Professional Documents
Culture Documents
BY ELIZABETH MENARD
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
My home. I`m so proud of it. Everything
about it.
I`m proud of being called a 'redneck or
'hillbilly or 'country.
I`m proud of our dirt roads. To say that we
have pot holes and dust.
I`m proud that I can`t see my next neigh-
bor. Or that some people don`t even have
'neighbors.
I`m proud that I know everybody on my
road and many, many more.
I`m so proud of the family farms. That our
cows get to see daylight and have a comfort-
able life, unlike cows from factory farms.
That I know almost every cow on my
grandfather`s farm.
I`m proud of our sugaring business. That
our golden syrup is known worldwide. That
we make the most and the best in the U.S.
I`m proud that we can hunt and fsh in our
backyards.
I`m proud that we can grow our own food
and know exactly where it comes from.
That we can have chickens for eggs and
meat.
That we can have gardens.
That we can hunt and actually use the
meat.
I`m proud that we can just be driving
around and see deer and turkey and so many
other animals and be able to call it normal.
I`m proud that along with a car, almost ev-
erybody owns a four-wheeler or snowmobile.
That roads aren`t even the beginning of
where we travel.
I`m so proud that I call this place home.
That I will always live here, in Fairfeld,
Vermont.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
VERMONT WRITES DAY
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13
THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE STOPS WHAT
THEYRE DOING FOR
JUST SEVEN MINUTES AND WRITES!
Go to youngwritersproject.org for more
details.
NEXT PROMPTS
Contrast. Develop the theme of contrast,
using hope versus despair, in poetry or
prose. Alternate: Senses. Describe enter-
ing a room full of people using every sense
except sight. Due Feb. 7
Proud of Vermont
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Vermont, the state that is usually looked
past or skipped by viewers. I`m honestly very
proud to be living in Vermont, the snow-
capped mountains, the yummy maple syrup.
I love when a TV episode or magazine
mentions Vermont, or when we make it on the
news, because I feel like we`re fnally being
noticed.
I`m proud that people on the other side of
the Earth think of us when they think of maple
syrup.
'Fresh maple syrup all the way from Ver-
mont.
One time I was on vacation in New York
City, and I was checking out of a store when
the cashier asked me if I lived in Vermont.
I replied with a suspicious yes, like, how
did she know that?
But then she said, 'That`s so cool! I noticed
your shirt.
I looked down and remembered I was
wearing a shirt that said Vermont in big let-
ters.
The cashier kept going on about Vermont,
'Yeah, me and my husband go up to Vermont
almost every winter. You guys have the best
snow up there, and mountains.
I felt not only proud to be a Vermonter
but shocked, because I never thought people
would want to come to Vermont on vacation.
Anyone who lives in Vermont could prob-
ably agree that the beauty, nature and serenity
of our state is breathtaking, and although it`s
no Florida with sandy beaches, it`s still amaz-
ing with mountains and snow!
Vermonts history
BY JOHN DELACY
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
What am I most proud of? I am really
proud of three things that happened in or to
Vermont.
The frst thing I`m really proud of is that a
French explorer named Jacques Cartier dis-
covered what is now called Vermont.
I`m also really proud that in 1775 Ethan
Allen captured Fort Ticonderoga.
I`m really proud of this time because Fort
Ticonderoga was heavily guarded, and Ethan
Allen and the Green Mountain Boys risked
their lives to capture Fort Ticonderoga.
Last but not least, I`m proud that in 1864
the St. Albans Raid happened.
Actually, more Confederate soldiers died
than civilians.
Only one civilian died, and one was
wounded during the St. Albans Raid.
When cold overcomes
BY KATIE LABELLE
Grade 7, Fairfeld Center School
Cold. It comes slowly and creeps up on
you, and even though you knew it was com-
ing, it is still an unpleasant feeling that you
can`t get away from.
The tingling of your neck in between where
your jacket and hat meet. The numbness of
your toes. The icicles that you now have for
fngers.
It goes through your jacket, hat, mittens,
whatever it takes to displease you. It is every-
where.
First there is a tingling on your neck, then it
starts to hurt, and it hurts more and more and
more, and then the unbearable numbness.
You clap your hands together once, twice,
you don`t feel a thing.
The coldness overcomes you and you can`t
remember feeling anything other than cold.
You aren`t yourself anymore. You feel dis-
connected, and disoriented. Look at what cold
can do to you.
Blanketing white
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
What`s the coldest you`ve ever been?
Well, gosh, I live in Vermont for goodness`
sake!
That could be a thousand times,
That could even be today!
Whenever the snow`s outside,
And you`re outside too,
You`d better believe
It`s gonna get freezing.
It starts with a little nip
When you open the door
As if the dog of winter is saying, 'Hello!
And maybe it gets better, as you struggle
through drifts,
What with exertion and seasonal bundles.
But trust me, you won`t stay warm long.
Just wait until the numbness comes along.
First your nose, your fngertips,
Then suddenly, the chapped pain
Is gone from your lips.
A deep-set fear arises when
You can`t quite make a fst
Or feel the thud when the ground
And your feet hit.
Or maybe that`s just the ice
Seeping into your core.
Because really, who can tell?
When the temperature`s 32 or below
And the clouds roll over
Like a blanket of cold shadow.
And the snow pierces your skin
With every landing fake
And you feel a slow sleep
About to set in.
So you stumble as if on amputated limbs
Up the stairs, desperately
Yanking off drenched clothing
So that when you reach the fre
You`ll be able to refrain
From laying on that warm bed of coals
And falling asleep as you feel your blood
thaw
Because you`re so frightened that if your soul
Had stayed alone outside,
You`d never know if you made it to heaven
From all the sparkling, blanketing white.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Remember it
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
Huh, I think I`m being a bit paranoid. I
mean, people come back to life all the time,
right? Pfft. Sheesh, after Snow White got
kissed by that dashing prince, my life has
turned into a Disney movie. And really, the
flm just doesn`t do me justice!
All of us: my brothers and I, the forest ani-
mals, and probably the whole kingdom were
weeping and sobbing and boo-hooing and
then poof! Sparkles, rainbows, magical rays of
sunlight illuminating the dead princess`s face
and she`s alive! Alive! Bwa-ha-ha!
Snow White goes down in history for being
an undead vampire. Yippee. With her 'skin
white as snow, hair black as night, lips red as
blood, blah blah blah!
The little witch becomes famous for being
the fairest in the land while I get completely
ignored. They just thought it would be more
romantic if the princess futtered in and
added a feminine touch to the lives of manly
dwarves!
It was me who made my brothers wash
their hands before dinner, washed the dishes,
and tucked Snow White in when she so rudely
barged into my home and zonked out, splayed
across my bed. Cause I`m just the second up,
the third wheel. I`m the eighth dwarf.
So, please, next time you see her glorifed
photo up on some kid`s accessory (it`s a won-
der her face even shows up on camera), know
that I was the one who saved her.
Sure, I let the prince kiss her, but who
really believes that`s what brought her back?
That was just a heart-swelling coincidence.
I was the only one home when she bit into
that poison apple.
As a girl, I know much about herbs and
medicine that my brothers are too busy to
learn. So, yes, I was able to heal her in time.
She was just sleeping for a couple of days; it
was completely natural.
So why doesn`t anyone know about me?
Do you want to know about the dwarf who
used science and saved Snow White? The girl
who was really behind all the neatness and
sweetness? Ya. I didn`t think so.
I have to tell someone my name, though.
If nothing else, to preserve my sanity. And if
you`re another one who doesn`t care, don`t
bother reading further.
My name is Lovie. Remember it.
THIS WEEK: Fairytale & General
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,
VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
PHYSICIANS COMPUTER CO.
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best in this and other newspapers around
the state, vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Fairytale: Create an eighth dwarf
for the Snow White story; and General writing. Read more
at youngwritersproject.org.
Shadow face (acrylic painting) Erin Bundock/Champlain Valley Union High School
Running
BY HALEY SPILLANE
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
My muse runs throughout the town.
It comes alive when I run myself,
whether I run with my dog or run in a race.
The racing stripes I get after, mud
from my shoes hitting my legs.
Night or day
the start of that run
clears my head.
It brings options, so
many different options and
ways to express myself.
A simple run can give me
ideas for pictures to take,
essays to write and
just everyday things.
The pounding of my feet
on the pavement is almost
like music, the deep breaths.
I feel as free as the wind blowing
before a storm.
Curiosity
BY OWEN PELKEY
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Remember the classic story of Snow
White? Did you just love the seven dwarves?
Oh, and just so you know, that whole story is
a lie.
They didn`t include the eighth dwarf! I
guess I`ll tell you about him. His name is
Curiosity. As it says in his name, he`s a very
curious dwarf. He doesn`t realize how annoy-
ing he can be, but give him a break! He just
wants to know everything about the world
around him.
Now that you know a little about him, let`s
start the real story from the beginning...
When Snow White found the dwarves`
house and the other seven dwarves were out
working, Curiosity wasn`t with them because
they wanted a little ... um ... well, break from
him. He was too much for them. As I said
before, he`s annoying. Anyway, I`m getting
off track.
Before the seven dwarves went off to
work, they told Curiosity to stay sitting in the
kitchen. Obviously since he wonders about
everything in the world, he didn`t stay still.
He wandered off into the forest looking for
the other dwarves. Where is everyone? Did
they go on an adventure without me? How
dare they! That`s all he could think of when he
went astray.
As he was rambling away to himself, he
noticed something shiny in the distance. As
he came closer to it, he realized it was a bike,
but not an ordinary bike; it looked like it was
powered by a machine... He`d heard this name
before... a motorcycle? Yeah! That`s what it
was called! It was so beautiful, red and shiny!
If he ever wanted to take a ride on the motor-
cycle, it had to be now!
Curiosity stepped onto the bike and pow-
ered it on. He made the machine roar loudly
and slammed down on the gas pedal. He rode
off through the forest going back to the house
to show the others this new rockin` motor-
cycle. As he was driving back, the engine
started to roar louder and louder. Curiosity
looked around quickly. Then out of the blue
a gigantic rock appeared in front of him! The
motorcycle few up and he went fying. He felt
the freezing air hitting his face.
When he started to fall down with the mo-
torcycle, he saw his house below him. 'Hey
look! It`s my house! And the other dwarves
are fnally home from work! Curiosity yelled.
Curiosity crashed into the house and he shut
his eyes quickly. When he opened his eyes, all
he could see was the dwarves angrily staring
at him. He slowly looked around and realized
that the house had been destroyed under his
motorcycle.
Curiosity slowly stepped off the bike and
sprinted. He has never been seen to this day.
See? Isn`t he interesting? I have no idea
why they wouldn`t include him, though.
Hopefully we`ll be hearing from the story
writers soon!
VERMONT WRITES DAY
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13
The day when everyone stops what
theyre doing for just
seven minutes and writes!
More details at youngwritersproject.org.
Flowers
BY SAMANTHA SEYMOUR
Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Once upon a time, there lived a girl who
loved fowers. She would pick every fower
she saw, daisies, tulips, asters and buttercups.
One day she was walking through the
Woods of Worlock and saw a fower; she sat
next to it and gazed at its beautiful colors and
patterns. It was made out of rubies and had
sharp cut edges. She picked the fower out and
held it in her hand. Then the sky flled up with
dark clouds and lightning shot down. A man
came down with a cube in his hand, and said,
'You have picked the last living ruby fower.
He sat the cube on the ground and tapped it
with a stick. The girl then fashed into the dark
cube and fell. The walls were black and white
and there was a door that read, 'fower. The
girl was shocked and ran into the room. She
saw fowers she had never seen before. She
tried to pick one again and it curled up into a
ball and became sand that fell to the ground.
The girl was scared. She ran out of the
room and yelled, 'Let me out! I won`t pick
another fower again.
The man came down and said, 'I`m glad
you learned your lesson.
The girl popped right back to her normal
world and saw the cube. She picked it up and
stepped on it. It broke into a million pieces.
The girl ran away and never picked another
fower again. To this day the cube still sits
there broken, waiting for another kid to come
and pick another fower.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
My little soldier
BY DANIELLE-AYN STISSER
Grade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
My muse is that boy everyone knows
So tall and strong
His hair is buzzed
And he never smiles
But his eyes are always soft
He stands there
Like a soldier ready for battle
Ready to face the world
Ready to face reality
He is that boy that grew up too quickly
Grabbed his bag
And headed for the world
He made his mark and became a patriot
Serving his country
Well that boy wasnt always the soldier
He once had curly hair
With a smile forever plastered on his face
He would slouch and make you laugh
He was another kid
He was one of us
Until life put him to the test
Leaving its mark on us all
And that smile faded
The hair was buzzed and his face grew strong
Hard
He grabbed his bag, facing the world alone
Leaving me to pick up the pieces
Now I wait
I wait for that curly haired boy
With the smile and sense of humor
The one I could lean on
And argue with
The one who would be honest
But say everything is OK
I wait for that boy who believed in the world
Who believed people were good
And life was innocent
An adventure
I wait for a memory
I know he is gone
Forever scarred with memories
Burdened with the past
And trudging through to the future
My muse is a strong soldier
Who I admire
But I secretly wait for that boy to return
Muse
BY KARA FIARKOSKI
Grade 10, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
Perching on branches and wire,
Or stretching its thin white wings,
Way up there in the sky,
It can watch and see.
The things misread.
The things overlooked.
The things abandoned.
It sees them all,
But doesnt say anything.
It doesnt judge;
It understands.
It may be small and fragile,
But its captivating.
The way its feathers glisten by the sun,
Its passionate futter,
the extravagant desire.
One hangs on a chain around my neck on days
I feel alone;
It gives me a sense of comfort that I strive to
reach.
I dont see them often,
Only in pictures and fgurines
That were once at my grandmothers house.
But I havent been there for a few years
Since shes gone now,
So the doves are, too.
THIS WEEK: Inspiration
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing.
If you would like to contribute, please
go to youngwritersproject.org/support,
or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North
St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best in this and other newspapers across
Vermont, on vtdigger.org and vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompt, Inspiration: Describe your muse.
Read more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Somewhere else. Vermont to New York. Aliya Schneider/Rutland High School
VERMONT WRITES DAY
IS COMING ...
ARE YOU READY TO WRITE?
Thursday, February 13
Join YWP and writers across
Vermont for a 7-minute pause
to just write.
Watch this newspaper and
youngwritersproject.org for
more details.
Black bookshelf
BY JACOB CHEESEMAN
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
My muse is something that I hide behind a
thin layer of normalcy.
It is in a black bookshelf,
Stacked neatly from newest on top to the old-
est on bottom.
Not books, or CDs or movies,
But video games,
A collection that numbers in the triple digits
From glossy new cover to a cover of ripped
and discolored plastic,
Titles ranging from E to M,
Games my parents do not even know about,
Games that cannot even be displayed on a
shelf,
Discs that shimmer under the light of a TV.
Staring at a screen for hours at a time
I barely notice the stinging in my eyes,
Too engrossed to even notice my Hot Pocket
is long since done,
Completely unaware of the world around me.
I come to school and hang out with the preppy
Talking about things I do not care about.
All the while I think of home
And that black bookshelf,
Of being engrossed in my games.
3:07 a.m.
BY AUDREY PHILLIP
Grade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
My Muse crawls
at 3:07 a.m.
Bare foors groan
under its weight.
It journeys
up the side of my bed
and the talons
gouge my precious skin,
ripping deep holes
into my hips,
feeding off my
sweet blood.
With deep, black sockets,
lacking eyes,
it stares,
daring me to scream.
Hunched, mangled body,
hovering over mine,
trapping me in.
A sigh;
a sign of weakness,
the claws hooking my sternum and
unlacing me like the corset
trapping in all desires.
It nestles up
to my fast beating heart.
A slow claw reaches and
closes me back up,
my ribs creaking
shut like
the hinges of
an old shutter.
We are one now.
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
CHECK IT OUT!
Writing
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
My muse is my writing,
The words as they splash on the page.
All eyes on my work, Im center stage.
I used to believe in being a pro athlete,
That was my dream,
But now I want to be a writer,
Release a best selling book,
Maybe write a few songs ...
My inspiration is the feeling I get when I open
a newspaper to my poems or stories.
It feels like the whole world is showcasing me
in glory.
My dreams have changed for the better .
I never would have thought fve years back
that
Id want to be a writer.
But now thats the only thing I want to do.
THIS WEEK: Magic & Style
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burling-
ton, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in newspapers around the
state, on vtdigger.org and on vpr.net. This week, we present
responses to the prompts, Magic: Describe a magical mo-
ment or feeling youve experienced; Style: Write in the style
of someone you admire. More at youngwritersproject.org.
Paper cranes Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
Real magic
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
Where were you?!
I froze in the middle of the hallway, my
shoulders hunched to hide the tautness in my
face. I was at school, Auntie; its Tuesday,
remember?
I didnt turn around. I could already hear
her heavy footsteps vibrating across the
wooden foor.
School, eh? I cringed. Her breath was hot
and moist on the back of my neck.
My mistake, she hissed into my ear. I
really wish she would yell. Its always better
when she lets her anger out that way frst.
Well, youre lucky Im in a good mood to-
day, Duckling, she continued, her voice even.
The scent of alcohol wafted from her clothing.
I heaved a mental sigh of relief. She hadnt
been drinking since I left for school.
Humph. Make me a tuna salad sandwich,
will ya, Duckling? Then homework. None of
that techno stuff, it gives me a headache.
Her presence lifted from my back and lum-
bered back down the hall. Tuna, I cursed as
softly as I could.
Mike was going to e-mail me that night,
something really important. But of course, my
aunt has radar hearing and its impossible to
get from the back door to my room without
alerting her.
Maybe next time Ill use my window, I
muttered as I dropped my bag of textbooks
and kicked it fat against the wall.
Tuna salad sandwich, makes we wanna
shout, icky blicky stinky fshy, straight in
Aunties mouth. I continued to chant this as I
gathered the mayonnaise and leftover half-a-
can of tuna fsh from the fridge.
I cant remember how long Ive been
singing it, but its like a tradition for me now,
every day when I make my aunt her dinner.
When its done, I grab the entire bag of chips
and the whole jug of milk to go along with it.
Its a trick I taught myself so Auntie doesnt
have to bother me to get her some more.
Here you go, Auntie. I set the plate and
milk down on the coffee table in the living
room.
Shut up, Duck. Gerrout o the way, my
shows om. Disgusting, I thought as Aun-
tie sent bits of stinking fsh finging from
her mouth as she shouted in my direction. I
conspicuously ficked a glob of mayo-and-
half-chewed-something off my shoulder as I
turned back around. I couldnt be more glad to
oblige her.
When I rounded the corner into the hallway
where my bag was, I peeked back at her,
just to see if she was watching. I was good.
Her eyes were glued to The Young and the
Restless. Slowly, I tiptoed into my room
and closed the door with a click. Auntie had
'confscated my laptop because watching me
do stuff on it gives her a headache so she uses
it instead. But Mike let me borrow his. He has
a desktop at his house. I made sure my eyes
never left my door in case she burst in, her
eyes wild with drunken rage, to steal the pre-
cious MacBook I held in my lap. Reverently I
powered it up and searched the screen for the
mail icon. I found it.
One from Mike, I whispered excitedly. I
clicked it and scrolled down. Three words.
I love you.
Warmth blossomed in my tummy. Fuzzi-
ness tickled my heart and made me smile. I
clicked reply. Right middle fnger, ring, up
ring, down left index, up middle. Y-O-U.
Too. I laughed. It seemed so natural to me.
Laughing.
Thats whats so important, I half
giggled, half whispered. Ha-ha!
Fairytales. Pixie dust. Wizards wands. No.
This is magic.
Play-Doh wizard
BY ASHLEIGH LEDUC
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
At frst, she smashed it all together, pushing
pudgy parts in, twisting longer limbs out.
She rolled and poked and prodded the
winding blobs of black and white to form
a single eye per being that she knew would
never attain the honor of viewing their creator
yet she continued.
Careless, carefree, obliviously content
without understanding the reasons for any-
thing nor knowing the alphabet either, mind
you but perhaps it is better that way.
And suddenly, from nothingness, she made
a something a work of art a masterpiece as
two miniature monsters slowly took form on a
fattened background of deep night.
She meticulously forged circular stars
around them in neon yellow, gave one snakes
for hair in deep purple strands, complete
with eyes and smiles, each staring from their
single-eyed hostess desolately.
Two tiny lime horns sprouted on the other,
and as the monsters changed, my opinion of
her did as well.
She was every bit as deserving of love and
praise as I; she was a tiny Play-Doh wizard,
an artist, a person, a sister, a friend.
Magic trick
BY LILY MERRIAM
Grade 9, Peoples Academy
Magic. Its in the air, in the blank snow-
fakes drifting down and landing on the dirty
brown ground. Its in your ice blue eyes, in
the way you smile at me, shy like Ive never
seen you before.
Magic. Its in the way you held my hand
with utmost gentleness, in the way we walk,
synchronized like wed done it many times
before.
There was magic in the air, and you could
see it; I could see you watching it and it was
beautiful. We were beautiful, in that moment,
with the magic snow and twinkling street-
lights, like they were winking at us. But just
like everything good, everything magic, it
died, drifted off into the distance, before we
knew how the trick was done.
And Id fallen for you, dont you under-
stand? In that magic moment, before every-
thing fell apart and I let go of your hand, it
was magic.
So Ill remember that; yes, thats what Ill
do. Ill focus on that. Because now, looking at
you hurts.
Your eyes dont have magic in them
anymore. And the snow is gone, melted and
turned into slush.
The air has the smell of spring in it, and it
was winter then, wasnt it? You havent held
my hand in months, and we seem to be walk-
ing in opposite directions anyway, so screw
the synchronized walking.
And its done then. The magic trick is over;
you played me like a deck of cards and now
Im limp standing below the streetlight that
once winked at me, but it doesnt now. No, its
not even on, because the magic is gone.
THE CALVIN
Go to youngwritersproject.org to read
the winning submissions by Abigail
Millard, a junior at Windsor High
School, and Robin Vincent, a senior
at St. Johnsbury Academy for this
writing award sponsored by the Cal-
vin Coolidge Foundation. Congratula-
tions to the writers!
Calvin Coolidge
(Library of Congress)
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Young Writers Project will resume pub-
lishing student work on these pages during
the week of Jan. 6, 2014. Until then, happy
holidays from all of us at YWP!
NEXT PROMPTS
Wonder. Write a piece that focuses on
the idea of I wonder... Alternates: Gift.
Have you ever received something that you
cherish more than anything? Describe it; or
Photo 5 (below). Due Jan. 17
Everything melts
BY JOSEPH WILLS
Grade 8, Richford Junior Senior High School
In the style of Robert Frost
Everything melts some day.
There is no if, instead, or may.
Nothing is frozen forever;
that happens absolutely never.
Sometimes it is warmed for the best,
but sometimes its heated to its hottest.
The heat does not feel very nice;
I prefer the ice.
Great cedar tree William McFarlane Notman
Elements. What do you think is the
strongest and/or most beautiful force in
nature? Tell a story if you can. Alternate:
Disappointed. Looking forward to some-
thing is often the best part. Write about a
time where your expectations werent quite
met. Due Jan. 24
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
THIS WEEK: Excerpt & General
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,
Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
LANGWATER FAMILY
FOUNDATION
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around
the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to
the prompts, Excerpt: Open a book and include a line in a
story or poem; and General writing. Read more at young-
writersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Bailey Kimball/Essex High School, 2013
Born from the mountains
BY ABHI DODGSON
Grade 6, Mater Christi School
Hometown: South Hero
Born from the monsoon rain that falls like a wall of water onto the dirty streets
washing the roadsides, cleansing them until they look brand new
I am from the juice of coconuts that tastes so sweet
I am from the lily pads that foat on the water
I am from spices and favors that fll this land with their magnifcent smells
I am from the hot sweet-tasting tea
I am from the dark brown earth in the tea leaf beds
I am from the highest mountains
where the oxygen is thin and harder to breathe
Shepherds prayer
BY LYDIA SMITH
Grade 10, Homeschool
As I lay me down to sleep,
I pray that Thee protect my sheep.
Keep them safe from wild beasts;
Let them not become coyote feast.
Huddled in their little bands,
Guard them with Thy strong hands.
Hold tight to my tiny fock,
And wild scavengers block.
Amen.
Valerie, a crossbred yearling ewe Lydia Smith
NEXT PROMPTS
Perspective. Tell a story from the perspective
or viewpoint of something unconventional:
a dog, a fower, a mountain, etc. Alternate:
Rant. Send us your best rant, something that
ticks you off. Note: No real names or situa-
tions where someone can be identifed. Make
it a slam poem if youd like. And feel free to
create a podcast. Due Dec. 13
Myth. Create the new urban myth. Make it
eerie, funny or outrageous. Alternates: Funny.
Write a poem or story that makes your reader
smile and then laugh out loud. Its harder
than it sounds. Try it for fun. See what hap-
pens; or General writing in any genre. Due
Dec. 20
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK.
CHECK IT OUT!
He had become soft
BY KARA FIARKOSKI
Grade 10, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
He had become soft. You cant be soft in
this world, not how it is now.
You cant be soft, or weak, or gullible. You
can only be strong. Hard. Aggressive, if you
have to.
This world isn`t about living anymore,
it`s about surviving. Integrity slips away;
humanity vanishes ... Fear is everywhere. Not
the kind of fear that makes your heart race,
thumping in your chest and echoing to your
throat, leaving a lump you can`t get out, no
matter how hard you swallow. Or the kind of
fear that makes the hair on your arms stand
up paralyzed, or the kind that releases your
adrenaline determining if you`re going to fght
or fight.
It`s the fear you have yet to meet, to shake
its cold, ghastly hand that lures you in through
a charade, and then strikes.
Youll know when it comes for you be-
cause when it does, you wont be able to stop
it. Nothing can stop it.
Its the monsters hiding in the dark shad-
ows that clandestinely watch their victims
with sly grins of razor teeth.
Its the poison lingering in unexpected
places to be breathed in, to slowly execute the
living. Things want to kill us. To rip us open,
vanquish our souls, to murder. They plan this.
They want to take over.
If you become soft, theres no way youll
live in this world, it`s inconceivable.
You need strength to carry on, running to
escape the grasp of death at the last minute.
You need to be hard to make the tough
decisions, when to leave and who to leave
behind ...
If you become soft, the world changes you
to nothing but fear.
(He had become soft, from Arrowsmith by Sin-
clair Lewis)
Our always
BY JHAYMES REED
Grade 11, North Country Union High School
Hed wait days, weeks and months. Hell,
hed wait a century just to feel it again.
It was calming to him. He missed how it
felt. That bittersweet symphony of I miss
you`s, and 'I love you`s.
It would do no good to rush this feeling; he
knew that. If it was rushed, it wouldnt be real.
He was patient, very patient. So when the
chance fnally showed itself to him, he took it.
It was pure bliss, the butterfies futtering in
the pit of his stomach.
Who would have known that one of the
most popular clichs would be true?
Maybe thats why it was the most popular
clich.
He had missed the presence of this feeling,
so when he found it again, he held on tight.
He was ready to board that rollercoaster
that they call love.
Through the ups, downs, through all of it,
hed stay and be there.
This was a love that he didn`t want to let
go of. This was a love so true. True love had
never felt so sweet ...
This was how they worked. One second it
was fne, but the next, only okay.
They were never perfectly fne; either of
them. But they knew the love was always
there.
Maybe okay will be our always.
(Maybe okay will be our always, from The Fault
in Our Stars by John Green.)
Perfect devils
BY AUDREY PHILLIP
Grade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
They are perfect
devils,
painted with perfect
smiles
and hateful eyes,
seething and fuming
under fawless skin.
Their critiques slice
my face, burning
my mind.
Chilling cackles
vibrate down my
spine.
Perfectly manicured nails
peel back my
layers,
revealing what`s
within,
a perfect devil,
painted with a perfect
smile
and regretful eyes,
begging for
forgiveness.
(They are perfect devils, from Uncle Toms Cabin
by Harriet Beecher Stowe.)
No love
BY ZACH ST. AMOUR
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Every day I see people who think they`re
in love, but there is no love. Let me tell you
something about love. It has a ferocious ap-
petite. It kills me how much it eats. First, itll
eat your friends, your family, and even you if
you dont feed it right.
If you do feed it right, it can be a beautiful
thing and that`s what some people have, but
take my advice and be careful of no love.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
THIS WEEK: Winter Tales & General
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,
VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
TURRELL FUND
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around
the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present some of
the 16 YWP pieces that were selected for Winter Tales
to be presented by Vermont Stage Company Dec. 4-8 at
FlynnSpace in Burlington; and General writing.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Sam Robinson/Essex High School, 2013
VERMONT STAGE COMPANY
PRESENTS
WINTER TALES
DEC. 4-8
FLYNNSPACE, BURLINGTON
www.vtstage.org
This years holiday show has
16 YWP writers, including
students on this page.
Not only igloos
have caverns
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO
Grade 8, Homeschool
In the winter I build an igloo
I model it after my heart
It has tunnels and dead ends
And in the middle, a cavern
Where theres room for two snowmen to stand
There are ledges to take a rest
In case you get stuck in the maze
It takes a very long time and much energy
To get to the central cave
But once youre there
You can stay in all day
Away from the horrible wind
When you get to the cavern
A snowman will greet you
That snowman will be me
I will say, Well, youve made it!
Would you like to stay for some tea?
Well drink our tea and then
Maybe you can help me
To make my cavern
Just a bit bigger
So that someone else can come inside
And then well have three to dig
And itll get bigger
And more and more snowmen
Will be able to ft in it
And eventually the whole world
Will be talking and laughing
And drinking tea
In my little igloo of a heart
Winter haiku
BY HAJI HAJI
Grade 8, Edmunds Middle School
Ice-cold snowy wind
My African blood freezes
Dreams of Kenyan sun
NEXT PROMPTS
Perspective. Tell a story from the perspec-
tive or viewpoint of something unconven-
tional: a dog, a fower, a mountain, etc.
Alternate: Rant. Send us your best rant,
something that ticks you off. Note: No real
names or situations where someone can be
identifed. Make it a slam poem if you`d
like. And feel free to create a podcast. Due
Dec. 13
Myth. Create the new urban myth. Make
it eerie, funny or outrageous.
Alternates: Funny. Write a poem or story
that makes your reader smile and then
laugh out loud. It`s harder than it sounds.
Try it for fun. See what happens; or Gen-
eral writing in any genre. Due Dec. 20
Knowing
BY ASHLEIGH LEDUC
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans
There are secrets in everything,
shut behind heavy wooden doors,
crammed beneath faulty foor panels,
fung across desolate acres of
unthunk thought.
Secretly, I am a monster.
I screech, and scratch, and scar
the skin of my own mind.
There is dirt caked onto my bleeding fngers,
for last night I dug the beds
of other monsters, reviving
those I once despised so.
Secretly, I know I am their leader.
Destroying what Ive left of myself
to invent a new system; new intellect,
a new life, new pain.
I know them all,
every one of the seven sins,
reincarnate, as crushing as
reality herself.
They are infnite.
Secretly, I know you, too,
your inner fear, your hatred,
your love, your thoughts, your eyes.
They make me cringe;
they lack understanding.
Do you know me?
I once knew myself.
Secretly, I still know Im nothing
more than
your average teenage girl.
Let go
BY KYLIE TRIMM
Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Everything just got overwhelming. Trying
to juggle school, home and friends just made
me stressed out. I was staying up late, waking
up late, and I couldnt pay attention in class
very well.
One night, I was lying in bed, wide awake,
staring up at the ceiling. I felt as if my head
was about to explode, like I was going to go
crazy.
I felt an urge to run, to jump, anything.
I hopped out of bed and put my shoes on. I
went to the front door and unlocked it, pulling
it open slowly so that my parents wouldnt
wake up. I walked outside.
I was standing in the middle of my lawn. I
looked around. The only light was from dim
street lights and the light from a full moon.
I ran, faster than I`ve ever run before. I
ran down my street, far from my house. I ran
down streets I didnt know, vaguely aware of
the street names as I ran past the signs.
Eventually I came to a cliff. Below were
shiny rocks, with lake water splashing off of
them and foaming. I stood there. The moon
seemed so big. I looked around. There was no
one there. No houses nearby.
I screamed.
I plopped on my knees and screeched. I
howled at the moon. My face was red, I`m
sure. I screamed and screamed and screamed
until I couldn`t anymore. I think I fell asleep,
because the next thing I knew the sun was
rising.
I ran home and crept inside. I fell asleep
again in my bed. I woke up in the morning
when I usually did. 6:00, the normal routine.
I still dont know if I actually screamed at
the cliff, or if it was a dream. But I felt better
the next day. Because I let go.
Have you noticed?
BY ALIZA SILVERSTEIN
Grade 12, Homeschool
The cold has settled
across the land,
the gardens frozen,
the bare trees stand
remembering weight of golden leaves.
Have you noticed?
Each breath is laced
with crystal cold,
and only crows
are left to hold
their court in empty monarchy.
Have you noticed?
Yet sunsets keep
the brightest shades
for these, the coldest of the months,
and even when the sunlight fades
the stars are clearest when our gaze
is woken by midwinter ice,
and if you pause in winter woods
and listen to the silence grow,
you fnd that silence has a sound -
of wind through cedars and weighty snow.
Have you noticed?
On the inside
looking out
BY MADI SMITH
Grade 11, Oxbow High School
Looking out at the snow-covered ground,
there is so much running through my mind.
And as snow falls silently, I realize
winter is coming without making a sound.
Trees are covered in a glistening white;
everything looks peaceful and cold.
I wonder how harsh the winter will be,
and how cold the frost will bite.
And as soon as it arrives, I wish for it to leave,
the harsh winter cold that flls the air.
Oh, but the sight, that it can surely spare,
and the holiday feel that flls your home.
As I sit here by the warmth of the fre,
looking out at the white unknown,
I think to myself, this isnt all that bad,
on the inside looking out.
Winters majesty
BY ZORA STEWART
Grade 7, Edmunds Middle School
He sails in upon a furry
His ship made from ice and hale
Slow yet strong and in no hurry
Caught within a gale
He watches as the birds take wing
Across the frosted sky
This is the time when he is king
Though quickly will his time go by
Crystal fog and downy gauze
He lays on top the ground
He tears the wind with frozen claws
Singing with a ghostly sound
A dark mysterious ruler
Who reigns with majesty
No man could be much crueler
No man could be as free
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Im thankful
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
I am grateful for
my brothers and sisters,
my church minister,
my mom and dad,
grateful for the friends that cheer me up when
Im sad.
Im thankful for my education
and grateful for my up-coming graduation.
Im so grateful, and thankful for the things I
have
and have yet to get.
So from this day forward, I wont forget
to say thank you to the people I love the most.
My loss
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO
Grade 8, Homeschool
Im grateful
For what Im about to lose
This friendship
This friend
Eight years long
We were like a married couple
We were together
In sickness and in health
In good times and bad
And, as we thought
Till death would us part
But we thought wrong
You are jerked away from me
Were both crying as you go
But not for long
Hawaii will steal you away
You wont look back
Maybe youll remember me
I do hope so
Im grateful
For you, my friend
For all the days we spent together
Winter, spring, summer, fall
I know I will never see you again
Ill probably forget what you look like
And you will, too
And thats alright
Because Im so very grateful
For all the things you gave
And the ones you took
And all the things we shared
I love you
Goodbye
THIS WEEK: Thanks
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,
Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
VERMONT COUNTRY STORE
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around
the state. This week, we present responses to the prompt,
Thanks: What are you most grateful for? Read more at
youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of
writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
XXXXX/XXX High School
Laura Cavazos/Essex High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Cold. What is the coldest youve ever felt? Describe it.
Alternates: Optimist. Think of your worst memory. Tell us
the story; however, write about it in a way that turns it into
a positive; or Photo 4 (left). Due Dec. 6
Perspective. Tell a story from the perspective or view-
point of something unconventional: a dog, fower, mountain,
etc. Alternate: Rant: Send us your best rant. Make it a slam
poem if you like, and send us a podcast! Due Dec. 13
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT
HAS A FEATURED WRITER
ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK.
Liu Brenna/Essex High School
Thanks, coaches
BY JOHN DELACY
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Thank you to all my coaches who taught
me how to play soccer.
I started out not knowing how to play soc-
cer or the rules or anything.
I thought I wouldnt be good at soccer, but
then my coaches told me how to kick accu-
rately at the goal and to be a good offensive
player and goalie.
Then I started getting better at offense,
goalie, and especially, defense.
I think Im a really good defender. When-
ever the other team has the ball, I kick it over
to the other side of the feld. Boom!
My coaches compliment me on how good I
am at soccer. But really, theyre the ones who
taught me.
I am really thankful for my coaches be-
cause theyre the ones who taught me how to
play soccer.
Thank you to all the coaches who taught
me how to play soccer.
Important piece
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
I thought my life was complete;
not a piece was missing,
but as soon as I saw it,
I assumed that piece was hidden.
You uncovered it for me.
Im most grateful for that.
Now Ive found my love.
So, thank you.
Thank you, teacher, for showing me a pencil,
the one that made this possible,
that which completed the puzzle.
Daily thanks
BY ISABELLE DESROCHES
Grade 7, Homeschool
Thank you to the hands
that catch me when I fall,
the arms held wide
to calm the pain,
ease the pain.
Thank you to the ground I tread,
the trees I climb,
the dirt in which I plant
the food from it that keeps my health.
Thank you to the books I read
that keep my sanity,
my imagination.
Thank you to the ones I meet,
the ones I love,
the ones that Ill hold onto forever.
Thank you.
The one
BY ZACH ST. AMOUR
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
If shes the one that you think about when
you wake, then shes the one.
If shes the one that raises your adrenaline,
then shes the one.
If you stay up all night thinking about her,
and how you look together, then she is the
one.
THIS WEEK: Photo 2 & Secret lives
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burling-
ton, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
MAIN STREET LANDING
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire.
With the help of a team of students, we select the best for
publication here and in other newspapers around the state
and vpr.net. This week we publish work in response to the
prompts, Photo 2; and Secret lives: You have another life
that must remain hidden. More at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO 2 PROMPT
Photo 2 Julie Pearce/Essex High School
Dont let them
hear you (WWII)
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO
Grade 8, Homeschool
Mama says Dont speak
She puts her fnger to her lips
If we speak too loudly
They will come
Like a dark silhouette
To cover the sun
We must pull down the blinds
Close all the curtains
We must run away
And never look back
Or they will come for us
We must put iron over our heads
And never laugh, never cry
No sounds must escape
From our freezing blue lips
We are living under the ground
They treat us like animals
We must get underground
Dig ourselves tunnels
Shove our heads in the dirt
So that we are blind
So we cant see the torment
That goes on outside
Close our eyes and ears and minds
Dont allow them in
And theyll get bored eventually
When Im grown Ill have a wife
And I wont ever leave her
To go to war and not come back
I wont leave her with a child
Who doesnt understand
Like silhouettes in the dark
Theyll come to steal lives
Old men, Jews, babies
It doesnt matter who they are
The silhouettes will come
Its what they do
They come, and they destroy
A small taste of freedom
BY LAUREN FORCIER
Grade 9, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans
It`s happening. It`s fnally happening.
My brother and I crawl down the tiny tunnel, the tunnel that leads toward freedom.
Jack holds a small fashlight in his left hand and lifts his right hand to his lips and makes a
shhh sound.
The little beam of light illuminates the passage ahead of us; we are no longer orphans stuck
in an old, dull, Stone Age house.
We are now adventurers who seek the outside world ahead of us. My hands are slick with
sweat, my hair is beginning to stick to my neck. I can see that Jacks is doing the same.
A small breeze passes by us, taunting us. The outside is close, so close. I can feel freedom;
its only an arms reach away.
But that soon dissolves like dust in the wind when we hear the screech of our own names,
from that voice we hate so much.
Jack turns to me with terror in his eyes; my face probably looks the exact same way.
Jack! Jane! Where have you little brats gone now? the deep voice of Ms. Young screams
out.
Uh-oh, we just got busted. We sprint through the corridor, out the door and into the open air.
We keep running. We run to the morning. We run towards freedom. But instead, we run into the
arms of Ms. Young.
She has a wicked grin on her face, showing off her unkempt teeth. I swallow with fear; my
legs start to tremble; and I pass out in my brothers arms.
Z-Diary
BY CHRISTOPHER BINGHAM
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
Day 35:
So its been awhile since I kept a record of
my travels, pretty much since the initial infec-
tion, the Zed infection. A world in utter chaos,
with nothing more than a vivid memory left.
I can almost feel my sanity slipping. I need
communication.
Its lonely traveling from town to town
searching, hoping for survivors. I was travel-
ing with Kaytie and Marc, brother and sister
but they wouldnt listen. Theyre on their own
and that was just how they behaved in a soci-
ety without structure, without rules ... without
cooperation. Theyre dead, simple as that.
Day 36:
So, Im still searching for others with no
luck thus far. I did however come across a
small pallet of baked beans! I nabbed a few,
and have a can heating up on the fre as I
write. You know, there is something special
about baked beans. Its the dividing line when
it comes to lifestyle, a life of the stationary,
compared to one of travel. No, if I only had
some canned bread to go with this meal, then
this apocalypse would be perfect.
Day 37:
So I`m on my ffth can of beans today, and
Id be a liar if I said I wasnt sick of them.
However, Im going to stall my mission to
fnd others, so I can take up the task of fnding
cooking equipment.
Why bother trying to fnd something that
doesnt exist, when I can devote my energy
to cooking? Who knows, I might even try to
make a cookbook for other survivors. Thats
it, Ill be a cook!
Day 38:
Well, so much for being a damn cook. Im
pretty much dead at this point, bitten by one
of those zombies. All I wanted was some
pumpkin pie flling for my soup, but, no, I
have to die now; my goal out of life gone in
less than 24 hours.
Day 54:
So Im dead? Being a zombie isnt really
that different, I guess. I can still talk, still
write, and still feel.
I tried to talk with the others but they dont
seem to possess my gift of unlife. Its weird,
being a secret among a world of monsters.
Oh, and my baked beans are still OK
though I dont seem to like the taste of them
anymore, not smart enough if you catch my
drift.
Still lonely, I guess, but at least I cant die
twice thats a plus. Also it seems my writing
arm keeps falling off, so this will probably be
my last entry.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
My other life
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
They can`t fnd out - not now, at least;
these rowdy rumors must be ceased.
As I cry with fear
my face looks fustered;
my life is turning out to be a new episode on
Myth busters.
The secrets inside of me
are for only my eyes to see
because if they knew about my other life,
lets just say, there would be strife.
My secret must stay hidden.
They can never fnd out; it`s forbidden.
I know having two lives
isnt right,
but at this point, there are no other options
except for trying to keep my secret hidden,
and taking my chances.
NEXT PROMPTS
Magic. There is magic all around us, but
people often dont recognize it. Sometimes
it comes in the form of a coincidence or two
paths that cross. Describe a magical mo-
ment or feeling that you have experienced.
Alternate: Home. What is it about your
hometown or your state that you are most
proud of? Due Nov. 29
Cold. What is the coldest youve ever
felt? Describe it. Alternates: Optimist.
Think of your worst saddest, scariest
or most embarrassing memory. Tell the
story; however, write about it in a way that
turns it into a positive; or Photo 4 (below).
Due Dec. 6
Photo 4 Liu Brenna/Essex High
School
THIS WEEK: Survival & General
YWP is supported by the generosity of
foundations, businesses and individuals
who recognize the power and value of
writing. If you would like to contribute,
please go to youngwritersproject.org/
support, or mail your donation to YWP,
12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT
05401.
Special thanks this week to
NATIONAL LIFE GROUP
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire.
With the help of a team of students, we select the best for
publication here and in newspapers around the state and
on vpr.net. This week, we publish work in response to the
prompts, Survival: Youre stuck on a deserted island. Night
is falling ... and General writing.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Inspiration. Describe your muse. What
form does it take; when does it appear;
how do you interact with it? Alternate:
Fairytale. Create an 8th dwarf for the Snow
White story. Who is it and how does he or
she interact with the others? Due Nov. 22
Magic. There is magic all around us, but
people often dont recognize it. Sometimes
it comes in the form of a coincidence or two
paths that cross. Describe a magical mo-
ment or feeling that you have experienced.
Alternate: Home. What is it about your
hometown or your state that you are most
proud of? Due Nov. 29
Stranded Island
Day Care
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
Are we going to die?
Everyone was thinking it. Leave it to the
5-year-old to be brave enough to ask it.
'No, I replied frmly. I put on a deter-
mined face and looked at my three charges
in turn. Were absolutely not going to die,
Mister Sam, and all of us are going to work
together, OK?
The kids nodded. Little Amerie was 7, but
was so small for her age she didnt look it.
Even Sam was taller then her. Then there was
Amethyst, Ameries sister. She was 8, but
hadnt spoken a single word since the boat
fipped. I was the oldest at 13, and had to take
charge. I guess it was luck I happened to have
just passed the lifeguard safety course about
a week earlier this summer. That was the day
before we left on the small vacation cruise.
Three days is how long it was supposed to
last; now Im not so sure.
I want my mommy! Sam wailed at the
top of his lungs.
Shh, its all right. Your mommy is looking
very hard for you right now; youll see her
soon. I drew all three of them into a group
hug. Amethyst was the only one not crying.
So I talked to her frst. 'Amethyst, you`re be-
ing very brave. Thank you. She nodded her
head slightly. Good. I arranged the kids in
a semi-circle around me and explained what I
wanted them to do. Amethyst, Amerie, look
along the trees here for some nice, big sticks.
I held up my hands in a circle to show them
the diameter I wanted. They nodded.
Are we gonna build a house? Amerie
piped up, her big blue eyes glinting in the fad-
ing sunlight.
Yes, thats exactly right. So we can sleep
in it! Make sure you two stay together, and
dont run off too far. And dont go into the
jungle too deep, either; stay where you can
see me.
I didnt think they would run off. The way
they handled themselves on the lifeboat foat-
ing in open water, away from the wreckage
of our ship was incredible. They wouldnt
risk losing their friends again. After the girls
had started scouring the tree line, I looked to
Sam. 'Sammy, you and I are going to fnd the
perfect spot for our house! Sound good?
Im hungry, he moaned.
Before we get food, we have to make a
house. Its going to be so, so cool, but you
gotta help me frst!
Thankfully, Sammy clapped his hands
and ran to the trees. I sighed. That bullet was
dodged for now. I didnt know what would be
edible around here, and wasnt willing to go
into the jungle quite yet. We had few daylight
hours left anyway.
How about here? Sam pointed to a little
shrub no bigger than a tumbleweed.
Nope.
Here?
Hm, good, but I think we should keep
looking. It went on like this for a while,
mostly because honestly, I didnt know what I
was looking for. Then I saw the perfect spot: a
good-sized tree with one thick branch sticking
out over the sand at almost a 90-degree angle.
Like I said, perfect. Here! I tapped Sammys
arm and pointed to the branch.
Yay! House! he yelled.
Amethyst, Amerie! Over here, start mak-
ing a pile out of the sticks youve found!
OK!
Soon, they had gathered enough good limbs
that I could make a pretty wide wall by lean-
ing them up against the tree branch.
There, what do you think, guys?
Perfect! Amerie twirled and hugged her
sister bashfully. It looks stupid! Sam
shouted gleefully, grinning ear to ear.
Smiling, I had them help me drag the raft
over to our lean-to. Grunting with the effort, I
fipped the raft up so it formed the other wall
and also served as our signal.
The bands of refector tape glowed brightly
in fuorescent patterns facing the sea. The air
was chilling rapidly, and by now I couldnt
see all but the brightest of colors. Night was
fast approaching. I had no idea what was on
this island with us, so I was thankful the trunk
of the tree was an effective back wall and
shield from the jungles interior. I took vines
and draped them over the entrance, hoping
they would cover us. And when I joined the
three kids inside, I was surprised at how cozy
it was. Amerie was giggling in the shadows,
and Sam was circling on the sand like a dog
trying to get comfortable. Were going to be
fne, I told them in my best motherly voice.
Yeah. The others nodded in agreement.
I smiled. It was Amethyst who had answered
me.
This is more fun than day care! Amerie
exclaimed.
I laughed. Its like Stranded Island Day
Care!
Yah! All at once, the four of us cracked
up, the innocent shrieks of the children flling
me with hope. And right at that euphoric mo-
ment, the sound of hovering helicopter blades
began to laugh with us.
MORE GREAT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT
HAS A FEATURED WRITER
ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK.
Healing
BY KRISTEN BELL
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Like knuckles banging on a door, you knock
at my heart
telling me its OK to let you in.
But its not safe,
the trust no longer there.
If I let you in now, itll be harder to let you go.
I dont have the time to fall for you again and
again.
Ill never have the time to mend this broken
heart.
The stitches will never be permanent, always
being torn out.
When I think it`s fnally mending, it breaks.
How long will it take for me to realize this?
Sometimes love can confuse you and you
dont realize whats really happening.
You whisper again, reassuring me that every-
things alright, good as new.
But youll never know how I really feel on the
inside.
Whats running through my mind, how my
heart is slowly tearing apart once again, as
always.
Youll never be able to clean up this mess; its
permanent.
What you can do is let me go, for good.
Dont say youll come back when things are
made right.
For things to be right, would mean you never
coming back.
Leaving for you, would mean healing for me
... I want that, do you?
You know you couldnt handle that; I know
it, too.
So Ill be the one to leave, to leave everything
and everyone behind,
not to fnd a new love or to upset you; that`s
the opposite goal.
But to fnd new hope, to heal - for both of us.
And to do that, it means to not return.
After all, its what were both looking for,
a way to start over, a way to heal,
a way to try to mend our hearts one last time,
then soon to forget each other.
When checking the damage, none will be
found, not one scar
because well be healed.
The mess will be cleaned.
It is then that I can tell you things are OK.
Then things will be safe,
and not just for me -
for both of us.
Why me?
BY CHLOE SMITH
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Im standing here taking in the mean words
that they are saying to me. Youre ugly.
Youre stupid, and much worse. Ive heard
it all before.
All I do is sit quietly as the lead bully
tears me down word by word. I want to say
something but I just cant. All I do is hold in
my tears.
What I really dont understand is, why do
they pick on me? There is nothing wrong with
me. I have friends; Im normal; there is noth-
ing wrong with me. So why am I the victim?
The bullying has gotten to the point where I
really dont want to go to school. I guess I will
just fake being sick. Brilliant, isnt it? I just
have to tell my mom (the school nurse ) that
I dont feel well. My mom is crazy when it
comes to germs. Even if I cough she makes a
big deal out of it and brings me to the doctor.
That is why she is the school nurse.
Im walking in the hall as the bully and her
gang approach me. Hey loser, where did
you fnd that outft? The garbage?
Then she laughs and walks away. But as
they are walking away, one of her friends
stops and what she says surprises me.
Im sorry for all the things we have done
to you...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.
org/node/86016
THIS WEEK: Moon & General
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burling-
ton, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire.
With the help of a team of students, we select the best for
publication here and in other newspapers around the state
and on vpr.net. This week we publish work in response to the
prompts, Moon: What is on the dark side of the moon? and
General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Friends: Left to right, Tyler McKee, Nathan Cozzens and Wyatt Martin, sophomores at Rutland High
School. Aliya Schneider/Grade 10, Rutland High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, fresh descrip-
tive poetry or prose. Please avoid clichs. The best will be selected
for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual
Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burlington. Alternates:
General writing in any genre; or Photo 3. Due Nov. 15
Photo 3 (Collage fag) Mister Blick
READ MORE
GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
A YWP WRITER IS FEATURED
ON VPR.NET EVERY WEEK!
CHECK IT OUT!
Strength
BY JILL PARADEE
Grade 11, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans
Hear me read.
Watch me speak.
Tell me not
that I am weak.
The dark side
BY OWEN PELKEY
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
The most dangerous mission is one you
wouldn`t think is dangerous. Going to the
dark side of the moon isn`t scary or creepy;
its just dangerous.
When I took that frst step, you wouldn`t
believe what I heard. I heard an ear-splitting
sound to my right. When the sound came
closer, it caused a major disturbance.
I fell to the hard ground; my side started
to ache. I stared up at the fery stars, and then
everything went black.
It took me a few seconds to realize what
had happened; a meteor whirled above me.
It went crashing into the moon, causing
dust to fy everywhere and surround me.
I didn`t know which way was right. I
passed out.
When I woke up, I wasn`t on the moon
anymore. I was lying on a hard, metal surface.
I tried to get up, but I was secured to it. I
looked around, but I couldn`t see anything
since all the lights were shining straight upon
me.
I heard footsteps walking towards me;
when the footsteps stopped, I thought I was
dreaming.
A green thing with big eyes stared down
at me. Its hands, or what I think were hands,
lifted up and stuck a needle in me.
I fell back asleep, not knowing if I was go-
ing to wake up.
After I woke up once again, I was lying in
the dust of the moon.
I stepped over to my ship and went back to
Earth.
To this day, I still don`t know if what I saw
was real or not.
Hospital experience
BY CHLOE SMITH
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
One night I was playing with my iPad and
I remembered something that I had to tell my
mom.
I went into her room and I leaned on the
wall where the light socket wasn`t covered
and before I could stop it, my hand went into
the socket.
A huge shock went through my body and
all of a sudden my legs stopped working. My
mom sat me on her bed and she tried to help
me stand.
After a few tries, my mom and I knew that
I couldn`t walk; my legs gave up.
My mom called 911, since she knew I
couldnt get into the car without falling, and
the ambulance came.
I was freezing and I was shaking. The
ladies came and put me on this chair that
brought me down the stairs. They put big
warm slippers on my feet. At this point my
mom was freaking out! My hands were turn-
ing all purplish and I was scared.
When we got to the hospital, they brought
me to this room with a TV and they brought
me drinks.
My mom got hot towels to put on my hands
and feet. I felt badly because my mom started
to cry; she thought it was all her fault. We
were at the hospital from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m.
When we got home, my mom carried me to
bed and I fell right asleep. I slept in my moms
bed because she was worried.
When I woke up, my legs ached really
badly. I tried to stand and I could a little, but I
had to hold on to stuff.
It only took a day for my legs to get better.
BFFs are different
BY SOPHIE THOMPSON
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Best friends and just friends.
Theres a difference.
Because if youre best friends, you are loyal
to each other,
but if youre just friends,
you arent always loyal to each other.
Frienemies and enemies are different
because if youre frienemies,
you are not friends,
but you dont mind each other.
If you`re enemies, you don`t like each other,
and you sometimes fght.
You cant really trust your frienemies,
but you can trust your friend.
Sometimes frienemies
arent the nicest to each other,
but most of the time friends are.
The girl in red
BY KRISTA KNIGHT
Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
There she is, the girl I almost told it all to.
The girl who knows nothing, but everything
about me and who I am.
There she sits under the lone apple tree; the
fruit hangs like bright red blood drops from a
fresh wound.
The color matches her sweatshirt perfectly,
with the hood pulled over her head and her
long dark hair peeking out because of the
breeze.
Her nose is burrowed deep into her old
book with its tattered, torn spine.
She is oblivious to the world around her.
There is the girl that guessed my secret and
published it for the world to see and there she
sits with the littlest care about it all.
The sketch she drew so lifelike of me as I
truly am is still in my hand, wrinkled and torn
from my angry fear of when I frst saw it in
the hallway of my school outside the boys
locker room where she must have taped it to
the wall for the world to admire, her name
neatly signed under my clawed feet.
BEWARE written in big, bold, blood drip-
ping letters above my monstrous, fanged,
wolf-like features.
How had she guessed this?
This is not something you can simply
guess.
Someone must have told her about me,
someone who is the same as me.
I know just the guy in my pack that would
have told her and why.
He had betrayed one of his brothers for a
love that neither of us could really have.
A lover that has made him jealous and
blind.
Because of the simple fact that I have made
it impossible for him to have her, he is going
to make it just as impossible for me.
Im in love with her and so is he. To him
I am the enemy, an obstacle in the way of his
conquering all that he desires.
To reveal the monster under my perfect
human mask and get me killed is his ultimate
plan.
I am a bloodthirsty monster.
A dark child of the moon.
Betrayed by my own kind and shown to the
world by this beautiful girl all dressed in red.
I am left to defend myself from the rage of
hunters that are to come after me as soon as
the full moon rises once again.
Wrenching feeling
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
This feeling in my stomach is wrenching.
The fre inside my heart is not quenching.
Tingling tears are falling down my face,
each one at a different pace.
So many thoughts; they blur into one,
my brain overwhelmed, and feeling numb.
I lie dumbfounded,
speechless beyond sound,
my faunty words sounding pointless and
loose.
I begin to remember something from my past,
but the memories I try to decipher are just too
fast.
Then I realize who I am,
and that wrenching feeling in my stomach has
come back again.
READ MORE
GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
CHECK IT OUT!
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
Souls of the present call out to me
Death is now here, I see
Hazes of mist that are swirled by the wind
Do not be confused by their glowing within
That`s not simply the moonlight rendered
translucent
By the veil that levitates all but frozen in air
Consuming all around it
Once again, do not get caught
Mercy to this is completely forgot
Run, run as fast as you can
See the shadows of the full moon
Slowly blurred as it closes in
Just time for a scream
No
Still as you are, you still can feel
Thousands of daggers puncturing fesh
Tearing your spirit in more than two
Try not to breathe, it`s all around you
More and more bite into your fesh
In your mind
There truly was time
As you are screaming in pain right now
One single shriek
One wave of sound
Daggers purge and mists disperse
You fnd yourself soaked, and instead of blood
You`re bleeding all over with beads of moon-
light
Pure on a crystal clear night
THIS WEEK: Spooky & General
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington,
VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
PHYSICIANS COMPUTER CO.
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft that
engages students to write, helps them
improve and connects them with authen-
tic audiences. YWP runs youngwriter-
sproject.org and the Schools Project, a
comprehensive online classroom and
training program that works with teach-
ers to help students develop their writing
and digital literacy skills. To learn more,
go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at
(802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in 19 other newspapers and
on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the prompts,
Spooky: Write a story that makes our skin crawl! and Gener-
al writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Madison Moore/Woodstock High School
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
SIGN UP TODAY!
Join Young Writers Project on Saturday,
November 9 as we celebrate the writers
and photographers published in our new
Anthology 5!
All ages are invited to sign up now
for a full day of free workshops on digital
storytelling, prose and poetry; a keynote
address by National Book Award author M.T.
Anderson; readings by Millennial Writers on
Stage; and a special reception.
Its all happening at the Vermont College
of Fine Arts in Montpelier.
Register today at youngwritersproject.org/
celebration2013.
YWP NEWS
Its spookier
than black cats
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO
Grade 8, Homeschool
Black cats and broken mirrors
don`t compare at all
to the horrible, spooky feeling
when I receive a telemarketer phone call.
How do these people know my phone num-
ber?
Is someone tracking me?
Finding and stealing my personal facts
that no one but me should see?
Google`s decided that I`m an old woman,
sixty-three years old. What should I do?
My interests are recorded from my searches.
Apparently, I live in Australia, too.
Cameras are everywhere
except in the loo,
but I`m sure that with good time
those will appear, too.
I can`t even move without
being quite afraid
that someone is watching me
every moment of the day.
Skeletons and ghosts
and mysterious keys
are a very different type
of spooky.
Autumn haiku
BY NICOLINA CZEKAJ
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
The leaves are falling
But frst they turn to orange
Such a pretty sight
Blue sky rain
BY JEREMY BROTZ
Grade 9, Homeschool
As the bright autumn sun glimmers
brightly off a decorative pond, I walk happily
through the city streets, greeting people as I
go. It seems like I know everyone I walk past.
They all smile at me and nod, like they`re
happy to see me.
Turning a corner, I come across my fa-
vorite bakery. The smells coming out of it are
absolutely heavenly; I go in.
The cashier, who I`ve known for years,
fnishes serving a customer, and then sees me
standing there. He winks slyly at me and slips
a warm chocolate croissant into my hands.
Then he looks away and starts innocently
polishing the counter top.
I smile and continue on, past a small
garden where a little girl is picking fowers.
She sees me and scampers over, handing me a
beautiful little carnation. She smiles and runs
away. I shrug and walk on, into a crowded
square. Every person there is someone I
recognize but I can`t quite remember their
names. They are all faintly smiling as they go
about their business.
I feel so good; it`s a beautiful day in a
beautiful place with a fower in one hand and
a croissant in the other. Hey, my croissant! I
look down at my hand, in which the treat lies,
waiting to be eaten.
Suddenly I notice that all the city noises,
the traffc, the shuffe of feet, the distant si-
rens, all have fallen silent. They are just gone.
I hear nothing at all. Even the light fall breeze
is gone. I slowly look up, expecting to see the
large crowd standing still, looking around and
wondering why the traffc has stopped.
But instead what I see is nothing. The
square is absolutely deserted. Not a soul is in
sight ...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.
org/node/83720
Fear lives in us
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Fear lives in me,
sends me cute, sneaky invitations
to come have tea,
tricks me into believing,
then ends up thieving
me of my sanity.
Fear lives in my heart and head;
it makes me lie awake in bed.
Fear is real
and it lives
in all of us.
Mists of a crystal clear night
NEXT PROMPTS
Thanks. What are you most grateful for?
Tell a story about how you gained apprecia-
tion for this thing or opportunity or person.
Alternate: Unique. What`s something
unique or special that you do? Tell us how
you do it. Due Nov. 8
Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about
winter in short, fresh descriptive poetry
or prose. The best will be presented by
the Vermont Stage Company at its annual
Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in
Burlington. Alternates: General writing or
Photo 3 (see youngwritersproject.org). Due
Nov. 15
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
What Mona Lisas
smile will be
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
'Sit straight.
'How long will this
take?
'Awhile.
Great. How am I
supposed to stay
pretty and poised
for the rest of time
if I have to wait
to see my face
on the front side of the
canvas
while you sit there,
all busy and bustling,
pointing and marveling,
saying,
'That`s it! That`s the Mona Lisa!
when I don`t recall saying
you could name my face that
even though
I`ll be famous some day.
I don`t know that
all the thieves in the world
will want to steal my smile,
my pretty, poised, sitting-straight smile
that Signor da Vinci couldn`t resist.
THIS WEEK: Mona Lisa & General
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing.
If you would like to contribute, please
go to youngwritersproject.org/support,
or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North
St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in newspapers around the
state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to
the prompts, Mona Lisa: Imagine you are the subject of a
famous painting. What is your story? and General writing.
Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online
community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Elizah French/Spaulding High School
NEXT PROMPTS
Somewhere. You wake up in a
strange place and don`t know how
you got there. Describe it. What
happens? Alternates: Style. Write
in the style of an author you admire.
Name the author; or General writ-
ing in any genre. Due Nov. 1
Thanks. What are you most
grateful for? Tell a story about how
you gained appreciation for this
thing or opportunity or person. Al-
ternate: Unique. What`s something
unique or special that you do? Tell
us how you do it. Due Nov. 8
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
SATURDAY, NOV. 9
Join Young Writers Project on Satur-
day, Nov. 9 as we celebrate the writers
and photographers who are published in
our new Anthology 5!
All ages are invited to sign up now for
a full day of free workshops, a keynote
address by National Book Award author
M.T. Anderson, readings by Millennial
Writers on Stage and a special reception
to honor the young writers and photogra-
phers!
Its all happening at the Vermont Col-
lege of Fine Arts in Montpelier, 9:30 a.m.
to 6 p.m., Saturday, Nov. 9.
For more information and registration,
go to youngwritersproject.org/celebra-
tion2013.
SIGN UP TODAY!
YWP NEWS
Mona Lisa
by Leonardo da Vinci
Christina`s World by Andrew Wyeth
Immobile
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO
Grade 8, Homeschool
Lying here in the dull brown grass,
it isn`t a pleasant feeling.
I can`t do anything but lie here.
I am alone,
an old woman at eighteen.
Other girls my age are dancing,
walking, running, playing.
I must crawl,
drag myself with my hands,
push myself with my feet,
but I bear it well.
I hate the feel of grass
pressed against my cheek,
much rougher than his cheek.
I`ll never feel his skin again.
He does not want a cripple.
He cannot see how much
I love him.
He only sees my body,
mangled and twisted, out of steam.
I can`t move for him.
I can`t dance with him.
I am immobile.
So I have the grass.
But it`s time to forget,
stop staring up at the old house.
It`s too depressing here.
I will fnd another feld,
one with fowers in it.
Falling
BY KRISTEN BELL
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Winter snowfakes fall like the leaves in the
autumn time.
Off the trees or out of the sky, no one knows
particularly why.
Sometimes I wonder if some day winter won`t
come, and the leaves won`t change their color.
But some things never change and the seasons
are one of them.
Other times I wonder what life would be like
if there was no sun,
with only the moon to guide us through our
days on the run,
hiding and hoping for a better day to come.
We run ... to fnd better days.
When things don`t seem right, I wonder what
right and wrong really is.
Wandering all alone, it seems, even though
you could be surrounded,
surrounded by all the world.
And when you look back on everything
you`ve been through, everything you`ve
thought about, it seems to have gone by in
such a blur,
like it was too fast to have passed by your
eyes, too fast to remember and notice it.
But just like the snowfakes fall, out of the
sky, just like the leaves fall out of the trees,
we as people can fall,
not only physically, but emotionally.
We can get hurt, and fall into depression.
We can fnd love, and fall into an everlasting
happiness.
We can search for answers, and fall right
into them, then remember we`ve known the
answer all along.
We can stumble into hardships, and fall into a
weakness being made strong.
Lastly, we can hope for a better future, and
fall into a life we`ve wanted all along.
Winter snowfakes fall like the leaves in the
autumn time.
And sometimes we wonder why.
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
CHECK IT OUT!
No more waiting
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Sadly, I still wait
for people like you.
I still wait for answers
that I know will never come true.
I somehow still believe
that if I try hard enough
I might actually succeed,
fooling myself and others.
I resemble disgrace and discomfort
as I wait on people
to tell me what to do,
instead of realizing
that my life
isn`t up to people like you.
It`s up to me
and only me.
I`m done waiting on you,
or anyone.
It`s time I stopped standing by
and started realizing
that I control
who I become.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
CHECK IT OUT!
THIS WEEK: General writing
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burling-
ton, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
JANE B. COOK
CHARITABLE TRUSTS
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire.
With the help of a team of students, we select the best for
publication here and in other newspapers around the state.
This week, we publish work in response to the prompt for
General writing in any genre. Read more at youngwriter-
sproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
Join YWP on Nov. 9 as we toast the
publication of Anthology 5 with a day of
celebration and free writing workshops at the
Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier,
9:30 a.m. - 6 p.m. Keynote speaker: National
Book Award winner M.T. Anderson. More
info at youngwritersproject.org.
Natural resources
BY JOHN DELACY
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
We should protect natural resources, and
this is how we can protect fossil fuels.
We can protect fossil fuels by carpooling,
and using gas more than diesel. You can actu-
ally use vegetable oil instead of gas.
And when you deal with oil, make it away
from the ocean, or the lake, or the sea, so it
doesnt go in the water.
Also dont waste gas by leaving your car
on.
Another way to protect fossil fuels is to not
go everywhere you want, just go and get what
you need at the store.
Dont go on a lot of vacations because you
have to drive there, and the way back, and
thats a lot of oil going to waste.
Fossil fuels are being used faster than
theyre being produced, so dont waste fossil
fuels.
My forest
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
My limber body so vulnerable
My fragile face so breakable
My ratty hair so thick
My clumsy feet like bricks
I wander through a metaphorical forest
Of enchanted meaning
A cozy place were my imperfects
Are completely perfect
A place where only I exist
Underneath the willows, just beyond the mist
I can run free
I can be me
In the forest where only I exist
Way out there ... just beyond the mist
Autumns arrival
BY KAYLA MCARTOR
Grade 8, Fairfeld Center School
A warm sun, gentle breeze,
a woodpecker tapping amongst the trees;
the seasons are changing,
autumns arrived
and of their leaves, trees are soon deprived.
For hanging only
by a thread
a maple leaf, the color red.
An appreciation
BY SOPHIE THOMPSON
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
The book, Out of my Mind, by Sharon
Draper, received a fve out of fve rating from
Barnes and Noble.
The book is about a girl in a wheelchair
who cant talk and she is upset that she cant
talk. She has cerebral palsy.
During the book, she is in ffth grade and
she starts participating in actual classes.
She has to take tests and everything, so she
cant say the answers to her helper.
Instead, she gets a Medi-Talker, so she
can talk. A Medi-Talker is a computer-like
machine where you press buttons so you can
talk and communicate in class, instead of
pointing to words, pictures or phrases.
She also makes the spelling bee team in her
grade and practices and practices and prac-
tices, so her team will try to win the country
championships!
Seasons of the tree
BY ANABEL REINING
Grade 7, Thetford Academy
In summer, in this tree I sit
to watch the sun move bit by bit
until it looks me in the eye,
then I hop down and wave goodbye.
In fall, I climb the branches thin,
then watch the leaves all dip and spin;
with the season comes the sound
of boots and leaves atop the ground
In winter, I climb but stay low
so I can jump into the snow;
in afternoon sometimes I hide
but when I look, its dark outside.
In spring, I climb but hold on tight,
just not slipping takes all my might;
but I come down when fowers show
their petals through the melting snow.
NEXT PROMPTS
Elder. Interview an older relative or
friend - write a short profle; recount one
of their best stories; or tell a story about an
experience with that person. Alternates:
Survival. You are stuck on a deserted island
and night is falling. Who is with you and
what do you do? or Photo 2. Due Oct. 18
Secret lives. You have another life that
must remain hidden. Tell a story about it;
if you can, tell how your secret was almost
discovered. Alternate: Excerpt. Open any
book, pick a line and include it in a story
or poem. Give yourself just seven minutes
to write. Tell us where the line came from.
Due Oct. 25
Wrinkles in the paper
BY EMILY SLATE
Grade 10, Peoples Academy
When life goes on for so long,
Meaningless to some and worthwhile to oth-
ers,
No one will come to fx the story of us hu-
mans,
Because people have gone past being people,
And they have become sheets of paper.
Some are stationary notes,
Elegance put down on paper in the most
expensive pens,
Beauty in the designed paper itself,
With swirled letters that fow through the
page,
But only there as a reminder,
Soon to be thrown out and forgotten.
Some are torn-out papers from an aged,
coffee-stained notebook,
With holes where it was once attached to
something more,
Scribbled on with a two-inch pencil, its lead
teetering in its hold.
Words that form are ones of brilliance, even if
they are never known
On the papers lost away in a mildew-covered
desk drawer.
Some are papers that come out of a state-of-
the-art printer,
Perfect lines and ink pressed onto the page,
Neatly forming an organized essay to be
handed in,
Examined, checked, graded,
Watched for any progress, with a new draft
soon to arise.
Some are stared at with begging eyes,
Waiting for the paper to have words written
on it,
But no one ever picks up a pencil to aid its
progress,
Expecting it to bloom into a beautiful story
With excellence at every turn.
But paper is paper.
It gathers creases and wrinkles and erase
marks,
And words in pen that are wished away but
remain.
It can be called different names;
It can be sold for a million different prices,
But in the end, all thats left
Is a dead tree thats been sliced too thin.
Time after time, no matter how brilliant the
words put onto it,
Or the insignifcance of it,
The paper will be stashed away in a corner,
Crumpled up and thrown into a trash can,
Forgotten. One way or another.
Swords and sorcery
BY JACK BASHAW
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
The swords and sorcery genre is usually
about heroes with swords who are in some
kind of confict. It also tends to have some
kind of romance and magic and the super-
natural. The genre started when a man named
Michael Moorcock asked for a more specifc
name for the genre. People used to call it
heroic fantasy or science fantasy.
An example of the genre are the Conan
books by Robert E. Howard. There are lots of
books in the genre.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
CHECK IT OUT!
THIS WEEK: Photo 1 & Inspired
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and
individuals who recognize the power
and value of writing. If you would
like to contribute, please go to
youngwritersproject.org/support, or
mail your donation to YWP, 12 North
St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them
with authentic audiences. YWP runs
youngwritersproject.org and the
Schools Project, a comprehensive online
classroom and training program that
works with teachers to help students
develop their writing and digital literacy
skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.
net or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
My country paradise
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
The autumn leaves fall silently to the ground;
the streams slow trickle is the only sound.
I breathe in dusty smoke,
the cold air brushing my throat,
the naked trees staring me in the face.
I shiver at the sweet taste
of maple coming from the house
as I slip away to the barn, listening for the
symphonic sound of a mouse.
I lay down in the hay loft,
my hair against my cheek so soft;
I couldve fallen asleep if it werent for my
mother
calling me for dinner, mmm... chicken and
cherry cobbler !
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in other newspapers around
the state. This week, we present responses to the prompt to
write about Photo 1; and Inspired, a new YWP series. Read
more great student writing at youngwritersproject.org.
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
Every year, YWP publishes an anthology
of the years best student writing and photos.
On Nov. 9, we will toast the publication
of Anthology 5 with a day of celebration
and writing workshops at the Vermont
College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. 10 a.m.
to 5 p.m. Keynote speaker: National Book
Award winner M.T. Anderson. More info at
youngwritersproject.org.
YWP EVENTS
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-hour
workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10 a.m., at
YWPs North by North Center, 12 North St.,
Burlington. All participants receive a copy of
the anthology, Poetry 180. Contact kstein@
youngwritersproject.org to sign up.
And the trees
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO
Grade 8, Homeschool, West Glover
The trees changed last year
and theyll change this year.
Leaves green and happy now
but soon theyll all be gone.
The trees will be naked,
shivering stick fgures.
The pond will freeze.
Where will the turtles go?
Do they sleep with no air
underneath the hard ice?
With the frogs and the fsh?
Under the dark cold mud?
Soon the little red works of art
will litter the old country roads.
The cars will zoom over them
and crush them to pieces.
They were so beautiful.
Now they are mud alongside the road.
Our hearts sigh
and prepare for winter.
Photo 1 (South Pomfret, VT) crgimages
NEXT PROMPTS
Spooky. Write a story that makes our
skin crawl! Can be real or imagined. Alter-
nates: Moon: Whats on the dark side of
the moon? Go exploring and report back; or
General writing in any genre. Due Oct.11
ARE YOU INSPIRED?
Write about it on
youngwritersproject.org
NOT A WRITER?
Contact us for help
sreid@youngwritersproject.org
Editors Note: Autumn Eastman, a
senior at Champlain Valley Union High
School, is one of the premiere distance
runners in the state and is part of one
of the most successful Vermont school
running teams ever. The CVU girls
cross country team has won the State
Championships, won a New England
Championship and had several runners
in the Nationals in the last few years.
Last fall, YWP asked Autumn to begin
journaling about her running, to show
us what it was like and explain why
she does what she does so hard and
so well. Autumns story sparked the
idea for a special YWP project, in
which young people write about what
inspires them to succeed. This is an
excerpt oI Autumn`s frst piece called,
Discovery, which appears in its entirety
on youngwritersproject.org. We will
publish additional pieces later this year,
and you can follow Autumns blog at
youngwritersproject.org/blog/7838.
Discovery
BY AUTUMN EASTMAN
Grade 12, Champlain Valley Union
High School
Journal Entry, before a recent
high school race: I wake up to that
familiar feeling in my gut, a turmoil
that reminds me of the challenge that
I am about to face. Its race day. I didnt sleep
very well last night. I tossed and turned, and
when I did sleep, I dreamt about running and
racing and outcomes good and bad.
I get up and unfold the red, black and
white uniform that represents me as a runner,
my accomplishments, the teams accomplish-
ments and the races to come. I dress in my
'luckyoutft - we runners are quite a super-
stitious bunch - which means the same socks,
same sports bra, same hair ties and includes
the same breakfast, same routine every race
day so we can reassure ourselves that this race
day will be a good race day. All of this is men-
tal, I know, but racing is a huge mental game.
And whatever helps me cope with that stress
of not knowing the outcome of the race before
I race, I go for it.
It`s been a long time since I frst started to
run, since I discovered that this is something
that could drive me so. When I was really
young, I remember on bright, cool, fall days,
watching my Dad tie up his mangled sneakers
and head out the front door for the occasional
run. When I turned 8, I told him I wanted to
tag along with him. His face lit up. We jogged
down the road a little ways and came back.
My stride was three times as short as his, so I
struggled to keep up. But we kept at it.
I went through the same generic sports
most young girls go through: ballet, soccer,
horseback riding, the occasional tag and hide-
and-go-seek.
It wasnt until middle school that I discov-
ered cross country running. Hayley, my best
friend then, told me to do it with her. At frst,
I was in the same mix as everybody else, but
then I grew, seasons passed and my reasons
for running changed. I was no longer running
for friends, I began realizing I was good at it.
In eighth grade, when I ran with my Dad,
I was no longer slowing him down;
I was right with him, and I felt good
doing it. And during races I started
developing my own little methods
for coping with the stress; every
runner I passed or was with, I would
either talk to or exchange a good
job. I was a one-girl cheering squad
roving through the woods, and, for
some odd reason, each time I offered
a word of encouragement to another
runner, a burst of energy entered my
body, and I kept furthering my strides
to the next runner.
And then there was this one race.
As we were milling around in the
open feld, we spied tables covered
with trays of cookies and other
sweets - prizes, we learned, for the
winning runners. I decided. Hines-
burg Community School was going
to win one of those plates.
I strode to the front of the pack
and soon led the team and then the
race. And as I sprinted toward the
fnishing stretch, I began lapping
a couple of the boys in the back.
Crossing the fnish line, a gray-haired
woman ripped the tag from my bib
and sent me on my way.
A short time later, at the awards
ceremony, they called my name to
receive a huge plate of cookies. I was
overjoyed. And grabbed a couple.
Arent you going to share those
with your team? my Dad asked.
I admit to just a twinge of reluctance, but
agreed. Within moments they were gone. But
the sweet taste of victory made the wheels
turn in my head; I wanted more, I wanted the
feeling of another win.
Autumn Eastman of Champlain Valley Union High Schools cross country
team recently won a 5K race in 17:50, her best yet. Photo courtesy of
Autumn Eastman
INSPIRED: YOUNG PEOPLE WRITE ABOUT WHAT INSPIRES THEM TO SUCCEED
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
THIS WEEK: Place & General
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing.
If you would like to contribute, please
go to youngwritersproject.org/support,
or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North
St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
UNITED WAY
OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best here and in newspapers around the
state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to the
prompts, Place: What is your favorite place? and General
writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org,
a safe, civil online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
Every year, YWP publishes an
anthology of the years best student
writing and photos. On Nov. 9, we will
toast the publication of Anthology 5
with a day of celebration and writing
workshops at the Vermont College of
Fine Arts in Montpelier. 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Keynote speaker: National Book Award
winner M.T. Anderson. More info at
youngwritersproject.org.
YWP EVENTS
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-
hour workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10
a.m., at YWPs North by North Center, 12
North St., Burlington. All participants re-
ceive a copy of the anthology, Poetry 180.
The woods
BY CALLEN CLARK
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
My favorite place is the woods because
its so quiet and pretty, and it makes me feel
happy.
Its a place to get some fresh air and its full
of animals. I love animals. Theyre so pretty
and majestic.
I love climbing cliffs and seeing caves and
watching streams fow down rocks.
The woods make me feel like myself. I
always run around, play and explore.
Sadly, I moved and now I really miss the
woods but I might move again so I might
move near the woods again.
Camp Lone Pine
BY JOHN DELACY
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Lone Pine is one of my favorite places
because I love camping.
Camping is fun because youre outside
and enjoying the wilderness, especially when
you`re having a campfre at night and you
just chill near the fre and talk about stuff, and
sometimes you get a good campfre story.
Lake George is also fun because they have
basketball courts and you can ride your bike
around, and they have bingo on Saturday
nights.
On some nights you can go to a place next
to the pool and there are people performing,
like hypnotists who do really cool stuff.
Next to that is the inside pool. It is really
warm. I could stay in there for hours if we
didnt have to go somewhere.
I love camping.
And thats why my favorite places are Lake
George and Lone Pine.
My room
BY ELIZABETH LAROCHE
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
My room is my favorite place because it is
big and I get to decorate it the way I want.
I love decorating it with colorful things.
My walls are lime green and my bed is very
colorful and bright.
My room is comforting to me. Every time
I go in my room it feels like Im in my own
world. I also like it because I feel like me in
my room.
Fall
BY EMILY ESANCY
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
The leaves are changing.
It is getting much colder.
Cant wait til summer.
The hnal decision
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
So ashamed,
yet so amused,
I dont know what to do;
can`t fnd words,
dont get humor,
sick of all the tacky rumors,
hate being hated,
love what I cant see,
held back, not getting to be me.
Im feeling so guilty,
self-consciously shaking,
wondering which path in life I will be taking.
No side option,
no other way out,
I want to be positive, but just cant forget the
doubt.
I try to fnd shelter,
protection from the insults,
trying to remind myself to act like an adult,
but no matter what or where I hide,
no matter where I go,
people keep on judging me with a yes or a
no.
Closure doesnt exist,
and fate is silly.
I walk, more like skip,
towards a path,
a path Ive chosen.
Now its up to me to decide where my life will
go.
Home
BY LAYLA JAE MORRIS
Grade 5, Homeschool, Hinesburg
The silver outline of the ferry appears out from the mist, the words Island Runner not yet
visible.
Excitement and joy fll me up like a balloon threatening to explode with screaming of happi-
ness.
Finally, after one long year, we are again catching the ferry to Burton Island.
The Runner pulls into its dock looking sleek and graceful, about to take me to my favorite
place the best place on Earth.
We leave the cars and fll up the wagons at hand with camping equipment and load them on
to a section of the ferry.
The boat is now ready to go. The park rangers have almost untied the rope connecting the
ferry to the dock, when a silver Volvo pulls up to the pier. The door opens. Its Alya! She runs
up to the ferry and yells, Can we make it?
If you hurry, the rangers shout.
The entire population of the Runner helps Alya and her mom load their belongings.
Once again, we all step aboard the Island Runner. I race up to the bow of the boat and listen
to the chug-chug of the Runners engine, its prow cutting through the waters of Lake Cham-
plain.
On the way! Were almost there!
An entire year of waiting for this moment and now we are fnally racing across the waves,
heading toward the Isle of Burton.
The island is now in sight, its white sailboats foating in the water like clouds.
The Island Runner is docking on the Burton Island landing stage. The ropes are tied. The
gates swing open and just like that, before you could say Welcome home, I leap off the boat,
run down the dock onto the island and kiss the ground beneath my feet.
I grasp Alyas hand and we start waltzing with happiness. We grab our bikes and as fast as
we can go, pedal to our campsite, the place where, for the next 10 blissful days, we will call
home.
NEXT PROMPTS
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the
subject of a famous painting or a
photograph. Whats your back story
and how do you see the world and
the people who have come to stare at
you? Include the image or tell us the
painting/photo you are writing about.
Alternate: Lyrics. Write song lyrics
or create new lyrics to a favorite
song (include a podcast!) Any genre,
including rap. Due date: Oct. 4
Spooky. Write a spooky story.
Make our skin crawl! Can be real or
imagined. Alternates: Moon: Whats
on the dark side of the moon? Go
exploring and report back; or General
writing in any genre. Due date: Oct.
11
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
St. Albans
BY ETHAN KING
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
St. Albans, Vermont, a small peaceful town
with coffee shops, bakeries and a farmers
market every other Saturday.
The celebration of Vermont`s fnest maple
syrup is housed in this town.
Pride is one thing we dont lack.
Living here is nothing short of bliss, if
youre up for the cold winters.
The smell of autumn leaves thrives strong
in this small town.
The key to this city unlocks adventures for
years to come.
This is the town Im proud to call home
this is St. Albans, Vermont.
THIS WEEK: General writing
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing. If you would like to contrib-
ute, please go to youngwritersproject.
org/support, or mail your donation to
YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8,
Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE
ROASTERS
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best in this and other newspapers around
the state and on vpr.net. This week, we present responses to
the prompt for General writing. Read more student writing
at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of
writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Ethan Powell, Essex High School
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
Every year, YWP publishes an
anthology of the years best student
writing and photos. On Nov. 9, we will
toast the publication of Anthology 5
with a day of celebration and writing
workshops at the Vermont College of
Fine Arts in Montpelier, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Keynote speaker: National Book Award
winner M.T. Anderson. More info at
youngwritersproject.org.
YWP EVENTS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
(BRATTLEBORO)
Join YWP at the Brattleboro Literary
Festival on Saturday, Oct. 5 for the
southern Vermont edition of Millennial
Writers on Stage! Noon to 1 p.m. at the
New England Youth Theatre, 100 Flat St.,
Brattleboro. Free and open to all! Hear
the next generation of great writers!
POETRY 180 WORKSHOP
Join Poet Reuben Jackson for a one-
hour workshop on poetry, Nov. 16, 10
a.m., at YWPs North by North Center, 12
North St., Burlington. All participants re-
ceive a copy of the anthology, Poetry 180.
STUDENTS: Send your photos to Young Writers Project and get published! Its
easy. You can submit your work online at youngwritersproject.org. Sign up for an
account. Once youre approved, log in, click on Write to create a blog, and start
uploading your photos. Make sure to click on Newspaper Submission and include
your name, grade and school. Under the Prompts drop-down menu, choose Photo
of the Week, and remember to Save. Your work will be published in the Mes-
senger and other newspapers around the state.
Living inside a Barbie
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Im living inside a Barbie,
living inside the life of the party,
on the inside looking out,
head cheerleader, scream and shout.
Living inside plastic walls,
Blonde, pretty and tall.
But this Barbie I am
is actually fake; its a scam.
Inside, Im shy and sweet.
Im sort of just a geek,
not some wonderful, magical girl,
being seen as gorgeous
because I have long, perfect curls.
Im stuck inside a Barbies body,
just trying to escape.
Molly Noel, Essex High School
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Summer in Denmark
BY SOPHIE THOMPSON
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
June 27, 2013
Today, we drove to Boston to fy to Iceland.
We saw my cousins Alexandra and Abigale ...
in Massachusetts
June 28, 2013
Today we few into Iceland from Massa-
chusetts. Then we ate breakfast and few to
Denmark. We landed in Denmark, then went
to Annette, Henrik Gustav and Oscars house.
My favorite part was fnally being in Den-
mark!
June 29, 2013
Today, we went to Copenhagen and we
went to the Round Tower, went on a boat tour,
and saw the mermaid statue, and had really
good peas that were sweet like candy. Yum!
Then we went back to our house and went to
Annettes parents house to have dinner! We
also played football (soccer)
June 30, 2013
Today, we went to a church for Gustav and
Oscar`s confrmation. I was there for an hour
but it was in Danish, so it felt like two hours.
Then we went back to the house and took a
bus to a restaurant called La Vela. I ate fsh,
cheeses, desserts, ravioli, and steakish food.
After that we came back home and had a bar-
becue and met a girl from South Africa. My
favorite part was eating the fve-course meal!
July 1, 2013
Today we went to Tivoli Garden and Oscar
was our tour guide. I went on a lot of roller
coasters. I also went on a ride called Vertigo.
We got ice cream and went in a fun house. We
went on a H.C. Andersen ride. We ate on a
pirate ship. My favorite part was the Vertigo.
July 2, 2013
Today we went to a castle called Hamlets
castle. We saw an old bed and went in the
basement, which was almost pitch black and
scary. We went on a lot of stairs and there was
once a queen named Sophie, except spelled
Sofe. My favorite part was seeing my name
in a castle.
July 3, 2013
Today we went on an hour ride to Orburp
by Farevejle. We are staying here for three or
four days, but going other places while we are
here. We went down to the ocean and saw a
lot of boats. We played a game called King,
and we also played Frisbee. My favorite part
was seeing a live starfsh.
You can read Sophies complete travel journal at
youngwritersproject.org/node/83959.
My favorite place
BY GAVIN BLAKELY
Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
My favorite place is the woods because it
makes me feel like Im welcome and makes
me happy.
The woods are awesome because there are
trees that are climbable and rocks that I can
hop around on.
My best friend and I love the woods
because we can do so many things there, like
run around the rocks. We go into caves in the
woods.
Next week: Read more students writing
about their favorite places.
NEXT PROMPTS
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the
subject of a famous painting or a photo-
graph. Whats your back story and how
do you see the world and the people
who have come to stare at you? Include
the image or tell us the painting/photo
you are writing about.
Alternate: Lyrics. Write song lyrics
or create new lyrics to a favorite song
(include a podcast!) Any genre, includ-
ing rap. Due Oct. 4
Spooky. Write a story that makes our
skin crawl! Can be real or imagined.
Alternates: Moon: Whats on the
dark side of the moon? Go exploring
and report back; or General writing in
any genre. Due Oct. 11
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER
EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET.
CHECK IT OUT!
NEXT PROMPTS
Mystery. All good short stories start
with a mysterious idea that often is the
opening, the beginning. Whats yours?
Write your opening paragraphs to a
mystery story, something that will draw
the reader in. (Finish it if youd like; we
may not be able to publish it all, but well
highlight it on youngwritersproject.org.)
Alternate: Photo 1. Due Sept. 27
Mona Lisa. Imagine you are the sub-
ject of a famous painting or a photograph.
Whats your back story and how do you
see the world and the people who have
come to stare at you? Include the image
or tell us the painting/photo you are writ-
ing about. Alternate: Lyrics. Write song
lyrics or create new lyrics to a favorite
song (include a podcast!) Any genre,
including rap. Due Oct. 4
Photo 1 (Sleepy Hollow) crgimages
THIS WEEK: General writing
YWP is supported by the generosity
of foundations, businesses and individu-
als who recognize the power and value
of writing.
If you would like to contribute, please
go to youngwritersproject.org/support,
or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North
St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to
BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS
THANKS FROM YWP ABOUT THE PROJECT
YWP is an independent nonproft
that engages students to write, helps
them improve and connects them with
authentic audiences. YWP runs young-
writersproject.org and the Schools
Project, a comprehensive online class-
room and training program that works
with teachers to help students develop
their writing and digital literacy skills.
To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or
contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred
submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire
and we publish the best in this and other newspapers around
the state as well as on vpr.net. This week, we present re-
sponses to the prompt for General writing. Read more great
student writing at youngwritersproject.org.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
YWP EVENTS
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
(BRATTLEBORO)
Join YWP at the Brattleboro
Literary Festival on Saturday, Oct. 5
for the southern Vermont edition of
Millennial Writers on Stage!
Noon to 1 p.m. at the New
England Youth Theatre, 100 Flat
St., Brattleboro.
Its free and open to all!
How will you live
your dash?
BY JULIA REMILLARD
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Have you ever noticed the little dash be-
tween the day you were born and the day you
died on someones grave?
Well, look at it sometime. And Id like you
to think about this: how do you want to live
your dash?
What do you want to see happen? Where
do you want to go?
Your dreams, your hopes. Its all up to you,
your choice.
But think about this. How do you want
people to remember you when they look at
your dash?
Belonging
BY ABHI DODGSON
Grade 6, Folsom School, South Hero
He felt like he didnt belong
Like a fower in winter
Like grass in the sky
Like a house with no furniture
Like music in a library
Like a bicycle in water
He wanted to ft in
Like a piece in a puzzle
Lika a bird in a fock
Like a note in a song
Like a leaf on a tree
So he bloomed in the snow
He grew grass in the sky
He put a soft couch in his house
He sang in the library
And rode his bicycle across the ocean
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
ON STAGE
Join YWP and VPR for the second annual
Millennial Writers on Stage at the Burlington
Book Festival on Saturday, Sept. 21!
Hear the next generation of Vermont
writers present their work to a live audience
including local writer Abhi Dodgson of South
Hero, whose piece is published below.
This is a free event, and runs from 2 p.m.
to 3 p.m. Saturday at the Film House at Main
Street Landing Performing Arts Center on the
Burlington waterfront. If you cant make it,
vpr.net and RETN will be recording the per-
formances for later broadcast. Find out more
at youngwritersproject.org.
The tornado on
Lake Champlain
BY NICOLINA CZEKAJ
Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
The ice shattered off the lake, whipping up
into the air along with the water that followed.
It created a deadly funnel of air, water, ice,
and anything within a 10-meter reach.
All you could hear was the screeching of
the wind, but it was too hard to see through
the snow that blinded your eyes as each indi-
vidual snowfake danced in front of your face.
Cold. All you felt was cold. It seemed to
have frozen your blood, and your skin was
tingling with pain.
The tornado continued its journey across
the lake, more ice splitting, with groans and
creaks, from the water. In each crack there
was water spitting out violently. It was like a
movie, how the ice seemed to break free from
the lake as if it was trapped there against its
will, then spiraling up higher and higher into
the storm and sucking down clouds as it did
so.
Wind overtook your senses. You heard
wind. You felt wind. You smelt the wind, the
pressure making you feel like choking.
You could swear you tasted it, too. It was
yelling right in your ears, like a little sibling
when they wanted something. But this time,
you didnt give the tornado what it wanted. It
took it itself.
The wind was everywhere and no matter
how hard you tried, you couldnt escape. It
flled up every corner, every room.
It was like fghting the atmosphere, a war
you were destined to lose.
YWP-ACLU
CONSTITUTION DAY
WRITING CHALLENGE
TOP PRIZE: $250!
Students across Vermont are
being encouraged to enter this
writing challenge for prizes and
recognition!
In honor of the U.S.
Constitution, YWP and the
American Civil Liberties Union
asked schools to take seven minutes
on Sept. 17 Constitution Day to
write about the Constitution.
Whether writers participated in
the exercise or are just learning
about the challenge today,
we want you! You have until
Oct. 4 to submit your essay in
response to one of three prompts
that are on the YWP web site
at youngwritersproject.org/
Constitution.
There is a total of $750 in cash
prizes $250 for the top essay
and an opportunity to read winning
submissions at a public event!
Watch for more information
at youngwritersproject.org/
Constitution.
CELEBRATION OF
WRITING AND RELEASE
OF ANTHOLOGY 5
Every year, YWP publishes an
anthology of the years best student
writing and photos.
On Nov. 9, we will toast the
publication of Anthology 5 with
a day of celebration and writing
workshops at the Vermont College
of Fine Arts in Montpelier. Special
keynote speaker is author M.T.
Anderson, winner of the National
Book Award for Young Peoples
Literature.
Watch for more details and
information at youngwritersproject.
org.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG