Essex Reporter 2014-2015

THIS WEEK: General

Nate Ertle, Essex High School

HimBY ISABEL DOUBLEDAYGrade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate

You liked trains.You played the guitarand the piano.You loved her.You married herand you had four children.You had it allbut you were so sickyou couldnt do it;you couldnt fightfor them.You gave up.You left them broken.You left herto fall out of this trance of love.Now shes older.Now shes stronger.Now she knows betterthanto love a man who likes trainsand plays the guitarand piano.

GlidingBY LEAH KELLEHER Grade 10, Essex High School

It begins with blackness,shadows delicately dancingas if to the melody of a harmonica.A touch of cinnamon, crimson andpearly blue appear,commencing the final act.Water ripples and the smooth wavesform lizard hide and crinkle with everymovement. Sugar floats in the April breeze yet it does not tickle my nose as I breathe.I imagine another life,speaking in tongues unknown,tiptoeing on cobble stone,sipping bitter brewsand chewing on bliss.I am here now, and I can hardly soak up the subdued saxophone in the distanceand the cool metal seat I rest my palms on.I search the sky,a navy canvas that bears theshining of souls,and then peer back down to the murky watersand to a curious countenance.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. You can find more at youngwritersproject.org, and in YWPs digital magazine, The Voice.

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THIS WEEK: HappeningYoung Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Happening: Begin a piece with the phrase,I didnt know what was happening at the time... Read more at youngwritersproject.org and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Kristina Pretty, Essex High School

Lila and the portal BY SIDNEY THOMPSONGrade 7, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate

I didnt know what was happening at the time I was walking home from school to my house when I saw it: a portal to another world. I walked in. It looked just like the book I was reading, with a garden filled with fairies and magical plants that moved. There were flowers in all the colors of the rainbow.

Next to the flowers there was some kind of magic water that was glowing blue and had sparkles in it. It was so cool! I wished Earth could be like this. I wished I could stay there forever. Then I saw the castle. It was so tall that it looked like it was going to fall over.

It was as if I was the main character in the book. Then I thought, if I am the main charac-ter, Ill see the young prince. He was kind of weird in the book. ... Then I saw him; he came right up to me. Hello there, young lady! What would your name be? he said.

Lila, I stuttered. I would love to get to know you. Could

you come to my castle at 6 oclock? he asked.Ill be there, I said, unsure. I was scared

of meeting him; the air just didnt feel right. That night it was hot and sticky. The sun had

(continued, right column)

just set and the sky was an orange-pink color.The castle floor was made of the finest

marble and the stone wall was about 100 feet high. There was no escape.

The table was set with a candle and a blue tablecloth with gold trim. A servant came in and served something that looked like spaghet-ti but with a sauce that was glowing blue.

Wow, this is great! I said.I had it made just for you. Im glad you

like it, he said.That was when it happened. I fell fast

asleep, in an almost coma-like state.I woke up in a freezing dungeon. There was

an old lady there, too. She wore a long robe, and I assumed she was a witch or something.

Save yourself while you still can, young child! she said, pointing to the window.

As the witch said a magic spell, my ballet flats started to glow the same blue as the pasta sauce.

The shoes on her feet are small and neat, but will never get her out. She has to go; she has to save her tiny soul, the witch said.

I started to fly! I lifted off the ground, my shoes leading me to the garden. The window broke as I kicked through it. The glowing por-tal started to open, the same portal I saw when I was entering my book. I flew straight through it and it closed behind me.

Ouch! I said as I fell upside down on my floor. Well, that was a strange experience.

THIS WEEK: General writing

Erin McIntosh, Essex High School

Sucked into a bookBY HOPE FORGUITESGrade 4, Thomas Fleming School

It was Pipers first day of kindergarten at Hunnington Elementary. It was a small school, but Piper didnt mind. The school had red brick walls and a beautiful garden with flowers of all different colors and sizes, such as laven-der, roses, tulips, daisies and sunflowers.

It also had a flagpole in the front and the biggest playground ever! It had green grass and peach trees out front by the garden.

Piper was in Mrs. Staplefords classroom sitting on the brand new red rug and listening to the lesson. When the lesson was over, Mrs.Stapleford said, OK, children you can now read your fairy tales!

As Piper got up from the rug she thought about which fairy tale she would read. She finally decided on The Three Little Pigs and sat down to read in the corner next to the bookshelves.

When she got to the part where the house is blown down, she noticed there was a charac-ter missing. Piper flipped three pages back. It was true! The middle pig was missing! Piper thought her eyes were just playing tricks on her, so she leaned down closer and it was not there! The middle pig was truly missing! It

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. You can find more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

was supposed to be saying, I wont let you in ... not by the hairs of my chinny chin chin!

Suddenly Piper got sucked into the book! She felt a tin-gling in her whole body. Then she found herself standing inside a stick house with a red carpet in the middle.

She looked at herself and noticed that instead of hands she had hooves, instead of a nose she had a snout, and in-stead of a human body, she had a pigs body!

Suddenly she heard something outside, and sure enough, the house was blown down and standing there was a wolf! Youve got to be kidding, she thought to herself.

That second Piper screamed and sprinted down the hill!

She eventually came across a nice looking brick house with a beautiful chimney.

She knocked on the door and out came a giant pig. Little brother! the pig said. What brings you here?

Piper replied, I am not your brother. I am a girl named Piper. Can I come inside? Please?

The big pig didnt believe Piper, but he let her in anyway.

Soon the wolf was knocking on the door. The giant pig and Piper stood frozen in shock with their mouths open. The wolf threatened to blow the house down if they didnt let him in. Of course, they didnt let him in, so the wolf blew and blew, but he couldnt blow the house down because it was a brick house.

The only other way in was through the chimney. So the wolf started climbing higher and higher. He eventually came to the top and he jumped into the red brick chimney.

Splat! was the sound the wolf made hit-ting the steaming pot of stew that Piper and the oldest pig had left for him.

The story ended with dinner. Of course it was wolf stew. (Piper didnt like wolf stew, but she ate it to be polite.)

As the story ended, all of a sudden there was a gleaming green light circling around Piper. Piper swatted it, trying to get it off be-cause it tickled a little bit, but she couldnt get it off so she just stared at it in disbelief.

Moments later, Piper appeared back in the classroom, reading in the corner again. She glanced at the clock and realized she was late for gym, so she rushed out of the room before the teacher could see her.


Jo Munson, Essex High School

A forgotten islandBY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 10, Essex High School

I remember a time when ... life wasnt such a challenge. Time didnt fly by, and my

daily view was only three feet high.

I look straight ahead into the distance now, where a stark ocean stares back at me apathetically, but when I was little, it was

easier to really see things around me.

My understanding of the world may have

been limited, but who is to say I didnt see

more? The ladybugs crawling on swaying

fronds of thick grass, the muddy footprints,

the forgotten toys, the fuzzy dust bunnies

under the couch, and the crispy tumbling

leaves of autumn.

I remember that I saw the world differ-ently, but I dont know when that changed.

When did I start to focus on what is far ahead as opposed to what is close, the more important details of each day?

How do I open my eyes and focus again?

I remember a time when ... life was sim-ple, at least compared to life now. I remem-ber when the majority of weekends werent

bogged down by homework, responsibili-ties, and worries for the uncertain future.

(continued right column)

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic

audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the

prompt for General writing. You can find more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

I remember vivid, bright days, crisp and

green, the smell of spring. I would pull out a patchwork blanket and

spread it over the tender green grass. I would

bring my stuffed animals, maybe a book. I

would lie there and read, watch the swirling blue sky, keep the ants from crawling onto

my little island. I would rest, as my mom

and dad fertilized the garden, cleaned the

cars, mowed the lawn, organized life around

me. Why did this stop?

Why do I keep my animals alone on a

dusty chair in the corner of my room?

When did my ritual of welcoming spring

come to an end?I dont even remember.

Maybe it is because I started to do the

spring chores. Maybe my parents slowed

down too. I want so desperately to go back. To grab

a blanket and a book. Its something that I never knew I missed.

I never knew that it was important until

I was far away from both my open-minded

innocence and my home in Vermont.

The simplest things are easily lost, but

now that Ive realized it, I hope to reclaim

them for my own.


Emma Parizo, Essex High School

The someoneBY ELISE SCHUMACHER Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

Someone walks on a circuitous roadHis back is bent with a bulbous loadHis face is hidden awayBut look beneath that ashen cloakAnd youll see a crooked half-moonWorn with a line of erstwhile ay.His eyes are pools of mysteryIn which a candle of lightFlickers like the winking starsOf the cloudy nightBut he looks awayHaggard and shriveled, scant of prey.His eyes are pockets of strange words; in-comprehensible(Like the ight of the bird of dawnSpiraling into the EastShe comes back with a little packageIn the time between dawn and edgling morningWhen the world is a tranquil lake of peace.Her pallid ngersTear open the ruddy loadShe pulls out the lily of morningAnd the rose of dayAnd the sunower of high noon

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

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MORE GREAT WRITING ATYOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

And the owers ashAs they are tossed awayAnd as they ashThey touch the skyAnd kiss the slowly rising sunAnd mornings white petalsCaress the ruby circle of the roseAnd together they meld their sweet summer musicAs they are tossed away.Incomprehensible the morning isBut daily it commencesWhat it must do to make the sunOpen his gates and part the fencesOf clouds which pillow his lofty bodyAs he sleeps in unwavering heat.)But the SomeoneThe Someone never sleeps.He watches neath his billowing veilShriveled and old he may seemBut his mouth is a bottomless cavernAnd from his ssured lips

Drips an icy beam.He is as haggard as the thing he bringsUpon his back so bentBut he delights, is immune, to the fearThat lies whispering and sighing with his every movement.His shadow dances larger and larger, clutching at the things it passes byHis hollow eyes spread shivers across the ebony sky.His footsteps echo forth like a drumHis voice stumbles over the barren landAnd the summer wind turns cold and strangledWhen he lifts his ancient hand.The moon gasps as his bag of darknessCloaks her stately gureBut the sun is harder to catchUntil the darkness nally ropes him inLike a wounded cur ... (Read the complete piece at www.youngwritersproject.org/node/112348)

THIS WEEK: StaircaseIce creamBY ELLA THOMPSONGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

When I saw the staircase I instantly sat down on the side of the stairs where you could slide down. When I started to go down, mu-sic began playing, like the kind you hear from an ice cream truck.

I looked over and saw a control panel.

It wanted me to choose an ice cream avor, and asked how many scoops I wanted, and what toppings I would like. I chose my avor, toppings and the number of scoops, and in one minute the ice cream came out of a box with a spoon in it. I lifted the spoon to my mouth and instantly tasted hot fudge.

I kept moving until I reached the end of the staircase. Then I hopped onto an escalator that brought me back to my room. By then I was tired enough to go to sleep, so I hopped into bed as the ice cream music rang in my head.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt from Vermont Writes Day, Staircase: You cant sleep. A mysterious staircase suddenly appears in the hall outside your room. What happens? You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org and The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

Titanic dreamsBY BELLA JOLYGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

I wake up because I have to get a drink. I havent even been sleeping because Ive been so thirsty!

I quietly creep out of my room and tiptoe out into the cold hallway.

Im about to go downstairs when I realize the stairs look totally different!

I take a few minutes and think. Ive seen this staircase in a book before!

Wait a second, these are the stairs from the Titanic! I run downstairs as fast as my tiny legs can go and I feel the boat tipping!

Oh no! I scream as I check the time. Its midnight. The Titanic will sink soon. I am cry-ing so hard!

Finally my parents come down and they are very oddly dressed.

I look down at my legs. Im surprised to see how hard my legs are shaking but Im even more surprised by the fact that Im in a terrible outt. I need to change now!


THIS WEEK: General writingStolen timeBY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 10, Essex High School

For my mom

I lie on my backas grass, brittle from snows oppression,akes off and clings to me.My hands are tucked into my pockets,because although the cold has meandered away,it whistles back at my bare skin, gifting me with some pre-spring shivers.This eld is lit by a steaming slice of sun;the dove across the roadsoothes me,the chubby robins hop away,and the red-winged blackbirdtrills from the tree above me. My eyes struggle to see only the clean magnicent blue slate, but then I see two specks of whiteglide above,two birds.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at youngwrit-ersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs new monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Louise Barrabe, Mount Manseld Union High School

(continued)There is a silent, white outline of a plane.Quiet.Distant.Way above me.Yet, closer, the happy red-winged smudge remains,calling from that tree with no buds,as the sun catches the red on its wings and throws it to me. The plane glides away and I am still.I am watching the silhouette reach out and trill again.The next call is higher pitched. But all the same,even here, the red-winged blackbirds call rings out and this is our stolen time together.

NEXT PROMPTSHappening. Write a poem or story with a rst line of, I didnt know what was happening at the time Alternates: Stranger. Youre curious about a person you always see around town. Write his or her story; or Photo 9 (see youngwritersproject.org/ prompts14-15). Due May 1

THIS WEEK: General writingThe ballroomBY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 10, Essex High School

On the outskirts of the wood, I hear a series of guttural caws,an urgent cry,and,softer than a distant trains whistle,lighter than a bell,a pair of high-pitched tiptoeing chirpsare strung periodically.I hear a waterfall of wind, a cascading music, and the birches, the hemlocks, the pines they cant help but sway.The sun hurries to string up the lights,and as the crowded ballroom illuminatesand the guests murmur with anticipationI watch.I begin to see the bircheswith masks of monochrome,the hemlockswearing wrinkled dresses of sepia, the white pinesbaring feathery fans and slender scaly earrings.


Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at young-writersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

(continued)

They are all waiting on the dance oor.They are all waitingfor that natural and beautiful music.They are not waiting for the rumble of a motoror the low hum of a far-off engine.And the longer I stand here,the easier it becomes to imagine the world,this place,as it might have beenbefore.

Ode to Elvis PresleyBY MADELEINE MOINOGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

Elvis, oh, Elvis, how your suits pleased the eyes.When you gathered large crowds it wasnt a surprise.Your voice made the world a better place.And your dancing, oh, Elvis, who could keep pace?Elvis, oh, Elvis, we hang our heads sadly, and we want you to know that we miss you quite badly.

THIS WEEK: General writing Dance classBY SHYLA CLIFFORDGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

Moving to the rightMoving to the leftAround the roomUp and downBack and forthSpinningMovingShakingTimes a tickinEasyHardLegs go higherToes point harderStretch CrunchesSit-upsMess upTry againThinkMind over matterNow were soreClock strikes 5:00And class is over

FramedBY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 10, Essex High School

Here, the blue sea is framed on all sides by four different worlds.The red brick building to the leftabruptly marks an edge to the sceneand deep green, ngered branches reach out from the right.The sky caps the swirling square of oceanand it seems to rest on craggy rocks,spraying joyously on the shore.The blue sea is framed,constrained on all sides,but still it thrives,even in winter.It doesnt succumb to icy layers,nor do the organisms that depend on it.Its boundaries are barely constraints.It knows them,but it lives freely.


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Mya Burghardt, Essex High School


&THE VOICE



For sale: headphonesBY GRACE LUGrade 8, Albert D. Lawton School

I used them to listen to music,which they were alright at.I passed them off as Beats,more than once, actually.They blocked out things screaming siblings,haters at school,the train that rumbled by every Tuesday and Friday night.Everything.I carried them everywhere.You can tell by that sauce stain,the dog hairs,the thin scratches,that weird black streak.Even when they no longer played musicI still used them,sat around with music playing in my head,blocking things out blocking so many things out until I found myself staringat two marble gravestones.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing and from the recent Vermont Writes Day. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Think about itBY ZACH FORCIERGrade 8, Albert D. Lawton Middle School

Think about what youre doing today. If its not something you would do on your

last day of life, do something else.

CLIMATE CHANGE WRITING CHALLENGE

WRITE AND WIN! 1st place: $100 | 2nd place: $75 | 3rd place: $50 More details: youngwritersproject.org/climate15

DEADLINE: APRIL 10

Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy Education Program & Young Writers Project


Sully Martin, Essex High School

Soccer ballBY OLIVIA POTVINGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

I open the garage door,looking for my soccer ball,which I know is buried at thebottom of the blue bin.Then suddenlythe blue bin breaks with the pressure I put on it,causing every... single... thingto roll across the oor.When everything has nally settled,I open my eyes.Where did my soccer ball go?I cant nd it anywhere.Not underneath the caror behind the other bins.Not even behind the sledwaiting for me and the winter.I slit my eyesand I stomp my feetbecause I hatewhen I cant nd something.But wait ...why have I not thoughtof this before?Its outside!

The edgeBY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 10, Essex High School We are at the edge the end of the land and the end of the sea.Look up and there are puffy white-washed clouds.They bob above without a care in the world.We are drawn here by the peaceful memoriesof bright orange sunsets,of glittering waves, in and out, in and out.It feels right to visit this world of hardships,of struggle.Because it also holds life.The stinging winds sharpened teeth simply add texture to life at the edge.We see gulls bobbing on the unstable waters;we see wrinkled algae littering the rocks,waiting to be reclaimed by the tide.These hearty lessons of life found here,are quintessential to the coast.We are at the edge.

We might never leave.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. You can nd more great writing at young-writersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

THIS WEEK: Writing about Music

The Creation of Music. Bryan Storck, Essex High School

My fourth violaBY ELIZABETH MESSIER Grade 5, Thomas Fleming School

As my hand shakily opensthe shiny silver door knobof the Violin Shop,I prepare for something delightful.I hear the jangleof the tiny chimes at the top of the door,awakening the shopand bringing it to life.My mom, sister and Iexchange glances of excitementas we politely greet the ownerwho will be helping us.The owner gives me two violasso I can try out both.The rst viola grabs my attention quickly.It smells of fresh wood and the sound has unlimited depth.The second viola is out for the count,for it is nothing compared to the rst.I try various shoulder rests and chinrestsand make the best possible choice...until the Waiting Game is overand I take the viola in my hands,shocked at the size.

(continued in right column)

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. This weeks focus is music. You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

(continued)

I launch into a Bach Bourree.I imagine myself on the colossal stageof Carnegie Hallwith the sound bouncing off the woodin that grand concert hall.But I realize Im not there yet,still having to mastercountless skills,like intonation and dynamics.But I feel so happy!I play with energy!I feel ecstatic, vivacious, gleeful, jolly and ... pleased all at the same time ...Ill never stop playing viola.Im devoted to it.

CLIMATE CHALLENGE WRITE AND WIN CASH!

PROMPTS AND MORE DETAILS: youngwritersproject.org/climate15

DEADLINE: APRIL 10

Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy Education Program & Young Writers Project


Eric Wakim, Essex High School

MasksBY GRACE LU Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate

Every time someoneopens their mouthI wonderif what they say isa gleaming river of truthor a lthy, ugly river trashed with lies.Every time someonesmilesI wonderif theyre wearing a mask,always smiling and cheerful,but a mask still.How do I know youre not lying?How do I know youre honest?Is there a foolproof method?How do I know youre not going tostab me with your sharpened knivesonce my back is turned?How do I know youre not going to pollinatevicious words everywhere?Yes, I once used to trustanyone and everyone I met.I always,alwaysgave everyone a second chanceno matter what. (continued right column)


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(continued)

And maybe its ageor the tiny colorful pins stuck in my pincushion back,or the times where Ive helped plant seeds of wordsor the words sprayed on my forehead.Whatever it is,maybe were all supposed to tread cautiously on this blue-green planet.

THE VOICE Go to youngwritersproject.org for your FREE subscription of

YWPs monthly digital magazine!

YWP NEWS & EVENTS

VERMONT WRITES DAY Get your school involved today!More information: youngwriters-project.org/VTWrites15.

THIS WEEK: Photo 6What really happened to Louie that dayBY EMMA HAZELGrade 8, Westford Elementary School

This is a story about what really happened to Louie. Ive thought about telling people what happened, but I am a coward, and have decided to write it instead. At this point, how-ever, I suppose it doesnt really matter how I tell the story, as long as I tell it. Someone must know.

Please, Im not insane. I swear. Dont think I am. This story has a domino effect on my life, which led me to my decision. What started the events that led to what happened to Louie started on a Saturday morning.

I watched from the shoreline as Louie clomped along the rocks that stuck up out of the ice. His bright orange coat contrasted harshly with the white powder snow that coated the lakes frozen surface. The light-house kept a stoic vigil in the distance; its fat, candy-cane stripes wrapping all around it. Waves that had been frozen rippled across the ice. I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered, Louie! Careful!

Louies gure stopped walking and turned toward me. (continued right column)

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Photo 6: Write about the photo of frozen Lake Champlain. You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online com-munity of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

PHOTO 6

Photo 6. Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

Youd think I was an idiot! I know to be careful, Phil! Louie continued walking.

I looked around the frozen wasteland that surrounded me, swallowing me up. Misty, jag-ged mountains pretended that they were teeth, helping the lake chew up the pale-blue winter sky that coiled around me. The powder that hid the ice beneath my feet glared up at me. A freezing January wind nibbled at my nose and my bare hands...

Then I heard the crack, and the scream of terror that followed. Louies scream. Without even processing it, I jumped off the rock. I saw an orange coat and sprinted towards it. My breath started to hammer in my chest when I nally saw what made Louie scream. The orange coat was pulling at his leg, which had broken through the ... but no, it wasnt Louies leg that broke through the ice. Louie was tough. He wouldnt have screamed like that just because he had broken through. And besides, the ice was nearly 12 feet deep. He wouldnt have broken through. And then I saw it.

A human hand clutched Louies leg. The soaking-wet death hand.

Louie frantically pulled at his pant leg. The hand wouldnt let go ...

Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/108017.

THIS WEEK: Regret & Limerick

A man named BillBY KAITO ESSELSTROMGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

There once was a man named BillWho hated to run uphill.He was as slow as a snailAnd stepped on a nailAnd went yelling back down the hill.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompts, Regret: There is something you wish you had done but how its too late; and Limerick: Write a funny limerick. You can nd more at young-writersproject.org and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

I never knewBY NORA KINNEYGrade 5, Founders Memorial School

I tried. Now you are gone. And my mind is lled with guilt, regret and sadness. Every time it went through my head, my mouth would stubbornly refuse. I never knew.

But as I lean over your open casket, a salty bead of emotion rolls down my cheek. Before it aws your beautiful, silent face, I reach out and catch it.

In my pocket lies the ribbon, the gift of friendship that we shared. What once was a simple scrap of fabric is now the only thing that connects us.

A wave of emotional pain jolts me out of my silent mourning, and soon my tear is joined by many others.

Memories reach forward, a timeline of the days that we spent together. And then all happiness comes to a stop when the memory of nding out you had passed of a terrible sick-ness that had been discreetly veiled by your usual attitude shakes more tears from my eyes.

I bow my head, but soon, my lips form the words of the secret that had been long held back in my mind. My sorrowful words escape


(continued)

my mouth and even though I know nally my job has been done, I do not feel satisfaction.

Before I say goodbye to your cold, lifeless body forever, I lay the scrap of ribbon in your ngers. As I say my nal farewell, another tear falls toward your body. But this time, I do not stop it.

Haley Thon, Essex High School

NEXT PROMPTSSupersilly. Come up with a hilarious, seem-

ingly useless superpower and explain how one might defeat a villain using it. Alternates: Secret. Write about a secret that people must never know; or People. Write about a secret people (a hidden population) that most people dont know. Due March 6.

THIS WEEK: Mythical & Change

Addie Scanlon, Essex High School

After the highwayBY KATIE MILLER-JOHNSONGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

Everybody wants to live a life of beauty and peacefulness, and thats how it used to be, birds chirping, lots of trees, and parks, and then my school. I, Angel Hope, and a few friends all used to go there. That was when everything changed. The highway company came and knocked on my door, along with ev-eryone elses in our town and said that we had to move out or live under the highway.

The next day we held a town meeting. Every single one of my friends was going to move. I wasnt. We didnt have the time or the money.

Soon, huge trucks came with concrete, then the cranes and the workers. It was impossible to sleep. Then the town got sick from the dust. My family recovered just before the highway opened. At the store where my dad worked, the owner left, so he lost his job.

Eventually I got used to the dust. The workers offered to build an exit to our town. We agreed and now we get lots of business. My dad has a new job at the Welcome Center. Everything is just as it used to be, but better.

The YumYumBY GRACE LU Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

Have you ever been blamed for stealing a cookie from the cookie jar or knocking down your moms favorite vase?

Thats because of the ... YumYum. Dont be deceived by the cute name, though; this little monster can cause a lot of mischief!

No one knows exactly, who, when, or where the YumYum was created but we do know that its made out of broccoli, spinach, and brussels sprouts, which is why the YumYum is green.

It also possesses two adorable and almost cartoon-like eyes along with two short legs which enable it to bounce around.

When kids are not looking, a YumYum will knock over an object near them, especially one that will cause a lot of noise and then turn invisible. An adult will then start scolding the kid, causing the YumYum to smile happily be-fore teleporting to somewhere else and causing more mischief.

Its been estimated that there are more than two thousand YumYums in existence. To this day, no one has been able to capture one of these elusive creatures.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompts, Mythical: Invent a mythical creature; and Change: Use the phrase, thats when everything changed. You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org and in YWPs digital magazine, The Voice.

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Olivia Duncan, Essex High School

The lumberjacks axBY BRADEN CUMMINGSGrade 5, Thomas Fleming Elementary School (Inspired by The Red Wheelbarrow)So much dependedupona lumberjacksaxcovered in woodakeson the choppedstump.

Spill the paintBY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 10, Essex High School

When were given coloring books,were told to ll the pictures with meticulous strokes;were ridiculed for unrealistic colors,becauseskies are blue,sunowers are yellow,and grass is green.Dont let imagination get in the way of reality.Dont scribble like a 2-year-old.But when those black barrierswere broken by uncoordinated hands,unique masterpieces were created.So, spill the paintand smear your ngers and toes with color.Walk away from the restrictionsand leave your own colorful path on the pages.Walk where you will;create a life, an art, that is your own.Your world doesnt have to mimic the picture on the cover.Make the sky green and the sunowers purple.


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MARK YOUR CALENDARS!

Join YWP for Vermont Writes Day on Thurs-day, March 12! You can get all the details atyoungwritersproject.org/VTWrites15.

THIS WEEK: Seconds

Mya Burghardt, Essex High School

Ten secondsBY GRACE LU Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

Fans are cheering, some holding signs.Cow bells clang,so do noisemakers.Smiles, smiles, everywhere.The nish line is near.This is one of the ercest points in the race.Now is the time to kick it up a notch.I muster all the strength I have and push for-ward.Time seems to slow down as Im now con-scious,conscious of the effort it takes to move my legs,to use my arms,to breathe.But I make myself go faster.My opponents only a few feet behind me.I can hear her heavy breathing.Only 10 more feet.10... My eyes momentarily icker toward the clock indicating the time.9... I can feel my legs; theyre very sore.8... Food? At the end of the race, right?7... No, stay focused.


Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Seconds: Describe something that can happen in seconds. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

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(continued)

6 ... I hear the girls footsteps behind me as they pound the ground.5... How am I still not nished?4 ... Almost there.3 ... I cant let her beat me...2 ... I hurl myself forward.1 ... I know I have more in me.Red, green! the man shouts.In the next few moments, I open my eyes.Im wearing the red cross-country team shirt of my school; shes green.I look at the time: 15:21,a new record for me.Some sports are about the number of goalsor the execution of a jump.Cross-country, though, is a game measured in seconds.This is a game of seconds.

NEXT PROMPTSStardust. Youre exploring intergalactic

space and come across a voyager selling stardust. Write your conversation. Alternate: Regret. Is there something you wish you had done, but now its too late? What is it and how do you deal with it? Due Feb. 13

THIS WEEK: General writing Our days of voidBY JESSICA BELIVEAUGrade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

In the wake of a miracle we waitfor nights embrace to dim the sky,enduring as twilight falls away.Betwixt the gleam of the moonrise and the great cairn,we bleed scarlet and breathe gold.In this hour of boundless void,our monument awaits.

Something youd missBY LEAH KELLEHER Grade 10, Essex High School

Distance is my enemy.It chews a hole in my heart and spits outself-pity and regret. So my legs turn coldon cement so old it would break your heart.Backing up against the wall,I fall on my knees,but you cant see me over the horizon.Were the words you spoke a joke?Or were they not enoughto keep helplessness locked in its cage?Gazing at pictures,ngers numb from grip,eyes drowning,suffocating under waterthat stings my cheeks.You were another posted note,stuck in a memory I will forget.But for now you remain tangled in my hippocampus.


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MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING ATYOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG Olivia Fewell, Essex High School

THE VOICE

CHECK OUT THE LATEST ISSUE!Go to youngwritersproject.org for your FREE subscription!

THIS WEEK: Sorry

Derek Pham, Essex High School

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Sorry: Include the phrase, Im sorry ... Im so sorry. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

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Too lateBY BRITTANY MOORE Grade 10, Essex High School

I stand away from the crowd of your family and friends all dressed in black. I wouldnt be welcome if they saw me.

I wouldnt be welcome if you knew, some-how, that I was here. You would want me as far away as possible.

But I had to come, had to try one last time. Everyone else begins to say goodbye and

speak their choked words that fall upon deaf ears. They slowly lter out, clinging to one another.

Eventually, only I remain.I lift the black veil from my face and look

around. The cloudy sky, the rolling green hills turned grey by the grim light, and the matching grey stones that cover the land.

I walk up to your stone, careful not to step on the freshly turned dirt. Rain begins to fall and mingle with the tears streaming down my face.

I regret everything, but now I can never earn your forgiveness. Not that I ever would have anyway, but this sense of nality makes me want to be in the ground, too.


(continued)I cant have your forgiveness, I cant forgive

myself. I will carry this with me until I nd the eternal peace you currently rest in.

Before my vision is blurred with tears, before I truly cant see you anymore, I kneel beside your grave. I bow my head and whisper those words I desperately need you to hear and accept. Im sorry ... Im so sorry.

But of course, my words fall upon deaf ears, too.

AccidentBY BELLA JOLYGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

Get out of my life! Go away!my little sister screams.I didnt mean it. I tried to stop it.I shouldve helped it.A dog crossed the street. And I hit it.The poor puppy, big blue eyes.My sister was in the backseat,the poor little girl never shouldve seen.Im sorry, Im so sorry!

THIS WEEK: PlutoYoung Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of the best local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Pluto: NASA writes a letter to Pluto, apologizing for demoting it from planet status. More at youngwritersproject.org.

FEATURE PHOTO Dear PlutoBY PHOEBE GAMMALGrade 7, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate

Dear Pluto, I am very sorry about the way people are behaving towards you. I nd it inappropriate and discourteous. Yet, I continue to believe in you. I feel that other people are rather idiotic in calling you a dwarf planet. My apologies for our actions, PhoebeDear Phoebe, Thank you so much for the apology letter, but I would like to let you know that I am actually not very offended by it. I guess it is discourteous, whatever that means, but I am not affected. I have learned to ignore earthlings. Thank you for the letter, Pluto

Deanna Davis-Kilpatrick, Essex High School

The fact about PlutoBY GRACE LUGrade 7, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate

Plutos demotion to dwarf planet shocked people. Or rather it shocked the people who be-lieved that Pluto was a planet, no matter its size. Other people breathed a sigh of relief. Consider-ing themselves enlightened, they had come to the conclusion many years ago that Pluto should not be a planet and had waited many years for this day to come. Others didnt care whether some tiny ball of matter was a planet or not. Who cares? they thought. Heck, I dont even remember the names of the planets, much less the order theyre in. Plutos the really blue one, right? The scientists well, scientists can never seem to agree on anything, so they remained divided on this scientic reclassication. Some of the NASA scientists, the sympathetic sort, wrote an apology letter and sent it to Pluto. Unfortunately no one received it.

Except one. An alien, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Mike Wazowski, or rather vice versa (for the alien was a lot older than Pixar Animation Studios), received the letter. The only difference between this alien, whose real name happens to be unpronounceable in the earthling tongue, and Mike Wazowski was that the alien possessed hot pink horns often adorned with Christmas lights, a habit he adopted while visiting Earth. He happened to be the sole being on Pluto. Or rather, where Pluto used to be... Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/102055.

NEXT PROMPTTime. You are transported back in time and

are inhabiting the mind of someone else. Write about it. Alternates: Queasy. Put your character in a situation that makes her/him queasy. What happens?; or Button. You press a button and something very strange happens. Due Jan. 23.

THIS WEEK: General writingShe who walkswith the windBY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 10, Essex High School

Down the path she goes,muddy ground beneath her toes.Trees surround her, grown in rows;where shes headed, no one knows.She who walks with the wind.

A golden shimmer on her hair,tumbling to her shoulder, fair,and then theres singing in the air,thats when I see her dancing there.

Wispy hair blows to each side,obscuring the face she wants to hide,a walking mystery seems to glideas she travels with blustery guide.She who walks with the wind.

Crispy colors fall from treesas they rustle in each breeze;shell keep on walking till she seesmy gaze upon her, then shell freeze.



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Shell turn around and blow away;she wont ever stay to play,continuing on her mysterious way.Maybe Ill catch her another day. She who walks with the wind.

Down the path she goes,muddy ground beneath her toes.Trees surround her, grown in rows;where shes headed, no one knows.


HAPPY HOLIDAYSFROM ALL OF US AT

YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT Well be back in this space

with more great writing on Jan. 8!

NEXT PROMPTSStatue. Youre walking through an

empty park and pass a statue. To your surprise, the statue strikes up a conversa-tion with you. Tell the story of the statue and what it says. Alternates: Dark. Are you scared of the dark? Why?; or Hous-ton. You are an astronaut. Describe a moment oating in space. Due Jan. 9

THIS WEEK: Lyrics & WinterYoung Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompts, Lyrics: Sprout a piece from a favorite song and Winter: Write a tale about winter. You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Be brave BY GRACE LU Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

I wanna see you be brave. - Sara BareillesI might be afraid, but its my turn to be brave. - Idina Menzel I wanna see you be brave.Dont let what they say or dostrike your heart.Fearlessness and determinationis what you need.I wanna see you be bravein the things you do.You have a mind; use it.Be aware of the things you sayand their impact on others.I wanna see you be brave.Keep believing in who you are,what you are.Dont change yourself to be like othersor think like others.I wanna see you be brave.Make the rst bold move.Show some kindness, you fool.Go over thereand apologize.


(continued)

I wanna see you be brave.The challenges will come to pass.You can brave the storm of hurtful words.Dont let their words penetrate your skin.Have thick skin.I wanna see you be brave.I wanna see you be brave.So be brave. Be brave.You can do it. I know you can.

Ian Ballou, Essex High School

The snow fortBY CARTER FRANKENHOFFGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

Digging, digging, digging,in my green jacketwith black snowpants and blue, warm gloves.Kicking the snow,making it explode in my face like a paintballto widen out the space around me.Packing the snow on the towering pile,chopping and carryingice blocks to build up the walls of the fort.Punching the insides of the wallswith all my mightand packing it tight, hoping that it wont collapse on me.

THIS WEEK: Winter TalesYoung Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. This week, we present local pieces that were selected for Winter Tales to be performed by Vermont Stage Company at FlynnSpace in Burlington, Dec.10-14. For more information and tickets, go to vtstage.org/winter-tales; and for the full schedule of YWP performances, go to youngwritersproject.org.

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A ride on a reindeerBY JADYN JACOBSGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

I gallop through the sky.Its like the stars are snowakes,and the sky is the ground and the ground is the sky.The reindeer pants,and I pull back to slow down.I hold on to his horns and pet his soft furas we gallop through the snowy Christmas night.Performance: Wednesday, Dec. 10 @ 7:30 p.m.

Being a snowdragonBY NOAH SANDERSONGrade 4, Thomas Fleming School

Theyve made many before.But none quite like me.Many were men, some women,even babies of three.Made of snow, not feathers, skin, or scales.I only pretend to breathe re;but still, when everyone else is so plain,its cool to be me.Performance: Sunday, Dec. 14 @ 2 p.m.

Snow TagBY PATRICK HERRINGrade 6, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate

Just me and my brother were in my yard.The yard isnt too big, but big enough and blanketed in the diamond-sparkle snow to run and chase and ee.When we chase each other,we run through the deep, deep, uffy snow.Running through snow is likerunning through water sluggish but in a merry way.The snow ies up from the back of our feet.Running through the powderIve almost gotten my brotheruntil he takes a big leap! Froosh!Snow urries everywhere and Im covered.I yelp, but then laugh as he squeals in delight.I fall face rst into the snow,not caring about the cold.Im already covered in the whitethat made our tag game so fun!

Performance: Friday, Dec. 12 @ 7:30 p.m.Jonathan Palmer, Essex High School

THIS WEEK: Winter

Smugglers Notch, Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

Winter roadBY FAITH HAMMONDGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

As Im looking, looking down this winter roadwhere I need to treadto get the much neededcup of sugarfrom Ms Honey a witty, little lady next door I see trees bending down from the weight of the snow wrapping around me like a cold hug,and a pair of tracks barely visible from the fresh, fallen snow.I hear my breath and the occasional thump!from snow falling off branchesfrom too much weight.I whack them asideonly for the bareevergreen branches to come backand slap my face like a whip.Ms Honey,only next door,yet far away.So I keep trudging, walking, down this winter road.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Winter Tales. Several YWP pieces will be performed as part of Winter Tales at FlynnSpace in Burlington, Dec. 10-14, and we will present a selection of the best writing here. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

FEATURE PHOTO

NEXT PROMPTSInvention. Youve just invented the next big thing! What is it and what does it do? Alternates: 15, 10, 5. Create a short dialogue of three characters. The rst can only speak 15 words, the second 10, and the third just ve words; or Author. Write in the style of your favorite author or poet. Due Dec. 5

Frost horseBY MORGAN SUTLIFFGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

On a lonely sledding hillafter everyone has gone home,a girl wants to take one last run and she puts the icy cold metal blades on the snow.She sees a snow storm in the distance. It sounds like an angry horse galloping. Her brother beckons for her to come home with him. She declines.And when shes about to take off,the snowstorm hits.Her hat ies off across the lake toward where a white horse stands.For moments the girl and the horse stare into each others eyes.Then a snowy blast whips past the horseand hes gone.So the girl runs home to tell her tale of the frost horse.

THIS WEEK: SnapchatYoung Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Snapchat: This is no time to Snapchat. Use this sentence in a poem or story. You can nd more student work at youngwritersproject.org, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

MobileBY GRACE LUGrade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate

stop using your phone!do you think i care?what are you looking at?none of your business, this is my phonecan i have your number?give him the number for McDonalds and see how he reactsnew outt? take a sele#wokeuplikethis #ootd #2014bored? more seles (gotta get those likes up and unfollow that ex-bestie)STOP! BAM!your phone falls out of your handyou watch it fall slowly to the ground as if it were in slow motion, watch as it tumbles several times before landing at on the groundSTOP! look up, look aroundlook through the windowwhat have you missed out on?remember all those days spent playing outside?running on the dirt trailswading into the cool lake waterthe smell of sweat and pine treesremember the time you tried to catch snowakes on your tongue?

(continued in right column) Danilo Salgado, Essex High School

YWP SPEAK OUT!Free Story Slam & Workshop NOVEMBER 20FLETCHER FREE LIBRARYBURLINGTONDETAILS:5 pm Workshop6 pm Sign up for Slam6:30 pm Slam begins!

YWP NEWS & EVENTS

remember all the times when you and a friend had a water balloon ght out in the backyard?the times when you tried to bury your sibling in the sand?remember all those good ol times without technology?now pick that phone upturn it on, delete your apps, your Instagram,Vine, Tumblr, Facebook, Twittereven your favorite app, Snapchatthis is no time to Snapchat!now turn it off, put it in a shoeboxand place it in your closetshut the door and walk away.

THIS WEEK: WinterYoung Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Winter Tales: Tell a story about winter. Top selections will be per-formed by the Vermont Stage Company at FlynnSpace in Burlington Dec. 10-14. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org.

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NEXT PROMPTS Snails. Did you know snails can swallow you whole? Or that the Loch Ness Monster and Lake Champlains Champ are cousins? Tell a ridiculous whopper but be persuasive enough that someone just might believe you. Alternates: Proposal. Write about a wedding proposal that goes terribly wrong; or Photo 5 (Library of Congress). Due Nov. 28Jill Macfarlane, Essex High School

A winter morningBY KATE JEWELLGrade 4, Thomas Fleming School

Children shiver in their beds,the wind softly howls,the moon shines and icicles slowly grow longer.Snow falls, making homes look like Christmas cards,but slowly the sun creeps upwhile children yawn as they wake,and eventually the homes are up and active.Parents frantically bakewhile children pull their snowsuitsover their pajamasand run around the house screaming,Wheres my glove? and Someone took my boot!Mothers and fathers try to quiet their childrenbefore they wake the state.Finally ready, the kids plunge into the snowand slide on the ice,laughing happilyas they sled down the hillsand parents sigh as they collapse on the couchwith coffee and a book for a few moments of quietbefore it begins again!

If I were a snowakeBY JOCELYN DUNN Grade 4, Thomas Fleming School(Inspired by Jacqueline Sweeney)

If I were a snowakeI would stick my arms and legs outAnd wait for a snowfall.My shirt would ll up with airLike a parachute;My hair would ow in the cold windAnd I would dodge other snowakesOn my way downCloser and closerTo the ground.

THIS WEEK: General writingHope, loveBY LEAH KELLEHER Grade 9, Essex High School

Quiet glances,sideways stares,and normally that wouldnt be enough,but somehow it is.We come from two different parallels,yet we belong to the same worldand I can touch your ngertips,graze your lips and tickle your abdomenwithout a word,in a different mind.You came in a time when I was pieces,pieces of a person who is awry inthe footing of trust.You came with your honey-covered words,exuberant smileand corralled me to your arms,to a sanctuary.As I look back at the forgotten Post-it note relationshipsI hope to god your name will not join them.


FEATURE PHOTO

Emily Cunningham-Firkey, Essex High School

CELEBRATION OF WRITINGAND RELEASE OF ANTHOLOGY 6

SATURDAY, NOV. 89:30 A.M. 5 P.M.

VERMONT COLLEGE OF FINE ARTS36 COLLEGE STREET

MONTPELIER Register for workshops today

at youngwritersproject.org! Its FREE!

NEXT PROMPTSReporter. You are a new reporter, excited

to be assigned to your rst big story, but ev-erything seems to conspire against you (e.g., trafc jams, torrential rain, wrong informa-tion, police barricades, people who refuse to be interviewed.) Whats the story and how do you pull it off? Alternates: Seconds. Describe something that happened in mere seconds, something big or small; or Famous. You nd out someone you know is famous. Describe the person, and why s/he is famous. How does this affect you? Due Nov. 21

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING ATYOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

THIS WEEK: General writingThe music of soundBY GRACE LU Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton School

It starts with a drop of rain.A tattered, old door slowly creaks.Another raindrop followsas a gust of wind comes through the window,creating a tiny thump.The curtains utter like the wings of a bird.Soon it becomes a chorus of raindrops.A real bird lands on the window sill where the paint has started to peel.Windshield wipers are turned on with a pushof a button.A red cardinal, joining in, cocks its head,providing a rhythmic beat as the drum,staring at the door.Cars splash and slosh through the puddles,and singing a melodious tune,people open their umbrellas with a whoomp!The crickets in the eld begin to chirp,their chatter a consistent hum,turning the solo into a duet.The rain soon increases to a downpour,the curtains still apping.A crescendo, the windshield wipers beat faster and faster;A crescendo, the door creaks louder and louder. (Continued right column)

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs new monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Alex Russell, Essex High School

(Continued)faster and faster,louder and louder.Then it stops!The rain dies down.The bird gets bored and ies away;as fast as it came its gone.The breeze dies down;windshield wipers are turned off,the door stops creaking,leaving only a faint memory of the song.The crickets hop away.Common in the city,a rare song in an abandoned countrysideif you listen, if you wait.




MONTPELIER Register for workshops today

at youngwritersproject.org! Its FREE!

THIS WEEK: HauntedHalloween surpriseBY BRADEN CUMMINGS Grade 5, Thomas Fleming School

It was the night of Halloweenand I was dressed up as a werewolf, my dog as Superman.Suddenly, as fast as lightning,my dog Cadia bolted down the streetand I ran after him!Maybe I shouldve been The Flash, I thought, as I dodged toddlers dressed up asThomas the Tank Engine and Bob the Builderand teens dressed up as vampires and zombies.Come back! Come back! I hollered.I followed Cadia into the woods.It felt like I was ina piece of black construction paper,but I kept my light trained on my dog.My legs were aching from running. Suddenly, I was in a eld and I saw my dog run into the open doorof a large log building with a metal sign hanging from chainsthat said First National Bank ...

(Read on... continued in right column)

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Haunted: Your dog runs into a creepy, abandoned house. What happens? You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

Derek Pham, Essex High School

I gulped and entered with caution.Cobwebs on walls, creaking wood,dust dancing in the light.Suddenly, what was that?A shufe? A whine? A light shining through a doorway?Slowly I turned the knob;I pushed the door open ...Happy Birthday!!Oh yeah, Halloween is my birthday!

Read the complete piece at youngwritersproject.org/node/xxx.


THIS IS YWPS KEY EVENT OF THE YEAR!



MONTPELIER Register today at youngwritersproject.org

THIS WEEK: Complicated

Alex Russell, Essex High School

My dayBY ELIZABETH MESSIERGrade 5, Thomas Fleming School

As I walk to school,late,because I couldnt ndmy music folder,I climbthe steep,steephillwith mysprained ankle.

My mom calls,sayingI forgot my lunch,and that shedidnt signmy homework sheetsand my reading log.She also saysmy sisterthrew upon mymusic folder ...while she wastrying to hide it.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a sample of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Complicated: Some days, theres just one problem after another. Describe your complicated day. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, and in YWPs new monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

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YWP EVENTSCELEBRATION OF WRITING

YWPS KEY EVENT OF THE YEAR!


VERMONT COLLEGE OF FINE ARTSMONTPELIER

More details to come at youngwritersproject.org

NEXT PROMPTSLetter. Write a letter to your mother,

father, a grandparent, teacher or favorite person to say thanks for something spe-cial they do, or for everything. Provide a specic story to show why the person is so great. Alternate: Habit. Think about a bad habit you might have and create a character with a similar bad habit. Write about why the character wont easily give up the habit. Due Oct. 24

THIS WEEK: General writingSleeping BeautyBY AUDREY DAWSONGrade 10, Essex High School

After an oppressive silence, lacking all the cries, shrieks, and giggles of the world, the unnerving calm is broken by an ensemble of vigorous drummers.

The sound rattles into a crescendo as dried leaves, on their way to the stone fortress in the center of it all, snag on cursed thorns and briars.

A few climb high enough, only to tumble to the oor as the remaining exhalations caress rosebud lips.

Azure eyes utter open, awakened from a centennial slumber.

Gleaming, golden curls are lifted from a satin pillow and bounce to her shoulders.

She glances to the window, reassuring chatter and laughter already ltering in.

Then, delicately, each pristine foot is placed in front of the other.

She reaches the window and leans out, hair blowing back as if shes aboard a speedy pas-senger ship bound for a faraway land.

(continued, right column)

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs new monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

FEATURE PHOTO

(continued)

A icker of desire dances in her eyes as she glimpses that distant shore, a desire to skip around and let go, but it fades, hidden by a repressive fog.

One hundred years of enchanted sleep have passed, seasons without consequence on fair skin; now she simply turns to a mirror, intent on looking upon her beauty.

Yet snow will fall to this maidens eventu-ally hunched shoulders in place of cascading strands.

Her smooth skin will give way to a map of wrinkles, no matter how much time she spends memorizing each perfect pore.

After an eternity of bejeweled riches and ignorance, she will pass on like so many before her.

Yet the kingdom will go through many more hibernations.

Life may pass from the land, but only until green buds sprout up from the thawing surface of Earth.


Tapan Nepal, Essex High School

THIS WEEK: Photo 1 & General

Photo Prompt 3. Chelsea Somerset, Essex High School

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompts, Photo 1 and General writing. You can nd more at youngwriter-sproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs new monthly digital magazine, The Voice.

NEXT PROMPTSRoom. You have a chance to redesign your room. What do you do? Alternates: Lie. Use the sentence, You dont have to lie; I know it was you, in a poem or story; or General writing. Your best piece in any genre. Due Oct. 10Angel. For the rst time you meet your guardian angel. Write a short story develop-ing your guardians character and relationship with you. Alternates: Snapchat. This

is no time to Snapchat! Use this sentence. What has just happened or is about to hap-pen?; or Photo 3 (above). Due Oct. 17

Fleeting passionBY LEAH KELLEHERGrade 10, Essex High School

Up into the skylineyou soar through brightened edges,the soles of your shoes set freefrom binding laces.My tangled silhouette behind youholds your hand as you escape into air.A breeze tickles your hair,kisses your cheeksand I, bright-eyed and loose,form hearts with my handswhile you come back down to me.I am jealous of the rampswho captivate,who sprout passion in yourobscure eyes.But I know that one daythose soles will become decrepit,and so will your willingnessfor freedom.

Photo 1. Erin Bundock, CVU

WaitingBY GRACE LUGrade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

She sits at her desk, her hand alwayselegantly perched above the typewriter, index ngerlifted and ready tofeel the touch of the keys.Dictionary by her side for reference, she waits for thatone moment when inspiration will strike her and withutter brilliance she will see everything clearly,but it never comes and with a heavy heart, she stowsthe typewriter away.

YWP NEWSCheck out Young Writers Projects new digital literary magazine. Go to youngwrit-ersproject.org and click on The Voice or go to this link: bit.ly/1CaT9WB.Cover photo: Josina Munson, Essex High School

THIS WEEK: General writingSinging young wordsBY JESSICA BELIVEAUGrade 8, Albert D. Lawton School

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at youngwriter-sproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.

FEATURE PHOTO

YWP NEWSTHIS WEEK!

YWP INTRODUCESTHE VOICE

AN EXCITING NEW DIGITAL MAGAZINE

Go to youngwritersproject.org to view YWPs new monthly

e-mag and subscribe!

NEXT PROMPTSComplicated. Your life is compli-

cated, and some days, theres just one mess after another. Describe one of those days in detail it can be funny or tragic. Alternates: Leaf. Write from the point of view of one leaf on a large, colorful maple tree; or Photo 2 (below). Due Oct. 3

Photo 2. Jeff Schultz, Essex High School

Sometimes when Im alone, I sing to myself.I hardly ever sing real songs,and if I do, I dont use their real words.No matter what Im doing,I sing an amusing narration to the empty house,teasing, scolding, encouraging myself.I play with my emotions;they are surprisingly malleable.I can make myself feel lonely,depressed or angry, just for fun.Just as easily I could becheerful, festive or contentif negativity gets boring.I could be walking in circles,possibly folding origami, which is a beautiful habit, I think.Maybe dancing, even though Im a horrible dancer.Sometimes I just lie on the oorwhere the sun slants through the windowlike a lazy feline.I dont know why I sing.Its my sisters who are the chorus nerds,and the ones who write real stories.But for hours, I wear out my voice,and surprisingly enough, it makes me happy.

Jasmine Douglas-Hughes, Mount Manseld Union High School

THE CALVINWRITE ABOUT VERMONT. WIN $1500

Deadline is Friday, Sept. 26!

Details at youngwritersproject.org/calvin.

THIS WEEK: General writingThe desertBY AUDREY DAWSONGrade 10, Essex High School

The Arizona desert is a carpet,loose threads and unnished patterns.They tell of wind, rain, draught,of the shifting plates that resulted in the moun-tains,covered with rainbow blankets whenever the sun falls out of bed.The sun is also a spotlight for the patternssewn in by the fatigued feet of immigrants,and the weary feet of strong-willed natives.A spotlight for each green-spotted lizardand every sweltering animal that adds to the history.The sun reveals this map of the past,the truths rarely studied but for the mattress of clouds.Roads are still paved over the loose threads of this desert,and maybe these new paths are inevitablebut the sun tries to remind us of the past any-way.

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of thebest local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at youngwriter-sproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.

FEATURE PHOTO

Deidre Vanmoerkerque, Essex High School

NEXT PROMPTSObjects. Write about a

relationship that develops between two inanimate objects (e.g., books on a shelf, apps on a phone, park bench and trash bin).

Alternates: Aliens. Curious aliens visit Vermont. What is the rst thing they do? What do

they demand? or Photo 1 (above, left). Due Sept. 19

Erin Bundock, Champlain Valley Union High School

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Essex Reporter 2014-2015