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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

THANKSFROMYWPABOUTTHEPROJECT

Young Writers Project is an inde-pendent nonprot that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, before liveaudiences and on web sites,young-writersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.org, and cowbird.com. YWP also

publishes The Voice,a monthly digi-tal magazine with YWPs best writ-ing, images and features. To learnmore, go toyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

THISWEEK: General writing

YWPis supported by this news-paper and foundations, businessesand individuals who recognize the

power and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please gotoyoungwritersproject.org/support,or mail your donation to YWP, 47Maple Street, Suite 106, Burlington,

VT 05401.

Special thanks this week to

BURLINGTONTELECOM

Each week, Young Writers Project receives submis-

sions from students across Vermont, New Hampshire

and beyond. A team of staff, mentors and students

selects work for publication. This week, we present

responses to the challenges forGeneral writing in

any genre. Read more atyoungwritersproject.org, a

safe, civil online community.

Go to youngwritersproject.org

for your FREE subscription

to YWPs digital literary magazine!Kevin Huang, Burlington

The story

Nobodys perfect, right? We all makemistakes. I just never thought that youwere a mistake.I thought I knew the real reason you left,why you walked out of my life withouteven a goodbye.I thought I knew the answer, but I guess I

was wrong, because now I know the truth,and now I wish I knew nothing.Because knowing the truth is killing me.I feel like I am being ripped apart by yourwords, those damn words you wrote inthat damn letter.Why did you write it? Why did you thinkI needed to know?Did you think it would help me get overyou, because nothing will let me do that.I could never get over those eyes, or that

smile, or the way you made everythinglook so beautiful.I know you will never hear this, but itfeels good to say it.Even if Im just screaming at nothing.Now Im wondering where you are now;maybe youre alone at a bus stop,waiting to go anywhere and nowhere.Or maybe youre there with them, doinggod knows what. It hurts me to thinkyoure doing that, to think that you left

me for that. I guess what they say is true.Ignorance is bliss.

-NORADILLON, MONTPELIER

Imagine freFire. Thats all my young eyes can

see. The colors of red, orange and yellowroaring above me. The ames spread andconsume anything they come into direct

contact with, even my skin.The pain is unbearable. It feels as if

something is tearing me limb from limband making sure it is as painful and slowas possible. The seconds tick by as there climbs up my body, burning me alive.The re touches my hair, and my hairbecomes singed, and my skin feels as if itwill melt off my bones any second.

Not even the salty water drops fallingfrom my irises can tame this raging ame

that is like a feral beast.I can no longer do anything but watchthe ames rage and roar as they loomover my small gure. I feel my visionbeginning to blur as I am seconds awayfrom my demise, caused by the beastcalled re. I close my eyes and wait forthe pain to subside as I depart for thenext life while the re licks away at myalmost charred body. Fire is my fear andmy grave.

- HOLLIE-NICHOLLE DAVIS, NORTHFIELD

Dance of light

There once was a quilt that bore theweight of life;he kept all from misery and strife.But when the day faded into dusk,he was vulnerable to the setting sun,for the burning re in its heartcould light his strings and make a spark.

He would be forced to thrash about to putout the ames,but the quilt of life would have to beunravelled with its strings of time strewnacross the land.There once was a sun, lonely and indespair.She desired a friend to talk with andshare,but the only man in sight was the greatquilt of life,

who would only burn in her rising ames.So she would cry and leave the rest toswim in blame.But a golden star had an idea bright as hiscoatto make her a partner immune to herheart.And in the night they worked under thestars,and succeeded in making her a love aswarm as her own.

There once was a dance of mirrors andlight,a dance for the quilt, the love, and hiswife.Now the three faithful friends leap underthe stars,thankful to a golden one who stood inmuch awe.The black of night was painted by theirjoy of heartbecause they knew what others didnt,

that they could rule together.

- MARYAMISABELSARAFZADE,

MONTPELIER

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK




Anthology 8 cover photo by Bryan Storck, Essex Junction, VT

YWPSDIGITALMAGAZINE


to get your FREE subscription!


power and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please gotoyoungwritersproject.org/support,or mail your donation to YWP, 47

Maple Street, Suite 106, Burlington,VT 05401.


THEBAYANDPAUL

FOUNDATIONS

Deer in headlightsWhat if were wrongabout deer in headlights?What if they dont freeze because of thelightor because theyre too dumbto move out of oncoming trafc?What if, just maybe,

they want you to hit them?

Does anyone ask if, for that single sec-ond in which they realizethat they are facing death,they are taking stock,thinking about life,about struggle and loss and heartbreakand triumph and joy,about death and suffering and pain andhow hard it can be

ust to get through one day,about the impact, the fall, the crash,the rattle of the last breath escapingtheir lungs,about the peace that would settle overthe scenewhen their eyes closed for theverylasttime?

The lights shine brightly in their eyesand illuminatea lifetime of ghting for a happy endingthat just might not exist.The reection off the pavement andthose never-ending linesgets brighter and brighter.The engines purr,maybe the jarring screech of a horn orthe awful grinding of brakescomes upon them all too fast,

and yet still not fast enough to make thedecision for them.

And then, what if they think, no one hasto see me jump but what if I just dont move out of theway?

- EMILYCOLLINS, PEACHAM

THISWEEK: Anthology 8

Each year, Young Writers Project publishes an anthol-

ogy of the best writing and photography submitted to

youngwritersproject.org. A team of staff, mentors and

students makes selections from thousands of submis-

sions. This week, we present some of the local writers

who are featured in the anthology. For copies of the

anthology, go toyoungwritersproject.org/anthology8.

ImmortalityDid you know? Gwyneth started,

greatly exaggerating her speech, that ifyou take a peach, dip it in pizza sauce,pickle it, slice it into ve unequal sec-tions, then feed the rest to a cod, kill it,cook the cod with some chips, and eat it,it will give you immortality?

What? David asked.I said that if you take a peach, dip it inpizza sau Gwyneth started to say, butwas quickly cut off by David.

I got that much.Oh. Do you want to try it? Gwyneth

inquired.No! Why would I? David bellowed

back at her.Because it gives you immortality,

she answered, making it sound obvious.Wouldnt it take forever to make, with

the pickling and what-not? David asked.It does, so I made it in advance, Gw-

yneth replied, smiling, and she pulled outa dark brown suitcase with yellow metalclips. She put it on the table and placedher hands on each clip, ipping them upone by one, for dramatic effect.

And, she said, opening the case,there it is.

Oh, my, David said, looking awayand trying not to gag from the smell.

Why would you make that!? heasked in astonishment.

Because it gives you immortality,she stated, putting a plastic fork into it.

You dont seriously think that, Davidsaid.

I do, Gwyneth replied, taking a biteand swallowing hard to avoid tasting it.

Try it, she said, hoping David didntnotice her eyes watering.

Im wont, he replied.A lost chance to become a god, Gw-

yneth said, taking another bite.(Disclaimer: This obviously does not

work.)

- MAXAMDANIELS, EASTMONTPELIER

SitSomeone touches my back.The click of high-heeled shoes against the

groundresonates through my bones.A woman oats upon the ghostsstacked up past the sky.There is a man who smokes a pipewho must have died years agositting on a construction workerwho sits on a little girl with a lollipop.There are sewage men,lovers and romantics,poets and chefs,

acrobats and con artists

sitting, stacked upone on top of another.A man in an overcoatwho will be shot in 36 dayssits with a newspaper next to the woman.

The woman gets up, and the dead manleans against her ghost.In ve minutes that man will get up,moved by some unknown purpose,and his ghost will lean on the womansghost,who will be sat upon by the next lonely,tired stranger, and the next.I just sit.

- SYLVANWILLIAMS, MIDDLESEX

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THISWEEK: General,Blue, Awake






and beyond. This week, we present responses to the

prompts, General writing; Blue: Use the phrase, it

was the most brilliant shade of blue; & Awake: I

awoke to the sound... Use this phrase in a story or

poem. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.



Maple St., Suite 106, Burlington,VT 05401.


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PARTNERS

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BURLINGTON

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ANTHOLOGY8

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Caleb Dudley, Essex Junction

Waking in paradiseI awoke to the sound of the ocean waveslapping against the shore,the soothing sound on replay.I awoke to the scent of the salty airlling my lungs,inviting me to walk the sandy path.I awoke to the cool morning fog

that hides the ocean from view.The sun came out.The fog disappeared.The sound of the waves got louder.And there was the most brilliant blue Idever seen.The beach was bare;the sand untouched,except for one perfect pair of footprintsleading to the waters edge.I awoke to paradise.

- ZOIEBEAUREGARD, EASTMONTPELIER

Shades of blueThe diamond was the most brilliant

shade of blue I had ever seen. It sparkledlike water running through a grove ofsoaring trees. After placing it on the altar,the people around me knelt on the hardpacked dirt of the temple, praying to theGreat Spirit which used the magnicentgem as a host.

As soon as the host was placed on thealtar, plants sprang up from the earth thathad been unable to yield plants for many

years.Breathtakingly tall trees grew until

they disappeared into the clouds and ani-mals of all shapes and sizes inhabited it.

While all this was happening, the peo-ple rejoiced, bringing out their valuables,carved from metal ores and ivory tusks, togive to the Great Spirit.

I then looked up at the sky as the rainstarted to fall.

- GREYSONDAVIS, EASTMONTPELIER

Puppy loveYoung and full of energy.Running, exploring,chewing on anything that is within reach.Learning tricks and potty training;messes to clean up.Tail wagging fast as lightning.Never-ending happinessexuding from his panting.Slobber on your face,gross as it might be,is the only sign of lovehe can give you.Pet him.Feed him.Love him.Because youre allhes ever loved.

- CAYLEIGHOCONNELL, CORINTH

You blue?

I awoke to the sound of blue.What is the sound of blue?Its the most sorrowful sound, the mostdesperate look.

I put on my glasses to see blue,only blue,blue cats,blue dogs,blue everything.And thats how I like it.Maybe wondering, why blue?But then...why you?

- OLGAKISSNER, EASTMONTPELIER

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

THISWEEK: Before






and beyond. A team of staff, mentors and students se-

lects the best writing and images for publication. This

week, we present responses to the challenge, Before:

Imagine one of your favorite places 100 or 200 years

ago.Read more at youngwritersproject.org.


power and value of writing. If youwould like to contribute, please goto youngwritersproject.org/support,or mail your donation to YWP, 47



VERMONTBUSINESS

ROUNDTABLE

Madi Cohen, Bolton

READYWPSDIGITALMAGAZINE


Trees

In the beginning, there were trees.Thats how it always begins, right?With the trees.Conifer and deciduous,oak or pine or maybe some birch.In the beginning, there were trees.But not anymore.

Hundreds of years ago, yes,they were there.I imagine crab apples lined the stream.I hear the water babbling over smoothstones,marshy grass, muddy feet of children,the rst generation to be borninto the New World.I imagine when autumns blaze began,the apples plopped into the brook on oc-casion,

crafting a sweet, fermented smell.The tall maples caught re with color,amber and brick-red.The beech bled russet and gold.The birch, as well.And the pines would have stood strong,unconcerned by the frosty mornings andchilled breeze.But that was ages ago.I can only imagine the treesby the now-brown trickle of water,

littered with Coke cansand Wal-Mart bags.The trees are gone.In the beginning, there were trees.And at the end of Earths life,the trees are gone.In their place, is my favorite place:

Discounts like you wouldnt believe;prices so low, it makes you look twice!

Old Navy.

- CHRISTIANBOLDING, NORTHFIELD

Forever Tree

I would never tell Pa this, but Im nottoo fond of farming. I know he wouldntbe happy to hear this as he believes farm-ers are the foundation of this country.And, of course, 1917 is a big agriculturalyear.

But since my brother left to ght inthis world war, Ive been doing all thefarming with Pa, and it isnt all that Ivedreamed of. I used to hate working insidewith Ma. All she ever did was complainabout women and voting, always just hav-ing to cook or clean or sew, but workingoutside, Ive learned, isnt too much funeither. Life is slow these days, and thatswhy I like coming out here, writing in myournal, and thinking about things.

This tree that I come to has been here

for as long as I can remember. I comehere every night to draw pictures, to writestories, to think, to climb.

Ive never known a better place. Itsdenitely my favorite. Its the tallest pinetree Ive seen in my life probably one ofthe tallest in all of Vermont. Its limbs aregigantic, perfect for sitting or climbing.Its like a playground made of wood, andits just across the meadow from my veryown home. I know how lucky I am tohave a place like this. Id like to imaginethat it will be here forever, but I knowone day it will be cut down. Pa tried lastsummer, but I was not going to let thathappen.

I remember him coming out here withhis ax. He always wanted the tree gone.He thought it took up too much space,that it was just an eyesore. He didntknow the value it had for me or mybrother, how many times I walked outhere and ducked under the barbed wirefence just to climb it.

I looked out the window that day andsaw that Pa was already so close to the

tree that I thought he would have the axin its trunk by the time I reached him. ButI sprinted behind him through the heat in my best dress, too. I got to him andgrabbed the ax before he had the chanceto swing it back. Pa was angry, madderthan Id ever seen him.

We fought for so long out there. Fi-nally, I jumped up to one of its limbs, andI climbed as high as I could. I stood inthat tree until dark when Pa nally went

(continued>)

inside to eat. I wasnt hungry, though. Icouldve stayed there forever.

When I got inside, both my parentshad a storm waiting for me. Ma was sotorn that Id gone against Pa like that, and

that I had ruined my dress. Pa, well, hewas just angry about everything. I knewhow mad they were; I knew what I didwas against everything my parents hadtaught me, but I still knew in my mindthat it was worth the ghting. That treewas going to stay there as long as I couldmake it stay there, maybe even as longas I lived. That was something I wishedfor, but I knew I couldnt have a handleon everything. Some of my best paint-

ings were made here as well as my best

stories. Some of my favorite memoriestook place here, and thats why it has somuch meaning.

I sometimes imagine 90 or 100 yearsfrom now, another girl will live here and

fall in love with this tree. She wont knowwhat it meant to a 14-year-old farm girlfrom 1917, but maybe she will makememories here of her own. Or maybethe tree will be gone by then, only a fewmemories left for people to enjoy.

But I know one thing for sure, this treewill always hold memories, this tree willalways mean something to someone.

- EMIVAUGHAN, THETFORD

ITSTHETALLESTPINETREE

IVESEENINMYLIFE PROB-

ABLYONEOFTHETALLESTIN

ALLOFVERMONT.

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THISWEEK: Seuss& Six Words


Young Writers Project is an inde-pendent nonprot that engages stu-dents to write, helps them improveand connects them with authenticaudiences in newspapers, before liveaudiences and on web sites,young-writersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.

org, and cowbird.com. YWP alsopublishes The Voice,a monthly digi-tal magazine with YWPs best writ-ing, images and features. To learnmore, go toyoungwritersproject.orgor contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several

hundred submissions from students across Vermont,

New Hampshire and beyond. This week, we present

responses to the writing challenges, Seuss:Write in

rhyme like Dr. Seuss; & Six Words: Write a story

in six words.Go toyoungwritersproject.org to read

more great writing.





BURLINGTONTELECOM

Breanna Johnson, Shrewsbury

PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

Seuss on the looseIf you are alone, at home, and extremelyboredand you think that you just might go outof your gourd,I, Fred, the puffuff, have the solution foryou.Lets do a dance to the good ol kazoo!Theres a hop and a step and a spin allaroundwith a jump and a leap till you fall on theground.Oh, are you tired? No, no, wait theresmore!There are so many tricks that I have instore!We could dance on our feet, or our hands,or our headsor our toeses or noses or jump on ourbeds.But if youre still bored, oh, theres lotsmore to do.When you are with me, theres no need tofeel blue.For the word puffuff has three f s in arow!Now heres a new word that you just didnot know.You look pretty tired, Im sorry, its true!I, Dr. Fred, say that you have the u!Well, I guess I must run.The u is no fun!And fun is the funnest, the bestest, youknow?For when you have fun, you light up witha glow!So, see ya, my friends; it was a good day.But I guess that Id better be off on myway.So long, dear friends; I will be back soon.And next time, Ill remember to bringsome balloons!

- REILLYUITERWYK, CANAAN

He who has frizzThe hair on his head might not be real,though his ignorance surely is.Who could trust all that faux frizz upon his?He wants to build a wall,but you soon will seeits not good for you; nor is it good for me.With a country like ours,built on those who meander,

let us not be bystanders;

instead put our trust in Sanders.He is strong-willedand believes in the youth.He wants to help with college that is surely the truth.So let us take partin the election this year.Our vote is our voice.We have nothing to fear.

- MORIAHHAMMOND, BRADFORD

POSTYOURPHOTOSON


OREMAILTHEMTO

[email protected]

An elephant storyImagine a place where the only thingrelevantis in fact an enormous elephantwho lives on a mountain with billions ofantsthat was once a molehill somewhere inFrance.

But the molehill was small and the el-ephant largeso he got up and left Paris, France, in abargethat sunk in the river and it overowed,submerging the world, and all of thisshowedthat the elephant was the only being alivesince he had the mountain of a molehillto ride.And all of the ants were merely pretend

because all of their lives had come to anend.The death of their world tore the elephantapartbecause in his chest was a very big heartthat pounded and rattled around in itscagewith his blood pressure rising like a tem-perature gauge.And because he knew he had caused theirworld harm

he plowed down the mountain to make asmall farmand he built a small house, and he dug asmall pondand placed in the house a nice, large palmfrondthat one day would grow to the size of theseaand would rescue all beings who weretrying to ee.The elephant would then be the hero ofthe dayby saving them from the problem hecaused on the way.But there was one small piece of informa-tion he had overlooked;all beings had dissipated, so he was let offthe hookof caring about beings that did not existas he sunk down into a pile of bliss.Because even though he was at fault,no one could blame him in his sea full ofsalt.

- NATALIEBARTON, BRADFORD

MusicMusic, the only weapon I need.

- FRANCESKAPLAN, EASTMONTPELIER

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK






hundred submissions from students across Vermont

and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and

students selects the best writing and images for

publication. This week, we present responses to the

prompt, General writing.Read more at youngwriter-

sproject.org.





PHYSICIANSCOMPUTER

COMPANY

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Kevin Huang, Burlington High School READTHELATESTISSUE

OFYWPSDIGITALMAGAZINE



YWP NEWS

CONGRATULATIONS

TOTHEWINNERSOFTHE

I ANDYOU

POETRYCHALLENGE!

Ben Maksym of Grand Isle

Kaytlyn Young of Shelburne

Peyton Cassel of Lancaster, PA

Winners receive two tickets to theVermont Stage play, I and You, atFlynnSpace in Burlington from April20 to May 8. See the winning poemsand all submissions to the prompt at:

youngwritersproject.org/iandyou.

Tickets to the play: vermontstage.org

Oblivion

The world is an hourglass.The grains are slowly falling until thetime is up.With every passing day the world isslowly dying because of us.We are killing the world.We are the true murderers,

every single one of us.Ever so slowlywe are creeping up on the world and land-ing blows;the only difference is its going to takelonger till the world fnally gives up.And when its gone, it will be goneforever.

- JAYLYNDAVIDSON, NORTHFIELD

SmokeHe opened the doorto fnd smoke,thick grey smoke,accompanied by an alarm.Choking on that very smoke,he hobbled down the stairs,

almost falling once or twice,coughingall the way down,squinting to see through,thenletting out a sigh.It was not a fre.She had tried to cook.

- SAMANTHAHAYS, NORTHFIELD

HummingbirdI awoke to the sound of a hummingbirdswings,one with colors of brilliant green.His breast was coated with the richest ofreds,and his eyes directed him right ahead.

I awoke to the sound of pounding hooves.I looked out and saw white musclesmove.Her mane whipped out behind her eleganthead,this wonderful specimen, a sleek thor-oughbred.

I awoke to the sound of a rainforests life,the colors all vivid and free of strife.Flowers bloomed with soft pink petals;

this is where I wanted to settle.

I awoke to the sound of soft breathing inthe night,and I saw the stars shining bright.My eyes drooped as all went dark.I thought of magic, and I saw the spark.

I awoke to the sound of a lovely voice,one with words of rejoice.I saw my life with dirt and stains,but it was cleansed by the morning rain.

I awoke to the sound of a hummingbirdswings,one with colors of brilliant green.I knew that all should be okay,but tears still fell as my hummingbird

ew away.

- MARYAMISABELSARAFZADE, MONTPE-

LIER

S l b M h G l YWP N

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Soul burnerListen closely, children. This is a

story you will not forget. In the woods ofVermont, there is the worst creature youcould ever meet. It stands on hind legsand it is as burly as a bear. Its musclesliterally tear through its skin as it runs.

It has a head of long, twisted blackhair that is braided with int knives,birds skulls, nger bones, and foliage tohide its face, or lack of a face.

The reason why it hunts is obvious:revenge, revenge sparked from when theold medicine man stole his soul. Now hehunts, eating the souls of New Yorkerslost in the Vermont forest. So remember,when you feel the burn at the back ofyour neck, its not the sun; its him.

- CALEBDUNCAN, NORTHFIELD

THISWEEK: Myth& General





MGN FAMILYFOUNDATION




selects the best writing and images for publication.

This week, we present responses to the challenges,

Myth: Write a wacky urban myth;and General writ-

ing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

YWP NEWS


for your FREE subscription

to The Voice,

YWPs digital literary magazine!

Kaleb Aiken, Essex Junction

NEXTCHALLENGES

Op-ed.Write an opinion piece basedon a current news story. Take a sideand make a persuasive argument.

Alternate:Awoke:I awoke to thesound unleash a poem with thisline. Due April 15

Blue. It was the most brilliantshade of blue Id ever seen Workthat phrase (or concept) into a poem

or story.Alternate:Framed:Youhave a photograph of a meaning-ful moment. Describe it. But wait,theres more now tell a storyabout whats just outside the frame.Post the photo! Due April 22

Passage: You nd a secret passagein the basement of your grandfa-thers house. Where does it lead?How does it change your perspective

about your family/grandfather?Al-ternate: Surveillance: What do youthink about government or militarysurveillance? When does it go toofar?Due April 29

Submit your writing and photos toyoungwritersproject.org.

Wanderer New York City is an amazing place.

The lights and the crowds astound tour-ists, and so do the many homeless. Theyhuddle in doorways or lounge in alleys,often unnoticed by the bustling citizens.

But there is one man no one can fail tosee. He roams the streets of New York,

from Times Square to Harlem, night andday, winter and summer. People who havelived in the city their whole lives re-member seeing this man when they werechildren and see almost no change in himmany years later. He is called Wanderer.

He is old, very old, and walks with acrooked back. His bald head is tattooed inswirling shapes of a deep, faded blue andhis gnarled white beard contrasts starklywith his suntanned skin. His weather-worn, forest green cloak, like something

out of a fantasy lm, aps into the facesof Yankees fans and fools in work bootson windy days. He leans on a long spikedhammer of tarnished metal, near as tall ashe. The police have stopped him on manyoccasions because of this implement, butas the years have passed they have lefthim to his endless journey.

Children talk of the times he hasfought off criminals harassing womenor attacking some poor soul. Wanderer

is feared but loved, more like the NakedCowboy than a common miscreant. It issaid he controls a drug cartel, and it iswhispered that he gives every penny heearns to the homeless of New York City.

It is also said that he died decades agoand others have taken his place, tattooingtheir bodies and buying war-hammers towander the streets, helping where theycan and accepting nothing in return.

- BRIGGSHEFFERNAN, NEWBURY

T W G l itiM b j t b A li

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This week, we present responses to the prompt, Gen-

eral writing.Read more atyoungwritersproject.org,

a safe, civil online community.

Maybe, just maybe

Dear me,change scares me,time scares me,the unknown scares me,small spaces scare me,big spaces scare me,people scare me,

pencil sharpeners scare me,sickness scares me,bugs scare me,pain scares me,the dark scares me,love scares me.Everything, it seems, scares me.Im just a person,a person scared of petty things,and big things and small things,who gets sad and mad.Im just a person,a person who has fearsand feelingsthat also scare me.Im just a person who lies sometimesand tells the truth most of the time.Im just a person who reads and drawsand thinks too much.Im one out of many,a person who jumps with excitement andsmiles with joy,ust a small one out of big ones,ust a smart one out of smarter ones,ust a dreamer among dreamers,ust a star in a night sky,ust a word in a book,ust me.

And maybe just meis not special enough to bea sun in a solar system ora best-selling book orthe dream that dreamers dream orthe biggest one out of the big ones.Maybe thats enough.Maybe, just maybe, I can be a big wordin a best-selling book and an extra brightstar in the night sky and a smart dreamerout of only dreamers.Maybe, just maybe, the very fact that Iam not the best is what makes me shinethe brightest.Dear me,you are amazing.You are special.

You are strong.And so are the dreams, and the suns,and the best-selling books,and the geniuses.Dear reader,you are amazing.You are special.You are strong.Dont forget it.

- SHYLOHWONDER-MAEZ, BARRE

A lie

You know this puzzle as life.I know it as a lie,as a labyrinth,a maze I have to face alone.You dont face it alone.You might have a helping hand to helpyou through this maze.

I have the ghost of my past around everycorner,right or left, its there,glinting in every monsters eye.I thought I knew the answer, but now IrealizeI jumped straight into another lie,the lie you know as me.

-MIASMITH, MONTPELIER

YWP NEWS

DONTMISSTHEAPRILISSUE


THEVOICE







AMYE. TARRANT

FOUNDATION

Madi Cohen, Bolton

WRITINGCHALLENGES

Op-ed. Write an opinion piece basedon a current news story. Take a sideand make a persuasive argument. Tryto keep it tight. Try to write it to justthree paragraphs.Alternate: Awoke:I awoke to the sound unleash apoem with this line. Due April 15

YWP NEWSTHIS WEEK: Perspective & MomentThis moment

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

Madi Cohen, Bolton

YWP NEWS

POETRYCOMPETITION!

WRITEAPOEM! GETPUBLISHED!

WINTICKETSTOTHISAMAZING

PLAYBYVERMONTSTAGE!

SUBMISSIONSDUEMARCH31

More details:

youngwritersproject.org/iandyou

NEXTCHALLENGES

Tweet:Tell a story in a tweet(140-character segments).Alternate:Sound-Shower: Listen to the audiolink on this challenge onyoung-writersproject.org/prompts15-16and write the story you hear. DueMarch 25

Humbling:I thought I knew theanswer, but nish the sentencein a story of a real or imagined

experience.Alternate: Expecta-tions: You meet your biggest idol.Describe the meeting. Is the personeverything you had hoped for or ?Due April 1

Experiment: Youve got amonkey in a cage, a basketball, apaperback of the latest YA craze,and a bottle of pomegranate juice what kind of experiment are you

doing? What do you hope to learnfrom it? (Feel free to imagine yourown wacky scenario).Alternates:Gate: Use this phrase in a story:She slipped out the gate and startedto run or General: Send usyour best work of any category ortype that youve created in or out ofschool. Due April 8

THISWEEK: Perspective& Moment





VERMONTBUSINESS

ROUNDTABLE



and beyond. This week, we present responses to

Perspective: Write from the perspective of something

unconventional & Moment: Use this line in a story,

Never forget this moment, my child...Read more

great writing at youngwritersproject.org.

This momentHere I am, sitting alone at my bus stop,

sheltered from the cold wind. As the windwhistles past me, the glittering snow runsaway with it and a gure, a little gure ofa woman stumbles toward me.

Excuse me! I call out. Do you needhelp?

When she doesnt respond I sprint

toward her. Shes freezing and has nothingbut jeans and a sweatshirt on. She mum-bles something to me, cold, get me out...I slowly guide the poor woman to the busstop and rush inside to get Mother.

Mother! Mother! Come quick theres afreezing little old lady outside; we need tohelp her!

Well, what are you waiting for? Gether inside! Hurry, hurry! Mother replies.

When I return to the bus stop shes lying

there, barely breathing, Oh no! I scream.Mother rushes out the door with blankets,socks and the phone. She instructs me towrap her with the blankets and put thesocks on her bare hands and feet, while shedials 911.

Slowly and carefully I wrap her withblankets until she looks like a cocoon.The bus arrives and I know I cant go toschool with this poor lady dying on mybus bench.

I get on the bus, ask the driver to waitand grab a few of the older kids to helpme. The four older kids lift the lady on tothe bus, where its warm, and we all waiton the bus for the ambulance to arrive.

One..two...ve minutes pass and theambulance doesnt come. Two more min-utes...ve minutes...Finally I hear sirensin the distance. We carry the old womanoff the bus to the ambulance. I ask Motherif I can ride in the ambulance with her.But I have to go to school. All day long I

wonder if she made it.At the end of the day I am certain she

has died, with no family around her. Shesust going to be sent to the morgue and

cremated like nobody cares about her.I get off the bus and run inside to

Mother and ask if I we can go see how thewoman is doing and she agrees. When weget to the hospital I run inside and ask atthe front desk about a woman who camein that morning with no name. She checks

the rooms and tells us its Room 12. I amso relieved! Shes alive! We slowly walkdown the halls. I enter Room 12 and shessitting up in her hospital bed, lookingmuch better. But shes confused to seesomeone visiting her. She asks, Are youthe girl who saved me?

Yes I respond proudly.Then... Never forget this moment, my

child.

- SOPHIAHEINZ, MONTPELIER

BobbleheadsI dont say much, its mostly yes and no. I cant do anything else.I just nod and shake my head all day, except for the pauses when no one bothers to

tap me on the head.Life is pretty boring because I only have one job: nod my head when touched or

moved. Its not that hard, but very annoying and dull.Word of advice: If you ever need something to do, do not become a Bobblehead!

- CAMILLECHENEY, MONTPELIER

THIS WEEK: Ice & General writing Leaving forolf

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THISWEEK:Ice& General writing








This week, we present responses to the challenges,

Sound-Ice:Listen to the sound and write; and Gen-

eral writing.More at youngwritersproject.org.





PHYSICIANSCOMPUTERCO.

Leaving forAfghanistanI feel a scratch against my cheekas he kisses it goodbye.You need to shave!I insist.Its the last thing I say.He walks out the door.I sprint to the window

and I press my face against the cool glass;Im holding back tearsuntil I hear the achingly familiar soundof the tires crunching against the graveldriveway.And then I have no choiceand my face starts to get wetwhile I press my hands up on the window,next to my face, leaving small smudgedhand prints.Iwillhim to look at me,

to see me and turn the car aroundand run inside and hug me whiletelling me that he would never leave,he wouldnt.He turns the rst corner and honks once.He wont look at me.Why wont he look at me?He looks angry as he stares straightahead.Why arent they here next to me?Why dont they care?

Hes leaving!Hes leaving.Why arent they watching?Is this because of that divorce thing theytold me about?I dont even understand what that means!Couldnt you at least pretend?Im only a little kid.He stops to look both ways,and my face is still pressed against thewindow

and he pulls out of the driveway;then hes goneand Im still against the windowand my sights getting foggieras my mother watches me from the door-way.

MADISONOKELLY, MONTPELIER

Kevin Huang, Burlington

NEXTCHALLENGES

Humbling: I thought I knew the answer, but nish the sentence in a story ofa real or imagined experience.Alternate:Expectations:You meet your biggest idol

insert celebrity/public gure here describe the meeting. Due April 1

olfmmm...the elk calf ran somewhere in

his direction. My cubs cannot be hungrynother day.

olf takes careful steps into the freshlyallen snow. Crunch, crunch.er coal-black nose lifts in the air trying to

rack the smell of the elk calf.lumps of snow land on her white-gray furs she searches for her dinner.f only she could track the scent of theound she gave the elk calf!

Wait!She smells blood...olf quickly spots the trail of blood lead-

ng deeper into the forest.icking up her pace, she follows her nose

hrough the evergreen forest. The treestand tall and sparkle like emeralds.he snow falls faster and faster, and Wolfan sense the elk calf near.olf slows to a halt, listening intently in

he deep woods.er eyes dart in every direction, scanninger surroundings.he scent of the calf is so clear now.

Suddenly, something moves on her right.er head turns quickly to a bush shrouded

n snow.I got you now!olf sees the small head of a 3-month-old

lk calf, its eyes lled with confusion andear. Screeeeeeeeeech.

olf turns her head at the terrible sound ofn angry mama elk.he mamas body is sleek and wet from

he snow. She has large, beautiful eyes, buthey are lled with hate.

olf bares her teeth and does a low warn-ng growl. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrllllllllllll.hen, more elks, males too, come fromehind the mama.

Uh oh...Wolf dashes away, rememberinghe last time she picked a ght with elks.he snow blinds her as she runs to herack, ready for the disappointment in herups eyes, another night without dinner.

She arrives with the rest of the pack, in aircle of pines, and greets the other wolves,

growling if they get too close.olf walks to the little cave of rocks where

he has hidden her pups and sees themeasting on a small rabbit.onfusion bubbles up in the wolfs stom-ch, along with hunger.A rabbit?

er pups sparkling eyes look up at her.addy came back. He helped us hunt.

olf runs out of the cave, looks frantically,ut has no hope of nding him.

Where did he go, little ones?Her pupsock their little heads and reply, What doou mean?

olf sighs with sadness and settles downext to the pups, helping them nish offhe rabbit.Disappeared, again.

MARYAMISABELSARAFZADE, MONTPELIER

READ

THEBESTOF

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youngwritersproject.org

Beware the button THIS WEEK: General writing YWP NEWS & EVENTS

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK




SleepTo sleep. I miss it.The sensation of drifting slowly into

the warm embrace of the dark, knowingyou would wake up feeling rested andhappy.

The subtle ache of your eyelids tellingyour brain its time to close them, andbeing able to.

I miss the minutes before sleep, andwhen you wake up, never knowing ex-actly how long it has been.

I havent slept in years, it seems, al-ways resting, never rested. Ever since that

fateful Sunday. The day I died.

FRANCESKAPLAN, E. MONTPELIER

Beware the buttonIt all started with this huge button. It

was just there one day when I went to myob at the library.

I was shelving the books in the mys-tery section when I noticed that therewere about 20 of the exact same coloredbooks, making a gigantic square in themiddle of the bookcase.

I pulled one of the books out. I wasshocked to nd there was no title or anywords on the inside!

I picked up another and another, butthey were all blank. I couldnt gure outwhy this had happened; no books hadever been blank in the library before.

Its probably just a misunderstanding.Ill take these books to Mrs. Fluffernutterright now! I thought.

I started putting the rest of the books inmy cart to take to Mrs. Fluffernutter, thehead librarian, but something red caughtmy eye.

I pulled the last couple of books away,and sitting right behind them was a BIG.

RED. BUTTON!I couldnt believe it; the button was

so huge, it was probably bigger than mywaistline.

For some reason, I felt somehowattracted to it. Not like I thought it wasbeautiful, but as if it was pulling me withan invisible shing pole.

I reached out. It was so tempting.When I touched the button, the worldslipped away for a moment. I was beingpulled away. It only lasted for about aminute or so before I found myself stand-ing.

I wasnt in the library anymore, I wasin some sort of rocky cave. I felt aroundfor anything that I could familiarize my-self with, but all I could nd was jaggededges with a slimy surface.

I tried to move forward but there wasa wall. So I turned around and came faceto face with the BIG. RED. BUTTON!

I instantly pressed it, hoping to be

back in my beloved library. After a briefoating feeling, I discovered I was riding

something, and was very surprised to lookdown and nd an elephant.

I looked around to see another elephantand two horses leading the way down apath. ...

CAMILLECHENEY, MONTPELIER

(Read the complete story at youngwritersproj-

ect org/node/1686 )

THISWEEK:General writing





THEBAYANDPAUL

FOUNDATIONS


sions from students across the country. A team of

staff, mentors and students selects the best local writ-

ing and images for publication here. This week, we

present responses to the challenge for General writ-

ing. Read more great writing atyoungwritersproject.

org, a civil, respectful, online community.

Emma Comeau, Shelburne

YWP NEWS& EVENTS

READTHELATESTISSUE




TEENOPENMICFRIDAY, MARCH11

BASEMENTTEENCENTER

39 MAINST., MONTPELIER

PERFORMANCEWORKSHOP5 P.M.

TEENOPENMIC6:15 P.M.

MOREINFO

youngwritersproject.org/node/5128

NEXTCHALLENGES

Tweet:Tell a story in a tweet(140-character segments).Alternate:Sound-Shower: Click on the audio linkon this challenge and write the story youhear or use the sound clip and others to

create a soundscape. Due March 25

Humbling: I thought I knew theanswer, but nish the sentence in astory of a real or imagined experience.

Alternate:Expectations:You meet yourbiggest idol insert celebrity/publicgure here describe the meeting. DueApril 1

READ

MOREGREATWRITINGAT


WHENI TOUCHEDTHEBUTTON,THEWORLDSLIPPEDAWAY

FORAMOMENT.

Feeling weightless THIS WEEK: Moment YWP EVENTS

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK








JANESTRUST

READTHELATESTISSUE




Feeling weightlessNever forget this moment, my child,the old man said.Never forget feeling young and weight-less; never caring, and always moving.Never forget being so small, but feelingso big,and seeing everything in this world in itspurest form.Always remember to dance in the sun,and sing in the rain.Never lose that sense of wonder, thatfeeling that keeps you searching, andprowlingthrough the darkness.Never forget to love, never forget that youare loved.Never forget this, my child,because if you do, the world will crumbleat your feet, and youll never look up.Be kind; give your hand to the underdogeven if no one else does.Laugh as if all the sound has been lockedaway,and youre trying desperately to reach it.Never forget these things, little one;always hold on.Of course, I am just an old man tellingyou stories that ll your head,and cloud your thoughts.But try to remember, little one, because

someday you will feel like you are fall-ing,and you will think that nothing can stopyou.But if you remember all these things,you will feel like you are ying.

NORADILLON, EASTMONTPELIER

Madi Cohen, Bolton

THISWEEK: Moment



and beyond. This week, we present local responses

to the writing challenge, Moment:Use this phrase,

Never forget this moment, my child, the old man

said Read more great writing atyoungwritersproj-

ect.org, a civil online community of writers.

TEENOPENMICFRIDAY, MARCH11

BASEMENTTEENCENTER




MOREINFO


YWP EVENTS

Man in the moonDear Old Man in the Moon,can I make a wish on you, too,as I do when a star shines and catches myglance?Can I make a wish while I lie here in thegrass,the air cooling with the night approach-ing?I wish that I will never forget this mo-

ment,this moment where all is peaceful,where no worry nips my ankles,where nobody nags me.A cool wind blows over meas if a breath is washing over me.Never forget this moment, my child,the old man whispers.

MIASMITH, EASTMONTPELIER

Never forgetNever forget this moment, my child,

the old man said as he paddled down theriver in the canoe.

Jimmy sat in the front, looking aroundin wonder at all the trees and mountains.He had never seen anything like thisbefore. Back at his home in New YorkCity, all he saw were big buildings andcars everywhere. Those big skyscrapersblocked out views of the sky. Here, withthe old man, he could see mountains andtrees and meadows with cows grazing. He

had never seen so much of the sky.I see youre enjoying the views, theold man observed.

I guess, replied Jimmy. He reachedout to feel the cold water around his hand.

My cabin is coming up on the left; wewill stop there, the old man said.

Jimmy was too astounded to reply, forhe had seen a bald eagle swoop down andperch on a branch.

LEOCIOFFI, EASTMONTPELIER

THIS WEEK: Fanfction YWP NEWS& EVENTSRevenge

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THISWEEK: Fanfction





BURLINGTONTELECOM


hundred submissions from students across Vermont,

New Hampshire and beyond. This week, we present

responses to the challenge, Fanfction:Place your-

self in one of your favorite ctional tales. What kind

of trials are you and your beloved characters facing

today? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

NEXTPROMPTS

Clouds: Imagine you have the abilityto oat up to and walk on clouds -- andnot fall through. What do you do withthis newfound power?Alternates:Pho-to-SeaStairs: Use the photo, Seapoint,Dublin, Ireland, by Giuseppe Milo towrite a story. Due March 4

Wishes: You come upon a wishingwell. What kind of magic happens at thebottom of a wishing well? Who handlesall these wishes and how?Alternate:Sound-Stirring:Listen to the sound on

youngwritersproject.org and write thestory you hear. Due March 11

READTHELATESTISSUE




RevengeI sneak through the bushes, tracking

Adelina Amouteru as she travels withher sister. Her illusions cannot stop me. Isee through every one of her tricks. Herpast might be harsh, but it doesnt giveher the excuse to kill my closest friend. Ihide behind a pine tree, listening to theirconversation.

Adelina, my feet are aching. Lets stopfor the night; you arent going to be late foranything.

Fine, but we leave early morning. Ihave my heart set on arriving in the city.

The city?Let us eat, Violetta.At these words, they head my way.

Quickly, I turn into a chickadee and y upinto the pine where I turn back to humanform. My malfetto power is shape-shifting

into beasts. Adelinas is creating illu-sions. But a beasts eyes can see throughthose illusions. Violetta, I am not sure,but something is inside of her sending offsupernatural waves. I look down from mybranch and see them setting up camp. Asmall tent made of blankets is put up, andAdelina comes back from a nearby lakewith water.

It is almost sundown, and I need a plan.I look at Violetta, and it comes to me. Iturn into a nightingale and sing a note as I

y to the lake.I thought nightingales only sang at

night, Violetta noted.Hmm. Adelina seemed suspicious of

me. Good.At the lake, I turn human and kneel at

the edge of the lake. I look at my reectionand see a tall girl with straight black hairwaving in the wind. I see a ready quiverand bow; I see a gleaming sword. I see agirl thirsty for revenge.

I stand from the lakeside and use theform of a fox to get back to Adelina andVioletta.

Violetta, will you go get some rewoodwhile I nd some mushrooms?

Of course, my sister.Perfect timing, it is starting to get dark

now. Violetta walks around the woods sureto keep an eye on Adelina so she doesntget lost. Violetta takes her hair out of thetight bun and lets it roll down her shoul-

ders. I follow her as a moth, not close, butnot too far. I turn into a bird and y ahead.Where she cant see, I morph into a beauti-ful white stallion. I trot up to her line ofsight and hear her soft gasp at my beauty.I see the desire in her eyes, and she comestoward me whispering. Come, my beauty,do not be afraid!

MARYAMISABELSARAFZADE,ONTPELIER

(Fanfction: The Young Elites by Marie Lu) Dylan Sayamouangkhua, Burlington

TEENOPENMIC, MONTPELIER!

FRIDAY, MARCH11

BASEMENTTEENCENTER




MOREINFO


THISWEEK: Voicemail &Photo YWP NEWSAfter the beep

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK








JANESTRUST



and beyond. A team of staff and students selects the

best writing and images for publication. This week,

we present responses to Voicemail: Write a poem in

the form of a voicemail message & Photo-Veggies.

Read more at youngwritersproject.org.

At The Generator in Burlington by Kevin Huan g, Burlington (See more photos in The Voice)

GETYOURFREESUBSCRIPTION

ATYOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG

Perfect veggiesSome people like their vegetables to

look so precise. They ddle and ddlewith them until they are perfect. Some-times it takes hours or days.

They think that every single piece offood that they eat needs to be perfect.They can never eat at places where theycannot cook the food themselves becauseit will not be good enough looking.

Why do things have to be so perfect?Everything has to look perfect. Every-body says that they are perfect, even me.

Nobody should be perfect. They shouldbe weird. Nobody is normal or perfectand everybody has aws. Everybody willhave improvement on something, no mat-ter how long they have been doing it orhow good they are at it.

When you think that you are perfect,say to yourself, I am not perfect; I havea lot of talents and things that I need toimprove on.

When you think that you need to beperfect, say to yourself, I dont need tobe perfect. I need to do my best and trymy hardest. Nobody needs to be perfect.Not even vegetables...

AMELIANORDLE, DUXBURY

WELIVELIFE. TODIE?I MEAN... WHATSTHATALLABOUT?

Photo-Veggies: Artisan by Apionid. (Creative Commons.)

pAt the tone, please record your mes-

sage. When you have fnished dialing,lease hang up, or press one for more

options._________________________________

***I know you dont want to hear this.

And Im not sorry.But I dont love you.Even though I do.But ... its complicated.You know that.Thats the thing about us.And everyone.Were so redundant.Just like life.

I dont get it.... I just dont understand.We live life.To die?I mean ...Whats that all about?Ha. I guess it doesnt matter.

Nothing matters.So, yeah.You probably read what I left for you onyour table.I guess I explain better in there.But I just needed to talk?One last time ...And ...People will write.I know.Theyll write about me.

When I can no longer hear them.Listen to them.And dont believe a word they say.People want to remember the good inothers.After they ...Well. Just remember,That I was not good.Remember who I really was.I was never a good person.So, yeah.

I guess,I dont know.Bye?

SYLVANWILLIAMS, MIDDLESEX

NEXTWRITINGCHALLENGESSeuss.Write in rhyme! Create a cast of crazy characters! YWP honors the late Dr.Seuss, who would have turned 112 on March 2.Alternate:Perspective: Tell a storyfrom the perspective or viewpoint of something unconventional: a chocolate bar, ahouseboat, a spider, etc. Due Feb. 19

Before: Think of one of your favorite places -- an old building, a barn, a house. Nowimagine this place 100 years ago or even 200 years ago. What did it look like then?Tell a story.Alternate: Sound-Train:Listen to the sound clip onyoungwritersrproject.organd write the story you hear. Due Feb. 26

MOREGREATWRITINGAT


Winter in VermontTHISWEEK: GeneralLetter in the night

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK




I step out into the chilly afternoon. Thesun glistens off the blankets of snow, andI see my friends waiting for me.

I take a deep breath through my nose;it smells like wintergreen and fallingsnowakes.

I continue to walk, hearing the crunchof snow and ice under my boots. I stop

and reach a gloved hand into the uffywhite. As I reach my hand past the thinlayer of hardened snow, I scoop it, andround it in my hands.

Hiding it behind my back, I continue,acting casual so I can surprise them.

I enclose my hand around the snowballand throw it as hard as I can, duckingbehind a hill of snow.

When I pop my head up, I know thebattle is on, making it a perfect winter in

Vermont. CAMILLECHENEY, AGE13, MONTPELIER





CHAMPLAININVESTMENT

PARTNERS


hundred submissions from students across Vermont

and New Hampshire. A team of staff and students se-


week, we present responses to the challenge, General

writing,to write about anything in any genre.Read

more atyoungwritersproject.org.

Kevin Huang, Age 17, Burlington

YWP NEWS& EVENTS



VERMONTWRITESDAY

ISWEDNESDAY, FEB. 10!

Write for just 7 minutes! Moreinfo:youngwritersproject.org/vt-writesday2016.

NEXTWRITINGCHALLENGESSeuss. Write in rhyme! Create a cast of crazy characters! YWP honors the late Dr.

Seuss, who would have turned 112 on March 2.Alternate: Perspective:Tell a storyfrom the perspective or viewpoint of something unconventional: a chocolate bar, ahouseboat, a spider, etc. Due Feb. 19

Before: Think of one of your favorite places an old building in town or a barnor a house. Now imagine this place 100 years ago or even 200 years ago. What didit look like then? Tell a story.Alternate: Sound-Train: Listen to this sound clip on

youngwritersproject.org/prompts15-16 and write a story.Due Feb. 26

gRunning, feet pounding on the ground,

my breath comes in raspy gasps. My headpounds as my lungs scream for air. I hearthem coming. Not loud chasing, but quietstalking. Then something hits me in theshoulder. I scream and darkness sur-rounds me.

Amnisty! You were screaming again,

Aila says, shaking my shoulders.Oh, sorry, bad dream.I pull on my smock and hear a church

bell chime: 2 oclock in the morning. Aman comes in with a bulky, canvas bag,his head bent low. He throws a letter ontomy lap ... It has a red wax seal and smellsof smoke and cinnamon. I ip it to thefront and see that there is no return ad-dress. I rip it open and pull out a scribbledletter as if it was written in a hurry.

My dear Amnisty, How I have missed you. These past few

months have been ghastly for me. The soldiers

continue to search for me and the others, but

we have stayed hidden this long and I pray

that it will stay that way until we must move

again. I am truly sorry for all the secrets and

I promise that I will help you get out of your

mill before we leave here. I wish that I could

see your face but I know that I would only be

utting us both in danger. Please write to me.

Give your letter to the man who delivered thisone. I know we will see one another soon.

Love eternally, Freiheit

My mind races as I try to rememberanyone I used to know with the nameFreiheit and who would write with suchfeeling and love. I never recalled hav-ing any lovers, but I dont remembermy young teen years when I used to livewith my mother and sister. I hear an ear-splitting bell and soldiers come marchingin. All the other women and teen girlsstand up, their eyes full of sleep, and wewalk slowly into the stuffy mills. As Iwork, I wonder how to get paper, a pen,an envelope and stamps. Then it hits me.I will have to sneak into the overseersofce and steal some. I shake my head: Isit really worth it to risk my life to write aletter to someone I dont even know?

But we live in hard times. My motherand sister are dead and my father is deadto me. I have no one except for Aila, who

cares for me, but even Aila doesnt knowanything about me nor I her. I nallycome to a decision; that night I will sneakinto the overseers ofce and steal thesupplies and write and send the letter thisnight ...

Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.

org/node/4958.

CHRISTIECECERE, AGE14, MONTPELIER

THISWEEK: Eyes VERMONTWRITESDAYIS WE NES AY FE 10!

Flee into the forest

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK





hundred submissions from students. A team of staff

and students selects the best local writing and im-

ages for publication. This week, we present responses

to the challenge, Eyes:It was the eyes, chocolate

brown and always searching, that warned me to

Finish the scene.More at youngwritersproject.org.





AMYE. TARRANT

FOUNDATION


OutedIt was the eyes, chocolate brown and

always searching, that warned me to backaway. Youve gone far enough, they tell

me. Theres no need.But I am impatient. I have waited long

enough. And for now, I cant listen tothose chocolate brown eyes.

Yes, I say to my mother. Yes, weare. I turn from the eyes to my mother,whose eyebrows shoot up her forehead inconfusion and shock.

Minnie, the other one says. Hervoice is scratchy and small. Minnie, justwait.

Mom, were dating.And now, my mothers eyes darken toa severity I almost dont recognize. Theyhavent looked that way since my brothertold her he was dropping out of college.But this time, theyre directed at me, andI almost wish I had listened to those eyes.

Minerva, what are you saying? shesays, voice low and threatening.

I draw myself up to my full height.Olive and I. Were dating. I can feelOlive tense next to me, but Im done. Im

past caring. Ive held this in for so longthat Im surprised I havent let it out yet.

Then, stillness. Silence. I swallow andwait. My mother doesnt move a muscle.Anxious, I look into the brown eyes thatso often search mine, looking for comfort,but am instead stunned. I recognize thoseeyes better than my own. They help me toknow Im on the right path. They consoleme, they calm me, they release me. Andtheyve changed. Theyve blurred with

angry tears. Those chocolate brown eyesare hard and unforgiving. Those chocolatebrown eyes look like they dont want tohelp me anymore. Theyre telling me toleave and never come back.

Ol-Olive, I say, hoping, but she justshakes her head. She turns. She walksaway. And before I know it, shes out thedoor, taking those chocolate brown eyeswith her.

EMMABAUER, AGE16, STRAFFORD

ISWEDNESDAY, FEB. 10!

Stop everything to write for just sevenminutes! Find out more atyoungwriter-sproject.org/vtwritesday2016.

It was the eyes, chocolate brown and

always searching, that warned me to run,to run and disappear, forever, to get awayfrom the scorching ames that reached tothe night sky. And I obeyed.

Taking one last look at my sister, withher beautiful copper hair and a forgivingexpression, I ed into the hostile forest.

I ran through the night, leaping overfallen oaks and ducking under lowbranches. A slight mist formed and wasgliding gently past the trees.

My shirt was torn by the cruelty of myfate. My sneakers were soaked by all thebrooks and creeks I had trudged throughto get away. The night sky only got darkerand darker. Clouds shrouded the moonand stars from sight. Owls hooted andbats screeched. Silent footsteps were

only faintly heard under the sound of myclumsy sprinting feet.

The forest oor was covered with straybranches and pine needles. My fear, fearfor my sister, fear of my familys wrath,was always with me.

They say that being faced with fearmakes your heart pump faster so you canrun longer. They say that being faced withfear makes your pupils grow larger so youcan see better.

My fear makes me only see the choco-late brown eyes I left behind and allowsme to carry the burden longer than I couldever imagine.

MARYAMISABELSARAFZADE, AGE13,

ONTPELIER

Through the freIt was the eyes, chocolate brown and

lways searching, that warned me toscape from the brick house on the top ofhester Peak Hill Road, three miles away

rom any kind of humanity. I rememberhat day so clearly in my mind, as if everyittle detail was embroidered in my mindorever. I remember hearing something,lmost crackling from downstairs; Iemember wrapping myself in the quilt ony bed as I tiptoed downstairs.I remember the stairs feeling warm,

o strangely warm that my toes burned,hen the re as huge endless bursts of redushing down.

My mom screamed rst, clutchingy sweaty body to hers protectively. My

ad was behind her; he was holding ourrange cat in his arms. Oh, how worried,ow sad, how scared, their faces hadooked. ...Read the complete story at young-ritersproject.org/ /node/3805

ISABELGIAMMUSSO, AGE12, EAST

ONTPELIER

THISWEEK: Space Travel YWP NEWS& EVENTS

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK




The kid inside meI used to come here all the time as a

kid. The memories I have here are as-tonishing, like nothing youve ever seen;theyre out of this world.

This place is different for me now,though; I dont see what I used to see.

Its all gray now, dead. It just doesntclick with me the way it used to.

When I was younger I could do any-thing here. I could build a rocket and theny it far away. I used to dream of outer

space, but not anymore.Theres no time for that now.Its all about money and politics.

Thats why Im back here, to remember,remember what its like to be young, to befree, to be able to space travel.

I want my imagination back. I want tosee the world in a color besides gray orbeige.

But my eyes are dead; they have beencrushed by the corporate world of real-ism.

All I want is happiness and youth. Icame here to save myself, to be happyagain, but I cant, not anymore; Ive beendestroyed, beaten, I cant be saved any-more. This desolate, blinding world hasdestroyed the kid inside me.

JAMESSTEPHENS, AGE14, NORTHFIELD

Young Writers Project and VT Dept.of Libraries present the rst in a seriesof Vermont Interactive Author Talksfeaturing S.S. Taylor, author of TheExpeditioners.

SATURDAY, JAN. 30, 2 P.M.

KELLOGG-HUBBARDLIBRARY

MONTPELIER

&

VIAVIDEOCONFERENCEELSEWHERE

More info:youngwritersproject.org/taylortalk

WRITINGCHALLENGE

Kaleb Aiken, Essex High School





VERMONTBUSINESS

ROUNDTABLE


hundred submissions from students. A team of staff,

mentors and students selects the best local writing and

images for publication. This week, we present re-

sponses to the challenge, Photo-Space Travel: Write

about the photo, Greenwood Space Travel Supply Co.

Read more great writing atyoungwritersproject.org.

INTERACTIVEAUTHORTALKS

Author S.S. Taylor

READTHEJANUARYISSUE


THEVOICE



Seuss. Write in rhyme! Create a cast ofcrazy characters! YWP honors the lateDr. Seuss, who would have turned 112 onMarch 2.Alternate:Perspective: Tell astory from the perspective or viewpointof something unconventional: a chocolatebar, houseboat, spider, etc. Due Feb. 19

Greenwood Space Travel Supply Co., Los Paseos (Creative Commons)

Six-word stories

CAPTUREDIm a prisoner of the night.

MUSICMusic, the only weapon I need.

NOWThe woods, once quiet, a battleeld.

CATSCats, cats everywhere, but no mice.

FRANCESKAPLAN, AGE15, EAST

MONTPELIER

The visitorEvery day: Wake up, go to work at

Greenwood Space Travel Co., comehome, go to bed.

Day after day, saving up for a car.Twelve-hour shifts all day, every day.

Not many customers, no one to talk to,no one to eat with, no one to stare at.

One day, a person walked in, black

trench coat on. He, or it, asked for someparts. The parts were not any I knew of.

It walked into the storage room, thenwalked out with a box of parts.

It dropped a wallet full of cash, enoughfor the car. It thanked me in a murmurthat sounded like English but with a weirdaccent, out of this world even. Then itleft.

BRYCEHIRD, AGE13, NORTHFIELD

The dark days THISWEEK: Monologue Why not?

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PHOTOOFTHEWEEK




Whats wrong?Nothing.Nothing is drowning me. Nothing is

ushing every ounce of life out of me.othing locks me in a dark jail cell,

atching the occasional ray of light, butver so eeting, trying to transfer theurmoil of sadness into tears, to somehow

scape the seemingly endless tunnel. Yett clings to my insides and remains bottledp, hidden from the world. And whenheyre most unwanted, the tears come aswaterfall.Sleep is the only savior, the only safe

lace here. Its like a reverse nightmare.ou dont ever want to wake up to theightmare that is life itself. My woundsre deeper and more painful than anyequiring a Band-Aid. Im a ghost in my

wn life, just going through the motions.can feel myself slipping into a darknesseeper than one can imagine, an inescap-ble fear. I gasp for breath in deep water,urrounded by all these people, but lone-ier than ever, settling into nothingnessnd being okay with that. They tell me Illeel okay again, but I know I wont. I canell myself Ill be better tomorrow, butve been through too many tomorrows tonow that isnt the truth. Sadness has be-ome my best and only friend, and I let it.y chest is weighed down from within.Everything becomes a blur. People I

sed to care about become insignicant;ays seem to never end, and the person Ised to be is washed away with a never-nding wave of melancholy. Then, as theear overcomes me and all hope is lost, he

gives me the one thing I couldnt muster:ope. Holds me when I cry for hours.ills me with hope of the future and re-inds me of how many people care about

e. Pulls me down the path of happi-ess. Takes care of me when I dont carenough to. Helps me nd things I love too and does them with me. Inspires meo create new perspectives. He remains aonstant as everything races by.

After months of drowning, I am able toome up for air. I told him I was broken,nd he told me he loved all of my pieces.e hugs me and the sadness is squeezedut of me, piece by piece. He tells me that

appiness is a choice, and life is meant toe lived in happiness. We nd solace inhe overwhelming beauty of nature. Hehows me the vast spectrum of greatnessn this world. There are two paths in life.ou can choose to isolate yourself fromveryone who loves you and drown inour sadness. Or you can consciouslyhoose to be happy and appreciate all thatife has to offer. I choose to be happy.

FERNFREDELLA, AGE16, SO. RYEGATE





BURLINGTONTELECOM


hundred submissions from students. A team of staff,

mentors and students selects the best local writing

and images for publication. This week, we present re-

sponses to the challenge, Monologue: Write a mono-

logue of a person who is troubled or conicted about

something. Read more atyoungwritersproject.org.


YWP NEWS& EVENTS

I should just do it.Why not?Might as well try.Why not?Its better to know nowrather than later.Why not?I might be too late if I wait.

Why not?Because she might say no.

RICHARDROSTEN, AGE16, GROTON

VERMONTINTERACTIVEAUTHORTALKS

SATURDAY, JAN. 30, 2 P.M.

KELLOGG-HUBBARDLIBRARY

MONTPELIERYWP & the VT Department of Librar-

ies present the rst in a series of VermontInteractive Author Talks featuring S.S.Taylor, author of The Expeditioners.More info:youngwritersproject.org/taylortalkAuthor S.S. Taylor

MOREGREATWRITINGAT


READTHEJANUARYISSUE


THEVOICE



Myth: Invent the wackiest urban mythyou can think of.Alternate:Love: Theysaid I shouldnt love you, but I couldnthelp myself Why? What happens? DueJan. 29

Voicemail: Write a poem in the form ofa voicemail message. Make it rhyme!Record it!Alternate:Superhero: Createyour own superhero. Keep it classic witha comic strip; make a slideshow or sound-scape; draw a portrait or write a descrip-tive story. Due Feb. 5

WRITINGCHALLENGES

THISWEEK: One-sided & General At deaths doorOh, no

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hundred submissions from elementary to high school

students. A team of staff, mentors and students se-


week, we present responses to the challenges to write

a one-sided conversation & general writing in any

genre. Read more atyoungwritersproject.org.





BLUEBIRDBARBECUE

BURLINGTON

READMORE

GREATWRITINGAT


READTHELATESTISSUE




PHOTOOFTHEWEEK

Snowballs by Kevin Huang, Age 17, Burlington

I dont know why it happened. I dontknow why any of this happened.

It was all quiet, nothing was goingwrong, until everything was.

It all went down at once the deafen-ing noise and blinding light; buildingswent up like matchsticks.

The blood of the innocent spewed out

onto the streets. It covered everything.There was no escape. I will die here, I

thought, shriveled up like the rat I am.I deserve this, its my fault all this is

happening, I thought.Im going to die with my ship now,

bite the bullet.Im going to relax and let death sweep

me up, theres no way to escape it so Imight as well accept it.

Im going out there to meet my fears,

to accept my doom, to end the madness.Theres nothing else for me to do; theywont stop once they have me, but theymight show mercy. Im going to meetthem at Deaths Door.

JAMESSTEPHENS, AGE14, NORTHFIELD

Hello?... Yes.What? Wait ... WHY?Oh, no ...But why would she ... oh.Hold on. Where did you say they went?NO.Slow down. You what?

... Calm down! Its OK, I believe you.Im going over there. Are you going tocome?OK, I have to go ... Ill tell you whathappens. Thanks. Ill need it.*Beep*

MEGANANDREW, AGE13, NORTHFIELD

YWP NEWS& EVENTS

VERMONTWRITESDAY!

WEDNESDAY, FEB.10, 2016

JOINTHEFUN!

WRITEFORJUSTSEVENMINUTES!

Find out more:youngwritersproject.org/vtwritesday2016

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Darkness has fallen.Shadows enve

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