Essex Reporter 2014-2015

Gliding
BY LEAH KELLEHER
Grade 10, Essex High School
It begins with blackness,

shadows delicately dancing
as if to the melody of a harmonica.
A touch of cinnamon, crimson and
pearly blue appear,
commencing the final act.
Water ripples and the smooth waves
form lizard hide and crinkle with every
movement.
Sugar floats in the April breeze
yet it does not tickle my nose as I breathe.
I imagine another life,
speaking in tongues unknown,
tiptoeing on cobble stone,
sipping bitter brews
and chewing on bliss.
I am here now, and I can hardly soak up
the subdued saxophone in the distance
and the cool metal seat I rest my palms on.
I search the sky,
a navy canvas that bears the
shining of souls,
and then peer back down to the murky waters
and to a curious countenance.
THIS WEEK: General

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to
write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. This
weeks writing is in response to the prompt for General writing. You can find
more at youngwritersproject.org, and in YWPs digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
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Nate Ertle, Essex High School
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Him
BY ISABEL DOUBLEDAY
Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate
You liked trains.
You played the guitar
and the piano.
You loved her.
You married her
and you had four children.
You had it all
but you were so sick
you couldnt do it;
you couldnt fight
for them.
You gave up.
You left them broken.
You left her
to fall out of this trance of love.
Now shes older.
Now shes stronger.
Now she knows better
than
to love a man who likes trains
and plays the guitar
and piano.
Lila and the portal

BY SIDNEY THOMPSON
I didnt know what was happening at the
time I was walking home from school to
my house when I saw it: a portal to another
world. I walked in. It looked just like the book
I was reading, with a garden filled with fairies
and magical plants that moved. There were
flowers in all the colors of the rainbow.
Next to the flowers there was some kind of
magic water that was glowing blue and had
sparkles in it. It was so cool! I wished Earth
could be like this. I wished I could stay there
forever. Then I saw the castle. It was so tall
that it looked like it was going to fall over.
It was as if I was the main character in the
book. Then I thought, if I am the main character, Ill see the young prince. He was kind of
weird in the book. ... Then I saw him; he came
right up to me. Hello there, young lady! What
would your name be? he said.
Lila, I stuttered.
I would love to get to know you. Could
you come to my castle at 6 oclock? he asked.
Ill be there, I said, unsure. I was scared
of meeting him; the air just didnt feel right.
That night it was hot and sticky. The sun had
(continued, right column)
THIS WEEK: Happening

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages Vermont
students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic
audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a selection of the
best local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to
the prompt, Happening: Begin a piece with the phrase,I didnt know what
was happening at the time... Read more at youngwritersproject.org and in
YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
Kristina Pretty, Essex High School
just set and the sky was an orange-pink color.

The castle floor was made of the finest
marble and the stone wall was about 100 feet
high. There was no escape.
The table was set with a candle and a blue
tablecloth with gold trim. A servant came in
and served something that looked like spaghetti but with a sauce that was glowing blue.
Wow, this is great! I said.
I had it made just for you. Im glad you
like it, he said.
That was when it happened. I fell fast
asleep, in an almost coma-like state.
I woke up in a freezing dungeon. There was
an old lady there, too. She wore a long robe,
and I assumed she was a witch or something.
Save yourself while you still can, young
child! she said, pointing to the window.
As the witch said a magic spell, my ballet
flats started to glow the same blue as the pasta
sauce.
The shoes on her feet are small and neat,
but will never get her out. She has to go; she
has to save her tiny soul, the witch said.
I started to fly! I lifted off the ground, my
shoes leading me to the garden. The window
broke as I kicked through it. The glowing portal started to open, the same portal I saw when
I was entering my book. I flew straight through
it and it closed behind me.
Ouch! I said as I fell upside down on my
floor. Well, that was a strange experience.
Sucked into a book

BY HOPE FORGUITES
Grade 4, Thomas Fleming School
It was Pipers first day of kindergarten at
Hunnington Elementary. It was a small school,
but Piper didnt mind. The school had red
brick walls and a beautiful garden with flowers
of all different colors and sizes, such as lavender, roses, tulips, daisies and sunflowers.
It also had a flagpole in the front and the
biggest playground ever! It had green grass
and peach trees out front by the garden.
Piper was in Mrs. Staplefords classroom
sitting on the brand new red rug and listening
to the lesson. When the lesson was over, Mrs.
Stapleford said, OK, children you can now
read your fairy tales!
As Piper got up from the rug she thought
about which fairy tale she would read. She
finally decided on The Three Little Pigs
and sat down to read in the corner next to the
bookshelves.
When she got to the part where the house is
blown down, she noticed there was a character missing. Piper flipped three pages back. It
was true! The middle pig was missing! Piper
thought her eyes were just playing tricks on
her, so she leaned down closer and it was not
there! The middle pig was truly missing! It
THIS WEEK: General writing

best local writing and photography. This weeks writing is in response to the
prompt for General writing. You can find more at youngwritersproject.org,
a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital
magazine, The Voice.
was supposed to be saying, I
wont let you in ... not by the
hairs of my chinny chin chin!
Suddenly Piper got sucked
into the book! She felt a tingling in her whole body. Then
she found herself standing
inside a stick house with a red
carpet in the middle.
She looked at herself and
noticed that instead of hands
she had hooves, instead of a
nose she had a snout, and instead of a human body, she had
a pigs body!
Suddenly she heard something outside, and
sure enough, the house was blown down and
standing there was a wolf! Youve got to be
kidding, she thought to herself.
That second Piper screamed and sprinted
down the hill!
Erin McIntosh, Essex High School
She eventually came across a nice looking

brick house with a beautiful chimney.
She knocked on the door and out came a
giant pig.
Little brother! the pig said. What brings
you here?
Piper replied, I am not your brother. I am a

girl named Piper. Can I come inside? Please?
The big pig didnt believe Piper, but he let
her in anyway.
Soon the wolf was knocking on the door.
The giant pig and Piper stood frozen in shock
with their mouths open. The wolf threatened to
blow the house down if they didnt let him in.
Of course, they didnt let him in, so the wolf
blew and blew, but he couldnt blow the house
down because it was a brick house.
The only other way in was through the
chimney. So the wolf started climbing higher
and higher. He eventually came to the top and
he jumped into the red brick chimney.
Splat! was the sound the wolf made hitting the steaming pot of stew that Piper and the
oldest pig had left for him.
The story ended with dinner. Of course it
was wolf stew. (Piper didnt like wolf stew, but
she ate it to be polite.)
As the story ended, all of a sudden there
was a gleaming green light circling around
Piper. Piper swatted it, trying to get it off because it tickled a little bit, but she couldnt get
it off so she just stared at it in disbelief.
Moments later, Piper appeared back in the
classroom, reading in the corner again. She
glanced at the clock and realized she was late
for gym, so she rushed out of the room before
the teacher could see her.
A forgotten island
BY AUDREY DAWSON
I remember a time when ... life wasnt
such a challenge. Time didnt fly by, and my
daily view was only three feet high.
I look straight ahead into the distance
now, where a stark ocean stares back at me
apathetically, but when I was little, it was
easier to really see things around me.
My understanding of the world may have
been limited, but who is to say I didnt see
more? The ladybugs crawling on swaying
fronds of thick grass, the muddy footprints,
the forgotten toys, the fuzzy dust bunnies
under the couch, and the crispy tumbling
leaves of autumn.
I remember that I saw the world differently, but I dont know when that changed.
When did I start to focus on what is far
ahead as opposed to what is close, the more
important details of each day?
How do I open my eyes and focus again?
I remember a time when ... life was simple, at least compared to life now. I remember when the majority of weekends werent
bogged down by homework, responsibilities, and worries for the uncertain future.
(continued right column)

prompt for General writing. You can find more at youngwritersproject.org,
FEATURE PHOTO
Jo Munson, Essex High School
I remember vivid, bright days, crisp and

green, the smell of spring.
I would pull out a patchwork blanket and
spread it over the tender green grass. I would
bring my stuffed animals, maybe a book. I
would lie there and read, watch the swirling
blue sky, keep the ants from crawling onto
my little island. I would rest, as my mom
and dad fertilized the garden, cleaned the
cars, mowed the lawn, organized life around
me.
Why did this stop?
Why do I keep my animals alone on a
dusty chair in the corner of my room?
When did my ritual of welcoming spring
come to an end?
I dont even remember.
Maybe it is because I started to do the
spring chores. Maybe my parents slowed
down too.
I want so desperately to go back. To grab
a blanket and a book. Its something that I
never knew I missed.
I never knew that it was important until
I was far away from both my open-minded
innocence and my home in Vermont.
The simplest things are easily lost, but
now that Ive realized it, I hope to reclaim
them for my own.
The someone
BY ELISE SCHUMACHER
School
Someone walks on a circuitous road
His back is bent with a bulbous load
His face is hidden away
But look beneath that ashen cloak
And youll see a crooked half-moon
Worn with a line of erstwhile ay.
His eyes are pools of mystery
In which a candle of light
Flickers like the winking stars
Of the cloudy night
But he looks away
Haggard and shriveled, scant of prey.
His eyes are pockets of strange words; incomprehensible
(Like the ight of the bird of dawn
Spiraling into the East
She comes back with a little package
In the time between dawn and edgling
morning
When the world is a tranquil lake of peace.
Her pallid ngers
Tear open the ruddy load
She pulls out the lily of morning
And the rose of day
And the sunower of high noon
FEATURE PHOTO
Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages Vermont

prompt for General writing. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org,
And the owers ash
As they are tossed away
And as they ash
They touch the sky
And kiss the slowly rising sun
And mornings white petals
Caress the ruby circle of the rose
And together they meld their sweet summer
music
As they are tossed away.
Incomprehensible the morning is
But daily it commences
What it must do to make the sun
Open his gates and part the fences
Of clouds which pillow his lofty body
As he sleeps in unwavering heat.)
But the Someone
The Someone never sleeps.
He watches neath his billowing veil
Shriveled and old he may seem
But his mouth is a bottomless cavern
And from his ssured lips
Drips an icy beam.

He is as haggard as the thing he brings
Upon his back so bent
But he delights, is immune, to the fear
That lies whispering and sighing with his
every movement.
His shadow dances larger and larger, clutching
at the things it passes by
His hollow eyes spread shivers across the
ebony sky.
His footsteps echo forth like a drum
His voice stumbles over the barren land
And the summer wind turns cold and strangled
When he lifts his ancient hand.
The moon gasps as his bag of darkness
Cloaks her stately gure
But the sun is harder to catch
Until the darkness nally ropes him in
Like a wounded cur ...
(Read the complete piece at www.youngwritersproject.org/
node/112348)
Emma Parizo, Essex High School
MORE GREAT WRITING AT

YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Ice cream
BY ELLA THOMPSON
When I saw the

staircase I instantly sat
down on the side of the
stairs where you could
slide down. When I
started to go down, music began playing, like
the kind you hear from
an ice cream truck.
I looked over and
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
saw a control panel.
It wanted me to choose an ice cream avor,
and asked how many scoops I wanted, and
what toppings I would like. I chose my avor,
toppings and the number of scoops, and in one
minute the ice cream came out of a box with a
spoon in it. I lifted the spoon to my mouth and
instantly tasted hot fudge.
I kept moving until I reached the end of the
staircase. Then I hopped onto an escalator that
brought me back to my room. By then I was
tired enough to go to sleep, so I hopped into
bed as the ice cream music rang in my head.
THIS WEEK: Staircase

prompt from Vermont Writes Day, Staircase: You cant sleep. A mysterious
staircase suddenly appears in the hall outside your room. What happens?
You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org and The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
Titanic dreams
BY BELLA JOLY
I wake up because I have to get a drink. I

havent even been sleeping because Ive been
so thirsty!
I quietly creep out of my room and tiptoe
out into the cold hallway.
Im about to go downstairs when I realize
the stairs look totally different!
I take a few minutes and think. Ive seen
this staircase in a book before!
Wait a second, these are the stairs from the
Titanic! I run downstairs as fast as my tiny
legs can go and I feel the boat tipping!
Oh no! I scream as I check the time. Its
midnight. The Titanic will sink soon. I am crying so hard!
Finally my parents come down and they are
very oddly dressed.
I look down at my legs. Im surprised to see
how hard my legs are shaking but Im even
more surprised by the fact that Im in a terrible
outt. I need to change now!

Bri Lancaster, Essex High School
Stolen time
BY AUDREY DAWSON
For my mom
I lie on my back
as grass,
brittle from snows oppression,
akes off and clings to me.
My hands
are tucked into my pockets,
because although the cold has meandered
away,
it whistles back at my bare skin,
gifting me with some pre-spring shivers.
This eld
is lit by a steaming slice of sun;
the dove across the road
soothes me,
the chubby robins hop away,
and the red-winged blackbird
trills from the tree above me.
My eyes
struggle to see
only the clean magnicent blue slate,
but then I see two specks of white
glide above,
two birds.

prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs new
monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
(continued)
There is a silent, white outline of a plane.

Quiet.
Distant.
Way above me.
Yet, closer,
the happy red-winged smudge remains,
calling from that tree with no buds,
as the sun catches the red on its wings
and throws it to me.
The plane glides away
and I am still.
I am watching the silhouette
reach out and trill again.
The next call is higher pitched.
But all the same,
even here,
the red-winged blackbirds call
rings out
and this
is our stolen time together.
NEXT PROMPTS
Louise Barrabe, Mount Manseld Union High School
Happening. Write a poem or story with a rst line

of, I didnt know what was happening at the time
Alternates: Stranger. Youre curious about a
person you always see around town. Write his or
her story; or Photo 9 (see youngwritersproject.org/
prompts14-15). Due May 1
The ballroom
BY AUDREY DAWSON
On the outskirts of the wood,
I hear a series of guttural caws,
an urgent cry,
and,
softer than a distant trains whistle,
lighter than a bell,
a pair of high-pitched tiptoeing chirps
are strung periodically.
I hear a waterfall of wind,
a cascading music,
and the birches, the hemlocks, the pines
they cant help but sway.
The sun hurries to string up the lights,
and as the crowded ballroom illuminates
and the guests murmur with anticipation
I watch.
I begin to see
the birches
with masks of monochrome,
the hemlocks
wearing wrinkled dresses of sepia,
the white pines
baring feathery fans and slender scaly earrings.

the prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs
FEATURE PHOTO
(continued)
They are all waiting on the dance oor.

They are all waiting
for that natural and beautiful music.
They are not waiting for the rumble of a motor
or the low hum of a far-off engine.
And the longer I stand here,
the easier it becomes to imagine the world,
this place,
as it might have been
before.
Ode to Elvis Presley

BY MADELEINE MOINO
Elvis, oh, Elvis, how your suits pleased the
eyes.
When you gathered large crowds it wasnt a
surprise.
Your voice made the world a better place.
And your dancing, oh, Elvis, who could keep
pace?
Elvis, oh, Elvis, we hang our heads sadly,
and we want you to know that we miss you
quite badly.
Bri Lancaster, Essex High School
Framed
BY AUDREY DAWSON
Here, the blue sea is framed on all sides by
four different worlds.
The red brick building to the left
abruptly marks an edge to the scene
and deep green, ngered branches reach out
from the right.
The sky caps the swirling square of ocean
and it seems to rest on craggy rocks,
spraying joyously on the shore.
The blue sea is framed,
constrained on all sides,
but still it thrives,
even in winter.
It doesnt succumb to icy layers,
nor do the organisms that depend on it.
Its boundaries are barely constraints.
It knows them,
but it lives freely.

FEATURE PHOTO

&
THE VOICE
Mya Burghardt, Essex High School
Dance class
BY SHYLA CLIFFORD
Moving to the right
Moving to the left
Around the room
Up and down
Back and forth
Spinning
Moving
Shaking
Times a tickin
Easy
Hard
Legs go higher
Toes point harder
Stretch
Crunches
Sit-ups
Mess up
Try again
Think
Mind over matter
Now were sore
Clock strikes 5:00
And class is over
For sale: headphones

BY GRACE LU
Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton School
I used them to listen to music,
which they were alright at.
I passed them off as Beats,
more than once, actually.
They blocked out things
screaming siblings,
haters at school,
the train that rumbled by every Tuesday and
Friday night.
Everything.
I carried them everywhere.
You can tell by that sauce stain,
the dog hairs,
the thin scratches,
that weird black streak.
Even when they no longer played music
I still used them,
sat around with music playing in my head,
blocking things out
blocking so many things out
until I found myself staring
at two marble gravestones.

prompt for General writing and from the recent Vermont Writes Day. You
can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of
writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
Think about it
BY ZACH FORCIER
Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Middle School
Think about what youre doing today.
If its not something you would do on your
last day of life, do something else.
CLIMATE CHANGE
WRITING CHALLENGE
WRITE AND WIN!

1st place: $100 | 2nd place: $75 | 3rd place: $50
More details: youngwritersproject.org/climate15
DEADLINE: APRIL 10
Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy

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

prompt for General writing. You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs
FEATURE PHOTO
the
edge.
Sully Martin, Essex High School
We might never leave.
Soccer ball
BY OLIVIA POTVIN
I open the garage door,
looking for my soccer ball,
which I know is buried at the
bottom of the blue bin.
Then suddenly
the blue bin breaks
with the pressure I put on it,
causing every... single... thing
to roll across the oor.
When everything has nally settled,
I open my eyes.
Where did my soccer ball go?
I cant nd it anywhere.
Not underneath the car
or behind the other bins.
Not even behind the sled
waiting for me and the winter.
I slit my eyes
and I stomp my feet
because I hate
when I cant nd something.
But wait ...
why have I not thought
of this before?
Its outside!
My fourth viola
BY ELIZABETH MESSIER
As my hand shakily opens
the shiny silver door knob
of the Violin Shop,
I prepare for something delightful.
I hear the jangle
of the tiny chimes at the top of the door,
awakening the shop
and bringing it to life.
My mom, sister and I
exchange glances of excitement
as we politely greet the owner
who will be helping us.
The owner gives me two violas
so I can try out both.
The rst viola grabs my attention quickly.
It smells of fresh wood and the sound has
unlimited depth.
The second viola is out for the count,
for it is nothing compared to the rst.
I try various shoulder rests and chinrests
and make the best possible choice...
until the Waiting Game is over
and I take the viola in my hands,
shocked at the size.
(continued in right column)
THIS WEEK: Writing about Music

prompt for General writing. This weeks focus is music. You can nd more
great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of
FEATURE PHOTO
(continued)
I launch into a Bach Bourree.

I imagine myself on the colossal stage
of Carnegie Hall
with the sound bouncing off the wood
in that grand concert hall.
But I realize Im not there yet,
still having to master
countless skills,
like intonation and dynamics.
But I feel so happy!
I play with energy!
I feel ecstatic, vivacious, gleeful, jolly and ...
pleased all at the same time ...
Ill never stop playing viola.
Im devoted to it.
CLIMATE CHALLENGE
WRITE AND WIN CASH!
PROMPTS AND MORE DETAILS:
youngwritersproject.org/climate15
DEADLINE: APRIL 10
The Creation of Music. Bryan Storck, Essex High School
Presented by Vermontivate!, Vermont Energy

Education Program & Young Writers Project
Masks
BY GRACE LU
Every time someone
opens their mouth
I wonder
if what they say is
a gleaming river of truth
or a lthy, ugly river trashed with lies.
Every time someone
smiles
I wonder
if theyre wearing a mask,
always smiling and cheerful,
but a mask still.
How do I know youre not lying?
How do I know youre honest?
Is there a foolproof method?
How do I know youre not going to
stab me with your sharpened knives
once my back is turned?
How do I know youre not going to pollinate
vicious words everywhere?
Yes, I once used to trust
anyone and everyone I met.
I always,
always
gave everyone a second chance
no matter what.

FEATURE PHOTO
(continued)
And maybe its age

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

THE VOICE
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YWPs monthly digital magazine!
VERMONT WRITES DAY

Get your school involved today!
More information: youngwritersproject.org/VTWrites15.
Eric Wakim, Essex High School
What really happened

to Louie that day
BY EMMA HAZEL
Grade 8, Westford Elementary School
This is a story about what really happened
to Louie. Ive thought about telling people
what happened, but I am a coward, and have
decided to write it instead. At this point, however, I suppose it doesnt really matter how I
tell the story, as long as I tell it. Someone must
know.
Please, Im not insane. I swear. Dont
think I am. This story has a domino effect on
my life, which led me to my decision. What
started the events that led to what happened to
Louie started on a Saturday morning.
I watched from the shoreline as Louie
clomped along the rocks that stuck up out
of the ice. His bright orange coat contrasted
harshly with the white powder snow that
coated the lakes frozen surface. The lighthouse kept a stoic vigil in the distance; its fat,
candy-cane stripes wrapping all around it.
Waves that had been frozen rippled across the
ice. I cupped my hands around my mouth and
hollered, Louie! Careful!
Louies gure stopped walking and
turned toward me.
THIS WEEK: Photo 6

prompt, Photo 6: Write about the photo of frozen Lake Champlain. You can
nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
PHOTO 6
Photo 6. Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
Youd think I was an idiot! I know to be

careful, Phil! Louie continued walking.
I looked around the frozen wasteland that
surrounded me, swallowing me up. Misty, jagged mountains pretended that they were teeth,
helping the lake chew up the pale-blue winter
sky that coiled around me. The powder that
hid the ice beneath my feet glared up at me. A
freezing January wind nibbled at my nose and
my bare hands...
Then I heard the crack, and the scream of
terror that followed. Louies scream. Without
even processing it, I jumped off the rock. I
saw an orange coat and sprinted towards it.
My breath started to hammer in my chest
when I nally saw what made Louie scream.
The orange coat was pulling at his leg, which
had broken through the ... but no, it wasnt
Louies leg that broke through the ice. Louie
was tough. He wouldnt have screamed like
that just because he had broken through. And
besides, the ice was nearly 12 feet deep. He
wouldnt have broken through. And then I saw
it.
A human hand clutched Louies leg. The
soaking-wet death hand.
Louie frantically pulled at his pant leg. The
hand wouldnt let go ...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/
node/108017.
I never knew
BY NORA KINNEY
Grade 5, Founders Memorial School
I tried. Now you are gone. And my mind is
lled with guilt, regret and sadness. Every time
it went through my head, my mouth would
stubbornly refuse. I never knew.
But as I lean over your open casket, a salty
bead of emotion rolls down my cheek. Before
it aws your beautiful, silent face, I reach out
and catch it.
In my pocket lies the ribbon, the gift of
friendship that we shared. What once was a
simple scrap of fabric is now the only thing
that connects us.
A wave of emotional pain jolts me out of
my silent mourning, and soon my tear is joined
by many others.
Memories reach forward, a timeline of
the days that we spent together. And then all
happiness comes to a stop when the memory
of nding out you had passed of a terrible sickness that had been discreetly veiled by your
usual attitude shakes more tears from my eyes.
I bow my head, but soon, my lips form the
words of the secret that had been long held
back in my mind. My sorrowful words escape
THIS WEEK: Regret & Limerick

prompts, Regret: There is something you wish you had done but how its too
late; and Limerick: Write a funny limerick. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
(continued)
my mouth and even though I know nally my

job has been done, I do not feel satisfaction.
Before I say goodbye to your cold, lifeless
body forever, I lay the scrap of ribbon in your
ngers. As I say my nal farewell, another tear
falls toward your body. But this time, I do not
stop it.
FEATURE PHOTO
A man named Bill

BY KAITO ESSELSTROM
There once was a man named Bill
Who hated to run uphill.
He was as slow as a snail
And stepped on a nail
And went yelling back down the hill.
NEXT PROMPTS
Haley Thon, Essex High School
Supersilly. Come up with a hilarious, seemingly useless superpower and explain how one
might defeat a villain using it. Alternates: Secret.
Write about a secret that people must never
know; or People. Write about a secret people (a
hidden population) that most people dont know.
Due March 6.
The YumYum
BY GRACE LU
School
Have you ever been blamed for stealing a
cookie from the cookie jar or knocking down
your moms favorite vase?
Thats because of the ... YumYum. Dont be
deceived by the cute name, though; this little
monster can cause a lot of mischief!
No one knows exactly, who, when, or where
the YumYum was created but we do know
that its made out of broccoli, spinach, and
brussels sprouts, which is why the YumYum is
green.
It also possesses two adorable and almost
cartoon-like eyes along with two short legs
which enable it to bounce around.
When kids are not looking, a YumYum will
knock over an object near them, especially
one that will cause a lot of noise and then turn
invisible. An adult will then start scolding the
kid, causing the YumYum to smile happily before teleporting to somewhere else and causing
more mischief.
Its been estimated that there are more than
two thousand YumYums in existence. To this
day, no one has been able to capture one of
these elusive creatures.
THIS WEEK: Mythical & Change

the prompts, Mythical: Invent a mythical creature; and Change: Use the
phrase, thats when everything changed. You can nd more great writing
at youngwritersproject.org and in YWPs digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
Addie Scanlon, Essex High School
After the highway

BY KATIE MILLER-JOHNSON
Everybody wants to live a life of beauty
and peacefulness, and thats how it used to
be, birds chirping, lots of trees, and parks,
and then my school. I, Angel Hope, and a few
friends all used to go there. That was when
everything changed. The highway company
came and knocked on my door, along with everyone elses in our town and said that we had
to move out or live under the highway.
The next day we held a town meeting.
Every single one of my friends was going to
move. I wasnt. We didnt have the time or the
money.
Soon, huge trucks came with concrete, then
the cranes and the workers. It was impossible
to sleep. Then the town got sick from the dust.
My family recovered just before the highway
opened. At the store where my dad worked, the
owner left, so he lost his job.
Eventually I got used to the dust. The
workers offered to build an exit to our town.
We agreed and now we get lots of business.
My dad has a new job at the Welcome Center.
Everything is just as it used to be, but better.
Spill the paint

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

FEATURE PHOTO
The lumberjacks ax
BY BRADEN CUMMINGS
Grade 5, Thomas Fleming Elementary School
(Inspired by The Red Wheelbarrow)
So much depended
upon
a lumberjacks
ax
covered in wood
akes
on the chopped
stump.
MARK YOUR CALENDARS!
Olivia Duncan, Essex High School
Join YWP for Vermont Writes Day on Thursday, March 12! You can get all the details at
youngwritersproject.org/VTWrites15.
Ten seconds
BY GRACE LU
School
Fans are cheering, some holding signs.
Cow bells clang,
so do noisemakers.
Smiles, smiles, everywhere.
The nish line is near.
This is one of the ercest points in the race.
Now is the time to kick it up a notch.
I muster all the strength I have and push forward.
Time seems to slow down as Im now conscious,
conscious of the effort it takes to move my
legs,
to use my arms,
to breathe.
But I make myself go faster.
My opponents only a few feet behind me.
I can hear her heavy breathing.
Only 10 more feet.
10... My eyes momentarily icker toward the
clock indicating the time.
9... I can feel my legs; theyre very sore.
8... Food? At the end of the race, right?
7... No, stay focused.
THIS WEEK: Seconds

the prompt, Seconds: Describe something that can happen in seconds. You
can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of
FEATURE PHOTO
(continued)
6 ... I hear the girls footsteps behind me as

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

space and come across a voyager selling
stardust. Write your conversation. Alternate:
Regret. Is there something you wish you had
done, but now its too late? What is it and
how do you deal with it? Due Feb. 13
Something youd miss
BY LEAH KELLEHER
Distance is my enemy.
It chews a hole in my heart and spits out
self-pity and regret.
So my legs turn cold
on cement so old it would break your heart.
Backing up against the wall,
I fall on my knees,
but you cant see me over the horizon.
Were the words you spoke a joke?
Or were they not enough
to keep helplessness locked in
its cage?
Gazing at pictures,
ngers numb from grip,
eyes drowning,
suffocating under water
that stings my cheeks.
You were another posted note,
stuck in a memory I will forget.
But for now you remain tangled in my
hippocampus.

FEATURE PHOTO
BY JESSICA BELIVEAU
Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School
In the wake of a miracle we wait

for nights embrace to dim the sky,
enduring as twilight falls away.
Betwixt the gleam of the moonrise and the
great cairn,
we bleed scarlet and breathe gold.
In this hour of boundless void,
our monument awaits.
THE VOICE
CHECK OUT THE LATEST ISSUE!
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

Our days of void
for your FREE subscription!
Olivia Fewell, Essex High School
THIS WEEK: Sorry
Too late
BY BRITTANY MOORE
I stand away from the crowd of your family
and friends all dressed in black. I wouldnt be
welcome if they saw me.
I wouldnt be welcome if you knew, somehow, that I was here. You would want me as
far away as possible.
But I had to come, had to try one last time.
Everyone else begins to say goodbye and
speak their choked words that fall upon deaf
ears. They slowly lter out, clinging to one
another.
Eventually, only I remain.
I lift the black veil from my face and look
around. The cloudy sky, the rolling green hills
turned grey by the grim light, and the matching
grey stones that cover the land.
I walk up to your stone, careful not to step
on the freshly turned dirt. Rain begins to fall
and mingle with the tears streaming down my
face.
I regret everything, but now I can never
earn your forgiveness. Not that I ever would
have anyway, but this sense of nality makes
me want to be in the ground, too.

prompt, Sorry: Include the phrase, Im sorry ... Im so sorry. You can nd
more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil, online community of writers,
and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
(continued)
I cant have your forgiveness, I cant forgive

myself. I will carry this with me until I nd the
eternal peace you currently rest in.
Before my vision is blurred with tears,
before I truly cant see you anymore, I kneel
beside your grave. I bow my head and whisper
those words I desperately need you to hear and
accept. Im sorry ... Im so sorry.
But of course, my words fall upon deaf ears,
too.
Accident
BY BELLA JOLY
Get out of my life! Go away!
my little sister screams.
I didnt mean it.
I tried to stop it.
I shouldve helped it.
A dog crossed the street.
And I hit it.
The poor puppy, big blue eyes.
My sister was in the backseat,
the poor little girl never shouldve seen.
Im sorry, Im so sorry!
Derek Pham, Essex High School
Dear Pluto
BY PHOEBE GAMMAL
Dear Pluto,
I am very sorry about the way people are
behaving towards you. I nd it inappropriate
and discourteous.
Yet, I continue to believe in you. I feel that
other people are rather idiotic in calling you
a dwarf planet.
My apologies for our actions, Phoebe
Dear Phoebe,
Thank you so much for the apology letter,
but I would like to let you know that I am
actually not very offended by it.
I guess it is discourteous, whatever that
means, but I am not affected. I have learned
to ignore earthlings.
Thank you for the letter, Pluto
NEXT PROMPT
Time. You are transported back in time and
are inhabiting the mind of someone else. Write
about it. Alternates: Queasy. Put your character
in a situation that makes her/him queasy. What
happens?; or Button. You press a button and
something very strange happens. Due Jan. 23.
THIS WEEK: Pluto
FEATURE PHOTO

prompt, Pluto: NASA writes a letter to Pluto, apologizing for demoting it
from planet status. More at youngwritersproject.org.
The fact about Pluto

BY GRACE LU
Plutos demotion to dwarf planet shocked people. Or rather it shocked the people who believed that Pluto was a planet, no matter its size. Other people breathed a sigh of relief. Considering themselves enlightened, they had come to the conclusion many years ago that Pluto should
not be a planet and had waited many years for this day to come. Others didnt care whether some
tiny ball of matter was a planet or not. Who cares? they thought. Heck, I dont even remember
the names of the planets, much less the order theyre in. Plutos the really blue one, right? The
scientists well, scientists can never seem to agree on anything, so they remained divided on this
scientic reclassication. Some of the NASA scientists, the sympathetic sort, wrote an apology
letter and sent it to Pluto. Unfortunately no one received it.
Except one. An alien, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Mike Wazowski, or rather vice
versa (for the alien was a lot older than Pixar Animation Studios), received the letter. The only
difference between this alien, whose real name happens to be unpronounceable in the earthling
tongue, and Mike Wazowski was that the alien possessed hot pink horns often adorned with
Christmas lights, a habit he adopted while visiting Earth. He happened to be the sole being on
Pluto. Or rather, where Pluto used to be...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/102055.
Deanna Davis-Kilpatrick, Essex High School
She who walks

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

FEATURE PHOTO
Down the path she goes,

muddy ground beneath her toes.
Trees surround her, grown in rows;
where shes headed, no one knows.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
A golden shimmer on her hair,

tumbling to her shoulder, fair,
and then theres singing in the air,
thats when I see her dancing there.
FROM ALL OF US AT
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

Well be back in this space
with more great writing on Jan. 8!
Wispy hair blows to each side,

obscuring the face she wants to hide,
a walking mystery seems to glide
as she travels with blustery guide.
NEXT PROMPTS
Crispy colors fall from trees

as they rustle in each breeze;
shell keep on walking till she sees
my gaze upon her, then shell freeze.
Shell turn around and blow away;

she wont ever stay to play,
continuing on her mysterious way.
Maybe Ill catch her another day.
Statue. Youre walking through an

empty park and pass a statue. To your
surprise, the statue strikes up a conversation with you. Tell the story of the statue
and what it says. Alternates: Dark. Are
you scared of the dark? Why?; or Houston. You are an astronaut. Describe a
moment oating in space. Due Jan. 9
Be brave
THIS WEEK: Lyrics & Winter
BY GRACE LU
School
I wanna see you be brave. - Sara Bareilles
I might be afraid, but its my turn to be
brave. - Idina Menzel
I wanna see you be brave.
Dont let what they say or do
strike your heart.
Fearlessness and determination
is what you need.
I wanna see you be brave
in the things you do.
You have a mind; use it.
Be aware of the things you say
and their impact on others.
Keep believing in who you are,
what you are.
Dont change yourself to be like others
or think like others.
Make the rst bold move.
Show some kindness, you fool.
Go over there
and apologize.

prompts, Lyrics: Sprout a piece from a favorite song and Winter: Write a
tale about winter. You can nd more great writing at youngwritersproject.
org, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
(continued)

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

BY CARTER FRANKENHOFF
Ian Ballou, Essex High School
Digging, digging, digging,

in my green jacket
with black snowpants and blue, warm gloves.
Kicking the snow,
making it explode in my face like a paintball
to widen out the space around me.
Packing the snow on the towering pile,
chopping and carrying
ice blocks to build up the walls of the fort.
Punching the insides of the walls
with all my might
and packing it tight,
hoping that it wont collapse on me.
A ride on a reindeer
BY JADYN JACOBS
I gallop through the sky.
Its like the stars are snowakes,
and the sky is the ground
and the ground is the sky.
The reindeer pants,
and I pull back to slow down.
I hold on to his horns and pet his soft fur
as we gallop
through the snowy Christmas night.
THIS WEEK: Winter Tales

audiences. This week, we present local pieces that were selected for
Winter Tales to be performed by Vermont Stage Company at FlynnSpace
in Burlington, Dec.10-14. For more information and tickets, go to vtstage.
org/winter-tales; and for the full schedule of YWP performances, go to
youngwritersproject.org.
FEATURE PHOTO
Performance: Wednesday, Dec. 10 @ 7:30 p.m.
Being a snowdragon
BY NOAH SANDERSON
Theyve made many before.
But none quite like me.
Many were men, some women,
even babies of three.
Made of snow, not feathers, skin, or scales.
I only pretend to breathe re;
but still, when everyone else is so plain,
its cool to be me.
Performance: Sunday, Dec. 14 @ 2 p.m.
Snow Tag
BY PATRICK HERRIN
Just me and my brother were in my yard.
The yard isnt too big, but big enough
and blanketed in the diamond-sparkle snow
to run and chase and ee.
When we chase each other,
we run through
the deep, deep, uffy snow.
Running through snow is like
running through water sluggish
but in a merry way.
The snow ies up from the back of our feet.
Running through the powder
Ive almost gotten my brother
until he takes a big leap!
Froosh!
Snow urries everywhere
and Im covered.
I yelp, but then laugh
as he squeals in delight.
I fall face rst into the snow,
not caring about the cold.
Im already covered in the white
that made our tag game so fun!
Performance: Friday, Dec. 12 @ 7:30 p.m.
Jonathan Palmer, Essex High School
Winter road
BY FAITH HAMMOND
As Im looking, looking
down this winter road
where I need to tread
to get the much needed
cup of sugar
from Ms Honey
a witty, little lady next door
I see trees bending down
from the weight of the snow
wrapping around me like a cold hug,
and a pair of tracks barely visible
from the fresh, fallen snow.
I hear my breath
and the occasional
thump!
from snow falling off branches
from too much weight.
I whack them aside
only for the bare
evergreen branches to come back
and slap my face like a whip.
Ms Honey,
only next door,
yet far away.
So I keep trudging, walking,
down this winter road.
THIS WEEK: Winter

the prompt, Winter Tales. Several YWP pieces will be performed as part of
Winter Tales at FlynnSpace in Burlington, Dec. 10-14, and we will present a
selection of the best writing here. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
FEATURE PHOTO
Frost horse
BY MORGAN SUTLIFF
On a lonely sledding hill
after everyone has gone home,
a girl wants to take one last run and
she puts the icy cold metal blades on the snow.
She sees a snow storm in the distance.
It sounds like an angry horse galloping.
Her brother beckons for her to come home
with him. She declines.
And when shes about to take off,
the snowstorm hits.
Her hat ies off across the lake
toward where a white horse stands.
For moments the girl and the horse stare
into each others eyes.
Then a snowy blast whips past the horse
and hes gone.
So the girl runs home
to tell her tale of the frost horse.
NEXT PROMPTS
Smugglers Notch, Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
Invention. Youve just invented the next big thing!

What is it and what does it do? Alternates: 15, 10,
5. Create a short dialogue of three characters. The
rst can only speak 15 words, the second 10, and
the third just ve words; or Author. Write in the
style of your favorite author or poet. Due Dec. 5
THIS WEEK: Snapchat
Mobile
BY GRACE LU
stop using your phone!
do you think i care?
what are you looking at?
none of your business, this is my phone
can i have your number?
give him the number for McDonalds and see
how he reacts
new outt? take a sele
#wokeuplikethis #ootd #2014
bored? more seles (gotta get those likes up and
unfollow that ex-bestie)
STOP! BAM!
your phone falls out of your hand
you watch it fall slowly to the ground as if it
were in slow motion, watch as it tumbles several
times before landing at on the ground
STOP! look up, look around
look through the window
what have you missed out on?
remember all those days spent playing outside?
running on the dirt trails
wading into the cool lake water
the smell of sweat and pine trees
remember the time you tried to catch snowakes
on your tongue?

prompt, Snapchat: This is no time to Snapchat. Use this sentence in a
poem or story. You can nd more student work at youngwritersproject.org,
and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
remember all the times when you and a friend

had a water balloon ght out in the backyard?
the times when you tried to bury your sibling
in the sand?
remember all those good ol times without
technology?
now pick that phone up
turn it on, delete your apps, your
Instagram,Vine, Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter
even your favorite app, Snapchat
this is no time to Snapchat!
now turn it off, put it in a shoebox
and place it in your closet
shut the door and walk away.
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

YWP SPEAK OUT!
Free Story Slam
& Workshop
NOVEMBER 20
FLETCHER FREE LIBRARY
BURLINGTON
DETAILS:
Danilo Salgado, Essex High School
5 pm Workshop
6 pm Sign up for Slam
6:30 pm Slam begins!
A winter morning
BY KATE JEWELL
Children shiver in their beds,
the wind softly howls,
the moon shines and icicles slowly grow
longer.
Snow falls, making homes look like Christmas
cards,
but slowly the sun creeps up
while children yawn as they wake,
and eventually the homes are up and active.
Parents frantically bake
while children pull their snowsuits
over their pajamas
and run around the house screaming,
Wheres my glove? and Someone took my
boot!
Mothers and fathers try to quiet their children
before they wake the state.
Finally ready, the kids plunge into the snow
and slide on the ice,
laughing happily
as they sled down the hills
and parents sigh as they collapse on the couch
with coffee and a book
for a few moments of quiet
before it begins again!
THIS WEEK: Winter

prompt, Winter Tales: Tell a story about winter. Top selections will be performed by the Vermont Stage Company at FlynnSpace in Burlington Dec.
10-14. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org.
FEATURE PHOTO
If I were a snowake
BY JOCELYN DUNN
(Inspired by Jacqueline Sweeney)
If I were a snowake
I would stick my arms and legs out
And wait for a snowfall.
My shirt would ll up with air
Like a parachute;
My hair would ow in the cold wind
And I would dodge other snowakes
On my way down
Closer and closer
To the ground.
NEXT PROMPTS
Jill Macfarlane, Essex High School
Snails. Did you know

snails can swallow you
whole? Or that the Loch
Ness Monster and Lake
Champlains Champ
are cousins? Tell a
ridiculous whopper but
be persuasive enough
that someone just might
believe you. Alternates: Proposal. Write about
a wedding proposal that goes terribly wrong; or
Photo 5 (Library of Congress). Due Nov. 28
Hope, love
BY LEAH KELLEHER
Quiet glances,
sideways stares,
and normally that wouldnt be enough,
but somehow it is.
We come from two different parallels,
yet we belong to the same world
and I can touch your ngertips,
graze your lips and tickle your abdomen
without a word,
in a different mind.
You came in a time when I was pieces,
pieces of a person who is awry in
the footing of trust.
You came with your honey-covered words,
exuberant smile
and corralled me to your arms,
to a sanctuary.
As I look back at the forgotten Post-it note
relationships
I hope to god your name will not join them.

FEATURE PHOTO
AND RELEASE OF ANTHOLOGY 6

SATURDAY, NOV. 8
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.
VERMONT COLLEGE OF FINE ARTS
36 COLLEGE STREET
MONTPELIER
Register for workshops today
at youngwritersproject.org! Its FREE!
NEXT PROMPTS
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

CELEBRATION OF WRITING
Emily Cunningham-Firkey, Essex High School
Reporter. You are a new reporter, excited

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

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

the prompt for General writing. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.
org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs new monthly
digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
(Continued)
faster and faster,

louder and louder.
Then it stops!
The rain dies down.
The bird gets bored and ies away;
as fast as it came its gone.
The breeze dies down;
windshield wipers are turned off,
the door stops creaking,
leaving only a faint memory of the song.
The crickets hop away.
Common in the city,
a rare song in an abandoned countryside
if you listen, if you wait.
SATURDAY, NOV. 8
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.
36 COLLEGE STREET
MONTPELIER
Alex Russell, Essex High School
Register for workshops today

at youngwritersproject.org! Its FREE!
Halloween surprise
BY BRADEN CUMMINGS
It was the night of Halloween
and I was dressed up as a werewolf,
my dog as Superman.
Suddenly, as fast as lightning,
my dog Cadia bolted down the street
and I ran after him!
Maybe I shouldve been The Flash,
I thought,
as I dodged toddlers dressed up as
Thomas the Tank Engine and Bob the Builder
and teens dressed up as vampires and zombies.
Come back! Come back! I hollered.
I followed Cadia into the woods.
It felt like I was in
a piece of black construction paper,
but I kept my light trained on my dog.
My legs were aching from running.
Suddenly, I was in a eld
and I saw my dog
run into the open door
of a large log building
with a metal sign hanging from chains
that said First National Bank ...
THIS WEEK: Haunted

the prompt, Haunted: Your dog runs into a creepy, abandoned house. What
happens? You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online
community of writers, and in YWPs monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
I gulped and entered with caution.

Cobwebs on walls, creaking wood,
dust dancing in the light.
Suddenly, what was that?
A shufe? A whine?
A light shining through a doorway?
Slowly I turned the knob;
I pushed the door open ...
Happy Birthday!!
Oh yeah, Halloween is my birthday!
THIS IS YWPS KEY EVENT
OF THE YEAR!
SATURDAY, NOV. 8
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.
36 COLLEGE STREET
MONTPELIER
Register today at youngwritersproject.org
(Read on... continued in right column)

Derek Pham, Essex High School
My day
BY ELIZABETH MESSIER
As I walk to school,
late,
because I couldnt nd
my music folder,
I climb
the steep,
steep
hill
with my
sprained ankle.
My mom calls,
saying
I forgot my lunch,
and that she
didnt sign
my homework sheets
and my reading log.
She also says
my sister
threw up
on my
music folder ...
while she was
trying to hide it.
THIS WEEK: Complicated

audiences. Each week, in this newspaper, YWP presents a sample of the
prompt, Complicated: Some days, theres just one problem after another.
Describe your complicated day. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.
org, and in YWPs new monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
YWP EVENTS
YWPS KEY EVENT
OF THE YEAR!
SATURDAY, NOV. 8
9:30 A.M. 5 P.M.
MONTPELIER
More details to come
at youngwritersproject.org
NEXT PROMPTS
Alex Russell, Essex High School
Letter. Write a letter to your mother,

father, a grandparent, teacher or favorite
person to say thanks for something special they do, or for everything. Provide a
specic story to show why the person is
so great. Alternate: Habit. Think about
a bad habit you might have and create a
character with a similar bad habit. Write
about why the character wont easily give
up the habit. Due Oct. 24
Sleeping Beauty
BY AUDREY DAWSON
After an oppressive silence, lacking all the
cries, shrieks, and giggles of the world, the
unnerving calm is broken by an ensemble of
vigorous drummers.
The sound rattles into a crescendo as dried
leaves, on their way to the stone fortress in
the center of it all, snag on cursed thorns and
briars.
A few climb high enough, only to tumble
to the oor as the remaining exhalations caress
rosebud lips.
Azure eyes utter open, awakened from a
centennial slumber.
Gleaming, golden curls are lifted from a
satin pillow and bounce to her shoulders.
She glances to the window, reassuring
chatter and laughter already ltering in.
Then, delicately, each pristine foot is
placed in front of the other.
She reaches the window and leans out, hair
blowing back as if shes aboard a speedy passenger ship bound for a faraway land.
(continued, right column)

the prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more writing at
youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in
YWPs new monthly digital magazine, The Voice.
FEATURE PHOTO
Tapan Nepal, Essex High School
(continued)
A icker of desire dances in her eyes as

she glimpses that distant shore, a desire to skip
around and let go, but it fades, hidden by a
repressive fog.
One hundred years of enchanted sleep have
passed, seasons without consequence on fair
skin; now she simply turns to a mirror, intent
on looking upon her beauty.
Yet snow will fall to this maidens eventually hunched shoulders in place of cascading
strands.
Her smooth skin will give way to a map of
wrinkles, no matter how much time she spends
memorizing each perfect pore.
After an eternity of bejeweled riches and
ignorance, she will pass on like so many
before her.
Yet the kingdom will go through many
more hibernations.
Life may pass from the land, but only until
green buds sprout up from the thawing surface
of Earth.

Fleeting passion
BY LEAH KELLEHER
Up into the skyline

you soar through
brightened edges,
the soles of your shoes
set free
from binding laces.
My tangled silhouette
behind you
holds your hand as you
escape into air.
A breeze tickles your
hair,
kisses your cheeks
Photo 1. Erin Bundock, CVU
and I, bright-eyed and
loose,
form hearts with my hands
while you come back down to me.
I am jealous of the ramps
who captivate,
who sprout passion in your
obscure eyes.
But I know that one day
those soles will become decrepit,
and so will your willingness
for freedom.
THIS WEEK: Photo 1 & General

prompts, Photo 1 and General writing. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers, and in YWPs new
NEXT PROMPTS
Room. You have a chance to
redesign your room. What do
you do? Alternates: Lie. Use
the sentence, You dont have
to lie; I know it was you, in
a poem or story; or General
writing. Your best piece in
any genre. Due Oct. 10
Angel. For the rst time you
meet your guardian angel.
Write a short story developing your guardians character
and relationship with you.
Alternates: Snapchat. This
Waiting
BY GRACE LU
Grade 8, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School
She sits at her desk, her hand always

elegantly perched above the typewriter, index
nger
lifted and ready to
feel the touch of the keys.
Dictionary by her side for reference, she waits
for that
one moment when inspiration will strike her
and with
utter brilliance she will see everything clearly,
but it never comes and with a heavy heart, she
stows
the typewriter away.
YWP NEWS
Photo Prompt 3. Chelsea Somerset, Essex High School
is no time to Snapchat! Use this sentence.

What has just happened or is about to happen?; or Photo 3 (above). Due Oct. 17
Check out Young Writers

Projects new digital literary
magazine. Go to youngwritersproject.org and click on
The Voice or go to this link:
bit.ly/1CaT9WB.
Cover photo: Josina Munson, Essex High
School
Singing young words

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

prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
YWP NEWS
THIS WEEK!
YWP INTRODUCES
THE VOICE
AN EXCITING NEW
DIGITAL MAGAZINE
FEATURE PHOTO
NEXT PROMPTS
Complicated. Your life is complicated, and some days, theres just one
mess after another. Describe one of
those days in detail it can be funny
or tragic. Alternates: Leaf. Write from
the point of view of one leaf on a
large, colorful maple tree; or Photo 2
(below). Due Oct. 3
to view YWPs new monthly
e-mag and subscribe!
THE CALVIN
WRITE ABOUT VERMONT. WIN $1500
Deadline is Friday, Sept. 26!
Details at youngwritersproject.org/calvin.
Jasmine Douglas-Hughes, Mount Manseld Union High School
Photo 2. Jeff Schultz, Essex High School
The desert
BY AUDREY DAWSON
The Arizona desert is a carpet,
loose threads and unnished patterns.
They tell of wind, rain, draught,
of the shifting plates that resulted in the mountains,
covered with rainbow blankets whenever the
sun falls out of bed.
The sun is also a spotlight for the patterns
sewn in by the fatigued feet of immigrants,
and the weary feet of strong-willed natives.
A spotlight for each green-spotted lizard
and every sweltering animal that adds to the
history.
The sun reveals this map of the past,
the truths rarely studied but for the mattress of
clouds.
Roads are still paved over the loose threads of
this desert,
and maybe these new paths are inevitable
but the sun tries to remind us of the past anyway.

prompt for General writing in any genre. You can nd more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
FEATURE PHOTO
NEXT PROMPTS
Objects. Write about a
relationship that develops
between two inanimate
objects (e.g., books on a
shelf, apps on a phone,
park bench and trash
bin).
Alternates: Aliens.
Erin Bundock,
Champlain Valley
Curious aliens visit
Union High School
Vermont. What is the rst
thing they do? What do
they demand? or Photo 1 (above, left).
Due Sept. 19
YWP EVENT
MILLENNIAL WRITERS
ON STAGE
Hear the next generation
of great Vermont writers!
BURLINGTON BOOK FESTIVAL

SUNDAY, SEPT. 21 | 12:30 P.M.
FLETCHER FREE LIBRARY
Deidre Vanmoerkerque, Essex High School

Essex Reporter 2014-2015

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I launch into a Bach Bourree.

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Photo 6. Kevin Huang, Burlington High School

Youd think I was an idiot! I know to be

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Addie Scanlon, Essex High School

After the highway

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