Brattleboro Reformer 2014-2015

THIS WEEK: General writing
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

hundred submissions from students across Vermont and
New Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select
the best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in
response to the prompt for General writing in any genre.
Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org and
in The Voice, YWPs digital magazine.
FEATURE PHOTO
Kristina Pretty, Essex High School
Falling into a Google page

BY MELINA NELSON
Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
OK, so somehow, I just fell into a web page of someones computer. I dont know
how this happened. I was at the library and I just happened to walk by; and now, here
I am. How is this possible? I must be dreaming.
Im on the Google page. I run around scared in the empty white space. Theres
nothing but the Google letters. Theres nowhere to go. I notice the tabs on the top
of the screen. I walk up to them and step on the second tab. Now Im in some type
of document. Thats kind of lame so I walk over to the third tab and step on it. Its
Google images of cats. Weird.
I read the time at the bottom right-hand corner; its midnight and I want to go
home. I go back to the first tab where the Google logo is. I walk over to the first
o in Google and lie down inside it. Its not soft, but it will do. Slowly I drift off to
sleep. I awake to a clicking noise. Its 12:02 a.m. Wow! I only slept for two minutes.
I look around to see where the noise is coming from. Its the cursor and its moving.
The cursor moves to the top of the screen and closes the first tab. The screen
changes to the document and I fall out of the o. Then it closes the second and the
third tab, until there are no more tabs and I fall onto the desktop. The cursor moves to
the start button in the bottom left-hand corner. I watch it as it clicks on it and moves
to the shutdown button. This is bad, I think to myself. I run over to the cursor and
jump on it. It starts shaking vigorously and I hold on for dear life. Then everything
goes black. I wake up. Im in my room on my bed. Its still dark out and I cant see a
thing. I was right. It was just a dream. Or was it?

PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
Erased
BY WELLS MUNDELL-WOOD
Grade 6, The Grammar School
It all started with one mistake.
One simple, ever so slight error.
It appeared that it couldnt be fixed, so with the flip of a switch, it was gone.
Banished, erased, and there was no trace of anything having stood in its place.
But life doesnt really work like that.
Life is not a canvas on which we use pencil
to construct our masterpieces and erasers to get rid of things we dont like.
You can say so to make yourself feel better
but it will never be true.
Not all of us can use
the flip side of our pencils to
erase our mistakes.
And sometimes
a mistake is something you have to live with
even if it means
it follows you for the rest of your life.
But sometimes
if you care enough
you can turn the mistake
into something beautiful.

The brown cat

BY MELINA NELSON
Grade 8, Brattleboro Area
Middle School
A brown cat named Tubby
was napping by the fire in a
cabin during winter. Tubby
looked like a cougar but he
was probably ten times smaller, nicer and cuter. He had no
owner. He lived by himself in
the cabin he had discovered
one winter day.
Everything was peaceful and quiet, when a sudden
thumping outside woke him.
Deidre Vanmoerkerque, Essex High School
Tubby bolted upright and quietly and slowly snuck toward
the window. He cautiously looked out the window, eyes big and ready to pounce. He saw
a squirrel and jumped onto the window. He hit his head on the glass and quickly realized
that he was inside and he could not jump through a window. He trotted to the cat door and
stuck his head through.
What Tubby saw was unbelievable. He raced out the door and jumped into a large
heap of cat treats. He rolled in delight in the pile. He ate about a pound of treats until he
was full. He lay on his back, fat and plump, staring up at the sky wondering where these
treats came from. Tubby hopped off the pile and sat in a spot where there was no snow
and groomed himself because his fur was full of crumbs from the treats.
As Tubby groomed himself, he heard a loud scratching in the distance and a rustle
in the bushes. He froze and stared in the direction where the noise was coming from.
Everything was quiet and still for a few moments. Tubby noticed the noise had stopped
and resumed grooming himself. There it was again. This time Tubby didnt wait. He went
to investigate. He got really low, his belly barely touching the ground, probably because
he ate all those treats. Anyway, he continued on slowly, eyes wide and ready to attack
anything that got in his way. When he was inches away from a bush he heard the scratching again. He waited a few moments, then he leaped over the bush and there, on the other
side, was the biggest thing he had ever seen.
To a little cat, just inches off the ground, the thing seemed to be 10 feet tall! It was
wide and brown with long fur. It seemed twice as big as any human, maybe three. It had a
long snout and big black eyes.
It was a bear, obviously, but Tubby had never encountered such a large being. He had
no idea what this bear was capable of. Tubby, not the smartest kitten in his litter, decided
to befriend the bear. He went up and sniffed the bears large paw. The beast growled and
Tubby ran back into the cabin where it was safe. He lay down near the fire and soon he
was in a great slumber.
How the climate

crisis was solved
Dear Todd and Celeste,
Its been 18 years since both of you
were born. Eighteen wonderful, extraordinary years since the two of you sprung
into our lives and showed us how two brilliant twins could make the world so much
brighter.
Now that you both have reached adulthood, I think its time I enlighten you with
a story about a time not so long ago my
time, when the world was struggling with
an effect called climate change.
It all started back in 2015, when I was
12 years old the age Todd was when he
invented the rough draft of Cartworld,
now one of the most played video games
in the U.S., and the age Cele was when
she won rst place in the Google Doodle
competition and acquired a scholarship to
the college she now attends.
This was back when climate change,
an effect that warmed the planet due to too
much burning of fossil fuels, was a serious threat to Earth. 2015 was the year we
started to take climate change seriously
people came from across the world to
march in an event called the Peoples
Climate March, along with other major
protests and campaigns to save the planet.
However, though it was being taken
seriously, it appeared that wasnt enough.
Oil companies were taking over. There
was a proposed tar sands pipeline that
was estimated to distribute over 800,000
barrels of oil a day, and as time went on,
more fossil fuels were being burned, and
climate change became more of a threat,
day by day. But one day, after trudging
through what seemed like miles of inevitable doom for our planet, there came a tiny
icker of light: hope.
This spark was developed by me
and a few of my fellow seventh grade
friends who were just as passionate about
stopping Climate Change as I was. Their
names were Zoey, Julian, James and Silvia
we were never particularly close, but the
ve of us often sat at the same lunch table.
We talked, laughed, and occasionally
shared food with each other.
One day, when we were all seated at
the same lunch table, the topic came up.
We were chatting about what we would be
doing for our iSearch projects at the end
of the year (research projects on a topic
of your choice). James, for example, was
thinking he might do his on the assassination of JFK, Silvia was considering doing
something about the Great Lakes, and as
for me, well, I wasnt quite sure.
So, I began awkwardly, one day
at lunch over a tuna sandwich, I cant
decide. Do you guys think I should do my
iSearch on the origin of bottle cap collections, the Rubix Cube, or the overpopulation of humans?
Overpopulation, said James.
Sounds most interesting.
Bottle cap collections, Zoey interjected. Thats so cool and original, no
one elses will come close to a thing like
that.
You know what would be cool?
James cut in. Maybe you could do it
about the possibility of technology overtaking the world.
Yeah, Silvia said with a sarcastic
snort, thatll happen.
What do you mean? Julian asked.
Why couldnt it? Its quite a possibility,
the use of technology has increased by,
like, 15 percent in the last 10 years.
Julian wrinkled his nose, something
he always did when he knew hed said
something smart.
Its possible, I considered, but you
know, by that point, Earth will probably
be a huge disaster already.
Why? Zoeys face was blank with
wonder.
Well, you know, I said, with climate change coming into effect and all.
Climate change? said Julian. You
know that stuff is all just a big myth,
right?
Dude, said James, if it was all
fake, why would they have come up with
such a big idea in the rst place? I mean,
some idiots are trying to convince people
that the world is cooling instead, and that
never became a popular idea because its
full of crap. The reason everyones talking
about global warming is because its actually happening.
Julian shrugged and took a bite of his
sandwich. It just doesnt seem likely;
they discovered it, what, 10 years ago, and
nothings even happened yet.
But it could, I said, not sure what
I was going to say to support my point. I
mean, theyre using so much oil and gas
to make stuff nowadays, its just going to
get worse and worse ... if it doesnt stop,
what are we going to do in the next 50
years?
Yeah, Silvia said. And I restrained
myself from breathing a sigh of relief;
Silvia knew what she was talking about.
If we keep burning fossil fuels to
make stuff, instead of using eco-friendly
resources like wind and solar, the planet
will keep heating up and eventually become uninhabitable.
Holy crap, Zoey said quietly. That
cant be good.
There was an awkward beat of
silence, until James cut in. Hey, he said.
Do you guys think we could, like, do
(continued)
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
THIS WEEK: Climate

hundred submissions from students across Vermont
and New Hampshire. This week, writers respond to
the prompt, Climate: It is 2050. Write a letter to your
children telling them what you did in 2015 to help resolve the climate crisis as part of a movement called
To Change Everything We Need Everyone.
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also publishes The Voice, a monthly
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YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses

and individuals who recognize the
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would like to contribute, please go
to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP,
12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,
VT 05401.
READ THE VOICE
Special thanks this week to
JANES TRUST
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Emma Parizo, Essex High School
WE HAD DONE IT; WE HAD SAVED THE PLANET.

TO THIS DAY, I ALMOST CANT BELIEVE THAT WE
AS HUMANS FINALLY PULLED IT TOGETHER AND TOOK
ACTION ON THIS DRASTIC OCCURRENCE.
something to stop it? Like in Spy Kids,

when they use their superhuman powers
to save the world even though theyre like
both, like, 2? That could totally be us!
Everyone laughed.
Maybe we could, I said.
I mean, why shouldnt we? Maybe,
as a class, or something, we could write
a letter to the President and tell him to do
more to prevent climate change.
Or start a petition, Silvia said, get
this school to start using eco-friendly
energy.
Ohh! said James excitedly.
Recycling is a good way to keep the
planet green, right?
Lets ask if we can recycle more
actively, have the school make sure compostable food and paper arent wasted.
Develop a carpooling system, I suggested.
Im pretty sure a ton of greenhouse
gas emissions are because of transportation, like trains and cars, so maybe we
could arrange to have more buses, to get
kids home without everyone having to
take separate cars.
You know, said Julian. This isnt
going to be as easy as you guys make it
seem.
A lot of people dont believe that
climate change is bad, and its probably
going to be really hard to convince everyone that what youre doing is actually for
the good.
True, I said. But we can try.
I look back on that single day in seventh grade, just like any other, and think
about how we, ve quirky, awkward kids
worked together as a team to turn our
school into an eco-friendly one.
We began by e-mailing the principal,
Mr. Hudge, and asking him if we could
start a Green Team at our school.
The Green Team began with just the
ve of us: Silvia, James, Zoey, Julian
and me. We announced our presence at a
school meeting, and gradually over time,
more and more people joined.
We met every Wednesday afternoon
after school, and we started petitions,

organized community ideas that would
help our school and the general Putney
area become more involved with creating
an environment free of oils and gases and
things that would eventually lead to global
catastrophe.
We convinced the school to create
three waste bins in the cafeteria: one for
compost, one for recycling, and one for
trash, taping paper signs above each bin,
reminding kids what was compostable and
recyclable and what wasnt.
Volunteers of the Green Team would
make sure nothing that could be recycled
or composted went to waste.
We raised money for the school to acquire more buses and carpooling options
by hosting a big yard sale at school, and
convinced multitudes of students to contribute some money to the school in order
for them to expand carpooling options.
But this wasnt all.
As the years went on, the ve of us
started to drift apart.
Most of us had switched schools or
headed to a different high school after
eighth grade.
But on the rst day of my senior year,
I recounted it all with an old friend over a
web site a web site that changed everything.
Being 17, I was still very passionate
about stopping climate change, so I created a web site for kids and adults alike,
all with the very same goal: saving the
planet.
At rst, it wasnt very popular, and was
taking a while to become well known.
But one day, one of the rst 25 members of the web site decided to spread the
word.
When that one person did, the web site
gained at least 300 more members, and
after that it continued to branch out; more
and more people discovered the web site,
and not three months later, over 25,000
people were members of the web site that
I had started to help save the world.
(continued)
Years later, I found out that that one

person who had really helped the web site
y had been an old friend of mine: Silvia.
We reunited, and together, we helped
expand the web site.
We wrote a well-constructed letter to
the President.
The letter suggested that a new law be
created that would require people to sign
up only with heating companies that were
involved in wind, solar, or another ecofriendly way of living.
Because of all the money that fuel
companies would lose in the process, the
President would offer those who had lost
jobs a new job in businesses that were
involved with gas-free emissions.
Many people who were members of the
web site signed a petition dedicated to this
idea, and not two years later, the President
had signed the bill.
The year after that, the use of greenhouse gas emissions in America had
gone down by nearly 40 percent, and a
little over ve years later, there were no
greenhouse gas emissions being produced
in America.
We had done it; we had saved the
planet.
To this day, I almost cant believe that
we as humans nally pulled it together
and took action on this drastic occurrence.
Though it is no longer a problem and
fossil fuels will never again be used to
create resources and power, we still look
back on this dark period of time, and
we admire the people who stood up and
changed everything.
And, if you look at it a certain way, it
all started with ve ordinary seventh graders passionate about saving the world.
And if you think about it in a certain
way, it could have been anyone. Not just
us. Anyone who decided to stand up,
speak out, and make a change.
From the voice of someone who did
speak out, along with many others in my
companionship, I say with love to my two
wonderful children: Happy Birthday.
FIND MORE GREAT WRITING AT

YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
&
THE VOICE

FEATURED PHOTO
Bri Lancaster, Essex High School
Being different
BY LIVIA LEWIS
Grade 6, Dummerston Middle School
They say that being normal is good.
They say that sticking out is bad.
They said to never be the one who stood
out from all the newest fads.
I say that being different is best
because you are you.
It doesnt matter how youre dressed
because some day it will be your cue
to stand up before all the others
and be recognized, unlike them,
and yell out to all your sisters and brothers,
and be that prized, unique gem.
MORE GREAT WRITING AT

THE VOICE
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to get your FREE subscription
of YWPs monthly digital magazine!
THIS WEEK: Photo 8

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students across Vermont and New
Hampshire. A team of students and YWP staff select the
best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt, Photo 8: Write about this photo by
Melissa Morris of Essex High School. Read more great
writing at youngwritersproject.org and in The Voice,
YWPs digital magazine.
FEATURED PHOTO
Photo 8. Melissa Morris, Essex High School
No future, just white fog

BY DANAYSA VARGAS
I look into my magic crystal ball.
What do I see?
Nothing.
I see nothing.
I see an empty future.
No future,
no plans.
I see no love for you in the future.
All I see is nothing.
I see a white fog.
What do you think it means?
I think it means
you have no future.
I think your future is empty.
I think your future is not going to happen.
I think your future is lonely,

if you do end up having one.
Maybe youll end up having a future.
Maybe everything will end in a century, a
year, a month,
maybe a week, or a minute, or a second.
Maybe youll get smarter.
Maybe everything will end in a second.
Youll never see your friends or family
again.
Death happens every day.
You never know when everything will end.
Maybe its going to end now.
Poof.

THIS WEEK: Staircase

response to the prompt, Staircase: A mysterious staircase
appears in the hall outside your bedroom... Read more
great writing at youngwritersproject.org and The Voice,
YWPs digital magazine.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Bri Lancaster, Essex High School
Suddenly one night

BY DYLAN YOUNG
I sat up in bed. I had been awakened by
a thumping noise on the other side of my
door. I gured it might be my dad walking
down the stairs to get ready for work. He
was a police ofcer, so I told myself that
he had been called in for some reason.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and
climbed out of bed. I pulled on a pair of
jeans and a T-shirt and opened my door.
The hallway was empty. At the far end,
moonlight shone in through the window.
I walked down to my parents room and
knocked on their door. No reply. I knocked
harder, calling out, Mom? Dad? Anybody
in there? Still no reply. I slowly turned the
handle and pushed the door open.
Their bedroom was gone. Instead, there
was a staircase that descended into darkness. The stairs were made of cherry, and
the railings were oak. There were symbols
etched into the railings, and they were all
glowing bright red.
I heard a noise from down the stairway,
like distant yelling. I yelled into the darkness, Mom? Dad? You down there?
I received no answer. I didnt want
to go down the stairs, but it could be the
answer to where my parents had gone.
I took a timid step onto the rst stair,
and nothing bad happened. I told myself
that nothing would happen, but I was still
scared. I began my descent down the long,
mysterious stairway.
CLIMATE CHANGE
WRITING CHALLENGE
WRITE AND WIN!
1st place: $100 | 2nd place:
$75 | 3rd place: $50
DETAILS: youngwritersproject.org/climate15
DEADLINE EXTENDED! APRIL 17
Six-word stories
BY ELIZA PRICE
Feed me something tasteless and bland.
Give me tepid water to drink.
Give me presents I wont notice.
Sing me songs I dont know.
Whisper to me your boring stories.
They wont be wasted on me.
Ive gone numb already, long ago.
You can tell me your jokes.
I wont laugh; I cant anymore.
I cannot tell why I stay.
Perhaps my limbs have ceased working.
I wouldnt notice, moving is exhausting.
So Ill stay in my chair.
Watching, but never feeling ... never feeling.
Wrapped in plastic
BY SOPHIA CAPY
Every day she wakes up, takes out her roll
of Saran Wrap and smothers herself in it.
She walks to school with the transparent
sheet covering her bumps and bruises,
covering her battle scars, covering her
hopes and accomplishments and replacing
them with a thin layer of plastic.
She gets to school; now she is nameless;
now she is faceless.
She walks down the hall, blending into the
crowd,
opens her locker and takes out a book,
the book,
the same book that everyone has,
lled with no emotion or excitement.
On her way home she walks past multiple
pedestrians.
One stops her.
Your plastic is peeling, he says, showing your true identity. I suggest that you
x that.
Fake.
All she is... is fake,
a soulless, empty creature.
But she will not be known as the girl
wrapped in plastic.
No one will ever look at her differently.
Why? you ask.
The answer is simple.
She is no different than anyone else.
Everyone wraps themselves in their own
piece of plastic,
hiding their own identity,
hiding the truth.
So she will be noticed,
but she will never be known.
Home
BY SHANE VINTON
The place I feel safe is at home.
It is warm, peaceful, dry, comfortable,
buried in the woods, away from everything.
Theres a grass front yard and woods surrounding my home,
and my family is inside the home.
A little way away, theres a trampoline,
old but fun,
in the shade underneath a tree.
When I get tired I can look up at the green
leaves and blue sky, daydreaming.
And when summer ends and the leaves
fall,
everything is still beautiful in a different
way.
The winter comes and when it snows,
everything becomes a magnicent soft
playground,
perfect for skiing,
perfect for messing around,
perfect for a soft landing,
for tricks, of course.
And when the summer arrives,
wildlife becomes visible.
And that is the place I feel comfortable,
my home.
The magic
BY VENUS FU
It glowed even brighter when I got closer,
the crystal blue that caught my eye.
When I nally got the courage,
I poked it.
It felt like I was swimming
in the ice cold water.
Thats when I knew there was hope.
My best friend
BY GRACE POWERS
I feel safe on the back of my horse,
just me and my best friend.
Together, we can do anything.
Its the best feeling in the world,
feeling like you can y...
THIS WEEK: General storytelling

and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and
students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, writers respond to the prompt
for General writing and the prompts from Vermont
Writes Day. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
MGN FAMILY FOUNDATION
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

CLIMATE CHANGE
WRITING CHALLENGE
WRITE AND WIN!

First place: $100
Second place: $75, Third place: $50
FOR PROMPTS AND MORE DETAILS:
youngwritersproject.org/climate15
DEADLINE: APRIL 10
Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy
Education Program & Young Writers Project
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

THE VOICE
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to get your FREE subscription
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Mya Burghardt, Essex High School
Late night animals
Steps to the future
BY LILY QUINTERO
BY DAVID SHERMAN
Its midnight and, well, I just cant

sleep. Ive tossed and Ive turned. Left
side, right side, on my back, on my stomach, I cant do it. Grrrrrr... I shut my eyes.
Gosh, now? Why now?
I decide to think about demons and the
things that could maybe, possibly, probably be coming alive at this very moment.
... What should I do? I gulp.
Goody. Im thirsty. I sit up and bustle
in the dark through my messy night stand.
Yes! I nd it! My trusty ashlight, Flashy!
I turn on the light and shine it right at
the closet. I stand up. I push past my dirty
laundry, my clean laundry and my stuffed
animals.
I am nally at the door. Crrrreeeeaaaakkkkk! I ick the light off immediately. Mom cannot under any circumstances hear me, that is, if shes awake.
I stop and listen. Nothing, nothing,
nothing ... and snore, snore and more
snoring! Yes, shes sound asleep and
Dads in New York on a business trip.
I smile a sly smile. Cookies, here I
come!
I step out of my bedroom, icking the
light back on, when a door shoots open
and out hops a bunny, a cat, a dog, an orange dog, a cat again, a monkey, another
dog, a sh ... wait a minute! These are my
stuffed animals! How in the world did
they ...? I stop my thought when I see they
have stopped in front of me, smiling as if
waiting for me to do something.
I look back down and see they have
started going back into this door, a
strange, new door. I look past it and see
a staircase. It is swirling nonstop, going
down, down, down, down, down. Wow...
I gasp.
I go down the staircase. My light
burns out. Fun! I walk for a while and
then decide to start walking back up. I am
thirsty and hungry. I never did get that
cookie.
I turn back to see nothing. I try to
crouch down to nd the staircase and
theres nothing, nothing at all.
Where am I?! Ahhhhh! I scream. I
raise my hand and touch a string. I pull
and ... pop! A light comes on and I see
a door. My stuffed animals pop out and
open the door, gesturing for me to go rst.
I hear loud music coming from the door
and walk through. Wow! Its beautiful!
After I walk through the door, Im
jolted awake. My mom is standing there
and my stuffed animals are crowding over
my face.
Have a long night? Mom asks.
I reply, Ummm ... can I sleep?
Of course. I thought youd say that.
Yay! I say, and close my eyes.
But before I fall asleep, I wonder what
was in that room. Maybe tonight Ill go
back!
I couldnt sleep. I tried to turn on my

television to watch TV or play Xbox. But
the power was out.
I decided to go for a walk. I opened
the door to my bedroom and there it was
something that had never been there
before. A staircase.
It was at the end of my hallway. There
was a powerful light emitting from what
used to be the door to the outside, but
instead, a staircase took its place.
At rst I was confused, maybe even
scared. I rubbed my eyes to see if I was
hallucinating. But I wasnt. There it still
was, emitting its bright light, the staircase.
I decided to go up the staircase. To my
surprise and fascination, I could see ... the
future.
There were ying cars as far as the
eye could see. I closed my eyes, opened
them again and ... I was back in my bedroom. At that, I nally lay down and fell
asleep.
Vermont Writes Day Photo Prompt
Cats perspective
BY LILA ALEXANDER
Let me tell you about my day before
all of this happened.
I woke up in the morning from a long,
long sleep. It was about 9 a.m., and it was
a beautiful Saturday. The sun was out and
the skies were clear.
I went downstairs to see my family doing their normal morning routine.
Lily, the youngest girl of the family,
was in the living room with her dolls scattered everywhere. Then there were Sarah
and John, eating breakfast.
I walked to my food bowl, thinking
this was going to be a good day. I ate all
my food and went back upstairs, planning
on going to sleep again.
All of a sudden John picked me up and
ran outside to the car with me. This was
right before I was about to fall asleep.
The whole family was in the car in
their swimsuits. This made me scared.

& THE VOICE
CONGRATULATIONS TO WRITER OF
THE MONTH ROLAND DOWNEY OF
THE PUTNEY SCHOOL! And see his
story below.
Into the deep

BY ROLAND DOWNEY
Grade 12, The Putney School
The clock burns its message into the
air in glowing red numbers, blinking
slightly when a minute passes. 3:17 a.m.
You groan quietly and roll over to
face the wooden wall. Its chilly, not quite
winter yet, so the wood stove in the corner
of the room isnt yet adding its light to the
red of the clock.
Heating bills were thankfully not
something you worried about, your onestory shack in the woods not connected to
anything other than a miniature generator.
You close your eyes and then they
shoot back open when you remember a
particularly vivid image from the Stephen
King novel youd been reading before
turning out the light.
You try very hard not to think of
the monsters that could have caused the
creaking sound in the other room of the
house and try even harder not to picture
exactly which board had just creaked.
You try very hard not to think about
ghosts or demons or vampires or things
that go bump in the night.
Obviously, you fail. The only surere way to get someone to consider how
someone got a rhinoceros to stand still
long enough to have been painted pink
is to tell them not to think about a pink
rhinoceros. So it is with these monsters
you think you are imagining.
You stand up, pushing the covers into
a pile at the foot of the air mattress, and
reach upwards until you nd the chain for
the old light bulb. You pull downwards,
and the light ickers on.
There are no monsters, not right now.
You heave a sigh of relief and head for the
door.
Just because there are no monsters
in your room, doesnt mean there are no
monsters in the other room.
You reach out for the doorknob, and
part of you screams, wanting to head back
to bed RIGHT NOW before anything can
happen. You push on, however, and turn
the doorknob.
Had you listened, you would probably
be alive right now.
You step through the door and begin
descending the cold, black marble stairs.
NEXT PROMPTS
Hidden. A character discovers something that has been hidden in the familys attic for years. This could change
everything. Alternate: Pet. If your cat,
dog, horse, ferret, or other pet could talk,
what would be its rst words to you?; or
Family. Your notoriously dysfunctional
family is having a big reunion. Let the
mishaps begin. Due April 17
THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day

In its sixth year, Vermont Writes Day sparked the imagination of thousands of writers across the state on March
12. With Young Writers Projects seven prompts to guide
them, students, teachers and principals stopped what they
were doing for just seven minutes and wrote! This week,
we present a sample of the writing YWP received. Read
more in the next issue of The Voice!
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Gavyn Letzelter on Vermont Writes Day by Sophia Cannizzaro
Dreamworld
Six-word stories
BY MACKENZIE SHIPPEE
BY LIZ MORSE
When most people go to sleep they

dream, but when I go to sleep, I live.
I have two lives the real world life
and the dream world life. The dream world
is like Wonderland and Neverland combined. I have many questions about it still,
but it doesnt bother me as much as it did
in the past. In the dream world, you dont
grow old. You stay the age you were when
you rst entered it.
For instance, I was 13 when I rst
entered the dream world so therefore I am
still 13 here. But Im really 18 in real life.
The thing is, when I rst came here,
everything was dark and scary because
thats how I felt at the time gloomy and
scared ... You have to be calm in the dream
world or you dont see things the way they
really are.
Time is all an illusion, fake.

She calls faux leather vegan leather.
Back hurts after skiing this weekend.
Weekends are my favorite lonely days.
Days zoom when elderly, Grandpa cried.
Crying is sad, depressing and deep.
DETAILS: youngwritersproject.org/climate15
DEADLINE: APRIL 10
BY DANAYSA VARGAS
Laughing is love; laughing is life.
Smiles are amazing and are beautiful.
CLIMATE CHANGE
WRITING CHALLENGE
WRITE AND WIN!
1st place: $100 | 2nd place:
$75 | 3rd place: $50
THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day

response to the prompts on Vermont Writes Day, March
12. Read more in the April issue of The Voice!
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Dylan Sayamouangkhua, Burlington High School
Six-word stories
BY AVALON JOHNSTON
To see sadness in your eyes ...
Hurts me more than you know.
To hear you weep at night...
Hurts me more than you know.
As you secretly deny the pain ...
Oh, how much it saddens me.
BY DAN AMIDON
Vermont is the best state ever.
I like to tap maple syrup.
I love cats but not dogs.
I love science; it is awesome.
Soccer is the best sport ever.
Trumpets are so amazing and cool.
I love burgers and steak. Yum.
Pancakes are really good with syrup.
Prompt: Staircase. You open the door to

your bedroom, and there in the hall, is a
fantastic staircase that youve never seen
before. What happens?
Spooky staircase
BY JAMES DOUGAN
Its midnight and I cant fall asleep.
I open my bedroom door and see a
staircase.
Now, this isnt any ordinary staircase.
This is a dark, spooky staircase, 20 to 25
steps long.
I debate for ve minutes whether to
go down the stairs or not.
I choose to go down the stairs. After
all, you only live once.
I take one step and I trip, tumbling
down the stairs into the steel door at the
bottom.
I get up and push open the door.
When I open the door, I see a glowing
white light in the middle of the room.

best writing for publication. This weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. Read more at
youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Carolyn Harnois, Essex High School
Angels are real

BY LIVIE LEWIS
I sit on a curb. Its wet and dampens my brand-new pants. Its sprinkling lightly,
and I cant see very far.
Check my watch for the eighth time. It has been a minute since the last time I
checked it. Its 9:02.
Mom will worry about me soon. Very soon. For once I am in favor of my tooworrisome mom. I left at noon. I said I would be back at 9. I was supposed to be
back at the hotel two minutes ago. She will worry soon. Very soon.
I decide its time to look for the hotel, lost in a sea of too-tall, too-familiar buildings. I stand, and go for the road closest to me. I can see light at the end. I come to a
dead end with a small street lamp hanging from one of the buildings. I turn around
to bump into white. I back away, saying, Sorry! I look at who I ran into. A woman
stares down at me. She has a thin white dress that touches the ground. It does not
look wet or dirty, a surprise. She has long sleeves, opening up like a bell at the bottom. She has awless light skin, big blue eyes, and curly blond hair down to her
waist.
Its okay, dear, she says, and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. Ill show
you back to your hotel.
What? She knows my hotel? This woman I havent met before? She takes my
hand and leads me down the alley, and down several roads. Then she takes me to my
hotel, and leaves me at the door. Just as I turn around to thank her, shes gone.
I try to mull over the possibilities of her random appearance, her knowing my
hotel, her disappearing. I cant get to bed, my mind is racing. I then go out on the
hotel balcony, and lean against the black bars. I look over Boston, and sigh. My day
was eventful, and scary and very worrisome.
I look down to the alley below. I see something spray-painted in white on the
brick wall. It reads, Angels are real. There is a small spray-painted angel. An
angel. That woman was an angel. I look up from the paint, and look down the alley. I
see the woman walking away, her blond hair ying in the wind. I think I just met my
guardian angel.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Meghan Smith, Essex High School
Thats when Ill leave Vermont

BY ROLAND DOWNEY
Grade 12, The Putney School
When the snow is lit by apartment complexes, instead of by distant starlight,
when the mountain tops no longer can sing to one another,
when the trails throughout the forest are made of tarmac, instead of memories,
thats when Ill leave Vermont.
When the smallest dirt road becomes a six-lane thoroughfare,
when the last ma & pa restaurant is replaced with a nationwide chain,
when the nal majestic moose head is mounted to a wall, instead of its own body,
When the last of the murky swamplands become shopping centers and grocery
stores,
when the oldest covered bridge is made up of steel and concrete, and
when the nal piece of wilderness disappears forever,
ALSO FEATURED IN THE VOICE

Read Roland Downeys piece and see other great writing and
photography in the March issue of The Voice, YWPs monthly
digital magazine. Check it out and get a free subscription at
thevoice.youngwritersproject.org.

students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, writers respond to the prompt for
General writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org and The Voice.
BY LIVIE LEWIS
I had just nished eavesdropping on
the delegates in the big building when a
boy a bit older than me bumped into me
and cursed.
What? I asked, surprised at his rudeness.
Sorry. I, um, I need to hurry.
He went past me, continuing to trudge
over the wet, muddy roads. It was pouring hard and I needed to get home. I was
expected to make dinner. But then thunder
rolled. No, not a storm, I thought. I hoped
wrong. Lightning ashed across the sky,
reaching down toward the ground. I could
feel the wind picking up. I wished to be
home, looking at all the shops with their
windows and lights. It was dark; the only
things that were open were taverns, and I
mustnt go there. I looked back down the
road and I remembered the boy. He was
still on the road, walking slowly, and I just
then saw his bare feet and big bulge under
his coat. He was heading up to the big
building the delegates were in.
To walk home, well, that would be
another hour or longer. The big building
was less than 10 minutes. I looked down
the road, where it just begins to become
farmland, then back to the short distance
to the big building. I began to run down
the road after the boy. It was my turn now
to bump into him.
He turned around and asked, What
are you doing here? I decided to play
dumb, to try to get in the big building
before the storm got worse. I dont know.
I seem to have lost my way, and I dont
want to be out in this storm.
He looked at my face, at my muddy
dress, up at the big building, and nally
back at me. Cmon, I can get you dry.
He began to walk faster than I thought he
could to the big building, and he knocked
on the door twice. A short man with an unpleasing face, carrying a quill and a stack
of papers, opened the door. Henry! he
exclaimed, and then Henry, the boy, took
the lump out of his jacket.
Ive brought your food, Mr. Madison.
Could we stay for a while, to get dry?
Mr. Madison, whom I quickly identied as
James Madison, led us into the building.
There was George Washington himself up
at the stand, and other men at desks with
papers of some sort. They were all the
delegates who came to Philadelphia to try
to x the Articles of Confederation. Or
thats what Id picked up from eavesdropping. James Madison, George Washington
and Ben Franklin were the only delegates
I could identify.
We all stayed warm by the re and
chatted. Now the idea of a new government is at hand, James Madison said. I
said, Sir, I have a plan for government,
which I did. I had been thinking about it
for the past couple of weeks.
Do tell, he said, so I explained to
the delegates my idea: We should have
a House of Representatives and a Senate.
And one man who would be like a king,
but had less power. We would call him
the president. They all said they would
consider it, and I walked away thinking I
gave them help.
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
THIS WEEK: General storytelling
The delegates
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
The other house

Mom! I yell to the half-empty house. Mom, Im
taking Scout for a walk, Ill be back soon!
I wait for a minute, and when silence lurks in the air,
I sigh and gure shes busy and wont even notice Im
gone.
Scout, an antsy, 8-year-old Dalmation, jumps and
struggles in his leash. Even as a puppy, Scout was crazy
strong, and when I was little I was never allowed to take
him out because I wasnt nearly strong enough.
I open the front door and kick at the screened one,
which has always been a toughie, but you get used to it.
Scout almost bolts out of my grasp in excitement, my
soft purple gloves nearly letting the leash slip away. But I
dont let go, and we set off into the bitter, numbing cold.
Twilight in January is almost never over 10 degrees
in Vermont, so despite my many layers, the temperature
nips at my few exposed areas. Scout, being a dog, doesnt
seem to be affected, but Im sure hes itching to pee and
dash back inside.
We set off to the unpopulated sidewalk, and I plan just
to walk to the mailbox and back, making the expedition
no more than an eighth of a mile. Ive lived here since
the age of two or three, when we moved from Alabama,
and I wonder if Im still getting used to the temperature
because, though I love snow, I never liked the cold. But
thats about the only thing I have to complain about.
I love it here; the neighbors, Dot (who once cooked
me four pounds of spaghetti), Mr. and Mrs. Kayden (who
enjoy playing cards with me on rainy days), and widowed
Mr. Greenhollow (who yells at me every time I cross his
porch, but, you know).
I also love the architecture. The houses none of
them, and I mean absolutely none of them have one
similar quality. Theyre like one big group of opposites,
and though (most of) the neighbors love each other, the
houses have absolutely nothing in common. But not in
a boring way. Each of them seems to have one unique
quality.
For the Kaydens, its the paint. Their house is entirely
white on the outside, except for the door, which is painted
a beautiful, vibrant red, making the whole house a sight
from a half mile away. For Dot, its the birds. Her house
is completely normal-looking, except for these giant birds
she makes out of paper mache and adorns her porch with.
Most of the neighborhood thinks shes at-out strange,
but I think its wonderful. Mr. Greenhollow decorates his
front porch with multitudes of Venus y traps, which, for
some reason, remind him of his dead wife. Though hes a
grumpy old man who hates his grandchildren, I cant
VERMONT WRITES DAY

IS THURSDAY, MARCH 12!
Stop everything to write for just seven
minutes! Get your school involved!
Find out more at youngwritersproject.
org/VTWrites15.
JANES TRUST
CLIMATE CHANGE
WRITING CHALLENGE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
WRITE AND WIN!

First place: $100
Second place: $75, Third place: $50
FOR PROMPTS AND MORE DETAILS:
youngwritersproject.org/climate15
DEADLINE: APRIL 10
Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy
Education Program & Young Writers Project
CHECK OUT YWPS DIGITAL

MAGAZINE EVERY MONTH!
for your FREE subscription!
THERES A FEAR A HORRIBLE, EVERLASTING FEAR THAT EATS ITS WAY

INSIDE OF ME AND EDGES ITS WAY AROUND MY RAPIDLY BEATING HEART ...
help but feel sorry for him. We moved here just after she
died, but Mrs. Kayden said it was absolutely devastating.
The whole neighborhood had loved Mrs. Greenhollow,
and Mr. Greenhollow, though I couldnt imagine it, had
actually been a bright and cheerful man before her
unexpected heart attack.
Theres one house I havent explained yet. Though
all of them are unique, this one actually stands out from
the rest. Its a burned house, abandoned, so its old and
black and ashy. It oods every time it rains and usually
lls with snow in the winter because it has no door, but
no one has bothered to x it. It sits at the far end of the
neighborhood; apart from all the others by almost a quarter mile. Ive never been, but its always been a curiosity
of mine, something Im terried of but dying to know
more about.
Woof! Scout barks loudly suddenly, and I realize Ive
passed the mailbox unconsciously, and weve actually
gone much farther than I planned. I beckon Scout and
start to turn around when suddenly my dog goes on an
unexpected rampage.
Woof! Woof, woof, woof-woof-woof! Hes tugging
and jumping and turning in circles like a dog possessed
and before I know it ...
Hes running. Ive let go of the leash, which is bouncing against his left leg, which is moving faster than a
vehicle on a highway.
Scout! I shout, bewildered. Scout! Scout! Come
back! I start running after him, which is a really bad
idea because I should probably be getting help as fast as
possible, but at the time, Im not thinking. The only thing
thats going through my head is that my dog has gone
mad.
Im sprinting now, ghting against my burning lungs
and numbed ngers. Ive never really been that athletic; I
passed most of the presidential tness tests at school, but
Im not really that good at running long distances. Now,
Im running faster than I ever have, crossing the limits of
what I ever knew I was capable of, all the while letting
my lungs suffer more by shouting, Scout! over and
over again.
I can see him; a small white dot in the distance thats
shrinking more and more by the second. The neighborhood must be far behind us now ... were getting closer
and closer to ... the house. The abandoned one, the outcast, separate from all the others. The other house.
Scout! I scream again, terried. Where in the world
did he think he was going?
And then I see it. The metaphorical gate to a dead

end, because all thats beyond it is overgrown grass and
a snowy ravine. I pick up speed, if thats even possible,
and I could swear my lungs are about to burst. SCOUT!
SCOOOOOOUT!
He doesnt hear me. Either that, or he doesnt acknowledge me at all. I can barely see him, but the house
looks as if I can spot it from a miles distance. I try to tell
myself that thats probably my imagination, but it seems
so close, too close ...
Scout is getting closer now. Either Im speeding up,
or hes slowing down. If its the former, Id be very impressed with myself. Who knows where my abilities will
lead me?
I give one more weakened cry before I see Scout, my
ever-so beloved Scout, bolt straight up the stairs into the
abandoned house.
And there I am me, right then and there, in the
middle of January, the sky a rich dark blue. Im standing
before the house the curiosity that Id been yearning
for for so long and at the same time theres a fear, a horrible, everlasting fear that eats its way inside of me and
edges its way around my rapidly beating heart and its
heating up inside of me, making me forget the cold and
forget anything else that exists, because suddenly its just
me me, Scout, and the curiosity.
I suddenly feel like Ive been living a lie, and a
question ebbs in my brain, a question so dominant and
powerful that it cannot bear to be left unanswered. Just
me. Me and the answer to what Ive been dreaming of my
whole life.
What am I waiting for?
I take a deep, deep breath, and exhale through my
mouth, letting all of my childish fears tumble through my
lips along with the puff of smoke that appears before me.
And I walk inside.
To be continued ...

& THE VOICE

PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Haley Thon, Essex High School
Bad example
BY LIVIE LEWIS
She was a very bad example for the
younger kids. She got poor grades, she
pranked her teachers (including sticking clear Super Glue on Mrs. Lawftons
pen), and she was too involved with her
own personal life to put any thought in
her school work. Well, thats what Mrs.
Lawfton thought. Sam was 16 years old,
and she was a prankster.
She had red hair that fell down to
her shoulders, green eyes, freckles, and
a splintering stare that seemed she was
searching your soul, deep down, nding
out your secrets. She was different this
way. And she was quick, clever and a
fast learner.
This was Samantha Skylar Dee,
daughter of that really rich surgeon and
lawyer, the ones that own that big house
at the end of the street. And Sam wasnt
proud of that.
Sams best friend, Allison, was the
girl that everybody wanted to be friends
with. Flawless, blonde, curly hair, sky
blue eyes, a perfect face, and a slim,

hourglass gure. Allison was the girl
who wasnt ashamed of her wealth.
She wore expensive clothes, the newest makeup, and always had the newest
Apple product, and she had it early.
Sam, for some reason, liked Allison. She was an amazing friend, kind,
generous and outgoing. Sam was dark,
let down her friends, and would steal
a babys candy without even thinking
twice.
But they were friends.
Sam was sitting at lunch, eating her
usual gourmet meal made by their cook.
Today it was steak, a salad and rice, and
for dessert, a mini cake ...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/110047.
VERMONT
WRITES DAY!
MARCH 12
Details:
youngwritersproject.
org/VTWrites15.

Addie Scanlon, Essex High School
Change & recreate

BY ADELINE BATEMAN
We have to change and recreate.
We have to take a stand on the problems
going on around us.
Take a stand on global warming. Use
less energy and water and gas.
Take a stand on blood sugar. Eat healthy
and work harder to stay healthy.
Take a stand on inequality. Just dont
shoot people because of your stupid
prejudices, okay?
Take a stand for our generation and the
many more to come.
Do everything you can to change and
recreate.
Scream and shout and yell and march
and kick and laugh and cry and dream.
Dream about a better future.
Live every day like its your last (and at
the rate we are currently going, it totally
could be...).
Dont settle for just okay.
Go for something more. Go for fantastic,
extraordinary, surreal, mind-blowing,
amazing, superb, wonderful.
Go for changing and recreating the
world.
MARK YOUR CALENDARS!

Vermont Writes Day is Thursday,
March 12! Its the day we stop
everything to write for just seven
minutes! Details at youngwritersproject.org/VTWrites15.

youngwritersproject.org
& The Voice

Inextinguishable
Poetry is the type of thing
that ignites a re inside of you,
a re so luminous, so erce;
inextinguishable.
To call yourself a poet is to claim you
are capable of riding the waves
instead of swimming from them,
to stroll through a battleeld
and embrace the turbulence.
But poetry is not about fearlessness
or even courage.
Poetry is not a thing to be explained;
its simply undened,
and an attempt to dene it would be
feeble.
But,
dear reader,
there is one thing of which I am absolutely certain.
Poetry is not an art,
but an emotion.
MARK YOUR CALENDARS!

Vermont Writes Day is Thursday,
March 12! Its the day we stop
everything to write for just seven
minutes! Details at youngwritersproject.org/VTWrites15.

youngwritersproject.org & The Voice, YWPs digital magazine
Penny power
BY LIVIE LEWIS
I awoke to light. The cash register
opened, and I yawned, getting ready to go
back to sleep.
Nobody needed me, a measly penny.
No, nobody liked Abraham Lincoln. He
was outdated. Too old. Stupid. Nobody
has time for Abe.
Then, when the hand reached in and
grabbed me, I was startled. I was only
used on rare occasions. This was the fth
time I was passed off in a sale.
I was handed to the small palm of a
young girl I could smell the dirtiness I
could see the face. Round, with bright
grey eyes and short brown hair, kind of
in a sweep towards the side. She looked
down at me with her big eyes, and with a
single nger stroked me.
It felt weird. I was not a dog. I was
Abraham Lincoln, 16th president of the
United States, ofcial penny.
Then the girl whispered, Youre my
best friend, Abe.
She patted me some more, then put me
in a pocket of a pair of jeans. I was tossed
around in darkness, and I could hear the
girl talking. Dont worry, Abe. Well be
at my house soon, where I can x you
up.
I guess I was a bit of a bad penny I
was placed on a train track, a little bit of
me crushed by a train.
I was scratched I couldnt even tell
which year I was made in anymore. I had
weird slime stuff stuck on me I was a
bad looking penny.
I sat there, in the pocket of this girls
jeans, and nally, I was taken out. I was in
a small room, with a bed, desk, and bookshelves. The girl placed me on the desk,
and looked at me.
We need to get you all ready. Nice
and pretty.
She went into a small room, probably
a bathroom, and turned on a faucet. Then
she took me into the room, which was a
bathroom, and placed me next to the sink,
which was lling up with water.
She put her hand under the faucet.
Nice and warm, she said, then picked
me up.
Hold your breath, Abe, she said,
then fully submerged me underwater.
It was warm and comforting, but what
she didnt know was that us pennies can
breathe underwater. I breathed there, as
she scrubbed me nice and clean and I
could feel the sticky slime coming off of
me, the feeling of cleanliness very inviting.
Finally, she took me out, and picked at
some slime still covering my date.
She put me back underwater, scrubbing me with soap. The soap smelled
fruity and yummy.
She took me back out and exclaimed,
1923?? Youre an old penny!
Then she set me down and dried me
off with a small towel. She took me into
another room, where somebody had a
hammer. Oh no. They placed me on a
metal block.
This might hurt a little bit, Abe, she
said, then a hammer whacked me.
It knocked the wind out of me, but I
felt strangely refreshed. I was bent back to
my original state!
The girl took me once more into the
bathroom, and she put out a towel, and put
on gloves.
She took a small wooden block, placed
it on the towel, and put me on the block.
She grabbed a can, which was colored
my original color (now I am a little bit of
silver) and she sprayed me with it. She did
that and did that and nally was done.
She placed me on a window sill, and
said, Okay, Abe. Dry off.
Then she left me. I fell asleep, feeling
warm and cozy.
The girl woke me up a couple of hours
later, and carried me into her room.
Ready, Abe? she asked.
I said, Yes, but I dont think she
could hear me.
She put her hand over me, moved
around, then whipped her hand off of me.
I was in front of a mirror. I could see
myself. I was shiny, new, and looked like I
was just made.
She looked at me, and said, Good as
new!
I agreed with her. Ah, the power a
penny can have.
THIS WEEK: Penny & General

students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, writers respond to the prompts for
General writing; and Penny: Tell the story of a penny
from the time it was minted until it reached you.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
MAIN STREET LANDING
WINTER PHOTOS
Momentum
BY ROLAND DOWNEY
Grade 12, Putney School
Its about what you say when your poem
is over.
But before you can nish the poem, you
have to begin it.
And beginning a poem is the same as
beginning a movement; difcult.
Its an adrenaline-rushing, heart-stopping
clamber over the summit of your brains
mountain of fear and denial that lets you
stutter out your beginning few words.
The rest of the poem is easy, its just gaining the momentum thats hard.
But if the momentum has been building
for more than a century, why are we not
free yet?
Should we not be pushing harder to reach
a dream once dreamed?
Should we not be taking this movement
towards freedom more than one step at a
time?
Should we not be rushing towards equality
with the same speed at which we go down
the highway? Way too damn fast?
Or are we scared of the recoil, are we
scared that our rocket of peace will blow
up right here in our faces?
Are we scared of admitting that we dont
know where to go from here?
/NO?/
Then where is the movement?
Where is our momentum?
Where is the freedom?
Before we can reach the end of the poem,
we have to begin it.
Roland Downey is a longtime mentor on
youngwritersproject.org, and has been
writing with Young Writers Project for ve
years. This poem is also featured in The
Voice, YWPs digital magazine, and on VPR.
net and VtDigger.org.
YWP NEWS
SLAM WITH YWP
THIRD THURSDAY | EVERY MONTH
FLETCHER FREE LIBRARY | BURLINGTON
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

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NEXT PROMPTS
Stardust. Youre exploring intergalactic space and come across a
voyager selling stardust. Write your
conversation. Alternate: Regret. Is
there something you wish you had
done, but now its too late? What is
it and how do you deal with it? Due
Feb. 13
Listen. Click on the audio link for
this prompt on youngwritersproject.
org. What do the sounds evoke?
Alternates: You. Someone wants to
tell you something because youre
the only one who will understand.
What is the story? Who is telling
you? How does it affect you?; or
General writing. Due Feb. 20
THE VOICE
Tunnel. You nd a tunnel in

the ground. How did you stumble
upon it and where does it lead?
Experiment with character, point of
view and setting. Alternates: Law.
Change one fundamental law of
physics (how our world works) and
describe what would happen without
that law in place, e.g., funky gravity,
spontaneous reordering of broken
objects, solid objects becoming gaseous/gaseous objects become solid,
or make up a new law; or Photo 7
(See youngwritersproject.org for the
photo.) Due Feb. 27
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Austin Victor Ayer, Essex High School

New Hampshire. This weeks writing is in response to the
prompt for General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.
Olivia Fewell, Essex High School
Seven
BY DANAYSA VARGAS
New York City.
I cant stay in Brattleboro.
My mom is sick.
I have to stay in NYC for three months.
I love walking around NYC; its so beautiful.
I go to the Statue of Liberty; its huge.
I go to an island close to it. We buy a bunch of food.
I slam my ngers in the big metal doors on the boat.
Its so heavy and it hurts so bad.
I dont want anyone to see me cry,
so I hold it back. I just want to scream.
I eat so much food on the island and I have to go back on that boat.
I almost throw up, especially because its windy and I am outside on the boat.
I get lost in a store with my nephew Angelo.
I freak out.
I am okay about being in NYC,
but when I am in Angelos grandmothers house, a boy named Lucky is killed.
I am out there about twenty minutes before he dies.
That is the rst time I see an ofcer without a uniform, with a gun.
I still go to NYC;
my whole family does.

THIS WEEK: Love

New Hampshire. This weeks writing is in response to the
prompt, Love: Write the sweetest, sappiest love poem you
can. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil,
online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Memories
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE
I realized
I realized it wasnt love
at all
when I looked into your eyes
and I only saw the memories
because I was not
I am not
in love with you
I am in love with our memories
I am in love with
the laughs
and the comfort
but baby
oh baby
I am not in love with you
Im sorry
because I fell in love with your words
even when I knew
they were a white mask
for your stained and smeared actions
they were a cloak
to cover the person you were
behind
your dazzling green eyes
THE VOICE
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ENDLESS INSPIRATION
THIS WEEK: Reporter

Hampshire. This weeks prompt is Reporter: Write about
getting your rst big story when everything seems to be
conspiring against you. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Brady Blow, Mount Manseld Union High School
Typical day in New York

BY ADELINE BATEMAN
Computer? Check. Makeup? Check. Jeans and sneakers for after I get out of my
fancy news clothes? Check. Lucky ying pig underwear? Check. Okay... Okay...
Okay... Umm... Oh! I need money for the taxi, money for the taxi... Or should I take
the subway? Subway? Taxi? Subway? Taxi? Okay, money for the taxi. Check.
I step out the door and breathe in the odor of a thousand cigarettes. Strands of
hair come loose from my clip. Its cold, gray, and just the right temperature for the
South Pole to start importing extra penguins.
I stick my non-gloved hand out into the trafc-jammed street and wait for a taxi.
One drives up, nearly knocking me into the slushy puddle which is also mildly soaking through my shoes.
I open the door, and it hits me in the face, the smell of pot. I had put on my
resume that I was a little accident prone, but I got the job anyway. I am crossing my
ngers that I will not have an accident today that ruins my face for my rst day on
TV ... I get in the taxi and say, 6th Avenue. Drop me off at the rst burger place you
see.
I buckle up and he steps on it. I wait for the painful whiplash that often comes
with sudden acceleration in a taxi, but it doesnt come.
Wont start. Wait while I call my boss. He speaks in a gravelly voice. And now
Im stuck here while I think about being late for my rst day on the job and getting
all worked up. Typical ...

THIS WEEK: General

Hampshire. This weeks prompt is for General writing in
any genre. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Emma Parizo, Essex High School
Salida del sol

BY SOPHIE GUERRINA
Grade 9, Bellows Falls Union High
School
What I see is darkness,
a manifestation of the unknown.
The scent of fear wafes in the air
around me, strong and uneasy.
Curiosity tears through me.
A shift in my seat causes a shift in my

mind.
For in an instant, my fear is demolished,
replaced by optimism.
A soft glow;
pinks, reds.
Rising ahead,
my journeys end,
ushered by the sunrise.
NEXT PROMPTS
Statue. Youre walking through an empty park and pass a statue. To your surprise, the statue strikes up a conversation with you. Tell the story of the statue and
what it says. Alternates: Dark. Are you scared of the dark? Why?; or Houston.
You are an astronaut. Describe a moment oating in space. Due Jan. 9
HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM ALL OF US AT YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT!

WELL BE BACK WITH MORE GREAT WRITING ON JAN. 10.
Secret ingredient
My mother had always idolized John
Lennon. She idolized other people, too,
not singers, but writers, for the most part.
Like Harper Lee and Emily Dickinson and
Shakespeare.
She liked people who created a meteor in this world. A meteor that hurtled
through space and landed on Earth with
such force that it left a mark. A permanent
mark, one that would last throughout the
relentlessness of eternity, one that would
never be forgotten, no matter how many
replacements were created to destroy it.
She liked people who taught a lesson,
who believed, who endured so much, yet
plowed through it like a snowblower in
a blizzard. It was almost always a writer
that caught her attention, because she
loved to read.
She wore cat earrings and rolled-up
jeans with holes. She loved to cook. She
had a certain chair that she always sat
in, that she wouldnt let anyone else lay
a hand on, because it was hers and hers
only. It was a red chair, cushioned, tall.
She was almost never in that chair when
she wasnt engrossed in a book.
She loved writers, but for some reason,
though she never kept in touch with music, John Lennon was her favorite famous
person.
She didnt love his music or anything
like that. But she idolized him completely
because of this quote she loved: When
I went to school, they asked me what I
wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote
down, happy. They told me I didnt understand the assignment, and I told them
they didnt understand life.
YWP NEWS

students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present a short story in response to the prompt for General writing. Read more
great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
THE VOICE
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.

AMY E. TARRANT
FOUNDATION
CHECK OUT YWPS

MONTHLY DIGITAL MAGAZINE
Go to thevoice.youngwritersproject.org
Enjoy! And get your free subscription!
FEATURE PHOTO
THE SALMON WAS THE REAL

MAGIC. IT TASTED UNREAL,
HEAVENLY, THOUGH MY MOTHER
NEVER TOLD US HER SECRET
INGREDIENT.
EVER.
She always repeated this to me, though

it was long, when I felt down or unhappy.
She told me not to lose track, like she did,
that as long as happy was all I tried to be,
Id nd something one day that I loved.
She told me that when I did, cherish
that thing, do not take it for granted or use
it wrongly in any way, or it may run away
and I would never be happy again.
She told me not to make the same
mistake she did ever. Because when it
came to happiness, every person only gets
one shot, most people blow it, and most
people are never happy again.
It wasnt until she died that I realized
that most people meant herself.
My mother had always seemed like a
relatively joyful person.
She was single, but she never appeared
to let that get to her. She made dinner
often and cooked us (Caleb, my little
brother, and me) salmon almost every
night, with a side of delicious mashed
potatoes.
But the salmon was the real magic. It
tasted unreal, heavenly, though my mother
never told us her secret ingredient. Ever.
She always made us say a prayer before dinner, to be grateful for all we have,
and then she would repeat the John Lennon quote, and tell us, for the millionthgazillionth time, to enjoy the salmon and
not let one bite go to waste.
She would tell us that one day, at some
point in our lives, we would understand
what her secret ingredient was, though we
both doubted it because neither of us had a
possible future as a cook.
She never talked about her divorce
with my dad, so I couldnt tell you anything about it. If it made her sad, mad,
regretful, she didnt show a thing.
My rst day of preschool seemed
like forever and a day ago. The memory is
vague, and as I get older it may taper off
like all the other memories of my mother.
When we were in the car, I remember
feeling that she was always glancing back
at me in the rearview mirror, to see my
expression, how I was feeling, a typical
motherly thing. When she pulled into the
parking lot, we had a small, nearly onesided conversation on her part. Its terribly
hard to remember, but I think it went
something like this:
You ready, Kate? This is your rst
day of real school. Are you excited?
I shrug nonchalantly, because Im not,
really.
Now, sweetie, youre going to need
to go in on your own. Youll see a lady,
Mrs. Heather, and shell lead you to your
classroom, alright?
I look at her, dazed. Why is she making me go in by myself?
She reaches across the drivers seat to
undo my seatbelt, then presses a button to
unlock the doors so I can get out.
You ready?
I say nothing. I am a stubborn kid,
and eventually shell gure out that my
unresponsiveness means that Im refusing
to go in without her.
We sit in silence for what seems like
a while, because my moms not going to
force me to go in, but she was stubborn
too, so shell wait a while. But Ill win
this eventually.
Suddenly she says, Now, Katie, I
know you dont want to go in alone.
But you have to understand that as
you grow up, youre going to face some
challenges in life. Big challenges.
Deanna Davis-Kilpatrick, Essex High School
WHEN I WENT TO SCHOOL, THEY ASKED ME WHAT I WANTED TO BE WHEN

I GREW UP. I WROTE DOWN, HAPPY. THEY TOLD ME I DIDNT UNDERSTAND
THE ASSIGNMENT, AND I TOLD THEM THEY DIDNT UNDERSTAND LIFE.
John Lennon
Sometimes youre going to
have to be brave, and sometimes youre going to have to
hold on to what you have and
face what you dont.
It might be hard, but you
can do it.
And remember, youll
see me in the lobby the second
school ends, alright? Here.
She hands me a little Post-it
note, and written on it, in the
neatest of handwriting, is a
little note.
I couldnt read then, but I
was a smart kid. I knew she had
written the quote from John
Lennon because she repeated it
over and over at dinner.
And it wasnt until later that
I realized what shed meant.
When Mom died, in the hospital, with
monitors beeping and computer screens
surrounding the bed, at rst I thought she
was just sleeping because her eyes were
closed and she looked as peaceful as ever.
I hadnt realized that the monitors had
stopped, that the screen that displayed her
pulse was at zero, until the nurse looked at
riptide. Not that my very own

mother was dead in a hospital
bed. But why she had kept reminding me all those times to be
happy. To get through it.
She had been happy once.
She had a husband, two kids, a
perfect family. A wonderful life
with nothing to lose. And then
she let go. Of everything. Of that
something shed always told me
to cherish, to hold forever in my
grasp until it vanished with me.
She had let go, she had said
all that stuff so that I wouldnt
follow in her footsteps.
And then I realized what
her secret ingredient was, in
the salmon. It wasnt a physical product. It came from what
Ian Ballou, Essex High School
she gave me, where she led us.
Caleb and me with teary
It was my mother that made the
eyes full of sorrowful pity.
salmon
so
miraculous.
Im so sorry, children, she said,
So I start waiting for that something,
embracing both of us in a hug. She was
that thing that I will cherish for ever and
sobbing now. ...So sorry you have to go
ever and not let go. I start waiting for it to
through this all.
At rst, I was confused. And then I re- come along and knock on my door.
alized why she was sorry. And it all came
crashing down on me, like a hurricane, a
THIS WEEK: Winter

Hampshire. This weeks prompt is Winter Tales: Write
about winter. Selected pieces will be performed as part
of Winter Tales at FlynnSpace in Burlington Dec. 10-14.
Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Jonathan Palmer, Essex High School
What Ive been told

BY LIVIE LEWIS
Kind and warm,

mean and cold.
This is a winter storm,
or so Ive been told.
It means no school,
a day of cold fun.
In this play day, there are no rules,
and there is no sun.
I am told that these days are fun.
I dont know why they are,
but there is a white blanket so far.
CHECK OUT THE NOVEMBER ISSUE

OF YWPS DIGITAL MAGAZINE!
Go to thevoice.youngwritersproject.org!
NEXT PROMPTS
100 Miles. You get lost and end up walking 100 miles through thick, bug-infested
woods. When its nally over, you cant believe whats waiting for you in a clearing at
the edge of the forest Alternates: Online. Somehow youve fallen into the Web page
youve been browsing. Whats happening?; or General writing. Due Dec. 12
Sorry. Write a story or poem that incorporates the sentence, Im sorry ... Im so
sorry. Alternate: Cyborg. Write a story about a cyborg (part human, part machine).
Due Dec. 19
THIS WEEK: Winter

Hampshire. This weeks prompt is Winter Tales: Write
about winter. Selected pieces will be performed as part
of Winter Tales at FlynnSpace in Burlington Dec. 10-14.
Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Crunch
BY LUCY SZPILA
White as a cloud
dives from the sky,
lightly falling on your tongue.
With a crunch
your foot
plunges through
deep
into the uff.
The cold
chokes your breath,
leaving fog in the air.
Snow.

NEXT PROMPTS
Invention. Youve just invented the next big thing! Pitch it to the head of the most
inuential company you know. What is it and what does it do? Alternates: 15, 10,
5. Create a short dialogue of three characters. The rst can only speak 15 words, the
second 10, and the third just ve words; or Author. Write in the style of your favorite
writer. Due Dec. 5
100 Miles. You get lost and end up walking 100 miles through thick, bug-infested
woods. When its nally over, you cant believe whats waiting for you in a clearing at
the edge of the forest Alternates: Online. Somehow youve fallen into the Web page
youve been browsing. Whats happening?; or General writing. Due Dec. 12
THIS WEEK: Lyrics

Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and students selects
the best writing and images for publication. This weeks
prompt is Lyrics: Take a line from a favorite song and
sprout a poem or song. More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Im not your savior

I drive you away

from your worries,
twisting curving turns.
You throw your hands in the air
as the wind blows away
your worries of tomorrow.
Thank you, you say.
I may be able to show you what its like to
y.
I might be able to make you forget your
cares.
I may make you forget your insecurities,
but baby, I cant forget my own.
Youre showing me how to live,
and I can assure you
this thing we are doing,
I dont know what it is,
but its denitely not living.
And you love the way
I can make you forget,
the way I make you smile,
the way my presence gives you reassurance.
But girl, Im not your savior.
Danilo Salgado, Essex High School
NEXT PROMPT
Invention. Youve just invented the
next big thing! Pitch it to the head
of the most inuential company you
know. What is it and what does it do?
Alternates: 15, 10, 5. Create a short
dialogue of three characters. The rst
can only speak 15 words, the second
10, and the third just ve words; or
Author. Write in the style of your
favorite author or poet. Include the
writers name and a favorite quote, if
you like. Due Dec. 5
THE VOICE
ITS A SPECIAL ISSUE YOULL SEE WHY

the best writing and images for publication. This week,
we feature a poem that was written in the General writing
category. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Shoelaces
Ive got scars on my knees,

scratches, burns, stitches,
from ankle to thigh.
I can name every one of em, you see
every blemish, every aw, every tiny
imperfection
without hesitation.
Ive fallen hard.
Ive tripped over roots and stones and
even my own shoelaces
and sometimes
its not easy to get back up again.
Im not perfect
nobody is,
though it may not seem that way.
I wont win every chess game without
losing a piece, or run every marathon
without stopping to catch my breath,
and I wont utter every word
without stuttering a little and
Ive got scars on my knees.
Everyone does
but some of us are just too afraid
to show them.
Jill Macfarlane, Essex High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Reporter. You are a new reporter, excited
to be assigned to your rst big story, but
everything seems to conspire against you (e.g.,
trafc jams, torrential rain, wrong information, police barricades, people who refuse to
be interviewed.) Somehow you manage to
get the story, make the deadline and win the
editors approval. Whats the story and how do
you pull it off? Alternates: Seconds. Describe
something that happened in mere seconds,
something big or small; or Famous. You nd
out someone you know is famous. Describe
the person, and why s/he is famous. How does
this affect you? Due Nov. 21
Snails. Did you
know snails can
swallow you whole?
Or that the Loch
Ness Monster and
Lake Champlains
Champ are cousins?
Tell a ridiculous
whopper but be
persuasive enough that
someone just might believe you. Alternates:
Proposal. Write about a wedding proposal
that goes terribly wrong; or Photo 5 (Library
of Congress, above). Due Nov. 28
Waiting
BY MALCOLM TOLENO
I walk in between the tracks,
and nd solace
in the perfectly straight lines.
I come here often,
just waiting,
waiting,
some days longer than others,
biding my time,
until one day,
it will come.
The train,
pressing onwards north,
carrying
souls. Mine, strapped
on tight,
for fear of being torn away
and thrown into a desolate, arid wasteland
of all the souls
that didnt survive
the drudging ride
from there to here.
There being death,
and here being life.
Suddenly, there is a faint light
from the tunnel.
The wind ferociously howls,
and I dart off the tracks.
The rumbling train comes to a full stop,
and
off they come.
One by one,
they pour out,
and all but one
utter off
in search of their new body.
That one
is mine.
It oats toward me,
and is gone.
I feel it, softly beating.
A heart.
And I am whole.
THIS WEEK: Photo 3 & Complicated

students selects the best writing and images for
publication. This week, we present responses to the
prompts, Photo 3 and Complicated: Some days everything goes wrong. Write about it.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.

LANGWATER FAMILY FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

WRITERS ARE ALSO AT:
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VtDigger.org
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NEXT PROMPTS
Pluto. NASA writes an apology letter to Pluto for demoting it
from planet status. Who receives
the letter and whats the reaction?
Alternates: Alone. What do you
love to do when you have time by
yourself? or Dream. Write about a
dream that keeps recurring. What
does it mean? Or write about the
strangest dream youve ever had.
Due Nov. 14
Reporter. You are a new
reporter, excited to be assigned to
your rst big story, but everything
seems to conspire against you
(e.g., trafc jams, torrential rain,
wrong information, police barricades, people who refuse to be interviewed.) Somehow you manage
to get the story, make the deadline
and win the editors approval.
Whats the story and how do you
pull it off? Alternates: Seconds.
Describe something that happened
in mere seconds, something big
or small; or Famous. You nd
out someone you know is famous.
Describe the person, and why s/
he is famous. How does this affect
you? Due Nov. 21
BY LUCY FLYNN
Grade 5, Dummerston School
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/102990.
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
CHECK OUT THE OCTOBER ISSUE OF
The really, really

bad day
One morning I woke up with that feeling in my gut that today was not going to
be a good day, perhaps one of the worst
days of my life.
I got out of bed and while I was tramping down the stairs, I tripped, hit my eye
and bonked my knee.
But I got back up.
As I walked into the kitchen and looked
in the fridge I groaned. It was Thursday
morning, the day my mom took all the
food and brought it to our local food shelf.
My tummy was rumbling when I
tramped back up the stairs and into my
room.
I looked in the mirror and saw my eye.
My big, black, ugly eye!
I groaned; this day was already terrible
and I hadnt even gone to school yet.
SCHOOL! I had completely forgotten!
I rushed off to see my clock and
gasped. It was already 9:30. I was already
an hour late.
I quickly ran to the phone and called
my mom. Luckily, she said shed be right
there.
When she pulled up, I was waiting at
the door. I hopped in and she whizzed me
over to school.
As I got out and shut the door I realized
I had forgotten my lunch box. I sighed.
This day had gone from bad to terrible.
I walked up to the school and tried to
open the door but it was locked. Then I
noticed a sign, Teacher in-service day.
NO SCHOOL.
That is when I broke down. I crumpled
to the ground sobbing.
Why did all this stuff have to happen
to me?
After I recovered, I called my mom
but she couldnt pick me up, so I called
my dad and he said he would be there
right after his meeting in half an hour.
I decided I would read, so I sa down
and read and read until he came. On the
way home, I told him all about my awful
day and youll never believe what he said
to me.
He said, Well, sometimes those things
happen. At that, I laughed.
I dont know why but right then and
there I realized that my day had been terrible and I couldnt control that.
But I could control the way I felt about
it. And so thats what I did for the rest of
my really, really bad day.
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
Emily Cunningham-Firkey, Essex High School
The bridge
BY MAIA MCNEIL
Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle
School
Every morning at precisely at 7 a.m.,
the cuckoo clock in the hall would go
cuckoo, waking up Yortis Qualls.
Each day she was responsible for waking up her younger brother Toby and
making sure he didnt die while their
parents were working, and she took her
job very seriously.
Toby and Yortiss parents were very
busy people, getting up at 4 in the
morning. Then getting home anywhere
between 6 and 12 at night. Their parents were both lawyers who worked for
the same company and unfortunately
the companys motto was, Help anyone, anywhere, any time. And when
they said any time they meant any time.
The Qualls family lived at the edge
of the small town of Petersburg, Ohio,
in a cozy old mill. Their small yard had
a little creek going through the yard
with a brick bridge going over it for
their driveway and was surrounded by
large expanses of woods.
Their yard had no garden since there
was never any time for gardening, but
Yortis did have a little rock covered in
moss that she liked to think of as her
own little bug forest.
On the weekends after Yortis and
Toby got their breakfast, they were required to do at least ve things to help
tidy up the house before the could play.
On rainy days they would stay inside
and read or make forts, but on sunny
days when the only clouds in the sky
were the white puffy soft ones that
looked as if angels slept there they
would go to their secret place.
Yortis had discovered the bridge one
day while walking alongside the stream
that ran through their yard trying to
see how far it went when she stumbled
upon a large abandoned metal bridge
that went across the creek that, without
her realizing it, had slowly become a
small river.
The strange thing about the bridge
was not the fact that when she tried to
look closely at it
the whole bridge
sparkled or that it
looked like it was
meant for trains,
but she had never
heard of there
being any train
tracks around this
area, but the fact
that there were no
tracks on either
side.
She walked to
both sides multiple
times, carefully inspecting each side
but there werent
even any remnants of tracks. She got to
the end of the bridge and the tracks just
stopped.
Later she brought Toby to the bridge
and they spent the entire afternoon puzzling what the bridge was for.
Was it supposed to be a nesting place
for the swallows? There certainly were
a lot of swallows. Was it a sculpture?
Was it for hiking?
Finally before they decided it was
there so that they would nd it.
The next day they went back and
played a game of make-believe, pretending that the bridge was the Himalayan mountains and they were scientists,
lost deep in the mountains, looking
for a plant that would cure a deadly
virus that was spreading throughout
the world. Their game ended with them
nding the cure just before Yortis was
assassinated.
Next weekend they went back, rst
pretending to be spies searching for
a top secret le that could prove their
client innocent before he was sentenced
to 47 years in prison. Then the bridge
was their haunted castle and they were
detectives.
Yortis and Toby continued to visit
the bridge each weekend for the rest of
the year until one day while they were
hunting a zebra to put in their circus
Toby fell and twisted his ankle.
Yortis supported Toby as he limped
home. Not a half an hour after they
got home Mr. Qualls got home to nd
his 7-year-old old son sitting on their
Photo 3. Chelsea Somerset, Essex High School
couch, eyes red, with his swollen ankle

propped up on the coffee table.
He immediately jumped to the
worst conclusion. His 7-year-old son
had joined a gang of delinquents and
had been beaten up after standing up
for a lower-ranked 5-year-old who
had been forced to join the gang. Mr.
Qualls was very relieved to nd that
that was nowhere near to what actually
happened.
They called their mother to inform
her that they were heading over to the
nearest E.R. to get Toby checked out.
Luckily the E.R. was still open and
they were able to get Tobys ankle
treated.
Yortis and Toby decided not to go
back to their bridge until Toby was
fully healed. But they forgot. Some
days one of them would think of going
back, but they never went.
Soon they had forgotten all about
about their mysterious bridge.
Years later, long after Yortis had
graduated college, gotten married and
had two kids, they went back and visited their little house in the woods.
Yortiss little girl Hazel ran into the
woods and followed the stream until
it had become a river when she came
upon a bridge. Right in the middle of
nowhere.
It must have been something about
the way the sun made the metal sparkle
that drew her to the bridge.

we feature a poem that was read at the 2014 Brattleboro
Literary Festival. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Honk! Festival of Activist Street Bands, Boston, Oct. 11. Sophia Cannizzaro, Homeschool, West Glover
Starlight
BY CASSIDY MARTIN
Smoke, ying upward

to greet the sky.
Flickering red and yellow ames
in the dark.
The light slashes at the
cold, dark night,
chasing the shadows around.
The moon lengthens the shadows,
yet brightens the night.
The moon ducks behind
a cloud, shy and scared.
But what keeps light
watching these alone woods?
In the sky, they are pinpoints of light
shining through the sky.
Starlight, like
thinly woven cloth, little bits shine
through.
Is that what this universe
is?
A cloth wrapped around a light?
The light of the sun, I guess.
Starlight is what connects us.
Starlight gives us hope in
these dark nights,
in the cold, bitter wood.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

YWP NEWS
YWPS KEY EVENT
OF THE YEAR! ITS FREE!
SATURDAY, NOV. 8
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.
MONTPELIER
Register at youngwritersproject.org!
THE VOICE
CHECK OUT THE OCTOBER ISSUE OF
YWPS MONTHLY DIGITAL MAGAZINE!
Read and get your free subscription!
THIS WEEK: Photo 3

we feature a story in response to the prompt, Photo 3
(below). Read more at YoungWritersProject.org.
Escape
Photo 3 Prompt. Chelsea Somerset, Essex High School
YWP NEWS
BY ZOLA VON KRUSENSTIERN

Finally, I have escaped. At least, I think

I have. Im now walking down the train
tracks over the Hudson River, carefully
wandering along the middle, unaware of
where Im going or what is behind me. It
is silent, with the occasional boat traveling
below. But suddenly, it is not quiet. I hear
rumbling; the bridge starts to vibrate.
Lifting my head up, I see it. A train.
Coming toward me at 75 miles an hour. As
it gets closer, the realization of what is happening jolts into my brain. Turning around,
I see that I have walked further than I
thought. I will never make it in time. The
rumbling gets louder; the bridge shakes.
Strangely, I am not scared. I guess
somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew
I was taking this risk when I rst stepped
on the bridge. I knew that there was a possibility that I would never walk off.
The train comes closer. The smoke
reaches my nose. My eyes start to water.
I slowly collapse to the ground, not even
trying to get away.
Calmly sitting, I wipe the tears from
my face. The whistle blows, the driver
becoming aware that I am here. The bridge
shudders. The brakes squeak, his last
attempt to save me. I close my eyes and
hug my knees. Hot air meets my exposed
legs and arms. Closer, closer. The brakes
screech, the whistle blares, the bridge
quakes. And...
YWPS KEY EVENT
OF THE YEAR!
SATURDAY, NOV. 8
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.
MONTPELIER
More details at YoungWritersProject.org
THE VOICE
WATCH FOR THE OCTOBER ISSUE OF
YWPS NEW DIGITAL MAGAZINE!
Featuring local Young Writers from
Brattleboro Literary Festival!
View The Voice
and get your free subscription at
YoungWritersProject.org!
THIS WEEK: Literary festival

we feature a poem that was read at this months Brattleboro Literary Festival. More at youngwritersproject.org.
I stopped writing
my poems
BY OPAL ROBINSON
I stopped writing my poems.

My pages are blank.
My 2 a.m. thoughts became too much to
write,
bigger than words,
larger than life.
My hands keep shaking
and Im scared of this barrier.
Having no words to give
makes this world even scarier
My pages are blank.
When I saw what Id become
my heart quickly sank.
I used my letters as boats
to sail across seas.
I used this notebook
to identify me.
I turned my demons into weapons
by exploring them on paper.
But now Im defenseless,
nothing but a failure.
YWP NEWS
YWPS KEY EVENT
OF THE YEAR!
SATURDAY, NOV. 8
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.
MONTPELIER
More details to come
at youngwritersproject.org
THE VOICE
YWPS NEW DIGITAL MAGAZINE
IS AVAILABLE NOW!
Go to youngwritersproject.org and
click on The Voice or go to this link:
bit.ly/1CaT9WB.

My pages are blank.
I dont know who I am.
I dont know where I went.
Confused and lost
with no way to explain,
I feel like this feeling is an endless game
with no beginning and no end.
I feel that all I do these days
is fake and pretend.
NEXT PROMPTS
Letter. Write a letter to your mother,

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

Something I will
never throw away
BY DANAYSA VARGAS
There are some things people just
cant throw away.
Some people cant throw away baby
blankets, baby toys, and clothes from
when they were younger.
Something I cant throw away is bad
memories. Sometimes Id like to throw
away all the bad memories from my past.
I cant, though. Theyre part of my
past. I cant push them to the back of my
mind.
Part of me wants to forget, but the
other part of me doesnt.
Theyll probably be in my mind forever. I cant say that I dont want them to
be, because I do and I dont.
Some of them are of my mother, and I
cant make any more of them.
The last time I saw her she couldnt
speak or even open her eyes.
Most people would want to let go of
that memory, but I cant. I will never be
able to. That will be my last memory of
her ever.
Whenever I get sad I think of memories of her; it doesnt matter if theyre
good or bad memories. Theyre memories
I need to make me happy, knowing shes
okay.
Thats why I could never let any of
these memories go. I need them so my life
can be better and so I can know shes okay
ying with the angels.
With no pain any more and nothing
else happening to make her sad, she can
only be happy. I need them to make my
life better.
I could never let them go and Im not
sure I would want to let them go.
THIS WEEK: Treasure & General

New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and students
selects the best writing and images for publication. This
week, we present responses to the prompt, Treasure:
What is something that you could never throw away;
and General writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP
audiences in newspapers, before live
audiences and on web sites, youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.
org, and cowbird.com. YWP also
publishes The Voice, a monthly digital magazine with YWPs best writing, images and features. To learn
more, go to youngwritersproject.org

to youngwritersproject.org/support,
or mail your donation to YWP, 12
North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT
05401.

VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
Choose me
Im a daisy in a eld of roses
Im a jay in a ock of doves
Im an asteroid in a sky of stars
Im a like in a tangle of loves
Im a moth in a swarm of butteries
Im a prisoner in a room of the free
Im a twig in a patch of owers
So I understand if you dont choose me
YWP EVENT
CELEBRATION
OF WRITING
YWPS KEY EVENT
OF THE YEAR!
SATURDAY, NOV. 8
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.

Writing workshops
Millennial Writers on Stage
Reception
Release of Anthology 6
MONTPELIER
More details to come
at youngwritersproject.org
NEXT PROMPTS
Angel. For the rst time you meet
your guardian angel. Write a short story
developing your guardians character
and his or her relationship with you.
Alternates: Snapchat. This is no time
to Snapchat! Use this sentence in your
story, poem or play. What has just happened or is about to happen?; or Photo 3
(below). Due Oct. 17
Tapan Nepal, Essex High School
Days end
BY ALEXIS LARSEN
School
Sky red,
golden,
pink,
silver,
with amboyant brilliant light.
I am sitting
on a plaid picnic blanket;
I can see
the black outline
of the tall, old steeple
looking at me
like it is about to swallow.
A little crow,
loud,
not mixing well
with the silence
of the world
around it,
glares at the old steeple
as if it were
some pointy predator.
Then when the sun
is devoured by the mountain,
and the stars
come out of hiding
from behind
the uorescent sky,
the crows beckoning voice
is devoured too.
He stares at me in awe,
as if I stole
his little voice.
I feel the world
so still
and I
so alive within it;
it is silent,
but I faintly hear
an owl
and crickets,
and the drum
of a voice
calling for dinner.
Jared Lee, Essex High School
Photo 3. Chelsea Somerset, Essex High School
The golden star

BY ETHAN LAURICELLA
School
We drove down the rocky road through
a canopy of trees. They arched in graceful
ways over the reddish brown dirt of P.E.I.
The light glow of the setting sun created a
peaceful atmosphere for the ride.
The car came to a sudden stop, with

dirt splattered over the wheels from the
rain during the night. Out the tinted windows the sea stood calm.
The sun slowly setting in the torncloud sky created a pinkish glow. I gazed
in awe as the bright sun shone its streams
of spun gold into the sky. And then it set
and slowly disappeared.
I stared, two eyes, on the spot where
the bright star sat moments ago.
Letter. Write a letter to your mother,

father, a grandparent, teacher or favorite
person to say thanks. Provide a specic
story to show why the person is so great.
Alternate: Habit. Think about a bad
habit you might have and create a character with a similar bad habit. Write about
why the character wont easily give up
the habit. Due Oct. 24
Winter Tales. Tell a story about your
experience of winter in short descriptive
poetry or prose. No clichs, please. The
best will be selected for presentation by
the Vermont Stage Company at its annual
Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace
in Burlington in December. Alternates:
Lyrics. Find a line from a favorite song
that inspires you/ excites you/ makes you
feel good, and use it to sprout a poem,
song or story; or Photo 4 (below). Due
Oct. 31
Photo 4. Casey Mulrow, Essex High School

VPR.NET
VTDIGGER.ORG
AND NOW AT
... THE VOICE
YWPS EXCITING, NEW

DIGITAL MAGZINE!
Check it out at
Pink and orange hues

BY KYLIE COMSTOCK
Grade 9, Bellows Falls Union High School
On the calm waters of Lake Memphremagog, the sun was setting, creating stunning
streaks of pink and orange hues across the sky.
Ahead were the massive green mountains that belonged to Canada.
A small breeze blew, moving the sails beyond my greatest imagination.
The day couldnt be more perfect.
Door. Youre walking along when

you spot a large blue door in the wall
of a building that you pass every day
and youre sure the door wasnt there
yesterday. Open it! Where does it lead?
Alternates: Season. Write about your
happiest memory of a holiday season; or
Mythical. Invent a mythical creature and
tell us about it. What does it look like?
What does it do all day? Good or bad
temper? Is it a fan of peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches? Due Nov. 7

the best writing and images for publication. Read more at
youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community
of writers.
Waiting at the edge

BY ALEXIS LARSEN
Your toes slowly curl around the jagged

ledge suspended in what seems to be miles
of air.
Heart skipping, breath hasty, lips determined, hands back in sts of anticipation.
You know your fear only holds you
back.
No. No more waiting, youve been
waiting all your life, now is the time. Now
is the time to take a chance, you know
where to land, you know that the cold
reective water is deep enough.
You know, but your feet act on blind
faith.
This is the time, your feet now know.
Enough waiting; this is it.
Your arms are rst to feel it, the weight,
all of your weight is gone, suspended in
space.
Your hair, a golden blanket, dragged by
a child doing the impossible.
What took merely seconds seems like
minutes, every moment glorious, every
moment new.
Then it happens, but you dont know
right away. Your toes are rst to feel it.
War games
BY JULIANNA BROWN
The leacherous sun drinks the moisture

from skin
and the grass, as it screams, is crushed.
With a force that rivals calvary,
the falls, so punishing, come.
Despite the heat and the madness and pain,
they play war games beneath the sun.

YWP NEWS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
ON STAGE
Hear the next generation
of great Vermont writers
from your area!
BRATTLEBORO
LITERARY FESTIVAL
LATCHIS 4 THEATRE
SATURDAY, OCT. 4 | 10 A.M.
Its free and fantastic! See you there!
THE VOICE
YWPS NEW DIGITAL MAGAZINE
IS AVAILABLE NOW!
Go to youngwritersproject.org and
click on The Voice or go to this link:
bit.ly/1CaT9WB.

the best writing and images for publication. Read more at
youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community
of writers.
Just beyond
the horizon line
Photo of the Week. Jasmine Douglas-Hughes, Mt. Manseld

Union High School
YWP NEWS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
ON STAGE
of great Vermont writers
from your area!
BRATTLEBORO
LITERARY FESTIVAL
LATCHIS 4 THEATRE
SATURDAY, OCT. 4 | 10 A.M.
Watch for details at youngwritersproject.org.
THIS WEEK! YWP INTRODUCES
THE VOICE
AN EXCITING NEW DIGITAL MAGAZINE
MADE FOR AND BY YOUNG WRITERS
to view and subscribe!
I sprint through the quiet beach, wisps

of sand appearing and disintegrating in
front of me every time my feet collide
with the ground. When the water catches
my eye, it motivates me to run faster the
wind rebelling against my skin, the sound
of dark, violent waves crashing against the
shore ... but I have no time to acknowledge
this, because the sea, a perfect, majestic
body of water that must be too perfect to
be real sits before me, just out of reach.
I stop when a cold sensation electries my body the water, overlapping my
sandy feet and descending back into the
currents. Another rebellious cavern of
foam emerges and disappears the moment
I acknowledge it, transforming again into
the white ngers that collide with my
dainty toes once again.
I love the sea no, I dont love the sea.
That would be an understatement. There
are no words for the electricity that spreads
throughout my body when I look at the
waves, the violent, bellicose wonders that
really are nothing less than magic itself.
I close my eyes and the moonlight disappears, and suddenly its just me, oblivion, and the nautical music that thrums in
my eardrums.
I wish it was endless; I wish it could
all last forever, this solitude, this tranquility, this everything. I want to fall into the
waves, let them carry me somewhere that
could last throughout the relentlessness of
eternity. I want to stay here, I want a barred
cell to fall over me and trap me here in this
perfection forever.
I dont want to go back, dont want to
turn around. Maybe if I keep wishing, everything else will tumble out of existence,
maybe there will be nothing other than me
and the waves for as long as I wish. Maybe
every moment of inequality and despair
will shrivel up and disappear, if I keep my
eyes closed and wish with everything I
had. ...
(Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/95773.)

New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and students
selects the best writing and images for publication. This
week, we present responses to the prompt for general
writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe,
civil, online community of writers.
Somewhere
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
What is this?
This world rushing past me?
Seconds pass,
hours pass.
Where am I going?
What am I leaving behind?
Seconds stand still,
hours stand still.
What do I hope to nd when I reach the
destination?
A sanctuary for wisdom?
Seconds blur,
hours blur.
What do I want when I arrive?
Solitude and simplicity?
Seconds speed up,
hours speed up.
Will I know when I have arrived?
Will I know when my journey has ended?
Seconds are gone,
hours are gone.
You have reached your destination.
Deidre Vanmoerkerque, Essex High School
YWP NEWS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
ON STAGE
of great Vermont writers!
BRATTLEBORO LITERARY FESTIVAL

LATCHIS THEATRE | OCT. 4 | 10 A.M.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages students

to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences
in newspapers, before live audiences
and on web sites, youngwritersproject.
org, vpr.net, vtdigger.org, and cowbird.
com. YWP also publishes The Voice, a
monthly digital magazine with YWPs
best writing, images and features. To
learn more, go to youngwritersproject.
org or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses and
individuals who recognize the power
and value of writing. To contribute,
please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Watch for details at youngwritersproject.org.
WIN $1500 FOR AN

ESSAY ABOUT VERMONT
Write an essay and win $1500 and a
trip to New York City to be honored at a
reception! Young Writers Project partners with the contest sponsor, the Calvin
Coolidge Foundation, for the best essay
writing in Vermont for the 2014 Calvin
Prize. This years theme: To stay or to
leave? Are you likely to stay in Vermont or
relocate elsewhere? Deadline: Sept. 26.
More details at youngwritersproject.
org/calvin.

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THIS WEEK: General writing

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

Kristina Pretty, Essex High School

Falling into a Google page

THIS WEEK: General writing

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

THIS WEEK: General writing

The brown cat

How the climate

YWP NEWS & EVENTS

THIS WEEK: Climate

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses

READ THE VOICE

Special thanks this week to

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Emma Parizo, Essex High School

WE HAD DONE IT; WE HAD SAVED THE PLANET.

something to stop it? Like in Spy Kids,

after school, and we started petitions,

Years later, I found out that that one

FIND MORE GREAT WRITING AT

THIS WEEK: General writing

Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

MORE GREAT WRITING AT

THIS WEEK: Photo 8

Photo 8. Melissa Morris, Essex High School

No future, just white fog

I think your future is lonely,

MORE GREAT WRITING AT

THIS WEEK: Staircase

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Bri Lancaster, Essex High School

Suddenly one night

MORE GREAT WRITING AT

DEADLINE EXTENDED! APRIL 17

THIS WEEK: General storytelling

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses

Special thanks this week to

MGN FAMILY FOUNDATION

YWP NEWS & EVENTS

WRITE AND WIN!

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Mya Burghardt, Essex High School

Late night animals

Steps to the future

Its midnight and, well, I just cant

I couldnt sleep. I tried to turn on my

Vermont Writes Day Photo Prompt

MORE GREAT WRITING AT

& THE VOICE

Into the deep

THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Gavyn Letzelter on Vermont Writes Day by Sophia Cannizzaro

When most people go to sleep they

Time is all an illusion, fake.

MORE GREAT WRITING AT

THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day

PHOTO OF THE WEEK