Burlington Free Press index 2013-14

THIS WEEK: Chance & General

YWP is supported by the gen-

erosity of foundations, businesses

and individuals who recognize the

power and value of writing.

If you would like to contribute,

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

to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,

Burlington, VT 05401.

Special thanks this week toPHYSICIAN’S COMPUTER CO.

THANKS FROM YWPABOUT THE PROJECT YWPthat engages students to write, helps

them improve and connects them

with authentic audiences. YWP

runs youngwritersproject.org and

the Schools Project, a comprehen-

sive online classroom and training

program that works with teachers to

help students develop their writing

and digital literacy skills. To learn

more, go to ywpschools.net or con-

tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-

dred submissions from students in Vermont and New

Hampshire and we publish the best here and in newspa-

pers 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.

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Kevin Huang / Burlington High School

THE CALVIN

Vermont writers (under age 20) are

invited to write about a topic close

to President Calvin Coolidge’s heart:

Should I stay in Vermont or leave? The Calvin Coolidge Memorial Foun-

dation is offering

$1,500 for the top

essay and $500 for

second place, along

with a trip to the

foundation’s annual

gala in New York

City next fall.

Learn more at

youngwritersproj-ect.org & coolidge-foundation.org.

Calvin Coolidge

(Library of Congress)

There is hopeBY COURTNEY CROSS Grade 8, Camels Hump Middle School

There may come a time when you

close your eyes crossing the street. You’re

not afraid of getting hit by the oncoming

afraid of falling down. Even if you bruise.

early in my life.

“Point to what you don’t like,” she said

with a faint smile. I looked up at my self-

portrait. I pointed to my stomach and my

and toes, my hands and calves, my shoul-

ders and collar bones, my ears and mouth.

My everything. There wasn’t one thing I

didn’t point to. I hated myself, and every-

thing to do with me.

I would look at all the other girls in

my grade and just not understand why I

couldn’t look like them.

I would just look down at my stomach

and just want it to be gone. I would eat

disgusting, junk, high- calorie food. I was

just a sad, sad, little girl, that nobody knew

how to change, including myself.

was like. I kept going to therapy.

story. I would go to therapy once a week.

I’d walk in hoping things would change,

but they never did. It felt like I was put-

ting so much faith into something that just

didn’t seem to want to meet me halfway.

session, we got on the topic of fears. She

asked me to tell her what I was afraid of;

I was a paranoid little girl who thought

everything was bad.

I told her I was afraid of Santa, seeing

airplanes in the sky at night, sleeping in

my bedroom by myself, being home alone,

getting too close to an oven while cooking,

vans, trucks, horses, taking showers (espe-

cially when no one was home), homework,

answering the door, knocking on someone

else’s door, the dark, spiders, big dogs (for

the longest time), dogs in general, really,

stairs, getting kidnapped, getting up to get

a tissue in the middle of class, blowing my

nose in front of others, being in front of a

large crowd, being the only one awake at

night, and I hate to admit that the list goes

on and on.

I grew up thinking it was just one big,

things, that at the time I was afraid of, she

told me what “anxiety” was...

Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/93853.

For my sistersBY MATTHEW BLOW

School

When I close my eyes,

the world loosens its hinges and begins to

spin back and forth.

I can feel it smile;

Do not think it odd if you and a good friend

grow apart.

Their place has shifted, and it is no longer

next to you.

Do not be angry.

Thank them for what they have done,

and being in your life,

but ask them to leave the door open,

so that another may enter.

or someone you wish was, leaves you,

do not fall into despair.

Cherish their memory.

Keep it, if you feel so inclined, in your

pocket;

carry what you have learned along with

you,

but do not take love back from the pocket.

If you live in the past, you’ll miss the pres-

ent,

and the present stops for no one.

you used to be,

do not lament your loss.

Welcome your new self.

Tell her you are happy she is here,

that you hope to become best friends.

years you have spent together.

Even if the memories are sour,

thank her for spending them with you.

do not tell yourself you will be here for-

ever.

You are a traveller, who is setting up a

temporary home.

Slowly, but surely, make that home more

permanent.

If you experience hardships, do not leave,

tough through them,

lean on the friends you have,

and allow them to lean on you.

Do not anger when one of you falls;

help each other up.

But if you see a new skyline, wait.

If it looks better, wait.

Look carefully at yourself before you make

but once you do, do not let your worries

delay you.

not that she was ever really hiding.

She just needed to be told to reveal herself.

Summer sonnetBY MALIN HILLEMANNGrade 9, Burlington High School

Blue sky I see above my pale green eyes.

The pretty sun may shine throughout the

day.

There are still the clouds emptying their

lies.

The winter winds still blow their way

through May,

clear

touch,

The loud sounds of thunder are oh-so near.

scared clutch.

Scared I am not of teacher’s hectic wrath;

Stress is all I mutter beneath my breath.

My head bubbles with science, English,

math

GoodbyeBY SAMMIE BLACKMOREGrade 5, The Renaissance School

It was my last chance to say goodbye

Because that day I was moving away.

It was my last time to remember a friend

Because that day I was drifting away.

-

longed

Because that day I was leaving my home.

It was my last day to live my life there

It was my last moment to be with you

Because that day I was moving away.

Last chanceBY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

It was my last chance, the one I had

been waiting for, everybody had been

waiting for. “No way am I going with you!

You’re just going to throw me in like the

chance. It wasn’t really too bad, I thought.

Being mean was all I knew and it felt

powerful. The girls from cabin number

three sighed and one muttered, “I told you

looked at me with a mixture of disappoint-

ment and disgust in her eyes. I turned away

before I started softening.

I sat on the dock. The moon shone

through the clouds and the darkness was

layered around me. I stared at the water

lapping at my feet, always coming back,

sometimes getting stronger with an oc-

through my head. What if I had gone with

them? What if they started to like me?

could believe that I was still the friend she

used to have. I heard a soft thump as Tracie

sat down next to me. There was a long

silence, and then I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She sat some more and then jumped up,

leaving the wind whispering, “That was

your last chance.”

THIS WEEK: Consequences & Epic

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

Special thanks this week toBAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS

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

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in news-papers around the state and on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Consequences: Write about understanding the idea of consequences; and Epic: Describe an epic journey.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

Calling 911BY HUSSEIN AHMADGrade 5, Edmunds Elementary School

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-

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Jimmy’s missionBY MERRICK MENDENHALL

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-

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To the towerBY MARIA CHURCH

An epic journeyBY SIMONE EDGAR HOLMES

School

Treasure map on hand

Treasure map on hand

UndiscoveredBY MARIKA MASSEY-BIERMAN

-

THE CALVIN

Should I stay in Vermont or leave?

coolidgefoundation.org or youngwriter-sproject.org.

Calvin Coolidge(Library of Congress)

THIS WEEK: Childhood & General


Special thanks this week toFAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in newspa-pers around the state. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Childhood: What piece of your child-hood would you like to keep?; and General writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Nate Ertle, Essex High School

Where I’m fromBY CECILY BREENGrade 6, Charlotte Central School

(Inspired by the poem, “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon) I’m from Fisher-Price toys to getting locked out in the cold,

From, “Aren’t you tired?” to “I’m on the

falling down the stairs,To losing a unicorn and being scared of ants,From Judy Bloom books to confession at church,To falling off my bike and getting sick on

I’m from midnight music to butter knives in the wall,

To bunnies and dogs,

toe,

From my old yellow room to my new white one,

I’m from snowstorms to sun showers,To bikes and skateboards,I am from mountains to hills,

From early morning movies

But in the end,I will always be from

She’s the oneBY JEREMY BROTZGrade 9, Burlington High School

She’s the one always surrounded by the

Guys secretly love her, but none get near enough to see

She wears her clothes like a model, but if you look closely,The brands are from K-Mart and the knees and elbows are all

-

About her dead mother,About her alcoholic father and hisabusive girlfriend,About the job which she works every day after school,

WhitestripeBY ZANIPOLO LEWIS

When I grow older,Weary, bent and gray,I’d like to remember

Fast and nice and soft,Is a mouse who used to ride

It left me sad and dry and broken,

When I grow weary, bent and gray,I’d like to remember

The FlynnBY ELLA SKINNER-SLOAN

School

at the Flynn Theater; it’s a day I’ll never

The noise of the hundred instruments

The way I looked out into the audience during the concert, searching for a familiar

off while waiting for our turn to get our

-

all night, congratulating me every few sec-

How after it was all over I knew I

ChallengesBY HAMARA MUBARAKGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

months just to get my family somewhere

from Somalia, but with all the war they had

didn’t have enough food to feed everyone

-

because it was snowing and I was not used

I saw were these white, soft dots touching

I went from desks to tables, cubbies to locker, four classrooms to eight classrooms,

some great things and some not-so-great

the ones that won’t get you in trouble,

strengths are writing and reading and some-

I usually say I hate middle school, which sometimes I do, but I wouldn’t be in middle school right now if it wasn’t for my

leave middle school, enjoy high school, and

The world and meBY FRANCESCA M. CAMPANILEGrade 3, Jericho Elementary School

The world is within me, and I am within

THIS WEEK: Middle School, Gibberish & Silence


Special thanks this week toJANE’S TRUST


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in newspa-pers around the state. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Middle School (Read all submissions at youngwritersproject.org/middleschool); Gibberish poetry; and Silence.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

MIDDLE SCHOOL CHALLENGEWINNING SUBMISSION

There is a differenceBY AMELIA SANBORNGrade 7, Camels Hump Middle School

I am a real life Via (like in the book, “Wonder” by R.J. Palacio). The day my sis-ter came home from the hospital, we knew something was wrong. She was born with a craniofacial syndrome similar to Auggie’s in “Wonder.”

Many of the challenges Auggie faces, she also faces. The main challenge is people not knowing the difference between tolerance and acceptance. Many people tolerate Auggie in “Wonder,” and the same is true for my sister in real life. Just like Auggie, my sister also has hearing aids.

I’ve seen the difference between when someone is at our house having a playdate with her, and at school. At the playdate, they’re kind of forced to be nice. They tolerate her. People will be kind, but they don’t act like they want to be her friend.

She does also have some friends that do accept her. But it doesn’t feel good to see people being kind when they’re having a playdate, and then not let her sit with them at lunch, to see that people only care when an adult is around, just like Julian in “Won-der.” Julian acts nice around the principal and Auggie’s mom on the day of the school tour, but is just rude and mean to Auggie when it’s only students around. People like Julian are the people who tolerate her. Mostly because they’re forced to.

Acceptance can be a hard thing. Even as a sister of someone with differences, I sometimes get caught staring at other people who look different. It’s not because I’m trying to be mean, it’s because I’m curious. That is like what happened with Auggie and Summer. She was curious, but she got to know him and accept him.

Everyone knows the saying, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” The same thing should be true with people. Don’t judge them by their face, or by their differences. You need to get to know them to actually know what they’ve been through, what they’re like.

Acceptance means that you care about that person. You include them in all things, not just when it’s convenient, but whenever they need you. It means treating them like a human being, not acting like that person is just a nobody.

Everybody has differences. Yes, you are different, just in your own way. You have your strengths, but you also have your weaknesses. It’s the same with people who look or act different. Auggie and Olivia (my sister) both have their strengths and weaknesses, just like any other person. Summer in “Wonder” does a good job of accepting Auggie. She sits with him at lunch, she talks to him, she plays with him at recess, she even does the science fair with him. She truly accepts Auggie. Also in “Wonder,” Jack Will does a good job of showing that it can be hard to include someone, and it is really easy to give in to peer pressure. But what you say can really hurt someone. The world needs more Sum-mers, and less Julians.

This was one of two winning submis-sions to the VPR-YWP Middle School Writ-ing Challenge aired on VPR this week. You can hear the complete series at vpr.net and read all submissions at youngwritersproj-ect.org/middleschool.

Jillian Kenny, Essex High School

BY JEREMY BROTZGrade 9, Burlington High School

every vawn,I halped to snoff the bloors,and I trell onto my bootybone in the most paichful way I’ve ever done.A madiot stupped up to me, and said, “You need helstance, madmoisel?”But I swapped him cross the facehole and resplied I, “Don’t you dare!”

got into his car.What a hilpid guy, I yaughed to myself, and got back on my knegs.At last I keptinued on into my workding,I glooked back to the bed of bloors,and I saw that they were sminning at me,as brappy as the blurquoise sky.

Just silenceBY DEMETRI MARTEL Grade 4, Champlain Elementary

They sit without a word to say to each other. Nothing. They don’t say a word.

They don’t move a bone. Nothing. Just silence.

Hour by hour, time passing by, day by day, month by month, year by year.

Finally, one gets up and says, “I am out! I am getting too old for this!”

Flickamoka BY HAILEY CHASE Grade 5, Williston Central School

A Flickamoka is an o’bergitley thing,

He likes to zeupharlessly sing,About a rijjusbling, rijjusbling, rijjusbling.A rujjusbling is a bonkeesh kingThat is so munduke and hurbisding,He only will deinch to lobing-schmobing.

BY ZANIPOLO LEWIS Grade 5, Homeschool, Burlington

Little boy and little KligCome with me and sing.

And see how you will zling.

And the zupie kookly king

“Weegee woogy,Klink-a-tee-clonk,Zigly nigFickly tig

So come with me little boy and little Klig!”“Sigy loop,Lipppy toop,Saga de sogig Igg siggy-er-op!Googoo jagalee teetee gig!Ziggy zaggy little pig!

So come with me little boy and little Klig!”

On Middle School Here are some favorite quotes from the

Middle School Writing Challenge. Read more middle school quotes at youngwriter-sproject.org/middleschool-quotes.

When will it end? I’ve 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 I’m hoping they will be the hardest, because I can’t see how I’ll get through other ones.- Isaiah Brathwaite, Grade 7, Glover Com-munity School



THIS WEEK: Spirit & Photo 7


Special thanks this week toVERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in news-papers around the state, on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Spirit: What is your spirit animal?; and Photo 7. Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Will Barr, Essex High School

Down in the minesBY KAT TURNBULLGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

Grandpop used to work down in the mines, didn’t he, Ma?Sure did.A photo was passed to me,one pair of shaking handsto the next.Younger than mebut he looked weathered,lunch pail in his handsand cigarette between his lips,a lit cigarette.Worked there his whole life, Ma?Worked there his whole life.Work boots,dust all over, dirt matted on his shirt.Then how come he stopped, Ma?Accident.

Photo 7 (Archie Love, Springstein Mills, Chester, S.C.) © Lewis Wickes Hine, Shorpy images

FarmhouseBY RUBY SMITHGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

He stands proud in front of the small farm-house,a limp hand hooked on hand-me-down suspenders,pants a size too big, shirt a size too small,a world of black and white,a determined future dripping with quiet. The boy sees this now,and he is sturdy,silent,seamless,proud in front of his small farmhouse.

Cold, red handsBY MARIA CHURCHGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

The air was crisp and cold. Freezing in lungs and bringing tears to eyes. The ground was devoid of snow, leaving frozen clods of dirt exposed. Bare trees rattled with the breeze, like bones. None of this seemed to deter the wild gang of children, who had been kicked out of their own houses by tired parents and had taken to the streets quite naturally. They called to each

with surprising nimbleness on worn shoes, hunting each other like packs of wolves.

They moved in an eerily synchronized way, leaping from behind trees and corner-ing a singled out child with unspoken com-mands. The hunted child always seemed to change. One second it was the girl with the tightly braided pigtails that stuck out over her shoulders, and the next it was the tod-dling 5-year-old with a gap-toothed smile.

One of the boys fell back as he re-moved his jacket to toss on the ground. When he looked up, the rest of the children had moved their game to behind a row of houses, leaving him shivering and alone. He pouted for a second and wrinkled his

Dressed in worn clothes in various shades of gray, he didn’t look like he should be outside. His cold, red hands seemed less mobile than the others’ and he kept pressing them under his chin. How-ever, even at this young age, he seemed to know that to not participate was to be singled out and to be singled out was to be hunted. He rubbed his hands together once more before running after the group before they noticed he was gone.

Jackrabbit BY COLE EWOLDSEN Grade 4, Champlain Elementary

If I had a spirit animal, it would be a jackrabbit because I am crafty and really fast like a jackrabbit can be.

Jackrabbits are clever and smart like I am. Their ears are big so they can hear really well like I can. They are brave like I am.

BuffaloBY MICAH ROSSMANGrade 3, Sustainability Academyat Lawrence Barnes

My spirt animal is a buffalo. I don’t know why because I’m small, but I just feel like that’s what it is. A buffalo is tough, just like me.

SeptemberBY ELLA STAATSGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

He comes to me every so often. It’s been two years, but he still looks the same. The same faded button-down shirt. The same baggy overalls. The same leather rid-ing cap, the brim pushed to the side.

His skin is slightly paler, but besides that there are no signs that he’s been wandering through time and space, lost between the world of the dead and living, for the last 24 months. Spirits don’t age, I suppose.

The last time I saw him was this past September. I was sitting against an oak tree by the lake house, my journal resting on my lap, waiting for an idea to drift into my

away, standing in the trampled grass. One moment there was air, the next

there was a boy with sandy hair and sunken eyes. I had learned not to be surprised by his uninvited appearances; he never an-nounced when he was coming to visit...


Spirit of the loon BY MAEVE FAIRFAX Grade 4, Champlain Elementary

The loon is an animal of wisdom,of underwater grace, and of great joy and deep love for song.I share many of those traits.For one, I have collected wisdomof wildlife, and respect, as well.I love the water like no other place.A loon dives with ease and graceand cannot move about on the land.I enjoy the aspect of music like nothing else. I love to sing, and singing makes me feelfree, free, free.

PhoenixBY MORGAN ROBERTS Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School

When I look at my sister, I see a phoe-nix, a bright, young girl who has an image of her own, and is unique in her own way. She was born as something different, some-thing that I’ve never seen before. My sister.

-tical. Like her, there’s only one.

With her wild spirit and caring heart, she may look like just a young girl, but inside, she’s much more.

The hawk BY DEREK PICKARD Grade 5, Shelburne Community School

I’m the messenger of the spirits, very quick-witted and you never know what I’m going to do, with claws of evil and eyes of coal.

People often seek me before making a decision. I’m fast and the leader of the pack.

very good at defending myself. I am clever, but use it for tricking people...

I will always protect myself but others need to fend for themselves.

THIS WEEK: Farm & Senses


Special thanks this week toTURRELL FUND


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in news-papers around the state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Farm: Write about an experience you’ve had on a farm; and Senses: Use every sense except sight.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Calleigh Brignaull, Essex High School

Beneath the cityBY LENA STIER Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School

A sudden blast of hot air envelops my

I descend the steps into the elaborate under

The platform shakes as a quiet rumble becomes closer and closer, louder and

on my face, and a short silence before the

Caring for animalsBY ETHAN BESSETTEGrade 5, Williston Central School

chickens and I also raise 15 turkeys in the

of hesitate because they have never seen a


YWP ANTHOLOGY

CALL TO WRITERS, ARTISTS, PHOTOGRAPHERS

Students up to 12th grade: Sub

be published in YWP’s sixth annual

How to submit: Go to youngwrit-ersproject.org

[email protected], and include

My worldBY LYDIA SMITH

Beep, beep, beep. My alarm clock lit up

slipped on our barn boots and heavy coats

sister carefully looked over the slumber

mer, I earn their trust, prepare them for the


Shelburne FarmsBY WALKER GRAYGrade 4, The Renaissance School

heehaw-heehaw


Grandpa’s farmBY SADIE SUMNERGrade 5, Williston Central School

Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/91570

Without sightBY EMMETT YOUNG Grade 4, Champlain Elementary

THIS WEEK: Senses




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in newspa-pers around the state, on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week, we present responses to the prompt, Senses: De-scribe entering a room full of people, using every sense except sight. More at youngwritersproject.org.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Walker Jones, Essex High School

The spy contestBY ZANIPOLO LEWIS Grade 5, Homeschool, Burlington

I’m in my room waiting for The BSYC (The Best Spy of the Year Contest) to start.

that will access the hidden door in my wall

As soon as the door pops open, I go in and the door closes behind me. Then a huge

sure that it’s my eye, and a reconstructed sensor opens after I place two pieces of my hair on it. I pass through and suddenly I’m engulfed in brilliant light in a high-tech underground spy headquarters.

year ago when I was on a mission, I went

-

implanted a small machine in my brain

accident.

an enormous room where all the spies are

the BSYC. It is the biggest honor to get the

(Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-ect.org/node/90058)

YWP ANTHOLOGY


Students up to 12th grade: Sub-

be published in YWP’s sixth annual Anthology.

Our team of judges will be re-

26, so don’t delay. How to submit: Go to youngwrit-

ersproject.org, start an account (if -

writing.” Same steps for photos and

[email protected], and include your name, grade, school and best contact information.

Published writers, artists and photographers will be honored at a special Celebration of Writing

Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier.

Be part of this distinguished group, representing the year’s best!

NEXT PROMPT

Consequences. Write about a time when you really understood the idea of conse-quences... Alternates: 48 hours. If you had

what would you do? or Bully. Write a letter to a bully. Due May 9

A storm of senses BY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Whispers rain down on my ears.The walls are rough,calloused, complete.

business sweat and carpenter blood.I stumble to a table,

the smell of sausage and cheese.The greasy loneliness bursts in my mouth.

a slight tremor underfoot.

my heart.

The smell of disappointment touches the air.

my feet is one of fear.I can smell them staring.I can feel them becoming embarrassed.

Crowded room BY SIMONE EDGAR HOLMES Grade 10, Champlain Valley Union

Stepping blindly into a crowded roomOut in the open, sense of standing on a stage

Bumped sharply to and froOut in the open, sense of standing on a stage

Bumped sharply to and froHe tugs at his too-tight bow tie

He tugs at his too-tight bow tie

The heady smell of perfume rises to his nose

The heady smell of perfume rises to his nose

-tion

Scent of fresh rose petal potpourri-

tion

Scent of fresh rose petal potpourriStepping blindly into a crowded room

Crack the codeBY ISABEL VIVANCO Grade 6, Edmunds Middle School

-ing from a door at the end of the hall. I

is grimy and the paint is peeling beneath

rug beneath my feet. People grab me, their rough hands leading me in different direc-tions.

there is the feeling of rushing and hunger in the air. I bump into a table and suddenly,

I smell cinnamon and sugar on a sweet

Someone opens my mouth and stuffs something in it. There is some sort of spicy

erupts, and I am forced to open my mouth and release the steam. A heat from the food

my tongue in a pleasant way. As soon as

last time. I shut the door with a bang and am immersed in the silence of the corridor.

echoing loudly in the peaceful quiet.

THIS WEEK: Rhymes & Photo 6


Special thanks this week toCHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in news-papers around the state, and on vpr.net and vtdigger.org. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Rhymes; and Photo 6. Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Jake Maurer, Essex High School

Sleeping songBY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Every day the wind blew its song,Twirling with its righted wrong.The trees whistled because they were strong. And the grass chimed a theme songAs together they sang their lullaby,Putting to rest the dawn and dayTill nothing was left but yesterday.As night dragged in,The animals shivered in their skin.And the moon and sun began their spin,As if to dance away the sin.

BY ERIN BUNDOCKGrade 10, Champlain Valley High School

They sit on a crystal plate,

that pounds against choking metalwrapped around my chest;I had forgotten what they were,I had let my mind rest

I used to hear you whistleZip-a-de-do-dah;before the missilebroke me, I sawyou on holidays,and talked onbirthdays,but those days seem to be gone.And today is nota wonderful day,and my voice caughtwhen I asked why it had to be this way.

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 ANTHOLOGY


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.

Go to youngwrit-ersproject.org, start an account (if you don’t already have one); and cre-ate a blog entry. Click on Newspaper

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 [email protected], and 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!

Your nameBY DUNCAN MACDONALDGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

What is your name?It could be cool and it could be lame.It could bring you sadness and it could bring you fame.You might think your name won’t bring you fame and it’s lame,But your name is your name.

My modemBY NATHANIEL CHRISTOPHER BABCOCK

My modem is about to die, and so am I. What will I do when I die?Whatever it is, I need to sighAnd tell you all goodbyeAnd tell my god hi.When my modem dies, the world will end.I will not be able to send My SOS.So can’t you lend A modem to your best friend?I will not be able to Facebook and You-Tube. Skype and Google-plus will be down,And I will have to actually go to town.With that said, I will be uncool. That is a thing for old folks to do. I have a reputation at stake if my modem dies, And if that happens, then so will I.

About rhymesBY ANDREW SILVERMANGrade 8, Charlotte Central School

The most annoying phrases of all timeAll happen to be written in rhyme.Every vulgar limerick and bad punIs a rhyme, each and every one.I truly hate it, I do.Rhymes are a bother, it’s true.Why I now write in rhyme, I do not know.They are truly annoying, soI must stop rhyming, as of right now.But I don’t stop; I don’t know how!Or do I like it? Oh, perish the thought!Perhaps I do. I really hope not!I can’t like it, not a bit!I... Hey, wait a minute!This poem is about rhymes overall.Maybe I do like rhymes after all!

FriendsBY SUNNY PREMSANKARGrade 5, Williston Central School

Friends,that’s what I want to be,friends with you.Play with me. Walk with me.I need you. Do you need me?I hope so.Why won’t you talk?Please don’t ignore me.I’m not mean.Don’t worry, I don’t bite.I used to. Not anymore.Be my friend.We’ll do everything together.I won’t leave you.Never ever. No.Please, I’m begging you.I’ve never had a friend.Please, at least for a day.

Victoria Gibson, Essex High School

PHOTO 6

A doll’s lifeBY AMELIA LAWLORGrade 5, Williston Central School

Being a doll isn’t as easy as it looks. Little girls pick me up and make me kiss my brother and then they drop me and most likely they break off my leg.

Then they want to glue it back on. It hurts so badly. How would they feel if I broke off their leg and then hot-glued it back on?

Anyway, there is a girl who lives next door to my owner Tara. They play with me and this guy named Gavin and pretend we fall in love and get married.

I wish that they wouldn’t stop at the part where we are at the park and he is about to propose.

Tonight we are planning to meet outside Tara’s house and we are going to the real park. The bad thing is that Tara has a dog that sleeps with her every night and if it hears the smallest noise, I am dead meat.

Later... I luckily get out without making a peep. I get outside and see Gavin there waiting for me.

The sun peeks out over the horizon and we hold hands and walk away together, and... we live happily ever after.

THIS WEEK: Garden

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

TURRELL FUND


This week, we present responses to a writing challenge sponsored by the Vermont Community Garden Net-work on school gardens. We received more than 120 submissions from students across the state. You can read all submissions, including the winning story by

youngwritersproject.org/garden.

READ ALL SUBMISSIONS AT

YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG/GARDEN

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Erin Anderson, Vermont Community Garden Network Intern 2013

It’s our turn to growBY RAMONA BILODEAUGrade 7, Edge Academy, Essex

This is my garden. The garden holds more inside it than food. It holds memories. Long sweaty mornings and short fatigued afternoons. A hearty laugh with old friends and a soft smile with new acquaintances. The walls of this garden are built strong and will not fall because we stand united.

Our garden expands larger than most would. Our garden reaches outside the fences where the plants grow. Far away to the other side of Vermont. In a small town on the other side of this state a teacher has a beehive in his backyard. A whole civiliza-tion run by a teacher and his students. We come to visit whenever we get the chance. We have seen queens fall and come into power. Servants were once infected and driven mad. We solved this problem with limited material. We saw all these things happen. All in a few beehives.

Life grows outside man and animal. Our history is rooted within this forest. The trees holding the thought and feeling of everyone who roams here. Holding them inside. We tap the trees because the inside taste is just too good to gather slowly. Make haste. For sap is in our blood and has always been there for us Vermonters, and

-nection runs oh very deep.

One part of the vast garden is the part that grows food. We protect it for the better. The kale grows extra tall as it bakes in the spring sun. It waits to be cooked into some-thing for lunch, maybe a nice kale salad or kale chips. The plants sprout all around it. They grow like our stories do...Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/92809.

HONORABLE MENTION

From the ground upBY LAUREN HOUSEGrade 8, Essex Middle School

One cell. The red of a worm. A piece of dirt. A drop of water. A blade of grass.

the core between. They make up one plant. One organism in a garden of many, from the ground up.

Blooming and expanding. Growing and producing. Fruit and vegetables of all colors. People come and see us plant. We help them learn to grow. For if you haven’t planted into the ground, you have not yet lived life to its fullest. My friends and I, we plant our gardens. To help our earth and others, from the ground up.

We plant from the ground up. From our seeds that grow and thrive to the roots of the plants there. We plant from the ground up. We plant to make the community of Essex Middle School a better place. We try to keep life growing all year. Helping our community by gathering maple sugar from the trees. Having a colony of bees. Show-ing our gardening projects for the world to see. Life is too short to not build from the ground up.

-erywhere. In the roots that spread from

one particle to another. We buy, we dig, we plant, we grow. From the ground up...


HONORABLE MENTION

BY EMMA FORBESGrade 12, Burlington High School

a reader, an extrovert and a music fanatic. But I had never tried gardening.

In the winter of our junior year, my friend and I chose a semester-long project for our anthropology seminar. The project, an exploration of sustainability with very loose parameters, could be on just about anything we wanted. We did some brain-storming, and before long our eyes lit upon the greenhouse.

The existence of a Burlington High School greenhouse was unknown to most people, despite the fact that it jutted into the middle of the school courtyard. It was that unassuming: run-down and full of boxes, tools, and crumpled-up seed pack-ets. We hoped to hollow out a little spot for ourselves to try our hands at gardening. Our original idea was to experiment with methods (such as vertical gardens) that would make gardening possible for people in an urban setting. But these ideas were hypothetical on a large scale, and we ended up exacting real change within our school.

When we gained permission to use the space, my friend and I realized we were not the only ones who had noticed the poten-tial of the greenhouse. Sarah Heusner and Jessie Mazar, two proponents of sustain-ability and urban agriculture who worked for the Burlington School Food Project, quickly became our mentors and friends. In a surprisingly short time we gathered a sizable group of students, and I became a

garden club...Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/92004.

Epic gardensBY SETH ROSSMANGrade 5, Sustainability Academy at Lawrence Barnes

When you’re eating your veggies at school have you ever wondered, how did my vegetables get here on my tray? The answer is clear: gardens.

These spots of land with seeds in them grow our crops, then fuel our bodies.

Having one at home is cool, but having one at school is epic.

Just take a little plot of land then grow your crops and eat. Our school went from

-ing gardens that even the neighbors come over to eat from.

When you eat out of a garden you are not only eating food, you are appreciating the gardeners’ work of planting and taking care of the plants. So just think about it...

Beautiful placeBY ABIGAIL HUTCHINSGrade 5, C.P. Smith School

At my school we have a garden. Right now our garden is buried by snow. I’m guessing it’s very wet underneath.

When the snow melts I have a feeling we are going to have to put more soil down if we want more plants to grow.

In the spring we have lots of pretty

school is really lucky to have such a beauti-ful garden...

Watch it growBY KHALON TAYLORGrade 4, Champlain Elementary

Here at Champlain, my class planted cucumbers. We watched them grow and then picked ‘em. Then we harvested some dill and made pickles. They were so good!

We also picked some mint to make some tea. It was very good.

It changed my attitude so now I eat things we planted fresh from a garden. That’s healthy for you!

Planting the gardenBY MADELINE HAYDOCKGrade 4, Charlotte Central School

This year the Architect team is planting our school garden. I can’t wait for spring!

-ers. We will have tomatoes, kale, parsley, and chives. We will also have daisies,

have a beautiful garden. We always do. But not only our class is going to work

in the garden. All of the fourth grade works on the garden every single year.

We are allowed to eat the food through-out the year. We always are looking for some tomatoes to eat. But we always save the kale for kale chips.

NEXT PROMPT

Childhood. Write about a piece of your childhood that you’d like to keep as you approach adulthood. Alternate: General writing in any genre. Due April 25

THANK YOU To the Vermont Community Garden Network (VCGN) for sponsoring the garden challenge. VCGN has

sent the winner a $50 cash prize

Wagon Plants of Hinesburg; as well as a bundle of seeds to every writer in the contest!

Find out more about VCGN at vcgn.org.

THIS WEEK: Fear & Top 5


Special thanks this week toVERMONT COUNTRY STORE


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in newspa-pers around the state, and on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Fear: What is your biggest fear?; and Top 5: Make a list of your top 5 anything. More at youngwritersproject.org.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

BasketballBY QUINN BOARDMANGrade 6, Charlotte Central School

There are lots of fears and worries that people have. It can go from snakes and

may think that mine is not such a big deal, but it is truly embarrassing!

My fear would start at a basketball game, a game where I am playing. My heart is racing, and I am trying to catch my breath. We are winning, but not by much. There is only so much time left that it has to be used so carefully.

I get the ball and dribble as fast as I can, knowing that nothing can stop me. But as I am dribbling, I see that the other team does nothing to stop me. They stop running and just stand there. They look at me like I am crazy.

I wonder if the whistle has been blown but I keep going because maybe it was not. “I am almost there, almost there,” I keep telling myself.

I hear my team yelling and screaming, knowing that they are cheering for me. I let

then swish. I get all net. The crowd is wild. I am so proud of myself.

VERMONTIVATE!WRITING CHALLENGE

Write about climate change and win prizes!

about the challenge and Vermontivate, the community sustainability game – at youngwritersproject.org/vermontivate14.

Due date: Monday, April 14

Same as everyoneBY MAGNUS SULLIVANGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

Being non-individual, being the same as everyone else – there is no greater fear. I pride myself in not necessarily being differ-ent, but being individual.

The only way I see in accomplishing things is to do it myself; help may be an option but I would rather learn than be taught because when you teach yourself, it is impossible to get confused.

Being the same, copying others, and be-ing taught life are my greatest fears.

Logging trucksBY HANNAH MOSS

My greatest fear is being in a car behind one of those trucks that carries big logs. The logs can come loose and hit your car.

I do not like thinking about it too much because one time when my family and I were driving back from Massachusetts we had to drive behind one of them.

The logs were shaking around and

shooting out and hitting us. My dad tried to pass the truck on the

road, but the passing lane was too skinny and too short.

I was sitting in the back seat watching my dad try to move around it and watching the logs shift and roll. Eventually the road got bigger so my dad could pass it.

That is my biggest fear, and how it came to be.

Fear of nothingnessBY KAYLEIGH REIDGrade 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.

seem to convince myself.I want to believe, to have faith in a mean-ingful place after my death.I can picture it, the beauty and the warmth and the love.Never being alone.

hard I try.

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.

Letting goBY GEORGIA MALONE-WOLFSUNGrade 8, Camels Hump Middle School

I am afraid of letting go.Change scares me.Is it worth it to become so close,so bonded with an experience, a dream, a personfor the chance that it could all be taken away from you at any moment?Is it worth itto make a best friend

you know you are going to have to leave?Having a team turn into a group of sistersonly to be split and twisted into different people by the realities of the world?To fall in lovewhen you know you are going to have to say goodbye?Goodbye. That word is what scares me,more than monsters and stalkers, and ghost stories.The word is painful, and full of memories that you know will never come back again.Is it better to just doand not feel

as much?Or is it worth it to become so close to give up any resistance you haveand let what is going to happen happen? It might be what makes you – you. Is it worth it to miss out on that?

My top 5BY AMANDA KIRBYGrade 11, Rice Memorial High School

of your grasp.4) That your eyes tell stories every time you look at me, and I can see the accep-tance in your eyes when you tell me that you love me. 3) How your tongue runs across your lips

the distance you can taste my so-called beauty on your lips. 2) The way you laugh as if everything I say is a gift sent from God that somehow de-spite your beliefs, you accept and cherish.

bones for you, the kind of love that rattles

Five things I likeBY MIKAYLA ROUCOULETGrade 5, Williston Central School

-ing splits, and other stuff.

The second thing that I like is going swimming with my grandpa and my friends because it really takes a lot of strength and it is not too hard, but not too easy.

The third thing that I like is playing with my siblings. They are really fun.

The fourth thing that I like is riding my

and I can bike to get ice cream.

cream because it is a sweet treat.

NEXT PROMPT

Color. Create a new color – name it, Alter-

nates: Early. night owl? Which way is better? Or Photo 9. Due April 18

THIS WEEK: School makeover


Special thanks this week toCHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT

PARTNERS


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 and on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompt, Makeover: How would you redesign your school? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Deanna Davis-Kilpatrick, Essex High School

Dream schoolBY RUBY SMITHGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

In an ideal school for me, the cur-riculum and schedule would be radically different.

I think it would be really useful to have three-day weekends and four-day weeks. Two days isn’t enough time to recharge and catch up on sleep.

However, to make up for this, school days would go every day from 8:45 a.m. - 5:30 p.m. Starting school 45 minutes later

schedules and prevent the exhaustion that most teens feel daily.

Extending the school day two and a half hours every day would make up for the day missed.

With this, however, there would be no homework. Teachers say students should only spend half an hour to an hour on homework per night, so this would give plenty of time to cover this.

Also in a school, I would enjoy more options of activities. In my opinion, schools should focus more on the arts because they build up crucial skills like concentration and determination.

I would take away most testing and standards for the school system because they cause so much stress and make learn-ing a very negative experience. Many children might enjoy math if they didn’t associate it with frustration resulting in a

Lastly, I would focus parts of every day on doing good for the community. If every school had just one day per week where every student went outside and picked up trash, had a conversation with a homeless person, cooked for a food shelf, etc., the world could be a thousand times better and I think that’s much more important than learning silly facts that will be forgotten the next day.

School? Like heavenBY ARNAUD DAHOUROUGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Do we not all want to make things into our own? To have things the way we want? To run things our way? As kids, school is a major thing we’ve all wanted to change. This is how I would do it.

IPad Airs and Chromebooks would be the generally used devices. Instead of books and notebooks, all kids would need to carry around would be their device. No more heavy textbooks, no more having to carry a billion notebooks home. Teachers wouldn’t have to read through books any-

be teaching their class in no time. Anyone that missed a day at school could catch up on work through their devices.

The library would be the only place -

sands of books. There would be two parts to this library: the tech library and the original library. The original library would

It would be just a regular, good old library. The tech library, on the other hand, would have electronic shelves all hooked up to a supercomputer that would be able to tell

The shelves would have little individual book holders. All users would have to do would be to look up the book on their school device and wait. The book’s holder would silently pop out and glow.

-

demands. A hangout would be situated on

therefore students would be trusted to behave and maintain their hangout privi-leges. Each hangout would be different and unique in its own way, attracting people with the same taste. Each hangout would consist of a snack bar and vending ma-chines. The school would be four stories high with two elevators on each corner. Classrooms would be big but only consist-ing of less than 15 students. School days would start at 8:40 a.m., and end at 4 p.m. Students would be given seven minutes between each period. The school would have a grand auditorium big enough to hold 500 people. It would have two gyms and two band rooms. Everyone would be given a chance to play an instrument or any activ-ity offered.

Obviously, schools like this would be too good to be true, but as a 13-year-old full of imagination, this is the school I would like to go to.

Add some colorBY LARAGH SCHARFGrade 5, Shelburne Community School

I walk down the narrow hallway and see all the boring things around me like the

I think, “What if I could change all this?”The next day, I ask the principal,

“Could I change a few things in the school?”

“No,” she says sternly.As I walk to the classroom I think, may-

be my teacher will agree. A few seconds later I am in the warm classroom and I go to my teacher and say, “Maybe we could change a few things in the school. Maybe we could turn the walls into iPhones and

“Stop,” she says loudly. “I think that is a little too much.”

Then my teacher says, “Maybe we could paint the walls... that would give a little color.”

I say, “Maybe we could paint the school red.”

“We will start tomorrow.”The next morning we call the painters

and get started. Two weeks later, it is done. I look at it and say, “Wow, that does look good.” And then I say, “I guess a school does not need iPhone walls or trampoline

And I know that my teacher agrees.

Lunch buffetBY NELSON NYALGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

If I could change my school into what I wanted I would change the cafeteria into a buffet because we don’t get enough food to

Also I would change the time we start school. I think school should start at 10 a.m., because then we wouldn’t have to wake up early. We can get rest if we went to bed late.

Students chooseBY EMILY LUBASGrade 6, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

If I could change anything I wanted about my school, there would be a lot of changes. First, instead of having a music wing there would be a pool and a hot tub.

During activity period a different teacher every day would take students down to go swimming. The pool would be huge with rainbow-colored lights. The pool would have a really high and a low diving board and the stairs to get into the pool would be spirals.

trips on Fridays or we would have Friday Fun Day. The students would choose where

fun. Meanwhile, the students who wanted Friday Fun Day would be able to do any-thing, like going swimming or drawing on teachers’ whiteboards...

In the cafeteria there would a creemee-maker or a choice of hard ice cream with toppings. The ice cream would be free and open to students before school, lunch and after school.

There would also be a movie theater for students to watch movies. Popcorn, drinks and candy would be served with the movie. The students would be able to choose the movies that were playing.

YWP AT POEM CITY

MONTPELIER | APRIL 7

POETRY WORKSHOPWITH 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 [email protected]

THIS WEEK: Inspired & Disaster


Special thanks this week toNATIONAL LIFE GROUP


Each week, Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submissions from students in Vermont and New Hamp-shire 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, Inspired: What inspires you to succeed?; and Disaster: Ever have one of those days when everything turns to disaster?

Terrible morningBY ELLA STAATSGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

I woke up at 6with a pounding in my head.I yawned and I stretchedthen I fell out of bed.

and I smashed in my nose.I quickly jumped upand stubbed my big toe.I limped to the bathroomand turned on the sink.

in what seemed like a blink.I ran down to the kitchenfor a bowl of Cheeriosbut the milk was all rottenso I decided on toast.There was one slice of breadall covered in mold.The butter was melted,the jam three years old.By then I was lateand I’d begun to weep.My day’s bad already,I’ll just go back to sleep.

Editor’s 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. Last fall, YWP asked Autumn to write a journal about her running. This is an excerpt of Autumn’s blog as she reviews events of her senior year. To read the piece in its entirety, go to youngwritersproject.org/blog/7838.

Senior yearBY AUTUMN EASTMANGrade 12, Champlain Valley Union High School

Looking back, this year has a been a blur. Spring track, summer workouts, fall cross country – the states, regionals and nation-als – the college visits, a decision and quickly into Nordic skiing. So much packed in to each day, each month, each sport. But for me, the season really began this summer, when, for the second year, my training had to get serious.

My alarm clock rings, shaking me out of sleep. I look over to see the neon digital 6:00

the rumble of the garbage truck making its rounds. It is still foggy and cool. The sunrise will be soon. The air feels fresh on my skin as I ease into my stride to wake up my legs. Once I pick up my normal steps, I fall into a rhythm, steady, strong. There is no stopping me. When I return, I am fully awake. I eat a big breakfast and take a nap; there is a second half to my training day.

and head out for another workout. I end near dusk when there is little left of daylight.

Last summer, I ran 450 miles, did 50+ hours of rollerski training plus untold hours of bike rides, hikes and strength workouts. My summers haven’t been the usual carefree breaks from the grind that most teenagers ex-perience. My summers are routines; repeated, regular, strenuous workouts and physical training each day, alternating runs and roller-skis with strength training. My training was progressive; as the summer weeks passed, my training became more intense. With my feet half in Nordic training and half in cross-country, I had to accommodate several of my coaches’ wishes. I didn’t want to disappoint either side. I ran every day I was supposed to;

I never once skipped out on a training; I never gave myself that option. It’s like cliff jump-ing: Instead of hanging over the cliff, second-guessing yourself and giving yourself time to back out, you just jump without thinking.

success my sophomore year, I had to make a choice that really wasn’t a choice at all; my coaches and my team were counting on me. Even when I was younger, when I put my mind to something, I did it. I love to be in charge and in control, which molds well with

the casual person.It is a blistering hot spring day; tempera-

-mont State Track & Field Championships are a few days off and temperatures are predicted in the 90s. To prepare, I take the challenge -- “weather acclimation.” In practice, I wear long pants, a t-shirt, two jackets and a pair of gloves. I do my running – the sprints, the mid-distances, the stretches – fully clothed. I am panting. I am boiling. But come Saturday,

was able to help bring my team to victory. On days like that one, or when it’s bone-

chilling cold and raining, I do sometimes ask myself: Why? It always boils down to the same answer: My team; my coaches’ respect; reward. Success means nothing without people to share it with. Nothing meant more

than to be able to share my success at Nike Regionals with my team. When I crossed the

the Nationals, pressure lifted from my shoul-

me with congratulations. Now I was ready to face one of the biggest and celebratory races of the season.

the plane touches down in Portland, Oregon, it hits me. I am alone. No team. No coaches. Just me and my legs, my training and my

of the other Easterners – we stick together. There is also a lot going on: practice runs and swag parties with Nike. But as the day ap-proaches, I don’t feel the usual jitters.

It is weird to be stepping to the start line without my CVU teammates. My new friends are there with me but it is different. The gun goes off and away we go. The pace is fast. I am up in the front. This is where I want to be. I pass the checkpoints knowing that people watching online can see where I am and can see my time. I think of my teammates back home watching the computer screen, cheer-ing, urging me on. I feel good. I feel strong. Hundreds of eager parents, coaches and spec-tators line the course, screaming at us to go,

hill, my rhythm breaks and my momentum shoots forward. The girls in the lead are just

Twentieth, nineteenth, eighteenth, seven-teenth, sixteenth. Sixteenth in the nation! My high school cross-country running career is over. Like a dream.

There wasn’t much time to let the season and Nationals settle in. When I returned, there were Nordic practices, meetings and before I knew it, Nordic races had begun.

Georgetown University.My career as a high school athlete has

been enlightening, profound. I have learned what it means to devote all of my time and effort to one thing in order to chase deeper goals. I have learned what it means to suc-ceed and to come up short. I have learned that

I’ve learned that none of this could have been done alone...Read the complete blog at youngwritersproject.org/blog/7838.

Autumn Eastman of Champlain Valley Union High School. Photo courtesy of Autumn Eastman

INSPIRED: YOUNG PEOPLE WRITE ABOUT WHAT INSPIRES THEM TO SUCCEED

YWP AT POEM CITY

MONTPELIER | APRIL 7

POETRY WORKSHOPWITH LELAND KINSEY

4 – 5:30 P.M.READINGS BY YWP WRITERS

6:30 – 8 P.M.

Kellogg-Hubbard Library East Montpelier Room

at 5:45 p.m. Poetry reading open to all who want to share their words.

Friends and family welcome!

RSVP [email protected]

Must be a mistakeBY ALLIE BROWNGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

The second I opened my eyes, I knew

I lay there for a moment deciding if I should jump out the window or warn my family.

I decided that the best option was to sim-ply investigate the situation. This was wise because last time my panic led me to call the cops over my brother’s loose tooth.

landed on something soft and squishy... I

head on the night-stand. I stood up and looked over at what had caused the large bump, now throbbing on my forehead. There, lying on my carpet, was a dead rat. My cat must have gifted it to me during my heavy slumber. I groaned loudly... I decided to leave it there; I sure as heck wasn’t about to touch that thing!

I ran into the kitchen only to come face to

dramatically and began to roll around on the cold tiles, attempting to rid my clothes of the

stepped over me and began to wave a dish

my mother shouted. “Get the heck outside

I sprinted out the door, phone in hand, and dialed 9-1-1while a cluster of neighbors gath-ered around me, including some of the older boys and girls from down the street.

like a celebrity with all those big, cool kids looking out for me. I told them about the dead rat and my near-death experience. They

walked up, carrying something gray.“Here’s this,” he said, tossing it at me.

“Thought you might want something familiar to cuddle with while we get this sorted out.”

explain to my new friends that it must have been a mistake. But they were already walk-ing away, laughing among themselves.Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/91177.

THIS WEEK: Disappoint & Contrast




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in news-papers around the state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Disap-pointed: Write about a time where your expectations weren’t quite met; and Constrast: Hope vs. despair.

Olivia Fewell / Essex High School

The chaseBY SAMMIE BLACKMOREGrade 5, The Renaissance School

The soft, light touch of rabbit feet on the snowy earth averts the owl’s head.A gleam of hope sparks in the dark void of the owl’s heart, crushing the cloud of despair. Flying, swooping through the brushes and brambles, hoping, waiting.The rabbit jumps once, twice, avoiding the talons of death.Yet another spark of light, the hope of get-ting away.Dodging and missing, the chase is on.Rivers of hope and swirls of light follow the prey and predators as they make their way through the deadly forest.Life crumbling death.The rabbit leaps into its hole.It is safe.Once again, hope crushes despair.Life over death. Maybe.

Treacherous maidBY LYDIA SMITHGrade 10, Homeschool, Charlotte

She’s strong enough to topple mountains,

She dances across foreign fountains,creating ripples of mesmerizing waves.She sings a rocking melody,then changes to a whispered lullaby.She cools a summer afternoon merrily,then tears frames from foundations.

or she can shatter and shackle and kill.Nature’s treacherous maid is she –Wind.

The glass houseBY SARINA MARTINEZ DE OSABAGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

I had been waiting for this day all my life. I had been working for this day all my life. Every “tendu” of my foot or “devel-oppe” of my leg was for this day.

My hopes and dreams for this were like

with expectation and hope would be added to the magical glass house.

Thirteen years’ worth of hopes, dreams, expectation, promises, hard work, determi-nation, blood, sweat and tears were in that 13-story-high glass house.

I stood with the rest of the class facing the teacher. He gave a speech about how not everyone gets this role, and it doesn’t mean you’re not a good dancer, but I wasn’t listening. I knew this didn’t apply to me.

He called the girls’ names one by one followed by applause. He didn’t call my name.

had been hiding in the bushes near my beautiful glass house.

He stood up from his crouch in the shrubs. He began to throw rocks at my house. Each rock he threw found its mark and shattered with a heartbreaking crash. He laughed with his you-will-never-win laugh.

I was watching from a distance. No! Stop! Give me another chance! I shouted but no sound came out and Reality kept on going.

Crash, crash, crash! Thirteen crashes. Thirteen years of work and determination shattered into a million pieces before my eyes.

Just not as goodBY ELLA MASONGrade 4, Champlain Elementary School

I felt not as good as them.And I could not keep it in.I cried.And cried.And cried.I was mad and sad.I felt just not as good.

Excitement stitched into my backpackBY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Excitement is stitched into my backpack.I wish I could keep still.A smile is peeking and peering its way out.I close my eyes and whisper reassuring patsin my own ears.I zip up my sweater,ready for a ride.And step up to the big sign that says “Edmunds Middle School.”Last year was a breeze;I linger within the happy memories.The bell rings and we all race in.Almost skipping in, a smile stretched wide,

***Skip through half the year***I wish now I could sayshe was my friend.An air is stuck around meof disappointment in myself.For I wish I could stitch this up,with the thread in my backpack.

Hope and despairBY HAILEY CHASEGrade 5, Williston Central School

All we can do now is hope,hope for a better sun, a better moon,to wish upon a star.If we don’t believe that things will get bet-ter, they won’t.There is nothing left to believe in,there will be no better sun,no better moon, no stars to wish upon.All we can do now is fear what is ahead.

The man in whiteBY BAILEY LUTERGrade 8, Colchester Middle School

The man in white The anticipated newsNo more hospital beds No more sickness The man in white The anticipated newsOnly hospital beds Only sicknessThey say she is almost done That she is getting better

And they are rooting for her They say she is almost done That things won’t get better

And they are praying for her The tears stream down their cheeks A loss of wordsA wide smile A joyful laughThe tears stream down their cheeksA loss of words A forced smileA painful moanAnd the future will come Full of strengthFull of recovery Full of hope And the future will come Full of weakness Full of loss Full of despair

Cell phone troubleBY ELESHIA BABCOCKGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

One time, when I was about 10 years old, my mom told me I could get a cell phone. A lot of my friends had them, and I wanted to be able to keep in touch with people I didn’t see all that much.

I had also been to a party the weekend before with some friends that were a few years older and everyone had a cell phone except for me and one other girl, which, at the time, I thought was completely embar-rassing.

After what felt like ages of begging, my

the next day. When we got to the store, my step-dad told me I could pick one out, but every time I found one I liked he would say that I was “too young for it.”

After a little while of that, he and my mom concluded that I was too young to have a cell phone and that I had to wait a year or two.

Now that I look back on it, even though I was really disappointed at the time, it seems like a stupid thing to get upset over.

Black and whiteBY ELLA FISHMANGrade 6, The Renaissance School

Black, dark, powerfulWhite, airy, lightBlack, the color of despair, nothingWhite, the color of desireHope, everything, yet nothingThey are opposites it’s true, but put them together and they make a checkerboardEqual in power, both sides are evenYou can’t have one without the otherTogether, they are one being, one victoryOne game

THIS WEEK: Elements & Photo 5


Special thanks this week toJANE’S TRUST


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best in newspapers around the state, vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Elements: What is the strongest and/or most beautiful force in nature? and Photo 5. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Alexis Britch, Essex High School, 2013

Wishing treeBY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Wishing on the highest branch,tussles of hopes and dreams wind up her spine,

embracing her cane of memories.

Dragging her down,she buries it in the fallen leaves.

The tree stands tall,harder and harder,as she mounts each steed

of feelings and wishes,

Her emotions brim.She sits down and cries tears ofhappiness, fortune and love.

Balance of natureBY JACKSON NEMEGrade 6, The Renaissance School

The strongest, most beautiful force in nature could be the sun because it gives life to all living things, or it could be love and

peace. It could be a hurricane for in its destruc-

tion, it allows for stronger rebirth. But for me, the most powerful force in

nature and the most beautiful is the balance of all these things and the fact that we all

and life brings death, but throughout, the circle of existence still turns.

Photo 5 (Great cedar tree, Stanley Park, Vancouver, BC, 1897) © William McFarlane Notman

YOUNG WRITERS PROJECTSUMMER INTERNSHIPS

environment, space for individual talents

of M & Ms.This internship program runs from

June 16 until August 15 at YWP headquar-ters, 12 North Street, Burlington.

Internships will be offered in three areas:

Publications (Editing and preparing

and other YWP publications)Web design, application and main-tenance

summer camp program for elemen-

Interested? Send a cover letter, writ-ing samples and resume to Geoff Gevalt,

mail to YWP, 12 North Street, Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05465.

Review of candidates begins March 31.

ComponentsBY ZORA STEWARTGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Air was soft and gentle

Sweeping past the morning sun

Fire burned in brillianceVivid, strong, and free

Dazzling as could beWater rushed in pleasant grace

Deep and cool was her smiling faceAs she whispered soothing sighs

SequoiaBY KAT TURNBULLGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

let out a deep sigh. Birds were calling to each other, coos

were streaming down through the gaps in the leaves so high above her, and one of those leaves fell from the heights down into her outstretched hand. It had turned golden with the changing of the seasons, and it had no sooner landed when the cool autumn

and shivered. The gale nipped at her ears and nose, and she buried them in the soft collar of the sweatshirt.

face, providing a comforting warmth and

-

-neath her tennis shoes.

NEXT PROMPTS

Goosebumps. What gives them

Alter-nates: Is it art or vandalism? Or Photo 7.

SCHOOL GARDEN WRITING CHALLENGE

WIN $100 WORTH OF PRIZES!Due: March 20

For prompts and more info, go to youngwritersproject.org/garden.

www.vcgn.org

Photo 7 (Archie Love) © Lewis Wickes Hine

BY MAEVE FAIRFAX

Fire,

of destruction,a blessing in disguise.When it is raging through,

but it relieves the forest of the unwanted and unneeded,and founds new growth.

but although too hot to touch,it has a bone-chilling coldness in all its

Essential but not,wanted but not,impossible but possible.Beautiful?

THIS WEEK: Wonder & Angst


Special thanks this week toLANGWATER FAMILY FOUNDATION


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire 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 Angst: Write the angstiest angst piece you can create. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Kevin Huang / Burlington High School

Ice on branchesBY CAROLINE LAMANTIAGrade 4, Richmond Elementary School

I peer out the window, wondering. Why does ice leave that crunchy coating on the snow that shimmers pink, blue and gold?

How does ice freeze on the branches, icicles hanging down at the tips? How do the trees know to lose their leaves and let the shining, glimmering ice take over?

I lift up my hands which make hand-prints on the fogged up window. And the evergreen trees don’t seem to care. Frost hanging on their branches doesn’t matter to them. They make themselves look strong next to the wilting, icy birch trees.

And yet, all I do is wonder.

HopeBY KENDALL MUZZYGrade 5, The Renaissance School

I wonder why we have war when we can have peace.I wonder why we hate when we can love.I wonder why we are greedy when we can be thankful.I wonder why we are mean when we can be nice.These are questions we all need to ask our-selves at least once in our lifetime.I hope one day we will all live in harmony. No war. No hate. No greed. But hope.

For what reason?BY ELLA MASONGrade 4, Champlain Elementary School

I wonder, was everyone made for a reason? I wonder, what is their reason?I wonder, is it to be a soccer player or a dancer or someone to stand up for their rights? I wonder.

Why are we here?BY ELLA FISHMANGrade 6, The Renaissance School

I wonder why we are here. I know that this is something everyone wonders about, but whenever I start thinking about it, it just gets me and I can’t stop.

I think and I think and just when I feel like I am close to the answer, it slips away, and it’s infuriating!

Why do we live? Why do we die? Why do these horrible and wonderful things hap-pen? Why, why, why?

Some day, some day, I’ll know. I must. Some day, I’ll say, “Hey, I wonder...” and the answer will be right there and waiting.

And I’ll grab it and it will not slip away, and I’ll lock it up tight.

Some day.

Why do I wonder?BY JACOB SURKSGrade 5, Browns River Middle School

I wonder why I wonder.

the atmosphere.It would be cool, but can it be done?I wonder ... I wonder.I wonder if you could drain the ocean with a milk jug.The problem is where would the water go?I wonder ... I wonder.I wonder about pollution and if it can be stopped.I wonder about the future,about pollution,inventions,and population.And most of all, if Earth will still be here.If we will still have fresh air,and people,and new technology.You see, there are wanting-to-know won-ders and there are concerning wonders.Fortunately for me, there are more want-ing-to-know wonders.But what about you?Who knows what will happen?So take a moment and wonder.

WonderingBY LILLIAN KOLBENSONGrade 10, Essex High School

I wonder…About facades.Why I like the things I do.About doubt and how it intrudes.How other people think.I wonder who will sculpt our minds.About the beat on the pavement.I wonder…Why people get angry.About the time.Why we lose pencils.

Why people choose the things they do.Who watches over me.I wonder…Why people are scared to try.About the biography of a bug.Why we must rest.What birds think about.Why people look at things in the way that they do.Why people don’t and / or don’t wonder why they do.I wonder…About the lucky clovers and the sunbeams.What a miracle looks like,And where they come from.About trees and their leaves.If the world will change much in a year or two,And if I will change, too.

Faraway starBY MAEVE FAIRFAXGrade 4, Champlain Elementary School

Oh, faraway star,are you out there?Oh, faraway star,do you have feelings of your own?Oh, faraway star,

Faraway star,you are the light of the Earth, our savior,for you are the sun, our lifeline.


WIN $100 WORTH OF PRIZES!Due: March 20

For prompts and more info, go to youngwritersproject.org/garden.

Challenge sponsored by

www.vcgn.org

BY REBECCA WHITEGrade 8, Winooski Middle School

Imagine something scary,like being crushed to death.So there’s this brick on your back.In the beginning, it’s not so bad,till time starts to pass,and you’re feeling nervous,and a bit sweaty.As time goes on, it gets worse.It’s not that bad. You can handle it.You’re a little scared.And then the sweat starts to dripdown your forehead. The brick gets heavier;the time moves faster.You look at the clock. 7:58.You wipe the sweat,squeeze your eyes shut, open them.It’s now 7:59.The nerves are unbearable.Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest.You let out a rigid breath.Your hands are sticky, sweaty, shaky.Your eyes wander to the time,half a minute left.“Are you ready?” You hear it.No, no, no. You’re not ready.So, so much pressure.You shake violently. A tear goes down your face.

You know that you’re not going to die;you know that nothing bad will happen.But it could, and it might, and you feel like it will.That brick that was resting on your backis now crushing you. It’s now hurting you; it’s holding you back.And it’s the scariest thing in the world.And, and ... just imagine.

Forever.

THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day




More than 95 schools across Vermont and New Hamp-shire participated in Young Writers Project’s annual Vermont Writes Day – taking just 7 minutes on Feb. 13 to write! This week, we publish writing in response to prompts: Where you’re most alive; You are about to crush a spider and...; The best prize you’ve received; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Vermont Writes Day at Rutland High School, left to right, Talla Caruso, Aliya Schneider, Tessie McDon-nell. © Hunter Berryhill, Rutland High School

The dancing spiderBY KATIE COUCHGrade 8, Mater Christi School

My hand was tight around the bottom of the rolled-up newspaper.

I was about to pull my arm back to slam the paper down on the little spider when I saw something.

I stopped and set the paper down to get a better look. The little black spider was looking up at me with big eyes.

He held his hand up and waved me to lean in closer. As I did, he began to move

After a couple of seconds I realized the little spider was dancing! He moved with such grace and ease and never tripped over his many legs.

A couple of times his feet left the ground and he would do a split in the air. After a minute or so he stopped and looked up at me again.

Remember the skyBY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

“You remember the sky,”were my grandpa’s last words.“You remember the world,its twirls and its whirls.“I am forever present,”he promised.“Just look to the sky.”And as the sky shone garnet, my grandpa died.When the moon rose high over our funeral night,the clouds wept with us,as black as his eyes.Our walk home was short,but the longest one, too.As we approached our house,the lawn wept with dew.I fell onto the grass,not caring that I was wet.Before I closed my eyes,I looked at the sky,and its colors were bright.Remember the sky,

BY LILY ESPENSHADEGrade 8, Lake Champlain Waldorf School

You are about to crush a spider, but then you see its web.In its web is a tiny baby spider and the baby spider says, “If you crush my mummy, I will surely die. “I will have no one to tuck me in bed at

And you say, “Yes, that is true. But if I let your mama live, you might die, too. “She might get so hungry one night and you look so plump and fat, that she will eat you just like that.”Baby says, “Oh, my. We all must surely die. But her time is not today, so good-bye friend. Be on your way.”You walk along and realize that you have saved not one but two lives.

In a treeBY OLIVIA PALMERGrade 6, Browns River Middle School

I feel alive in a tree. Like the wood speaks to me. In a tree I can be who I want to be, not get judged whether I am good at something or not.

I feel alive with the bees (as I do with the trees) as they work for some sweet reward.

open around me saying, “I am here. We are here. We are together.”

I feel alive with the garden where vegetables grow, where they all say, “Come

I feel alive with the grass as I look at the clouds, as they say, “Look, there’s a

I feel alive with the houses. As old as the dirt. They all have personality like nothing else in the world. I feel alive with nature!

Prize heiferBY COURTNEY BANACHGrade 12, South Burlington High School

I am a 4-H kid with a focus in dairy. Each year I lease my heifers from Shel-burne Farms. Last summer I took my heifer Shazam to some county fairs. I knew I had a special heifer, but I was just hoping to do OK and have fun.

My summer started off great with the

at Shelburne Farms... My heifer ended up winning her age class (fall yearling) and that was great, but then going on to be named Junior and Grand Champion Brown Swiss was even cooler. I then got to vie for Supreme Champion, which is the best overall animal present, and I got Reserve, which was amazing.

The rest of the summer went great and I continued to win my classes. Then came the last hometown show of the year, Champlain Valley... I placed and won the fall yearling class again and I guess that was just the start. The judge said without a doubt that fall yearling would be my Junior and Grand Champion Brown Swiss, but then it came time for Supreme and the cow that beat me earlier in the year was vying for Supreme again.

My cow was starting to get fussy and I was starting to get nervous until the judge came over and slapped my heifer as hard as she could, saying she was undoubtedly her favorite and was going to be Supreme Champion. I was elated and speechless. I gave the judge a huge hug and was still in awe over what had just happened.

Shazam’s ribbons and awards are now proudly hanging on my wall to remind me of what a great summer it was!

You’re aliveBY AADITYA DIMRIGrade 10, South Burlington High School

If you are movingwith an eagerness in your heart,then you are alive.If you’re movingwith the sparks of dreams in your eyes,then you’re alive.Learn to live freelylike the gusts of wind.

Meet every momentwith your arms open.Every moment these eyes shouldwatch for new weather.If you’re living

then you’re alive.

My familyBY DEBORAH MMUNGAGrade 6, Edmunds Middle School

My family is very important to me. They are the people in my life who want me in theirs, the ones who would accept me for who I am, and the ones who would do anything to see me smile and be happy, and who love me no matter what.

My mom is my everything... My mom is my air and I can’t live without her just like I can’t live without air. I would do anything to make my mom happy ...


WIN $100 WORTH OF PRIZES!For prompts and more info, go to youngwritersproject.org/garden.


www.vcgn.org

BY OLIVIA PINTAIRGrade 8, Lake Champlain Waldorf School

The slush on the street is where the winter-

They swim through wet shoes like a ghost through the trees.When the dying birches fell to their white wooden kneesThe passersby sighed as the cold found their feet.

THIS WEEK: Gift & Rant


Special thanks this week toMAIN STREET LANDING


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in newspa-pers around the state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Gift: Write about something you cherish; and Rant: Send us your best rant. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING ATYOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Aliya Schneider / Rutland High School

Ready for changeBY RUBY SMITHGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

Every single day – talking in school, sitting at lunch, walking down the street, one thing stands out to me: sexism.

It seems to me that everything around us in our world has the idea that men are better, more important, than women.

There are little things: in the newspaper, for example, the boys’ sports teams are always listed before the girls’.

Little things turn bigger when rape becomes a joke that is laughed about freely. In other countries, there are little girls covered head to toe being raped and taken advantage of by older men, and in the lucky few chances that this goes to court, the judge will say that this young girl who is covered in clothes because of her religion is asking for it.

“The man is just in love,” the male judges will say as the case is being dis-missed. “You can’t punish that.”

This happens more frequently than you could imagine, old men taking advantage of young girls, and most of the time no one does anything.

There is an expectation of boys to be strong, tough, fearless. Boys don’t cry in public; boys can’t wear certain colors; boys have to risk certain things to be considered a real “man.”

The more you think about this, the more absurd it is. Women are expected to be pretty objects, sitting around and keeping a warm dinner ready.

I am more than ready for this to change. Women are doubted in business, too; a man is more typical for bigger jobs.

In the U.S., for every dollar a man makes, a woman makes 80 cents. This interferes with success, and because of a lu-

There is also the idea that two boys in love is disgusting, but two girls in love is attractive – another way of objectifying women and “putting them in their place,” if you will. Tell me how that’s fair.

It’s the 21st century; equal rights between genders should have been accom-plished long before now.

ObviouslyBY CJ MCDEVITT Grade 6, Williston Central School

What really bugs me is when people state the obvious.

They say, “Hey, you got a haircut.” And I say, “Oh really? I didn’t notice.”

I know I got a haircut; if you wanted to say something about it, you could have complimented it, not say I got a haircut...

Sometimes people say, “You weren’t in school yesterday.” I know I wasn’t in school yesterday because I was sick or I just had something to do.

You could have said, “Why weren’t you in school yesterday?” instead of stating the obvious.

Also people might say, “That person just fell. I just saw them fall.” Why not go help them, instead of telling me they fell?

Sometimes when people state the obvi-ous, I say sarcastically, “Thanks, Captain Obvious!”

Gift of friendshipBY CATIE MACAULEYGrade 5, The Renaissance School

The gift that is most precious to meis the one that cannot be wrapped.

or glue.It takes a long time to mend, if ever.It is held together with strings of trust,with knots of kindness and laughter.To receive this gift, talking is not required.To give it, explaining is not necessary.But although this gift costs no money,and although it isn’t something you can show,people can cherish it their entire lives.This gift I treasure mostis the gift of friendship.

No carbon copyBY KAT TURNBULL Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School

When I think about the fact that who you are changes the way you’re treated, I can literally feel steam coming out of my ears. If a guy likes other guys, he’s looked down upon, trod upon, and made to feel that he is worthless and sinful by society.

If a girl realizes that she is a boy inside, she’s told to “stop looking for attention” and to “go kill yourself.”

The idea that someone has to be a carbon copy of everyone else, and not who they really are, is so messed up and wrong, and when they are being who they are, they’re shamed for it. Over time, someone who has opinions about what is right and wrong is reduced to a nobody who mutters, “I don’t know,” when asked a question in class, because they don’t want to be made fun of for having knowledge that others don’t.

Because someone is born female in India, she’s worth less than the boy living next door. If you believe in Allah, people call you a terrorist. People judge before they know and force their thoughts on oth-

who they are yet. In kindergarten, you’re told to clean up

your own mess and work things out with others, yet I don’t see the real world fol-lowing those rules.

Gritting teethBY CONNOR HERRIDGE Grade 6, Browns River Middle School

All people have pet peevesand everyone’s is unique. Some people hate crumpling leaves;others hate when people’s wet shoes squeak.I personally hate the sound of gritting teeth;it’s like knives rubbing together,a knife without a sheath.I’ll hate that sound forever.I also hate a high-pitched buzz;it isn’t in the least hazy.I don’t like too much ear pressure because it hurts my ears like crazy.Scratching on a chalkboard may bother you;it doesn’t bother me.Though the sound of Styrofoam I do hate.I wish I could let it free.These are only some of my dislikes;I have many, many more to say.I also hate some kinds of sights,but I will leave those for another day.

The windBY JACK FISHMANGrade 4, The Renaissance School

When I run in the wind, I feel free. It hits me with such force that it almost knocks me over.

I jump over a rock. I feel happiness run through me. I am thinking, “What would it

I sit down by a cherry tree. I fall asleep. -

ming, but it’s not hard.I see birds in the distance. Happiness is a true gift of love, family,

and friendship—and the wind is what takes me there.


WIN $100 WORTH OF PRIZES!For prompts and more info, go to youngwritersproject.org/garden.


www.vcgn.org

NEXT PROMPT

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? Alter-nate: Fear. What is your biggest fear or worry? Tell a story about how you worry, or how it affects your actions. Due Feb. 28.

THIS WEEK: Myth & General


Special thanks this week toBIRDSEYE 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, vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Myth: Create the next urban legend; and General writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

NEXT PROMPT

Question. Ask any famous person (dead or alive) one question. Who is this person? What is the question and what is the answer? Alternate: Disas-ter. Ever have one of those days, start

or do leads to disaster? Write about it. Due Feb. 21

What do you see?BY MARLEY TIPPER

The door opened and a thousand

wafted into my ears.

-

-

buds.


WRITE TO ONE OF THESE PROMPTS AND WIN $100

WORTH OF PRIZES!

3. Tell a story about an event that

April 4 $50 in cash and a $50

-

-mont Community Garden Network.

How to submit:youngwritersproject.

org -

DUE: MARCH 20

(FIRST DAY OF SPRING!)

www.vcgn.org

© Kevin Huang / Burlington High School

The vicious ghostBY MARIA CHURCH

woods a little past the hay.”

-

Dark cornerBY ANTONIO PUGLIESE

(In the style of Langston Hughes)

A runaway with no home to return to,

A book unread,

A joke not said.So what is it like, loneliness?

YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER

ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK

BY MADISON SMITH

Janie washed up on land. Hair whipped

Eyes bluer than the tears that poured out

As she stood, her eyes shut. She turned

peeked their heads out, and soon, every-

moved with every wave. Eyes red, just star-

seen the kind on a shark. The upper half had human hands. One held a trident. The

jolted more and more. Her lips quaked and

lifted her hand to wipe the tears that she

then rubbed. She was sure this was a

up and slowly swam towards them. They

jewels on her head, and her tail appeared.

permanent slumber of mermaid life. She nodded, and swam fast into the air. She was free, and ruler.

The tail of transformation



THIS WEEK: Perspective




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, vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompt, Perspective: Tell a story from the perspective of something unconventional (dog,

Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Moon danceBY GABRIELLO LEWISGrade 8, Homeschool, Burlington

The moon sat and watched the universe in his eternal dance,bored with his purpose.He could see every ant and every bee.He could see the trees breathe,but he was bored.The moon had been there,orbiting the earth since he was created.Not once had earth even talked to him,except to laugh at him when the humans

orbited her.The only other time the earth talked to him or even glanced at him,was to rant in anger.Then one day,

his surfaceto learn his secrets,she looked at him,

or mockery.It was love.

Life as a dogBY HAILEY CHASEGrade 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.

VERMONT WRITES DAY

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE STOPS

WHAT THEY’RE 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

Best pal © Audrey Dawson/Essex High School

AppreciateBY OLIVIA HUNTGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

Sometimes people don’t appreciate me. They look at me and think, “Oh, that’s pretty.”

So then they pick me up and take me home.

They put me in a jar of cold water in a warm room and then forget about me.

Every time they come back into the warm room where I am sitting in that jar of cold water they notice I look a little worse each time.

Do they bother to feed me?! Oh no. They just say, “What a shame. It was so pretty.”

Here I am dying, for goodness’ sake! And after a week or so when I am almost dead, but not quite, they throw me out! They can’t stand the sight of me!

If their brother was dying, I don’t think they would throw him out onto the curb into the hot, hot, hot sun.

The sun was slowly frying me as I lay there on the curb; I could feel the rays pen-etrating deep into my body.

Whenever someone walked by, they thought, “Oh what a shame, it was so pretty.”

I didn’t see any of them putting me to rest in the nice, soft, safe ground. No one did anything to save me and no one will do anything now that I am dead.

I say again, people need to appreciate me a little bit more.

Flowers are people, too, you know!

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

-ing, and the 3rd and 4th lines rhyming. Use humor. Due Feb. 14



CementBY REBECCA WHITEGrade 8, Winooski Middle School

I get walked on every single day.I’m dense, almost unbreakable.Sometimes I crack.Sometimes snow covers me,but it’s usually cleaned up.Everybody relies on me.I am needed.Nobody really thinks about me;nobody knows the things I see every day, from crashes to kills. The footsteps pound on me, the cars drive on me, the bikes ride over me.But I just lie here and take it all in. Until I crack.

needed.But I feel hurt.

RaindropBY CLARE MAXWELLGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

“Oh me, oh my, I have just fallen from the sky!” Splat, I hit the ground and break into small, wet pieces. Boing, I bounce around on the cold, gray sidewalk.

“My goodness, can’t I ever travel through this god-forsaken town, and not get stepped on?”

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop drip drop drip.The sounds of scared and joyful voices

come from above me, and I look up to see more raindrops falling from the sky. There are so many: dripping off buildings, falling off roofs, so many I cannot count. Drip drop, drip drop. Splash! “Ouch!” I blurt, eyes wide. “Oh, sorry ‘bout that ma’am, didn’t see ya there.” I rub my head in disgust. Splash, splash, splash. People these days, they just can’t help themselves from jumping around in puddles, unscrupulous, it is. A woman and child walk by, the girl splashing in the puddle; I bob in the wind of the child’s motion.

A man in a suit walks by and complains about the weather and about his new suit getting stained. He complains about his phone, the newest generation, he adds.

Floating through the rainwater, I see a

jumping and splashing. She is smiling and joyful, and well dressed for the weather: raincoat, boots, and all. I’ve been trying to decide who or what I would fasten myself to and follow for the day. My day starts when I fall from the sky, and it ends when I rise back up again. I cling to make my day interesting, fun, to pass time. When I lay eyes on her, I think I want to stay with her my whole life. She is so carefree and happy, she’s the shine of the rain.

Harley’s adventureBY HANNAH ERBGrade 5, Browns River Middle School

Who’s at the door? Who’s at the door? Are they going to hurt me or my family? Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! They’re telling me stuff I don’t understand. Help, help!

“Harley, it’s OK. It’s my friends. They brought their dog,” the humans say, but all I get out of that is, “Harley, OK, friends, dog.”

After, the humans give me a treat. I sniff cautiously and take it, because that’s me. I’m a dog. Why wouldn’t I take it?


ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK.CHECK IT OUT!

YOUNG TRADITIONSHOWCASE

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-

Young Tradition and YWP.

More info at youngtraditionvermont.org

THIS WEEK: Home & Cold




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred 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, Home: What are you most proud of in your hometown or state?; and Cold: What is the coldest you’ve ever been? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Vermont © Sophia Cannizzaro/Homeschool, West Glover

Green MountainsBY CHANDLER BRANDESGrade 11, South Burlington High School

The leaves falling from the treesThe yellows, oranges, and redsTrying to pick the best pumpkins and applesAnd sipping fresh apple ciderThe snow falling from the skyThe blues, whites, and greysSkiing fast down the mountainAnd drinking hot chocolateThe rain dripping from the cloudsThe greens, blues, and yellowsTapping maple treesAnd enjoying maple syrupThe gorgeous sunsets at duskThe pinks, purples, and orangesSailing and swimming in Lake ChamplainAnd eating Ben & Jerry’sThe mountains standing proudThe lake standing strongThe greens, blues, and silversThis is Vermont, the place I call my home

BY ELIZABETH MENARD

My home. I’m so proud of it. Every-thing 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 neighbor. 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 comfortable 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.

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 everybody owns a four-wheeler or snow-mobile.

That roads aren’t even the beginning of where we travel.

I’m so proud that I call this place home.

Vermont.

What I like most

BY SATHVIK KANUPARTHIGrade 6, Albert D. Lawton School

I am proud of my hometown and my state for the food, maple products, ski resorts and fall colors.

I am proud of my mom’s curries, chicken, turkey and many more.

I am also proud of ski resorts like Stowe, Smuggs, Killington, Sugarbush, Bolton Valley, Okemo!

I think the reason so many people come here in the fall is because of the fall colors. They might come here and see colors of leaves they have never seen before! That would be exciting, in my opinion.

VERMONT WRITES DAY THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13

THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE STOPS WHAT THEY’RE DOING FOR

SEVEN MINUTES – AND WRITES!

Go to youngwritersproject.org for more details.

ColdestBY REBECCA WHITEGrade 8, Winooski Middle School

Right as those painful words slipped out of my mouth,I knew.Wanting to take back every syllable,hating the way my mouth moved smoothly to form the words. My heart felt ice cold;it was a terrible mistake and what’s done is done. I could say sorry,though it would not take away what we remember. I shouldn’t have even thought it;I shouldn’t have let it in my head. But I did,I let all the rage and anger into my head. And it had nothing else to do but burst.And I hate myself for that,I hate myself for not being strong enough to stop it. I never wanted to hurt someone. But unfortunately that damage has already been done. I am just another cold-hearted, worthless jerk. That’s the coldest I’ve ever felt.

PerseveranceBY ALDEN RANDALLGrade 6, Charlotte Central School

I was on the chair lift with an inch of

I wasn’t going to quit. I hopped off the chair lift, barely able

to ski. I was so cold. I unclipped out of my skis and did some jumping jacks. I felt slightly better. I reclipped back into my skis and off I went.

The snow came slicing into my face like little blades. I took a tight turn and dropped into the woods. It was much warmer and there was tons of snow.

I launched off a little cliff with the snow

skis. I gained a sudden surge of joy and started to forget that I was cold. I started to

100 miles per hour. Then the line of people came into view.

I saw the chair lift and got into line. I thought to myself, “Oh, here we go again.” But I persevered.

NEXT PROMPTS

Contrast. Develop the theme of contrast, using hope versus despair, in poetry or prose. Alternate: Senses. Describe entering a room full of people using every sense except sight. Due Feb. 7

Sunrise in StoweBY SAM CLARKGrade 8, Stowe Middle School

The thing about my hometown that I’m most proud of is the beautiful sunrise you can see every morning from almost

every morning to look out the window and appreciate the beautiful landscape.

The sun peeking just over the top of the mountains and through the clouds creates a glow that illuminates the horizon and shines warm orange beams of light onto land while making the sky look heavenly.

The valley at the foot of the mountains

island on a sea of fog. The warm sunlight

elegant shadows through the window and on the ground. Everything is silent and still, and there’s a slight chill outside.

Sunrises in Stowe are one of the rea-sons that I love to live here and I think they make waking up early really worth it.

THIS WEEK: Fairytale & General




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best in this and other newspapers around the state. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Fairytale: Create an eighth dwarf for the Snow White story; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

Shadow face (acrylic painting) © Erin Bundock/Champlain Valley Union High School

Shadow faceBY ERIN BUNDOCKGrade 10, Champlain Valley UnionHigh School

I see in shapesof orange and blueand they fall down my facein violent huesthat leak to my limbs

palmsand in to my heartwhere I store all my psalms.

NEXT PROMPTS

Trapped. You are trapped in an elevator with the most annoying person in the world. Tell us what happens. Do not name anyone or describe someone who can

Alternates: Comic strip. Design a comic strip and submit it as a picture; or General writing in any genre. Due Jan. 31

Contrast. Develop the theme of contrast, using hope versus de-spair, in poetry or prose. Alternate: Senses. Describe entering a room full of people using every sense except sight. Due Feb. 7

The eighth oneBY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Sleepy and Sneezy snored softly as the wind blew around their wooden home.

Grumpy lay snoring loudly and groan-ing in his sleep.

Dopey and Happy lay perfectly in the center of their warm beds.

Bashful and Doc were up still playing cards.

Their glasses of rum were halfway

that the empty bottle that lay on its side on the table had recently been full.

Bashful and Doc began to snooze off in their seats; the cards slipped from their hands.

blue peered into the home. Yellow hair hung short on her head and her hands were sticky.

The dwarf snuck into the quietly sleep-ing house and sat down.

Happy was awakened to a very loud slurping noise.

He groaned and sat up. He blinked his eyes and then jumped out of his bed, tum-bling off the other end and landing on the

He heard giggling near him and he caught a whiff of licorice.

“Hi! I’m Candy!” said the smaller dwarf.

She was sucking on a bright red lollipop and giggling at Happy’s clumsy stare.

She helped Happy up and stared at him.“Hmmm ...” she said, looking him over.

“You need to be happier!” She reached into her green bag and

pulled out a long piece of licorice. She wrapped it around Happy’s head

like a crown. “He-he, that’s better,” she said sin-

cerely. Happy stared at her, still sleepy, and

then bounced up! “Hi! I’m Happy! Let’s be friends!”Candy stared at him in wonder and then

bounced up, too. The rest of the dwarves woke to:

“We’re friends! We’re friends!”

MeanyBY LUCI YOUNGGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

My name is Meany – I am always very rude, angry, and usually very mean.

My favorite food is chili peppers. They are very spicy and hot, and remind me of myself sometimes, how they burn as you swallow them. They’re delicious.

Snow White and I are the worst of friends. She is too nice to be a part of the family! Always helping my siblings out, extremely too willing.

Why, if she were like me, rude, unhelp-ful, angry, then, just like me, the other dwarves would be scared of her, and she would always get what she wanted!

VERMONT WRITES DAY THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13

The day when everyone stops what they’re doing for justseven minutes – and writes!

Go to youngwritersproject.org for more details.

To young poetsBY ZEKE BENSHIRIM Grade 12, Homeschool, Williston

O Poet! on your poet’s soul, do not write with ease!Write in blood with gritted teeth; write from on your knees.Earn a Muse’s visit on a dim-lit, toiling night

you write.Yon a dancer stumbles, clad in bloody shoes and sweat,From her thirtieth rehearsal—the most demanding yet—Of sixty to prepare her for some secondary part. Can you look her in the face and claim you work to make your art?Don’t write so casually, I say! Take a little care!

altar whereyou toss a bite of candy bar, and fancy that you paysuch homage as did Sappho, Shelley, Cum-mings, or Millay.Only, on your poet’s life, do not write with ease!Write in blood — and spare your words! Do not write to please!Learn your poem is bad, and try to see that it’s absurd,

a better word.Ice encasementBY AVERY MCLEANGrade 8, Lake Champlain Waldorf School

I’m caught in a web of coldness that freezes like a lonely child. It appears I’ve left my courage behind, though I’ve lost track of the path I’m fol-lowing. In a sky of grey, I sing to the darkness,embrace the feverish hope that I may see again. It’s a sad day when my eyes are blind enough that I can’t see your face.I want to drown out the happiness and wal-low in misery. I know I am at fault here, don’t bother try-ing to comfort me.

I’ll reach for the sky,break through the encasement of ice that

-tences. I’m beginning the thaw, I suppose.



THIS WEEK: Inspiration & Photo 3


Special thanks this week toAMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire 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 prompts, Inspiration: Describe your muse; and Photo 3. 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.

Winter’s warBY CHARLOTTE KHAMNEI

“The queen! She’s coming!” says my partner, Codiac, as he ducks down, block-ing a gale of frost.

“Her army is too strong! We’ll never make it,” I say, losing all hope.

I look around and realize that Codiac and I are the last ones.

Her army of frost is attacking harder and harder by the second.

Codiac and I do our routines that Ser-geant Johnny Jump-up taught us in order to

Codiac just barely misses a gun shot

of his gun, causing it to freeze and shatter on the cold, hard ground. He falls to the ground from the force of the bullet, drops his stem, and stares into my eyes. The way he looks into my eyes as he lays on the frosted ground covered in broken trees and crisp white snow makes me feel like there’s a grenade in my stomach, getting ready to explode.

I turn to the harsh winds, squint trying

Hiver’s face that looks like it’s made out of crystals. It’s carved like an ice sculpture. It is carved with such angles. Her eyes are like turquoise jewels that are complement-

Codiac starts to get up, shielding himself with his stem. I am running out

squinting with one eye, locking her gaze with the other.

All I can hear are the thoughts in my head and the screams of winter.

It’s up to me now. I can feel Codiac giving me one last look. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell his mouth is slightly open as if he is trying to say something as he blocks harsh winds.

I focus my eyes one more time. I take my shot. The winds stop. The snow starts

It’s spring, ending the once never-end-ing winter.

Garden gnomesBY KAT TURNBULL

Someone goes down on the other side, and the ones behind the barricade share a smile as they reload their guns.

Petals tiptoe to the ground as the trigger bounces back and forth.

Gentle tugBY DUNCAN SHEFFER

I feel a gentle tap, tap-tapping at my shoul-der,a showing of things unknown, pointing onwardto new horizons, and places to go and see.Turning, I walk onward to the new places unseen,untouched by the likes of people like me.I feel a gentle tug, a turning towards the tug,a beckoning to go and see, to watch and feel,to be shown what is wondrous and whatcannot be compared to the wonderful and fantastic.I, who walk, see the world of wonder.I notice a soft pushing, an urgent summons,sending me towards a new path to follow.New passions take hold and wonder sinks in,making a want and thirst for a newfound obsession,carving a new memory, a new store of knowledge.

Swiftly foreverBY MORGAN LISKA

ask me all the time why I love Taylor Swift so much, and until recently I didn’t know the answer either.

Then I thought that when I was going

times, I always listened to her music. Never once has it not gotten my spirits up, her blissful, sweet, amazing songs, all written by herself.

The way that Taylor Swift treats people

person I have heard of. She didn’t get treated like that, yet she

loves to share her warm, graceful, nice personality with every person she meets.

She never gave up on her dream, and that, in itself, is inspiring. When she was

rejected, spit at, and shunned, but she never gave up. Taylor Swift is fearless, sassy, and witty ...

Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org.

The little thingsBY CHANDLER BRANDES

It’s the little things in life that inspire me. It’s the friendly wave hello, the laugh of a friend, and the encouragement from a teammate that make me aspire to be a bet-ter person, a better student, a better athlete.

Simply enjoying the small things in life makes you realize how lucky you truly are.

Inspiration, no matter where it comes from, allows new doors to be opened, to break down barriers into a world of endless possibilities. It’s amazing the implausible

Inspiration is all around us, everywhere we look. All we have to do is open our eyes and let the wonder seep in.

NEXT PROMPTS

Elements. What do you think is the strongest and/or most beautiful force in nature? Tell a story about it. Alternate: Disappointed. Look-ing forward to something is often the best part. Write about a time where your expectations weren’t quite met. Due Jan. 24

THIS WEEK: Magic & General




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in newspa-pers around the state. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Magic: Describe a magical moment or feeling you’ve experienced; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Paper cranes © Kevin Huang/Burlington High School

In the eveningBY AUDREY DAWSONGrade 9, Essex High School

In the eveningthe sun stretchesand opens his mouth wide,allowing the last breadth of lightto blanket the land.His arms reach out

to tuck in the multicolored houseswith dining families,and they retreat again.Then the land is covered in shadows;with one last energetic leap,the sun throws to Eartha satin pillow with which to rest on ... until ...the sun peeks over the horizon,jolts the Earth to life,and wrenches its pillow awaylike an impatient puppy.

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 new writing award sponsored by the Calvin Coolidge Foundation. Con-gratulations to the writers!

Calvin Coolidge(Library of Congress)

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!

The hidden keyBY CEILIDH KIEGLE Grade 6, Browns River Middle School

The hidden key

holds magic.

that all is well.

Mason jars and heart linesBY ERIN BUNDOCKGrade10, Champlain Valley High School

One morning, we collected stars in mason jarsbefore dawn.Your palms pressed against the thick glass as you held agalaxy to my face and told me their countenancewas of coal dust besidemine. And one evening, my arms were wrapped andtrapped by yours so thatI couldn’t keep mystride. And in one moonless moment, you slipped your hands to mycheeks as you whispered,“Darling, you’re much too sweet for this sky. The universe spun a web by the strings in our chests. And I am enraptured,I would say,in a way which I spent my day with you in my head.”And in one faultless beat, you pulled me close to you, and a web formed betweenusas our heart linesspun away.

FlyingBY ABIGAIL FAIRHURSTGrade 5, Shelburne Community School

The cool breeze of magical leaves lifted me off my feet. I soared through the air. I saw my teacher giving me the evil eye.

“Hello Mrs. Myette,” I yelled. “I’m

I felt like I had no gravity. Goosebumps covered my back. It was freezing in this beautiful blue crystal sky. I looked down and saw my house; I looked closer and saw my mother sprawled on the green grass sobbing because she thought I was lost and would never come back.

I realized family is more important than having outstanding magical powers because I would rather lose magical powers than family, so I swooped from the sky to my mother and father.

All my magic is gone now, but my fam-ily isn’t.

A gust of windBY ZORA STEWARTGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

The mystery of magic will never be known to the people of this place, obtuse and thickly minded as we are, caught up in life’s murderous fruition and her leering lies of love and loss and languidly locking away the fears that could be good for us.

The tingling sensation felt in a gust of wind might be pushed away to the farthest corner of the mind, without a second, or

-ity in a gesture so easily dismissed, left forlorn and broken in a distant world of maybe’s; the “what if’s” left behind and lost, a waste of time and effort to all who consider such a “useless” thing as wonder.

Belief in what can be manifested and sum-moned up by hatred and fear are merely a piece of possibility and false intuition at its worst.

UnderwaterBY ALEXANDRA CONTRERAS-MONTESANOGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

I am surrounded by crackling dry

green patches, each one swarmed by an as-

Straying away from those patches (I do not like the idea of being stung), I wallow my feet in the itchy grass, assuring my toes and legs that relief will soon embrace them.

A naive smile is placed on all our faces as we trudge through the meadow. As we near the steep, roughly cut wooden steps, we begin to hear a roaring and the drag of gravelly sand under our feet. Hanging on to the rail and daintily stepping down, I shimmy down the steps, eager for what is ahead.

As I round the bend I come to the river. Ah! The cool sparkling river. Without hesitating, I pull off my skirt and reveal my pink bathing suit. Swinging my hair into a messy ponytail, I step in. Snapping my goggles on, I take a deep breath and dive.

This, this is the instant, when time stands still and we open our eyes underwa-ter, relieving ourselves to a different world, time and space. This is the magic. The tiny amount of time that we take no notice to, the shimmer, glimmer, or even slight intake of bubbles where you believe that all is possible.

NEXT PROMPT

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 (see youngwritersproject.org). Due Jan. 17

THIS WEEK: Excerpt & General


Special thanks this week toLANGWATER FAMILY

FOUNDATION


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire 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 Gen-eral writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Shepherd’s prayerBY LYDIA SMITHGrade 10, Homeschool, Charlotte

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.

Amen.

Born from the mountainsBY ABHI DODGSONGrade 6, Mater Christi School

wall of water onto the dirty streetswashing the roadsides, cleansing them until

I am from the juice of coconuts that tastes so sweet

water

I am from the hot sweet-tasting tea

leaf bedsI am from the highest mountainsWhere the oxygen is thin and harder to breathe

Valerie, a crossbred yearling ewe © Lydia Smith

AbandonedBY KAT TURNBULLGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

and races over the barren land.

Everyone left this place, but a few

But soon, none will live here.

The red is not very bright anymore,and the words,“Long Live the Romanovs” sing asad and lonely song.

NEXT PROMPTS

Myth. eerie, funny or outrageous. Alternates: Funny. Write a poem or story

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

AliveBY JEREMY BROTZGrade 9, Burlington High School

feel. But inside, things were always moving.

they lit up the world for him. Even though he couldn’t move his

He couldn’t feel or move his legs, but

brilliant in his head. But when he turned 21, something

changed.

was free. Then, all at once, he was alive, and he

was sitting up straighter, moving his body

able to before. “Soon he was sobbing deeply and, at

the same time, laughing and saying how great it felt to be crying.” (From“Your Sixth Sense” by Belleruth Naparstek)

And he marveled at his own voice as his family crowded around him, crying and laughing, too.



© Bailey Kimball/Essex High School, 2013

Powerful horseBY SAMMIE BLACKMOREGrade 5, The Renaissance School

“He appeared to be a giant rider mounted on a powerful horse.”

My heart almost stopped. Just last

Rider. I still picture her ferocious, gleaming

dancing on her usually serene features.The stomping of metal-tipped boots

-

twisted around my arms.

The last thing I remembered was trip-ping over the root of a Paulownia tree root

The deserted roadBY CATIE MCCAULEYGrade 5, The Renaissance School

I stood alone on the deserted road.

world was sleeping, and I was the only be-

The silence seemed to have its own calling, breathing softly into the night.

“Just then, the monstrous shadow moved to the middle of the road,” as I was calm and still.

It was slowly but surely approaching.

come. And I stood alone on the deserted road.

BHS STUDENTS REPORT ON RACIAL JUSTICE

Read Burlington High School stu-dents’ account of a public discussion

We Can Do Better, sponsored by the City of Burlington and Partnership for

YWP and teacher David Lamberti to cover the event at the ECHO Center. See their stories and photos at young-writersproject.org.

Spooky forestBY CHARLIE HARDERGrade 5, The Renaissance School

“The twisted limbs of the tulip tree groaned and swayed in the wind,” as I

I was very scared.

shadow. I heard rustling amongst the leaves. I

-ture with large sharp teeth.

I began sprinting for my life and soon I was out of the forest. I was safe.

BY ANDERS KLINKENBERGGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

day. People say that I was a giant who lay down one day and was covered by an even layer of earth.

I have a forehead, a nose, shoulders, lips, a chin, and an Adam’s apple, all of

I have many trails running down me. I

THIS WEEK: Winter Tales




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present local pieces that were selected for Winter Tales to be performed by the Vermont Stage Company until Sunday at FlynnSpace.

NEXT PROMPTS

Perspective. Tell a story from the perspective or viewpoint of some-

a mountain, etc. Alternate: Rant. Send us your best rant, something that ticks you off. Note: No real names or situations

Make it a slam poem if you’d like. And feel free to create a podcast. Due Dec. 13



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Sam Robinson/Essex High School, 2013

VERMONT STAGE COMPANY

PRESENTS

WINTER TALESDEC. 4-8

FLYNNSPACE, BURLINGTONwww.vtstage.org

This year’s holiday show features16 YWP writers, including the

local students on this page.

Late autumn BY KAT TURNBULL Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School

The apple falls with a quiet thud onto frost-ridden ground.

A hand, old and wrinkled, picks it up and turns it over. The grey man’s eyes crinkle with delight as he takes a bite of late fall.

He smiles as he gingerly places his cane on the trunk of the fruit tree, apple still in hand.

Slowly, he lowers himself down onto the frozen grass, beaming. He loves late autumn.

On the iceBY ANAYA MORALESGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

At the rink,I lace up my skatesand I almost fall over with the new feeling of walking around with ice skates.My ankles are wobbly and I almost fall.My eyes are wideand I am preparing myself

I’m actually going in that“accident waiting to happen”they call a rink.I start w-a-d-d-l-i-n-gslowly.

Am I sure I can do this?I step out onto the ice,feeling minuscule.I instantly grab the walland almost slip on thatcold, hard, scary-looking ice.And then I realize,I FORGOT A CRATE! I try to edge my hand awayfrom the wall holding me and before I know it,THUMP!I’m on my butt.But I get up and try again.

ShovelingBY CAMERON GUNTULISGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

I look out the window.Another snowstormhas come. I go outsidewith my shovel.My dog Lucy is behindme, poking my legwith her nose,telling me to shovel faster.I scoop up a big pile of snow.Looking at Lucy,I throw it to the side.I look at Lucy and say, “Happy?”She nudges meagain.Impatient, she dodges around me, running for the woods.I look at her jumping in the snow;

up and down.I laugh so hard.I keep on shoveling untilmy back and arms hurt.I fall to the ground,looking at the sky.Lucy bounds backand licks my facewith her slimy slobber.I smile andwe go for a walk.

IciclesBY ISHA GURUNGGrade 4, Thomas Fleming School

One cold iciclefalls,shatters.The icicle next to itlooks sadas ifthe other onewas its friend.But one month later,another one appearsand they arevery happy,as if that was histrue friend.

First sign of winterBY SIMRAN PADGETTGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

The way the snow falls upon my eyelashes, the way the cold tickles my nose,

The wind may nip at my neck or the sun may start to hide, but that is not winter yet; winter may be cold, windy, and snowy but that is just its outer shell;lots of people think that winter is gruesome and horrendous,but once it shows its power, it turns kind, quiet.Winter is cold but it also gives me warmth in my heart.The way the snow falls upon my eyelashes, the way the cold tickles my nose,

Winter’s majesty BY ZORA STEWART Grade 7, Edmunds Middle School

His ship made from ice and haleSlow yet strong and in no hurryCaught within a galeHe watches as the birds take wingAcross the frosted skyThis is the time when he is king Though quickly will his time go byCrystal fog and downy gauzeHe lays on top the groundHe tears the wind with frozen clawsSinging with a ghostly soundA dark mysterious rulerWho reigns with majestyNo man could be much cruelerNo man could be as free

The winter fairyBY ANI KRAMERGrade 6, Charlotte Central School

As I glance over my shoulderand hear tiny cries for help,

falling to the ground.But wait,

that glistens in the shy sun?For the voice that I hear

As it falls to the ground, the voice becomes clearer.I see a beautiful fairydressed all in white, her voice like a bell,saying simply, “Help! For I have fallen to the ground!”I pick her up carefully, not to crush her wings.

with a sling.Some carry hopeful faces, while some look horribly grim.They pick up the tiny fairy and carry her awayto wherever their path takes them.But here I will have to stay.

Winter haiku BY HAJI HAJI Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School

Ice-cold snowy windMy African blood freezesDreams of Kenyan sun

THIS WEEK: Thanks


Special thanks this week toVERMONT COUNTRY STORE


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around 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

DismantlingBY GABRIELLO LEWISGrade 8, Homeschool, Burlington

One Thursday, when I was volunteer-ing at Outreach For Earth Stewardship, my mentor Craig and I had to remove a faulty perch from the red-tailed hawk aviary.

When we entered the small clearing in the middle of the woods where the aviar-ies are, we walked directly to the red tails’ aviary.

Once inside the aviary, we started to undo the bolts that held the 300-pound piece of wood and cast iron that made up the perch on the walls of the aviary, but we soon found out that we needed a ladder.

So Craig climbed a rickety ladder, on a slope, on a bed of gravel. It was like some-thing out of an Abbott and Costello comedy routine, because every time he leaned, even slightly, the ladder would almost tip over.

As Craig was undoing the last bolt, I walked to the far side of the aviary to be away from the perch when it fell, but in-stead I found that one of the male red tailed hawks thought that I was encroaching on

backed away and decided it would be better to stand closer to the perch.

When Craig got the last bolt out, we waited for the perch to come crashing down. But instead it stayed there as if sus-pended. Craig inspected it and found that two screws were still holding it in place.

Ten minutes later we were back in the aviary with a drill. As Craig was reaching over to take the correct bit from me, the ladder almost fell over (again), and I was so worried that he would fall off and break his neck that I rushed over there and grabbed the ladder to hold it still, even though Craig had told me to stay away from the perch.

When the last screw came out, we again waited for the perch to come crashing down. Instead, like before, it stayed in the same position.

After another check, we discovered that there was a smaller bolt, right in the center, holding it up.

Both of us searched our pockets for the ratchet, but we had left it in the building when we got the drill. So after another 10 minutes we returned to the aviary.

As soon as Craig was again on the lad-der, I moved to the far side of the aviary, forgetting what had happened with the one red tail. I suddenly heard a whooshing sound behind me and turned around.

vision as he came swooping toward me, talons outstretched.

mouse, frozen in terror and awe, when a bird is after you. I suddenly remembered to duck, but I could still feel the wind, gener-ated by the hawk’s wings, as it sailed only inches above my head.

Just after I stood up, a crash shook the

hawks in the aviary. I was so thankful that Craig didn’t fall

off the ladder and break his neck and that we were able to remove the perch.

As Craig and I walked up the hill, I looked back to see one of the red tails look-ing at me regally out of the corner of its golden eye.

My celloBY ZANIPOLO LEWISGrade 5, Homeschool, Burlington

I love music. Ever since I was born, I’ve loved music. Almost nine years ago, when I was still a baby, my brother started on the violin. As soon as I heard music, I wanted to play an instrument; I wanted to play the violin, too. But my mom said she wanted me to play a different instrument.

When I was 3, she said I only had to take cello lessons for a few months, and I reluctantly gave in. A few months went by. Then a year. I realized I couldn’t stop — I loved the cello, and I knew it was the right instrument for me.

I thought my teacher, Anne Brown (we called her Mrs. Brown), was a grumpy grouch, but by the third year I knew I loved her as my teacher. Seven years went by. I learned one piece of music after another.

Then I heard Mrs. Brown and my mom talking about moving on to another teacher. I only had a few months left with Mrs. Brown so I prepared a good-bye present, because that is what we do when we leave our music teachers. I wrote a cello duet called “Farewell.” I made her an origami cat face and bought her a bag of dark mint crunch chocolates from Lake Champlain Chocolates (because those are her favorite). Mrs. Brown took us to dinner and then it was time to leave her.

A week later I was going to my new teacher, John Dunlop. Now I am with him and having a wonderful music experience.

I have been playing the cello for seven years and hope there is a good future for me in music. I love my cello and I am so, so grateful for it.

Thanks for my momBY MYKALA O’FARRELLGrade 6, Williston Central School

I have many things that I am thankful for. I am thankful for my house, for food and many more things. But if I could pick one thing that I am most thankful for, it would be my mom.

I am thankful for my mom for so many reasons. She puts a smile on my face all the time. My mom makes me laugh so much that I can’t stop laughing. I am also thank-ful for her because she helps me with many things. She helps me with my homework and other things, too. She also teaches me right from wrong. I honestly do not know where I would be without my mom. My mom makes me see the good in everything even when sometimes it is hard to.

My mom is kind, generous, loving, funny and much more. I am also thankful for my mom because she has taught me to give 110 percent no matter what.

I am so very thankful for my mom because, like I said, I do not know where I would be without her in my life!

© Laura Cavazos/Essex High School

ThankfulBY ABIGAIL FAIRHURSTGrade 5, Shelburne Community School

“Can you please pass the potatoes, Uncle Allen?”

Our Thanksgiving dinner looked like a dream: there were mashed potatoes as white as snow; there was perfectly cooked turkey; and there was sweet-as-sugar apple pie.

“Before everyone starts chowing down on this glory, we must say what we are

thankful for,” my dad said. Now this was hard. The mothers said

they were thankful for this family. The fathers said they were thankful for our community.

And then everyone stared at me. It was my turn to say what I was thankful for and I said it. “I, as in Abigail Fairhurst, am thankful for our world.”

whole house. Quieting everyone down, my dad said, “Let’s eat!”

My food tasted much better with me telling what I was thankful for.

NEXT PROMPTS

Cold. What is the coldest you’ve 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 (see youngwritersproject.org). Due Dec. 6

YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

HAS A FEATURED WRITER

ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK.



NEXT PROMPTS

Magic. There is magic all around us, but people often don’t recognize it. Sometimes it comes in the form of a coincidence or two paths that cross. Describe a magical moment or feeling that you have experienced. Alternate: Home. What is it about your home-town or your state that you are most proud of? Due Nov. 29

Cold. What is the coldest you’ve ever felt? Describe it. Alternates: Optimist. Think of your worst – sad-dest, 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: Secret lives


Special thanks this week toMAIN STREET LANDING


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in other newspapers around the state and vpr.net. This week we publish work in response to the prompt, Secret lives: You have another life that must remain hidden. Tell the story. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Julie Pearce/Essex High SchoolThe secret agentBY OLIVER HALBERGGrade 6, The Renaissance School

out from the woods on the side of the road and grabbed him. They all had masks that hid their faces.

“You’re a little early for Halloween,”

woods and tied him up. Then they dragged him through the woods behind them. His head struck a rock and he lost conscious-ness. Bob Smith was an agent for the CIA. These men must have found out his identity, but why had they captured him? He soon found out. When he woke up, he was in a cell.

“You’re awake,” said a cold and chill-ing voice from behind him. He turned around and saw ... Beep! Beep! Beep! His alarm clock shattered his dream and he woke up. He realized sadly that he wasn’t a CIA agent after all. He got out of bed and got dressed.

Ding-dong! The doorbell rang. Two men were standing there. “We’re from the CIA,” said one. “Have you considered working for us?”

Cowboy hats and spies in VermontBY ISABEL VIVANCOGrade 6, Edmunds Middle School

I walked around town with a smile on my face and nothing to worry about. Except for one thing: I was being followed.

until you lie dead in your grave. I am a spy. I work for the U.S. government, tracking spies from Russia and East Germany or other countries that might want knowledge on the

On this particular day I was on no secret missions except that I needed to discretely tell my contact about a meeting we were having at HQ. The only problem was that I was being followed. Now, when I was in spy training, the skill I was most adept at was the art of disappearing. Every once in a while I would use one of my tricks, like immersing my-self in the crowd, or suddenly receding into a shop. But no matter how hard I tried today,

to my contact in code so it didn’t sound like I was giving out extremely important infor-mation. I quickly merged into the candy store where I would meet my contact, the owner. (Her code name was Mrs. Sweet.)

I turned around and saw two young men conversing in rapid Russian behind me. They

this environment, even if they tried ...Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/ 85986.

Two livesBY CHARLES CUSSON-DUCHARMEGrade 6, Winooski Middle School

I had a perfect life – a wife, a son and

happened and my life was ruined.Now I am doing something that I truly

loved as a kid – football. But I don’t know

my old family, they were in Japan and they said that Charlie Cusson-Ducharme (me) died in a bad car crash.

I tried to tell them that I was right in front of them, but before I knew it, I was back in Florida playing football for the Mi-ami Dolphins. I was playing quarterback. The second the game was over I was back in Japan trying to tell my wife that I was still alive. Then, she actually sat down and let me explain what had happened to me.

But before I was done telling her what was going on, I got zapped back to Florida and I left the stadium and got in my car and drove away to my penthouse and sat down to think about what was happen-

mirror and I was the famous quarterback Colin Kaepernick. I thought about it more and I realized that I had two lives...Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/86011.

I snuck out againBY SOPHIA ST. JOHN-LOCKRIDGEGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

The beach was calmer than most nights, the smell of seawater in the air. I was used to the smell, the burning sensation of salt water against my throat, the stinging in my

leaned back next to the reeds.I knew I wasn’t supposed to be out

here. I am not allowed to even leave the house after 8 p.m., but something makes me sneak out every night to watch the last

after the sunset is the best. Pitch dark sets in, and the only noise is the sound of the waves. The sand gets cool, and it gives me goose bumps even though I’m in a sweater.

I saw a boy running down the beach.“Sam?” I yelled, recognizing the way

he moved, his baggy clothes. It’s funny how after so long you know someone so well that their silhouette seems more famil-iar than the house you live in.

“Yeah. It’s me. I saw you out here from the window. Nobody came home again,” he replied.

“That sucks. You have Livvey with you, right?” Livvey was his little sister. Her real name was Olivia, but she couldn’t say it yet.

“I put her down for a nap,” he sighed. I could tell it was hard for Sam; he was always the only one home, and basically a father to Livvey. She called him daddy sometimes by mistake.

He sat next to me drawing faces in the sand. These were the moments when I knew I would be with him forever. We could sneak off and have secret lives on an island somewhere in the middle of no-where, where we could run to once Livvey was old enough to live on her own.

Rain started pouring down on us. It soaked our clothes, and we ran to my back porch. All the lights in our house were off, so everyone was asleep except for me. It was freezing and I shivered.

“Bye!” Sam yelled, running towards his house, tripping over the reeds like a dork, smiling at me and waving. Yep, we’ll never be apart.

THIS WEEK: Elder stories


Special thanks this week toNATIONAL LIFE GROUP


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here, in other news-papers and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Elder: Interview an older relative or friend and tell their story. More at youngwritersproj-ect.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Kevin Huang/Burlington High School

NanaBY CATIE MACAULEY Grade 5, The Renaissance School

There’s always a story behind every person in this world. For instance, if you saw my Nana in the street, you would merely see a kind looking, elderly lady. You would probably not think this was a woman who has changed lives. Well, guess what? You would be wrong.

My Nana’s name is Alma Jane Macau-ley, though she goes by Leila. She is 91 years old, which is amazing in itself, but what makes it even more remarkable is that she was lucky to even make it through her

This is where our story begins, in a simple farmhouse in South Florida, 1921, with no hospital nearby. This was a time when many babies died, even with a doctor on hand.

Early baby Alma Jane enters the world on Dec. 23, 1921. While her mother rests, she is very weak, weighing four pounds. Her grandmother puts her near a mildly heated wood stove just to keep her warm from the winter cold. She is very near death, but extraordinarily, she survives, and not only that, lives healthily without dis-abilities or diseases.

Flash forward to 1929 and the Great Depression. Alma’s family is bearing the brunt of it and is very poor. Still, cheer is in the air. A good example of this is that Alma and her brother Buddy cherish their one grape soda of the week and have contests to see who can make it last.

Straight after college, my Nana mar-ried her college sweetheart Bart Scharen-bak. But tragically, he was called to be a

three months, he passed away in a crash. My Nana met my grandpa in 1945 when she was in her third year of teaching high school English and they were wed. One year later, they had my dad. Together, they started two charities: Friends for Children and AmeriCares.

My grandparents have done amazing things. They once saved several hundred Vietnamese children from the war in Viet-nam, because most were almost dead or severely injured. They risked their money and home for some young people they had never met. After my grandpa passed away in 2010, Nana got lots of letters from these now adults, expressing their thanks.

Friends for Children is a wonderful charity, helping kids in need. My Nana didn’t have any workers when she started,

as a person, too. She is amazing.

Life is an adventureBY TAEGEN YARDLEY Grade 5, The Renaissance School

“Life is an adventure ... partake” This is one of the sayings that is engraved on the mirror in our living room.

when we are going to hike a mountain, going on a long bike ride, ski racing, or just going to school.

used to do adventure races.Before my parents were married, they used to participate in adventure races.

if you put your mind to it, you can do anything. There were seven events in the adventure race, which included mountain biking, run-

ning, kayaking, climbing, horseback riding, hiking and orienteering.

During the race, they experienced a lot of sleep deprivation. They only slept for a few hours on a couple of days during the eight-day race.

The temperatures varied from 85 degrees to 24 degrees at night. Roads and trails would just disappear, and they had to navigate through the very re-

mote and isolated areas. Their patience was challenged. My parents tell me that the race was as mentally challenging as it was physically.However, by working as a team, my parents overcame obstacles and they had a fun

time doing it. Life is an adventure, partake.

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 don’t recognize it. Some-times it comes in the form of a coinci-dence or two paths that cross. Describe a magical moment 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

Mom’s “wild, wild kingdom”BY GABRIELLO LEWISGrade 8, Homeschool, Burlington

One time my mother was in a small village in Zaire, and she was waiting in line to get on the boat that would take her down the Zaire River.

So my mother and her friend and traveling partner, Chris, had, earlier that

their tickets for the boat.

bribed to return their passports to them.When the boat got to the dock, the

gates were opened, and the crowd surged forward, all vying for a good spot on the boat, so that my mom wasn’t even walking on her own; she was being carried along by the throng.

the boat, they realized that it was actually two steamships and three barges tied together with ropes.

Sometimes the boats and barges would drift apart, and then they would come back together with a clang.

When my mom and Chris found a spot, it was on the second level of one of the boats and was near an albino man with a large growth on the top of his head.

No one else would get near him, so my mom and Chris set their sleeping bags near

that this man was really nice.Every day mom and Chris would

sit on top of the roof on the steamship and look over the Zaire River, which was as wide as Lake Champlain and surrounded by thick rain forest. Small native villages of thatch huts dotted the shores.

On the boats there were crocodiles tied by the snout and legs to the railings, bamboo cages of monkeys, dead and alive, and mounds of pineapples and bananas.

market. The electricity on the boat was used

only to keep the beer cold. Nothing else could be refrigerated; not even the Coca-Cola.

When the natives saw the boat coming, the men would put barter items in their dugout canoes and paddle furiously to the

alongside and attempt to tie onto the boat.They all looked like they would capsize, and some did.

The trip was supposed to take about three days, but instead it took one week.

And every second of it was wild.



THIS WEEK: Moon




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in other newspapers around the state and on vpr.net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompt, Moon: What’s on the dark side of the moon?

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 win-ter in short, fresh descriptive poetry or prose. Please avoid clichés. The best will be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual Win-ter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burl-ington. Alternates: General writing in any genre; or Photo 3. Due Nov. 15

On the dark sideBY PAIGE HAUKE Grade 11, Rice Memorial High School

The teddy bear

The nursery rhymesyou could sing in your sleep

your head.The favorite winter hatyou abandoned in the snowafter a bad sledding wipeout.The clumps of dandelion wishesyou blew away with the last of the seedsmany summers ago.The high pigtails

and cut into layers or replaced with high-lights.The many treasures

The many treasures

and left there in shadow,the very same treasuresyou leave on the moon

Do you wonder? BY ELLA FISHMAN Grade 6, The Renaissance School

Have you ever wondered where the pictures go that you see in your head, when

when you read a story?

moon. If you were to go up there, you would

see pictures, pictures of stories you have read or heard.

You would see memories, memories of things you have seen or done.

You would also see other people’s memories and pictures.

However, these pictures cannot be viewed by doctors if they examined your brain.

They are only in your mind and on the

The next time someone reads you a story and you imagine the scenes, where

There may be hopeBY JEREMY BROTZ Grade 9, Burlington High School

From my vantage point out of what the

What I remember is we velociraptors, as the humans call us, were getting smarter and smarter, building things, doing science, creating societies. And we made weapons for our many simultaneous wars. Eventu-

by accident or because of our greed, and the whole Earth was engaged in our third world war.

By this time, every group of dinosaurs on the planet had enough weaponry to

international peace holiday, something malfunctioned, and in the midst of all the celebration, one of the biggest bombs in the world went off, and in one day, our entire civilization was destroyed. At the time, I

a military surveillance satellite, and I got to watch the whole dreadful spectacle from above.

-lociraptors, or any other dinosaur for that matter, now roamed the Earth. The ground

air all but unbreathable. I salvaged all that I could, and over the

next few years I made the greatest space-

-ly out in space in orbit around the Earth. I watched my home planet slowly heal itself, slowly evolve new animals and plants, and slowly hide all evidence of our once great society. And I watched as one race split off

I watched them do everything that we

and build societies. I watched in horror as they mauled each other in two devastat-

still here, watching.

Giraffes with wingsBY FAITH HAMMOND Grade 4, Thomas Fleming School

I believe

of the moon

with wings

the size of meatballsand peanut-butter-covered

use telephones

juice out ofpencil sharpeners.

Away from the sunBY OLIVER HALBERG Grade 6, The Renaissance School

The robot probe H227 rolled across the surface of the moon. It had been sent up by

was facing away from the sun.

moon. It was currently rolling around on the side of the moon that was facing away

of the moon. A NASA scientist named Bob Nad-

was a boring job, especially at night when his eyes were already tired, even if he slept all day in preparation. He always brought a

-

As I mentioned, it was cold. He hated cold coffee. He spat it out. It sprayed over the power generator that supplied power for

and for the lights in the room where he

himself for his boss’s wrath.

movement. It extended its video camera and began to record. Six months after the coffee incident, H227 splashed down

thoroughly by technicians and its videos

splashdown on television at his house. He

was plotting to get revenge on NASA. But that’s another story.

-entists were reviewing H227’s video. It

moving around the screen...


Waiting for lightBY CEILIDH KIEGLE Grade 6, Browns River Middle School

Primitive.Cold.No sunshine to brightenwhoever goes there.Facing the asteroidsbut still all alone.Waiting for light,waiting.



THIS WEEK: Spooky




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in 19 other newspapers and on vpr.net. This week, we pres-ent responses to the prompt, Spooky: Write a story that makes our skin crawl! Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

©Madison Moore/Woodstock High School

Dance of theshadow puppetsBY MARIA CHURCHGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

“Good night.” The words that sparked her fear every night. Gripping the sheets tightly, she lay on her back, letting the dark envelop her. There was no light under the crack of her door even though her mom usually stayed up late. There never was. It made sure of that.

Her breaths were quick and sharp. She

groping around in the dark. They felt the rough box of matches resting underneath her pillow. There were no noises even though her little brother was just next door and made little squeaks while he slept. There never was. It made sure of that.

She swiped the match across the box

red tip greedily. She used the small bit of light to navigate through the clutter of the

trying to bite things as they moved by.With a little sigh of relief she found the

transferred and she was cupping her light

around her room, chasing away the dark.It was a small room yet at night it felt

like an entire universe, where only mon-sters and beasts lurked.

-plete and without an owner, blown up to the size of her body. It couldn’t be her hand, though. Her hand was on her chest out of reach of the light.

on the left hand and then the right. The hand on the wall didn’t move. She kicked her legs underneath the sheet, seeing if a wrinkle had mimicked the shape. The hand still didn’t move.

-ing to kick something that was making the shape but it still didn’t move. She sat there quietly peering at it. Then it twitched its

squeak and straightened up.

drumming them on her wall like it was a

shape of a unicorn. The shadowy hand on her bedroom wall was making shadow puppets. She cocked her head and watched it curiously as the unicorn reared its head, prancing across the wall. Then the unicorn disappeared and was replaced by a wolf, with two longs ears. Next, a spider. And

that the hand had been getting bigger with each shape.

The hand moved slowly towards her, frivolous puppets aside, the hand of a giant, stretching out. She screamed loudly as it got bigger and nearer, her desperate wails

lit. The shadow hand lunged forward and cupped it gently. Then with a soft breath, the shadow blew the candle out.

The grandfather’s clockBY CHARLOTTE KHAMNEIGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Playful, light footsteps, snapping through the ivy and ungroomed branches, identify that it’s not the grandfather. The footsteps sound how mine did when I was curious and stumbled upon his clock.

like candy or drugs: addicting. But now that sweet candy song is bland and gives me the feeling of disgust. We hear it every time someone new comes.

It’s a little girl. Her pale pink dress, powdered with dirt, covers her small knees as she is hypnotized by the melody of the clock.

She reminds me of myself when I was little. I haven’t seen what I look like now. There

will come and be trapped with us as souls. As her eyes follow the smallest hand of the clock, the grandfather appears behind her.

The clock strikes its royal melody, sounding midnight. The little girl opens the door that holds the hands, gears, and us victims. I feel her stare into my eyes. He pushes her in and she falls into the bottomless pit of darkness, in the middle of the woods, inside the grand-father’s clock.

Blue sky rainBY JEREMY BROTZGrade 9, Homeschool, Burlington

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 every-one I walk past. They all smile at me and nod, like they’re happy to see me.

Turning a corner, I come across my favorite bakery. The smells coming out of it are absolutely heavenly; I go in.

The cashier, who I’ve known for years,

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

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

and a croissant in the other. Hey, my crois-sant! I look down at my hand, in which the treat lies, waiting to be eaten.

Suddenly I notice that all the city

distant sirens, 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

But instead what I see is ... nothing. The square is absolutely deserted. Not a soul is in sight. Not only that, but the streets sur-rounding the square, which had moments

school buses and motorcycles, are now utterly empty. I stand there in shock, not believing what my senses are telling me...Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/83720

NEXT PROMPTS

Thanks. What are you most grateful for? Tell a story about how you gained appreciation for this thing or opportunity or person. Alternate: Unique. What’s something unique or special that you can do? Tell us how you do it. Due Nov. 8

CELEBRATION OF WRITINGSIGN UP TODAY!

Join Young Writers Project on Saturday, Nov. 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, a keynote address by National Book Award author M.T. Anderson, readings by Millennial Writers on Stage and a special reception at the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. Register at youngwritersproject.org/celebration2013.

FingerprintsBY JOYCE KEGrade 5, Shelburne Community School

I’m in my car, waiting for someone, when all of a sudden the car is all smoked

and I look outside, but there is no one. I turn back in my seat and see more and

all of a sudden the car is pulled down the hill. When the car stops, I get out and turn around and see nothing behind and nothing in front of me.

THIS WEEK: Mona Lisa


Special thanks this week toFAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in news-papers around the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompt, Mona Lisa: Imagine you are the subject of a famous painting. What is your story? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Elizah French/Spaulding High School

Water liliesBY CHARLOTTE VINCENTGrade 5, Shelburne Community School

Plaid shirt, striped shirt, polka-dotted shirt, white shirt, rainbow shirt. This is how I spend my day, looking out into the ex-hibits of the Met. People come and stare at me, take pictures of me, and occasionally a toddler comes along and tries to touch me.

I am Water Lilies, and my painter is Monet. His brush strokes made my body, and his signature is my accessory.

My eyes are hidden, and my mouth is invisible. Sometimes I talk, and sometimes I don’t. Wondering who I talk to? My friends, of course, my fellow paintings. We talk about who’s coming to our exhibit, and what painter is the best.

The thing is, the public can’t hear us talking, questioning, critiquing our world. Our secret world.

Museum portraitBY ADA CASEGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

Empty eyes and half-broken smile/Blond pigtails and little hands entwined with larger ones.A wind blows about the marsh behind me and straight through my heavy gown; it is not unpleasant, but simply there/The cor-ners of her eyes crinkle as her father lifts her up... the better to see, my dear.I miss him, the smoothness of my hands and the roughness of his/She giggles, pig-tails bouncing around her ears.My smile fades with the day, the thought tugging down one corner – it’s been days that melt into weeks upon weeks since I last saw him/She pulls gently on his beard; Smiling, he playfully swats her away.Evening is fast approaching/The museum lights dim, and slowly, they leave me.

A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by George Seurat

MadeleineBY LILYANNA MENKGrade 6, Charlotte Central School

and galloped to the balcony looking over the River Seine, the wind blowing wisps of her soft blonde hair out of her face. Then she remembered what today was. She squealed and jumped for joy. Today, she was going to the park. She skipped to the kitchen, her blue eyes glisten-ing with excitement. She saw her mother already dressed in a silk dress and hat with her butler, Georgio, at her side, and the cook, Maria, tending to the delicate pastries. Just as she sat down, her father walked in wearing his top hat and long suit. “Ready for the park?”

The park was beautiful, her favorite place in the world. The sun glistened over the crystal clear water and the birds chirped in the trees overhead.

Suddenly, a beautiful bird soared over the treesand into view. Its feathers glistened in the afternoon sunlight. She sprang towards it and continued to chase it through the trees. She got so wrapped up in following the beautiful bird that when it soared over to the water and out of sight, she realized she had lost her parents. She looked around frantically, but there was no one she knew in sight. She started to panic, running around people and jumping up to get a better view. All of a sudden her foot caught on a raised root and she tumbled to the ground. When she opened her eyes again she realized that she had fallen into the small forest that surrounded the park. She rose to her feet and looked around. All she saw was a dim light and muted voices coming from where she stumbled into the forest... Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/84551

The screamBY GABRIELLO LEWISGrade 8, Homeschool, Burlington

I liked it better when I was an ideain my old friend Edvard’s numb skull.It took forever (but I thought I would like it even better) to be on a canvas.Now hanging on this wall for all to see,when people look at me,they think, “Oh, boy, the one and only Scream!”Then they won-der, “Is it a man or a woman?”When I myself don’t know what I am.Am I pain, or am I love?Does my despair come from loving too much, or no love at all?Behind a glass so I can’t be touched.Stuck in this eternal twisted position.My body is as tortured as my soul.I wish I was stained glass — light, brilliant,

As the months go by, I am so bored, trans-

The only consolation is all the funny people walking past.

The Scream by Edvard Munch

NEXT PROMPTS

Somewhere. You wake up in a strange place and don’t know how you got there. Describe it. What hap-pens? Alternates: Style. Write in the style of an author you admire. Name the author; or General writing in any genre. Due Nov. 1

Thanks. What are you most grate-ful for? Tell a story about how you gained appreciation 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



CELEBRATION OF WRITINGSIGN UP TODAY!

Join Young Writers Project on Saturday, Nov. 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, a keynote address by National Book Award author M.T. Anderson, readings by Millennial Writers on Stage and a special reception to honor the published writers and photographers! It’s all happening at the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier, 9:30 a.m. to 6 p.m., Saturday, Nov. 9. Register today at youngwritersproject.org/celebration2013.

YWP NEWS

Starry night BY ZANIPOLO LEWISGrade 5, Homeschool, Burlington

When I got to shore, I saw my wife Tonia waiting for me. She had a relieved expres-sion on her face.

“Why were you out so late, John? I was so worried. I thought you drowned or something.”

“Tonia, you’ve got to see what hap-pened.”

“Oh no, John. What happened?”“No, Tonia, it’s a miracle. Not anything

bad. Look what I caught!”

boat, almost dragging Tonia with me.As soon as my wife saw what was in

the boat she gasped. For in the boat were

in the corner was one lobster trap. It had four lobsters in it.

“I waited for 10 minutes for this lobster trap. And then I pulled it out and suddenly there were four lobsters in it! Then for all

each net and when I pulled them out, there

Then we danced around in joy under the stars and before the lights of the town.

“Dear God, thank you so much for this food. It will last the whole year, and probably even some of next year, too. We will love you and adore you all our lives together,” we said. Then we walked home arm in arm. I am so glad this joy was trapped in this painting along with all the other things van Gogh put in.

THIS WEEK: Photo 1 & Mystery

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

JANE B. COOKCHARITABLE TRUSTS


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around the state. This week, we present responses to the prompts, Photo 1; and Mystery: Write the opening to a mystery story. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.

Intro to a mysteryBY ELAH SPENCEGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

Have you ever seen or heard some-thing that you can’t explain? Like a pinch on your arm when no one is there, or that feeling that someone is watching you, even a cold chill that doesn’t feel right like it is out of place or wrong?

Have you ever thought that there may be people or things that are not meant to be here like they have already left?

I have felt all of these and I have come to the suspicion that there are some people in this world that are different or special...

A shiver, a shudder,

BY LILLIAN KOLBENSONGrade 10, Essex High School

The skeletons of leaves shade into darker hues of the core

Grass is free of moistureThe sky’s jewel coated in a smooth gust of gray

wooden fence, shuttersPieces piercing through the glands

Decaying rust rakes, buried beneath a shelterA coven of warm little blanketsUnder the shading branches, the leaves form

Sides of roads create beads of art, coated in water and dustHold my breath, it turns to muckA wash of frost and cold coversRoll of hills taper off into chilling fogThe frozen air has shriveled into nothing Leaves shudder in the windSquash vines shriveled and smallTangled and tugged into overgrown mulch rubbleThe pumpkin sets in the sky, uncontrollable tufts of bright star light

BY LYDIA SMITHGrade 10, Homeschool, Charlotte

She skips down the gravel road, her thin dress rustling in the wind. She whistles and the trees take up the merry chorus.

Everything she touches turns to red and gold.

She inhales. She exhales. The fallen leaves join her dance. The old barn shiv-ers, shielding his precious cargo from her impish ways.

None can see her, but they all know she’s there. She tickles the old cow’s ear and laughs as it vainly tries to swish her away.

Suddenly tender, she foxtrots through

them goodnight, singing them a lullaby.Then she’s back to her wild romp.

The farmer’s broken fence can’t hold her; the air won’t stop her.

She skims up the hill, her bare feet leaving no imprint on the cold ground.

And there she dances, there she turns, and there she’ll spin ‘til mother comes home.

PHOTO PROMPT 1

Photo 1 (Sleepy Hollow, South Pomfret, VT) © crgimages

CELEBRATION OF WRITING

Join Young Writers Project on Saturday, Nov. 9 as we toast the publication of our Anthology 5 with a day of celebration and writing workshops at the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier, 9:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. Keynote speaker: National Book Award winner M.T. Anderson. More information at youngwritersproject.org.

YWP NEWS

BY HAMARA MUBARAKGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

How did it all start? It was a long, windy, lonely weekend. I was at home alone and I heard something coming from the back door.

“Mom, is that you? Is that you?” I yelled. No one answered.

Smash! – came from the kitchen. “Who’s there?” I walked up to see who it was. No one was there.

Kaboom! – came from upstairs. I ran to see what was going on. Still no one was there.

As I searched upstairs, the power went out. “Who’s there?”

I saw something glowing, coming from my room. I went closer.

“Come here, hold my hand,” a voice said.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” I said as my legs started to shiver.

I moved in closer and closer and the bright green light moved closer and closer. A green creature’s hand tried to take my hand.

I thought I was dreaming so I said to myself, “Maybe if I close my eyes three times this whole thing will go away.”

times ... and when I opened my eyes the green thing was gone.

Boom! – came from downstairs. “I have a water gun and I am not afraid

to use it!” I yelled as my heart was beating so fast it could come out of my chest.

I ran downstairs and looked to where the sound came from.

Living room? Nope. Bathroom? Nope. Kitchen?

And then I saw ...

Strange thingBY KATHERINE HAWKOGrade 5, Shelburne Community School

I crawl along through the endless hall-way, inching my way to the strange thing.

I reach out and touch it. It’s a box. Keeping my hand on the box, I move for-ward until I am hovering over it.

wrap around a cool metal handle. “1, 2, 3.” I pull the handle, and brace myself for what’s inside.

It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, and when they do, I scream ...

BY CARA DAVISGrade 8, Edmunds Middle School

“I’m not too sure about this, Deet.”“Oh Sally, why are you always so high-

strung?”“I’m not high-strung!”“Well, quit worrying then. Jeez.”Sally sighed at that last statement. It

was more like an order, but she wasn’t going to take it like that. She peered over Deet’s shoulder at what she’d been worry-ing over the most.

If she’d only ignored him! Stupid, stupid Deet and his stupid, stupid ways always got both of them in trouble. Sally had always tried to push him away and not get caught up in his schemes, but that never worked.

This was probably the worst thing that she could be doing. Of course, Sally always said that to herself each time Deet took her out for some sneaky business, but this was the worst so far.

Sally watched as the worst-so-far was getting closer and closer with each step. She tugged the cream-colored sleeves of her shirt over her hands.

She wished she was home. She wished that she was curled up on the oval cross-

that she wasn’t there, with him, about to commence the most dangerous and idiotic plan that Deet had ever dreamt up...

BY TESS DRURYGrade 3, Richmond Elementary School

“We saw it! We saw it!” Carson and Timmy yelled as they ran down the dock to Ashley.

“You saw what?” she asked. “The ghost of Mr. Tuddle!” shouted

Carson. “You don’t need to yell,” said Maddie

who had just appeared. “Besides, you don’t know what Mr. Tuddle looks like. He died ages ago.”

“They say he never went to heaven,” said Ashley, “and that he has zombie body-guards.”

“Those are just stories,” said Maddie. “No way,” said Timmy. “I know I saw

him.” “Well, I’m going to prove you are just

trying to scare us.” Maddie walked down the dock and walked back. “See? Nothing,” she said.

Ashley looked up in the sky. Clouds that had once been white were turning black...


THIS WEEK: Mystery & Inspired

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.

Special thanks this week toAMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION

THANKS FROM YWPABOUT THE PROJECT YWPthat engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, an 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.

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around the state. This week, we present responses to the prompt, Mystery: Write the opening to a mystery story; and Inspired: A new YWP series. Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.

Editor’s 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. Au-tumn’s story sparked the idea for a special YWP project, in which young people write about what inspires them to succeed. This

Discovery, which appears in its entirety on youngwritersproject.org. We will publish additional pieces later this year, and you can follow Autumn’s blog at youngwritersproj-ect.org/blog/7838.

DiscoveryBY AUTUMN EASTMANGrade 12, Champlain Valley Union High School

Journal Entry, before a recent high school race: I wake up to that familiar feel-ing in my gut, a turmoil that reminds me of the challenge that I am about to face. It’s race day. I didn’t 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 team’s accomplishments and the races to come. I

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 mental, I know, but racing is a huge mental game. And what-ever helps me cope with that stress of not knowing the outcome of the race before I race, I go for it. …

to run, since I discovered that this is some-thing that could drive me so. When I was

really young, I remember on bright, cool, fall days, watching my Dad tie up his man-gled 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 wasn’t until middle school that I dis-covered cross country running. Hayley, my best friend then, told me to do it with her.

-body else, but then I grew, seasons passed and my reasons for running changed. I was no longer running for friends, I began real-izing 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

job.” I was a one-girl cheer-ing 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

And then there was this one race. As we were milling

spied tables covered with trays of cookies and other

for the winning runners. I de-cided. Hinesburg 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

-ing stretch, I began lapping a

couple of the boys in the back.

haired woman ripped the tag from my bib and sent me on my way.

A short time later, at the awards cer-emony, they called my name to receive a huge plate of cookies. I was overjoyed. And grabbed a couple.

“Aren’t 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 School’s 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


Join YWP on Nov. 9 as we 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 youngwritersproject.org.

POETRY 180 WORKSHOP

Poet Reuben Jackson leads a one-hour workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10 a.m., at YWP’s North by North Center, 12 North St., Burlington. All participants receive a copy of the anthology, Poetry 180. Email [email protected] to sign up.

YWP NEWS

Bianca LaLuneBY ADDISON WHITEGrade 7, Lake Champlain Waldorf School

It had always been there, that house on the hill. Its gates had rusted long ago and there was a certain eeriness about it that scared most away. And yet some still ventured past the gates; past the strange gardens to the rundown mansion that had once been beautiful. They were the brave ones, the stupidly adventurous ones, the bored ones who had nothing better to do. And they never came back.

Long ago the house had hosted many a

family was loved for their hospitality. The -

sandra for her beauty and charisma, Kathan for his artistic eye and talent for giving, and their daughter Bianca, who was the perfect

-ity the family had a certain mysterious air about them, and even a stranger could tell that they were guarding secrets.

Murder on the CapeBY MANNY DODSON Grade 7, Edmunds Middle School

It was a pleasant night, maybe 60 or 70 degrees, warm enough for a midnight swim. There was a full moon, and I could see all the way along the beach. The sand felt amazing on my bare feet, so cool, so

My friends were all laughing around me, and it seemed like a perfect night. We walked together to the water’s edge, avoid-ing any sharp rocks or broken glass, of which there were plenty on Nauset beach. We dipped our toes into the surf, testing the temperature. It felt refreshing, not numb-

heated pool back in Dorchester. Everyone but me dove into the water, shouting and laughing and having a good time. As I was removing my shirt, I noticed something

Read the rest of this story at youngwritersproject.org.

CabinBY MARIA CHURCH Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School

They say bad memories are easier to re-member than good ones, that the bad ones stick in your mind and you can never, ever forget them; and I agree.

I vividly remember each detail of that lone cabin in the woods; perched atop the hill like a hat upon a head. How the clouds seemed to gather around it, enveloping it in shadows.

Inside was drafty and smelled of damp pine needles and something rusty that made you gag. It always seemed dark, even when all the lights were lit. The long shadows refusing to leave their corners would sit

candle. And, of course, you’ll never forget that

last night spent without the comforting candle glow, and you cowering in those jagged corners with the shadows, those always present shadows.

ARE YOU INSPIRED?Write about it on

youngwritersproject.org NOT A WRITER?

Contact us for [email protected]

THIS WEEK: Place


Special thanks this week toUNITED WAY

OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY


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 and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompt, Place: What is your favorite place? Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

House of memoriesBY LOY PRUSSACKGrade 6, Edmunds Middle School

There is a room, a room that reminds me of candy and laughter, set in Northern California. This is my special place.

My best friend Eva and I have always been very attached, so I always feel secure in her room. Her room looks warm and comfortable. There are stuffed animals

more cuddling on the snowy white bed. Most of these stuffed animals are soft,

silky rabbits, Eva’s favorite animal. This place feels carefree and welcoming. There is a green chair to sit on, a big bed to lay on, and a computer to play on.

This place smells fresh, with a hint of chlorine from the two of us swimming often in the pool outside, and then returning to the room.

This place puts the taste of candy in my mouth. The candy is just a memory from when Eva and I were little and would steal sweets from the drawer in the kitchen.

It also tastes of bubble gum, from when we would split an entire six-foot roll. This place sounds joyful, because laughter is usually there and is always soon to come.

Sometimes, there is screaming and crying, when Eva’s older brother decides to bother us, but always, after eyes have been cried dry, there is more laughter, more joy. This room will forever remain in my brain, and will always be my special place.

HomeBY LAYLA JAE MORRISGrade 5, Homeschool, Hinesburg

The silver outline of the ferry appears out from the mist, the words “Island Run-ner” not yet visible.

-loon threatening to explode with screaming of happiness.

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.

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 con-necting the ferry to the dock, when a silver Volvo pulls up to the pier. The door opens. It’s 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 belong-ings.

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 Runner’s engine, its prow cutting through the waters of Lake Champlain.

On the way! We’re almost there! An entire year of waiting for this mo-

the waves, heading toward the Isle of Burton.

The island is now in sight, its white

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 Alya’s hand and we start waltz-ing 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.

The barnBY SYDNEY STAMMELMANGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

In the barn I stand, looking into his eyes –the big, black horse –standing there in the stall,loving the attention,

watching me.He snorts his nose andswishes his tailas the birds chirp.I see the stone name plates on the stalls,the hay stacked up like giant bricksnear the wooden wall,peaceful, safe, cozy.


Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the year’s 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 youngwritersproject.org.

YWP EVENTS

POETRY 180 WORKSHOP

Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-hour workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10 a.m., at YWP’s North by North Center, 12 North St., Burling-ton. All participants receive a copy of the anthology, Poetry 180.

Tree topBY KENDALL MUZZYGrade 5, The Renaissance School

My favorite place in the world is when I climb a rope to the top of a tree,where I can just sit, and be me.Reading up there,thinking up there,all my worries go away.In my yardat my house,not like any place, anywhere else.I can’t wait to see what it has in store for me,when I climb a rope to the top of the tree.

NEXT PROMPTS

Spooky. Write a story that makes our skin crawl! Can be real or imagined. Alter-nates: Moon: What’s on the dark side of the moon? Go exploring and report back; or General writing in any genre. Due Oct. 11

© Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

Tennis courtBY HENRY WOOLGrade 7, Edmunds Middle School

My favorite place is the tennis court.Everything about it gives me a joyful sensation.

Running, my shoes squeaking and skit-tering as I run to hit the ball. Pop! The ball striking off my racquet, the strands of the ball now stuck to it.

Playing the point, trying to execute every shot and place the ball in the cor-

with myself or if not, trying to pick out the things I did wrong and correct them.

The game of tennis gives me happiness, pleasure and joy. I feel the sun beaming on my face, the ball bouncing; I am alive and free.

My favorite placeBY LUKE MCKENZIE FITZGERALDGrade 4, Orchard Elementary School

“Whoosh!” The cool, fresh breeze of spring blows into my pale face.

It feels a little cold. I hear the wing beats of the swans. I hear crows, “caw, caw.” I hear the “honk, honk” of geese.

I go over to a tree stump. I eat some trout lily. It tastes sweet and sugary.

I look across Lake Champlain. I see the partially snow-covered Adirondack Moun-tains. I hear the “trickle, drip, splash” of melting snow and ice running down rocks.

On the boatBY ADELINE DEMINGGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

On the bow of my boat,the warm air blowing in my faceas my hair fans back,I close my eyes and relax.I feel safe there, like no one cantell me what to door hurt me in any way.I see the water, sparkling in the distance.I hear the seagulls cryingand the waves crashing onto land.Finally we slow down and anchoras I dive in and cool down.

THIS WEEK: General writing


Special thanks this week toGREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE ROASTERS


Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best in this and other newspapers and on vpr.net. This week, we pres-ent responses to the prompt for General writing. Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.



PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Ethan Powell, Essex High School

Artist statementEthan Powell, an Essex High School freshman in Keri-Anne Lesure’s class

last year, writes this statement about his photo: “I wanted my viewers’ response to see the details in my pictures but also the beauty in nature. I think I succeeded in taking the pictures of my theme and showing nature.

“The tools I used were Photoshop to bring out the colors and brightness of my photos to help me express my theme more; I also used bird’s eye view, worm’s eye view and rule of thirds.”

Thanks Ethan! Students and teachers: send YWP your photos and have them featured in the Free Press and other newspapers around the state each week.

Autumn girlBY MADELINE BESSO

School

Her voice is the thick smoke rising from half-extinguished embers,sparks darting upward to vanish in the stars;my love, she is the cool breeze between the bare

the sweet warmth of cinnamon and fresh-brewed tea.

the pelting rain and crash of thunder –she catches the light between her teeth and her words sparkle withtrapped electricity.

My love, she is the space between the stars,wispy clouds twisting between points of light, she is the sweet smell of dewy grass under the blanket,the cold earth under my back as I watch the stars.

She holds the silhouettes of tree branches in her palms,blue veins in white skin splitting into thin capillaries,delicate black outlines of twigs on grey sky;she cups the earth between her ribs,brings new air to us with each breath;my love, she is my comfort,my warmth in cool nights,

she is my autumn.


Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the year’s 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 youngwritersproject.org.

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.

NEXT PROMPTSWriter’s blockBY LYDIA SMITHGrade 10, Homeschool, Charlotte

I want to write, but the words won’t come. They’re all tangled up in my brain.

That could take a while to unwind. Too much trouble, I suppose. Perhaps this weekend, when I have more time?

But I’m wandering. Where was I? Oh yes, I want to write. I want to tell the world exactly how I feel.

But the words just tripped and fell. I think I’ve lost them again. I wish they weren’t so clumsy. Or maybe it’s me. You never know.

This paper is taunting me. Teasing me. It wants the words. It wants the cover. It’s shivering. Maybe it should get a coat. At least that’s what they tell me.

But aren’t coats just an admission that you’re cold? Won’t that just encourage the weather to torture us more? But I’m wandering again.

Back to the point. What was the point? Ah, yes, I want to write.

my pen. Which just broke, blotting out my words. Those silly words. Just out of reach.

Oh well. Perhaps I should take a broom.

Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the subject of a famous painting or a photograph. What’s 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 cre-ate new lyrics to a favorite song (include a podcast!) Any genre, including rap. Due Oct. 4

SustenanceBY OLIVIA PINTAIRGrade 8, Lake Champlain Waldorf School

I live in the wake of every person’s death.I trail behind themlapping up their sorrow like a mutt by a streamwhose ripples are leaping.I drink in the hatred spat out by the sinner,by the shadow spinners,by the music makers’ muse,by the lit end of a fuse,and I bleed themlike they’re mine.I like to hold the mist that rises from the depths of people.I can feel them in me,moving within meand then outward like a raven-starbound,starbound but tethered like rooftop shinglesand sound that lingersin the light of the sun

in the hands of somethingwhose hands hold our nothingbecause nothing is everythingwhen it’s what keeps you alive.

SuitcaseBY KALSANG DOLKARGrade 11, Burlington High School

I dedicate thisto an old friend,still sleeping:

I dedicate thisto the buried feelingof getting lostin a beautiful cityandto the pain of distance:something which will be closedsoon enough.

I dedicate this to the morningsspent playing checkersand drinking sunlight,and to a loveso incomprehensibly true:Shakespeare would be silenced.

Darling,I dedicate thisto you.

POETRY 180 WORKSHOP

Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-hour workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10 a.m., at YWP’s North by North Center, 12 North St., Burling-ton. All participants receive a copy of the anthology, Poetry 180.

THIS WEEK: General writing




Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hun-dred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and we publish the best in this and other newspapers around the state as well as on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompt for General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

© Kevin Huang/Burlington High School

17 years oldBY KALSANG DOLKARGrade 11, Burlington High School

(Sister)“I’ve never been to the fair,”she says,and at her wordsmy heart does that painful twistit’s been known to doduring momentsof inconceivable sorrow.17 years oldand she’s excitedfor the cotton candythe stuffed prizesand the memoriesthat will be madewith someonewho loves hermore than she’d believe.Finally,she must be thinking,(one hand is covering my mouth

of my crying)

someone cares about me.

It’s moments like these,when I get glimpsesof the childhoodshe never had,that bring mecrashing down,not unlikethe hands of the jailer,who forgot he was a father,and not unlikeher body

her legs curling forwardto keep her ribsfrom snappinginto two.“I’ve never been to the fair,”she says.If onlyyou had told mesooner.

MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE

Hear YWP writers present their work today at the Burlington Book Festival at 2 p.m. at the Film House, Main Street Landing Performing Arts Center on the Burlington waterfront! If you can’t make it, vpr.net and RETN will be recording the performance for later broadcast. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.


Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the year’s 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. More details at youngwritersproject.org.

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.

I wish I had you backBY ERIN BUNDOCKGrade 10, Champlain Valley High School

I’m shutting downbecause I pressed the button before the tears could short out my wires.But just because I’m shutting downdoesn’t mean I’m self-destructing,

and the other one’s not worth pushing.And even though it was self-defense,it doesn’t make much difference,because when the salty tears fall fromother eyes,they’re just as corrosive. And all it takes is a heavy dropto land on my side,And even when I tried so hard,I start to move inside. And when I wake,It’s like I’m fasting

Because with fried circuitry

why you had to go. And I still love you,

And I still feel youdeep in my crippled soul.But I wish I had you back.

Ode to summerBY MADDIE HUBERGrade 8, Williston Central School

It’s when you can run outside without shoes on,but beware of your mother telling you to wash your feet after! Melted popsicles drip down your hand,

red.

head, so you look like George Washington in the pool,but that should be the only way you should think of school subjects.

people should save that for the 180 days that they are in school!The best part is, that it gets so hot, with the perfect breeze,

even the sun seems to be smiling!

NEXT PROMPTSMystery. All good short stories start

with a mysterious idea that often is the opening, the beginning. What’s yours? Write your opening paragraphs to a mystery story, something that will draw

we may not be able to publish it all, but we’ll highlight it on youngwriter-sproject.org.) Alternate: Photo 1. Due Sept. 27

Photo 1 (Sleepy Hollow) © crgimages

Whispering domeBY OLIVIA PINTAIRGrade 8, Lake Champlain Waldorf School

She tries only to hide it – this voice that she has,for fear of it leaving and falling too fast.But the language – it stutters then falls from her lips.It crawls from the gutter where gladly it sits.And warned by the watchman and feared by the priest,her hands have been folded, her gown gently creased. Now she must wait for her voice to come home,for nothing frees words like a whispering dome.

FootprintsBY JAMES RAYGrade 6, Shelburne Community School

Staring at a dusty roadNothing to do but walk or look at whatYou’ve done and cry, for you can’t go backTo erase your footsteps orChange the path of your wanderingsAnd when you turn your head To the trail aheadYou see the hard-packed roadRiddled with the footprints of those before youAnd wonder if your footprint will be seenAnd remembered by those yet to comeMORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT


Documents

Burlington Free Press index 2013-14