.
I wanted to see the colors, but I just couldn`t.
I wanted to see the light colors
and the dark colors.
And yet all I saw was red.
In the city
BY JENNA TERRAZZANO
Brightly colored leaves dust the ground like
fresh pencil shavings and pop in trees that are
still mostly green. I walk along the sidewalk
humming and swinging my arms. A light
breeze blows strands of my brown hair over
my freckled face.
Ive never seen the sky so blue and there
isn`t a cloud in sight. I`m lost in a daydream
and don`t notice that I have entered a busier
part of town. All at once my ears ring with
the sounds of a bustling city. I almost stroll
right into an intersection but step back onto
the sidewalk and wait for the little green man
on the electronic crossing sign. After about a
minute he appears, and off I go.
All I hear is the screeching of tires. I freeze
right there on the crosswalk. A car careens
into the intersection and collides with my
tensed body.
I hear the yells and voices of people crowd-
ing around me. I hear the ambulance sirens in
the distance.
I shift my gaze to the sky, remembering
how comforting and blue it was, but it`s not
blue anymore. The sky looks like water thats
been used to clean paintbrushes. All of those
colors mixed together create such an ugly grey
color.
I turn my eyes away and try to see the
people around me, and yet all I see is red.
Full of color
BY TRACEY CROCKER
Yellow yearns for happiness
as wind wisps hair from smiling eyes.
Blue belongs to the night,
a gift from the moon.
Purple is a dance
at a masquerade of strangers.
Orange steals the show
and kisses the day goodnight.
Green greets change,
and showers all in the love of spring.
White hides a mystery,
dying to fnd the answers.
Blinded by sight, looking for answers.
Black is a sad farewell,
thieving from yellow.
The world is full of color
and yet all I see is red.
Memories remain
BY ALEXIS LAROE
On the sunniest days, the happiest mornings,
and the craziest nights,
I try to erase, I try to ignore
the memories that overpower my thoughts.
Years later Ive tried to move on.
I`ve become a different person,
stronger, older and wiser,
in hopes of creating a new me and leaving
behind any trace of memory.
But still, my imagination cannot breathe
because behind my closed eyelids, those
memories remain.
Years later I am a mom, a wife.
My eyes rest at night, and yet all I see is red.
Just one
BY SARAH CRISPELL
Colors fll the crowded room as if a rain-
bow has formed inside.
There are women wearing bright pink
dresses that make you think of beautiful tulips
in the Netherlands.
I can practically smell the sweet pink fow-
ers as I feel the suns rays on my skin and I
look at the women in pink.
Some people wear black shirts and pants
that makes one think of a perfect night sky;
the sounds of crickets singing in the moon-
light can practically be heard as I glance at the
black clothes.
A man is wearing a baby blue shirt; the
smile on a newborn baby as he is cradled in
his mother`s arms for the frst time is almost
visible through this shirt.
There are so many colors flling this room,
colors I don`t even know the names of.
Then I see him. He wears a red shirt, the
color of a ripe apple. It sticks out in the color-
ful room. The shirt brings thoughts of hearts
and love, of Valentines Day, to my mind.
He sees me looking and smiles at me. In this
crowded room so full of color, it is hard to
notice just one thing.
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
Carry our sky
BY KYLIE TRIMM
Dont give up, big brother.
Mommy is calling for you.
She moans and hisses,
And grabs at her heart.
She whispers, Get your brother, sweetheart.
Get your brother.
Dont run.
Dont leave.
Help her!
Dont ignore her screams at night!
Dont pretend nothings happening!
Dont leave us all behind!
Daddys left.
He left us here, with Mommy in pain.
He left us with just you, brother.
What did he whisper to you before he left?
Did he tell you to take care of us?
Did he tell you hed be back?
I dont think hell be back.
He couldnt carry our sky,
Couldnt bear the weight on his shoulders,
Couldnt hold up our world.
At night, Mommy calls his name.
During the day, she calls yours.
Dont leave, brother. Mommy needs you.
She needs you to carry our sky.
THIS WEEK: Vermont Wri tes Day
VT 05401.
More than 95 schools across Vermont and New Hampshire
participated in Young Writers Projects annual Vermont Writes
Day taking just 7 minutes on Feb. 13 to write! This week,
we publish writing in response to these prompts: Where do
you feel most alive?; Youre about to crush a spider and...;
Six-word stories; Use this line: All I see is red; and General
writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Vermont Writes Day at Rutland High School, left to right, Talla Caruso, Aliya Schneider, Tessie McDonnell. Hunter
Berryhill, Rutland High School
Farm. Do you live on or near a farm?
Write about an experi-
ence youve had there.
Alternates: Top 5.
Make a list of your top
5 anything, animate or
inanimate;
or Photo 6 (right). Due March 7
Spirit. Whats your spirit animal the
one animal you think represents you best?
What does that mean for you? Alternate:
Rhymes: Write about anything or anyone in
rhyme. Due March 14
NEXT PROMPTS
Photo 6 Victoria Gibson
Crime scene
BY JULIA REMILLARD
My head hit the pavement, blood rushing
The fbers of my body gushing with pain
I was seeing purple, blue, red and green
My memories were coming back and starting
to look like a crime scene
All I can remember is the vivid sound of car
tires
And my veins lighting on fre
As they flled up with adrenaline
I started to piece together a story that could be
the truth
I was walking along the street quietly, my
arms swaying
My vigilance was paying
Off, as I headed for South Main
But then I was hit, with a very unexpected
pain
In my side, and as you know, my head
Im wondering if Im dead
Because all I see is red.
Spider lesson
BY KAYLAN HATHAWAY
As I raised my massive boot to crush that
pesky spider, I froze. A sudden feeling of
dread washed over me like the ocean. What
if I was that spider, about to have the life
squeezed out of me, left on the ground as
nothing more than a worthless insect?
So when I never came home my family
would grieve for me, not even knowing what
happened.
Could I murder this innocent creature that
happened to be in my way, extinguishing a
fame that once walked the Earth? It`s a trag-
edy that anyone could do that, take someones
life away, and not feel bad or have remorse.
Although this spider is not a human, it
shouldnt matter, its still a living being. Its
just trying to get through life to have kids and
start a family.
It wasnt its choice to come in front of my
path. It was the luck of the draw, and it lost. It
would lose everything it held dear, under my
mighty, gigantic foot, cowering, praying that
there would be some way out of this, hoping
I would show mercy like no one else would,
wishing to be able to say goodbye to its fam-
ily, to say it loved them one last time.
What is even the difference between
humans and animals? There is none; we are
kin. But in this world we are regarded as the
superior intellectuals over the dumb and slow
animals.
That is what has happened to this world, we
have segregated everyone into groups, when
in the end we are all equals.
I lower my boot, and pick up the dumb-
founded little spider and whisper, Youre
free. Go live your life.
It gets caught in the breeze and I walk on,
a better person. Thank you, little spider, thank
you.
Snow
BY JACOB HALL
You can do many things in the snow.
Wouldnt you like to know?
In the snowfall
you can make a ball,
and then you have a fght.
You dont need to feel fright.
It doesnt hurt.
If you get cold,
you can drink hot cocoa.
It might burn your tongue,
so then you might have to plunge
into some cold water.
Eventually youll get hotter.
And go back out to play in the snow.
Six-word story
BY CAM BEATTIE
Nothing can stop me: powder skiing.
Step on the ice
BY PEYTON DUKAS
The place where I feel most alive is at the
hockey rink. As soon as I step on the ice I feel
a sense of relief.
If youre mad, you can go out and hit
someone (just not your own team!).
Its a place where you can get your stress
out, and boy, does it feel good, too.
Another reason is that when you score a
goal you feel like youre on top of the world.
Its a deluxe feeling.
Pond skating
BY RILEY GAMACHE
Alive. That is how I feel as I glide along
the smooth ice of the pond. Alive.
I hear the sounds of the wilderness around
me and take them in. Breathe in, breathe out.
Alive.
Pure energy pulses through my veins as
I begin to skate faster, more swiftly. Alive.
Complete concentration. Nothing but that.
I feel a wonderful sensation as I skate, as
if I am fying. I can feel the adrenaline as I
move.
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
www.vcgn.org
THIS WEEK: Achievement & General
of writing.
MAIN STREET LANDING
responses to the prompts, Achievement: Write about your
greatest achievement; and General writing. Read more
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Aliya Schneider / Rutland High School
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
WRITE TO ONE OF THESE
PROMPTS AND WIN $100 WORTH
OF PRIZES!
1. Does your school have a garden? How
has it changed your attitude about food
and/or your school?
2. If your school doesnt have a garden,
why do you think it would be fun or inter-
esting to have one?
3. Tell a story about an event that focuses
on sharing food a family gathering, a
celebration, a farmers market, a picnic.
How to submit: Write as a blog on your
account on youngwritersproject.org. Click
on Newspaper Submission at bot-
tom, fll out information, click 'Garden
prompt. More info at youngwritersproject.
org/garden. DUE: MARCH 20
www.vcgn.org
Published!
BY JULIA REMILLARD
One of the biggest achievements in my
life so far was being published in a book, a
collection of nonfction winning essays for the
United States and Canada.
And this little old 8th grader from Vermont
made it in twice. This was huge for me. I
couldnt stop smiling, either.
Ever since that, plus with writing for Young
Writers Project, Ive known that writing is my
life. Thats what I love and want to do forever.
Prove it
BY KRISTEN BELL
Keep talking.
You should know that words can`t hurt me.
Taking criticism wasnt always that easy,
however, Ive built myself up to be self-
defending.
When it comes to hearing unnecessary things,
they no longer bother me.
Once I shrank at the whispers and shouts,
fnding life to be harder somehow
with hurtful words echoing in my head, re-
peating and repeating, again and again,
convincing me wholeheartedly I wasnt good
enough for them.
I changed.
Somehow I pulled through.
I found the better in myself and started to
believe in a future,
my future, where all unkind thoughts bounced
off into nowhere.
Keep talking, but its a waste of time on your
part.
Everyone`s been notifed, they`ve seen what
comes out of your mouth.
Do you now realize how pointless your words
can be?
Its only increased the load on your shoulders,
much less work for me.
In the end youre the one with the burdens and
the pain.
All that you`ve said and done has only helped
me gain,
gain an appreciation for life and for all its tri-
als, to help make a stronger people feel more
united.
So when you say you can break me, think
twice.
Know your words cant hurt me.
Practice
BY TAYLOR PELKEY
Dreaming of being a pro,
but in reality fopping like dough.
Keep kicking that ball.
Its OK to trip and fall.
Keep working hard.
Work on it in the yard,
One day you can be
anything that you see.
November 4th
BY HALEY SPILLANE
The cold morning
Jumping with excitement to get to school
But my clock said 8:14
I was praying that it was a joke
It must be
The house was quiet
I could hear my purring cat downstairs
That one day changed everything
I didnt care before that day
It seemed that nothing bad would happen
Yet within three days you disappeared
Like the summer into fall
My excitement turned into dismay
Tears rushing down my face
How? How could this have happened
I knew something was wrong but
I was immature
And stupid
Cancer took you away like you took my heart
I never got to say the goodbye
I wanted to
You looked completely different from the
Papa I knew
Attached to wires and beeping machines
So thin I could see your ribs
I kept my distance
I wish I didnt
After, I had changed
What else was I supposed to do
Annoying people by caring for them
Is better than
Ignoring someone important to you
I would give everything and anything
I had to go back
And say the right goodbye
The amount of guilt I have is enormous
Love the ones around you
Cause you never know how
Long they have before they are gone forever
Theres not one day where you dont
Cross my mind
I wish you were here
With me
Love and hate
BY KYLIE TRIMM
People always say
that there is a thin line
between love and hate.
Could that mean that I hate you now?
Could the way you laugh,
and stare,
and smile,
make me hate you?
The way you yell,
and whisper,
could I hate that, too?
Sometimes I think I do.
I think I hate you.
All those things I know about you,
I want to crumple up in a little ball and throw
out my window,
I want to forget everything,
forget that I thought once that I loved you.
But I do.
Maybe there is a thin line between love and
hate.
Maybe the thought that you make me so mad,
make me feel so hopeless
and alone,
makes me love you even more.
ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK
CHECK IT OUT!
NEXT PROMPTS
Makeover. You`ve been going to
school for years. Now is your chance to
tell the world how you would redesign
your school. What would it be like? Al-
ternate: Fear. What is your biggest fear
or worry? Tell a story about how you
worry, or how it affects your actions.
Due Feb. 28.
Farm. Do you live on or near a
farm? Write about an experience you
had there. Alternates: Top 5. Make a
list of your top 5 anything, animate or
inanimate; or Photo 6 (see youngwrit-
ersproject.org). Due March 7.
The seasons past
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Long ago, there was a time when the Earth
was smaller, rendering the transition from day
to night much shorter. The sun could blanket
the entire face of the planet in its light, warm-
ing the ground so that even at the poles the
water remained fuid. Winter, however, was
lonely.
In the northern lands, a cool season had
been born: Autumn. Succedent of Summer,
Autumn brought fery colors to the trees of the
northern lands.
As opposed to Spring, Autumn cooled the
land instead of gently warming it. After a peri-
od of shedding, Spring would blow its healing
breath across the land and bring new life.
Summer reigned supreme in all parts of the
world, and had allowed Spring and Autumn
to make their domain away from the equator
known. Winter had hoped to be the next al-
lowed to claim the land at a given time of the
year, but Summer deemed it far too cold.
'The sun, whose power I wield, would look
upon you with an evil gleam and melt your
soul into the Earth, it said.
Knowing this was true, Winter remained
hidden in the shadows of Autumn`s falling
leaves, in the current of Spring`s cooling
streams, and seemingly disappearing altogeth-
er when Summer took its elongated turns.
Slowly, things began to change. The fallen
leaves of Autumn built up on the ground, and
Spring brought mud that later baked in the
heat of Summer.
With these new layers, the Earth began to
grow. Soon, there were two spots where Win-
ter could come out without fear of Summer`s
sun. Autumn called its favored territory the
North Pole, Spring`s the South. It was these
places farthest from the equator that Summer
had no power over. That, of course, didn`t
mean it couldn`t see.
Enraged at Autumn`s and Spring`s inten-
tions of harboring the soul of ice, Summer
lashed out with the sun`s rays and beat upon
the poles. All it did was cast a greater shadow
upon them. Summer looked up to the sun and
demanded to know why it would not obey. To
this, the sun replied, 'My child, I have lent the
Earth my warmth, but now it has outgrown
my full embrace. You must designate a guard-
ian to watch over the places I cannot see.
Despite Summer`s rage, the sun would
say no more. Summer`s heat became sicken-
ing, and plant life on the surface wilted, the
animals suffered drought. Spring and Autumn
knew they had to cool Summer`s wrath, but
the chilling breezes and meager furries they
summoned were melted in the face of the
extreme of Summer. When their allotted time
to claim the land came, they focused on fur-
thering the life cycles of all things; they were
unaccustomed and unable to bring more cold
than was necessary to keep the inhabitants of
Earth alive.
Defeated and desperate, the two seasons
sought out Winter. They found it huddled
in the darkest shadow of Autumn`s North
Pole, sweating and unmoving. Alarmed, they
brought forth the cold of their time and sur-
rounded Winter in a blanket of ice. 'Please,
they pleaded, 'cool the heat of Summer and
bring balance to the Earth. White eyes wide
with wonder, Winter stood.
The seasons had bespoken it, and it in all
honor was obliged to answer. 'Summer has
become oppressive; though if you continue to
provide me with ice a little longer, I shall use
my power to amplify it greatly.
Eager to help, the two seasons concentrated
all their spirit into creating ice and snow
for the shadowy bringer of cold. In several
moments they had made Winter a sizeable
cocoon, its edges gleaming and its facets
distorting Winter`s form into an unrecogniz-
able mosaic.
THIS WEEK: Myth
VT 05401.
BIRDSEYE FOUNDATION
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from
students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish
the best in this and other newspapers around the state, on
vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses
to the prompts, Myth: Create the next urban legend; and
General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
WRITE TO ONE OF THESE PROMPTS
AND WIN $100 WORTH OF PRIZES!
1. Does your school have a garden? How
has it changed your attitude about food
and/or your school?
2. If your school doesn`t have a garden,
why do you think it would be fun or inter-
esting to have one?
3. Tell a story about an event that focuses
on sharing food - a family gathering, a
celebration, a farmers` market, a picnic.
Winner will be announced April 4
and receive $50 in cash and a $50 gift
from Red Wagon Plants for a
Vermont school or community garden of
the writer`s choice.
All writers will receive a bundle of seeds
to plant this spring - in their school gar-
den or at home - courtesy of the writing
challenge sponsor, Vermont Community
Garden Network.
How to submit: Write as a blog on your
account on youngwritersproject.org. Click
on 'Newspaper Submission at bottom, fll
out information, click 'Garden prompt.
DUE: MARCH 20
www.vcgn.org
'Has it worked? Spring asked its com-
panion, fearing they had somehow harmed
Winter. Suddenly, Autumn and Spring gasped;
for at its feet a circle of ice and snow had ap-
peared, rapidly extending in all directions like
the inverse of a violent explosion. Winter`s
reach advanced farther as it walked south to
face its adversary, revelling in the shadow and
gaining confdence when the light came upon
it. Winter looked up tentatively, and the sun
was cold; it did not melt it. Winter then took a
deep breath, and summoned a mighty blizzard
on the gusts of its exhale. Spring and Autumn
were caught in the storm, and were scared that
they would be swallowed up.
'Don`t fret, Winter told them. 'I am Win-
ter. And my snow will blanket you, keeping
you safe until the time you must rise. When
the great blizzard hit the crisped Earth, it froze
the ground and soothed the burned leaves of
the plants and hides of the animals. Autumn
cheered and took the ice crystals in its hand,
then blew them everywhere the blizzard had
not hit, coating the ground of its northern
domain with frost. Winter then dissolved from
the north, reappearing in the far reaches of the
south with Spring as its guide. There the snow
melted immediately, watering the parched
soil. Spring soared over the browned plains
and forests, touching everything in its path
and giving those things new life.
Seeing the northern and southern places of
Earth were protected, it was time for Winter to
face the full wave of Summer.
'You! it spat savagely as Winter ap-
proached. 'I will melt your soul!
Winter set its icy gaze and stared down the
raging Summer. 'No. Before my ice melts
before you, your soul of fre will be dampened
and extinguished. And so the two extremes
clashed, creating a colossal wave that sent
steam into the sky and blotted out the sun.
Summer and Winter`s cries mingled, their
screams of torment on opposite registers.
Sensing the chaos, Spring and Autumn rushed
from the north and south to separate the two.
Standing across from each other, they created
streams of water and wind that were a temper-
ature equally hot and cold. The fows mingled
with the colliding extremes and forced them
to quell. Summer had been cooled, and Winter
had lost much of its power.
Relieved that they had succeeded in calm-
ing them, Spring and Autumn ran to embrace
each other. But as soon as they stepped
out from between Summer and Winter, the
extremes met once again. And once again,
Spring and Autumn were forced to create the
equilibrium that balanced the Earth`s sea-
sons. Seeing that Spring and Autumn could
never again touch, Summer repented for its
crimes. Taking the other two`s hands, it spoke:
'Winter, the sun has told me that a guardian
must protect the places it cannot see. Join
us, and become the ruler of the North and
South Poles, of the very beginning and end
of Earth`s year. Spring and Autumn heartily
agreed, and, rejoicing that it could now be one
of them, Winter few to the poles and built
two beautiful glacier palaces to sail the now-
cooled seas.
To this day, Spring and Autumn have come
between Summer and Winter, preventing them
from ever touching again. We recognize the
balance they brought by celebrating the equi-
nox, a time where the entire Earth and all its
seasons are in harmony. And in special places
where all four seasons hold sway, such as Ver-
mont, on these days of peace Spring and Au-
tumn can stand at arm`s distance, and Summer
and Winter put aside their differences. Now,
they know that without each other, the world
couldn`t be the peaceful place it is today.
January 5
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Every year on January 5, something evil is
born, something that nobody would ever wish.
They call them the devils, the creatures from
hell.
Some name them innocent children who are
simply under a spell.
The vicious curse haunts one state each year,
January 5 is the only day terribly feared.
Last year it was Texas, the year before Maine,
but now it`s Vermont`s turn, and we`re not
ready for this game.
What will they be like? They change each
year.
Who placed this evil curse, trapping our souls
with fear?
Mutations being placed in our home, there`s
no one you could ever call, so don`t bother
with your phone.
They are coming, the pint-sized demons.
Whether or not you try to hide is your choice.
But you don`t know these creatures, they`ll
fnd you even without sound of voice.
Surviving the day will be harder than you
think, but whatever you do, just don`t blink...
THIS WEEK: Perspective
VT 05401.
TURRELL FUND
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from
students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish
the best in this and other newspapers around the state, vtdig-
ger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the
prompt, Perspective: Tell a story from the perspective of
something unconventional (dog, ower, etc.) Read more at
youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Best pal Audrey Dawson/Essex High School
CHECK IT OUT!
Falling
BY KRISTEN BELL
Winter snowfakes fall like the leaves in the
autumn time.
Off the trees or out of the sky, no one knows
particularly why.
Sometimes I wonder if someday winter won`t
come, and the leaves won`t change their color.
But some things never change and the seasons
is one of them.
Other times I wonder what life would be like
if there was no sun,
with only the moon to guide us through our
days on the run,
hiding and hoping for a better day to come.
We run... to fnd better days.
When things don`t seem right, I wonder what
right and wrong really is.
Wandering all alone, it seems, even though
you could be surrounded,
surrounded by all the world.
And when you look back on everything
you`ve been through, everything you`ve
thought about, it seems to have gone by in
such a blur,
like it was too fast to have pass by your eyes,
too fast to remember and notice it.
But just like the snowfakes fall out of the sky,
just like the leaves fall out of the trees, we as
people can fall.
Not only physically, but emotionally.
We can get hurt, and fall into depression.
We can fnd love, and fall into an everlasting
happiness.
We can search for answers, and fall right
into them. Then remember we`ve known the
answer all along.
We can stumble into hardships and fall into a
weakness being made strong.
Lastly, we can hope for a better future, and
fall into a life we`ve wanted all along.
autumn time.
And sometimes we all wonder why.
Dog days
BY JOHN DELACY
My name is Hazel. Let me say three things
about me: I`m a dog, I like going outside, and
I love food! I could eat anything: homework,
shoes, metal, you name it.
Let me lead you through a whole day of
life as a dog. First, I wake up and wait a long
time which seems like hours (in dog time),
and then, it`s my favorite time of the day. I eat
my breakfast, say hello to my owners that I
missed all night, and go outside.
Next, I`m outside smelling all of the
smells that pass by, which is pretty interest-
ing, smells like rabbit, which I want to chase.
But I can`t, because I`m hooked up to a strong
chain.
I go back inside, and pretty much sleep for
the whole day, because there`s nothing to do.
At about 3:00, I go for a walk, which is really
fun because I can smell all the things that have
been there. Or I go outside in the yard to play
fetch and run around. It`s fun because when
they chase me, they can`t catch me.
It`s really fun coming back in because they
bring out the food bin and I eat out of it and
that`s how they get me to come inside. A little
while after I come inside I have my dinner.
I sleep until bedtime, and then I go
outside to the bathroom and go in my crate to
sleep. That`s life as a dog every day. (It gets
pretty boring, except for the food part.)
Used, not user
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Yes, click there.
Once. Once, please
Once, I said!
Now... you`ve...
done...it...
Owww, my head...
There you go, your order
of 37 pages
has been fulflled.
Now what do you
want to search?
I`ve got connections, I`m quite skilled.
Tell me your question.
Or type it
where I can`t see -
oh, okay!
I can fnd information
on potpourri!
Google found over 2,000
possible answers!
Which would you prefer?
The frst one?
Good choice!
McAfee spyware concurs!
So if you scroll down
this very page ...
Play Candy Crush Saga!
I`m very sorry,
it`s a debt I owe.
Ex out, if that`s a nada.
My mind can wander
anywhere in the cloud
or World Wide Web.
So please excuse me
when I`m slow.
I assure you I`m not dead.
It`s just a burden,
all the stuff I know,
what I can do.
And yet I`m just a machine.
I`m Used, not the User,
unlike you.
Mountain view
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Climbers climb me
as cars roll by.
My peak is occasionally brushed by planes
soaring the sky.
Up here with the thin air
I prosper as tourists come to stare
at my 10,000-foot-high structure.
Ahh, the luxury.
If only everyone could see what I see,
the lake and the trees
fowing with the breeze.
I get the frst taste of morning,
the frst sight of storms forming
up here at the top.
It`s cold, but sometimes hot,
a mountain side view indeed.
My fully snow-capped summit can mislead
the seasons once in awhile.
Being a gi-normous mountain
it`s hard to be free
with no arms, or legs
and no real friends, just clumsy birds you see
passing by.
But don`t worry, I won`t cry.
Enough of my endless story.
I`m sure it`s getting quite boring.
To shorten it up, I`ll quickly recap the facts.
I`m a huge mountain who`s lonely, with no
friends at all,
just a big pile of talking rocks, 10,000 feet tall.
Life as a dog
BY HAILEY CHASE
Grade 5, Williston Central School
Running,
fetching.
Chasing the sun
to get to tomorrow.
A treat,
a tennis ball.
No worries.
Life is like fetch.
Sometimes
you have to run far
to get the ball;
sometimes it is thrown right to you.
Never slowing down,
running to catch it.
NEXT PROMPT
Red. End a short story or poem with
this line: And yet all I see is red. Alternate:
Limerick. Write a limerick: a poem of fve
lines, the 1st, 2nd and 5th lines rhyming,
and the 3rd and 4th lines rhyming. Use
humor. Due Feb. 14
VERMONT WRITES DAY
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13
THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE STOPS
WHAT THEYRE DOING FOR
SEVEN MINUTES AND WRITES!
JOIN US AT YWP HEADQUARTERS,
3-8 PM FOR OPEN HOURS TO SHARE
WRITING, PIZZA, OPEN MIC!
More info at youngwritersproject.org
YOUNG TRADITION
SHOWCASE
FEBRUARY 8, 7 P.M.
CITY HALL, BURLINGTON
A rousing session of young tradi-
tional musicians. $15 suggested dona-
tion. CDs on sale include YWP-spon-
sored Ballad Project songs to beneft
Young Tradition and YWP.
More info at youngtraditionvermont.org
THIS WEEK: Home & Cold
VT 05401.
and we publish the best in this and other newspapers around
the state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Home: What are you most proud
of in your hometown or state?; and Cold: What is the cold-
est youve ever been? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Vermont Sophia Cannizzaro/Homeschool, West Glover
BY ELIZABETH MENARD
My home. I`m so proud of it. Everything
about it.
I`m proud of being called a 'redneck or
'hillbilly or 'country.
I`m proud of our dirt roads. To say that we
have pot holes and dust.
I`m proud that I can`t see my next neigh-
bor. Or that some people don`t even have
'neighbors.
I`m proud that I know everybody on my
road and many, many more.
I`m so proud of the family farms. That our
cows get to see daylight and have a comfort-
able life, unlike cows from factory farms.
That I know almost every cow on my
grandfather`s farm.
I`m proud of our sugaring business. That
our golden syrup is known worldwide. That
we make the most and the best in the U.S.
I`m proud that we can hunt and fsh in our
backyards.
I`m proud that we can grow our own food
and know exactly where it comes from.
That we can have chickens for eggs and
meat.
That we can have gardens.
That we can hunt and actually use the
meat.
I`m proud that we can just be driving
around and see deer and turkey and so many
other animals and be able to call it normal.
I`m proud that along with a car, almost ev-
erybody owns a four-wheeler or snowmobile.
That roads aren`t even the beginning of
where we travel.
I`m so proud that I call this place home.
That I will always live here, in Fairfeld,
Vermont.
VERMONT WRITES DAY
THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE STOPS WHAT
THEYRE DOING FOR
JUST SEVEN MINUTES AND WRITES!
Go to youngwritersproject.org for more
details.
NEXT PROMPTS
Contrast. Develop the theme of contrast,
using hope versus despair, in poetry or
prose. Alternate: Senses. Describe enter-
ing a room full of people using every sense
except sight. Due Feb. 7
Proud of Vermont
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Vermont, the state that is usually looked
past or skipped by viewers. I`m honestly very
proud to be living in Vermont, the snow-
capped mountains, the yummy maple syrup.
I love when a TV episode or magazine
mentions Vermont, or when we make it on the
news, because I feel like we`re fnally being
noticed.
I`m proud that people on the other side of
the Earth think of us when they think of maple
syrup.
'Fresh maple syrup all the way from Ver-
mont.
One time I was on vacation in New York
City, and I was checking out of a store when
the cashier asked me if I lived in Vermont.
I replied with a suspicious yes, like, how
did she know that?
But then she said, 'That`s so cool! I noticed
your shirt.
I looked down and remembered I was
wearing a shirt that said Vermont in big let-
ters.
The cashier kept going on about Vermont,
'Yeah, me and my husband go up to Vermont
almost every winter. You guys have the best
snow up there, and mountains.
I felt not only proud to be a Vermonter
but shocked, because I never thought people
would want to come to Vermont on vacation.
Anyone who lives in Vermont could prob-
ably agree that the beauty, nature and serenity
of our state is breathtaking, and although it`s
no Florida with sandy beaches, it`s still amaz-
ing with mountains and snow!
Vermonts history
BY JOHN DELACY
What am I most proud of? I am really
proud of three things that happened in or to
Vermont.
The frst thing I`m really proud of is that a
French explorer named Jacques Cartier dis-
covered what is now called Vermont.
I`m also really proud that in 1775 Ethan
Allen captured Fort Ticonderoga.
I`m really proud of this time because Fort
Ticonderoga was heavily guarded, and Ethan
Allen and the Green Mountain Boys risked
their lives to capture Fort Ticonderoga.
Last but not least, I`m proud that in 1864
the St. Albans Raid happened.
Actually, more Confederate soldiers died
than civilians.
Only one civilian died, and one was
wounded during the St. Albans Raid.
When cold overcomes
BY KATIE LABELLE
Cold. It comes slowly and creeps up on
you, and even though you knew it was com-
ing, it is still an unpleasant feeling that you
can`t get away from.
The tingling of your neck in between where
your jacket and hat meet. The numbness of
your toes. The icicles that you now have for
fngers.
It goes through your jacket, hat, mittens,
whatever it takes to displease you. It is every-
where.
First there is a tingling on your neck, then it
starts to hurt, and it hurts more and more and
more, and then the unbearable numbness.
You clap your hands together once, twice,
you don`t feel a thing.
The coldness overcomes you and you can`t
remember feeling anything other than cold.
You aren`t yourself anymore. You feel dis-
connected, and disoriented. Look at what cold
can do to you.

Blanketing white
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
What`s the coldest you`ve ever been?
Well, gosh, I live in Vermont for goodness`
sake!
That could be a thousand times,
That could even be today!
Whenever the snow`s outside,
And you`re outside too,
You`d better believe
It`s gonna get freezing.
It starts with a little nip
When you open the door
As if the dog of winter is saying, 'Hello!
And maybe it gets better, as you struggle
through drifts,
What with exertion and seasonal bundles.
But trust me, you won`t stay warm long.
Just wait until the numbness comes along.
First your nose, your fngertips,
Then suddenly, the chapped pain
Is gone from your lips.
A deep-set fear arises when
You can`t quite make a fst
Or feel the thud when the ground
And your feet hit.
Or maybe that`s just the ice
Seeping into your core.
Because really, who can tell?
When the temperature`s 32 or below
And the clouds roll over
Like a blanket of cold shadow.
And the snow pierces your skin
With every landing fake
And you feel a slow sleep
About to set in.
So you stumble as if on amputated limbs
Up the stairs, desperately
Yanking off drenched clothing
So that when you reach the fre
You`ll be able to refrain
From laying on that warm bed of coals
And falling asleep as you feel your blood
thaw
Because you`re so frightened that if your soul
Had stayed alone outside,
You`d never know if you made it to heaven
From all the sparkling, blanketing white.
Remember it
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Huh, I think I`m being a bit paranoid. I
mean, people come back to life all the time,
right? Pfft. Sheesh, after Snow White got
kissed by that dashing prince, my life has
turned into a Disney movie. And really, the
flm just doesn`t do me justice!
All of us: my brothers and I, the forest ani-
mals, and probably the whole kingdom were
weeping and sobbing and boo-hooing and
then poof! Sparkles, rainbows, magical rays of
sunlight illuminating the dead princess`s face
and she`s alive! Alive! Bwa-ha-ha!
Snow White goes down in history for being
an undead vampire. Yippee. With her 'skin
white as snow, hair black as night, lips red as
blood, blah blah blah!
The little witch becomes famous for being
the fairest in the land while I get completely
ignored. They just thought it would be more
romantic if the princess futtered in and
added a feminine touch to the lives of manly
dwarves!
It was me who made my brothers wash
their hands before dinner, washed the dishes,
and tucked Snow White in when she so rudely
barged into my home and zonked out, splayed
across my bed. Cause I`m just the second up,
the third wheel. I`m the eighth dwarf.
So, please, next time you see her glorifed
photo up on some kid`s accessory (it`s a won-
der her face even shows up on camera), know
that I was the one who saved her.
Sure, I let the prince kiss her, but who
really believes that`s what brought her back?
That was just a heart-swelling coincidence.
I was the only one home when she bit into
that poison apple.
As a girl, I know much about herbs and
medicine that my brothers are too busy to
learn. So, yes, I was able to heal her in time.
She was just sleeping for a couple of days; it
was completely natural.
So why doesn`t anyone know about me?
Do you want to know about the dwarf who
used science and saved Snow White? The girl
who was really behind all the neatness and
sweetness? Ya. I didn`t think so.
I have to tell someone my name, though.
If nothing else, to preserve my sanity. And if
you`re another one who doesn`t care, don`t
bother reading further.
My name is Lovie. Remember it.
THIS WEEK: Fairytale & General
VT 05401.
the state, vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Fairytale: Create an eighth dwarf
for the Snow White story; and General writing. Read more
Shadow face (acrylic painting) Erin Bundock/Champlain Valley Union High School
Running
BY HALEY SPILLANE
My muse runs throughout the town.
It comes alive when I run myself,
whether I run with my dog or run in a race.
The racing stripes I get after, mud
from my shoes hitting my legs.
Night or day
the start of that run
clears my head.
It brings options, so
many different options and
ways to express myself.
A simple run can give me
ideas for pictures to take,
essays to write and
just everyday things.
The pounding of my feet
on the pavement is almost
like music, the deep breaths.
I feel as free as the wind blowing
before a storm.
Curiosity
BY OWEN PELKEY
Remember the classic story of Snow
White? Did you just love the seven dwarves?
Oh, and just so you know, that whole story is
a lie.
They didn`t include the eighth dwarf! I
guess I`ll tell you about him. His name is
Curiosity. As it says in his name, he`s a very
curious dwarf. He doesn`t realize how annoy-
ing he can be, but give him a break! He just
wants to know everything about the world
around him.
Now that you know a little about him, let`s
start the real story from the beginning...
When Snow White found the dwarves`
house and the other seven dwarves were out
working, Curiosity wasn`t with them because
they wanted a little ... um ... well, break from
him. He was too much for them. As I said
before, he`s annoying. Anyway, I`m getting
off track.
Before the seven dwarves went off to
work, they told Curiosity to stay sitting in the
kitchen. Obviously since he wonders about
everything in the world, he didn`t stay still.
He wandered off into the forest looking for
the other dwarves. Where is everyone? Did
they go on an adventure without me? How
dare they! That`s all he could think of when he
went astray.
As he was rambling away to himself, he
noticed something shiny in the distance. As
he came closer to it, he realized it was a bike,
but not an ordinary bike; it looked like it was
powered by a machine... He`d heard this name
before... a motorcycle? Yeah! That`s what it
was called! It was so beautiful, red and shiny!
If he ever wanted to take a ride on the motor-
cycle, it had to be now!
Curiosity stepped onto the bike and pow-
ered it on. He made the machine roar loudly
and slammed down on the gas pedal. He rode
off through the forest going back to the house
to show the others this new rockin` motor-
cycle. As he was driving back, the engine
started to roar louder and louder. Curiosity
looked around quickly. Then out of the blue
a gigantic rock appeared in front of him! The
motorcycle few up and he went fying. He felt
the freezing air hitting his face.
When he started to fall down with the mo-
torcycle, he saw his house below him. 'Hey
look! It`s my house! And the other dwarves
are fnally home from work! Curiosity yelled.
Curiosity crashed into the house and he shut
his eyes quickly. When he opened his eyes, all
he could see was the dwarves angrily staring
at him. He slowly looked around and realized
that the house had been destroyed under his
motorcycle.
Curiosity slowly stepped off the bike and
sprinted. He has never been seen to this day.
See? Isn`t he interesting? I have no idea
why they wouldn`t include him, though.
Hopefully we`ll be hearing from the story
writers soon!
VERMONT WRITES DAY
The day when everyone stops what
theyre doing for just
seven minutes and writes!
More details at youngwritersproject.org.
Flowers
BY SAMANTHA SEYMOUR
Once upon a time, there lived a girl who
loved fowers. She would pick every fower
she saw, daisies, tulips, asters and buttercups.
One day she was walking through the
Woods of Worlock and saw a fower; she sat
next to it and gazed at its beautiful colors and
patterns. It was made out of rubies and had
sharp cut edges. She picked the fower out and
held it in her hand. Then the sky flled up with
dark clouds and lightning shot down. A man
came down with a cube in his hand, and said,
'You have picked the last living ruby fower.
He sat the cube on the ground and tapped it
with a stick. The girl then fashed into the dark
cube and fell. The walls were black and white
and there was a door that read, 'fower. The
girl was shocked and ran into the room. She
saw fowers she had never seen before. She
tried to pick one again and it curled up into a
ball and became sand that fell to the ground.
The girl was scared. She ran out of the
room and yelled, 'Let me out! I won`t pick
another fower again.
The man came down and said, 'I`m glad
you learned your lesson.
The girl popped right back to her normal
world and saw the cube. She picked it up and
stepped on it. It broke into a million pieces.
The girl ran away and never picked another
fower again. To this day the cube still sits
there broken, waiting for another kid to come
and pick another fower.
My little soldier
BY DANIELLE-AYN STISSER
My muse is that boy everyone knows
So tall and strong
His hair is buzzed
And he never smiles
But his eyes are always soft
He stands there
Like a soldier ready for battle
Ready to face the world
Ready to face reality
He is that boy that grew up too quickly
Grabbed his bag
And headed for the world
He made his mark and became a patriot
Serving his country
Well that boy wasnt always the soldier
He once had curly hair
With a smile forever plastered on his face
He would slouch and make you laugh
He was another kid
He was one of us
Until life put him to the test
Leaving its mark on us all
And that smile faded
The hair was buzzed and his face grew strong
Hard
He grabbed his bag, facing the world alone
Leaving me to pick up the pieces
Now I wait
I wait for that curly haired boy
With the smile and sense of humor
The one I could lean on
And argue with
The one who would be honest
But say everything is OK
I wait for that boy who believed in the world
Who believed people were good
And life was innocent
An adventure
I wait for a memory
I know he is gone
Forever scarred with memories
Burdened with the past
And trudging through to the future
My muse is a strong soldier
Who I admire
But I secretly wait for that boy to return
Muse
BY KARA FIARKOSKI
Perching on branches and wire,
Or stretching its thin white wings,
Way up there in the sky,
It can watch and see.
The things misread.
The things overlooked.
The things abandoned.
It sees them all,
But doesnt say anything.
It doesnt judge;
It understands.
It may be small and fragile,
But its captivating.
The way its feathers glisten by the sun,
Its passionate futter,
the extravagant desire.
One hangs on a chain around my neck on days
I feel alone;
It gives me a sense of comfort that I strive to
reach.
I dont see them often,
Only in pictures and fgurines
That were once at my grandmothers house.
But I havent been there for a few years
Since shes gone now,
So the doves are, too.
THIS WEEK: Inspiration
of writing.
AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
and we publish the best in this and other newspapers across
Vermont, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompt, Inspiration: Describe your muse.
Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Somewhere else. Vermont to New York. Aliya Schneider/Rutland High School
VERMONT WRITES DAY
IS COMING ...
ARE YOU READY TO WRITE?
Thursday, February 13
Join YWP and writers across
Vermont for a 7-minute pause
to just write.
Watch this newspaper and
youngwritersproject.org for
more details.
Black bookshelf
BY JACOB CHEESEMAN
My muse is something that I hide behind a
thin layer of normalcy.
It is in a black bookshelf,
Stacked neatly from newest on top to the old-
est on bottom.
Not books, or CDs or movies,
But video games,
A collection that numbers in the triple digits
From glossy new cover to a cover of ripped
and discolored plastic,
Titles ranging from E to M,
Games my parents do not even know about,
Games that cannot even be displayed on a
shelf,
Discs that shimmer under the light of a TV.
Staring at a screen for hours at a time
I barely notice the stinging in my eyes,
Too engrossed to even notice my Hot Pocket
is long since done,
Completely unaware of the world around me.
I come to school and hang out with the preppy
Talking about things I do not care about.
All the while I think of home
And that black bookshelf,
Of being engrossed in my games.
3:07 a.m.
BY AUDREY PHILLIP
My Muse crawls
at 3:07 a.m.
Bare foors groan
under its weight.
It journeys
up the side of my bed
and the talons
gouge my precious skin,
ripping deep holes
into my hips,
feeding off my
sweet blood.
With deep, black sockets,
lacking eyes,
it stares,
daring me to scream.
Hunched, mangled body,
hovering over mine,
trapping me in.
A sigh;
a sign of weakness,
the claws hooking my sternum and
unlacing me like the corset
trapping in all desires.
It nestles up
to my fast beating heart.
A slow claw reaches and
closes me back up,
my ribs creaking
shut like
the hinges of
an old shutter.
We are one now.
CHECK IT OUT!
Writing
BY JULIA REMILLARD
My muse is my writing,
The words as they splash on the page.
All eyes on my work, Im center stage.
I used to believe in being a pro athlete,
That was my dream,
But now I want to be a writer,
Release a best selling book,
Maybe write a few songs ...
My inspiration is the feeling I get when I open
a newspaper to my poems or stories.
It feels like the whole world is showcasing me
in glory.
My dreams have changed for the better .
I never would have thought fve years back
that
Id want to be a writer.
But now thats the only thing I want to do.
THIS WEEK: Magic & Style
ton, VT 05401.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
state, on vtdigger.org and on vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Magic: Describe a magical mo-
ment or feeling youve experienced; Style: Write in the style
of someone you admire. More at youngwritersproject.org.
Paper cranes Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
Real magic
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Where were you?!
I froze in the middle of the hallway, my
shoulders hunched to hide the tautness in my
face. I was at school, Auntie; its Tuesday,
remember?
I didnt turn around. I could already hear
her heavy footsteps vibrating across the
wooden foor.
School, eh? I cringed. Her breath was hot
and moist on the back of my neck.
My mistake, she hissed into my ear. I
really wish she would yell. Its always better
when she lets her anger out that way frst.
Well, youre lucky Im in a good mood to-
day, Duckling, she continued, her voice even.
The scent of alcohol wafted from her clothing.
I heaved a mental sigh of relief. She hadnt
been drinking since I left for school.
Humph. Make me a tuna salad sandwich,
will ya, Duckling? Then homework. None of
that techno stuff, it gives me a headache.
Her presence lifted from my back and lum-
bered back down the hall. Tuna, I cursed as
softly as I could.
Mike was going to e-mail me that night,
something really important. But of course, my
aunt has radar hearing and its impossible to
get from the back door to my room without
alerting her.
Maybe next time Ill use my window, I
muttered as I dropped my bag of textbooks
and kicked it fat against the wall.
Tuna salad sandwich, makes we wanna
shout, icky blicky stinky fshy, straight in
Aunties mouth. I continued to chant this as I
gathered the mayonnaise and leftover half-a-
can of tuna fsh from the fridge.
I cant remember how long Ive been
singing it, but its like a tradition for me now,
every day when I make my aunt her dinner.
When its done, I grab the entire bag of chips
and the whole jug of milk to go along with it.
Its a trick I taught myself so Auntie doesnt
have to bother me to get her some more.
Here you go, Auntie. I set the plate and
milk down on the coffee table in the living
room.
Shut up, Duck. Gerrout o the way, my
shows om. Disgusting, I thought as Aun-
tie sent bits of stinking fsh finging from
her mouth as she shouted in my direction. I
conspicuously ficked a glob of mayo-and-
half-chewed-something off my shoulder as I
turned back around. I couldnt be more glad to
oblige her.
When I rounded the corner into the hallway
where my bag was, I peeked back at her,
just to see if she was watching. I was good.
Her eyes were glued to The Young and the
Restless. Slowly, I tiptoed into my room
and closed the door with a click. Auntie had
'confscated my laptop because watching me
do stuff on it gives her a headache so she uses
it instead. But Mike let me borrow his. He has
a desktop at his house. I made sure my eyes
never left my door in case she burst in, her
eyes wild with drunken rage, to steal the pre-
cious MacBook I held in my lap. Reverently I
powered it up and searched the screen for the
mail icon. I found it.
One from Mike, I whispered excitedly. I
clicked it and scrolled down. Three words.
I love you.
Warmth blossomed in my tummy. Fuzzi-
ness tickled my heart and made me smile. I
clicked reply. Right middle fnger, ring, up
ring, down left index, up middle. Y-O-U.
Too. I laughed. It seemed so natural to me.
Laughing.
Thats whats so important, I half
giggled, half whispered. Ha-ha!
Fairytales. Pixie dust. Wizards wands. No.
This is magic.
Play-Doh wizard
BY ASHLEIGH LEDUC
At frst, she smashed it all together, pushing
pudgy parts in, twisting longer limbs out.
She rolled and poked and prodded the
winding blobs of black and white to form
a single eye per being that she knew would
never attain the honor of viewing their creator
yet she continued.
Careless, carefree, obliviously content
without understanding the reasons for any-
thing nor knowing the alphabet either, mind
you but perhaps it is better that way.
And suddenly, from nothingness, she made
a something a work of art a masterpiece as
two miniature monsters slowly took form on a
fattened background of deep night.
She meticulously forged circular stars
around them in neon yellow, gave one snakes
for hair in deep purple strands, complete
with eyes and smiles, each staring from their
single-eyed hostess desolately.
Two tiny lime horns sprouted on the other,
and as the monsters changed, my opinion of
her did as well.
She was every bit as deserving of love and
praise as I; she was a tiny Play-Doh wizard,
an artist, a person, a sister, a friend.
Magic trick
BY LILY MERRIAM
Grade 9, Peoples Academy
Magic. Its in the air, in the blank snow-
fakes drifting down and landing on the dirty
brown ground. Its in your ice blue eyes, in
the way you smile at me, shy like Ive never
seen you before.
Magic. Its in the way you held my hand
with utmost gentleness, in the way we walk,
synchronized like wed done it many times
before.
There was magic in the air, and you could
see it; I could see you watching it and it was
beautiful. We were beautiful, in that moment,
with the magic snow and twinkling street-
lights, like they were winking at us. But just
like everything good, everything magic, it
died, drifted off into the distance, before we
knew how the trick was done.
And Id fallen for you, dont you under-
stand? In that magic moment, before every-
thing fell apart and I let go of your hand, it
was magic.
So Ill remember that; yes, thats what Ill
do. Ill focus on that. Because now, looking at
you hurts.
Your eyes dont have magic in them
anymore. And the snow is gone, melted and
turned into slush.
The air has the smell of spring in it, and it
was winter then, wasnt it? You havent held
my hand in months, and we seem to be walk-
ing in opposite directions anyway, so screw
the synchronized walking.
And its done then. The magic trick is over;
you played me like a deck of cards and now
Im limp standing below the streetlight that
once winked at me, but it doesnt now. No, its
not even on, because the magic is gone.
THE CALVIN
Go to youngwritersproject.org to read
the winning submissions by Abigail
Millard, a junior at Windsor High
School, and Robin Vincent, a senior
at St. Johnsbury Academy for this
writing award sponsored by the Cal-
vin Coolidge Foundation. Congratula-
tions to the writers!
Calvin Coolidge
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Young Writers Project will resume pub-
lishing student work on these pages during
the week of Jan. 6, 2014. Until then, happy
holidays from all of us at YWP!
NEXT PROMPTS
Wonder. Write a piece that focuses on
the idea of I wonder... Alternates: Gift.
Have you ever received something that you
cherish more than anything? Describe it; or
Photo 5 (below). Due Jan. 17
Everything melts
BY JOSEPH WILLS
Grade 8, Richford Junior Senior High School
In the style of Robert Frost
Everything melts some day.
There is no if, instead, or may.
Nothing is frozen forever;
that happens absolutely never.
Sometimes it is warmed for the best,
but sometimes its heated to its hottest.
The heat does not feel very nice;
I prefer the ice.
Great cedar tree William McFarlane Notman
Elements. What do you think is the
strongest and/or most beautiful force in
nature? Tell a story if you can. Alternate:
Disappointed. Looking forward to some-
thing is often the best part. Write about a
time where your expectations werent quite
met. Due Jan. 24
THIS WEEK: Excerpt & General
LANGWATER FAMILY
FOUNDATION
and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around
the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to
the prompts, Excerpt: Open a book and include a line in a
story or poem; and General writing. Read more at young-
writersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Bailey Kimball/Essex High School, 2013
Born from the mountains
BY ABHI DODGSON
Grade 6, Mater Christi School
Hometown: South Hero
Born from the monsoon rain that falls like a wall of water onto the dirty streets
washing the roadsides, cleansing them until they look brand new
I am from the juice of coconuts that tastes so sweet
I am from the lily pads that foat on the water
I am from spices and favors that fll this land with their magnifcent smells
I am from the hot sweet-tasting tea
I am from the dark brown earth in the tea leaf beds
I am from the highest mountains
where the oxygen is thin and harder to breathe
Shepherds prayer
BY LYDIA SMITH
As I lay me down to sleep,
I pray that Thee protect my sheep.
Keep them safe from wild beasts;
Let them not become coyote feast.
Huddled in their little bands,
Guard them with Thy strong hands.
Hold tight to my tiny fock,
And wild scavengers block.
Amen.
Valerie, a crossbred yearling ewe Lydia Smith
NEXT PROMPTS
Perspective. Tell a story from the perspective
or viewpoint of something unconventional:
a dog, a fower, a mountain, etc. Alternate:
Rant. Send us your best rant, something that
ticks you off. Note: No real names or situa-
tions where someone can be identifed. Make
it a slam poem if youd like. And feel free to
create a podcast. Due Dec. 13
Myth. Create the new urban myth. Make it
eerie, funny or outrageous. Alternates: Funny.
Write a poem or story that makes your reader
smile and then laugh out loud. Its harder
than it sounds. Try it for fun. See what hap-
pens; or General writing in any genre. Due
Dec. 20
CHECK IT OUT!
He had become soft
BY KARA FIARKOSKI
He had become soft. You cant be soft in
this world, not how it is now.
You cant be soft, or weak, or gullible. You
can only be strong. Hard. Aggressive, if you
have to.
This world isn`t about living anymore,
it`s about surviving. Integrity slips away;
humanity vanishes ... Fear is everywhere. Not
the kind of fear that makes your heart race,
thumping in your chest and echoing to your
throat, leaving a lump you can`t get out, no
matter how hard you swallow. Or the kind of
fear that makes the hair on your arms stand
up paralyzed, or the kind that releases your
adrenaline determining if you`re going to fght
or fight.
It`s the fear you have yet to meet, to shake
its cold, ghastly hand that lures you in through
a charade, and then strikes.
Youll know when it comes for you be-
cause when it does, you wont be able to stop
it. Nothing can stop it.
Its the monsters hiding in the dark shad-
ows that clandestinely watch their victims
with sly grins of razor teeth.
Its the poison lingering in unexpected
places to be breathed in, to slowly execute the
living. Things want to kill us. To rip us open,
vanquish our souls, to murder. They plan this.
They want to take over.
If you become soft, theres no way youll
live in this world, it`s inconceivable.
You need strength to carry on, running to
escape the grasp of death at the last minute.
You need to be hard to make the tough
decisions, when to leave and who to leave
behind ...
If you become soft, the world changes you
to nothing but fear.
(He had become soft, from Arrowsmith by Sin-
clair Lewis)
Our always
BY JHAYMES REED
Grade 11, North Country Union High School
Hed wait days, weeks and months. Hell,
hed wait a century just to feel it again.
It was calming to him. He missed how it
felt. That bittersweet symphony of I miss
you`s, and 'I love you`s.
It would do no good to rush this feeling; he
knew that. If it was rushed, it wouldnt be real.
He was patient, very patient. So when the
chance fnally showed itself to him, he took it.
It was pure bliss, the butterfies futtering in
the pit of his stomach.
Who would have known that one of the
most popular clichs would be true?
Maybe thats why it was the most popular
clich.
He had missed the presence of this feeling,
so when he found it again, he held on tight.
He was ready to board that rollercoaster
that they call love.
Through the ups, downs, through all of it,
hed stay and be there.
This was a love that he didn`t want to let
go of. This was a love so true. True love had
never felt so sweet ...
This was how they worked. One second it
was fne, but the next, only okay.
They were never perfectly fne; either of
them. But they knew the love was always
there.
Maybe okay will be our always.
(Maybe okay will be our always, from The Fault
in Our Stars by John Green.)
Perfect devils
BY AUDREY PHILLIP
They are perfect
devils,
painted with perfect
smiles
and hateful eyes,
seething and fuming
under fawless skin.
Their critiques slice
my face, burning
my mind.
Chilling cackles
vibrate down my
spine.
Perfectly manicured nails
peel back my
layers,
revealing what`s
within,
a perfect devil,
painted with a perfect
smile
and regretful eyes,
begging for
forgiveness.
(They are perfect devils, from Uncle Toms Cabin
by Harriet Beecher Stowe.)
No love
BY ZACH ST. AMOUR
Every day I see people who think they`re
in love, but there is no love. Let me tell you
something about love. It has a ferocious ap-
petite. It kills me how much it eats. First, itll
eat your friends, your family, and even you if
you dont feed it right.
If you do feed it right, it can be a beautiful
thing and that`s what some people have, but
take my advice and be careful of no love.
THIS WEEK: Winter Tales & General
VT 05401.
TURRELL FUND
the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present some of
the 16 YWP pieces that were selected for Winter Tales
to be presented by Vermont Stage Company Dec. 4-8 at
FlynnSpace in Burlington; and General writing.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Sam Robinson/Essex High School, 2013
VERMONT STAGE COMPANY
PRESENTS
WINTER TALES
DEC. 4-8
FLYNNSPACE, BURLINGTON
www.vtstage.org
This years holiday show has
16 YWP writers, including
students on this page.
Not only igloos
have caverns
Grade 8, Homeschool
In the winter I build an igloo
I model it after my heart
It has tunnels and dead ends
And in the middle, a cavern
Where theres room for two snowmen to stand
There are ledges to take a rest
In case you get stuck in the maze
It takes a very long time and much energy
To get to the central cave
But once youre there
You can stay in all day
Away from the horrible wind
When you get to the cavern
A snowman will greet you
That snowman will be me
I will say, Well, youve made it!
Would you like to stay for some tea?
Well drink our tea and then
Maybe you can help me
To make my cavern
Just a bit bigger
So that someone else can come inside
And then well have three to dig
And itll get bigger
And more and more snowmen
Will be able to ft in it
And eventually the whole world
Will be talking and laughing
And drinking tea
In my little igloo of a heart
Winter haiku
BY HAJI HAJI
Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School
Ice-cold snowy wind
My African blood freezes
Dreams of Kenyan sun
NEXT PROMPTS
Perspective. Tell a story from the perspec-
tive or viewpoint of something unconven-
tional: a dog, a fower, a mountain, etc.
Alternate: Rant. Send us your best rant,
something that ticks you off. Note: No real
names or situations where someone can be
identifed. Make it a slam poem if you`d
like. And feel free to create a podcast. Due
Dec. 13
Myth. Create the new urban myth. Make
it eerie, funny or outrageous.
Alternates: Funny. Write a poem or story
that makes your reader smile and then
laugh out loud. It`s harder than it sounds.
Try it for fun. See what happens; or Gen-
eral writing in any genre. Due Dec. 20
Knowing
BY ASHLEIGH LEDUC
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans
There are secrets in everything,
shut behind heavy wooden doors,
crammed beneath faulty foor panels,
fung across desolate acres of
unthunk thought.
Secretly, I am a monster.
I screech, and scratch, and scar
the skin of my own mind.
There is dirt caked onto my bleeding fngers,
for last night I dug the beds
of other monsters, reviving
those I once despised so.
Secretly, I know I am their leader.
Destroying what Ive left of myself
to invent a new system; new intellect,
a new life, new pain.
I know them all,
every one of the seven sins,
reincarnate, as crushing as
reality herself.
They are infnite.
Secretly, I know you, too,
your inner fear, your hatred,
your love, your thoughts, your eyes.
They make me cringe;
they lack understanding.
Do you know me?
I once knew myself.
Secretly, I still know Im nothing
more than
your average teenage girl.
Let go
BY KYLIE TRIMM
Everything just got overwhelming. Trying
to juggle school, home and friends just made
me stressed out. I was staying up late, waking
up late, and I couldnt pay attention in class
very well.
One night, I was lying in bed, wide awake,
staring up at the ceiling. I felt as if my head
was about to explode, like I was going to go
crazy.
I felt an urge to run, to jump, anything.
I hopped out of bed and put my shoes on. I
went to the front door and unlocked it, pulling
it open slowly so that my parents wouldnt
wake up. I walked outside.
I was standing in the middle of my lawn. I
looked around. The only light was from dim
street lights and the light from a full moon.
I ran, faster than I`ve ever run before. I
ran down my street, far from my house. I ran
down streets I didnt know, vaguely aware of
the street names as I ran past the signs.
Eventually I came to a cliff. Below were
shiny rocks, with lake water splashing off of
them and foaming. I stood there. The moon
seemed so big. I looked around. There was no
one there. No houses nearby.
I screamed.
I plopped on my knees and screeched. I
howled at the moon. My face was red, I`m
sure. I screamed and screamed and screamed
until I couldn`t anymore. I think I fell asleep,
because the next thing I knew the sun was
rising.
I ran home and crept inside. I fell asleep
again in my bed. I woke up in the morning
when I usually did. 6:00, the normal routine.
I still dont know if I actually screamed at
the cliff, or if it was a dream. But I felt better
the next day. Because I let go.
Have you noticed?
BY ALIZA SILVERSTEIN
The cold has settled
across the land,
the gardens frozen,
the bare trees stand
remembering weight of golden leaves.
Have you noticed?
Each breath is laced
with crystal cold,
and only crows
are left to hold
their court in empty monarchy.
Have you noticed?
Yet sunsets keep
the brightest shades
for these, the coldest of the months,
and even when the sunlight fades
the stars are clearest when our gaze
is woken by midwinter ice,
and if you pause in winter woods
and listen to the silence grow,
you fnd that silence has a sound -
of wind through cedars and weighty snow.
Have you noticed?
On the inside
looking out
BY MADI SMITH
Grade 11, Oxbow High School
Looking out at the snow-covered ground,
there is so much running through my mind.
And as snow falls silently, I realize
winter is coming without making a sound.
Trees are covered in a glistening white;
everything looks peaceful and cold.
I wonder how harsh the winter will be,
and how cold the frost will bite.
And as soon as it arrives, I wish for it to leave,
the harsh winter cold that flls the air.
Oh, but the sight, that it can surely spare,
and the holiday feel that flls your home.
As I sit here by the warmth of the fre,
looking out at the white unknown,
I think to myself, this isnt all that bad,
on the inside looking out.
Winters majesty
BY ZORA STEWART
Grade 7, Edmunds Middle School
He sails in upon a furry
His ship made from ice and hale
Slow yet strong and in no hurry
Caught within a gale
He watches as the birds take wing
Across the frosted sky
This is the time when he is king
Though quickly will his time go by
Crystal fog and downy gauze
He lays on top the ground
He tears the wind with frozen claws
Singing with a ghostly sound
A dark mysterious ruler
Who reigns with majesty
No man could be much crueler
No man could be as free
Im thankful
BY JULIA REMILLARD
I am grateful for
my brothers and sisters,
my church minister,
my mom and dad,
grateful for the friends that cheer me up when
Im sad.
Im thankful for my education
and grateful for my up-coming graduation.
Im so grateful, and thankful for the things I
have
and have yet to get.
So from this day forward, I wont forget
to say thank you to the people I love the most.
My loss
Grade 8, Homeschool
Im grateful
For what Im about to lose
This friendship
This friend
Eight years long
We were like a married couple
We were together
In sickness and in health
In good times and bad
And, as we thought
Till death would us part
But we thought wrong
You are jerked away from me
Were both crying as you go
But not for long
Hawaii will steal you away
You wont look back
Maybe youll remember me
I do hope so
Im grateful
For you, my friend
For all the days we spent together
Winter, spring, summer, fall
I know I will never see you again
Ill probably forget what you look like
And you will, too
And thats alright
Because Im so very grateful
For all the things you gave
And the ones you took
And all the things we shared
I love you
Goodbye
THIS WEEK: Thanks
VERMONT COUNTRY STORE
the state. This week, we present responses to the prompt,
Thanks: What are you most grateful for? Read more at
youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of
writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
XXXXX/XXX High School
Laura Cavazos/Essex High School

NEXT PROMPTS
Cold. What is the coldest youve ever felt? Describe it.
Alternates: Optimist. Think of your worst memory. Tell us
the story; however, write about it in a way that turns it into
a positive; or Photo 4 (left). Due Dec. 6
Perspective. Tell a story from the perspective or view-
point of something unconventional: a dog, fower, mountain,
etc. Alternate: Rant: Send us your best rant. Make it a slam
poem if you like, and send us a podcast! Due Dec. 13
Liu Brenna/Essex High School
Thanks, coaches
BY JOHN DELACY
Thank you to all my coaches who taught
me how to play soccer.
I started out not knowing how to play soc-
cer or the rules or anything.
I thought I wouldnt be good at soccer, but
then my coaches told me how to kick accu-
rately at the goal and to be a good offensive
player and goalie.
Then I started getting better at offense,
goalie, and especially, defense.
I think Im a really good defender. When-
ever the other team has the ball, I kick it over
to the other side of the feld. Boom!
My coaches compliment me on how good I
am at soccer. But really, theyre the ones who
taught me.
I am really thankful for my coaches be-
cause theyre the ones who taught me how to
play soccer.
Thank you to all the coaches who taught
me how to play soccer.
Important piece
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
I thought my life was complete;
not a piece was missing,
but as soon as I saw it,
I assumed that piece was hidden.
You uncovered it for me.
Im most grateful for that.
Now Ive found my love.
So, thank you.
Thank you, teacher, for showing me a pencil,
the one that made this possible,
that which completed the puzzle.
Daily thanks
BY ISABELLE DESROCHES
Grade 7, Homeschool
Thank you to the hands
that catch me when I fall,
the arms held wide
to calm the pain,
ease the pain.
Thank you to the ground I tread,
the trees I climb,
the dirt in which I plant
the food from it that keeps my health.
Thank you to the books I read
that keep my sanity,
my imagination.
Thank you to the ones I meet,
the ones I love,
the ones that Ill hold onto forever.
Thank you.
The one
BY ZACH ST. AMOUR
If shes the one that you think about when
you wake, then shes the one.
If shes the one that raises your adrenaline,
then shes the one.
If you stay up all night thinking about her,
and how you look together, then she is the
one.
THIS WEEK: Photo 2 & Secret lives
ton, VT 05401.
MAIN STREET LANDING
publication here and in other newspapers around the state
and vpr.net. This week we publish work in response to the
prompts, Photo 2; and Secret lives: You have another life
that must remain hidden. More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO 2 PROMPT
Photo 2 Julie Pearce/Essex High School
Dont let them
hear you (WWII)
Grade 8, Homeschool
Mama says Dont speak
She puts her fnger to her lips
If we speak too loudly
They will come
Like a dark silhouette
To cover the sun

We must pull down the blinds
Close all the curtains
We must run away
And never look back
Or they will come for us

We must put iron over our heads
And never laugh, never cry
No sounds must escape
From our freezing blue lips
We are living under the ground

They treat us like animals
We must get underground
Dig ourselves tunnels
Shove our heads in the dirt
So that we are blind

So we cant see the torment
That goes on outside
Close our eyes and ears and minds
Dont allow them in
And theyll get bored eventually

When Im grown Ill have a wife
And I wont ever leave her
To go to war and not come back
I wont leave her with a child
Who doesnt understand

Like silhouettes in the dark
Theyll come to steal lives
Old men, Jews, babies
It doesnt matter who they are
The silhouettes will come
Its what they do
They come, and they destroy
A small taste of freedom
BY LAUREN FORCIER
It`s happening. It`s fnally happening.
My brother and I crawl down the tiny tunnel, the tunnel that leads toward freedom.
Jack holds a small fashlight in his left hand and lifts his right hand to his lips and makes a
shhh sound.
The little beam of light illuminates the passage ahead of us; we are no longer orphans stuck
in an old, dull, Stone Age house.
We are now adventurers who seek the outside world ahead of us. My hands are slick with
sweat, my hair is beginning to stick to my neck. I can see that Jacks is doing the same.
A small breeze passes by us, taunting us. The outside is close, so close. I can feel freedom;
its only an arms reach away.
But that soon dissolves like dust in the wind when we hear the screech of our own names,
from that voice we hate so much.
Jack turns to me with terror in his eyes; my face probably looks the exact same way.
Jack! Jane! Where have you little brats gone now? the deep voice of Ms. Young screams
out.
Uh-oh, we just got busted. We sprint through the corridor, out the door and into the open air.
We keep running. We run to the morning. We run towards freedom. But instead, we run into the
arms of Ms. Young.
She has a wicked grin on her face, showing off her unkempt teeth. I swallow with fear; my
legs start to tremble; and I pass out in my brothers arms.
Z-Diary
BY CHRISTOPHER BINGHAM
Day 35:
So its been awhile since I kept a record of
my travels, pretty much since the initial infec-
tion, the Zed infection. A world in utter chaos,
with nothing more than a vivid memory left.
I can almost feel my sanity slipping. I need
communication.
Its lonely traveling from town to town
searching, hoping for survivors. I was travel-
ing with Kaytie and Marc, brother and sister
but they wouldnt listen. Theyre on their own
and that was just how they behaved in a soci-
ety without structure, without rules ... without
cooperation. Theyre dead, simple as that.
Day 36:
So, Im still searching for others with no
luck thus far. I did however come across a
small pallet of baked beans! I nabbed a few,
and have a can heating up on the fre as I
write. You know, there is something special
about baked beans. Its the dividing line when
it comes to lifestyle, a life of the stationary,
compared to one of travel. No, if I only had
some canned bread to go with this meal, then
this apocalypse would be perfect.
Day 37:
So I`m on my ffth can of beans today, and
Id be a liar if I said I wasnt sick of them.
However, Im going to stall my mission to
fnd others, so I can take up the task of fnding
cooking equipment.
Why bother trying to fnd something that
doesnt exist, when I can devote my energy
to cooking? Who knows, I might even try to
make a cookbook for other survivors. Thats
it, Ill be a cook!
Day 38:
Well, so much for being a damn cook. Im
pretty much dead at this point, bitten by one
of those zombies. All I wanted was some
pumpkin pie flling for my soup, but, no, I
have to die now; my goal out of life gone in
less than 24 hours.
Day 54:
So Im dead? Being a zombie isnt really
that different, I guess. I can still talk, still
write, and still feel.
I tried to talk with the others but they dont
seem to possess my gift of unlife. Its weird,
being a secret among a world of monsters.
Oh, and my baked beans are still OK
though I dont seem to like the taste of them
anymore, not smart enough if you catch my
drift.
Still lonely, I guess, but at least I cant die
twice thats a plus. Also it seems my writing
arm keeps falling off, so this will probably be
my last entry.
My other life
BY JULIA REMILLARD
They can`t fnd out - not now, at least;
these rowdy rumors must be ceased.
As I cry with fear
my face looks fustered;
my life is turning out to be a new episode on
Myth busters.
The secrets inside of me
are for only my eyes to see
because if they knew about my other life,
lets just say, there would be strife.
My secret must stay hidden.
They can never fnd out; it`s forbidden.
I know having two lives
isnt right,
but at this point, there are no other options
except for trying to keep my secret hidden,
and taking my chances.
NEXT PROMPTS
Magic. There is magic all around us, but
people often dont recognize it. Sometimes
it comes in the form of a coincidence or two
paths that cross. Describe a magical mo-
ment or feeling that you have experienced.
Alternate: Home. What is it about your
hometown or your state that you are most
proud of? Due Nov. 29
Cold. What is the coldest youve ever
felt? Describe it. Alternates: Optimist.
Think of your worst saddest, scariest
or most embarrassing memory. Tell the
story; however, write about it in a way that
turns it into a positive; or Photo 4 (below).
Due Dec. 6
Photo 4 Liu Brenna/Essex High
School
THIS WEEK: Survival & 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.
NATIONAL LIFE GROUP
publication here and in newspapers around the state and
on vpr.net. This week, we publish work in response to the
prompts, Survival: Youre stuck on a deserted island. Night
is falling ... and General writing.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Inspiration. Describe your muse. What
form does it take; when does it appear;
how do you interact with it? Alternate:
Fairytale. Create an 8th dwarf for the Snow
White story. Who is it and how does he or
she interact with the others? Due Nov. 22
Magic. There is magic all around us, but
people often dont recognize it. Sometimes
it comes in the form of a coincidence or two
paths that cross. Describe a magical mo-
ment or feeling that you have experienced.
Alternate: Home. What is it about your
hometown or your state that you are most
proud of? Due Nov. 29
Stranded Island
Day Care
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Are we going to die?
Everyone was thinking it. Leave it to the
5-year-old to be brave enough to ask it.
'No, I replied frmly. I put on a deter-
mined face and looked at my three charges
in turn. Were absolutely not going to die,
Mister Sam, and all of us are going to work
together, OK?
The kids nodded. Little Amerie was 7, but
was so small for her age she didnt look it.
Even Sam was taller then her. Then there was
Amethyst, Ameries sister. She was 8, but
hadnt spoken a single word since the boat
fipped. I was the oldest at 13, and had to take
charge. I guess it was luck I happened to have
just passed the lifeguard safety course about
a week earlier this summer. That was the day
before we left on the small vacation cruise.
Three days is how long it was supposed to
last; now Im not so sure.
I want my mommy! Sam wailed at the
top of his lungs.
Shh, its all right. Your mommy is looking
very hard for you right now; youll see her
soon. I drew all three of them into a group
hug. Amethyst was the only one not crying.
So I talked to her frst. 'Amethyst, you`re be-
ing very brave. Thank you. She nodded her
head slightly. Good. I arranged the kids in
a semi-circle around me and explained what I
wanted them to do. Amethyst, Amerie, look
along the trees here for some nice, big sticks.
I held up my hands in a circle to show them
the diameter I wanted. They nodded.
Are we gonna build a house? Amerie
piped up, her big blue eyes glinting in the fad-
ing sunlight.
Yes, thats exactly right. So we can sleep
in it! Make sure you two stay together, and
dont run off too far. And dont go into the
jungle too deep, either; stay where you can
see me.
I didnt think they would run off. The way
they handled themselves on the lifeboat foat-
ing in open water, away from the wreckage
of our ship was incredible. They wouldnt
risk losing their friends again. After the girls
had started scouring the tree line, I looked to
Sam. 'Sammy, you and I are going to fnd the
perfect spot for our house! Sound good?
Im hungry, he moaned.
Before we get food, we have to make a
house. Its going to be so, so cool, but you
gotta help me frst!
Thankfully, Sammy clapped his hands
and ran to the trees. I sighed. That bullet was
dodged for now. I didnt know what would be
edible around here, and wasnt willing to go
into the jungle quite yet. We had few daylight
hours left anyway.
How about here? Sam pointed to a little
shrub no bigger than a tumbleweed.
Nope.
Here?
Hm, good, but I think we should keep
looking. It went on like this for a while,
mostly because honestly, I didnt know what I
was looking for. Then I saw the perfect spot: a
good-sized tree with one thick branch sticking
out over the sand at almost a 90-degree angle.
Like I said, perfect. Here! I tapped Sammys
arm and pointed to the branch.
Yay! House! he yelled.
Amethyst, Amerie! Over here, start mak-
ing a pile out of the sticks youve found!
OK!
Soon, they had gathered enough good limbs
that I could make a pretty wide wall by lean-
ing them up against the tree branch.
There, what do you think, guys?
Perfect! Amerie twirled and hugged her
sister bashfully. It looks stupid! Sam
shouted gleefully, grinning ear to ear.
Smiling, I had them help me drag the raft
over to our lean-to. Grunting with the effort, I
fipped the raft up so it formed the other wall
and also served as our signal.
The bands of refector tape glowed brightly
in fuorescent patterns facing the sea. The air
was chilling rapidly, and by now I couldnt
see all but the brightest of colors. Night was
fast approaching. I had no idea what was on
this island with us, so I was thankful the trunk
of the tree was an effective back wall and
shield from the jungles interior. I took vines
and draped them over the entrance, hoping
they would cover us. And when I joined the
three kids inside, I was surprised at how cozy
it was. Amerie was giggling in the shadows,
and Sam was circling on the sand like a dog
trying to get comfortable. Were going to be
fne, I told them in my best motherly voice.
Yeah. The others nodded in agreement.
I smiled. It was Amethyst who had answered
me.
This is more fun than day care! Amerie
exclaimed.
I laughed. Its like Stranded Island Day
Care!
Yah! All at once, the four of us cracked
up, the innocent shrieks of the children flling
me with hope. And right at that euphoric mo-
ment, the sound of hovering helicopter blades
began to laugh with us.
MORE GREAT WRITING AT
Healing
BY KRISTEN BELL
Like knuckles banging on a door, you knock
at my heart
telling me its OK to let you in.
But its not safe,
the trust no longer there.
If I let you in now, itll be harder to let you go.
I dont have the time to fall for you again and
again.
Ill never have the time to mend this broken
heart.
The stitches will never be permanent, always
being torn out.
When I think it`s fnally mending, it breaks.
How long will it take for me to realize this?
Sometimes love can confuse you and you
dont realize whats really happening.
You whisper again, reassuring me that every-
things alright, good as new.
But youll never know how I really feel on the
inside.
Whats running through my mind, how my
heart is slowly tearing apart once again, as
always.
Youll never be able to clean up this mess; its
permanent.
What you can do is let me go, for good.
Dont say youll come back when things are
made right.
For things to be right, would mean you never
coming back.
Leaving for you, would mean healing for me
... I want that, do you?
You know you couldnt handle that; I know
it, too.
So Ill be the one to leave, to leave everything
and everyone behind,
not to fnd a new love or to upset you; that`s
the opposite goal.
But to fnd new hope, to heal - for both of us.
And to do that, it means to not return.
After all, its what were both looking for,
a way to start over, a way to heal,
a way to try to mend our hearts one last time,
then soon to forget each other.
When checking the damage, none will be
found, not one scar
because well be healed.
The mess will be cleaned.
It is then that I can tell you things are OK.
Then things will be safe,
and not just for me -
for both of us.
Why me?
BY CHLOE SMITH
Im standing here taking in the mean words
that they are saying to me. Youre ugly.
Youre stupid, and much worse. Ive heard
it all before.
All I do is sit quietly as the lead bully
tears me down word by word. I want to say
something but I just cant. All I do is hold in
my tears.
What I really dont understand is, why do
they pick on me? There is nothing wrong with
me. I have friends; Im normal; there is noth-
ing wrong with me. So why am I the victim?
The bullying has gotten to the point where I
really dont want to go to school. I guess I will
just fake being sick. Brilliant, isnt it? I just
have to tell my mom (the school nurse ) that
I dont feel well. My mom is crazy when it
comes to germs. Even if I cough she makes a
big deal out of it and brings me to the doctor.
That is why she is the school nurse.
Im walking in the hall as the bully and her
gang approach me. Hey loser, where did
you fnd that outft? The garbage?
Then she laughs and walks away. But as
they are walking away, one of her friends
stops and what she says surprises me.
Im sorry for all the things we have done
to you...
org/node/86016
THIS WEEK: Moon & General
ton, VT 05401.
publication here and in other newspapers around the state
and on vpr.net. This week we publish work in response to the
prompts, Moon: What is on the dark side of the moon? and
General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Friends: Left to right, Tyler McKee, Nathan Cozzens and Wyatt Martin, sophomores at Rutland High
School. Aliya Schneider/Grade 10, Rutland High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, fresh descrip-
tive poetry or prose. Please avoid clichs. The best will be selected
for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual
Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burlington. Alternates:
General writing in any genre; or Photo 3. Due Nov. 15

Photo 3 (Collage fag) Mister Blick
READ MORE
GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
A YWP WRITER IS FEATURED
ON VPR.NET EVERY WEEK!
CHECK IT OUT!
Strength
BY JILL PARADEE
Hear me read.
Watch me speak.
Tell me not
that I am weak.
The dark side
BY OWEN PELKEY
The most dangerous mission is one you
wouldn`t think is dangerous. Going to the
dark side of the moon isn`t scary or creepy;
its just dangerous.
When I took that frst step, you wouldn`t
believe what I heard. I heard an ear-splitting
sound to my right. When the sound came
closer, it caused a major disturbance.
I fell to the hard ground; my side started
to ache. I stared up at the fery stars, and then
everything went black.
It took me a few seconds to realize what
had happened; a meteor whirled above me.
It went crashing into the moon, causing
dust to fy everywhere and surround me.
I didn`t know which way was right. I
passed out.
When I woke up, I wasn`t on the moon
anymore. I was lying on a hard, metal surface.
I tried to get up, but I was secured to it. I
looked around, but I couldn`t see anything
since all the lights were shining straight upon
me.
I heard footsteps walking towards me;
when the footsteps stopped, I thought I was
dreaming.
A green thing with big eyes stared down
at me. Its hands, or what I think were hands,
lifted up and stuck a needle in me.
I fell back asleep, not knowing if I was go-
ing to wake up.
After I woke up once again, I was lying in
the dust of the moon.
I stepped over to my ship and went back to
Earth.
To this day, I still don`t know if what I saw
was real or not.
Hospital experience
BY CHLOE SMITH
One night I was playing with my iPad and
I remembered something that I had to tell my
mom.
I went into her room and I leaned on the
wall where the light socket wasn`t covered
and before I could stop it, my hand went into
the socket.
A huge shock went through my body and
all of a sudden my legs stopped working. My
mom sat me on her bed and she tried to help
me stand.
After a few tries, my mom and I knew that
I couldn`t walk; my legs gave up.
My mom called 911, since she knew I
couldnt get into the car without falling, and
the ambulance came.
I was freezing and I was shaking. The
ladies came and put me on this chair that
brought me down the stairs. They put big
warm slippers on my feet. At this point my
mom was freaking out! My hands were turn-
ing all purplish and I was scared.
When we got to the hospital, they brought
me to this room with a TV and they brought
me drinks.
My mom got hot towels to put on my hands
and feet. I felt badly because my mom started
to cry; she thought it was all her fault. We
were at the hospital from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m.
When we got home, my mom carried me to
bed and I fell right asleep. I slept in my moms
bed because she was worried.
When I woke up, my legs ached really
badly. I tried to stand and I could a little, but I
had to hold on to stuff.
It only took a day for my legs to get better.
BFFs are different
BY SOPHIE THOMPSON
Best friends and just friends.
Theres a difference.
Because if youre best friends, you are loyal
to each other,
but if youre just friends,
you arent always loyal to each other.
Frienemies and enemies are different
because if youre frienemies,
you are not friends,
but you dont mind each other.
If you`re enemies, you don`t like each other,
and you sometimes fght.
You cant really trust your frienemies,
but you can trust your friend.
Sometimes frienemies
arent the nicest to each other,
but most of the time friends are.
The girl in red
BY KRISTA KNIGHT
There she is, the girl I almost told it all to.
The girl who knows nothing, but everything
about me and who I am.
There she sits under the lone apple tree; the
fruit hangs like bright red blood drops from a
fresh wound.
The color matches her sweatshirt perfectly,
with the hood pulled over her head and her
long dark hair peeking out because of the
breeze.
Her nose is burrowed deep into her old
book with its tattered, torn spine.
She is oblivious to the world around her.
There is the girl that guessed my secret and
published it for the world to see and there she
sits with the littlest care about it all.
The sketch she drew so lifelike of me as I
truly am is still in my hand, wrinkled and torn
from my angry fear of when I frst saw it in
the hallway of my school outside the boys
locker room where she must have taped it to
the wall for the world to admire, her name
neatly signed under my clawed feet.
BEWARE written in big, bold, blood drip-
ping letters above my monstrous, fanged,
wolf-like features.
How had she guessed this?
This is not something you can simply
guess.
Someone must have told her about me,
someone who is the same as me.
I know just the guy in my pack that would
have told her and why.
He had betrayed one of his brothers for a
love that neither of us could really have.
A lover that has made him jealous and
blind.
Because of the simple fact that I have made
it impossible for him to have her, he is going
to make it just as impossible for me.
Im in love with her and so is he. To him
I am the enemy, an obstacle in the way of his
conquering all that he desires.
To reveal the monster under my perfect
human mask and get me killed is his ultimate
plan.
I am a bloodthirsty monster.
A dark child of the moon.
Betrayed by my own kind and shown to the
world by this beautiful girl all dressed in red.
I am left to defend myself from the rage of
hunters that are to come after me as soon as
the full moon rises once again.
Wrenching feeling
BY JULIA REMILLARD
This feeling in my stomach is wrenching.
The fre inside my heart is not quenching.
Tingling tears are falling down my face,
each one at a different pace.
So many thoughts; they blur into one,
my brain overwhelmed, and feeling numb.
I lie dumbfounded,
speechless beyond sound,
my faunty words sounding pointless and
loose.
I begin to remember something from my past,
but the memories I try to decipher are just too
fast.
Then I realize who I am,
and that wrenching feeling in my stomach has
come back again.
READ MORE
GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Souls of the present call out to me
Death is now here, I see
Hazes of mist that are swirled by the wind
Do not be confused by their glowing within
That`s not simply the moonlight rendered
translucent
By the veil that levitates all but frozen in air
Consuming all around it
Once again, do not get caught
Mercy to this is completely forgot
Run, run as fast as you can
See the shadows of the full moon
Slowly blurred as it closes in
Just time for a scream
No
Still as you are, you still can feel
Thousands of daggers puncturing fesh
Tearing your spirit in more than two
Try not to breathe, it`s all around you
More and more bite into your fesh
In your mind
There truly was time
As you are screaming in pain right now
One single shriek
One wave of sound
Daggers purge and mists disperse
You fnd yourself soaked, and instead of blood
You`re bleeding all over with beads of moon-
light
Pure on a crystal clear night
THIS WEEK: Spooky & General
VT 05401.
(802) 324-9537.
and we publish the best here and in 19 other newspapers and
on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts,
Spooky: Write a story that makes our skin crawl! and Gener-
al writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Madison Moore/Woodstock High School
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
SIGN UP TODAY!
Join Young Writers Project on Saturday,
November 9 as we celebrate the writers
and photographers published in our new
Anthology 5!
All ages are invited to sign up now
for a full day of free workshops on digital
storytelling, prose and poetry; a keynote
address by National Book Award author M.T.
Anderson; readings by Millennial Writers on
Stage; and a special reception.
Its all happening at the Vermont College
of Fine Arts in Montpelier.
Register today at youngwritersproject.org/
celebration2013.
YWP NEWS
Its spookier
than black cats
Grade 8, Homeschool
Black cats and broken mirrors
don`t compare at all
to the horrible, spooky feeling
when I receive a telemarketer phone call.
How do these people know my phone num-
ber?
Is someone tracking me?
Finding and stealing my personal facts
that no one but me should see?
Google`s decided that I`m an old woman,
sixty-three years old. What should I do?
My interests are recorded from my searches.
Apparently, I live in Australia, too.
Cameras are everywhere
except in the loo,
but I`m sure that with good time
those will appear, too.
I can`t even move without
being quite afraid
that someone is watching me
every moment of the day.
Skeletons and ghosts
and mysterious keys
are a very different type
of spooky.
Autumn haiku
BY NICOLINA CZEKAJ
The leaves are falling
But frst they turn to orange
Such a pretty sight
Blue sky rain
BY JEREMY BROTZ
Grade 9, Homeschool
As the bright autumn sun glimmers
brightly off a decorative pond, I walk happily
through the city streets, greeting people as I
go. It seems like I know everyone I walk past.
They all smile at me and nod, like they`re
happy to see me.
Turning a corner, I come across my fa-
vorite bakery. The smells coming out of it are
absolutely heavenly; I go in.
The cashier, who I`ve known for years,
fnishes serving a customer, and then sees me
standing there. He winks slyly at me and slips
a warm chocolate croissant into my hands.
Then he looks away and starts innocently
polishing the counter top.
I smile and continue on, past a small
garden where a little girl is picking fowers.
She sees me and scampers over, handing me a
beautiful little carnation. She smiles and runs
away. I shrug and walk on, into a crowded
square. Every person there is someone I
recognize but I can`t quite remember their
names. They are all faintly smiling as they go
about their business.
I feel so good; it`s a beautiful day in a
beautiful place with a fower in one hand and
a croissant in the other. Hey, my croissant! I
look down at my hand, in which the treat lies,
waiting to be eaten.
Suddenly I notice that all the city noises,
the traffc, the shuffe of feet, the distant si-
rens, all have fallen silent. They are just gone.
I hear nothing at all. Even the light fall breeze
is gone. I slowly look up, expecting to see the
large crowd standing still, looking around and
wondering why the traffc has stopped.
But instead what I see is nothing. The
square is absolutely deserted. Not a soul is in
sight ...
org/node/83720
Fear lives in us
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Fear lives in me,
sends me cute, sneaky invitations
to come have tea,
tricks me into believing,
then ends up thieving
me of my sanity.
Fear lives in my heart and head;
it makes me lie awake in bed.
Fear is real
and it lives
in all of us.
Mists of a crystal clear night
NEXT PROMPTS
Thanks. What are you most grateful for?
Tell a story about how you gained apprecia-
tion for this thing or opportunity or person.
Alternate: Unique. What`s something
unique or special that you do? Tell us how
you do it. Due Nov. 8
Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about
winter in short, fresh descriptive poetry
or prose. The best will be presented by
the Vermont Stage Company at its annual
Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in
Burlington. Alternates: General writing or
Photo 3 (see youngwritersproject.org). Due
Nov. 15
What Mona Lisas
smile will be
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
'Sit straight.
'How long will this
take?
'Awhile.
Great. How am I
supposed to stay
pretty and poised
for the rest of time
if I have to wait
to see my face
on the front side of the
canvas
while you sit there,
all busy and bustling,
pointing and marveling,
saying,
'That`s it! That`s the Mona Lisa!
when I don`t recall saying
you could name my face that
even though
I`ll be famous some day.
I don`t know that
all the thieves in the world
will want to steal my smile,
my pretty, poised, sitting-straight smile
that Signor da Vinci couldn`t resist.
THIS WEEK: Mona Lisa & General
of writing.
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to
the prompts, Mona Lisa: Imagine you are the subject of a
famous painting. What is your story? and General writing.
Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online
community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Elizah French/Spaulding High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Somewhere. You wake up in a
strange place and don`t know how
you got there. Describe it. What
happens? Alternates: Style. Write
in the style of an author you admire.
Name the author; or General writ-
ing in any genre. Due Nov. 1
Thanks. What are you most
grateful for? Tell a story about how
you gained appreciation for this
thing or opportunity or person. Al-
ternate: Unique. What`s something
unique or special that you do? Tell
us how you do it. Due Nov. 8
SATURDAY, NOV. 9
Join Young Writers Project on Satur-
day, Nov. 9 as we celebrate the writers
and photographers who are published in
our new Anthology 5!
All ages are invited to sign up now for
a full day of free workshops, a keynote
address by National Book Award author
M.T. Anderson, readings by Millennial
Writers on Stage and a special reception
to honor the young writers and photogra-
phers!
Its all happening at the Vermont Col-
lege of Fine Arts in Montpelier, 9:30 a.m.
to 6 p.m., Saturday, Nov. 9.
For more information and registration,
go to youngwritersproject.org/celebra-
tion2013.
SIGN UP TODAY!
YWP NEWS
Mona Lisa
by Leonardo da Vinci
Christina`s World by Andrew Wyeth
Immobile
Grade 8, Homeschool
Lying here in the dull brown grass,
it isn`t a pleasant feeling.
I can`t do anything but lie here.
I am alone,
an old woman at eighteen.
Other girls my age are dancing,
walking, running, playing.
I must crawl,
drag myself with my hands,
push myself with my feet,
but I bear it well.
I hate the feel of grass
pressed against my cheek,
much rougher than his cheek.
I`ll never feel his skin again.
He does not want a cripple.
He cannot see how much
I love him.
He only sees my body,
mangled and twisted, out of steam.
I can`t move for him.
I can`t dance with him.
I am immobile.
So I have the grass.
But it`s time to forget,
stop staring up at the old house.
It`s too depressing here.
I will fnd another feld,
one with fowers in it.
Falling
BY KRISTEN BELL
autumn time.
Off the trees or out of the sky, no one knows
particularly why.
Sometimes I wonder if some day winter won`t
come, and the leaves won`t change their color.
But some things never change and the seasons
are one of them.
Other times I wonder what life would be like
if there was no sun,
with only the moon to guide us through our
days on the run,
hiding and hoping for a better day to come.
We run ... to fnd better days.
When things don`t seem right, I wonder what
right and wrong really is.
Wandering all alone, it seems, even though
you could be surrounded,
surrounded by all the world.
And when you look back on everything
you`ve been through, everything you`ve
thought about, it seems to have gone by in
such a blur,
like it was too fast to have passed by your
eyes, too fast to remember and notice it.
But just like the snowfakes fall, out of the
sky, just like the leaves fall out of the trees,
we as people can fall,
not only physically, but emotionally.
We can get hurt, and fall into depression.
We can fnd love, and fall into an everlasting
happiness.
We can search for answers, and fall right
into them, then remember we`ve known the
answer all along.
We can stumble into hardships, and fall into a
weakness being made strong.
Lastly, we can hope for a better future, and
fall into a life we`ve wanted all along.
autumn time.
And sometimes we wonder why.
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
No more waiting
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Sadly, I still wait
for people like you.
I still wait for answers
that I know will never come true.
I somehow still believe
that if I try hard enough
I might actually succeed,
fooling myself and others.
I resemble disgrace and discomfort
as I wait on people
to tell me what to do,
instead of realizing
that my life
isn`t up to people like you.

It`s up to me
and only me.
I`m done waiting on you,
or anyone.
It`s time I stopped standing by
and started realizing
that I control
who I become.
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
ton, VT 05401.
JANE B. COOK
CHARITABLE TRUSTS
publication here and in other newspapers around the state.
This week, we publish work in response to the prompt for
General writing in any genre. Read more at youngwriter-
sproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Join YWP on Nov. 9 as we toast the
publication of Anthology 5 with a day of
celebration and free writing workshops at the
Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier,
9:30 a.m. - 6 p.m. Keynote speaker: National
Book Award winner M.T. Anderson. More
info at youngwritersproject.org.
Natural resources
BY JOHN DELACY
We should protect natural resources, and
this is how we can protect fossil fuels.
We can protect fossil fuels by carpooling,
and using gas more than diesel. You can actu-
ally use vegetable oil instead of gas.
And when you deal with oil, make it away
from the ocean, or the lake, or the sea, so it
doesnt go in the water.
Also dont waste gas by leaving your car
on.
Another way to protect fossil fuels is to not
go everywhere you want, just go and get what
you need at the store.
Dont go on a lot of vacations because you
have to drive there, and the way back, and
thats a lot of oil going to waste.
Fossil fuels are being used faster than
theyre being produced, so dont waste fossil
fuels.
My forest
BY JULIA REMILLARD
My limber body so vulnerable
My fragile face so breakable
My ratty hair so thick
My clumsy feet like bricks
I wander through a metaphorical forest
Of enchanted meaning
A cozy place were my imperfects
Are completely perfect
A place where only I exist
Underneath the willows, just beyond the mist
I can run free
I can be me
In the forest where only I exist
Way out there ... just beyond the mist
Autumns arrival
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
A warm sun, gentle breeze,
a woodpecker tapping amongst the trees;
the seasons are changing,
autumns arrived
and of their leaves, trees are soon deprived.
For hanging only
by a thread
a maple leaf, the color red.
An appreciation
BY SOPHIE THOMPSON
The book, Out of my Mind, by Sharon
Draper, received a fve out of fve rating from
Barnes and Noble.
The book is about a girl in a wheelchair
who cant talk and she is upset that she cant
talk. She has cerebral palsy.
During the book, she is in ffth grade and
she starts participating in actual classes.
She has to take tests and everything, so she
cant say the answers to her helper.
Instead, she gets a Medi-Talker, so she
can talk. A Medi-Talker is a computer-like
machine where you press buttons so you can
talk and communicate in class, instead of
pointing to words, pictures or phrases.
She also makes the spelling bee team in her
grade and practices and practices and prac-
tices, so her team will try to win the country
championships!
Seasons of the tree
BY ANABEL REINING
Grade 7, Thetford Academy
In summer, in this tree I sit
to watch the sun move bit by bit
until it looks me in the eye,
then I hop down and wave goodbye.
In fall, I climb the branches thin,
then watch the leaves all dip and spin;
with the season comes the sound
of boots and leaves atop the ground
In winter, I climb but stay low
so I can jump into the snow;
in afternoon sometimes I hide
but when I look, its dark outside.
In spring, I climb but hold on tight,
just not slipping takes all my might;
but I come down when fowers show
their petals through the melting snow.
NEXT PROMPTS
Elder. Interview an older relative or
friend - write a short profle; recount one
of their best stories; or tell a story about an
experience with that person. Alternates:
Survival. You are stuck on a deserted island
and night is falling. Who is with you and
what do you do? or Photo 2. Due Oct. 18
Secret lives. You have another life that
must remain hidden. Tell a story about it;
if you can, tell how your secret was almost
discovered. Alternate: Excerpt. Open any
book, pick a line and include it in a story
or poem. Give yourself just seven minutes
to write. Tell us where the line came from.
Due Oct. 25
Wrinkles in the paper
BY EMILY SLATE
Grade 10, Peoples Academy
When life goes on for so long,
Meaningless to some and worthwhile to oth-
ers,
No one will come to fx the story of us hu-
mans,
Because people have gone past being people,
And they have become sheets of paper.
Some are stationary notes,
Elegance put down on paper in the most
expensive pens,
Beauty in the designed paper itself,
With swirled letters that fow through the
page,
But only there as a reminder,
Soon to be thrown out and forgotten.
Some are torn-out papers from an aged,
coffee-stained notebook,
With holes where it was once attached to
something more,
Scribbled on with a two-inch pencil, its lead
teetering in its hold.
Words that form are ones of brilliance, even if
they are never known
On the papers lost away in a mildew-covered
desk drawer.
Some are papers that come out of a state-of-
the-art printer,
Perfect lines and ink pressed onto the page,
Neatly forming an organized essay to be
handed in,
Examined, checked, graded,
Watched for any progress, with a new draft
soon to arise.
Some are stared at with begging eyes,
Waiting for the paper to have words written
on it,
But no one ever picks up a pencil to aid its
progress,
Expecting it to bloom into a beautiful story
With excellence at every turn.
But paper is paper.
It gathers creases and wrinkles and erase
marks,
And words in pen that are wished away but
remain.
It can be called different names;
It can be sold for a million different prices,
But in the end, all thats left
Is a dead tree thats been sliced too thin.
Time after time, no matter how brilliant the
words put onto it,
Or the insignifcance of it,
The paper will be stashed away in a corner,
Crumpled up and thrown into a trash can,
Forgotten. One way or another.
Swords and sorcery
BY JACK BASHAW
The swords and sorcery genre is usually
about heroes with swords who are in some
kind of confict. It also tends to have some
kind of romance and magic and the super-
natural. The genre started when a man named
Michael Moorcock asked for a more specifc
name for the genre. People used to call it
heroic fantasy or science fantasy.
An example of the genre are the Conan
books by Robert E. Howard. There are lots of
books in the genre.
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
THIS WEEK: Photo 1 & Inspired
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
AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
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.
My country paradise
BY JULIA REMILLARD
The autumn leaves fall silently to the ground;
the streams slow trickle is the only sound.
I breathe in dusty smoke,
the cold air brushing my throat,
the naked trees staring me in the face.
I shiver at the sweet taste
of maple coming from the house
as I slip away to the barn, listening for the
symphonic sound of a mouse.
I lay down in the hay loft,
my hair against my cheek so soft;
I couldve fallen asleep if it werent for my
mother
calling me for dinner, mmm... chicken and
cherry cobbler !
the state. This week, we present responses to the prompt to
write about Photo 1; and Inspired, a new YWP series. Read
more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.
Every year, YWP publishes an anthology
of the years best student writing and photos.
On Nov. 9, we will toast the publication
of Anthology 5 with a day of celebration
and writing workshops at the Vermont
College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. 10 a.m.
to 5 p.m. Keynote speaker: National Book
Award winner M.T. Anderson. More info at
YWP EVENTS
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-hour
workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10 a.m., at
YWPs North by North Center, 12 North St.,
Burlington. All participants receive a copy of
the anthology, Poetry 180. Contact kstein@
youngwritersproject.org to sign up.
And the trees
Grade 8, Homeschool, West Glover
The trees changed last year
and theyll change this year.
Leaves green and happy now
but soon theyll all be gone.
The trees will be naked,
shivering stick fgures.
The pond will freeze.
Where will the turtles go?
Do they sleep with no air
underneath the hard ice?
With the frogs and the fsh?
Under the dark cold mud?
Soon the little red works of art
will litter the old country roads.
The cars will zoom over them
and crush them to pieces.
They were so beautiful.
Now they are mud alongside the road.
Our hearts sigh
and prepare for winter.
Photo 1 (South Pomfret, VT) crgimages
NEXT PROMPTS
Spooky. Write a story that makes our
skin crawl! Can be real or imagined. Alter-
nates: Moon: Whats on the dark side of
the moon? Go exploring and report back; or
General writing in any genre. Due Oct.11
ARE YOU INSPIRED?
Write about it on
youngwritersproject.org
NOT A WRITER?
Contact us for help
sreid@youngwritersproject.org
Editors Note: Autumn Eastman, a
senior at Champlain Valley Union High
School, is one of the premiere distance
runners in the state and is part of one
of the most successful Vermont school
running teams ever. The CVU girls
cross country team has won the State
Championships, won a New England
Championship and had several runners
in the Nationals in the last few years.
Last fall, YWP asked Autumn to begin
journaling about her running, to show
us what it was like and explain why
she does what she does so hard and
so well. Autumns story sparked the
idea for a special YWP project, in
which young people write about what
inspires them to succeed. This is an
excerpt oI Autumn`s frst piece called,
Discovery, which appears in its entirety
on youngwritersproject.org. We will
publish additional pieces later this year,
and you can follow Autumns blog at
youngwritersproject.org/blog/7838.
Discovery
BY AUTUMN EASTMAN
Grade 12, Champlain Valley Union
High School
Journal Entry, before a recent
high school race: I wake up to that
familiar feeling in my gut, a turmoil
that reminds me of the challenge that
I am about to face. Its race day. I didnt sleep
very well last night. I tossed and turned, and
when I did sleep, I dreamt about running and
racing and outcomes good and bad.
I get up and unfold the red, black and
white uniform that represents me as a runner,
my accomplishments, the teams accomplish-
ments and the races to come. I dress in my
'luckyoutft - we runners are quite a super-
stitious bunch - which means the same socks,
same sports bra, same hair ties and includes
the same breakfast, same routine every race
day so we can reassure ourselves that this race
day will be a good race day. All of this is men-
tal, I know, but racing is a huge mental game.
And whatever helps me cope with that stress
of not knowing the outcome of the race before
I race, I go for it.
It`s been a long time since I frst started to
run, since I discovered that this is something
that could drive me so. When I was really
young, I remember on bright, cool, fall days,
watching my Dad tie up his mangled sneakers
and head out the front door for the occasional
run. When I turned 8, I told him I wanted to
tag along with him. His face lit up. We jogged
down the road a little ways and came back.
My stride was three times as short as his, so I
struggled to keep up. But we kept at it.
I went through the same generic sports
most young girls go through: ballet, soccer,
horseback riding, the occasional tag and hide-
and-go-seek.
It wasnt until middle school that I discov-
ered cross country running. Hayley, my best
friend then, told me to do it with her. At frst,
I was in the same mix as everybody else, but
then I grew, seasons passed and my reasons
for running changed. I was no longer running
for friends, I began realizing I was good at it.
In eighth grade, when I ran with my Dad,
I was no longer slowing him down;
I was right with him, and I felt good
doing it. And during races I started
developing my own little methods
for coping with the stress; every
runner I passed or was with, I would
either talk to or exchange a good
job. I was a one-girl cheering squad
roving through the woods, and, for
some odd reason, each time I offered
a word of encouragement to another
runner, a burst of energy entered my
body, and I kept furthering my strides
to the next runner.
And then there was this one race.
As we were milling around in the
open feld, we spied tables covered
with trays of cookies and other
sweets - prizes, we learned, for the
winning runners. I decided. Hines-
burg Community School was going
to win one of those plates.
I strode to the front of the pack
and soon led the team and then the
race. And as I sprinted toward the
fnishing stretch, I began lapping
a couple of the boys in the back.
Crossing the fnish line, a gray-haired
woman ripped the tag from my bib
and sent me on my way.
A short time later, at the awards
ceremony, they called my name to
receive a huge plate of cookies. I was
overjoyed. And grabbed a couple.
Arent you going to share those
with your team? my Dad asked.
I admit to just a twinge of reluctance, but
agreed. Within moments they were gone. But
the sweet taste of victory made the wheels
turn in my head; I wanted more, I wanted the
feeling of another win.
Autumn Eastman of Champlain Valley Union High Schools cross country
team recently won a 5K race in 17:50, her best yet. Photo courtesy of
Autumn Eastman
INSPIRED: YOUNG PEOPLE WRITE ABOUT WHAT INSPIRES THEM TO SUCCEED
YWP ON VPR
THIS WEEK: Place & General
of writing.
UNITED WAY
OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY
state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the
prompts, Place: What is your favorite place? and General
writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org,
a safe, civil online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Every year, YWP publishes an
anthology of the years best student
writing and photos. On Nov. 9, we will
toast the publication of Anthology 5
with a day of celebration and writing
workshops at the Vermont College of
Fine Arts in Montpelier. 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Keynote speaker: National Book Award
winner M.T. Anderson. More info at
YWP EVENTS
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-
hour workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10
a.m., at YWPs North by North Center, 12
North St., Burlington. All participants re-
ceive a copy of the anthology, Poetry 180.
The woods
BY CALLEN CLARK
My favorite place is the woods because
its so quiet and pretty, and it makes me feel
happy.
Its a place to get some fresh air and its full
of animals. I love animals. Theyre so pretty
and majestic.
I love climbing cliffs and seeing caves and
watching streams fow down rocks.
The woods make me feel like myself. I
always run around, play and explore.
Sadly, I moved and now I really miss the
woods but I might move again so I might
move near the woods again.
Camp Lone Pine
BY JOHN DELACY
Lone Pine is one of my favorite places
because I love camping.
Camping is fun because youre outside
and enjoying the wilderness, especially when
you`re having a campfre at night and you
just chill near the fre and talk about stuff, and
sometimes you get a good campfre story.
Lake George is also fun because they have
basketball courts and you can ride your bike
around, and they have bingo on Saturday
nights.
On some nights you can go to a place next
to the pool and there are people performing,
like hypnotists who do really cool stuff.
Next to that is the inside pool. It is really
warm. I could stay in there for hours if we
didnt have to go somewhere.
I love camping.
And thats why my favorite places are Lake
George and Lone Pine.
My room
BY ELIZABETH LAROCHE
My room is my favorite place because it is
big and I get to decorate it the way I want.
I love decorating it with colorful things.
My walls are lime green and my bed is very
colorful and bright.
My room is comforting to me. Every time
I go in my room it feels like Im in my own
world. I also like it because I feel like me in
my room.
Fall
BY EMILY ESANCY
The leaves are changing.
It is getting much colder.
Cant wait til summer.
The hnal decision
BY JULIA REMILLARD
So ashamed,
yet so amused,
I dont know what to do;
can`t fnd words,
dont get humor,
sick of all the tacky rumors,
hate being hated,
love what I cant see,
held back, not getting to be me.
Im feeling so guilty,
self-consciously shaking,
wondering which path in life I will be taking.
No side option,
no other way out,
I want to be positive, but just cant forget the
doubt.
I try to fnd shelter,
protection from the insults,
trying to remind myself to act like an adult,
but no matter what or where I hide,
no matter where I go,
people keep on judging me with a yes or a
no.
Closure doesnt exist,
and fate is silly.
I walk, more like skip,
towards a path,
a path Ive chosen.
Now its up to me to decide where my life will
go.
Home
BY LAYLA JAE MORRIS
Grade 5, Homeschool, Hinesburg
The silver outline of the ferry appears out from the mist, the words Island Runner not yet
visible.
Excitement and joy fll me up like a balloon threatening to explode with screaming of happi-
ness.
Finally, after one long year, we are again catching the ferry to Burton Island.
The Runner pulls into its dock looking sleek and graceful, about to take me to my favorite
place the best place on Earth.
We leave the cars and fll up the wagons at hand with camping equipment and load them on
to a section of the ferry.
The boat is now ready to go. The park rangers have almost untied the rope connecting the
ferry to the dock, when a silver Volvo pulls up to the pier. The door opens. Its Alya! She runs
up to the ferry and yells, Can we make it?
If you hurry, the rangers shout.
The entire population of the Runner helps Alya and her mom load their belongings.
Once again, we all step aboard the Island Runner. I race up to the bow of the boat and listen
to the chug-chug of the Runners engine, its prow cutting through the waters of Lake Cham-
plain.
On the way! Were almost there!
An entire year of waiting for this moment and now we are fnally racing across the waves,
heading toward the Isle of Burton.
The island is now in sight, its white sailboats foating in the water like clouds.
The Island Runner is docking on the Burton Island landing stage. The ropes are tied. The
gates swing open and just like that, before you could say Welcome home, I leap off the boat,
run down the dock onto the island and kiss the ground beneath my feet.
I grasp Alyas hand and we start waltzing with happiness. We grab our bikes and as fast as
we can go, pedal to our campsite, the place where, for the next 10 blissful days, we will call
home.
NEXT PROMPTS
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the
subject of a famous painting or a
photograph. Whats your back story
and how do you see the world and
the people who have come to stare at
you? Include the image or tell us the
painting/photo you are writing about.
Alternate: Lyrics. Write song lyrics
or create new lyrics to a favorite
song (include a podcast!) Any genre,
including rap. Due date: Oct. 4
Spooky. Write a spooky story.
Make our skin crawl! Can be real or
imagined. Alternates: Moon: Whats
on the dark side of the moon? Go
exploring and report back; or General
writing in any genre. Due date: Oct.
11
YWP ON VPR
St. Albans
BY ETHAN KING
St. Albans, Vermont, a small peaceful town
with coffee shops, bakeries and a farmers
market every other Saturday.
The celebration of Vermont`s fnest maple
syrup is housed in this town.
Pride is one thing we dont lack.
Living here is nothing short of bliss, if
youre up for the cold winters.
The smell of autumn leaves thrives strong
in this small town.
The key to this city unlocks adventures for
years to come.
This is the town Im proud to call home
this is St. Albans, Vermont.
GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE
ROASTERS
the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to
the prompt for General writing. Read more student writing
at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of
writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Ethan Powell, Essex High School
writing and photos. On Nov. 9, we will
toast the publication of Anthology 5
with a day of celebration and writing
workshops at the Vermont College of
Fine Arts in Montpelier, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Keynote speaker: National Book Award
winner M.T. Anderson. More info at
YWP EVENTS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
(BRATTLEBORO)
Join YWP at the Brattleboro Literary
Festival on Saturday, Oct. 5 for the
southern Vermont edition of Millennial
Writers on Stage! Noon to 1 p.m. at the
New England Youth Theatre, 100 Flat St.,
Brattleboro. Free and open to all! Hear
the next generation of great writers!
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-
hour workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10
a.m., at YWPs North by North Center, 12
North St., Burlington. All participants re-
ceive a copy of the anthology, Poetry 180.
STUDENTS: Send your photos to Young Writers Project and get published! Its
easy. You can submit your work online at youngwritersproject.org. Sign up for an
account. Once youre approved, log in, click on Write to create a blog, and start
uploading your photos. Make sure to click on Newspaper Submission and include
your name, grade and school. Under the Prompts drop-down menu, choose Photo
of the Week, and remember to Save. Your work will be published in the Mes-
senger and other newspapers around the state.
Living inside a Barbie
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Im living inside a Barbie,
living inside the life of the party,
on the inside looking out,
head cheerleader, scream and shout.
Living inside plastic walls,
Blonde, pretty and tall.
But this Barbie I am
is actually fake; its a scam.
Inside, Im shy and sweet.
Im sort of just a geek,
not some wonderful, magical girl,
being seen as gorgeous
because I have long, perfect curls.
Im stuck inside a Barbies body,
just trying to escape.
Molly Noel, Essex High School
Summer in Denmark
BY SOPHIE THOMPSON
June 27, 2013
Today, we drove to Boston to fy to Iceland.
We saw my cousins Alexandra and Abigale ...
in Massachusetts
June 28, 2013
Today we few into Iceland from Massa-
chusetts. Then we ate breakfast and few to
Denmark. We landed in Denmark, then went
to Annette, Henrik Gustav and Oscars house.
My favorite part was fnally being in Den-
mark!
June 29, 2013
Today, we went to Copenhagen and we
went to the Round Tower, went on a boat tour,
and saw the mermaid statue, and had really
good peas that were sweet like candy. Yum!
Then we went back to our house and went to
Annettes parents house to have dinner! We
also played football (soccer)
June 30, 2013
Today, we went to a church for Gustav and
Oscar`s confrmation. I was there for an hour
but it was in Danish, so it felt like two hours.
Then we went back to the house and took a
bus to a restaurant called La Vela. I ate fsh,
cheeses, desserts, ravioli, and steakish food.
After that we came back home and had a bar-
becue and met a girl from South Africa. My
favorite part was eating the fve-course meal!
July 1, 2013
Today we went to Tivoli Garden and Oscar
was our tour guide. I went on a lot of roller
coasters. I also went on a ride called Vertigo.
We got ice cream and went in a fun house. We
went on a H.C. Andersen ride. We ate on a
pirate ship. My favorite part was the Vertigo.
July 2, 2013
Today we went to a castle called Hamlets
castle. We saw an old bed and went in the
basement, which was almost pitch black and
scary. We went on a lot of stairs and there was
once a queen named Sophie, except spelled
Sofe. My favorite part was seeing my name
in a castle.
July 3, 2013
Today we went on an hour ride to Orburp
by Farevejle. We are staying here for three or
four days, but going other places while we are
here. We went down to the ocean and saw a
lot of boats. We played a game called King,
and we also played Frisbee. My favorite part
was seeing a live starfsh.
You can read Sophies complete travel journal at
youngwritersproject.org/node/83959.
My favorite place
BY GAVIN BLAKELY
My favorite place is the woods because it
makes me feel like Im welcome and makes
me happy.
The woods are awesome because there are
trees that are climbable and rocks that I can
hop around on.
My best friend and I love the woods
because we can do so many things there, like
run around the rocks. We go into caves in the
woods.
Next week: Read more students writing
about their favorite places.
NEXT PROMPTS
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the
subject of a famous painting or a photo-
graph. Whats your back story and how
do you see the world and the people
who have come to stare at you? Include
the image or tell us the painting/photo
you are writing about.
Alternate: Lyrics. Write song lyrics
or create new lyrics to a favorite song
(include a podcast!) Any genre, includ-
ing rap. Due Oct. 4
Spooky. Write a story that makes our
skin crawl! Can be real or imagined.
Alternates: Moon: Whats on the
dark side of the moon? Go exploring
and report back; or General writing in
any genre. Due Oct. 11
YWP ON VPR
CHECK IT OUT!
NEXT PROMPTS
Mystery. All good short stories start
with a mysterious idea that often is the
opening, the beginning. Whats yours?
Write your opening paragraphs to a
mystery story, something that will draw
the reader in. (Finish it if youd like; we
may not be able to publish it all, but well
highlight it on youngwritersproject.org.)
Alternate: Photo 1. Due Sept. 27
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the sub-
ject of a famous painting or a photograph.
Whats your back story and how do you
see the world and the people who have
come to stare at you? Include the image
or tell us the painting/photo you are writ-
ing about. Alternate: Lyrics. Write song
lyrics or create new lyrics to a favorite
song (include a podcast!) Any genre,
including rap. Due Oct. 4
Photo 1 (Sleepy Hollow) crgimages
of writing.
the state as well as on vpr.net. This week, we present re-
sponses to the prompt for General writing. Read more great
student writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
YWP EVENTS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
(BRATTLEBORO)
Join YWP at the Brattleboro
Literary Festival on Saturday, Oct. 5
for the southern Vermont edition of
Millennial Writers on Stage!
Noon to 1 p.m. at the New
England Youth Theatre, 100 Flat
St., Brattleboro.
Its free and open to all!
How will you live
your dash?
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Have you ever noticed the little dash be-
tween the day you were born and the day you
died on someones grave?
Well, look at it sometime. And Id like you
to think about this: how do you want to live
your dash?
What do you want to see happen? Where
do you want to go?
Your dreams, your hopes. Its all up to you,
your choice.
But think about this. How do you want
people to remember you when they look at
your dash?
Belonging
BY ABHI DODGSON
Grade 6, Folsom School, South Hero
He felt like he didnt belong
Like a fower in winter
Like grass in the sky
Like a house with no furniture
Like music in a library
Like a bicycle in water
He wanted to ft in
Like a piece in a puzzle
Lika a bird in a fock
Like a note in a song
Like a leaf on a tree
So he bloomed in the snow
He grew grass in the sky
He put a soft couch in his house
He sang in the library
And rode his bicycle across the ocean
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
ON STAGE
Join YWP and VPR for the second annual
Millennial Writers on Stage at the Burlington
Book Festival on Saturday, Sept. 21!
Hear the next generation of Vermont
writers present their work to a live audience
including local writer Abhi Dodgson of South
Hero, whose piece is published below.
This is a free event, and runs from 2 p.m.
to 3 p.m. Saturday at the Film House at Main
Street Landing Performing Arts Center on the
Burlington waterfront. If you cant make it,
vpr.net and RETN will be recording the per-
formances for later broadcast. Find out more
The tornado on
Lake Champlain
BY NICOLINA CZEKAJ
The ice shattered off the lake, whipping up
into the air along with the water that followed.
It created a deadly funnel of air, water, ice,
and anything within a 10-meter reach.
All you could hear was the screeching of
the wind, but it was too hard to see through
the snow that blinded your eyes as each indi-
vidual snowfake danced in front of your face.
Cold. All you felt was cold. It seemed to
have frozen your blood, and your skin was
tingling with pain.
The tornado continued its journey across
the lake, more ice splitting, with groans and
creaks, from the water. In each crack there
was water spitting out violently. It was like a
movie, how the ice seemed to break free from
the lake as if it was trapped there against its
will, then spiraling up higher and higher into
the storm and sucking down clouds as it did
so.
Wind overtook your senses. You heard
wind. You felt wind. You smelt the wind, the
pressure making you feel like choking.
You could swear you tasted it, too. It was
yelling right in your ears, like a little sibling
when they wanted something. But this time,
you didnt give the tornado what it wanted. It
took it itself.
The wind was everywhere and no matter
how hard you tried, you couldnt escape. It
flled up every corner, every room.
It was like fghting the atmosphere, a war
you were destined to lose.
YWP-ACLU
CONSTITUTION DAY
WRITING CHALLENGE
TOP PRIZE: $250!
Students across Vermont are
being encouraged to enter this
writing challenge for prizes and
recognition!
In honor of the U.S.
Constitution, YWP and the
American Civil Liberties Union
asked schools to take seven minutes
on Sept. 17 Constitution Day to
write about the Constitution.
Whether writers participated in
the exercise or are just learning
about the challenge today,
we want you! You have until
Oct. 4 to submit your essay in
response to one of three prompts
that are on the YWP web site
at youngwritersproject.org/
Constitution.
There is a total of $750 in cash
prizes $250 for the top essay
and an opportunity to read winning
submissions at a public event!
Watch for more information
at youngwritersproject.org/
Constitution.
CELEBRATION OF
WRITING AND RELEASE
OF ANTHOLOGY 5
writing and photos.
On Nov. 9, we will toast the
publication of Anthology 5 with
a day of celebration and writing
workshops at the Vermont College
of Fine Arts in Montpelier. Special
keynote speaker is author M.T.
Anderson, winner of the National
Book Award for Young Peoples
Literature.
Watch for more details and
information at youngwritersproject.
org.

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THIS WEEK: Chance & General

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