Times Argus Index 2013-14

YOU CAN FIND GREAT STUDENT
WRITING ALL SUMMER AT

YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG,
VPR.NET AND VTDIGGER.ORG!
THIS WEEK: Telepathy & General
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them
with authentic audiences. YWP
runs youngwritersproject.org and
the Schools Project, a comprehen-
sive online classroom and training
program that works with teachers to
help students develop their writing
and digital literacy skills. To learn
more, go to ywpschools.net or con-
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Glass bubbles
BY SAGE DEVEREUX
Grade 5, Waitsfeld Elementary School
I keep my memories
locked away in glass bubbles.
I asked the wind
where he kept his memories.
He answered in a whisper,
tangled with the blue of the sky,
I keep them in forever.
I asked the bird,
soaring above the world,
where he kept his memories.
He answered through
the graceful strokes
of his elegant kite wings,
I hold my memories in the trees,
their forever changing leaves
remind me of before.
So now when I see a bubble,
I think of the memories,
held in the birch trees
outside my window.
I think of my forever,
and the winds strained reply.
I think of forever,
and I think of before.
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
PHYSICIANS COMPUTER CO.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several
hundred submissions from students in Vermont and
New Hampshire and we publish the best here and in
newspapers around the state, on vpr.net and vtdigger.
org. This week, we present responses to the prompts,
Telepathy: Telephathically place an image in every-
ones mind; and General writing.
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 Coolidges 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
foundations annual
gala in New York
City next fall.
More details at
coolidgefounda-
tion.org; young-
writersproject.org.
Calvin Coolidge
(Library of Congress)
THANKS
FOR YOUR SUPPORT
As we conclude the 2014-15
school year, this will be the last ap-
pearance of Young Writers Project
in this space until the second week
of September. We hope you have
enjoyed the students writing and
photography and encourage you to
follow their work through the summer
on youngwritersproject.org, on vpr.
net and vtdigger.org.
We also invite you to hear a re-
markable group of young writers read
their work at the Burlington Book
Festival on Sept. 20 and at YWPs an-
nual Celebration of Writing on Nov. 8
at the Vermont College of Fine Art in
Montpelier. These young people will
be among about 70 writers selected
from more than 10,000 for publica-
tion in YWPs 6th Anthology.
Thank you, young writers, for
sharing your spirit, creativity and fne
story-telling with YWP and the read-
ers of this newspaper! Thank you to
the Times Argus for making space for
this feature each week and for valuing
the importance oI writing and aIfrm-
ing students best efforts.
Geoffrey Gevalt, YWP founder
and director, and Susan Reid, publi-
cations
The outlaws song
BY JULIA HANCOCK-SONG
Grade 12, Montpelier High School
We are fugitives.
We do not look behind us but we listen.
We creep
along the sidelines of life not asking but
rather hoping
for clues to line up and present them-
selves.
We are outlaws.
Banished by common sense, and wanted
oh, how we are wanted if only by
the law
if only for justices sake but wed rather
creep
along the sidelines and not ask questions.
We are refugees.
We have lost the life we only ever re-
member
being happy to have built,
but we couldnt go back, no, we darent
go back if only for justices sake.
We are spies,
living in the thick of enemy territory
we have learned
this foreign language but we do not
speak.
Only keep an ear cocked. We do not look
behind us but we listen. We darent go
back.
We are soldiers.
We fght a war we barely comprehend.
We keep ears cocked like guns, creep
along the sidelines oI the battlefeld.
The war should be over.
No one remembers what we`re fghting
about.
But weve fought about it for far too long
to stop now, if only
for justices sake.
Joining the night
BY CHRISTIAN BOLDING
Grade 8, Northfeld Middle School
I stare out the window at the spectacu-
lar night. Outside, the moon is full and
casts its heavenly beams over the felds oI
my grandmothers ranch.
I can see the chickens quietly retreat-
ing from the yard in front of the big farm-
house. The frefies oI infnite numbers
ficker on and oII like a young child who
plays with a light switch.
I long to go out and be a part of it
all. So I go, and my siblings and cousins
follow. I run, silent and barefooted in the
cushy, mowed grass that stifes all sound
and veils the damp earth...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-
ect.org/node/92475.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
05401.
BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
THIS WEEK: 48 Hours & General
Each week, Young Writers Project receives hundreds
of submissions from students in Vermont and New
Hampshire and we publish the best here, in news-
papers around the state and on vpr.net and vtdigger.
org. This week, we present responses to the prompts,
48 Hours: You have 48 hours to do anything. What
would you do? and General writing.
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
THE CALVIN
Vermont writers
(under age 20) are
invited to write
about a topic
close to the heart
of one of the most
famous Vermont-
ers, President
Calvin Coolidge:
Should I stay in
Vermont or should
I leave?
The Calvin Coolidge Memorial
Foundation is offering $1,500 for
the top essay and $500 for the
runner up, along with a trip to the
foundations annual gala in New
York City next fall.
You can fnd more details at
coolidgefoundation.org or young-
writersproject.org.
Calvin Coolidge
(Library of Congress)
Sugaring prank
BY TINEKE MACE
Grade 4, Tunbridge Central School
One day we went sugaring. It was tons
of fun!
We collected sap and took a tour. Dur-
ing the tour, we checked out the place the
syrup gets made.
Mrs. B., our gym teacher, who also
owns the sugar house, let us sample some
confectionary sugar that helps get the
syrup sweet. I know that sounds crazy,
but everyone dove right in.
Apparently it wasnt even sugar. We
were eating limestone!
You dont want to know what hap-
pened after that.
But I learned two lessons: One, maple
syrup doesnt need sugar; and two, teach-
ers pull pranks, too.
La vita e bella
BY ASHLEY HEANEY
Grade 12, Northfeld High School
I would live 48 hours in total freedom
as if I were to die once the clock stopped.
I`d Iorget fnancial limits and would
escape the daily routine of life.
I would buy an immediate plane ticket
to Europe, sitting in frst class, talking
over champagne with the nearest celeb-
rity. Id bring only cash and none of my
belongings. I would gather a new ward-
robe and accumulate clothes from every
designer store when in Europe. A pair of
high heels for $1,000? Why not? I cant
walk in heels without falling on my face.
Maybe I could visit a modeling agency
for some tips and have some professional
shots taken as well.
AIter a well-rested fight and a stomach
flled with chocolate-covered strawber-
ries and overpriced wine, Id land in Italy.
First order of business: spaghetti, lots of
spaghetti. Im aware Italy is famous for
so much more than a bowl of carbs, but
as a huge spaghetti lover, I would fnd the
fanciest restaurant, sit at an outside table
with the best view of Rome and the best
view of the handsome Italian men, and
eat my weight in the stringed heaven.
After tipping the cute waiter and
slipping him my number, I`d fnd my
way around the city with fuent Italian.
Something about only having 48 hours
would make me immediately pick up on
the language, as if the smell of Italian
spaghetti was just the fx to ignite a new-
found ability that had always been there.
Id ask every Italian man for directions
to the hotel, and with a thank you kiss,
I would fnd my way to the grand steps
of the largest hotel, adorned with white
sculptures higher than the clouds. I would
trace my fngers along the lace coating
the stairwell and prop my sunglasses atop
my curls to get a better look at the 50-foot
chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
In my new wardrobe, worth more than
my house, Id go out to dinner that night
with the cute waiter I met during my light
afternoon snack. Id spend the rest of my
frst 24 hours eating, drinking, and danc-
ing the night away in the streets of Rome.
I wouldnt have a care in the world, or
even feel the need to sleep. The next 24
hours would slip away if I spent it only
day dreaming about the things that I could
do. Id act on every impulse and every
crazy thought, knowing that this fanta-
sized world would slip from me within
moments. I would end up a Cinderella,
left with nothing and pulled out of a
magical world, but at least I would have
my glittered slipper and my prince: the
very cute Italian waiter.
Two cool places
BY ALEXANDER MAURICE
Grade 4, Barre Town Elementary School
If I had 48 hours to go any place in the
world, I would have a hard time deciding.
I would split my time between two
places. I would want to go to both Yel-
lowstone National Park and the Great
Barrier Reef. They are both cool places...
Cruise ship
BY LACI COTA
If I had 48 hours to do anything or
go anywhere, I would go on the worlds
best cruise. It would have a really big
gym to do gymnastics with a trampoline.
And it would have a huge water park
with a big water slide that you could go
down with a tube for one or as many
people as you want.
Each room would be really big and
kids would have a 55-inch TV in the
room with a new Apple IPad to play
games on.
All the kids would have a free pass to
the places to eat. And I would go to the
Girls Only Club and it would have roller
skating and laser tag with the biggest ice
cream and candy shop on earth.
THIS WEEK: Color & General
05401.
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
New Hampshire. We select the best for publication
here and in newspapers around the state, on vtdigger.
org and vpr.net. This week, we publish work in
response to the prompts, Color: Create a new color
and name it, describe it; and General writing.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Nate Ertle, Essex High School
Reecting life
BY GRACE ECKLUND-GUSTAVSON
Grade 8, U-32 Middle School
Amor la vida. To love life.
This color is the light refected oII one`s
eye,
The refection oI the sun in a rippling
pond,
The glow refecting the sun oII a beetle`s
shiny back,
The frst rays oI sun touching the Earth,
And not the frst oI the day. No.
But the frst rays that the Earth ever Ielt in
its entire existence,
The rays that would be echoed on,
Ever weaker than the last,
In the days that would come to pass.
Maybe this could be interpreted as the
color of the sun,
But the refection and the rays are what
we treasure most,
For they transport nutrients and warmth,
Beauty and calm.
Some of our happiest days are spent on a
healthy green feld,
Resting under a warm sun,
Absorbing its heat,
And cooled by a gentle breeze,
A breeze created by the same orb that
gave us warmth.
And so is the color of amor la vida,
A refection oI liIe itselI.
Steampunk bonsai
He grows his children carefully
with a gardener`s eye & a Iather`s hand
prunes them, gentle as January rain
shapes them into the most perfect,
most balanced unpredictabilities
adds a dial here, a copper disc here
snips their stray wires, gentle as summer
snow.
sometimes they become vines & he plants
posts in the sawdust for them to clamber
up
sometimes they bloom
great big gramophone blossoms or clus-
ters of tiny
bells, delicate as January rain
he wants them to grow without him
he is rusting. the ticking of his heart,
soft as summer snow, is slowing. the tiny
bulbs in his eyes are fickering.
he wants his children to keep growing,
keep climbing, keep blooming
wants to teach them to turn their own
gears
when he is gone & he thinks maybe
if he wires in enough diodes, maybe
if he hides enough batteries
in their thin and twisting trunks, maybe
if their tender limbs can be programmed
to recognize the seasons,
can be taught to fower in spring & turn to
gold in autumn
maybe
they will grow themselves into shapes
besides straight lines & right angles
& instead lean to Iollow the sun
& sprout wayward springs
& curl their young twigs in wild &
perIect unpredictabilities &
become the wondrous balancing acts he is
trying to make them all by themselves
so he locks himself in his whirring clock-
work garden to work
& as the keys oI his fngers creak
in stuttering haiku
as his engine`s purr, once a muIfed
machine-gun fre, becomes a slow patter
of Morse code
Iaint as the November sun
he reaches into the piano of his rib cage
fumbles through the tiny silver hammers
& Irom the center oI his sternum
he pulls out the intricate sterling pendu-
lum
that taps out his heartbeat
his fnal possession
still tentatively swinging
making fgure eights in the cold coppery
air
timid as summer snow
& as the butane
in his veins runs thin & turns to vapor
he hangs it lovingly on the fnal branch.
Swish
BY OLIVIA HENNESSEY
Grade 6, Main Street Middle School
The ref
squeaks onto the court,
his sneakers squawking.
I stare
at the black and white stripes of his shirt
and how he shuIfes surreptitiously
to tuck the stripes in.
The bright yellow whistle
that was once limply dangling from his
neck
is now pursed
between his grimacing grey lips.
My loose green and white shirt
grasps onto my shoulders
as if
on the brink of death.
Sweat forms on my brow
like condensation cooling on a once
crystallized window.
My mind races
and the scintillating cry of the crowd
flls my ears.
The other ref
steps casually into middle court
with the faded orange ball.
I stand in the center circle
next to a gangly girl.
I feel her hard, wet breath
against my neck,
looking up as the well-known screech
of the whistle blows.
My quickly beating heart
races faster than a bullet
as the ball
fies into the air
with a swish!
Color of curiosity
BY NATE MORRIS
I present to you... Fdjur!
Fdjur is a new color that is not visible
to the human eye. Pronounced fud-yur,
this color looks like white to the average
person.
Fdjur is a warm color that is on
white roses. If this color described an
emotion, it would be curiosity.
Are you wearing something white? It
could be Fdjur!
Plain white is smooth and silk-like.
Fdjur is less like that and is slightly off-
white.
Many animals can tell white from
Fdjur and will react to it, being that Fdjur
is a vibrant and bright color.
THIS WEEK: Silence & Gibberish
05401.
JANES TRUST
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students,
we select the best for publication here and in newspa-
pers around the state. This week, we publish work in
response to the prompts, Silence: They sat without a
word... and Gibberish: Write nonsense poetry.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Paper crane
They sat without a word to say to each
other. Guilt on the mans face, sadness on
the womans.
They hadnt spoken to one another
since graduation, where they had fought,
long and hard, until their relationship
shattered and even hopes of staying in
touch had been lost.
It was pure coincidence that they were
sitting together on the same park bench.
The woman wondered if he recognized
her. Next to her, the man wondered if she
would forgive him...
(Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-
ect.org/node/93594.)
In the mountains
BY ASHLEY HEANEY
They sat without a word to say to
each other. His hand gently grasped her
knee, feeling the prickles of her unshaven
skin, but not caring. She had her head on
his shoulder while they sat hand in hand.
They just stared, not at each other, but
at their surroundings. The adventure had
taken them the entire day, trekking up
the mountain side... They sat in the same
crevice of the same rock; the same bench
carved by nature where they shared their
frst kiss. They watched the same sky and
squeezed each others hands harder as the
sun set, remembering the proposal one
year before, indicated on their wedding
rings by an engraving of Camels Hump.
ect.org/node/93585.)
Pizza for two
BY GREG WARD
Ill get a pizza for two
With a topping of 52 shoes
And 52 snooze
And 52 cruise
And a few days of summer
And a few songs of blues
And 52 layers
Of whipped goozberry mousse
And if your begruised by this idea of a
pizza for two
Please do consider that it isnt for you
This pizza should last me 4 ruses rue
I could take it for a journey
Til it loses you
And you loses you
And you lose your shoe
And asking for a shoe from my pizza is
no one but you
So clean up your act
Your view has been cracked
Find out who is who
And whos in this pact
As a matter of fact
I wouldntve asked
For a pizza for two
If I thought you wouldnt last
So remove the crass and the sass
And please keep your hand off the glass
This Chass isnt showing til quarter past
half mast
So dont get any pizza on your blight-
uldied past
You might end up seeing its gone by
slightly too fast
Jillian Kenny, Essex High School Silent nightmare
BY KATE PIERPONT
Grade 10, Chelsea Public School
They sat without a word to say to each
other, their posture stiff, hands clenched
almost as if rigor mortis had set in. Their
fngers clasped tightly together, knuck-
les white with strain. Her eyes trained
harshly at the far distance, never mov-
ing, unblinking. His eyes, sad and empty,
gazed down at tattered Converse, as they
waited. A chilling wind blew, but nei-
ther finched...unlike humans, more like
gargoyles, statues of desperation, hope
and fear...
ect.org/node/ 93462.)
Judgal-ju
BY ELEANOR BRAUN
The candy cane judgal-ju,
in the twisty wiggle rood,
zuzzled its mudgey-loor,
while evasing with a shersy tod.
Worring and wizizigling,
the judgal-ju pravercuzed,
leopathizething
with the stratoon oI Wraxfdettell.
Desiade! it cried,
primenting its sysatle.
'Cease your midflliting!
it stinted and sraleed with tolay.
Dokanjiskly, it rinnd
and rann-ed with the stratoon.
Wraxfdettell must wait,
as the judgal-ju querged and sahked.
The candy cane judgal-ju,
in the twisty wiggle rood,
zuzzled its mudgey-loor,
while evasing with a shersy tod.
Not a word
BY GARETT LASKOWSKI
We sat without a word to say to each
other. It was just my dad and me. We
were watching the sun go down from the
house. I like watching the sun with my
dad. We do it on weekends when it is
warm out.
In the morning the sun comes back up
and my dad and I sit still and watch and
dont say a word.
I couldnt have asked for a better dad.
Tongue gibberish
BY CHRISTYANNA HOLT
The lunch lady sung and grilled my
tongue. She gave it to me and I started to
complain: gibber gabber blibber blabber
green leopards eye. So instead she made
troll seat pie.
I settled for my tongue: giggle sout
saggy trout dhab a ear. The rest of the
kids complained they all had roasted deer.
All I could say was, plout fipper glass
slipper kake shake. And for my sake, Im
glad nobody likes grilled tongue shakes.
THIS WEEK: Spirit animal
05401.
VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
hundred submissions from students in Vermont
and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of
students, we select the best for publication here and in
newspapers around the state, and on vtdigger.org and
and vpr.net. This week, we publish work in response
to the prompt, Spirit: What is your spirit animal?
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Casey Mulrow, Essex High School
Turtle
BY JACOB BRADLEY
The animal that I think represents me
the best is the turtle. There are several
reasons for this. One, Im pretty dang
slow. If you ask any of my friends or
anybody that I play sports with theyll
probably tell you the same thing.
Two, I have a thick shell. I can take a
lot of jokes at my expense but be careful
cause I can dish it out pretty well, too.
Three, I am very lazy. I try to avoid do-
ing anything unless its needed or I know
its something thats worth doing. I also
like swimming and so do turtles.
Balinese cat
BY QUADE GORTON
Grade 8, Barre Town Middle and Elemen-
tary School
The Balinese cat bests suits me
theyre not so loud, not so messy, and
most of all, theyre cute! Theyre cool
looking and can be fast and have the best
hunting skills. Im quiet and so are they.
Theyre smart and Im sort of smart.
Cats like to be left alone well, my
cats do and I like to be left alone.
The animal in me
BY SADIE LOZIER
Grade 8, Barre Town Middle School
If I was born an animal, I believe I
would be a parrot. Parrots are splashed
with so many different extraordinary
colors, and I love representing different
colors and feelings.
Parrots talk all the time, and I love
talking. It is one of my main traits.
Also, parrots are diIIerent. They can fy
like a bird, but also talk like a human. I
think that I am different, too. Im not like
other teenagers, not at all, quite frankly.
Eagle eye
BY TAYLOR WEST
I am most like an eagle because we
both have great eyesight. We can both see
fve Iootball felds long with the light oI
one candle.
YWP ANTHOLOGY
Students up to 12th grade: Sub-
mit your best writing, photos, art for
a chance to be published in YWPs
sixth annual Anthology.
How to submit: Go to young-
writersproject.org, start an account
(if you dont already have one);
and create a blog entry. Click on
Newspaper Submission, fll out all
information boxes and click the
prompt general writing. Same
steps for photos and art, but click on
Add images, and make the genre
photo story. You may also email
your work to sreid@youngwriter-
sproject.org.
Published writers, artists and
photographers will be honored at a
special Celebration of Writing on
Nov. 8 at the Vermont College of
Fine Arts in Montpelier.
I know who I am
BY REBECCA LOCKWOOD
Slow like a turtle, smart like a bee,
A small shyness takes part in me.
I wonder, I feel, I touch, I sense.
My soft fur is cold but dense.
Im loud and happy inside.
I am an animal with a great sense of
pride.
Lurking out in the night sky,
I actually am afraid to say I could hurt a
fy.
I look up and see the moon in a cres-
cent.
I know who I am. I am a lioness.
Owl
BY BEN LIGHT
The animal that best represents me is
the owl because it has a quiet sense of
wisdom and is there to give out advice to
the ones who need it.
I may be quiet but I have a defning
sense of mental prowess and on occasion
I may give out advice as needed even if
its just helping to spell a word.
The owl is also a representation of
wisdom and guidance, making anyone
with it as a spirit guide smart and one
who thinks things through very carefully
beIore acting. I can defnitely relate to
this animal the best, even if its not my
absolute favorite animal.
Honey badger
BY HALEY KERIN
Like a honey badger, I am ferce and
strong. I feel like I could tackle any chal-
lenge and come out victorious.
Just like a honey badger, I feel like
I could walk through any obstacle and
leave without a scratch.
They are strong, hardy creatures and
I Ieel that they defne me well. Some
people may see this as a bad thing since
honey badgers are so mean, but I feel
that they are just solitary and like it that
way.
It has been said that they are the
toughest, fercest creature in the animal
kingdom and I admire that.
The savage nature of the honey badger
reminds me of how I can become impa-
tient a lot.
THIS WEEK: Photo 7
05401.
TURRELL FUND
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
we select the best for publication here and in news-
papers around the state and on vpr.net and vtdigger.
org. This week, we publish work in response to the
prompt, Photo 7. More at youngwritersproject.org.
Photo 7 (Archie Love, Springstein Mills, Chester, S.C.) Lewis Wickes Hine, Shorpy images
Young Tad Nethers
BY KAYLEE WESTON
He was a young boy, youthful and
energetic. He was always running around
and pulling pranks on people. His family
was wealthy; they gave him the best edu-
cation and the nicest clothes, which, in
his carelessness, he had always managed
to come home in torn and dirty. He never
combed his hair, but it always looked
nice, topped with a small gray hat.
He was short but he had the most
creativity and liveliness of anybody in
that small town. He climbed trees and
jumped off bridges into the cool, deep,
dirty river water beneath. He was fearless;
he always stayed out late and wandered
all over town.
Then one cold night, when the moon
was bright and full overhead and the stars
covered the emptiness of the town, the
owl`s shouts flled the cool air and every-
one was inside and warm. Except for that
young boy, adventurous as he was.
The train was running late that
evening, but nobody paid attention to
that until they heard the whistles echo-
ing through the town and the shouts of a
frightened young boy.
He had been playing on the tracks
that night and his small foot had got-
ten caught up in that metal track. The
train was going fast, trying to catch up
to its usual schedule. Nobody made it in
time; the train couldnt stop. That boy
was smart and handsome, his future held
many things for him if only he could see
it. But youth dies fast along with freedom
and glory.
Memory trees
BY ASHLEY HEANEY
I kiss my dear wife goodbye and still
hold the ends oI her fngers as I hug the
small child wrapped around my leg. This
is the normal routine. I then hurry out of
the door, with a homemade sandwich in
hand and my black bag over my shoulder.
It is only a 10-minute walk to the
schoolyard and I know it well. I have
tread the ground enough that my perma-
nent footprints lay painted on the ground.
I pass the trees we used to climb, the
dips in the ground that made for perfect
hiding spots, and the river where Ulysses
almost died when an underwater breath-
ing contest went bad. This is the same
walk I would take every morning as a
7-year-old boy.
Even when I am running behind, I
cant walk through the woods without be-
ing taken away into a food oI memories.
It is like a spell was cast on the boundar-
ies of the forest and the magic only works
on me. This is my memory bubble.
The trees very kindly hold my memo-
ries in their leaves. Even through the
changing of the seasons, the trees know
my thoughts and memories well enough
that they are able to reproduce a bounty
of the same leaves every year.
I know what tree and more precisely
what leaf to go to when I need a reminder
oI a specifc event that happened when I
was a child. Although the walk only takes
10 minutes, I am always sucked into my
own wonderland where time stands still.
As I force myself from the magnetic
force of the forest, I snap back to reality.
An electrical current still pulses through
my blood, but not as strong, allowing for
my heart to calm down and my mind to
set back to the normal routine of life that
began that morning with a loving kiss
from my wife.
Murmur in a storm
BY DAVID JUDKINS
He stood there for the photo like a
timeless statue of fortitude before a hell-
fre oI uncertainty.
The clothes he wore had color, but all
colors seemed gray these days, indistin-
guishable to the eye of man.
What mattered was his face before the
cameraman. A face that had seen many
sleepless, sobbing nights. A face that had
seen the things of nightmares and horror.
A face hardened like a grim stone.
He ran and observed with blinding
quickness for places to hide, places the
others couldn`t think to ft. That is why he
was here, because he was never caught,
never in plain sight. Always aware,
always concealed in the shadows, always
one step ahead of those big black boots in
perpetual pursuit. An endless race against
those with guns and unclean faces. Some
had masks, hiding their features, hiding
who they were, but they were all dirty and
dastardly. At least, that is how he saw it
from the safety of the schoolhouse...
ect.org/node/92330.
The war-torn boy
BY CANAAN MIDDLETON
Hes all alone.
Hes saddened by loss.
He is saddened by the loss of everyone.
They were his family.
The war has taken them all.
His dad died in the war.
His mom died in a concentration camp.
He wants to see them.
He will do anything to see them.
Even if it takes his life.
Running away
BY WILLIAM BOSCO
Grade 7, Thetford Academy
It seems so easy to escape,
Just to pack up and go,
Just to slip away without a scrape.
No one will ever know.
Finally free from chores and work.
No more lawns to mow.
But then questions start to fy about my
head:
Where will I eat? Where will I sleep?
I kind of miss my warm, soft bed.
Then it starts to turn to night.
Where am I to go? What do I do?
Theres no welcome place in sight.
I dont have a clue.
These are strange, unfamiliar streets I
roam.
Now I think the chores are worth it.
I think Ill head home.
THIS WEEK: Senses
05401.
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
New Hampshire. We publish here and in newspapers
around the state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This
week, we publish work in response to the prompt,
Senses: Describe entering a room full of people, using
every sense except sight.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
YWP ANTHOLOGY
mit your best writing, photos, art for
a chance to be published in YWPs
sixth annual Anthology.
Our team of judges will be re-
viewing submissions starting May
26, so dont delay.
photo story.
You may also email your work to
sreid@youngwritersproject.org, and
include your name, grade, school
and best contact information.
photographers will be honored at a
special Celebration of Writing on
Nov. 8 at the Vermont College of
Fine Arts in Montpelier.
Walker Jones, Essex High School
Open the gates
BY PAYTON KURRLE
I had lost my eye sight early on in life.
I had been raised to hear, feel, taste and
smell. It was hard not being able to see
things like everyone else. I had to work
harder to create an image in my head.
My parents are the king and queen
of our country. Once they found that I
couldnt see, they shut out the guests from
our palace. They wanted me to feel safe.
But as time went on, I dreamed of the
big balls I had heard about, people danc-
ing around the room until after midnight.
It was only at age 16 that they agreed
to open up the gates again.
I spent the whole day preparing. I was
dressed in a beautiful dress that I had my
assistant describe to me. They gave me
dark sunglasses and I was ready to go...
ect.org/node/89926
What I cant see
BY ASHELYN BURROUGHS
As I walk into the room I can smell the
irritation.
I can hear every whisper that passes
through the small square area that nobody
seems to want to be in.
I cant blame them.
I can feel the blank stares as they burn
into me.
I stand, and stand, and stand, and stand.
I am waiting for my mom to assist me to
get to a seat.
The air tastes stale and boring.
Mom says the doctor will be out soon.
I hear one last whisper and then the doc-
tor comes out and shouts my name.
But when I say shouts, I mean as soft as a
butterfy.
Possibly she is as shy as I am.
She asks my mom to step out into the
hall for a second and Mom comes over to
me and explains that she needs to talk to
the doctor and she will be back in shortly.
This room smells almost as bad as the
waiting room.
Drenched with sorrow and the soap that
they use before they check my ears or
look down my throat.
My mom eventually comes back in the
room.
I know that all they were saying is that I
wouldnt be able to see again.
I wanted to be able to see again.
To look up at the sky and see the birds
like they can see me.
Gifted
BY ERICA HAMMARSTROM
Bumpy and rough is what I feel as I drag
my hand along the wall.
You probably rely on sight for pretty
much everything,
but I rely on all my other senses to get me
around all day, every day.
When I get to the familiar bump on the
wall,
I turn so my back is fat against the wall,
Then push off.
Nothing to hold on, nothing to stop me.
As I shuIfe into the caIeteria, it Ieels as
if Im drifting, like gravity is pulling me
every which way.
I sniff the air and smell all types of food.
Pizza, cheesy bread sticks, salad.
Yep, Im in the right room.
I walk my normal 20 steps and reach out.
A round edge, I slowly feel the bumps,
recognizing it as braille. My table.
I pull out my chair and I listen as it
squeaks as I drag it out from the table.
I sit down to the squeaks of more chairs
and wet shoes, loud conversations of
other students as they come in.
I can hear each and every conversation,
smell what everyone has for lunch and
taste my own.
Some think the blind are limited,
but I think we are gifted.
Loudness of a room
BY CHRISTIANNA CECERE
I walk into the loudness of a room I
cannot see. The smell of chicken wings
wafts to my nostrils. As I lay my hand
on a table, its smooth surface cools my
nerves. My hand abruptly stops at a plate.
I pick up a piece of cheese, its calm tex-
ture soothes my tongue like beautiful silk.
A roar of cheers startles me. I can hear
the laughing as someone hands me a foot-
ball; its rough texture feels like a snake. I
take a bite of a hot chicken wing. It sears
my throat as I croak for water.
Yes! We won, Sis! We won! my
brother shouts.
I hive-fve his sweaty hand. Oh, how I
long to see his face. How I long to see the
game. How I long to see the room full of
people....
THIS WEEK: Rhymes & Photo 6
05401.
CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT
PARTNERS
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
students, we select the best for publication here and in
newspapers around the state. This week, we publish
work in response to the prompts, Rhymes and Photo
6. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
My American family
BY MATHILDE BJORNSTAD
I said, Hi.
You werent shy.
You took me into your home
To make me your own.
Three months from today
Well have to say goodbye.
We know the time will fy,
But dont be sad, its not too bad.
This is just the start
Of a Norwegian-American heart.
I will always remember you, and the way
that we grew.
My American family, I love you.
YWP ANTHOLOGY
CALL TO WRITERS, ARTISTS,
PHOTOGRAPHERS
mit your best work for a chance to
be published in YWPs sixth annual
Anthology.
Our team of judges will be re-
viewing submissions starting May
26, so dont delay.
photo story.
You may also email your work to
sreid@youngwritersproject.org, and
include your name, grade, school
and best contact information.
photographers will be honored at
a special Celebration of Writing
on Saturday, November 8 at the
Vermont College of Fine Arts in
Montpelier.
Be part of this distinguished
group, representing the years best!
The animal within
BY ASHLEY HEANEY
Animals they were to become;
On their knees and hands they crawled.
They learned to hunt for just a crumb,
Their beds made of leaves on which they
sprawled.
Finding the animal within,
A growling awakes in their human hearts.
Leaves, fur, and dirt become their skin,
And the transformational process starts.
Pretending they are not.
Unearthing a spirit that is already in
existence.
There is no game to be bought,
Only closing of the distance.
Jake Maurer, Essex High School
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. Due May 2
Perfection
BY KAYLEE WESTON
She was perfection.
Clear ivory skin, rosy red cheeks;
Did ballet, dressed in pink dresses,
Hair in tight brown curls that draped just
above her shoulders.
But she chose him,
Baggy clothes, messy hair,
No future.
She could have had the world, they said.
Now they own a small house,
With a brand new baby girl.
She walks in,
wearing overalls,
messy hair.
She picks up her
daughter.
He pulls in the
driveway,
suit and tie.
He kisses her.
She should be on stage,
A thousand eyes on her,
Glowing lights, fame and fortune,
But she fell in love.
Now she is happy.
Now she has the world.
Friends forever
The door began to close. The small
storage closet with old, pink carpeting
was now lit only by the ever-shrinking
beam of light coming from the hallway.
Mary Jane was panicking, fearful of her
dark, inescapable future in the closet with
her best friend Suzie, but she showed no
emotion on her pale, porcelain face.
Her blonde curls and magnifcent,
hand-stitched magenta dress rippled as air
from the closing door blew onto her. The
blue-eyed doll wondered when she would
see daylight again. Cautiously, so she
wouldnt be noticed by the man shutting
the door, Mary Jane slowly inched her
delicate hand towards Suzies chocolate
brown one just as the last of the light fell
on the dolls. Then, all was black. Black
like Suzies owners skin; a nine-year-old
girl who had lived across a feld Irom
Mary Janes little girl. In the dark, the
dolls thought about their owners forbid-
den, short-lived friendship.
The girls had not known any bet-
ter. They had not known that when their
parents found out they had been secretly
meeting one another for play dates with
their dolls, that their friendship would be
destroyed and their innocence lost for-
ever. I hope they dont forget, Suzies
whispering, sniIfing voice interrupted
Mary Janes thoughts. I hope they dont
grow up into women and forget that they
were friends once.
Mary Jane nodded. I hope they dont
forget us.
I hope that black and white wont
matter when we get out of here, said
Suzie. And then, squeezing Suzies hand,
Mary Jane quietly said, I want us to be
friends forever.
Photo 6. Victoria Gibson,
Essex High School
THIS WEEK: Garden
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.
TURRELL FUND
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
This week, we present responses to a writing chal-
lenge sponsored by the Vermont Community Gar-
den Network on school gardens. We received more
than 120 submissions from students across the state.
Special thanks to Berlin Elementary School and Tun-
bridge Central School for great participation! Read all
submissions at youngwritersproject.org/garden.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Erin Anderson, Vermont Community Garden Network Intern 2013
NEXT PROMPT
Childhood. Write about a piece of your
childhood that youd like to keep as you
approach adulthood. Alternate: General
writing in any genre. Due April 25
My schools garden
BY EVAN HINCHLIFFE
Grade 6, Berlin Elementary School
Last year someone at my school,
Berlin Elementary, said, What if we had
a small garden in our school yard? Noth-
ing big but something to get kids excited
about planting food and to supply a little
bit of homegrown food for the kitchen.
So the idea was presented and it went
through that we would make a vegetable
garden.
The word went out to the kids of the
school for plans of what it would look
like.
We realized that people were really
excited about the idea of having a school
garden and they were ready to put some
effort and time to make this garden a nice
one. So the plans for the garden became a
lot more fexible.
It was decided that we were going to
do this right and make not only a practical
garden but a nice one to be in.
So blueprints were made and work be-
gan. The frst part oI the garden was eight
raised beds bordered with wood. And the
rest of the square that it was located in is
flled with nice looking red mulch.
A truck brought bags and bags of
mulch, a ton oI wood (fguratively speak-
ing) and three others brought three types
of dirt. Soon the wood was cut with the
right angles and screwed together and laid
down.
Then everyone pitched in. They flled
in the mulch, mixed the dirt, laid the dirt
then got the plants and watered the plants
and waited for them to grow. And did
they grow! When they were ready to be
picked we had squash, tomatoes, carrots
and lettuce and had salad for lunch.
Although it is winter we are all look-
ing forward to expanding the garden next
year. We plan to add sheds, benches and
berry bushes that border the garden. We
plan to add a weather station, a teepee, a
sandbox, an arch and so, so many yummy
and beautiful plants.
I think that the garden pulls the com-
munity together to work on something
beautiful.
Worth it!
BY KEENAN THYGESEN
Our school has a garden and I have
been very involved with it.
Last summer a few of my friends, a
couple teachers and I all weeded the gar-
den and picked zucchini, summer squash,
potatoes, and tomatoes.
Even though it was a lot of hard work,
it was all worth it because fresh veggies
are always good.
In our school we have taste tests
where we try something new like kale
chips to try to make school lunches better
and I think that getting more fresh veg-
gies from local farms is great!
Opens our eyes
BY SAMANTHA GREEN

I would say the garden really opened
my eyes to the food on my plate. Our
whole school has been affected by the
garden. It has brought us together like a
huge family. I truly believe that a garden
should be put in all of public and private
schools across the nation to help educate
children.
Berlin Elementary School had a lot of
extra space that no one really went into,
so my school had the idea of planting a
garden and I am so glad they did!
ect.org/node/92141.
Like a compass
BY TEGAN KARWOSKI
At Berlin Elementary our schools
garden looks like a compass and were
hoping to have a canopy in the middle.
Although it is a small garden it provides
us with a lot of healthy vegetables and
fruits, like zucchini, tomatoes, lettuce,
carrots, garlic, butternut squash, broccoli,
and beetroot. We have used these vegeta-
bles and fruits in many of our salads and
even the healthy snack. We are growing
an apple tree and a pear tree next to the
garden...
ect.org/node/92129.
Builds community
BY JULIA CHASE
At Berlin Elementary School, we
have a garden, and the garden has really
brought our school together. Everybody
in the school helped create the garden and
had a lot of fun doing it.
I know that it has changed my attitude
about eating because it makes me want
to eat what I grew and I have been able
to do that because the school kitchen
has made a healthy snack every day for
students to enjoy...
ect.org/node/92055.
THANK YOU
To the Vermont Community
Garden Network (VCGN)
for sponsoring the garden
challenge. VCGN has sent
the winner a $50 cash prize
and a $50 giIt certifcate Irom Red 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.
In the garden
BY TAYLOR WEST
Gardens, gardens,
School and home,
Vegetables, fruits and me.
We grow potatoes and tomatoes and corn.
We grow melons and strawberries and
fowers and more.
If you want to have fun
Build a garden and see what happens.
In the fall youll have fruits and vegeta-
bles for all the year long!
THIS WEEK: Fear
VERMONT COUNTRY STORE
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
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, Fear: What is your biggest fear? Read more
at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
VERMONTIVATE!
WRITING CHALLENGE
Write about climate
change and win cash!
Read the prompts and fnd out more about
the challenge and Vermontivate, the com-
munity sustainability game at
youngwritersproject.org/vermontivate14.
Essays due: Monday, April 14
NEXT PROMPT
Color. Create a new color name it,
describe it. Where do we fnd it? Alter-
nates: Early. Are you an early bird or
a night owl? Which way is better? Or
Photo 9. Due April 18
J. J.s adventure
BY DYLAN LAMONT
In the morning, I dont let my fat,
black cat outside, because J.J. likes to go
to unexpected places, like on top of the
car, in our fort, under the road and in very
tall trees. Im afraid he might get on the
bus by accident.
Like most cats, J.J. is very clumsy. J.J.
spends most of his day at the food dish.
J.J. once hopped into the trunk of our car
and he came to Shaws with us. Thats
why Im afraid he might get on the bus.
Fear itself
BY BROOKE SHONIO
My biggest fear would have to be fear
itself. I know you hear people say that
kind of thing all the time, but it is true.
We fear our parents reactions to a bad
report card, or the pretend monsters under
our beds. We also fear for worse things,
like being kidnapped and alone, or dying.
Take a minute to picture yourself in
these kinds of situations; you begin to
feel fear. But you dont have to, for fear
is a choice you make. It`s a fgment oI
our imaginations, something we make up
in our minds. So just remember the next
time you feel this fear, it is your decision
you are making.
Naming fears
BY JENNA BEATTIE
Fear of not being good enough is
atelophobia. It takes control of your emo-
tions and your thoughts because you think
youll never be as good as your friends.
It can make you quiet; it can make you
loud; it can make you do crazy things.
The fear of spiders is called arach-
nophobia. Being scared of the creatures
that help us could happen when youre al-
lergic to the most common type. When it
can almost kill you, it can become scary.
The Iear oI fre is pyrophobia ... I can
be near fre but only small ones and with
the right people.
Radiophobia is the fear of x-rays or
radiation, when you think people are
going to fnd out what`s inside oI you,
not just the brokenness, but the sadness
youve been hiding.
The dark
BY MADDY PLETZER
Since I was young I made sure there was
light.
I checked to make sure there was nothing
under my bed,
and closed my closet doors.
I hid under my black blanket to keep me
safe.
I plugged my ears to keep the night from
entering,
held my breath so they couldnt hear me
breathe,
and I closed my eyes to pretend it was
just a dream.
But it wasnt; it was real life.
The night is pretty scary
when you are 5 and afraid of the dark.
Then on your 13th birthday, your wish
doesnt come true.
You wish to keep your lights off,
to keep the closet doors open,
with no need to check under your bed,
where you can breathe, listen and look
and there is no reason to hide anymore.
Instead, I am still like a young kid,
yet Im a teenager,
afraid of the deep, dark, fragile night.
Claustrophobia
BY HALLA LAFRENIERE
My fear is a common one.
Many people would agree.
But even though its common,
It disappoints me.
I know my fear is harmless
And could never hurt me.
But being claustrophobic
Is what Ill always be.
Polar Caves
BY SCOTTY FLESCH
It was summer when I went to the
Polar Caves in the White Mountains.
I found out I was claustrophobic. I
was really scared. It didnt help that the
cave was called the Lemon Squeezer... Ill
never go there ever again...
Family
BY LUCAS REED
My biggest fear is my family dying.
If I ever lost them I dont know what Id
do. Sometimes I try not to think about it.
But it always fnds its way back into my
mind. I never want this to happen, but
every living thing has to die. However,
I can always remember the good times I
had with them, and that they will always
be with me no matter what.
Passes to the roof
BY TAYLOR FARRELL
... I would put a huge roof on the
school so you could do whatever you
wanted. You would get passes so you
could spend a day up there if you wanted
doing whatever you wanted. Like maybe
you could play basketball up there. And
soccer. Maybe even water balloon fghts.
And once a week your class would get to
have a picnic up there for lunch.
Also instead of a teachers lounge
there would be a kids lounge and you
would have soda and a bunch of candy in
there.
So when you were feeling down or
needed a break you would just get up
and go. If the teachers asked where you
were, your friends would just say, Oh,
he/she went to the teachers, I mean kids
lounge.
Wow, theres a lot of things I would
change in this school but I would also like
a huge library with comfy chairs to sit in,
and you could check out as many books
as you wanted.
Well, I like reading books, so Id like
that. And the library teacher would be
Taylor Swift...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/
node/90251.
THIS WEEK: School makeover
CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT
PARTNERS
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
in newspapers around the state and on vtdigger.org
prompt, Makeover: How would you redesign your
school? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Deanna Davis-Kilpatrick, Essex High School
YWP AT POEM CITY
MONTPELIER | APRIL 7
POETRY WORKSHOP
WITH LELAND KINSEY
4 5:30 P.M.
READINGS
BY YWP WRITERS
6:30 8 P.M.
Kellogg-Hubbard Library
East Montpelier Room
135 Main St., Montpelier
Free pizza for
workshop participants at 5:45 p.m.
Poetry reading open to all
who want to share their words.
Friends and family welcome!
RSVP sreid@youngwritersproject.org
Computer labs
BY ROSS LOWERY
My school would have 20 computer
labs with computers as big as a fat screen
TV. The computers would be red.
On those computers the students
would have to practice their math facts.
The kids could also email anyone they
wanted ... and there would be 365 days of
school.
node/90864.
Big playground
BY JAMESON SOLOMON
If I was to redesign my school, I
would make a very big spot for recess.
There would be pavement for kickball
and grass for football. There would be
soccer nets, too.
There also would be a very big
playground that a ton of kids could play
on. The playground would have a lot of
monkey bars, and you could climb to get
up to the top where there would be a very
high point with a slide all the way to the
bottom. It would also have a zipline that
would take you to another spot ,where
you climb up a ladder, then slide down.
Recess would be very long, like an hour.
In the lunch room you could sit any-
where you wanted to. You could have ice
cream for lunch, with a bunch of toppings
to add... There would not be that much
work, but some, because you need to do
some work...
node/90258.
Shorter days
BY LAUREN PREDDY
My school would have no summer
and no weekends. I know that sounds
weird, but if you think about it, we would
get to college early and get out when we
were younger... We would also have no
summer and no weekends because we
would have shorter school days.
I want shorter days of school because
kids need to be active and have fun be-
cause if youre not having fun, youre not
happy...
node/90255.
An awesome school
BY MICHAEL REA
If I would redesign the school, I
would make an awesome school and I
mean awesome. Instead of buses they
would be party buses where you could
sit wherever you wanted because who
doesnt like party buses? Plus it would
have a hot tub and it would be pretty spa-
cious...
node/90254.
Doors and walls
BY ABIGAIL BURACHOWSKI
If I could redesign the school it would
have classrooms with doors and real
walls. There would be a swimming pool
and a skating rink.
It would have charities for every sport
... I wish for six months in a school year.
I also think the school day should be
shorter.
node/90652.
Photo credit: Jonathan Palmer, Essex High School
THIS WEEK: Disaster
05401.
NATIONAL LIFE GROUP
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives hundreds
of 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, Di-
saster: Ever have one of those days? Describe your
day of disaster. More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT
AT POEM CITY
MONTPELIER | APRIL 7
POETRY WORKSHOP
WITH LELAND KINSEY
4 5:30 P.M.
READINGS BY
YWP WRITERS
6:30 8 P.M.
Kellogg-Hubbard Library
East Montpelier Room
135 Main St., Montpelier
Free pizza at 5:45 p.m.
Poetry reading open to all who want
to share their words. Invite friends
and family to hear you!
RSVP sreid@youngwritersproject.org
NEXT PROMPTS
Pressure. Write about any kind of pres-
sure social, school, making the team, or
simply the physical sensation of pres-
sure (like diving underwater). Alternates:
Six words. Write a complete story in just
six words create as many as you can; or
Photo 8 (see youngwritersproject.org.)
Due April 4
Stubbed toes
BY ASHLEY HEANEY
It`s my frst day as a ballerina in a proIes-
sional company.
I had to beg on bended knee while serv-
ing cookies in order for the director to
notice me.
I wake up at 6 a.m., ready to begin.
I move about quickly, fueled by my
nerves.
My toes scream out in pain as I wham my
foot off the door.
I curse my clumsiness and cradle my foot.
The screaming of my toes calls out to all
other negative spirits, directing them to
take revenge for my careless actions.
I drip toothpaste all over my leotard.
My pointe shoes are soaked from the
opened water bottle in my bag.
My tights are splattered with mud by the
passing cars.
I twist my ankle in a pothole.
I forget my dance skirt at home.
I can`t fnd a place at the barre.
I am so intimidated by all the other danc-
ers, their smirks burning holes into my
confdence.
It`s my frst day as a ballerina in a proIes-
sional company.
Bus accident
BY SOPHIE HOWE
Ahhhhh! What just happened?!
screamed 10 kids.
We had just gotten into a bus accident
and of course we were all scared.
It was snowing and then it stopped.
We were driving down the road, and the
next thing we knew we were all on our
sides. All the seats came out.
We all got out of the bus and climbed
the little hill. Of course we were all cry-
ing and shaken up. I cant say how happy
we all were, including me, because the
rescue squad and the fre department and
the families were there very quickly.
The cars were parked far down the
road because everybody was there for us.
One girl handed me my glasses and my
lenses had fallen out, too. I was shaking.
I didnt even know that I had lost my
glasses.
All I can say is that Im happy Im
here now. There were a few kids who
went to the hospital but nobody was seri-
ously injured or hurt. This was one of the
biggest disasters ever.
School worries
BY SKYLER PERKINS
One day after school I was going to
get out my homework.
Oh no, I left my homework at
school!
I was very upset. I was up all night
thinking about it. I was nervous to go to
school the next day.
When I got to school I realized that
I forgot my sneakers. That day was hor-
rible. Everything was going wrong. For
some reason it felt like the biggest prob-
lem in the world.
I always feel nervous when I tell
Mrs. Dutton that I have forgotten my
homework. I felt like it was the end of the
world. Luckily, Mrs. Dutton was good
about it. I was happy about that, but I still
felt bad all day.
Every time I forget my homework I
feel bad until I get home. From now on I
will never let myself forget my homework
ever again. Hopefully.
Bad day
BY MASON OTIS
Have you ever woken up and realized
that you just missed the bus and that you
didnt do your homework last night?
Well, I have, and it didnt go so well.
After I got to school I was eating my
snack and it spilled all over my math
papers and I had to stay in for recess
because my homework was not done.
I only had to stay in Ior fve minutes
and then I got to play outside, but when I
was playing basketball, my friend pushed
me down.
I cut my leg open on a rock and had to
go to the nurse because a lot of blood was
coming out. That day didnt go so well.
Forest waltz
BY ASHLEY HEANEY
The leaves crunch beneath my Ieet. I
fnd comIort in the continuous crackling
caused by each gentle step.
The trees are shedding their summer
attire. As each leaI Ialls, more and more
oI the oak`s bare skin is exposed.
This is not only a transIormational
process Ior the ponderous statues oI the
Iorest, but also Ior the humans breathing
in the Iall air.
I stand in the midst oI a Iorest, encir-
cled by my dancing partners. I sway with
the branches, releasing my stress as they
release their leaves. I am becoming anew,
transitioning Irom the intense Iervor oI
summer weather to the tranquility oI Iall.
At each drop oI a leaI, the tree is
presenting a giIt. He is sharing his abun-
dance oI colors taken Irom the heavenly
sky with those who cannot reach as high
as he can.
Each rusty red, kiwi green, and
mustard yellow leaI Ialls to the ground,
Iorming a random yet directed pathway
Ior one to Iollow.
With a single breeze oI air, these
pathways are
Ior the better. The rhythm oI our
dance depends on these directional
changes.
When the wind picks up, the leaves
swirl around, joining me in a waltz.
As the breeze lessens, the trees peace-
Expectation
BY OLIVER ZEICHNER
Grade 12, Vermont Academy oI Science
and Technology
I fnd very oIten that anticipating
something is halI the Iun oI it. The actual
event isn`t always that great, but imagin-
ing it can be really exciting. Like when
surprise packages come in the mail. I take
the packages one by one and Ieel their
weight, trying to determine the contents.
What`s in there? How big is it? What
shape? Who sent it? I let my imagination
run wild with colorIul pictures oI things I
would like to have that are about the same
weight and size as the parcels.
Then I open the boxes to fnd com-
pletely diIIerent items. That`s not to say I
don`t like what I Iound, but now that it`s
defned, the possibilities are limited to
reality, and that`s not always as good as
the images in my head.
Words that I don`t know are very
similar to mystery packages.
A couple oI weeks ago, I heard
someone talking about their garden. They
mentioned that they were growing cour-
gettes. The leaves were huge, they said,
the backyard will never be the same.
I got pretty excited about courgettes. I
thought, 'A new exotic vegetable!
But no, when I looked it up, I Iound
out that it was an alternate name Ior zuc-
chinis. I like zucchinis, but I was disap-
pointed.
Anticipation is more than halI the Iun.
It`s like hiking a mountain. When you`re
hiking, you have a goal to reach the top.
You imagine what it`s like, and that
motivates you to get there, but once
you`ve reached the top, you`re at the top.
There is no higher level to reach.
It`s just you and the sky, and all you
have leIt to do is look at the view, and go
back down the way you came.
THIS WEEK: Disappoint & General
erosity oI Ioundations, businesses
power and value oI writing.
II you would like to contribute,
TURRELL FUND
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
hundred submissions Irom students in Vermont and
newspapers around the state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.
net. This week, we present responses to the prompts,
Disappointed: Write about a time where your expec-
tations werent quite met; and General writing.
Olivia Fewell / Essex High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Epic. Describe an epic journey real or
imagined. Alternates: Share. Write about
something that only you and a sibling or
Iriend share a gooIy sense oI humor,
an unIorgettable experience, a secret?
or General writing in any genre. Due
March 28
Pressure. Write about any
kind oI pressure social,
school, making the team, or
simply the physical sensa-
tion oI pressure (like diving
underwater). Alternates: Six
words. Write a complete story in six
words; or Photo 8 (above). Due April 4
Kickball
BY SCOTTY FLESCH
It was the frst week in June. There
were two days leIt in school. I asked my
mom iI I could get this cool kickball. She
said, 'Not today, but maybe when your
Iather gets paid.
One week later, my mom said, 'Not
this week, we don`t have enough money
this week, plus bills.
I was pretty sad but I started saving.
They were $40.
I never spent a dime on anything until I
got the kickball. It took me two months. I
fnally got enough money.
I went to the store with my mom and
my money. I got the kickball and I played
kickball with my dad, brothers, my mom
and my sister.
It was so much Iun playing kickball
with my Iamily. There were never any
sore losers. We just played Ior the Iun oI
it. We even had a tournament. Each team
had two players so there were three teams
because there were six oI us. It was my
dad and me, my mom and my sister, and
my two brothers.
My dad and I ended up winning but we
weren`t braggy winners. We were happy,
though. It Ieels good to win something
once in awhile.
Both or none
BY HERBERT CARLETON
Hope and despair,
they are like yin and yang.
They both rely on one another
to survive in this world.
For you can`t hope
Ior something to happen
iI you don`t know despair.
And you can`t Ieel despair
until you hope
Ior something to happen.
All in all, they are one and the same.
They come together
or not at all.
THIS WEEK: Elements & General
JANES TRUST
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
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 General. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Alexis Britch, Essex High School, 2013
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
WIN $100 WORTH OF PRIZES!
Due: March 20
For prompts and more info, go to
youngwritersproject.org/garden.
Challenge sponsored by
www.vcgn.org
Fire
BY CAMERON CODLING
Fire burns so brightly,
so peaceful, so warm,
like the sun in the middle of spring
when the fowers and leaves bloom,
yet so devastating,
like when a volcano erupts
and destroys a whole town,
like famethrowers on a battlefeld,
burning everything it touches,
but so beautiful,
like Flanders Fields, full of red poppies.
Powerful beauty
BY EMMA STEPHENS
It rises slowly up around my feet. It
tickles between my toes and tries to drag
me back out with it.
I long to go but I still need air, frm-
ness beneath my feet.
Waves crash nearby but where I stand
is protected. Moonlight catches the white
tops oI the waves Iar out and refects oII
the still surface of my lagoon.
The wind whips the open water into a
frenzy but I stand calm.
Nothing can reach me here. The water
is warm from sitting in the hot sun all day
and plays around my ankles now, but still
I do not move.
This force can kill but it also can cre-
ate.
Tides ebb and fow, leaving in their
wake all manner of life and death.
Currents push and pull, forcing ships
oII their path and fsh on their way. One
minute all is calm and the next a great
tempest arises and changes the blue wa-
ters to a gray beast.
All manner of creatures inhabit the
water in front of me; I know that now.
Slowly I turn and pull my feet out of
the sand and walk out of the water, leav-
ing behind a trail of wet sand and some
footprints.
Soon the waves wash over those as
well, leaving nothing but a fresh start for
the morning sun to fnd.
The tide
BY DAVID JUDKINS
The tide grows with the droplets of rain.
It brings forth life, and takes it away,
Oh, I say it is the essence oI liIe,
regardless of the endless troubles and
strife.
Extinguisher of the blaze,
obscurer of the air in a foggy haze,
death to the earth it erodes, merely by
fowing.
The wisest of the elements, yet forever
unknowing,
Cherish the sparkle of the cool blue;
despite what we believe, we have to,
for it brings about the world around,
the essence of life, worlds abound.
Can we change?
BY LYDIA RAYMOND
Grade 8, Crossett Brook Middle School
Its a light switch,
its a computer glitch,
its the bill at the end of the month.
Its the running water
thats getting hotter,
yet we leave it on and let it fall.
Its the endangered species,
on land and in seas,
going extinct because of change.
Its the moving cars;
weve gone too far,
Earth decomposing day by day.
Its the Co2,
skies no longer blue,
trying hard to breathe in gray.
All these things we use so much
will be gone in just one single touch.
In denial about what we cant see,
this Earth will be gone,
and so will we.
SUMMER INTERNSHIPS
YWP is looking for college
student interns. If you know of any
students who love the written word,
appreciate kids, are web savvy and
love being busy, urge them to apply
for a summer internship at YWP.
YWP oIIers a fexible, interesting
work environment, space for indi-
vidual talents and creativity, a small
stipend and heaps of M & Ms.
This internship program runs
from June 16 until August 15 at
YWP headquarters, 12 North Street,
Burlington.
Internships will be offered in
three areas:
Publications (Editing and
preparing writing and photos
for Anthology 6 and other
YWP publications)
Web design, application and
maintenance
Support for writing work-
shops/summer camp program
for elementary and middle-
school kids.
Interested? Send a cover let-
ter, writing samples and resume to
Geoff Gevalt, ggevalt@youngwrit-
ersproject.org, or by mail to YWP,
12 North Street, Suite 8, Burlington,
VT 05465.
Review of candidates begins March 31.
NEXT PROMPTS
Goose-
bumps. What
gives them
to you? Tell
a story about
the frst time
you got them.
Alternates:
Is it art or
vandalism? Make
your case. Or Photo 7 (Write about
the photo above).
Photo 7 (Archie Love)
Lewis Wickes Hine
xxxt/xx High School
THIS WEEK: Wonder, Red & Comic
LANGWATER FAMILY FOUNDATION
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
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 ...; Red: End a piece with And
yet all I see is red.; and Comic strip.
COMIC STRIP BY TINEKE MACE
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
Due: March 20
www.vcgn.org
Tineke Mace is in 4th Grade at Tunbridge Central School.
Wonder of ideas
BY GRACE ECKLAND-GUSTAVSON
Ideas are the things that change the
world. They are what sent us into space.
They are what discovered our own ge-
netic makeup.
Ideas are what drove us to create better
and greener ways to run machinery.
And ideas caused horrible things to
happen, too. The atomic bomb. Nuclear
weapons. Chemical warfare, ideas that
have killed and hurt, torn families apart
and left so many behind, waiting for a
rescue that will never come.
Ideas are beautiful, wondrous things.
Ideas show the amount of brain power
and ingenuity that the human race is
capable of. But some ideas will tear this
world apart.
And when we are standing in the dust
of the once-green Earth, breathing in the
toxic chemicals, will our ideas be enough
to save us from ourselves?
No words
BY DAKOTA VANCE
I wonder if you ever noticed
how much it meant.
When this happened,
there were no words.
So fragile, so delicate.
I guess I didnt realize
to take that in; it didnt seem real.
Respectful, kind,
most of all, your personality.
You gave me your trust. I promised.
It happened so fast.
I lost you, just like that, vanished.
Our respect, trust, everything, gone.
I hear your name; I cant breathe.
I see you. There are no words.
I wonder, do you still care?
Bubbly toes
BY ASHLEY HEANEY
I had always associated the color blue
with him:
His crystallized blue eyes
stealing my heart
with every blink,
his button-up plaids, each a differing
shade from the
depths of the ocean.
My tears; each dew-drop symbolic of the
pain he caused me
with every blink.
I had never associated the color red with
him.
Even when he said I love you.
Even when three years had passed by.
Even when I was so in love with those
blue eyes
that I couldnt tell that my bubbly toes
were keeping me from
the ground, from reality,
from realizing why I always
associated blue, and not red, with him.
Red, the color of love.
Blue, the color of despair.
Now that time has passed; now that time
has revealed
my spellbound stupidity; now that I see
him with another girl,
I try desperately to associate blue with
him.
And yet, all I see is red.
Eye of wonder
BY LILIANNA ZIEDINS
So simple to wonder; its easier than life.
I wonder why we live; why walk this
Earth only to leave a scar behind?
I wonder why we die, and I wonder about
the world beyond this one.
There are so many questions.
Its why we are all blessed with an eye of
wonder.
Its why I wonder whats out in the uni-
verse or why I am me.
There is so much to wonder and so little
time to discover.
Your wonders will never be answered,
yet we still wonder.
Spider dreams
BY TYLER MOREHOUSE
Grade 5, Union Elementary School
I was about to crush a spider when
a sudden chill went through my body. It
was a cold chill, like refreshing.
Then without even thinking I stepped
backwards into a giant spider, probably
the mother or father of the tiny spider that
I was going to kill.
Suddenly a second chill went through
my body and I started to fall. When I
woke up I was in some sort of cave.
I saw the giant spider and it saw me,
but I pretended not to see him and closed
my eyes again...
THIS WEEK: Vermont Wri tes Day
org/support, or mail your dona-
tion to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
More than 95 schools across Vermont and New Hamp-
shire participated in Young Writers Projects annual
Vermont Writes Day taking just 7 minutes on Feb. 13
to write! This week, we publish writing in response to
these prompts: You are about to crush a spider and...;
The best prize to receive; and Include the line, All I see
is red... Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
www.vcgn.org
Vermont Writes Day at Rutland High School, left to right, Talla Caruso, Aliya Schneider, Tessie McDon-
nell. Hunter Berryhill, Rutland High School
Farm. Do you live on or near a farm?
Write about an experi-
ence youve had there.
Alternates: Top 5.
Make a list of your top
5 anything, animate or
inanimate;
or Photo 6 (right). Due March 7
Spirit. Whats your spirit animal the
one animal you think represents you
best? What does that mean for you? Al-
ternate: Rhymes: Write about anything
or anyone in rhyme. Due March 14
NEXT PROMPTS
Photo 6 Victoria Gibson
Colors
BY SERENITY NORTHRUP
The rainbow:
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.
Each color has a different meaning,
a different emotion,
something we relate to
or something we dont.
Red is for the days, the nights
the times Ive spent
lying in wait.
I wait in anger.
In anger, I wait.
Orange is for summer,
the bright, beautiful
orange sunlight.
Sunlight reminds me
of the hope to come.
Yellow is for a light,
a light in the dark
when you need it most.
Green is grass,
the feeling of relief,
the feeling of cool.
Blue is for sadness,
for the times when
people leave you,
people betray you.
No matter how you see it,
it is sadness.
Purple is Ior fowers,
the reminder that spring will come.
They show you the hope to come.
All these colors
and emotions to choose from,
and yet all I see is red.
Smallest one of all
BY ALEX SMART
The spider was in my grasp, but then
I heard a voice, soft and sweet, almost
like a mixture of oil and honey. It was so
soothing I just had to follow it.
I felt the rough gravel slide across
my feet but I didnt care. Then I began to
smell the sweetest smell in the world, ev-
erything I could have dreamed of maple
candy, roast beef, and fresh French fries
swirled and whirled around my brain. I
had to follow it and get it.
Then my world began to speed faster
and faster until all I could see was the spi-
der crawling up my leg closer and closer.
Little did I know that I was being
bewitched. Then I was the little one, the
spider pleading for life from the foot
about to crush me.
And then it went black. Absolutely
black.
Minion love
BY CECE CURTIN
The best gift I could ever get is a
minion one that talks.
I could give him kisses and take him
to school and not let anyone lay a fnger
on him.
And he could teach me how to talk
like a minion so when my math teacher
asks me, Whats 2 plus 327, divided by
576,745,687?, I would say, Bebo. And
during literacy, the teacher would say,
Read your story, please. And I would
talk like him. It would be awesome.
Power of family
BY COLE BANKS
The greatest gift that I have is my life
and my family. I love my life because it
has so many good things in it.
I have a very big and nice family. I am
very proud of my ancestors, too.
My grandIather was one oI the frst AI-
rican Americans to integrate the Marine
Corps. His name was Ernest Smith Jr.
Ernests brother was a middle-weight
boxing champion of the world. His name
was Harry Smith.
I have had a lot of fun with my cousins
in the past and I defnitely will in the
future.
THIS WEEK: Gift, Rant, Achievement
MAIN STREET LANDING
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submis-
sions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire and
we publish the best here and in newspapers around the
state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Gift: Write about something
you cherish; Rant: Send your best rant; and Achieve-
ment: What is your greatest achievement?
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Aliya Schneider / Rutland High School
Rant against bullies
BY FRANCES KAPLIN
I hate it when people think they are
better than someone else because they
have more money, friends or something
else than another person has. I hate that
those people push others around and hurt
them, whether its physically or verbally.
I fnd it sad that some people deal with
feeling bad by trying to make the people
around them Ieel worse. I fnd it sad that
sometimes they succeed.
I dislike that sometimes the bullied
turns into the bully because it is what
they are used to. I dislike that this circle
continues.
I am heartbroken that some people feel
the need to end their own lives because of
what someone else did. I am heartbroken
that some people did these things to them.
I understand the feeling of being bul-
lied to the point of hating yourself for
what they said to you. I understand that
most, if not all, of us have been through
this at one point in our lives.
I dislike that this circle continues.
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
www.vcgn.org
NEXT PROMPT
Makeover. Youve 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? Alternate:
Fear. What is your biggest fear
or worry? Tell a story about how
you worry, or how it affects your
actions. Due Feb. 28.
Like a shock wave
BY BECKY LOCKWOOD
You can feel it rush through your whole
body
like a shock wave through your veins,
fnally achieving something
that has haunted your scariest dreams,
the relief of the burden coming off your
shoulders.
Achievement comes in many shapes,
sizes and colors.
It can be as small as getting your hair
parted right or growing up strong and
bright.
Never give up.
Follow those scary dreams.
Then one day you will look back to see
you kept your head up and got
where you wanted to be.
The race
BY STEPHEN LOOKE
My greatest achievement to date has
been when I came in second in my frst
X-C running race this year.
Heres how I did it.
Last year, I did X-C running, X-C
skiing, and track, so I got really ft. Then I
went to a practice camp over the summer
and so I stayed in shape.
This year, at the start of X-C running,
I was ready. At the start oI the race, there
is a mass start where everyone sprints
across a feld.
I got right out front in the start; I think
I was in fIth or something like that.
In the frst part oI the race, I went
harder than I normally do, and it paid off.
By the middle of the race, it was just two
others and me. We were all in a clump; no
one wanted to pull out ahead yet.
Then, during the end part of the race,
this guy from Pennsylvania caught up to
us and passed us.
I decided to stay with him, so I ran
right behind him and made it look as if
I was going to pass him. He got nervous
and lost his pace, and I passed him.
In the last leg of the race, Noah caught
up to me. He passed me in the last 100
meters, but I still came in second. It was
great!
THIS WEEK: Myth & General
05401.
BIRDSEYE FOUNDATION
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
we select the best for publication. This week, we
publish work in response to the prompts, Myth:
Create the new urban legend; and General writing.
Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
The moon is born
BY ABBY DETRICK
The Great Mother Sun
loved her child,
Earth.
And she watched over her
with her warm embrace.
The Great Mother Sun loved Earth
because
she harbored many creatures
that depended on Earth
for food and water,
and depended on the Sun
for protection
from the cold universe.
But the Great Mother Sun
soon grew tired.
She needed to rest,
so she sent out small pieces of herself
out into the universe
to watch over Earth
while she rested.
But these pieces
soon foated away
into the reaches of space
and provided little comfort
to those on Earth.
So the Great Mother Sun
kept watching over Earth until she could
no longer.
Im sorry, Daughter Earth,
said the Great Mother Sun.
But I cannot keep
watch much longer,
for I grow tired.
Earth loved her mother,
so she gave a piece of herself to her.
Mother,
said Earth,
Take this piece of me
to watch over my creatures
while you must rest.
So the Moon was born,
and to this day
shines bright
for all the creatures
of Earth.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang / Burlington High School
SCHOOL GARDEN
WRITING CHALLENGE
WRITE TO ONE OF THESE
PROMPTS AND WIN $100
WORTH OF PRIZES!
1. Does your school have a garden?
How has it changed your attitude
about food and/or your school?
2. If your school doesnt have a
garden, why do you think it would be
fun or interesting to have one?
3. Tell a story about an event that
focuses on sharing food a family
gathering, a celebration, a farmers
market, a picnic.
Winner will be announced April 4
and receive $50 in cash and a $50
gift certicate from Red Wagon
Plants for a Vermont school or com-
munity garden of the writers choice.
All writers will receive a bundle of
seeds to plant this spring in their
school garden or at home courtesy
of the writing challenge sponsor, Ver-
mont Community Garden Network.
How to submit: Write as a blog on
your account on youngwritersproject.
org. Click on Newspaper Submis-
sion at bottom, fll out inIormation,
click Garden prompt and Save.

DUE: MARCH 20
(FIRST DAY OF SPRING!)
www.vcgn.org
NEXT PROMPTS
Question. Ask any famous
person (dead or alive) one ques-
tion. Who is the person? What is
the question and what is the an-
swer? Alternate: Disaster. Ever
have one of those days, start
to fnish, when everything you
touch or do leads to disaster?
Write about it. Due Feb. 21
Snow
BY KAT NORWOOD
Grade 8, Barre Town Middle and Elemen-
tary School
As the snowfakes dance around me,
I stop and watch,
each its own individual.
They dance faster and faster,
wrapping around me
like a cold, icy blanket.
I shudder.
As I hug my arms through my jacket,
I look up.
I see nothing but white.
I keep walking on the forests trail,
but still, nothing clears.
The small, delicate snowfakes scrape
across my face.
And it burns.
Im running now.
Trying to escape the tiny, icy dancers.
THIS WEEK: Perspective
TURRELL FUND
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submis-
sions 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 unconven-
tional. More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Best pal Audrey Dawson/Essex High School
NEXT PROMPT
Red. End a short story or poem with
this line: And yet all I see is red. Al-
ternate: Limerick. Write a limerick: a
poem oI fve lines, the 1st, 2nd and 5th
lines rhyming, and the 3rd and 4th lines
rhyming. Use humor. Due Feb. 14
Flower
BY TAYLOR REARDON
This kind of day is my favorite. Its
summer and its sunny and warm. We had
a rain last night so I feel very fresh and
hydrated. Now as the sun beams in the
sky, I turn as much as I can to look up and
soak it all in. My face is warm now as I
have been facing the sun for a while.
It is so lovely to look at the view
around me. Green grass, beautiful moun-
tains in the distance, and the occasional
small animal passes. Even though my life
may be short, these beautiful, sunny days
will stay in everyones memory forever.
Many of us hold these memories to
picture on a bitter, cold winter day when
you look outside and are miserably miss-
ing summer time.
I also love the expression people have
when they look at me and think of how
beautiful I am in all my glory, all my pet-
als perfectly outstretched and my sturdy
stem holding me in the sky. Today is a
memory to savor.
Brown cow
BY ABBY DETRICK
The sun softly warms
my sore hide.
Buttercups tickle my nose
as I reach for a nice clump of grass
that my soft brown eyes have spotted
from across the pasture.
Oak tree
BY WYATT MASHKURI
I am the oak tree. I stand beside you
and your family in the darkest of storms. I
watch over you, I listen to you.
Each winter the snow comes and blan-
kets my branches. I watch as you build
snowmen. I watch you in the summer as
you fnd shade under my long limbs.
I have always been by your side but
you never notice me. I have watched you
learn and grow, stand and fall. You climb
my limbs and jump in my leaves. I am the
oak tree.
Dandelion
BY MARY THIBEAULT
I am a tiny dandelion. I watch as my
younger relatives bloom. The wind tries
to knock me over, but I stay strong.
Sometimes I watch little kids com-
ing across the feld to pick bundles oI my
kind. I have not been picked yet, though I
wonder about the places that I would go.
Would I be stuck in a vase or would I be
put in a little girls hair and brought all
over the place to see the world?
When I get older, will I start to be-
come what all dandelions become? The
ones kids blow on to make a wish? Will
I make their wish come true? Will I ever
even get picked? If I do, where will all of
my seeds fy out to? But why worry about
the future? I have only just bloomed.
Dogs life
BY HAYDEN ROBERGE
I am on the beach with my owner. I
am running full speed after a Frisbee he
has just thrown. I jump and I catch the
Frisbee in between my jaws like a profes-
sional.
I then turn around and sprint back to
him, begging him to throw it again. But
its time to go. He takes the Frisbee from
my slobbery mouth and we jog back to
the car. He opens the door so I can get in,
and were off!
He rolls down my window so that I
can stick my head out. I do just that as we
speed home. When we get there he goes
to the kitchen while I wait patiently in the
living room of our apartment. He comes
back with dinner!
VERMONT WRITES DAY
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13
THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE STOPS
WHAT THEYRE DOING FOR
SEVEN MINUTES AND WRITES!
More info at youngwritersproject.org
YOUNG TRADITION
SHOWCASE
FEBRUARY 8, 7 P.M.
CITY HALL, BURLINGTON
A rousing session of young tradi-
tional musicians. $15 suggested dona-
tion. CDs on sale include YWP-spon-
sored Ballad Project songs to beneft
Young Tradition and YWP.
More info at youngtraditionvermont.org
No place like home
BY MATTHEW DALEY
Home was where it all started,
where memories originated,
some good,
like birthdays and graduations;
some bad,
like fghts and bad report cards,
those juice stains on the carpet Irom my
younger years.
I didn`t care what Iancy stuII was inside
my home.
I didn`t need the biggest TV
or the nicest bed,
as long as I had a saIe place where my
Iamily could grow up,
grow up together and
eventually go our separate ways
to begin our new lives and adventures.
The perpetual ups and downs stick to me,
and Irom them I grow.
One day down this long road I travel
I`ll be able to create a new home Ior
another generation
that is just as perIect as mine.
Puddle reveals me
BY GABRIELLE CICIO
She asks me, 'Siri, is it raining out-
side?
In my head I think, 'Yes it`s raining
outside; look out your window!
But instead I say, 'Yes, it appears to
be raining outside. It is cloudy and 37
degrees today.
So she retrieves her rainboots and
polka dot umbrella, and outside we go.
I Ieel raindrops creep upon my skin,
and then I get the nauseating Ieeling that
appears when I am dropped. My Iace
plunders into the wet, deep puddle, and
without thinking I say, 'I am cold! I am
so cold! Help me! I am cold!
And then she realizes that I am not a
robot; I am a voice trapped in a phone.
But there is nothing she can do, and
now I am Iorever cold.
THIS WEEK: Home & Cold
erosity oI Ioundations, businesses
power and value oI writing.
II you would like to contribute,
that engages students to write,
helps them improve and connects
them with authentic audiences.
YWP runs youngwritersproject.
org and the Schools Project, a
comprehensive online classroom
and training program that works
with teachers to help students
develop their writing and digital
literacy skills. To learn more, go to
ywpschools.net or contact YWP at
(802) 324-9537.
New Hampshire and we publish the best in this and
other newspapers around the state, on vtdigger.org
prompts, Home: What are you most proud of in your
hometown or state?; and Cold: What is the coldest
youve ever been? More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Vermont Sophia Cannizzaro/Homeschool, West Glover
VERMONT WRITES DAY
THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE STOPS
WHAT THEYRE DOING FOR
SEVEN MINUTES AND WRITES!
Go to youngwritersproject.org Ior
more details.
My blizzard
BY LUCI BAILEY
Arctic chill blasts my Iace,
pushing me back Irom you,
your joyless stares,
your silent words
that circulate out in visible gusts.
Soon I will be too numb
and I will stop trying
to bring back the warmth
that used to be in your gaze
and age will hollow out the memory oI it.
So I turn back now,
away Irom what could have been
my summer,
but is now only
a blizzard.
The meet
BY ABBY DETRICK
I stand on the edge,
my body shaking,
bare toes gripping the rough block,
waiting Ior the sound.
I shake out my arms
and pull down my cap,
restricting my head
like the racks oI shivers,
not Irom the cold,
Ior it is warm,
but Ior the Iool`s paradise around me
Ior I know when I jump
the bitter cold will slice through me.
A drop oI water
runs down my Iace.
My hands are on the block;
I am poised like a cat,
ready to pounce.
My heart shudders
as the high, piercing whistle
locks my muscles.
I jump.
My body elongates
and cuts through the water.
The unIorgiving cold
covers me,
cleanses me oI my jitters
and now my only goal
is to reach the wall
as Iast as I can.
Trapped
BY EMMA STEPHENS
Where am I? It`s so dark.
Where did all the light go?
Why is there something heavy on my
chest?
I try to move; I can`t.
I can`t Ieel my Iace, my hands or my Ieet.
Why am I so cold?
I imagine that I am changing
into an icicle or a snowfake.
Now I can`t Ieel my legs or my arms.
I think I am going to die down here,
trapped in the cold,
trapped in the snow.
But then I see light.
A hand reaches down Ior me,
but I still can`t move.
They pull me up and press warmth to my
lips,
saving me Irom the cold.
THIS WEEK: Fairytale & General
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
other newspapers around the state. This week, we
present responses to the prompts, Fairytale: Create
an eighth dwarf for the Snow White story; and Gen-
eral writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Shadow face (acrylic painting) Erin Bundock/Champlain Valley Union High School
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 be
identifed. Alternates: Comic strip. Design a comic strip and submit it as a picture;
or General writing in any genre. Due Jan. 31
VERMONT WRITES DAY
The day when everyone stops
what theyre doing for just
seven minutes and writes!
Go to youngwritersproject.org for
more details.
Dreamer
BY LAUREL GRAY
Dreamer is a calm female dwarf who
is all alone. Being the only female dwarf
she doesnt really have someone to talk
to. She spends her day thinking about the
future and thinking about her plans to
leave the forest that she lives in.
She has high hopes that she will be-
come someone, and she believes dreams
are there for you to follow.
The other dwarves think that she is
crazy, and they dont understand why she
would ever want to leave.
At frst they thought that she would
grow out of it but now they think she is
just delusional.
Even though the other dwarves think
she is messed up, Dreamer will never let
her head down, and will always keep on
dreaming.
Rumble
BY MARGOT FROST
Once upon a time, while seven
dwarves were out stealing (their work),
they found a little baby dwarf wrapped in
blankets.
They knew he was a dwarf, because he
was smaller than a human baby.
He seemed to be talking to himself,
grumbling and complaining.
One dwarf, Happy, said; Why dont
we keep him? Nobody is caring for him.
The others agreed.
They took him home, out of the cold,
and to the warmth of the dwarves little
hut.
The baby was still grumbling to him-
self in that odd way.
Why dont we name him Rumble?
Doc suggested. For hes always rum-
bling, mumbling, grumbling and com-
plaining.
So the seven other dwarves raised
Rumble, and taught him how to fght, and
steal, and everything a dwarf needs to
know.
Rumble always grumbled, rumbled,
mumbled, and could always fnd some-
thing to complain about.
He grew and (despite his negative
attitude) was truly a success to the seven
others.
Winters silence
BY LUCI BAILEY
People always complain about the cold
in winter. Its freezing! people stutter
as they wrap their coats closer to their
bodies. Ive had my complaints, no doubt
about that.
There are plenty of things that I also
look forward to: hot chocolate on cold
mornings, skiing down sunlit white hills,
and warm nights by the fre.
There is one specifc thing that I most
look forward to. It is the silent morning.
The quiet world flls in the spaces
when everyone else is snug in their beds.
I wake up on the freezing mornings
and there is nothing but silence. The
branches are full of snow that fell in
secret during the night. The sun burns
through the grey cloud line and brightens
the world, and not a single thing makes
noise. Its like the world has taken a
moment of silence to let winter into the
spotlight.
People shift in their sleep in the other
rooms, oblivious to the beauty of the si-
lence, because it is the silence that keeps
them in sleep. I can stand by the windows
and look out into the untouched world of
white; imagine going out into its mute
world and reveling at all that could be
found there.
It is this one small moment, where
the worlds troubles stop just for one
moment. Then something disturbs the
silence: a car driving through the snow,
someone starting a snow blower.
People begin to stir, and the world
starts to move again.
My day starts, and the magical moment
is broken. And then I have the whole day
to look forward to the moment of winters
silence.
THIS WEEK: Inspiration
05401.
AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
other newspapers across Vermont, on vtdigger.org
prompts, Inspiration: Describe your muse. Read more
great 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.
NEXT PROMPTS
Elements. What do you think is the strongest and/or most beautiful force
in nature? Tell a story about it. Alternate: Disappointed. Looking forward to
something is often the best part. Write about a time where your expectations
werent quite met. Due Jan. 24
Satin inspiration
BY LUCI BAILEY
She takes her beautiful form
In a young girl so small
In her satin white dress
That shimmers like sunlit snow.

Her giggle flls in dry corners.
Her dainty toes dance across my mind,
Her delicate paintbrush smudging
The lines between possibilities.

As I stare at barren landscapes
And see no life in the branches
She whispers inspiration in my ears
For only me to hear.

What if those branches are alive?
She asks with glowing wonder.
Maybe they hide the colors
Of a song waiting to burst with warm
winds of spring.

My muse fies above the treetops,
Her arms spread out like silver wings
As she soars to different worlds
With all of her child-like glee.
Dreams
BY EMMA STEPHENS
They dance lightly through my head,
Leaving only footprints once I wake,
Little memories of something bigger
These are my muses.

Bits and pieces ft together,
Creating wonderlands and paradises,
Other worlds to visit
These are my muses.

All that remains is to reach out
And take the ideas that sit so calmly,
To commit them to paper, like they want.
These are my muses.

The ideas fade though, as soon as theyre
touched,
Disappearing forever, back within my
mind
Like they are playing games with me
These are my muses.
Dreams are my muses.
My dad
BY GABRIELLE CICIO
My creative endeavors are the skills that
I perform
in the duration of thirty-two minutes.
The cross-overs and foul shots are only
the beginning,
and we don`t stop until we are fnished.

My coach is my muse,
but hes not who youd think.
Hes the man who stands by me,
and our looks are in sync.

This man is my muse,
my mentor, and more,
but above all of this,
he is my dad, and that is for sure.
The seed
BY ABBY DETRICK
It starts as a seed growing in the back of
my mind,
piercing my brain with its roots,
trying to fnd a Iertile connection
so it can grow
and spiral its blackened vines
onto a clean palette of white
to copy the image of what I see
into the blossom of a story,
and Ill watch over the blossom,
pruning it if need be
until the idea
unfurls its petals
into the beautiful result.
THIS WEEK: Magic & General
05401.
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Winter
BY AMBER PLOOF
Winter. The only word that can make
you laugh and cry at the same time.
Winter is like a new chapter of the
same book. Winter is the time of year
where you should sit back and enjoy your
life to the fullest; its like watching a 3D
movie in slow motion.
When snow gradually falls, it lies
gracefully on the old grass, not wanting to
damage it. Snow is tender and serene, like
a warm cup of hot chocolate that has itty-
bitty marshmallows packed to the tippy-
top of the glass, the hot steam reminding
you of the humid summer days that you
wished were still here.
Snow is gentle. It softens the fall be-
tween your cold boots and the ground.
Ah, winter. Youve never really
experienced life until youve experienced
winter. The moist crunch of the snow
is soothing; hot chocolate on cold days
reminds you that someone cares; and the
layers and layers of snow gear reminds
you that even though it is all over-rated,
you will never, ever have to worry about
the bitter snow days you will have to
endure walking to school.
Winter. The only word that makes you
laugh and cry at the same time.
Winter is here
BY AVERY EHRET
The woods are hushed as a whisper.
Snowfakes glimmer in the sunlight that is
streaming through the cracks of the trees.
Animals are tucked away hibernating in a
warm, safe place.
Icicles dangle under the trees delicately.
The air is crisp with the aroma of pine
needles.
A fake oI snow sweeps across my
cheeks, making them red.
I inhale deeply and my lungs ache from
the ice cold air.
A feeling of excitement emerges from
within me.
I close my eyes and allow the splendor of
winter to embrace me.
Winter is here.
Paper cranes Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Young Writers Project will resume
publishing student work on these pages
during the week of Jan. 6, 2014. Until
then, happy holidays from all of us at
YWP!
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 (at right). Due
Jan. 17
Great cedar tree William McFarlane Notman
Fireworks
BY ABBY DETRICK
The blades of grass poke at my back
through my bulky sweatshirt
as I gaze up at the indigo sky
thats blue on the edges.
I know the cold stars cant reach me
through my blanket
and a noise like thunder
pounds against my eardrums
and a pop like a gunshot
echoes through the hills.
More lights erupt from the stars
in pink and red and gold
and gasps and cheers erupt
and giggly children
point at the sky with pudgy fngers
as the lights refect in their wondering
eyes.
A smile spreads across my face
as the sparkles fzzle out
like falling stars.
And then its over;
the smoke lingers
like the remains
of a magicians disappearing act.
But when I close my eyes,
I can still see the bursts of purple
beneath my eyelids.
THE CALVIN
Go to youngwriter-
sproject.org to read
the winning submis-
sions by Abigail
Millard, a junior
at Windsor High
School, and Robin
Vincent, a senior at
St. Johnsbury Acad-
emy for this new
writing award spon-
sored by the Calvin
Coolidge Foundation.
Calvin Coolidge
(Library of
Congress)
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submis-
sions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in newspapers
around the state, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This
week, we present responses to Magic: Describe a
magical moment or feeling youve experienced; and
General writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.
That emerald ring
Father gave her
BY LILY FOURNIER
For your last present we would like
to give you a ring that was made for our
family uncountable generations ago,
announced my aunt, handing over a gold
ring with an emerald.
The emerald was different from most
rings. It seemed to shine with all the
colors of the rainbow. As I touched it, I
began to see the making of the ring, and
the tragedy of that emerald ring...
A jeweler pulled a glowing ring out
oI the fre, implanted an emerald into
the metal, and set the elegant ring on his
cooling rack.
Its done, maybe a little late, but Mr.
Linear should be happy.
A man walked in and began demanding
the jewels. I need all the jewels now or
else, he cried.
No, said the jeweler, The ring is for
Elizabeth Linear, the daughter of Mayor
Linear. It was her 16th birthday yesterday
and Im already behind schedule.
There was a fash and the room went
dark ... A few hours later a pretty blonde
girl came in. She was holding a baby in
her arms and singing a lovely song. The
instant she saw the jeweler tied up and
gagged, she rushed to untie him. When
he was untied, the jeweler said, I was
fnishing your ring when a man came and
stole everything. There is nothing left.
Elizabeths face began to sag and she
handed the baby over to the jeweler be-
Iore throwing herselI into the fre. BeIore
she disappeared into the smoke she cried
out. I shall never rest until this ring is
returned to my family.
I emerged from the memories shocked
and amazed. We were just able to re-
cover it from an old shack up north before
your 16th birthday.
I would hold on to that emerald ring
that the father intended for his daughter
so many, many generations ago.
THIS WEEK: Excerpt
05401.
LANGWATER FAMILY
FOUNDATION
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
in other newspapers around the state and on vpr.
net. This week, we present responses to the prompt,
Excerpt: Open a book and include a line in a story
or poem. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Bailey Kimball/Essex High School, 2013
Her every move
BY GABRIELLE CICIO
Never mind. God, I hate this. I cant
even get away from them in another
country! She was being followed,
cameras watching her every move, every
second of the day, when she was shoot-
ing, and when she wasnt. Everyone knew
her name, but no one knew her story.
The photographers tried to uncover
the life she tried to keep a secret. Her
private life was private, and shouldnt be
displayed for the public eye.
She fed. She`d had enough; this was
an invasion of privacy. She left the coun-
try, and turned to a private resort where
no paparazzi were allowed.
Lying on the beach with her toes in the
sand, she sensed movement. She turned
rapidly, looking in all directions when
she noticed a man holding a camera. She
heard the shutter: Click! Click! Click!
What happened to no photographers?
she thought to herself.
She jumped up, snatched her towel
from the beach chair, and ran to her
condo. She had to leave this island; she
had to go home.
Next Flight to LAX: 9:36 p.m. She
bought the next ticket home. Her personal
life was no longer personal, and it never
would be again.
(Never mind. God, I hate this. I cant even
get away from them in another country! from
Sweet Little Lies by Lauren Conrad.)
Child at heart
BY GRACE WOODRUFF
You see, Lucas had power.
You could tell by the way he stood:
shoulders back, head up.
His eyes glinted with ferce determina-
tion,
and the air around him felt cooler than in
the rest of the room.
You could hear his power when he
opened his mouth,
words oI confdence pouring out.
Even the small things he did held power,
like the sound his shoes made
when he walked into a room,
how his hair was always just-so,
and the way his hands moved when he
talked.
He could so easily be mistaken for an
adult, someone with a job and a family.
His eyes were clouded over with knowl-
edge; he seemed so old,
wise and weathered, thats the vibe he
gave off.
But he was just a kid, a mature kid, but
still a kid.
He grew up too fast, never acted like a
kid.
Sometimes, though, when no one was
looking,
I caught the hint of a smile tugging at the
corners of his mouth.
He would never admit it, but at heart, he
was just as young as the rest of us.
(You see, Lucas had power, from Where
Things Come Back by John Corey Whaley.)
NEXT PROMPTS
Perspective. Tell a story from the
perspective or viewpoint of something
unconventional: a dog, a fower, a moun-
tain, etc. Alternate: Rant. Send us your
best rant, something that ticks you off.
Note: No real names or situations where
someone can be identifed. Make it a slam
poem if youd like. And feel free to create
a podcast. Due Dec. 13
Myth. Create the new urban myth. Make
it eerie, funny or outrageous. Alternates:
Funny. Write a poem or story that makes
your reader smile and then laugh out
loud. Its harder than it sounds. Try it for
Iun. See what happens; or General writ-
ing in any genre. Due Dec. 20
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK.
CHECK IT OUT!
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Have you noticed?
BY ALIZA SILVERSTEIN
Grade 12, Homeschool
The cold has settled
across the land,
the gardens frozen,
the bare trees stand
remembering weight of golden leaves.
Have you noticed?
Each breath is laced
with crystal cold,
and only crows
are left to hold
their court in empty monarchy.
Have you noticed?
Yet sunsets keep
the brightest shades
for these, the coldest of the months,
and even when the sunlight fades
the stars are clearest when our gaze
is woken by midwinter ice,
and if you pause in winter woods
and listen to the silence grow,
you fnd that silence has a sound
of wind through cedars and weighty
snow.
Have you noticed?
THIS WEEK: Winter Tales
other newspapers around the state and on vpr.net. This
week, we present pieces that were selected for Win-
ter Tales to be presented by Vermont Stage Company
through Sunday at FlynnSpace in Burlington.
TURRELL FUND
Sam Robinson/Essex High School, 2013
VERMONT STAGE COMPANY
PRESENTS
WINTER TALES
DEC. 4-8
FLYNNSPACE, BURLINGTON
www.vtstage.org
This years holiday show includes
16 YWP writers, including the
students on this page.
Thrill on the hill
BY MARGOT FROST
The wind nipped my face
as I few down the hill.
Im skiing, Im skiing!
What a thrill!
My parallel skis glided through the snow,
making deep tracks in the powder.
Go! Go! Go!
I raced past fellow skiers, laughing with
glee.
Faster! Faster!
Ski, ski, ski!
I few by a skier, and when I saw her Iace,
I knew I had found my competition and
we started to race.
We ripped down the hill, the whole time
side by side,
and when we reached the bottom together,
I realized we had tied.
Moonlit crystals
BY ROSALIE WASSER
Grade 8, Stowe Middle School
An intricate crystal
falls on my nose,
melts in a matter of seconds, I suppose.
Moonlight refects
on the snow so bright;
a dusting of glitter penetrates the night.
Moaning and groaning,
the lonely wind howls
as it whips the soft snow around with
shrill shrieks and growls.
Soaring and gliding,
owls sail through the night,
like Ieathery snowfakes in never-ending
fight.
They fy with such Ireedom.
They fy with such grace.
I stare in wonder and my heart moves to a
different place.
They said it was cold;
they said I shouldnt go,
but in spite of their warning, I came out in
the snow.
I dont have frostbite.
Theres a glint in my eye.
I know now that all I was told about win-
ter was a lie.
I take it all in,
the magic of the woods.
It is now I wish that everyone understood.
What they think of winter
is clich and bland,
like making snow angels and building a
sad-looking snowman.
It is what they dont see.
It is what they dont care to know
that I am experiencing now here in the
snow.
The winters not dull.
The winters not bitter.
It is an enchanting wonderland of icy cold
glitter.
A whimsical night,
watching magic take place.
In the morning it will be gone without a
trace.
A secret to be kept,
safe in my heart,
the winter woods at night are more pre-
cious than fne art.
NEXT PROMPTS
Perspective. Tell a story from the
perspective or viewpoint of something
unconventional: a dog, a fower, a moun-
tain, etc. Alternate: Rant. Send us your
best rant, something that ticks you off.
Note: No real names or situations where
someone can be identifed. Make it a slam
poem if youd like. And feel free to create
a podcast. Due Dec. 13
Snowdrops
BY LUNA ISHAM
Grade 10, Harwood Union High School
I bounced up to you,
having noticed the snowdrops in your
hair.
They looked like beautiful crystals
that had Iallen Irom the frst snow oI the
year to stay.
To me they suited you
in all their beauty and refection oI the
light,
the joy that you give me.
When I frst pointed out the glitter Ialling
to the earth,
you growled at it,
which made me giggle
because of all the antics
that are so purely you.
I told you about how I loved to play in the
white fuII
blanketing the ground.
You remarked on how childish I was,
how I couldnt deny it,
true as always
that magical night
you frst held me in your arms.
Laura Cavazos/Essex High School
Living this life
BY LAUREL GRAY
I am thankful for having my home that
I can go to every night. I am thankful for
all the experiences I have had to face,
because overall, they made me a stronger
and better person.
I am thankful for my family and
friends who have supported me through
the hard times and never left my side
even when I didnt have the best attitude;
I am thankful for everyone who never
gave up on me, even when I gave up all
hope.
I am thankful for my mom, the one
person who supported me through every-
thing, even after I said I hated her.
I am thankful that she pushes me to
be the absolute best that I can be, and
shows me that dreams are there for you to
follow, and that everything will be OK in
the end.
Most of all, I am thankful for waking
up every day, and living this life because
there are so many great people in it who
support me and who are there for me, and
who I wouldnt be able to live without.
Someone to thank
BY LUCI BAILEY
Everyone has someone that they are
thankful for,
a special person who has their arms open
to them
with warm smiles
and never-ending love.
They hold out glowing lanterns
that fll in the darkest caverns
where no one else could dwell
and build their sturdy homes
inside our stony hearts.
That is what you have done for me.
A man of inspiring words,
you held me in your strong arms
so I couldnt stand on my own in a cruel
world.
I am so thankful
for your thoughtful blue eyes
that surpass even the sky
in all of their shimmering wonder
towards everything they have to fnd.
I am thankful for every grey hair
that earned each of their places in time,
with three others before me.
But grey hairs have taught you patience.
I am thankful for strong hands
that held me up to the sky
to see a distant, sunlit horizon
and also killed the spiders
no others were brave enough to face.
Im thankful for corny jokes
that cause only you to laugh,
and you should know that
they usually cause only you to laugh.
Im thankful just for you,
for each day you have held me close
and kept me from straying too far.
To my forever one and only
Dad.
My Foreign
Exchange sister
BY GABRIELLE CICIO
A special best friend
Someone I call a sister
A guest from Norway
THIS WEEK: Thanks
VERMONT COUNTRY STORE
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
present responses to the prompt, Thanks: What are
you most grateful for? Read more at youngwriter-
sproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
NEXT PROMPTS
Cold. What is the coldest youve ever felt? Describe it. Alter-
nates: Optimist. Think of your worst memory. Tell us the story;
however, write about it in a way that turns it into a positive; or
Photo 4 (left). Due Dec. 6
Auto-correct
BY ABBY DETRICK
I am grateful for the watchful eyes
looking down upon the words I type.
When they fnd a letter out oI place
they fx the wrong to make it right.
Sometimes the lines of
red or green or blue
are placed beneath a word
that I know is really true.
And Ill get frustrated for a second,
but I could never stay mad at you.
I expand your vocabulary
to include my last name, too.
So, dear Auto-correct,
I am grateIul that you fx all oI my mis-
takes.
I am really getting better at spelling,
but I know youll help me for however
long it takes.
This place
BY HEATHER PETERSON
Im thankful for the days we share,
when we look up through crystal air
at the mountains and the felds,
and get to say, we live here.
THIS WEEK: Photo 2 & General
05401.
MAIN STREET LANDING
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
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
prompts, Photo 2; and General writing. Read more
at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO 2 PROMPT
Photo 2 Julie Pearce/Essex High School
Crisis averted
BY ABBY DETRICK
Hunkered down in our makeshift fort,
we sit
under an armor of pillows
and a canopy of blankets
with a glaring fashlight
to illuminate our faces.
A bowl of popcorn
is our only sustenance.
We are quiet
so the enemy wont hear us;
it is silent in the dead of night.
And then a blast of a joke,
and giggles respond like gunfre.
Shhh! Theyll come for us!
And then the creak of a door,
the glare of a light
the enemy general!
Shes dressed in a fuzzy robe
and combat slippers.
The giggles cease.
A long pause,
then she leaves ...
Crisis averted!
In loving silence
BY DARBY SHERBERT
Grade 11, Oxbow High School
The door is cracked and the room is silent
as a loving father walks in.
'Hush, I say as I put my fnger to my
lips. They are asleep.
A beam of light from the hallway shines
across the youngests face,
but she does not stir as he kisses her head
tenderly.
Next, the oldest.
He is still young but strong.
His father kisses his head and says,
Goodnight, soldier.
Then he goes to bed kissing his wife and
mother of his children.
He turns out the light; the moon illumi-
nates the room brightly
as the two lovers sleep peacefully with a
son and a daughter down the hall.
The Lagily
BY EMMA STEPHENS
One day or another you are going to
have to tell them, my fower.
I know but cant it wait a little lon-
ger?
I have dreaded this day ever since I
found out the truth about myself.
I was chosen as a baby to enter the
order of the Lagily, the last remaining
fairies on this Earth.
When I was born, something alerted
Queen Stella that I had the blood of the
old inside me.
One of the Lagily, Ethel, was sent to
mask my wings when the buds started to
grow out of my back.
The day I turned 15, though, I had the
oddest compulsion to walk into the forest.
So I did.
As soon as I entered the center of the
forest, the spell that hid my wings fell
away and Ior the frst time in my liIe I
took fight.
The Lagily pulled themselves out of
their homes in the trees and few with me.
I was not scared.
I felt as if I was home, in the air with
these people.
Queen Stella and Ethel asked me to
join them so they could inform me of my
true nature.
They stepped inside a large oak tree
and I followed. Inside I learned every-
thing that I needed to know to survive the
world until I became one of the Lagily in
full.
Every day I would join them there
for a few hours and learn more and more
about the old ways.
I could not tell anyone about the
Lagily or that I was one of them until I
was to become one of them and then I
could only tell those closest to me.
If I broke this one law I would lose
my wings and never be whole again.
They told me that the day I turned
20 I would leave my home in the mortal
world and join them in the protection of
the last ancient forest.
That day has come and I stand out-
side my parents home, not wanting to tell
them.
I look to Queen Stella one last time
for reassurance.
The door gives way under my hand
and I walk in with my wings on full
display.
NEXT PROMPTS
Magic. There is magic all around us, but people often
dont recognize it. 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
Cold. What is the coldest youve ever felt? Describe it.
Alternates: Optimist. Think of your worst saddest, scari-
est or most embarrassing memory. Tell the story; however,
write about it in a way that turns it into a positive; or Photo 4.
Due Dec. 6
Photo 4 Liu Brenna/
Essex High School
HAS A FEATURED WRITER
THIS WEEK: Survival
05401.
NATIONAL LIFE GROUP
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
we select the best for publication here and in news-
papers around the state and on vpr.net. This week, we
publish work in response to the prompt, Survival:
Youre stuck on a deserted island. Night is falling...
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
HAS A FEATURED WRITER
CHECK IT OUT!
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
Lost island
BY ZACHARY SCHNEIDER
The couple took their shoes off as
they walked up towards the mountains.
The soft, wet sand stuck to their feet as
they walked across the beach. The little
waves of water crashed at their heels.
As they neared the rocky slope, they
stopped for a second and inhaled deep,
deep breaths. The silence felt good. It
was good to get away from the city, no
stresses, loudness or cars beeping or
people screaming. They sat there for a
few minutes and just took in all the fresh
air and beautiful water and sky. This
place was amazing and they hadnt even
explored yet; the only bad thing was they
were here for only a few hours. They left
their boat on the sand and headed up the
mountains. When they got to the top they
could see the ocean for miles! The day
was coming to an end; the two people
forgot about their boat and the high tide.
So when they got down to where the sand
used to be, it was all water. The boat was
gone...
Survival isnt
granted; its gained
BY AMBER PLOOF
I am sitting on the wet sand, feel-
ing like I am going to melt. Every eight
seconds (I counted), the waves suddenly
bounce off the sand and onto my knees;
you feel a cold rush every time. Even if
you sat there all day on the cool sand,
you would always get the rush of shock,
suspense.
Our little two-seater plane crashed on
to this island, leaving us stranded. I didnt
go on that plane alone, of course. I went
with my cousin, Lucas James. Lucas is
a thinker, a learner. He never gets into
trouble; he keeps his room clean and he
always wears suspenders with tan khakis.
He is more preppy. I am the fghter, the
destroyer. I wear neon shirts, baggy jeans,
high tops and my room is nowhere near
neat. We are opposites, but that is why we
are so close. Our age difference is small;
he is 16 and I am 14.
The heat makes you think weird. I
feel hungry, but I know I can just let it
wait till later. Maybe we will be lucky
and fnd some coconuts. The water hits
me again, my toes are all curled up from
the cold water, just like they have never,
ever felt it before, like they are unknown
to the open world. I had forgotten about
Lucas, and I look around for my cousin,
who was always the straight-A student,
the achiever, the best, but now his small
tense body is gone, like the wind swept
him away. I hear a crunch behind me and
I quickly turn but not fast enough.
There is Lucas, with his eyes opened
huge, leaning in and whispering some-
thing in my ear. I dont know what he is
saying. I look down at his hand. Its cov-
ered in spit and sand. He grasps a sharp
pocket knife that we brought with us. It
clicks in my brain that what he actually is
saying is, Come here, I need to tell you
something. Lucas repeats it one more
time until I feel the knife sticking into
my skin, a scar that will last forever, if I
survive
The survivors
BY GRACE ECKLAND GUSTAVSON
Los Angeles was glamorous. The foot-
hills were beautiful. But the story within
them was different. The people were
mean, were hurt, were angry, and cynical.
But there are always survivors.
Some nights she spent on the side
of a road near a canyon, waiting for her
mother to come back for her.
By the time she was 14, she had
dropped out of school and was working
full-time. She paid the bills. Cooked the
food. Cared for her little sister, cared for
her mother, even after what her mother
had done.
Her mother was not a bad person. She
was lost. Lost and hurt and alone. She
came from far away. Watched her parents
die. Grew up remembering that night, the
memory slowly decaying her spirit.
She married young. How young, I do
not know. All I know is that there was a
son. A son she left behind when she came
to America. The marriage that took her to
America didnt work out.
He left her, her soldier husband, and
spent the rest of his nights drinking.
Her daughters lived in fear. Of her.
Their mother. The one person who was
supposed to love them the most, didnt
show any love for them.
The oldest girl grew a shell, a shell
that protected her from the mocking and
the jeering from her classmates....
ect.org.
Stranded
BY ZYMORA DAVINCI
Our plane crashed over the Sahara
Desert as we were trying to reach Egypt.
We just wanted to visit the glorious
temples of their culture and visit their gi-
gantic pyramids; is that too much to ask?
But the plane was overstocked and
tumbled to the ground. We made it out
pretty OK ... I had a few scratches on my
cheek and forearm, but the rest of me was
intact.
Alayna had a bloody lip and bruises
on her shins...We managed to fnd a Iew
bottles of water, and a box half-full of
saltine crackers. This is what we would
have to live on on our journey through
this golden desert...
ect.org.
READ MORE
GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
THIS WEEK: Moon
05401.
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
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:
Whats on the dark side of the moon?
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
See for yourself
BY EMMA STEPHENS
What is on the dark side of the moon?
Maybe nothing, but who knows?
I think there are many things
on the dark side of the moon,
like the three-legged,
four-eyed, no-armed,
blue Sagrethy
that likes to eat
the purple-leafed,
barkless tree,
the Aplemthung.
But you cant forget about
the Saber-Toothed Shanckle,
which lives in the craters
and eats the Sagrethies.
There are many other things
that live on the dark side of the moon,
but I dont have time
to name them all.
So youll just have to go
and see for yourself
whats really on the dark side of the
moon.

Friends: Left to right, Tyler McKee, Nathan Cozzens and Wyatt Martin, sophomores at Rutland High
School. Aliya Schneider/Grade 10, Rutland High School
The real dark side
BY ABBY DETRICK
The dark side of the moon
is a creation of man,
a lie told
to explain the unexplainable.
There is no real dark side;
it is only shade
where the sun doesnt reach,
like shining fngers grasping
toward unanswered questions.
It is the unknown.
It is everything we have yet to discover.
It is innocence,
the shelter of shade
from the harsh glare of the truth.
The moon is always there,
only its silvery face is covered in dark-
ness,
just like the explanation:
the why, the how.
But it is hidden
by the unknown,
the shade,
the dark side of the moon.
Mysterious place
BY REBECCA VANDEN BERGH
The dark side of the moon, oh what a
mysterious place.
Where goblins and monsters all frolic
with glee, unbeknownst to our growing
curiosity.
We sit every night staring at that light so
very bright, wondering how will we ever
know what goes on at the dark side of the
moon?
Well, Im here to tell you what I have
seen in my dreams; so hold on tight, for
youre about to hear just what is happen-
ing where our eyes have not seen.
There are monsters so large you would
never believe if you saw them walking
here among us.
But that is just what they do, never mak-
ing a sound, just dancing and jumping
around and around.
There are people with noses as large as
zucchinis and eyes like a bugs.
They do what we do: just hurry along and
try to look busy as they carry on.
But the real secret, you know, is that
when we all slumber, they are there in our
dreams, trying to send us a message so
large, you never could guess.
Maybe Ill tell you sometime or another,
but now I must go, for they are all calling,
those people who live on the dark side of
the moon.
On the other side
BY ASHIMA FILLBACH
The darkness lies still over the moon.
The stars above look reserved, their
brightness muted.
A place unknown to claiming footsteps.
That place that we can only imagine is all
its own.
Legends form, isolate, expand,
and get passed down from generation to
generation.
Is it wide and desolate, uncovered miles
of expanse?
Is it a completely different world where a
species dwells contentedly?
The mystery of the unknown land
pervades the ever-curious minds.
When will the fog of such mysteries be
lifted?
Shall we ever know?
A YWP WRITER IS FEATURED
ON VPR.NET EVERY WEEK!
CHECK IT OUT!
NEXT PROMPTS
Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, fresh de-
scriptive poetry or prose. Please avoid clichs. The best will
be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company
at its annual Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burl-
ington. Alternates: General writing in any genre; or Photo
3. Due Nov. 15
Photo 3 (Collage fag) Mister Blick
THIS WEEK: Spooky
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
19 other newspapers and on vpr.net. This week, we
present 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
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. Whats
something unique or special that you can do? Tell us how you do it. Due Nov. 8
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
MONTPELIER, NOV. 9
Join Young Writers Project on Satur-
day, 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 young-
writersproject.org/celebration2013.
The lake
BY EMMA STEPHENS
The little lights still bobbed around
and the quiet voice had not gone away. It
called to her, begging her to join them.
She kept telling herself that it was only
because she was so tired and hungry, but
when the ghastly white hand reached out
of the water towards her she could no
longer deny it; this place was haunted.
As quickly as her feet could carry her,
she ran away from the lake and toward
what she hoped was the end of the forest.
Still those lights followed her and seemed
to grow bigger until they took the shape
of half-formed wolves.
One leapt, bit her on the ankle, and
started to drag her back. The girls whole
leg went numb except a dreadful cold
feeling, like ice in her veins.
She broke free and took off again, but
tripped. This time she did not have the
strength to fght oII the wolves and only
screamed as she was dragged towards the
lake.
The wolves bounced crazily around her
and she noticed a chant was starting from
the fgures in the lake.
'New fesh to make us whole. New
blood to quench our thirst. New thoughts
to ease the ache. A new one to add to the
collection.
The wolf that was dragging her stepped
into the lake. Once her foot touched
the icy waters more hands shot out and
latched around her. She did not fght them
because the cold had paralyzed her and
she was quickly pulled under the smooth
surface of the lake. She expelled the last
of the air in her lungs and accepted her
fate. Above the water, everything returned
to normal as if the lake waited for its next
victim.
Halloween memory
BY GABRIELLE CICIO
Walking in the pitch black,
only streetlights illuminating the night,
doors being closed to the children,
hoping for candy,
taking pride in their costumes,
we freeze at a house
that Im pretty sure was green.
We hear what appears to be a gunshot.
Is that what it was?
Then comes a females voice.
She screams in terror.
Next comes a mans voice.
Get off of her! Dont touch her! Stop!...
Horrifed, terrifed,
in utter shock and fear,
we run as fast as we can,
as far as we can.
Who is it?
What are they doing?
A memory that will haunt us forever...
Walkers in the woods
BY HEATHER PETERSON
Deep in the forest
under silver dew
we lie here waiting
for walkers like you.
Well sing you the song
as long as you like;
well sing you to sleep
on this dark, dark night.
Youll stumble into
our lovely clearing
and as you stand up,
whats that youre hearing?
Were singing a song
to lull you to rest.
Please dont be frightened;
were doing our best.
Here in our clearing,
in our forest deep,
come and stay with us;
together well sleep.
But when a walker
comes strolling along,
well wake up again
and sing them a song.
Were walkers like you
who were sung to sleep.
So come and join us
in our rest so deep...
Read the complete poem and story at
youngwritersproject.org/node/84937
THIS WEEK: Mona Lisa
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
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,
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
NEXT PROMPTS
Somewhere. You wake up in a
strange place and dont know how
you got there. Describe it. What
happens? Alternates: Style. Write
in the style of an author you ad-
mire. Name the author; or General
writing in any genre. Due Nov. 1
Thanks. What are you most
grateful for? Tell a story about how
you gained appreciation for this
thing or opportunity or person. Al-
ternate: Unique. Whats something
unique or special that you do? Tell
us how you do it. Due Nov. 8
NOV. 9
MONTPELIER
Join Young Writers Project on Satur-
day, Nov. 9 as we celebrate the writers
and photographers who are published in
our new Anthology 5!
All ages are invited to sign up now for
a full day of free workshops, a keynote
address by National Book Award author
M.T. Anderson, readings by Millennial
Writers on Stage and a special reception
to honor the young writers and photogra-
phers!
Its all happening at the Vermont Col-
lege of Fine Arts in Montpelier, 9:30 a.m.
to 6 p.m., Saturday, Nov. 9.
For more information and registration,
go to youngwritersproject.org/celebra-
tion2013.
SIGN UP TODAY!
YWP NEWS
The Scream by Edvard Munch
The scream
BY GABRIELLE CICIO
Standing on this bridge,
poised since 1893,
I stand here and scream.
Girl with a Pearl Earring
by Johannes Vermeer
Souls
BY EMMA STEPHENS
Every day I have to sit stock still in
this wooden chair, with my head turned
in such an odd angle. The blue and tan
headdress that at frst I Iound so beautiIul
has become a burden, and the pearl in my
ear has become
heavy.
People
come and
stare at me
every day,
remarking on
my beauty
and wonder-
ing about my
story.
The
woman who
sat for this
painting is
long dead,
but part of
her soul has stayed with me. Every night,
as the museum closes, I stretch the weari-
ness out of my bones and step out of the
painting.
My fellow souls join me and we walk
through the halls sharing our stories. We
have all heard these stories many times,
but they help us to remember what we
have almost forgotten.
Every morning, just before the doors
open, I slip back in and start it all over
again.
Starry night over the Rhone
BY ABBY DETRICK

Looking at the night
Swirling stars are my only
joy in this tower
Mona Lisa
BY JULIA LOEWER
The small wooden stool was cold and
uncomfortable.
My back ached and my eyes stung.
I was afraid tears would roll down my
cheeks.
He painted me slowly,
the same stare on his face,
eyebrows furrowed
as his upper lip twitched.
I could imagine people staring at me,
judging my appearance
through some color on a wall,
assuming they knew things about me
from just a glance,
just a painting,
my whole existence exposed to the
world.
For some reason, it was all worth it
as I sat down on that cold, hard stool,
my rise to fame.
BY LAUREL GRAY
The buildings below
are so slowly calming down
the stars intertwine
THIS WEEK: Photo 1 & Mystery
05401.
JANE B. COOK
CHARITABLE TRUSTS
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
we select the best for publication each week. This
week, we publish work in response to the prompts,
Photo 1; and Mystery: Write the opening to a mystery
story. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO PROMPT 1
Photo 1 (Sleepy Hollow, South Pomfret, VT) crgimages
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
The old red barn
BY SERENITY NORTHRUP
As we drove home I looked back at
the old farm and the big red barn one last
time. I looked back and remembered all
the summers spent there with my best
friend Andy.
Last summer Andy got the worst news
a person can get. No, his girlfriend Mindy
wasnt breaking up with him. And no, his
grandma wasnt dying. Instead, Andy got
the news that he was dying. Andy had
cancer.
That summer I spent every moment I
could with him. We would head outside
on some days, but then on other days I
stayed by his bedside while he was sick
from his chemotherapy. But even with all
that chemo, he still died. Even though I
know he died, every so often I pick up the
phone to call him, just out of habit.
As I look back at the barn I remember
my last summer with Andy. He got so
weak that he couldnt even sit up in his
bed. It hurt me to see him like that.
He was the best football player I have
ever known, the strongest and the fastest
in everything and could beat anyone in a
race or arm wrestling.
I would stay by his bedside trying
not to cry, hoping, praying that Andy
wouldnt die. I didnt know how I could
go on without my best friend.
Andy and I had been best friends
since before preschool. He had helped
when I was in trouble and I helped him.
He gave me courage to ask out my, now,
girlfriend.
I wasnt able to comprehend how I
could survive without him.
As I look back at the farm I think of
all the summers spent there with Andy.
How we would camp out in the
woods and see who got the most scared.
How we would talk about who we
liked and who we thought liked us.
How we used to be able to get onto
one horse, and would ride bareback in the
felds Ior hours.
How we would climb trees, build
forts, catch frogs, and how some days
we would just lie around all day in our
pajamas.
And how we can never do any of
those things again because hes gone.
I wasnt able to comprehend how I
could survive without him, but now I am.
Vermontmania
BY ELIZA AMBER
Autumn in Vermont is an amazing
event. It draws people from all around,
creating some sort of Vermontmania that
people cant seem to get enough of.
Everyone is searching for that perfect
autumn day, when the air is clear and
crisp and the trees are so vividly colored
that you question if they are real.
They are truly spectacular days, where
you want to curl up and stare at the world
with a cup of hot apple cider.
You would think that people who live
here would get used to the beauty ex-
pect it to be there.
But even after living here my whole
life of 15 years, these days still take my
breath away...
Read the complete story at youngwriters-
project.org/node/84566.
Masquerade ball
BY ABBY DETRICK
She sighs and looks at the stars. She
leans against a Roman column that rests
against the back porch of the mansion.
Her hair is piled in a golden swirl on
the top of her head. She wears a heather
gray corseted gown that fairs out at her
hips and gracefully rests on the stone
patio.
A silver mask rests on her delicate
nose. It is adorned with fuIIy grey Ieath-
ers and silver sequins.
Her dark brown eyes are coated with
a layer of dusty gold powder. The column
is cold against her back.
She shivers and looks at the party
swirling around her. Dancing tuxedos
swirl vivid gowns into bursts of color
against a black night. A hand rests on
her bare shoulder. She turns to see her
husband, smiling. He grabs her hand.
She responds with a grin of her own. He
leads her to the sea of swirling dresses,
and they dance. When they rest, he puts a
hand on her belly, where their baby girl is
growing.
And there is noise, like thunder. And
he slumps forward on top of her. And
he falls. There is a smear of red on her
beautiful gray dress that he bought her,
right above where their baby is growing.
She cradles his body and screams into the
sparkling night.
She sighs and looks at the clouds. She
leans against his gravestone that rests
against a hill of grass.
Her golden hair is in tangles that hang
over her face. She wears a heather gray
coat that hangs at her narrow shoulders.
A crying baby rests on her hip. Her
dark brown eyes have purple bags, like
bruises.
The gravestone is cold where it digs
into her shoulder. She shudders as she lets
out a sob. But no comforting hand rests
on her shoulder.
READ MORE GREAT
STUDENT WRITING AT
YWP NEWS
THIS WEEK: Inspired & Mystery
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.
AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
YWP is an independent nonproft that
engages students to write, helps them
improve and connects them with authentic
audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproj-
ect.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.
present writing for the prompt, Mystery: Write the
opening to a mystery story; and Inspired: A new
YWP series. More at youngwritersproject.org.
Editors Note: Autumn Eastman, a
senior at Champlain Valley Union High
School, is one of the premiere distance
runners in the state and is part of one of the
most successful Vermont school running
teams ever. The CVU girls cross country
team has won the State Championships,
won a New England Championship and had
several runners in the Nationals in the last
few years. Last fall, YWP asked Autumn
to begin journaling about her running, to
show us what it was like and explain why
she does what she does so hard and so
well. Autumns story sparked the idea for
a special YWP project, in which young
people write about what inspires them to
succeed. This is an excerpt of Autumns
frst piece called, Discovery, which appears
in its entirety on youngwritersproject.org.
We will publish additional pieces later this
year, and you can follow Autumns blog at
youngwritersproject.org/blog/7838.
Discovery
BY AUTUMN EASTMAN
Grade 12, Champlain Valley Union High
School
Journal Entry, before a recent high
school race: I wake up to that familiar
feeling in my gut, a turmoil that reminds
me of the challenge that I am about to
face. Its race day. I didnt sleep very well
last night. I tossed and turned, and when
I did sleep, I dreamt about running and
racing and outcomes good and bad.
I get up and unfold the red, black and
white uniform that represents me as a
runner, my accomplishments, the teams
accomplishments and the races to come.
I dress in my 'luckyoutft we runners
are quite a superstitious bunch which
means the same socks, same sports bra,
same hair ties and includes the same
breakfast, same routine every race day so
we can reassure ourselves that this race
day will be a good race day. All of this
is mental, I know, but racing is a huge
mental game. And whatever helps me
cope with that stress of not knowing the
outcome of the race before I race, I go for
it.
It`s been a long time since I frst
started to run, since I discovered that
this is something that could drive me so.
When I was really young, I remember on
bright, cool, Iall days, watching my Dad
tie up his mangled sneakers and head
out the front door for the occasional run.
INSPIRED
YOUNG PEOPLE WRITE ABOUT
WHAT INSPIRES THEM
TO SUCCEED
Autumn Eastman, a senior on Champlain Valley Union
High Schools cross country team. Photo courtesy of
Autumn Eastman
When I turned 8, I told him I wanted to
tag along with him. His face lit up. We
jogged down the road a little ways and
came back. My stride was three times as
short as his, so I struggled to keep up. But
we kept at it.
I went through the same generic sports
most young girls go through: ballet,
soccer, horseback riding, the occasional
tag and hide-and-go-seek. It wasnt until
middle school that I discovered cross
country running. Hayley, my best friend
then, told me to do it with her. At frst, I
was in the same mix as everybody else,
but then I grew, seasons passed and my
reasons for running changed. I was no
longer running for friends, I began 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 talk to or exchange a good
job. I was a one-girl cheering squad
roving through the woods, and, for some
odd reason, each time I offered a word of
encouragement to another runner, a burst
of energy entered my body, and I kept
furthering my strides to the next runner.
And then there was this one race.
As we were milling around in the open
feld, we spied tables covered with trays
oI cookies and other sweets prizes, we
learned, 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 sprinted toward the fnishing stretch,
I began lapping a couple of the boys in
the back. Crossing the fnish line, a gray-
haired woman ripped the tag from my bib
and sent me on my way.
A short time later, at the awards
ceremony, they called my name to receive
a huge plate of cookies. I was overjoyed.
And grabbed a couple.
Arent you going to share those with
your team? my Dad asked.
I admit to just a twinge of reluctance,
but agreed. Within moments they were
gone. But the sweet taste of victory made
the wheels turn in my head; I wanted
more, I wanted the feeling of another win.
ARE YOU INSPIRED?
Write about it on
youngwritersproject.org
NOT A WRITER?
Contact us for help
sreid@youngwritersproject.org
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 Montpe-
lier, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Keynote speaker:
National Book Award winner M.T. Ander-
son. More info at youngwritersproject.
org.
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Poet Reuben Jackson leads a one-hour
workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10 a.m., at
YWPs North by North Center, 12 North
St., Burlington. All participants receive a
copy of the anthology, Poetry 180. Email
kstein@youngwritersproject.org to sign
up.
YWP NEWS
Watched
BY GABRIELLE CICIO
I walk around the corner;
It is a body I see,
How on Earth did it get there?
Are someones eyes following me?

I pray to not become
Just another onel
Of the murderers victims, you see.

I dont see blood,
But goosebumps? Yeah, I have some.
Does anyone else see?
READ MORE
GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
THIS WEEK: Place & General
UNITED WAY
OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY
(802) 324-9537.
in newspapers around the state and on vpr.net. This
week, we present responses to the prompts, Place:
What is your favorite place? and General writing.
Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Little broken car
BY CASEY HOLTZ
Grade 11, Rochester High School
To you, its a rusty, emerald green
Honda Civic with a broken door handle, a
chunk taken out of the front bumper, and
its way too loud for a little Honda due
to a constantly broken exhaust.
To me, its an escape, an Ill-be-there-
in-15-minutes message, a frst date,
second date, and fve-month anniversary,
a night by the pond catching fsh.
Its a birthday trip for ice cream packed
full of friends. Its an afternoon back road
drive, a warning yell and a pull of the E-
break. Its a go-get-the-dog-were-going-
deer-scouting and berry picking.
Theres a patient smile teaching me
standard and a hand on my knee singing
to our favorite song. Theres a lets-get-
outta-here wink and an 11 oclock curfew.
Theres a boy, a girl, love, laughter, and
freedom in that little broken car you see.
Every year, YWP publishes
an anthology of the years best
student writing and photos. On
Nov. 9, we will toast the publication
of Anthology 5 with a day of
celebration and writing workshops
at the Vermont College of Fine Arts
in Montpelier. 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Keynote speaker: National Book
Award winner M.T. Anderson. More
info at youngwritersproject.org.
Magical stream
BY EMMA STEPHENS
The days of my childhood were
populated by fairies, mermaids, dragons,
knights in shining armor, princesses and
elves. I had great adventures where I
always won and the bad guys perished.
Every adventure took place on the
banks of a stream that ran through my
backyard. It was a magical place that
consisted of old trees, honeysuckle
bushes and all kinds oI wild fowers.
There was even an old tree house that was
transformed into a castle where we fought
off the dragons. There was a little tunnel
through some of the bushes that led to a
beautiful, natural enclosure with a bed of
bloodroot on the foor.
The humble wooden bridge changed
from a trolls bridge to the bridge from
Winnie the Pooh regularly. The stream
that ran through the middle of all this
was always frigid and clear. During the
summer it would dry up and put an end to
some of our games but during the winter
we had even more fun.
The stream froze over every winter,
creating a place to skate and turned the
whole area into a frosty winter paradise.
As I grew up the childhood games I
played disappeared and slowly everything
I loved about the stream was overgrown.
I still love to go there, but the joy I felt
for it in my youth has changed to sadness.
Early morning wander
BY LOULI ZEICHNER
Grade 10, Homeschool, Northfeld
I choose my way carefully among the
rocks, after climbing down the dark grey,
sloping cliIIside. I like to fnd the small
gaps, and niches for my feet to feel just as
iI they ft into. I like to Ieel as iI I`m wild
as the goats on Robinson Crusoes island,
as if I was born here, and know every
gully on the face of the rock. Wearing my
bathing suit, I feel free and its easier to
climb, hugging my body close to the rock.
The morning is warm, and a grey
mist hangs heavy about the seashore. I
look outwards, to see how far I can see. I
look slowly, letting my vision travel over
the surface of the water, caressing each
ripple, like a familiar face. I know the
seas moods, and each ripple expresses a
coming storm, a light breeze, a warm day.
I glimpse all the way outward, and see
a bird; it fies closer, slowly, gliding on
the air. It is a little gull, and it makes its
cry, out upon the wind.
I go down to the edge of the water,
and dip my feet into its welcome comfort.
It ripples about my feet, as if it knows
me, and is thanking me for the visit, and
telling me of all the places it has been,
oI fshes deep below the sea, and golden
rays of sunlight, sparkling upon the very
surface. I lie back, upon the sand, and
watch my little gull. It seems to enjoy fy-
ing, just as I enjoy sitting with the water
about my feet. It enjoys its solitude, and
its Iriend-flled hours, just as I do.
An early morning y
I like to fy in the early morning. Up
skyward with the clouds, and down near
the sea and land. I can soar higher than
the mist. I exercise my wings up where
the air is cooler. Now when I am soaring
up high, on gusts of wind, I often feel
so happy and free, that I cry out in my
unmeasured glee.
Those who live on land, climb over
cliIIs, and swim in the water, I can fy
over any obstacle, and love to glide on
the water. I look outward, and enjoy the
picture the Iog makes, ftting into all the
ups and downs, valleys and hills. As my
glance wanders, I spy a type of creature
making its way towards the sea. Its not
hunting (though it might try to catch fsh
in the ocean). I have seen this species be-
fore, and know it is harmless to gulls like
me, as long as we leave its food alone.
This specimen is smaller than others, it
walks slowly, and looks in my direction,
it must see me. I cry out to it (my friendly
cry). I like the way it looks, I think I`ll fy
in closer, and make its acquaintance.
(Louli read this piece at Millennial Writers on
Stage at Burlington Book Festival, Sept. 21.)
In the past
BY ABBY DETRICK
It is a place full of memories of simpler
times, of happy children, of little me,
laughing along with my friends, before all
the nonsense.
It was an easy time, when we all got
along and played in our fantasy world,
a world of wonder, of superheroes and
kingdoms. And I look back on that time
and smile. When did things change? Did
they ever really change at all? Or was I
just too young to see it?
It was a swing set with bright yellow
seats and plastic-coated chains that, in the
summer, got sticky and left a coating on
our hands. Now the plastic is off and the
seats are moldy. And I dont use it much.
But when I do, I sit alone and watch the
sun set and the paint peel. And I wonder
where the time went.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
THIS WEEK: General writing
GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE
ROASTERS
(802) 324-9537.
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.
Every year, YWP publishes an
anthology of the years best student
writing and photos. On Nov. 9,
we will toast the publication of
Anthology 5 with a day of celebration
and writing workshops at the Vermont
College of Fine Arts in Montpelier,
10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Keynote speaker:
National Book Award winner
M.T. Anderson. More info at
YWP EVENTS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
(BRATTLEBORO)
Join YWP at the Brattleboro
Literary Festival on Saturday, Oct. 5
for the southern Vermont edition of
Millennial Writers on Stage! Noon
to 1 p.m. at the New England Youth
Theatre, 100 Flat St., Brattleboro.
Free and open to all! Hear the next
generation of great writers!
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a
one-hour workshop on poetry, Nov.
16, 10 a.m., at YWPs North by
North Center, 12 North St., Burling-
ton. All participants receive a copy of
the anthology, Poetry 180.
Ethan Powell, Essex High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are
the subject of a famous paint-
ing or a photograph. Whats
your back story and how do you
see the world and the people
who have come to stare at you?
Include the image or tell us the
painting/photo you are writing
about.
Alternate: Lyrics. Write song
lyrics or create new lyrics to a
favorite song (include a podcast!)
Any genre, including rap. Due
STUDENTS: Send your photos to Young Writers Project and get published!
Its easy. You can submit your work online at youngwritersproject.org. Sign
up for an account. Once youre approved, log in, click on Write to create
a blog, and start uploading your photos. Make sure to click on Newspaper
Submission and include your name, grade and school. Under the Prompts
drop-down menu, choose Photo of the Week, and remember to Save. Your
work will be published in newspapers around the state.
Congratulations to Oliver Zeichner, of Northheld, whose poem,'Honev bee
sestina,` was selected for Millennial Writers on Stage, a YWP performance at the
Burlington Book Festival on Sept. 21. If vou missed this event, check JPR and
RETN for upcoming broadcast dates.
Honey bee sestina
BY OLIVER ZEICHNER
Grade 12, Vermont Tech VAST Program
Two packages of bees, arrived to pollinate
my garden in two mesh boxes all a hum-
ming
with honeybees, who thrive on fowers
and bringing colorful scented
pollen home
in little sacs behind their feet,
dangling as they fy through the air.
Six pounds of bees, the air
is thick with their whooshing wings, they
pollinate
their 'travel fower, a tin can, clinging
with their feet
to the bottom sending humming
vibration through their temporary home
as they drink sugar water from artifcial
fowers.
Their intended home, a meadow full of
fowers.
I hope theyll thrive in the clean country
air
and the wooden beehives Ive prepared at
home
for them to live in. There are trees to pol-
linate
as well at my house, the bees and hum-
ming
birds have plenty to share, though to
reach the maple blossoms, they
must climb many feet.
In depleted felds in China, where many
feet
have trodden, there are no bees to take the
fowers`
nectar; no more do their humming
wings fy in orchards, where
polluted air
has chased them down. Alas! People must
pollinate
the orchards to get fruit to sell or bring
home.
I went and brought my honeybees home,
a long way by car, a small one on feet,
back to the felds they`ll pollinate
all yellow as the dandelion fowers
in spring, when plum trees scent the air.
Im helping save the bees, with their
insect wings a humming.
I shake them into the hives all humming
as I lower a lid on top to protect their
home
and protect them from the cold spring air.
I put a fence around, ffteen by ffteen feet
to protect them from the bears, robbers
when the goldenrod fowers
add pungent smells to honey when the
bees come pollinate.
My humming insect friends come pol-
linate!
My garden home, the felds and fowers,
bring back sweetness through the air,
bring me honey with your feet.
THIS WEEK: General writing
tact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
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 youngwritersproj-
ect.org.
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
ON STAGE
Hear YWP writers present their
work Saturday, Sept. 21 at the Burl-
ington Book Festival at 2 p.m. at the
Film House, Main Street Landing Per-
forming Arts Center on the Burlington
waterfront! If you cant 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 years best student
writing and photos. On Nov. 9,
we will toast the publication of
Anthology 5 with a day of celebration
and writing workshops at the Vermont
College of Fine Arts in Montpelier.
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.
NEXT PROMPTS
Mystery. All good short stories
start with a mysterious idea that often
is the opening, the beginning. Whats
yours? Write your opening para-
graphs to a mystery story, something
that will draw the reader in. (Finish it
if youd like; we may not be able to
publish it all, but well highlight it on
youngwritersproject.org.) Alternate:
Photo 1. Due Sept. 27
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the
subject of a famous painting or a
photograph. Whats your back story
and how do you see the world and
the people who have come to stare at
you? Include the image or tell us the
painting/photo you are writing about.
Alternate: Lyrics. Write song lyrics
or create new lyrics to a favorite
song (include a podcast!) Any genre,
including rap. Due Oct. 4
Photo 1 (Sleepy Hollow) crgimages
Daytime drunk
He carries a brown paper bag like a cross
before him
a talisman
a symbol
worn down to tissues by a thousand
wrinkles
swigs from it like its holy water
swaggering across the street at ten in the
morning how did it get so early
bomber jacket
torn jeans
red knuckles but he doesnt remember
why
see he wants to be tougher
but hes going home to a girl hes not
good enough for
he knows this
kisses her like a bottle
crumples her
like a paper bag
he doesnt mean to
he doesnt know
gets dressed every morning because she
thinks he works in a shop
saunters out at eight AM and takes the
bus across town
the lies because he doesnt want to hurt
her
feels bad about it but what can he do
so he walks the streets from 9 to 5
he does it cause he loves her
oIfce districts, suburbs
he barely notices
barely cares
a ghost following his tongue and his
hands
and the cool weight of glass through stiff
paper
some people call it drinking but its not
really
its survival
its sustenance
its life that he keeps in his brown paper
bag
and without it, he would die
he knows this
would walk out onto the pavement and
curl up in a ball
melt into the cracks in the sidewalk
break his mothers back
he thinks he sees someone
hears a voice
calls out for it to shut up
its his own
roaming in the dust
see
no one wants to help another New York
drunk cross the street
so he turns into someone who doesnt
want to be helped
never sober
except for an hour every morning when
hes just hung over
when he kisses her goodbye like a human
being
sees a bruise
asks, who did this to you before he for-
gets
somewhere he knows but before he can
start to remember he saunters out
takes a bus across town and dives back
into his paper bag
shouts at no one
takes up too much space
wanders through space and time he thinks
hes moving backward
he thinks hell never be better than he
used to be
which he isnt
so he keeps on jaywalking
keeps on self-sustaining
keeps on looking for redemption in his
brown paper bag
crumpled like her back as he tracks
sweat into the cracks of the pavement
worn into tissue paper
beaten, torn
he looks inside
kisses the bottle like a woman
asks if she will save him
forgets why
he is veering
he is swerving
some nights she doesnt let him in
locks the door and sobs
he calls to her
not understanding
until his voice runs dry and he curls up in
a ball
feels himself melt into the sidewalk
CONSTITUTION DAY
WRITING CHALLENGE
PRIZES! RECOGNITION!
Schools across Vermont are
being encouraged to honor Con-
stitution Day, today, Sept. 17, with
a special seven-minute writing
exercise in response to prompts
about the Constitution. Writers will
then be invited to submit best work
for a writing challenge with a total
of $750 in cash prizes $250 for
the top essay and an opportunity
to read winning submissions at a
public event!
This challenge is presented in
partnership with the American Civil
Liberties Union. More details at

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