Brattleboro Reformer Index 2012-13

Dear Readers
THIS WEEK: Photo 11

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompt, Photo 11 (at right). Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
This is the nal week of Young Writers Projects student writing in this space for the 2012-13 school year. Thanks for being with us. We hope you enjoyed it. Well be back with more in September, but in the meantime, you can continue to see great writing on youngwritersproject.org and on Vermont Public Radio at vpr.net through the summer. YWP has many to thank for this Newspaper Series, including the editors and publishers of Vermonts newspapers who value the importance of writing and afrming students best efforts. Please support your local newspaper! YWP also salutes the young writers and photographers, who consistently amaze and inspire us with their work, and the teachers and parents who encourage them. And young writers, YWP has mentors and readers who are eager to read your summertime submissions on youngwritersproject.org, so dont stop writing just because the sun is shining!
GEOFFREY GEVALT, YWP FOUNDER AND DIRECTOR, AND SUSAN REID, PUBLICATIONS COORDINATOR
Photo Prompt 11: Falling to Earth Li Wei
ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/ support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Zeke on the beach

BY ALYSSA LANE Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
Special thanks this week to BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
A new record
BY KELSEA MCAULIFFE Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I was on summer vacation in Thailand and we were walking down the boardwalk when I saw a guy upside down with his head in a hole in the pavement. There werent many people gathered around when I took the picture... He wasnt even holding himself up with his hands; he was just sitting there with his hands by his side and his legs straight up in the air. I went over to the guy standing next to him who was also watching, and asked what the man was doing with his head in the ground. He said that he thought the man was doing it just to get attention. I didnt know why someone would stand on their head in a hole to get attention, it would hurt too much and it was pretty dumb. As it turns out, the man was trying to break a world record of the longest amount of time standing on the head in a hole. It seems like a pretty dumb record to break. He had been in that hole for 14 hours already and intended to break the record of 38.5 hours... When I got home from Thailand two days later, I saw in the paper that a man broke the world record of 38.5 hours of standing on their head in a hole. I knew it was the same guy I was watching two days earlier. I couldnt believe that he actually broke that record!...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/ node/81076
Melissa Stewart/Essex High School
It was summer, and my family and I were on vacation in sunny California. As I was walking on the boardwalk, a huge shadow passed above my head. At rst I thought a plane was ying above me but when I looked up, there was no plane. A guy was diving head rst into a huge pothole in the middle of the road. Next thing I knew, the guy was upside down right in front of my eyes. I was walking by myself so nobody else was around to see what had happened. I rushed over to the guy; at rst, I thought I was going to see a bloody mess. When I picked the guy up and out of the pothole, his eyes were closed. He had a helmet on but even with the helmet I still thought he was dead. Then all of a sudden he shook his head and opened his eyes. First he groaned, then he started to laugh. That was one nasty fall, man! the guy said. I looked at him, astonished that he was even alive. The guy told me his name was Zeke. I helped Zeke up and asked him what happened. He told me that he and his friends were planning on jumping off the bridge and into the pothole. Little did Zeke know that his friends were just trying to get rid of him. Zeke said he thought his friends were jealous because all his friends liked living on the edge but Zeke was better than them. Thats why they tricked him, so they would be the best. As Zeke was telling me all of this I just stood there, mouth wide open. When Zeke looked back at me he saw me staring. He said; Dude, it looks like you just saw a ghost, are you OK? I just closed my mouth and said, Im good. I hung out with Zeke for the rest of the day. I had to admit he was a really cool person to hang out with. He told me that he had jumped off all sorts of things. Zeke had been skydiving, snorkeling, and had ridden in a hot air balloon, which he had also jumped out of. Luckily he wasnt too high off the ground! Zeke told me he liked to live in the moment and do things others were afraid to do, even if it was dangerous. At the end of the day I asked Zeke, Are you sure your heads OK from that fall? He said he was ne and asked why I had said that. I told him that after all the stuff hed done I was surprised that he was alive. Zeke just laughed. He knew he was crazy but he didnt care! After Zeke nished laughing he said it was getting late. I agreed and we both went our separate ways. Never turning back.
Because I knew you

BY HAILEE MATTSON Grade 6, Dummerston School (Inspired by For Good from Wicked) Ive heard it said That people come into our lives for a reason, Bringing something we must learn. And I guess we are led to those that help us most to grow, But only if we let them. And we help them in return. Well, I dont know if I believe thats true. But I know Im who I am today because of you. Who can say I have been changed for the better But because I knew you I have been changed for good. And it may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime, So please let me say before we part, So much of me is what I have learned from you, And just always know that you are like a handprint on my heart. And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend. And yet again, who can say that I have been changed for the better But because I knew you, I have been changed for good. Thank you for being my friend.
THIS WEEK: Vacation & General

Each week Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. A team of students helps select work for publication in this and 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompts, Vacation: Recall or imagine a favorite vacation; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
After an endless journey

BY CHRISTOL CAITLIN LONG Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and The Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or call 802-324-9537.
THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to BIRDSEYE FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
An appreciation of snow
BY DAELYN LYNN Grade 6, Green Street School As it falls, some wish it could stop, but for me, I hope it could not. Rain is OK, but it feels more nice, when uffy snow is falling, instead of the possibility of ice. It looks radiant on the ground, especially when Christmas and New Years are coming round. When in the snow, you set your feet down, people will know youve been around. Go outside and walk through big mounds and surely the ground will weigh you down. Its a nice feeling, but if you remain still, you may get a wonderful, icy chill. Snowmen and angels are things you can make, you see many when it is winter break. Sure it is nice when summers around, but its just as nice when winters snow is on the ground.
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE IN BRATTLEBORO!

Young Writers Project will be presenting a special Brattleboro performance of Millennial Writers on Stage at the Brattleboro Literary Festival on Saturday, Oct. 5! Send your best poetry or prose as a blog on your youngwritersproject.org account (If you dont have one, its easy to sign up); click Newspaper Series and the prompt, Millennial. Or email your submission to sreid@youngwritersproject.org. Watch youngwritersproject.org for more details on this great event!
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
At rst, you are really excited to be leaving the country for the very rst time. You are anxious to see new things, meet new people, and try different foods. Youve never even seen the ocean before, much less a decent sunset. Brochures to exotic places like Barbados and Cuba start to show up on your doorstep and you think to yourself, Hey, why not? So you look into it. You nd yourself in an airport on your way to Aruba. In your right hand, you have your boarding pass and your passport, in the left, a bottle of water you bought from one of those airport stores. You wander around wide-eyed looking for the right gate. Once youre seated at your gate, you wait for hours upon hours, to be put on the plane. Through the big tinted window, you spot your plane. It looks huge, white and intimidating. You begin to recall all those horror movies that youve seen about planes. You envision plane crashes and people being stranded on a deserted island, then the image of snakes getting on the plane. Your palms start to sweat and all of a sudden theres a great deal of nerves that were not there before. Your whole body begins to tremble. You ask yourself, Am I making a terrible mistake? You are staring at the plane with dread when the announcer calls your group to board the plane. Every step you take toward the tunnel is painful. You want to run home but you cant. Youve already bought tickets (which were pretty expensive.) Theres absolutely no turning back now. Inside the plane is small. Its shaped like a pill and everything smells brand new. Like that chemical smell of a new car. You search frantically through your carry-on bag for your boarding pass which was conveniently still in your right hand. The boarding pass has your seat number on it and its very important not to sit in someone elses seat. Thats just about the worst thing that could happen to you on a plane. The ight attendants have passed by you about a million times. You dont remember how many naps youve taken, or how many little packets of peanuts youve eaten. Walking to the bathroom and back doesnt feel like enough exercise. You start to feel claustrophobic. All you want is for the plane to land. The guy sitting next to you snores like a pig and he starts to drool; you cringe and look away. Just when you are about to scream, the captains voice breaks through. He announces that hell be landing in 15 minutes. Yay! After all that youve endured, Aruba seems to not only welcome you but reward you for not giving up. The island is absolutely gorgeous. White beaches stretch for miles and miles. The ocean waters are all the different shades of blue you could ever imagine. Aqua, turquoise, its all so beautiful. And when the sun comes out, you stop and enjoy life for once. Youre not thinking about work, or school or paying the bills. Youre happy, healthy, relaxed and at peace.
The real you

BY HAILEE MATTSON Grade 6, Dummerston School What is music? Music is more than just something you listen to on the radio and sing along to. Its something that tells a story. It speaks the truth and lets out the pain, excitement or truth. Music does a lot more than you think. It has saved people because they know that others have been through what they have and that they werent the only one. Its an easier way to speak, to let out the truth. Music expresses the real you.
THIS WEEK: Music & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Music: Choose a piece of music and write a story that ows from it; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
That sort of day

BY ISABELLA BYRNE Grade 9, The Sharon Academy It was a slow sort of day And the air felt like smog And gloominess fell like an autumn time fog And the people all smiled Fake grins and said sweetly Please pass the marmalade, darling Miss Wheetley It was that sort of day When youre all on your own And people keep calling you up on the phone And you just want to scream And shout things at their face But instead you reply with unusual grace That youre really too busy to talk to them now And were just going out to converse with the cow It was that sort of day when everythings wrong When the sun is too hot, and the day is too long It was that sort of day When they came to my home Sneaking about like a small sort of gnome Their devilish eyes alight with a re Said their presence could mean something terribly dire But it was their grins that led me to think That it wasnt my mother who clogged up the sink But at the time it seemed just so totally silly That I just dismissed it as fantasy, really But then little things Not the usual kind Began to start happening and play with my mind The dishes not washed Clothing all over Weird little voices playing Red Rover Then the bathrooms all ooded The doors wouldnt close And hair sprouted out all over my toes Then the fridge was all empty My face wouldnt shave My garden plants wilted My road wouldnt pave My good china shattered My hair wouldnt brush And I just couldnt think My brain turned to mush Then machines started beeping And the lights started ashing And from all sorts of places came bashing and crashing My phone started ringing My house was a mess They must just enjoy wreaking havoc, I guess Then all of a sudden The daylight was gone And all of the creatures appeared on my lawn And they spun in a circle and then They were gone
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Music brings hope

BY LAUREN BOLDUC Grade 12, Springeld High School Just a sad melting candle. Too many moments that bring up the question, Is this too much to handle? Dont want to feel these emotions, so keep busy racing task to task. Somehow manage to make a rhyme. Creating music is powerful enough to stop time. Just for a moment, eliminates all pain. Each and every one of us is just the same. Trying to be someone, make a name. Ups and downs, its all a game. Look in the mirror; there is no reason to feel shame. The only way to be held back is by letting excuses always take the blame. Every one of us has a choice. Unlock the door trapping your voice. Stop the light from burning. Is this nerves or excitement? Either way, stomachs are churning. To have faith is the lesson to be learning. Negative attitude is what we should be burning. Just be free and start singing. The harmony has heavens bells ringing. Hope is what every note is bringing. No one is going to correctly tell you who you are. Its up to you to discover and raise the bar. Everyone that suffers can make it through those moments that leave painful scars. All you need is faith and you can go far. So what are you waiting for? Close those eyes and wish upon a shooting star.
Special thanks this week to
GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE ROASTERS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Isabella Byrne/The Sharon Academy
MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE

PRESENTED BY YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT AND VERMONT PUBLIC RADIO
Send your best poetry or prose for performance at the Burlington Book Festival on Sept. 21, 2013. Submit as a blog on your youngwritersproject.org account (If you dont have one, its easy to sign up); click Newspaper Series and the prompt, Millennial. Or email your submission to sreid@youngwritersproject.org.
Skipping stones
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Marking time by skipping stones and cutting corners; treading water, modulate from major to minor like lines on a heart monitor. Breathing in particles, like, hey, this is life. And if this was a love poem to chemical reactions and inhalation, Id skip stones while marching, play on the offbeats, and y in a holding pattern, just to prove that this is my half full, not empty, ode to the air in my lungs.
THIS WEEK: Wishes, Tech & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Wishes: Write your top three wishes; Technology: What happens on a day without your cell phone? and General writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.
MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE

PRESENTED BY YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT AND VERMONT PUBLIC RADIO
Send your best poetry or prose for performance at the Burlington Book Festival on Sept. 21, 2013. Submit as a blog on your youngwritersproject.org account (If you dont have one, its easy to sign up); click Newspaper Series and the prompt, Millennial. Or email your submission to sreid@ youngwritersproject.org. Brattleboro area writers! Young Writers Project will also be presenting local young writers at the Brattleboro Literary Festival in October! Watch youngwritersproject.org for more on this great event!
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Not a normal Monday

BY BROOKE ROBERTS Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School An ordinary day of a middle school student is consumed with time on their cell phone. For Jacey, her cell phone being broken seemed like the worst thing possible. She never went without it. Her mom had gotten it for her just in case of emergencies, but now she felt like the cell phone had become a part of her. It wasnt a normal Monday for Jacey; she didnt have her cell phone with her and she really didnt know what to expect. As she sat in class she closed her eyes and she felt the time ying by. When she opened them, she wasnt in the classroom anymore. People were screaming and running around her. She was standing in the middle of the road; she wasnt moving or crying like others. She didnt know what was happening until she turned around. She saw the biggest building in the city on re. She still just stood there and watched. People yelled at her to move out of the way and go home, but she couldnt. She felt as though her feet had become a part of the pavement. Her body felt cold like ice, but where she was standing, it was more than 100 degrees because of the aming re. She went to grab her cell phone, which was always in her pocket, but there was nothing there. She looked back up to the building. It was falling to the ground. Pieces were ying everywhere and crushing people, cars and buildings. A glass window ew over her head and she ducked, trying not to be scared. As she stood up, she heard someone yell, Move! and then she closed her eyes before a piece of it crashed on her. She didnt feel a thing; she wondered if she had died, but for some reason she knew she hadnt. She opened her eyes and she was back in class and the bell was ringing. Her heart was beating fast. She knew that it had only been a dream, but it felt so real. Thats when she realized the importance of her cell phone. Anything could happen. She got a new phone after school and she never had that daydream again.
My three wishes
BY HAILEE MATTSON Grade 6, Dummerston School 1. I wish I could y because it would be fun. 2. I wish I had $100,000 so I could have everything I need and dont need to struggle. 3. I wish my best friend didnt live so far away because I need someone close to talk to and be there for me.
CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Sink or swim?
BY LAUREN BOLDUC Grade 12, Springeld High School Sink or swim? Cry or hear heavens beautiful hymn? Rolling in comes the wave. So will you be brave? Will your heart nd that name to cherish and engrave? Dont give doubt the light of day. Dont think twice if love oats your way. Smile at the little moments even if they seem clich. The rst kiss runs through my mind on reply. I found you, now Im holding on, Holding on to you till the sun peeks up at dawn. I dont want you to ever be gone. Im going to dive right in. Loving you makes me grin. You have stunning eyes and the softest skin. I will always be here with you till the end. Youre not only my soul mate but also my best friend. I cant believe this isnt a dream, this is real, not pretend. Im choosing to go out on a limb. I am going to swim. Loving you has made me brave. My heart chose your name to engrave.
Josh Kenyon/Essex High School
Sheep poem
THIS WEEK: Farm Project winners

Congratulations to the six winners of the Farm Project writing challenge, whose work is published on this page today. The Vermont Community Foundation, sponsor of the challenge, will award the writers $50 with an additional $50 donation to a local food or farm nonprot of the winners choice. Seventy-seven writers participated in the challenge, showing that farming and local food matter to young Vermonters. Read all of the Farm Project submissions at youngwritersproject.org.
Living by a farm
BY SASKIA KIELY Grade 7, Vergennes Union High School
BY EVA ROCHELEAU Grade 8, Williston Central School
The lambs born in February and March leap together In May when the elds are green The visitors come And they ask us questions like when and why and where June, July rotate the pastures Shifting the fence, one, two, three, lift! Then comes August When we load up the trailers And off to the fair Full of top-notch Eva Rocheleau churros and freshly ironed pants The days of blocking and tting Showing and ribbons Are long, tense, and sweaty And the sheep are loud and tted their best Once Addison County and Champlain Expo are simply joyful memories We pack up our lambs, all tuckered out, and head back to the farm Where the shepherds are eagerly waiting September, lambs are nearly forgotten Only photographs
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to VERMONT COMMUNITY FOUNDATION
Dusty Creek Farm

BY KELSEY EDDY Grade 9, Mill River High School I turned the doorknob and walked into the milk house. The milk container was cold, as expected, and the family had not started without me. I walked through the milk house and went into the barn. I walked down the aisle, looking for my grandpa. Hey Sprout, you here to help out or talk to the old lady? he asked. We both laughed. My grandpa had a Kelsey Eddy at Dusty Creek Farm in Wallingford great sense of humor, and always called me Sprout. Farming was my life, all the hard times that we had to work through, from hay season where my dad and I raced to beat thunderstorms in the hay wagon, to xing broken water tubes that water all the cows, to going in knee-deep water during Hurricane Irene to save the cows from drowning in the eld, to the death of calves, that always silenced the barnyard. There were also good times that I will never forget, like watching my little sisters feed the calves, playing and brushing the calves, seeing a baby calf being born, grandpa teaching me how to drive the tractor, staying up all night talking about all the fun we had, and all the little things that I hold so dear...But now, as I look around at our cows, hear the sound of the farm, remember all the good and bad, I cant help but cry, because all this, that I grew up to know and love, is being sold this summer.
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/ 79906
The drive down the luminous dirt road when I was moving away from my childhood home was torturous. I knew it was going to be a big change, moving to West Addison, and not necessarily a good one... My new home is surrounded by farm all around; there is no escape. My rst encounter with the farm was with the cows. One day I had some extra cake that I normally would have discarded, but I decided to give it to the cows. I went outside, walked over and cautiously dropped the cake over the electric fence. The excited cows came forward and licked it a couple times. The next day I went back out and came a little closer, allowing them to suck on my ngers. Day after day I would walk to the barn and interact with the animals, and Rob and Suzie, the farmers. I could see when the pigs got out from my living room window, and would rush over to chase them back in. The place had started to grow on me, and I wanted to be of help in any way I could. Prior to moving, my stereotype of dairy farmers was strong. I thought that farmers were gruff middle-aged men who didnt care about anything they just had the jobs for the tractors. But I realized how incorrect this stereotype was when I met my neighbor farmers who are kind, generous, and always helpful ...They dont just do it because its their job, they do it because its what they love to do...
Shatter
BY CALLISTA BUSHEE Grade 8, Home School, East Wallingford On the second Friday in January, a calf was born at Seward Farm in East Wallingford, just 10 minutes from my home. She wasnt out of the ordinary; in fact, she was anything but different. The heifer, the rst female calf in several months of bulls, had a thick-headed temper to her, like her mother, and boasted her rudeness from day one. But that Monday, one of the two days I spend volunteering at Sewards each week, she caught my eye... With permission from Art and Dave Seward, the two wonderful guys who own and operate the farm, I named her Shatter for her white markings, which in some places looked like shattered glass. With time, Shatter became more even-tempered, and her affection for me grew... Bit by bit, Shatter worked her way into my heart, funny little nose rst. Working at Sewards is by far the highlight of my week, not only because of Shatter but because no matter how grim things look, Art and Dave always nd a way to laugh. One way or another, they cheer you up, and they have showed me that even in the toughest situations, you can always nd a way to smile.
Summer on the farm

BY CARLEY MALLOY Grade 7, Thetford Academy
The chicken coop

BY DAVID AMOURETTI Grade 5, Thomas Fleming School I open the coops squeaky door. I pass the rooster sleeping in a feathery mass. He opens one eye, then closes it, Deciding that Im not a threat. At the laying area, I reach in
The tiny room with the mother hens, White, brown, spotted, Sleeping on the side, Waiting for a peck, But nothing happens. I count 1...234four eggs. My trembling hands gently pick them up. They feel cold, chilling my ngers In the already freezing winter. Careful not to drop them, I walk inside, Ready for omelets.
Ive decided that a family farm is a lot like a barbed wire fence; running smooth for a little while, and then running into a twist or barb that slows things down. My last year and a half has been spent working on my grandparents farm. Each day has been a new adventure, and I often catch myself looking back and saying, remember the day I like summer on the farm the most; the weather has warmed so the barn can be left open and I can hear the jingling of chains as the cows turn their heads to look when I come in. Summer on the farm means haying, fencing, cleaning up the winters mess, and letting the cows outside to stretch their long legs. Kittens and calves are born and you have the fun of tracking them down every morning to see where their mothers have decided to move them...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/ node/ 80476
Building tunnels
THIS WEEK: Promise & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Promise: Write about a promise you made but couldnt keep; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE
BY ZOE SOULE Grade 11, Leland and Gray Union High School
We built a tunnel. Into another world, axis, universe. Your smile was infectious as we traveled into the spinning vortex, Unsure of our destination.
I would watch your feet, mirroring their movements, Exact steps into matching lands. Id forget to look up, so engrossed in the prints left from those feet. But your laughter would break through, And as I raised my head, my eyes would focus on yours, The magic echoing behind you paltry in comparison to the sparkle within them.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Watch this newspaper and youngwritersproject.org for the six winners to be announced next week!
Sponsored by The Vermont Community Foundations Food and Farm Initiative
Our trips became longer. Tiring, overdone. But always at the end I caught a glimpse, a meeting of the eyes, Until one day my foot slipped and landed into a different track. I looked up. But there was no sparkle left. It was a harsh light, One that whispered of betrayal and disapproval.
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
To be alive
BY LAUREN BOLDUC Grade 12, Springeld High School
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
You continued on the path, leaving me behind, two feet in two worlds. No words, no explanation. And suddenly, the tunnel wasnt so welcoming. So I continued my prints, following a different track, Eyes ahead, never down. For this is my track, my decision.
Sometimes if I look across the abyss, I can see you, struggling forward, Forever reaching for the magic that we left behind. But I know more than I did then. Sometimes you have to change courses Just to get where you want to be.
Margaret Slate/Peoples Academy
NEXT PROMPT
Vacation. Recall a specic moment on a favorite vacation and describe it. Or imagine your perfect vacation. Alternate: General writing in any genre, on any topic. Due May 17
Life
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE Grade 6, Green Street School The little duck Quack quack quack The big red truck Clunkedy clunk clunk We all are expected to say something Even the mute They say it with their eyes They say it with their body language But me Poor lonely me I have nothing to say For I do not feel That this Earth should be disturbed With the common jibber-jabber Because we are not the owners Of this land we pay for with greed For it is the Earth that does control All of the things that we really need

Life is really about wishing on shooting stars. Your scars make you who you are. Drop a beat or strum some chords on your guitar, we all just want to go far. Take time to appreciate the little things, If you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the song the world sings. If you have faith, you can spread your wings. Open your eyes and see the opportunities every door you open brings. What does it mean to come alive? Ill tell you, its when love arrives. When it appears its unexpected, Something that should always be respected. If its real, it can always be detected. There is nothing as life changing as two souls being connected. Nothing is so magical as having a heart to always keep protected. What does it mean to embrace joy? Ill tell you, its always having that stunning smile to glance at and enjoy. There is nothing like happiness to always keep your heart warm. There is something to say about that special person cuddling with you during a storm. A soul mate is a beautiful, precious life form. What does it mean to have all your wishes come true? You have a pep to your step, and love that the sky is blue. You feel free, you spread your wings and you ew. There is nothing that you cant make it through. You wonder if you are asleep; is it a dream? When will you come to? Your beating heart grew. You made it far and there is nothing you would redo.
The baby in the picture

BY CHRISTOL LONG Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School ... My life was as slow moving and boring as watching paint dry, as sad as a dog with only three legs. But I had learned to accept it. That is, until the day the package arrived... Sometimes I wondered if my parents actually loved me, or was it just a thing parents were required to say every now and then? Why wouldnt they just let me go live with my grandparents? Oh, I know, that would make them look like horrible parents if they just shipped their own kid off like that. If they could, I knew theyd do it happily. One summer evening, I was sitting in the wooden rocking chair on the porch reading a book. My parents were at work and my siblings were off doing their daily activities, some at soccer practice, some at friends houses. They all left me here alone, but I didnt mind. I looked up from my book just in time to see a UPS truck. To me, UPS trucks mean excitement. I rocked back and forth hard in the rocking chair, anxious to see if the UPS truck would come back and deliver a package at my doorstep. That would be too good to be true... Sure enough, that big brown and gold truck stopped right outside my house. As soon as the truck came to a full stop, out jumped a man dressed in a brown uniform, jogging up the walkway with a box underneath his right arm. Written on the box was my name: Indigo Blue Skye. Before the delivery guy could even touch the stairs leading up to the porch, I was out of the rocking chair and snatching the box from underneath his arm. I turned and ed back into the house without even thanking him. I ran to the kitchen and placed it on top of the counter. My hands were shaking. I stared with eyes wide with wonder at the perfectly taped-up brown box... Inside, were those little Styrofoam scraps. Quickly, I rummaged through them and felt something sharp and metal brush against my ngers... It was a small metal picture frame. The picture was of a woman and a man standing on a cruise ship, smiling. They looked like the ideal couple you would nd in a magazine or something. With the sunset behind them, they were practically perfect. Then I noticed that the woman was holding something in her arms. It was a baby, a perfect little pink-faced child wrapped up completely in a white blanket. It was just about the sweetest thing Id ever seen in my whole life. I bet my mother never held me like that, I thought. The way the people in the picture looked, I could tell just by their body language that they loved this child unconditionally. I ipped the picture over and what I saw gave me the shock of my life. On the back of the little metal frame someone had written very neatly: Indigo Blue Skye, Born November 1998. Thats when I realized that the child in the picture was me, and the man and the woman were my real parents...
THIS WEEK: General writing

Each week Young Writers Project receives hundreds of sub missions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire, writ ten in response to prompts. A team of students helps select work for publication in this and 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompt for Gen eral writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Watch youngwritersproject.org for the six winners to be announced soon!

VERMONTIVATE
PLAY VERMONTIVATE!
Mr. Spriggs mead

BY KURT PATTERSON Grade 9, Brattleboro Union High School Long ago in the small town of Riverwood, the most famous of bartenders lived. Mr. Spriggs brewed the nest of mead and ale in all of Skyrim and he was all the talk from Riverwood to Riften. Mr. Spriggs was a generous and good-hearted man but there was one downfall Mr. Spriggs always said yes. It was in his nature to help out the customers that gathered in his brewery, the usual problems people had like needing help with their mill or help with renovating their new home. Word soon spread across Skyrim that not only would Mr. Spriggs give something worth the coin you paid, but if you were a customer, he would help you with a problem you had. Now Mr. Spriggs always carried the recipe to his secret mead in his pocket for safety but he always felt unsure; he would soon see for good reason. One day while Mr. Spriggs was heading home, a man stopped him at the door to his home. The man wore a dark cloak and had a face full of warts. Mr. Spriggs was frightened by the sight but tried to show no disrespect. Hello sir, what can I do for you? A taste of my mead perhaps or a glass of ale? Mr. Spriggs eyed the man carefully for a minute and realized he had seen him before. Yes, this was the man whom Mr. Spriggs had removed from his brewery due to the ruckus the man was causing. Im not interested in your precious mead, Spriggs. I was wondering if you would try mine? The man then pulled out a small vial with dark liquid and he gave a sneer. Well, what do you say, you sort of owe me a little taste.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
The community sustainability game that ends with a huge Ben & Jerrys Ice Cream Party!
Find out more at vermontivate.com
Nate Ertle/Essex High School
Mr. Spriggs eyed the vial and noticed a green leaf sticking out of the top but he made no remark about it. Feeling a little sad for the old man, he took it and took three sips, wiped his mouth and handed the vial back. Mr. Spriggs felt a prickly sensation in the back of his throat but paid no heed to it. Thank you, sir. I will kindly ask you to leave now so that I may retire to my home. The man bumped him, apologized, then trotted off, his black cloak waving in the midnight wind. Mr. Spriggs did not sleep well that night, not at all. He woke up and felt his arms. He shrieked at what he saw. His arms were stretching, turning green, and his face began to crack and turn brown. His eyes closed shut and he fell into blackness. As he did, he could hear a voice in his head saying, The paper will come in handy. And for now until the end of time, Mr. Spriggs and his family have been turned into what are now called Spriggons, forever searching for the lost recipe.
NEXT PROMPTS
Music. Choose a piece of music and write a story that ows from it. Tell us what music you were listening to. Alternate: Three wishes. What would you wish for? Tell us in three sentences. Due May 10 Vacation. Recall a specic moment on a favorite vacation and describe it. Or imagine your perfect vacation. Alternate: General writing on any topic, in any genre. Due May 17

The chicken crossing

BY OLIVIA ORTLIEB Grade 6, Dummerston School
THIS WEEK: Rhyming & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Rhyming poetry; and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
I loved you
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE Grade 6, Green Street School You cant hold him close Kiss him on the cheek His ngers are pale His bones fragile and weak His face looks so gone No spirit in sight No memories of you two Flying a kite You cant take it back Its not a scary dream You cant take the bad things back Though theyre hurtful and mean You know he loved you And you loved him back And one day this feeling Will surely come back
Why did the chicken cross the road? Depending on who you ask, the answer will vary... Although people tell many stories about that chicken and the road, I am here to tell you what I think he crossed the road for. It was a cold, gloomy, mid-spring day and the farmer and his family were sick. The farmers were so sick that nobody could come out to feed any of the animals. After several hours of the farm animals lying hungry in their pens, stables and coops, nally the chickens were willing to risk their lives to get food for the others. Little Jimmy, a middle-aged chicken spoke in chicken language to the others, Alright guys, even if it means risking my life, I am going to get the rest of you guys some chicken feed. Jimmy told the chickens to climb on top of each other and make a stairway formation so he could get out of the coop. Once Jimmy was out of the coop, he was one step closer to becoming a hero and saving his friends. Jimmy had never crossed a road, so he knew nothing of the concept of looking both ways before you cross. OK, Jimmy said to himself, You can do this, just cross the road. Get some food and return to your people, or animals. Jimmy strolled out onto the road but he hurried back as he saw an oncoming tractor-trailer speeding towards him. Bacaww, Jimmy yelled as the truck passed by. Lets try this again, he said to himself as he ran hastily across the road causing a car to swerve around him and almost crash. I did it, Jimmy thought as he stopped to catch his breath and think about his near-death experience. Yay! Jimmy made it over! chanted the horses from across the street. Jimmy went straight towards the barn. Hey, said a hen from the window of the henhouse. I hear you are in dire need of some food. Is that right? Yes, thats correct, said Jimmy. Do you know where I can get some? The hen paused for what seemed like hours but was only a few short seconds. Yes, as a matter of fact, I have some right in here, all you have to do is come inside. Jimmy wasnt a bit hesitant. He smiled and said, Thank you, maam. But there was one problem. The bag of food was too heavy for Jimmy to drag. Let me try to help you, said the hen and together they were strong enough to move the big bag of food to the road where they ran into one more problem... How are we going to get this across the road? they asked each other. Ive got it, said Jimmy. We can wait until there are no cars or trucks coming and we can carry it across as fast as we can. The hen paused for a moment and said, That just may work. They waited patiently until nothing was coming down the road and they grabbed the bag and crossed the road as quickly as they could. They had done it; they had saved the whole farm and nothing bad had happened. Little Jimmy was a hero. He had saved his friends in a time of darkness and need.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Guilt
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE Grade 6, Green Street School The girl stares at her reection In the undisturbed water She wishes she would see someone elses reection For she is ashamed And she has to look at herself That guilt soul they call human If only they knew
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Andrea Marie Neville/Chelsea Public School
NEXT PROMPTS
Technology. Your cell phone is broken and you cant get a new one. Its your rst day without it. What happens? Alternate: Photo 11. Write a story about this photo. Due April 26. Long ago. Write a journal/diary entry of someone from a different time period, past or future. Alternate: Being right. Describe a time when you were sure that you were right, but someone else refused to see your view. Due May 3.
The box
BY BEN KAUFMAN Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The boy was walking into the cave...oh no! He was picking up speed as he went towards it, his blond hair whipping in the wind, and his sandals and feet seeming to be a complete blur. The movie was getting intense. Although I didnt really like scary movies, this was turning out to be very good. My greasy hand reached into the bowl for more popcorn. Only a little left. Slowly the darkness was closing around Tommy; there was a growl, and then...BOMMKAN! Was that from the movie? I fumbled for the remote to stop it for a second. The house was silent. I scanned around the room. Past the owing lace curtains I could see nothing but a deep darkness. There it was again! That noise; it was somebody at the door! I started to get up, but then halted halfway off the couch for a second. Who would be at my door at one in the morning? Well, Im sure it must be important. I walked down the cold tile oor to the doorway, grabbing the doorknob. I turned it slowly and then swung the door open all at once. I looked up for a face, but there wasnt one. My eyes moved down, not too far, to a huge box. The thing was about the size of a small cow. I could tell the cardboard was thick too. I looked all around it but there were no bar codes, return addresses, or any writing at all. I gured the only way I would be able to get into it would be to take it inside. The thing looked like it would barely be able to t inside the door. My hands were cold and I tried to wrap the ends of my shirt around them to comfort them, but that didnt do anything. I pushed and heaved with all my might to get the thing inside my door; it was heavy! I dont know why, but I was very, very excited to open it. I sprang down the hallway to get a pair of scissors and then calmly walked back to the box. The thing seemed to occupy my whole house. It was very scary, I slashed along one of the folds of cardboard that was held together by many, many layers of packing tape. As soon as I did, there was an explosion of packing peanuts... As I dug through the layers of seemingly endless packing peanuts, I found another box. This one had a letter attached to it. It read: Dear Tommy Brown, I always knew you were looking for an adventure, so here is your chance to have one. Go ahead and good luck! It wasnt signed by anyone, and I did not recognize the handwriting, which was a very neat cursive...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/ node/78300.
THIS WEEK: Climate & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to the prompts for Climate change and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE ROASTERS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Icecaps melting
BY SARAH NAM GALLAGHER Grade 6, Dummerston School There are factories pumping smog into the air. Power plants planted everywhere. Climates growing warmer; Arctic animals dying. The ocean is slowly rising. Our atmosphere is more and more insulated and our planet is heating up. Thats not good. As Earth gets hotter and icecaps melt, lots of bad things happen. For example, animals like polar bears and penguins that live on icecaps lose their homes. However, melting icecaps affect people, too. As icecaps melt into the ocean, it will rise and swallow up our land. If we really love our planet, we will nd a way to stop global warming. We can do it!
New friend
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE Grade 6, Green Street School I told my friends about you Your cheery little smile And your white teeth Your long blond hair and your collar-ful sense of style They said I should take you to that new restaurant on 58th Street But Im quite puzzled because theres a sign there that says NO DOGS can come and eat
NEXT PROMPTS
Scared. What really scares you? Why? Tell a story about when you confronted it. Alternate: White lie. Write about a little white lie that grows and turns into a bigger lie until you cant keep up. Due April 19 Technology. Your cell phone is broken and you cant get a new one. Its your rst day without it. What happens? Alternate: Photo 11. Write about this photo. Due April 26

Rain on an empty road

BY MADISON FORTIER Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I sit on the brown suede couch as I watch the foggy window thats being struck by tiny water bullets. I see no clouds, only the dark and grey sky. There has not been one car on my road in months, even years. I am the only one on this old, dirt road. Just me and anything else that may be lurking in the dense, dark forests that surround me. I have never left. I have no reasons to leave. Everything that I would need is here with me. Suddenly I hear the loud rumble of what sounds like a vehicle. But thats impossible. No one has ever dared to set foot on this road. Why would someone want to drive on it? The rumble gets closer... I run to the door, lock it and close the shades. I then hurry down the squeaky wooden oors to the bathroom and wait... Suddenly there are four loud, forceful knocks at the door. I hide behind the door for a few minutes to make sure that its safe. Then I grab the brass handle and turn it slowly. The door squeals as it opens. And there sits a box... I grab a knife from the dusty wood block in the kitchen. I stick the knife into the package and slit open the top. Inside, there appears to be nothing but plastic, but then I spot a piece of paper. There is only one word, written in blue pen. It says, Yours. In the box there is a small piece of paper that I believe is a check... I pull the check closer to my face. It isnt just any check, it is a check written for two million dollars. I know it is a joke. But then I examine the check closer and nd that it is signed by someone that I had known. Mark Anderson was his name...

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompt for General writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

WIN $50 FOR YOU AND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM

NONPROFIT OF YOUR CHOICE
WRITING PROMPTS
AND CONTEST DETAILS AT
youngwritersproject.org/farm13
MAIN STREET LANDING
DUE FRIDAY, APRIL 12

Sponsored by the Vermont Community Foundations Food and Farm Initiative
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
The rst time

BY WELLS MUNDELL-WOOD Grade 4, The Grammar School I remember the rst time my toe, just one toe, dangled in the water, creating never-ending circles surrounding my rst step. A sign of true creativity in my path. I remember the rst time the pencil made contact with the paper. The rst time, if you twisted and turned it, it could form the most complicated, most confusing, most vague drawing. I remember the rst time I blew out the candle, the little ickering ame, dancing above the stick, my thoughts pondering with incredible hope. I remember the rst time I sat, leaning against a tree trunk and let my mind ow into the breathtaking letters of a book. I remember the rst time I let my heart ow into a story, yet to be created. A story of the twists and turns of what could nally appear to be my life.
Nameless
BY MUGDHA GURRAM Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I am temporary I am a eeting memory The whisper of wind against your skin That brings up goosebumps The sunlight that creeps through the partially open blinds I am the pale blue sky that hides behind a bright, burning sun Im there, but just barely Unnoticed
NEXT PROMPTS
Dislike. Write about something that disgusts you, no matter how wrong, distasteful or awkward it is. Alternate: Fairy tale. Write a fairy tale that includes the phrase, one thousand peas. Due April 12
Alia Jenkins/South Burlington High School
Magic trick
BY JEMEZ JOBIN Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I woke up and it was Thursday morning. I got dressed and went downstairs to have breakfast. When I opened the fridge, I heard a pecking noise and it was coming from outside. Then it stopped. I thought nothing of it and went on with getting the milk out of the fridge and making myself a bowl of cereal. I sat down at the table and ate it. Then I heard the pecking again. It was getting louder and louder. I nished my cereal and then went outside to see what was making that noise. I opened the French doors and there was a purple egg. A large purple egg on the deck. I told myself, I must be dreaming! The purple egg started to crack at the top. Something was breaking it. Then a purple head popped out of the top of the purple egg. I quickly shut the French doors and pinched myself. I felt it. This wasnt a dream. It really was happening. I started to run through the house. Then I heard a loud chalkboard screech as I ran up the stairs. It was the thing inside of the egg. It was happening. The bird was hatching. I ran to the phone and called 911. The line was busy. I tried again. The line was now dead. I didnt know what to do. I walked out the front door, got my bike, and pedaled down to my mothers work. As I was coasting down the big hill, I kept going faster and faster. I nally got to my mothers work... You need to come, quick! I told her to get her keys and I followed her out to the car. She drove faster than normal, which was unusual. As we pulled into the garage, I hopped out of the car and ran out to the backyard. The purple egg shell was missing. I searched for it and couldnt nd it. As my mother walked through the doors to the deck, she said, So, what is the big problem, the house is not burning down, there is no rocket in the garage. What did you make me leave work for? There was a... a purple... a purple egg... in... the backyard. It was right here before I left! You want to see a magic trick? she said. Poof! You're grounded, and no more video games either. They are making you go crazy!
THIS WEEK: Purple egg

Each week Young Writers Project receives hundreds of sub missions from students written in response to prompts or as general work. A team of students helps select work for publi cation in this and 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompt,Egg: You go outside one day and nd a big, purple egg. What happens?Read more at youngwritersproject.org .
THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

WIN $50 FOR YOU AND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM NONPROFIT
OF YOUR CHOICE
WRITING PROMPTS
AND CONTEST DETAILS AT
youngwritersproject.org/farm13

THE TURRELL FUND
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
A rare egg
BY KELSEA MCAULIFFE Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I was playing outside one day and I came across a huge purple egg the size of a football. I didnt know what to do so I picked it up and brought it back to my house. It probably weighed at least 10 pounds. My mom was surprised when she saw how big the egg was, but she was most surprised by the color. I brought it up to my room and made a little bed out of blankets. I knew I had to make sure the egg stayed warm or it would die. I left the egg in that spot for three days, and on the fourth day, when I woke up, I heard a cracking noise. I had no idea what the noise was until I saw the growing hole in the egg. I yelled to my mom and she came running upstairs. She was as excited about the egg as I was and agreed to let me stay home and watch it hatch. I sat in the middle of my room on the oor for two hours watching the egg. Every ve minutes, the hole got bigger and bigger. I was starting to get hungry so I decided I would run as fast as I could to the kitchen to get a snack... While I was gone, the thing inside the egg pushed the broken shell off the top so you could look down into the egg. I was nervous, but my curiosity got the best of me... The thing was bright orange and its head was the size of a baseball. Its skin looked gooey and slimy. The things eyes were not on the front of its head but on the sides, like a hammerhead shark... When I saw how big the things teeth were, I jumped back in surprise. Its teeth were as long as a the tip of my nger and they were a bright green color. I knew this was no ordinary creature. It was a mutant...
Neil Armsloth
BY IAN FULTON-BLACK Grade 8, Guilford Central School On a hot August day, I was sweating almost to death, and trying to nd sweet ways to cool off. I went and grabbed my inater, my kiddy pool, and went to pump up the wonderful pool full of air. As my pool inated, something caught my eye. A huge, purple egg was ying down from space at hundreds of miles per hour. The egg came right at me, so I dove out of the way, only to have the egg go right through my pool. The pool popped, and in a moment of rage I took the egg and smashed it against the huge oak tree in my backyard. The egg didnt crack, so I hit it, whacked it, smashed it... Nothing worked, so I got angrier and angrier because my kiddy pool was no longer functional. One night while I was sleeping, I heard a slight cracking noise. To my surprise, the egg was cracking on its own. A tiny claw poked out, and I was thinking, Is it an alien? Is it dangerous? Is it new life? Is it deadly? As the thing crawled out of its egg, I realized it was a sloth, with a spacesuit on. I picked him up, hugged him and decided he wasnt deadly at all... It has been a year since Neil Armsloth landed in my backyard, and we have come to love each other more than you could imagine. Today is a hot, August afternoon, so I taped up my pool, and Neil and I had a swim in the cool, refreshing water.
Ashley Warren/Essex High School
Bub
BY CHARLES WILLIAM ALLEN Grade 5, Academy School I thought that I would go for a walk, so I went in my backyard and there it was a... giant egg! I couldnt see what color it was, but it looked purple. I called Mom and she said not to touch it. When she got home, she said to stand back. She went near it and it hatched. It was a giant baby dinosaur. It was uffy and had a horn like a unicorn. We fed it and gave it water every day. We didnt want it to run away so we got a hook that goes in the ground and a 10-foot-long chain. We couldnt nd a collar for it so we made one out of fabric. It was about 7 feet tall so we made it lie down and I rubbed its belly to make sure it wouldnt freak out while my mom put on the collar. We decided to name it Bub.
NEXT PROMPT
Mystery. Something very strange just happened, and you dont know how or why. Write a story. Be succinct. Alternate: Photo 10. Write about this photo. Due April 5
Photo 10 Katy Trahan/ Essex High School
A simple pleasure
BY LLOYD SALASIN-DEANE Grade 12, Brattleboro Union High School It was a moment Ill never forget, but not for the reasons you might imagine. It was a beautiful spring day and like many days before it I trudged up the quarter mile of road between Route 9 and my house, bearing the weight of my impossibly heavy backpack. However, today was different for one very small reason: I stopped and looked around. It was a beautiful day but not exceptionally so. It wasnt all that different from many of the other days Id walked up my road. The only difference was I had never stopped to appreciate any of them. So for the rst time I took in the nature that surrounded me. My favorite part of it all was how the afternoon sunlight danced its way through the forest canopy. It was at this moment that I realized that I must have forgotten all the other days just like this one. I realized that I could barely remember what I thought about and noticed on my walk home the day before. This moment would also probably be forgotten in a matter of days or weeks. So I decided to remember it forever. This moment was so profoundly memorable for me because it was then that I realized that our culture, myself included, spends so much time thinking about what work needs to be done and what tasks need to be completed next that the in-between times become a blur. In doing this we miss out on a very large part of our lives. We commit so much of our memory to what we consider important information while allowing memories of simple pleasures like a beautiful spring day slip away.
THIS WEEK: Moment

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to the Vermont Writes Day prompt, Moment: It was a moment I will never forget... To read more great student writing, go to youngwritersproject.org.
THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

AND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM

NONPROFIT OF YOUR CHOICE
WIN $50 FOR YOU
PROMPTS:
1. FARM: Share a story about a farm or farmer that you know. Write about an experience youve had on a farm, or, if you live on a farm, the daily joys and challenges your family faces. Tell a specic story or anecdote to bring it alive and to show why farming is important in Vermont. 2. FOOD: Theres so much great food thats grown or made in Vermont. Your family may have a farm, garden or buy food that comes from the area. Share some of the wonderful and challenging things about getting, growing, cooking or eating local food. Tell about a specic experience youve had or hope to have with local food.
Special thanks this week to VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Across the board

BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School It was a moment I would never forget. It was that retrospective moment before the story starts, when the character can see exactly what they did wrong. When they can see every aw in their plan, every misplaced footstep. I felt all that. Except my story was already over. It was like someone had put everything Id ever done, ever had, in a jar, shook it up hard, then threw the contents out. Let everything scatter across a board in a mess of complete failure. It was like the climax of a story. Raw and desperate. My ngers shook, and it was like I couldnt quite focus on anything. I was scared. Everything looks so obvious when someone places it out in front of you, and points to every mistake. Its like someone is tilting their head and asking you, What were you thinking? But its way too late for that. Its way too late to try to gure out where you went wrong because youre way too far down the wrong road to want to look back to the fork where you didnt go right. Its like seeing everything the way it is. Outside your mind. Outside your body. Its like wanting to turn around, but theres nothing to turn back to. Ill never forget that moment.
SUBMIT: Write on your YWP account,

click prompt Farm13, or email sreid@youngwritersproject.org.
First football game

BY CHRISTIAN PREVETT Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The moment I will never forget is my rst football game, the feeling of taking that rst step on to the eld with the crowd cheering, the team yelling and getting hyped up. It is the most exciting feeling in the world. The rst snap of the football, the rst tackle in the game, the rst touchdown, even the rst injury is exciting. Knowing you can actually tackle someone, someone you have no idea who they are, to knowing the crowd is yelling and cheering for your team, and knowing if you take home the win they will be even more loud and more proud, is a fantastic feeling you would have to witness yourself to understand.

Contest details at youngwritersproject.org/farm13
SeaWorld Eve Pomazi/Brattleboro Area Middle School
Best friend
BY CHRISTOL CAITLIN Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Ill never forget that moment for as long as I live, the moment I found out that I wouldnt be separated from my best friend. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, where I knew for sure that I wouldnt be alone. It was as if a big dark storm cloud broke apart to reveal a beautiful blue sky. And just that was enough for me to feel comfortable enough to start middle school.
NEXT PROMPT
Promise. Write about a promise you made but couldnt keep. Alternate: Strength. Write about a time when you had to be strong, physically or mentally. Due March 29

From Antarctica
THIS WEEK: Eternal Night & Package

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Eternal Night: The sun doesnt rise one day or the next day. What happens? and Package: A package arrives for you. Whats inside? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE
BY THEO MOORE ODELL Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
One sunny day during summer vacation, I was sitting outside when the UPS truck stopped in front of our house. I knew that the package would not be mine because I never get anything in the mail. Then the UPS man came out of the truck and headed towards me with a giant package that was addressed to me and asked if I lived in this house. When I said yes, he gave me the package and got back into the truck and headed off down the road. I brought the package inside to see who it was from... I looked at the return form and it was from no one I knew. I carefully opened the package, and while I opened the big box, I started to hear a lot of rustling from inside the box. When I got the box open, I saw a pair of beady little eyes staring at me from under quite a bit of ice and ice packs. At rst I thought it was some practical joke, but the thing in the box started to move again. I jumped back because I did not know what was going to happen. When I jumped out of the way, the thing in the box jumped out at me and landed on the oor. I looked down and there I saw a Fairy Penguin walking around the downstairs, just looking around. When I looked at the return address again it made sense now: Niu G . Nep, 7134 Antarctic. This package was sent from Antarctica and for me, but I didnt know who it was from. I looked down again and looked at the penguin that had just hopped all the way around the downstairs. It looked right back at me with its small eyes and then started to hop around the downstairs again. I watched it for a few seconds, hopping and stopping every once in awhile. Than I looked back in the box to nd a bag of frozen sh laying on the bottom of the box. I gave the penguin one of those sh and it loved it. Then it hit me. The label said Penguin Pen G. Uin if you ipped it around! I didnt care who it was from. I was just happy that I had my own pet penguin.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

WIN $50 WITH A MATCHING $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM NONPROFIT OF YOUR CHOICE PROMPTS:
1. FARM: Share a story about a farm or farmer that you know. Write about an experience youve had on a farm, or, if you live on a farm, the daily joys and challenges your family faces. Tell a specic story or anecdote to bring it alive and to show why farming is important in Vermont.
Special thanks this week to PHYSICIANS COMPUTER COMPANY
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
2. FOOD: Theres so much great food thats grown or made in Vermont. Your family may have a farm, garden or buy food that comes from the area. Share some of the wonderful and challenging things about getting, growing, cooking or eating local food. Tell about a specic experience youve had or hope to have with local food.
HOW TO SUBMIT: Use your YWP
account, keyword Farm13, or email your entry to sreid@youngwritersproject.org.

Contest details at youngwritersproject.org
Secret of eternal night

BY FIONA GOODMAN Grade 4, Academy School
Audrey Dawson/Westford Middle School
Chapter One: I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. I sat up and looked at my clock. What I could make out said: 10:25. P.M., probably. It hadnt been nearly this dark during Hurricane Irene, though how I could remember that, an event of seven years previous, I didnt know. I switched on my light. Downstairs, I could hear Mara prancing in starvation. Maybe I forgot to feed her last night, I thought. I might as well go do it now. I yanked on some clothes, and went downstairs. Downstairs, was quiet as usual...
NEXT PROMPTS
Six words. Create as many six-word stories as you can. Alternates: News story. Write an opinion piece based on a current news story. Take a side and make a persuasive argument in a maximum of three paragraphs; or General writing in any genre and any style. Due March 22 Promise. Write about a promise you made but couldnt keep. Alternate: Strength. Write about a time when you had to be strong, physically or mentally. Due March 29
How is this possible?

BY TYLER GERMAIN Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I toss and turn in my bed, the sheets get balled up at the end of my mattress; I hit the big fat snooze button on my alarm and bury my face in the pillow. I pick my head up. I think to myself, why is it so dark? My mom comes in and tells me I should grab a sweatshirt because we are going to the store and its a gloomy day. Mom! Its 10:00 and I want to sleep! Its Saturday! My
mom tells me I have ve minutes to get ready because were leaving. I grab my phone from my purple and white bureau and take my wallet from my nightstand. As I am leaving the room I decide to text Willis. Hey, whats going on? Its like crazy dark over here. Its really weird. What are you talking about? I live like two miles away and its sunny over here, he replies. How is this possible?...
Sadee alone
BY BROOKE ROBERTS Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Sadee is that girl that everyone cant seem to understand. Sadee and her mom could never see eye to eye on most things that involved Sadee. Her mom had always insisted that Sadee was perfect, and shouldnt be scared of letting her own personality show through. But Sadee didnt want to be noticed. After her mother died, Sadee became a totally different person. During the summer after eighth grade, Sadees mom was in a car accident. That night when her mom didnt come home, Sadee lay in bed and thought about all the possible reasons why her mother could Photo 8 Kayla Rideout/Essex High School be late. She was worried. Even though she was worried, she knew that her mom would come home and tell her all the crazy things that had happened that day, and then Sadee would forget all about her being late. She woke up early the next morning and ran downstairs. Everything was just like she had left it the night before. Her dinner dishes were still in the sink and her homework was on the table. Looking around, she noticed a note on the counter from her moms friend, who she had always called aunty. She was at a loss for words while reading it. She looked around, and felt hopeless. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her heart felt broken. The most important person in her life was gone and she couldnt do anything about it. Sadee didnt understand why. She didnt believe it. She refused to. The door opened fast and she was running, she wasnt going to stop, hoping she could just forget about it. She wanted to hide and get away from reality. But she didnt know where she should go, so she ran until she found somewhere. The lake sat still before her. She stared into the shallow water and cried. Thousands of thoughts and emotions lled her mind, but all she could do was sit and cry. Her mom used to take her here on the hottest nights in the summer when she was younger. They would splash each other in the lake and laugh. She remembered always hearing the ice cream truck coming down the road. She would race her mom up the bank and wait for her mother to order. She always got the same thing her mother got. It was different every time. All Sadee had now were the memories. She was ready to become the girl that her mom always knew she was. She was done hiding behind her makeup and baggy clothes. Sadee was leaving behind her fear of showing her own personality. She stood up and smiled. Here comes the real Sadee!
THIS WEEK: Photo 8

Each week Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submis sions from students written in response to prompts or as gen eral work. A team of students helps select work for publication in this and 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompt,Photo 8. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
CLIMATE CHANGE
WRITING CHALLENGE
Write about one of the biggest issues of our time. Prizes and recognition on Earth Day! See contest details and writing prompts at
youngwritersproject.org
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Presented by Young Writers Project and Vermontivate the sustainability game for Vermont communities
Flight
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Its that moment of ight when your feet leave the ground, nothing but icy cold and your legs nd nothing but air to tread on, going nowhere. The icicles in the trees rattling in the winter breeze as if sort of trying to nd a harmony together. And youre oating, snowakes choking your lungs, and frost tracing your lips. Silence hangs in the air like angry words. Its like ying. Except you fall.
Special thanks this week to FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Setting sun
BY BONNIE HART Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The sun, the bright, glowing sun This time of day is the prettiest, full of wonder Fiery colors ll the sky Fill me with warmth Happy and energetic Wind blowing through the trees I want to go to the top and see the whole sky My scarf is chasing after me, trying to stay on Sunshine, shining down, is beautiful Trying to catch the sun before it goes down Keeps going down Farther and farther out of view, the sun is setting I must go home and go to sleep until the morning When I will chase the sun again
Katlyn Schmigel/Essex High School
Evening suns embrace

BY NEVADA POWERS Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The sky is on re with crimson and violet. It glows with warmth and light. It is a friend that will protect you, keep you safe, keep you warm. I want that warmth. I want to feel the evening suns embrace. I want to feel all of the colors that paint the sky. I want to sleep wrapped up in a cloud.
I want to watch the world go by. I want to see the very tops of all trees. I want to be part of the portrait that is being painted on the sky. I will run and run and run until I get there. My arms are open wide, waiting for the sun, waiting for the light that is now fading. I am chasing it, following it. I will nd a way to get there, To feel the evening suns embrace, To feel all of the colors that paint the sky, To sleep wrapped up in a cloud, Forever safe and sound.
NEXT PROMPT
Outrageous. Write a story that begins, This is the funniest story Ive ever heard Alternate: Thirty-ve. You wake up and you are suddenly 35 years old. What is your life like now? Due March 15
Make a wish
BY OLIVIA HOWE Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School
THIS WEEK: Message in a bottle

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompt, Bottle: Youre walking along the beach and you spot a bottle with a message inside. What is it? Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
CLIMATE CHANGE
WRITING CHALLENGE
Write about one of the biggest issues of our time. Prizes and recognition on Earth Day! Respond to these writing prompts: 1. The year is 2050. Looking back, the climate crisis was solved in the most unexpected ways. You were there for a crucial moment. What happened? Or 2. Do you believe the world can solve the climate crisis? Tell us why.
Contest details at youngwritersproject.org Presented by Young Writers Project and Vermontivate the sustainability game for Vermont communities
The sand sparkled gold beneath the radiant sun... Brilliant blue waves, reecting the color of the cloudless sky, lapped against the shore while sandpipers darted in and out of the water. As I walked along the waterline barefoot, squinting out at the horizon, I felt something bump into my ankle, hard. I screamed, expecting to see a mammoth shark or devilish sea creature, but it was only a dark green glass bottle, glittering like an emerald in the bright rays of the sun... I uncorked the bottle and shook out the contents, a piece of blank paper. Disappointed by its bareness, I was about to put the paper back inside the bottle when I noticed writing on the other side. I plopped down on a piece of driftwood to read: Tuesday, July 17, 2012 To Whom it May Concern, My name is Fendella Fischer, and I have always wanted to send a message in a bottle, but have never had the chance because I live too far from the ocean. Also, my parents do not have, and have never had, the money to get us to the beach anyway. However, I was recently diagnosed with leukemia, and they caught it late. I have four months to live. As part of the Make-aWish Foundation, I was able to visit the beach. So I decided to send this message, in case it was my last chance to do so. I rmly believe in the expression Carpe Diem! meaning, if you dont know, Seize the day! Especially since I discovered I had cancer, Ive been trying to do everything that Ive always wished I could which is part of the Make-aWish Foundations logic. So far, I have learned to play violin, trumpet and piano, been on swimming, gymnastics, hockey and soccer teams, become the state spelling champion, and begun my book on why every day is important. Who knows? I may never nish it, but unlike other hopefuls, I will at least be able to say I tried. Thats good enough for me. ... Im going to include this experience in my book, so if you could write back, Id be so grateful... Sincerely, Fendella Fischer I folded the letter carefully and inserted it back in the bottle. I didnt know what to do. After reading Fendellas letter, I was feeling so in awe of her. If I found out I had cancer and was expected to die within the year, I would simply let myself drift to my untimely ending. I felt depressed and gloomy just thinking about Fendella... I couldnt just sit around, though. I knew what I had to do... After writing my letter and sealing the envelope, I realized there was one more thing I needed to include in my gift to Fendella. I quickly slit the top of the envelope and slipped in a piece of emerald-green beach glass and a large pink scallop shell, taping the ap shut before drawing the letters CD in purple in the bottom left corner. I hoped that if she ever saw it, she would understand my code and write back. If not, then I would know for sure Fendellas fate.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to JANE B. COOK CHARITABLE TRUSTS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Captain Poisson
BY BONNIE HART Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School My feet were shufing along the warm, golden sand on the beach of the Gulf of Mexico. I came here with my family for winter break from cold, snowy Vermont. I looked down at the ground and I saw my footprints in the sand. As I continued looking down, I came upon something shiny in the sand... I picked up the bottle and pulled the cork. A paper almost ew out of the bottle like it was just dying to get out of there... The letter read: ...When you nd this letter you must do everything you can to make sure no one knows about this treasure. Only you can know. You must follow this trail along the Gulf about 300 paces west. You will nd a cave and there is a little water vase you must drink. Then on the bottom of the vase it will tell you the next place you must go. Yes, it is like a scavenger hunt but it is all worth it. Pack up, it will be a long way to go. Remember no one must know about this treasure. Captain Poisson...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/76605
Bottled secrets
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
Lindsey Stuntz/Woodstock Union High School
Small world
BY MADISON FORTIER Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I walk across the beach in November. Only me. No one else around. I feel the crisp air hit my face with force. I walk across the shoreline where the sea foam lies on the cool, moist sand. Just then, I spot something oating in the green water about 10 feet from me. I stop and watch as the mysterious bottle oats to shore. As soon as it is within reach, I grab it. Its a green bottle with a note inside. I pull the brown cork out of the bottle and sit down on the rocks to read it. The note is only from three years ago, written by a man who was stranded with his dog on an island near where I live. I head to the town hall to hand in the mysterious note and bottle; but no one believes me. I ask for someone to go and check the island, but they refuse. I have to make sure that the man and his dog are OK. Just then, a man ties his dog to the post outside and walks through the large glass doors ...
Read the ending of this story at youngwritersproject.org/node/76459.
Im walking. Playing at that dangerous area at the waters edge, looking into the foam of the crashing waves. All the pretty rocks, theyll be dull and wasted if I bring them away from the salty air and water. Theyll be cold in my hands, lackluster and plain on dry land. Things that belong in the sea should stay there, I think. And its true. I look out towards the horizon, searching for that indenable point where the water drops off and the world ends. There is so much movement out there. Something on the sand between me and the waves catches my eye... Its a bottle... A curled up piece of paper is inside. Tightly wound, like lips holding in a secret... I crawl up the sand dunes until I nd an area that is usually deserted, and I smash the bottle on a large, at rock. Blue glass shatters everywhere... the sound of the cracking is loud and painful. Almost immediately I feel guilty, I am breaking in on another persons secrets, ideas, thoughts. Sometimes people throw things into the ocean to ensure that they will not be found, not because they want to share with the world. Feeling horrible, I stand there, watching the delicate piece of paper utter in the wind. I dont move; it just doesnt feel right anymore. Suddenly, a hard breeze lifts up my hair, blowing against me, pushing me away from the paper. The wind picks up the paper from the rock, uttering it past my ear, trying to trick me into catching it. Then it dances it away, back towards the sea.
I will always be here

BY DARIO A. POLITELLA Grade 10, Brattleboro Union High School It was a moment I will never forget, the day my mom passed away. My name is Dario A. Politella and my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer when I was in 5th grade. At the time I thought it was nothing, I thought she was just sick. I never knew what cancer was. It wasnt until 6th grade that I realized that she was going to pass away pretty soon. Its been so long that I cant relate to it that well. One day my family and I went to the doctor to see the damage. The doctor said, Her cancer is slowly going away, and just might stay away. I felt a huge weight on my shoulders that just released. It was only a month later that everything was going well again; she was eating and walking normally. I felt really good that everything was going to go back to normal again. But it didnt. The cancer came back, but it came back much worse. It was shortly afterward that she came into my room and put her hand on my chest right where my heart is located and said, I will always be here and... I love you. Then she went into the other room to tell my brother the same. A week later, she went back into the hospital and never came out. The whole family showed up, over 30 of them in this normal sized house that I lived in. She died the day after 4th of July. I could not believe the words my older brother said to me that morning. That was the moment that I would never forget. Only seven minutes to put so much detail that I could write for hours on. My mother died July 5, 2009.
THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day

Hundreds of students, teachers and school administrators par ticipated in Young Writers Projects annual Vermont Writes Day taking just 7 minutes on Feb. 7 to write! This week, we publish writing in response to Vermont Writes Day prompts, Moment and Farming. Read more atvermontwritesday.org and at youngwritersproject.org .
My Aspergers story
BY CLARK HAMM Grade 9, Brattleboro Union High School
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
A little farm
BY LOUISA STROTHMAN Grade 10, Brattleboro Union High School I could not drink cows milk or eat wheat or soy or a few other things. When I was little, I barely ate anything because almost everything made me sick. My one greatest treat was fresh goats milk and the cheese my parents made from it. I remember going out with my dad, bundled up in three thick, wool sweaters and a hat and tiny colorful mittens made for the happy 3-year-old that I was. We had two goats, named Lily and Little Bear. Lily never kicked, so when I was with my dad he always milked her. I loved the sound of the white creamy goodness spraying the metal bucket. There is nothing in the world more beautiful than a pail of fresh, warm goat milk. When we were done milking, my dad would hold me up to Lilys head and as gently as I could, I would pet her soft coat. When we got inside, I would sit in a high chair and watch my dad pour the milk into mason jars. He would get me a small plastic cup, and I got to have my glass. It was the most delicious thing I ever consumed. Those plastic cups of milk were my joy as a young child and even though my allergies have mostly faded, the memories of tasting that milk will stay with me.
Day of the giant pigs

BY KELSEA MCAULIFFE Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School It was a moment I will never forget. I was little and my grandma used to live near a petting farm. One day, I was playing in the backyard with my friend Kelsey while my grandma was gardening when all of a sudden, we heard something crashing through the woods. My grandma started running toward us screaming at us to get inside. I ran as fast as I could to the house with Kelsey not far behind me. As I was running, I looked behind me and saw two huge animals chasing after us. When I shut the door behind me, Kelsey and I sat down in the middle of the kitchen, out of breath and panting. We heard something hit the door with such a force we thought the door was going to break off its hinges. I heard my grandma talking on the phone to the police telling them that there were two huge animals in her yard. My grandma described the animals to the ofcer and it turned out two giant pigs escaped from the petting farm and they were at my grandmas house. I felt a little bit more relieved that I knew they werent some killer beast trying to kill me. My grandma wasnt afraid of the pigs anymore so she went outside and tried to keep them in her yard so they wouldnt get hit by a car. It was close to an hour before the farmer came and got the pigs. When he got there I opened the door and looked to see what had hit it earlier. There were two dents in the door from where one of the pigs jumped onto the door trying to get in. They broke through the screen and ripped it so there was a piece hanging. My grandma had to call Kelseys parents and they had to come pick her up. That was a day Kelsey and I will never forget.
It was a moment I will never forget, the moment I was on stage presenting my This I Believe essay that I submitted to the Young Writers Project. When I found out that my essay on living with Aspergers Syndrome (titled Looking through the eyes of Aspergers) was very well received, I was ecstatic. I just couldnt believe that people were moved by my essay. Even the manager of the Web site was moved. But I was even more ecstatic when I found out I was going to be presenting it in Burlington at a conference. The only thing that I was nervous about was really speaking in front of the crowd. Though I have done many plays and performances and Im on the lower side of the autism scale, I still havent really gotten over my awkwardness around people. But I digress. Anyways, I was up on stage, presenting my essay. I brought up that the YWP manager presented my piece to a conference of people from around the world and all of them were speechless. I said that I hoped I wouldnt get the same reaction from this crowd and they laughed. I presented the piece and at the end of my closing line, I made it more meaningful by pounding my st on the podium. At the end, the audience clapped and cheered and I all around felt good. In closing, I would just like to say that you dont have to be a celebrity to be cheered and clapped for. Sometimes you can just be a mildmannered kid from a small town.
Army strong
BY MARIELLE HOLBROOK Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School It was a moment I would never forget. Watching him walk away was terrible. Underneath all of that camouaged gear, his back pack that had his name embossed into the front, and those huge boots that looked like they would only be able to t a giant, I knew that deep inside, that strong man was hurting. I didnt want him to go. I planted my feet on the scratchy, green carpet. I didnt want to make this harder for him. I was willing myself over and over that I would not run after him. I gave up. I sprinted toward him, with my mother swatting at my back, trying to hold me away from my father. I slammed into him, and buried my face deep into his chest. I couldnt hold back the tears. They were burning my eyes, and spilling over the side. The sobs started, and I felt his big, warm arms close around my body. This was my father, the one who would nurse me back to health when I was sick, the one who taught me how to ride a bike. The one who was always there for me. I couldnt bear to see him go.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
NEXT PROMPT
Alia Jenkins/South Burlington High School
Lesson. You are sitting in a park and an old man sits down beside you. At rst you are annoyed, but he teaches you something you had no idea you could do. Alternate: Rhyming poetry. Write a poem that follows any strict rhyming scheme. Due March 8
Dene a pep talk

BY ZOE SOULE Grade 11, Leland and Gray Union High School As if. Nearly, closely. Kind. Bearing resemblance. I sit here with a scattering of denitions. Strung together, they would create a disarrayed clothesline. A cacophony of jeering birdsong. Could you even see the connecting theme? Corresponding or agreeing. Characteristic of. Just as. How do words earn their denitions? Slip of tongue? Constant use? Some have one. Others twenty. Is it a game of the social buttery vs. the wallower? Do words undergo popularity contests? About. Comparable match. Approximately. Maybe words get angered over their misuse. Frown as they come out of mouths improperly. Become despondent as it happens day after day. Probably. Analogous. Similar nature. Forget the despondence. Embrace your denitions. All twenty-nine of them. For even though you feel used for nothing, your description includes the promise of being. Like it.
THIS WEEK: Photo 7 & General

Each week Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submissions from students written in response to prompts or as general work. A team of students helps select work for publication in this and 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompts,Photo 7; and General writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
Forever counting
BY NEVADA POWERS Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Clocks, they are everywhere. Time is everywhere. You cannot escape it. It is always ticking down, Photo 7 Brady Bessette/ every second Essex High School of every minute of every day. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, on and on. Clocks do their job. They count, they count, they count every second of every minute of every day of every week of every month of every year, Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. They just keep counting, keeping track of time. Clocks are independent. Dont care what you think, just tell you the truth, the truth that no one wants to know, that time is passing and you cannot stop it. It goes on and on and on, counting down forever.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject.org and The Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. Learn more at ywpschools.net or call (802) 324-9537.
THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/ support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401. Thank you!

OF
UNITED WAY CHITTENDEN COUNTY
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Wishes for a day

BY WELLS MUNDELL-WOOD Grade 4, The Grammar School If I could be invisible for a day, I would rst go hear Martin Luther Kings I Have a Dream speech, then tag along Neil Armstrongs rocket ship and take a quick trip to the moon, and simply come back up till just yesterday and stop my dog from completely devouring my iPods headphones. And after that, (be prepared for the best part) go get some Subway sandwiches with my friend and she and I could go eat them, totally relaxed and happy, at either our public library while I bury myself in the excitement of a book, eat them at a crazy-fun playground, or... I think I might have to choose one. So I choose a North Carolina beach, where I was born and is, and forever will be, my favorite place in the entire world.
When I am old
BY MUGDHA GURRAM Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School When I am old, I might be withered, I might need to be spoon-fed, I might even lose a bit of my memory. But as long as You are there To spoon-feed me And remind me of things, I do not fear becoming old. Instead, I look forward to growing old With you.
Jenna Rice/The Sharon Academy
School
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE Grade 6, Green Street School You may say that school is dumb Just as dumb as sucking your thumb But my teachers arent trouble And the seats are nice and comfortable My friends are all there And all of the games are nice and fair My teacher, Mrs. R, is a total star And my teacher, Mrs. S, is the opposite of a mess
NEXT PROMPTS
Egg. You go outside one day and nd a big, purple egg in your backyard. You keep the egg for a few days and then ! it hatches. What Photo 9. Hyde Park, VT, Aug. 1936 Carl Mydans (Library of Congress) happens? Alternates: General writing; or Photo 9. Whats the story in the photo above? Due March 1

Mt. Wantastiquet
BY CONOR HINER Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
THIS WEEK: Relief & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Relief: Describe a moment when you felt great relief; and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
Secrets in the wind

BY MUGDHA GURRAM Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School There are secrets that reside in the wind And although it blows and howls and roars it doesnt reveal a single secret It doesnt reveal the identity of the homeless man who lives down the street (even though he was your mothers college professor) It does not tell of the girl who lost her grandmother (even though you used to be best friends) It does not tell of the soldier about to head off to war (even though hes a teacher at your school) It does not tell of the single mother struggling to pay bills (even though its your next-door neighbor) It simply blows around, tickling your skin Raising the hair on your arms Taunting you with secrets unknown
Two years ago, Christian, Nick, my mom and I decided to get out of the house one day. We agreed to go on a hike at Mt. Wantastiquet. My mom told me to bring water, but more than one bottle. But I didnt listen to her. I told her that I was bringing one bottle and when I was done with it, I would ll it up with water from the mountain streams. I thought she heard me so I thought it was OK to do that. When we arrived at the bottom of the mountain, my mom asked if we had all our supplies. We all said, yup, and headed off. I thought this was going to be an easy hike because it wasnt very steep. But I didnt know how long it was. After 30 minutes into the hike I was about halfway done with my water. I started to look around for streams to rell my water bottle but there were none. The temperature was 95 degrees. About an hour into the hike I was out of water. I really regretted not bringing more water because I was dying of thirst. Nick and Christian wouldnt share their water with me because they are germaphobic. My mom wouldnt share either because this was my punishment for not listening to her. We were really close to the top and my mouth was dry as it could be. Then I saw water and I ran over to the stream, but then realized the stream was dried up. There were little puddles of water but it was stagnant so I couldnt drink it. I was going to cry because the thought of nding a little bit of water that I couldnt drink was really upsetting. Another hour later we nished the hike. Now everyone was out of water and everyone was really thirsty. But I was the most thirsty because I hadnt had a sip of water for, like, forever in my mind. I told my mom to hurry home, so she did. I ran into the house, ran to the sink and put the faucet on high and started drinking until the thirst went away. I was so relieved to nally have water after that brutal hike.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/ support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401. Thank you!
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Embers for a heart

BY FIONA GOODMAN Grade 4, Academy School Leaping tongues of ickering ame Licking at the wood Never in a hurry Never in a rush Never worrying Carefree When brought to life Roaring up with a crackle Glowing Red-hot Contained Free Glowing embers as a heart Their master stands alone With embers as a heart Their master calls to life With embers for his heart The master keeps it harnessed Embers for his heart
Coyote Farrell/Richmond Middle School
Dream
BY MORGAN MAZELLI Grade 7, Dummerston Middle School I think about you all the time I just cant get you off my mind I wish you were always by my side A shoulder to lean on when I cry I think about you day and night I love it when you hold me tight You are my dream, the perfect guy Please never leave me asking why I wrote this poem because of you I really hope you love me too
I am the girl
BY LILA FLYNN Grade 7, Dummerston Middle School I am the girl next door, the one that you always ignore. I try to come over to say hi, but you just smirk and say, Gotta go, bye. I am the girl that sits alone at lunch, perching over my food, my back in a hunch. Nobody comes to sit next to me, I am by myself, you see, but how would you feel if you were me? I am the girl that watches the game,
cheering on players and yelling their names, I dont care what people think of me, I am like a bird soaring high and free. I am the girl running for prom queen, A lot of problems in my life and only 16, I am the person that people wish they could be, but I am broken inside where no one can see. I am the girl that wears sports clothes to school. I dont care if Im made fun of for being uncool. I play all the sports with passion and pride but sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the ride. I am the girl who thinks about who I am a lot because sometimes I feel like Ive forgot who I am, real and true. I know who I am, now what about you?
NEXT PROMPTS
Package. The UPS truck arrives with a huge box addressed to you. Whats inside? Whos it from? Alternate: General writing in any genre. Due Feb. 15 Eternal night. You wake up one morning and the sun doesnt rise. It doesnt rise the next day either. What do you do? Alternate: Silver lining. When bad things happen, how do you recover? Due Feb. 22
My scariest moment
BY KELSEA MCAULIFFE Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The other day, I went sledding at my house with one of my best friends. My neighbor came over and brought his toboggan. Jocelyn and I went with Mark on the toboggan. Little did we know that the rst run down the hill on the sled would be our last time sledding for awhile. We got on the sled and started going down the hill. As we got farther down, the sled went faster and faster. My hill is long and sort of steep so we were going at a good speed. I was in the back and couldnt see where we were going. I was also getting a lot of snow in my face. I could kind of tell where we were but I couldnt tell exactly where. There was nothing to hold on to except Jocelyn and I didnt have a good grip on her so I was almost falling off. I thought Mark knew that the back of our pond was just a bunch of logs piled on top of each other and some dirt, so he would stop us before we went over the edge. I was getting nervous because we were on the at part right before the edge of the pond and we were still going strong. Then I heard Mark yell and swear. Right after he yelled, we started going down another hill that was more of a steep decline. We had gone off the back of the pond and I knew it wasnt going to be good. We started going straight down, right where the logs were. The sled hit one of the logs and Jocelyn and I ew off. I couldnt see where I was falling and it was so steep there was nothing to grab onto. I fell through a hole between two logs and couldnt get up. When I opened my eyes, I saw Jocelyn dangling about 5 feet above me. All of a sudden she fell and landed right on top of me. When she fell, her elbow hit me right in the thigh and made my whole leg go numb. I couldnt move. When I fell off the sled, I think I might have hit my head because it felt like I had blacked out. I dont even remember landing in between the logs. It was so scary. I thought for sure that I was going to hit my head and die. Once my mom saw that Mark hadnt stopped us and we went over the edge of the pond, she booked it down the hill after us. All I heard was her screaming, Are you okay!? Where are you? I sat on the ground for a good ve minutes before I could bend my leg and get up. We had to climb up the back of the pond and over a ton of logs and bushes that werent buried in snow. I had a hard time walking back up the hill, too. It took probably 45 minutes for us to get back up to the house, from the time we went off the bank until we had all of our snow clothes off. I ended up only getting a bad charley horse and Jocelyn only hurt her tailbone but could barely walk or sit down. Mark hurt his ankle because when he fell off the sled, he stepped down onto the logs and his leg got stuck in between the logs. His son RJ had to pull him out. My mom said that we were all lucky to be alive because what had just happened to us, could have easily killed us.
THIS WEEK: Essential & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts: Essential: What is something you cant live without?; and General writing. To read more great writing, go to youngwritersproject.org.
Vermont Writes Day

February 7, 2013
Join YWP and Vermont schools for a statewide day of writing! Set aside just 7 minutes on Feb. 7 to write.
Find out more at vermont writesday.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Family
BY MUGDHA GURRAM Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School She does not understand what is happening when her family huddles over her crib oo-ing and ahh-ing. She does not understand what is happening as she is passed from aunt to uncle from cousin to sibling. She does not understand what is happening when her family speaks to her in hushed voices. What she does understand Is the love that emanates from them. The safety and security she feels in their arms. She understands that these people are her family. Even if she doesnt know the word.
Special thanks this week to ORTON FAMILY FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
WINTER IN VERMONT
Photo essay Eve Pomazi, Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
Jo-Jo
BY THEO MOORE ODELL Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The thing that I could not live without would have to be my cat Jo-Jo. I have had her for about three years. We have had many good times together, from her sleeping on my head to having friends come over and we play with her. One of the funniest times was when Chris came over and we ended up shing for my cat. We had taken a stuffed zebra and were laying on a bed and hanging it over the side. Every once in awhile we would see a paw reach out from under the bed and take a swipe at the zebra. Sometimes
Jo-Jo would just run out from under the bed and tackle the zebra. Then Chris and I would have to get the zebra back from her. ...Also it is always funny when we get presents in big boxes for a birthday or Christmas. You can always nd Jo-Jo in or on top of a box even if the box is very small. Another reason that I could not live without my cat is because she loves to sleep with me. I get wakened in the middle of the night from a big thump normally on my back or I hear very loud purring in my ear. It almost always turns out to be Jo-Jo trying to get my attention. I pet her a lot before she will let me get back to sleep... If I could have one thing live a long life besides myself and my family, it would have to be my cat Jo-Jo.
Into the sunset

BY MUGDHA GURRAM Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I want to run into the sunset I want to run across pavement and grass and water I want to run and run until I run off the edge of the Earth into the baby-blue sky I want to run until I hit the clouds until I can see the stars during the day until I lose track of time and all that exists is the sky and the sun and me
THIS WEEK: Object & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Object: An inanimate object comes alive and tells you how it really feels; and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
White
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Overexposed. White spreading across the page. White on white on white. And my ngers are stained. Like smoke on glass. Polyester smiles, and wrap-around arms. Soon well be whited out. Tainted shades of then.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, business and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Vermont Writes Day

February 7, 2013
Join YWP, schools and community groups for this statewide day of writing! Set aside just 7 minutes on Feb. 7 to write.
Find out more at vermont writesday.org.
Papier mch
BY WHITNEY HADDEN Grade 11, Stratton Mountain School As if you were going to a masquerade. As if it were concrete, not only newspaper. Christening white, smooth as a newborn, perfection. Malleable. Shape it; however-whoever you wish to be. The mask is you constantly glued. No one can hurt you under that thin paper. You are untouchable. Your shield, safety blanket. Who is under that brittle mask you build? Does anyone know? Do you? As you hold it all inside, the mask, that papier mch, slowly disintegrates only to reveal vulnerable-emotional you.
THE TURRELL FUND
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
NEXT PROMPTS
Three letters. Choose three letters. You can write a poem or a short story, but all words must either start or end with these letters. Alternate: Bottle. Youre walking along the beach and a bottle with a message inside washes up on the shore. What is the message? What do do you do? Due Feb. 1. Surprising. Interview someone you know and ask the person to tell you a story youd never heard. Alternate: Photo 8. Write a story or poem based on this photo by Kayla Rideout of Essex High School. Due Feb. 8. Package. The UPS truck arrives with a huge box addressed to you. Whats inside? Whos it from? Alternate: General writing in any genre. Due Feb. 15
Set our to the wind Emily Aldrich/Grade 7, Mount Abraham Union Middle School
YOU CAN FIND MORE

GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT
I want to be wanted
BY JOCELYN AITHER Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I want to be the one That makes you smile I want to be held
A SAFE, CIVIL ONLINE COMMUNITY OF WRITERS
In your warmth And just relax I dont want to be the lonely one I want to be wanted I want a status of being taken I want good morning texts And long goodbyes Not a fantasy
Only a matter of time

BY THERESA GLABACH Grade 12, Brattleboro Union High School Its been three years since you rst said, We will never meet again. We went our separate ways, I never even got your last name. All I had was your laugh and a picture in a forgotten box The laugh faded, the picture grew old but I still remembered, We will never meet again. At the time, I believed it. Im going through old pictures, and I come across the one of us. I couldnt help but laugh at the sound of your voice in my mind, We will never meet again. Because you know me like your favorite song. You have me all gured out: You know my fear of clowns, the way I goof around, my awful singing, and my delicious baking. We were never going to meet again but... Now youre calling me up to say youre falling in love. Is this an accident, a coincidence, or is it just meant to be?

Each week, Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 21 other newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to the prompt for General writing. You can read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Vermont Writes Day

February 7, 2013
Students, teachers, writers!

Across VT and NH, people are setting aside just 7 minutes on Feb. 7 to write! Find out more at vermont writesday.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Guesses
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Youve got three guesses, she says, tilting her head to the side in that mischievous way I hate. Her voice slides up at the end, the way it does when she knows I cant guess. Shes watching me, waiting for me to fail. I dont know, Meg. I told you, I mumble to the cracked counter. Just guess, she snaps impatiently. I hate when she does that. She ips her glossy hair over her shoulder. Some boy told her that made her look pretty once. I told you. I dont know. Just tell me, I say, daring to look up. I stand, sliding the chair out from under me, and walk across the kitchen. I open the cabinet and reach for a glass. I wipe the glass with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, smearing the lipstick stain on the rim into oblivion. You need to wash your dishes better, I tell her, still looking at the linoleum oor as I walk back to my chair. She glares at me before whipping her head to the side and narrowing her eyes. Youre no fun. I mean, just guess. It doesnt matter if youre right or not. I just want to see what youre going to say. I dont know! Just tell me already! I almost shout as I slam the glass back down on the counter. My ngers are trembling a little bit, so I fold them in my lap and hold them together tightly. The bare light bulb above Megs kitchen sink casts a harsh light over the room, and its starting to give me a headache. Meg leans in across the counter, her breath dusting my face, her stray hairs touching me. I can see the spattering of blackheads across her chin, and inside the corners of her perfect nose. I can smell her. I want to throw up. Shes too close to me. I need space. I cant breathe. I hate it when you do that, Jess. You play all pathetic, like a baby. Are you a baby, Jessy-poo? Do you need your mommy? she leans back, places her hands rmly on her hips, and eyes me sternly. Now guess. No, I say. Fine, she says, pursing her lips. I guess you dont need to know anyway. Whatever. Shes getting angry. I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes. I blink hard and fast, hoping she cant see...
Special thanks this week to A.D. HENDERSON FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Rainbow of love
BY THERESA UNDERWOOD Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Red is the color of desire Orange is the color when my hearts on re Yellow is the color when he lights up my world Green is the color when he looks at another girl Blue is the color of his wonderful stare Purple is the color when I feel his love Black is the color when hes not there White is the color from the angels above
NEXT PROMPT
I like Create a list of things you like. They can be random and unrelated or they can have a progression and tell a story within a story. Alternate: Relief. Describe the moment when you felt the greatest sensation of relief from thirst, hunger, sadness, pain or fear. Due Jan. 25
Jenna Rice/ The Sharon Academy
Read the ending of this story at youngwritersproject. org/node/74967.
Collection
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Wasting away in the world that is broken. In the memories that are gone. The space life takes up, the air life breathes. There is no way it is a waste of inches and an overow of pre-cut dimensions of space. Collections of numbers, and objects, and opinions, and chances, and choices, and wrong turns. Life: just a journey. The nal destination being the maximum amount of waste that can be collected.

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to the prompt for General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
Tell me
BY LAUREN BOLDUC Grade 12, Springeld High School Tell me again how you plan to protect me from the world that is on a chaotic spree. You say youll always be there in the time of counting, 1, 2, 3. Young and innocent, just a dreamer who wants to remain free. Always hold hope close to my heart, thats what we should aim for, dont you agree? Cherish the simple moments of sitting on the porch sipping Grams ice tea. Grasp these brains and use them to pursue a degree. Stars are the blanket of wishes that bless us with their grace. Lovers are the ones who will never get tired of staring each other in the face. Mentors guide us to discovering what is needed to ll a blank space. That special someone who knows what to say when the mind desires to escape to outer space. That mom that sneaks extra cash into their childs wallet whispering, Just in case. Where is the answer to whats taking over the morals of the human race? How to make the parents realize that kids arent alive to ll a trophy case? The superior ones are not just of white race. Those mistakes made will never erase. Tell me again, how do you plan to protect me, with a serious face?
ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject. org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
KEY BANK
lovely dress just stopping below her knees. Alice, I call out. But she does not hear. She shrinks down and walks to the door with a mouth. It can talk and, surprisingly, cry. Following Alice is hard to do. When youre in a world where you know no one, know nothing, you feel quite alone. Even if youre just following Alice, you get curious yourself, but scared of the consequences of leaving. No one knows Im here, its like I dont exist. I think I do, but maybe Im wrong. I keep following Alice because I know nothing else. I know how the story goes. I know how Alice escapes. Ive read the book and seen the movie, but following Alice is different. Theres something new in the story, I suppose a plot twist. Im not positive, but the only way to nd out is to follow Alice. And following Alice is what I shall do.
The beasts
BY JOCELYN AITHER Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Yellow eyes, peering through the bushes. A snarl comes from behind. Snow falling from the sky. Is it there? Or right behind you? You feel a cold shiver go down your spine. Suddenly a black blur rushes by. Alone and afraid. Should I ee? Or face the fear? I stay in my place. The beast is here. Within me. Or maybe you feel your beast claw at you. Nothing will replace the scars left behind from the hurtful words and names. Unleash your beast. Fight with courage. Stand up for yourself. But never let the other beasts hurt you.
Following Alice
BY SAMANTHA HAMMOND Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Sometimes when Im alone, I can just feel everything around me. The song of the birds and the trickle of the streams, the leaves brushing against each other as the wind blows. And even sometimes I can hear the grains of sand falling from my hand. It feels like every memory, happy or sad, just falling from your mind and landing into piles of memories, in which almost none are yours. But I feel like Alice following the rabbit into the hole, then falling down the hole. Every day, things fall past me, until I land on a oor only to notice that nothing is familiar to me. Thats when I see her, the golden hair Alice has, with her
NEXT PROMPT
Puns. Have fun with a play on words (i.e. cereal number, sell phone, etc.). Try to t in as many puns as you can. Be creative! Alternates: Essential. Whats one thing you absolutely could not live without? Why?; or I believeStart a piece with the words, I believe. Due Jan. 11
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Liu Brenna/Essex High School
Stacking wood
THIS WEEK: Family & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to the prompts, Family: Write about a moment or experience with a family member that changed you; or General writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.
My family and the ood

BY CHERYL PARKS Grade 7, Crossett Brook Middle School The ood. I was devastated. Everything was gone forever. Everything had a thick dust that was unmovable. My porch was in my neighbors front lawn. My bike was under the shed. If it wasnt for my family, I would be a wreck. They took my mind off the ood by playing board games, soccer, and going to the movies. They gave me a shoulder to cry on. They helped me buy things for my room. The ood.
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE Grade 6, Green Street School
A family of three along with a neighbor stacks wood in preparation for the long Vermont winter: A boy excited to help his dad in some manual labor, A girl observing, for she is not yet ready to go through the pain of many splinters, A dad excited to be spending time with his family after a long days work, A neighbor ready to help and offer his freshly grown green tomatoes.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

One Christmas Eve

BY KATE PIERPONT Grade 9, Chelsea Public School
YWP ON VPR
YWP HAS A FEATURED WRITER EACH WEEK ON VPR.NET
It was Christmas Eve of 2010. Harry Potter: And the Deathly Hallows Part 1 had just come out on DVD, and my entire family had settled down to watch it. The movie began, and the ve of us were wrapped up in the world that J.K. Rowling had constructed. The whir of my fathers air tank was the only sound, next to the audio from the movie. About halfway through, my mom hit pause so we could all take a quick break. I ung myself into the bathroom before my sisters. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my mom leaning down to talk to my father. I thought nothing about it until I came out and saw the phone on my mothers lap and my sisters sitting stone- faced, expressionless. Thirty minutes later an ambulance arrived. The EMTs loaded my father onto a stretcher. My throat closed up. I was ten years old; I had to be strong. Had to be strong for him. This wasnt the rst time I had seen this happen. My mom went into the ambulance with him, and I piled into the Explorer. I waited in the darkness crying, quietly. My father never came home from the hospital again. This experience changed me in a way that nobody should have to go through. As a young girl, I became harder, able to hide my emotions more. Still today, I beat myself up about the ifs and the things I shouldve done. My father died less than a month later, January 8, 2010, three days before my eleventh birthday. I have become stronger through this experience, and I have learned not to take somebodys love for granted. You can say pretty words, but they dont mean anything until your actions make them true. My father had the most exquisite blue eyes. And just for a second one time, he woke from his coma, just for a second, to take a look at all of us surrounding him, with those blue eyes. Id give anything to see them again.
VERMONT COUNTRY STORE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

DECEMBER SLAM
YWP, 12 North Street, Burlington Friday, Dec. 21, 7-8:30 p.m. See you there!
NEXT PROMPTS
Kindness. You have performed an act of kindness. What is it? How does it make you feel? What happens? Alternates: Unsafe. Describe a place or circumstance where you felt unsafe; or General writing. Due Dec. 21. Puns. Have fun with a play on words (i.e. cereal number, sell phone, etc.). Try to t in as many puns as you can. Alternates: Essential. Whats one thing you absolutely could not live without? Why? or I believe...Start a piece with the words, I believe. Due Jan. 11. Invisible. Imagine that you are invisible for a day and could be anywhere at any time in history, witnessing without participating. What do you see? Brady Bessette/Essex High School Alternates: General writing; or Photo 7. Write a poem based on the picture (above). Due Jan. 18.
Congratulations to Jenna Rice, a sophomore at The Sharon Academy, whose photo was chosen as Photo of the Week. Jenna says, I took this photo when I went on an exchange trip to Saint-Gaudens, France. I stayed with a family, and one day I couldnt help but notice how beautiful the lighting in the window was. The sun was shining directly behind it so anything I put in the window to photograph became a silhouette. I had quite a bit of fun playing around with this. I eventually decided that I wanted to be in one of the photos, so I put the camera on a tripod and used a self-timer. So the girl in the photo is me.
Left in the storm

BY MIA RUBINSTEIN Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear... I inhaled every detail: The clouds, the mist, and the whistle of solemn palm leaves. The creaks of the oorboards echoed quietly in the empty house. I watched from my window as every last person gathered their belongings and their young and ed in their rumbling trucks and vans. That noise used to jolt my spirit awake like lightning on water. I remember sitting at his feet as he watched the old television, images of lightning, oods and levies ickering and lighting up our house. Perhaps we will be able to do that when he gets home. I turned back to the window, my thoughts clouded in a heavy mist. He should be back soon. Now, it was just the storm and me. I was alone. The rumble of distant thunder sliced through the angry night. The wind began to scream and cry, and I could almost see his face in the clouds, raging and frowning upon me. Why had he left me? Didnt he know I was here? Did he want me around? I curled into a tiny ball as a light mist grew into a pounding rain. He didnt hear my howl over the hissing and groaning and snapping of the trees. Perhaps he had forgotten me. I curled into a ball again and shut my eyes, letting the thunder and rain wash my thoughts away. My master was gone, and I was free. The last of the red lights faded. It was only the storm and me...

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish responses to the prompts, Photo 4 (Taken by Jack Delano in Dummerston, VT, 1941); and General writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

YWP is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS
Photo Prompt 4 Jack Delano, Dummerston, VT, 1941 (Library of Congress)
His eyes
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
BY SAMANTHA VAN DE VEN Grade 9, Woodstock Union High School
Dead of winter
BY JESSE GOTTESDIENER Grade 11, Vermont Academy First you see it, the never-ending white Brings back the memories, no matter how hard I ght Taking that rst step into the cold The second I saw her, my heart was already sold The wind is bitter and chills to the bone So much harder to take it alone Fall back hoping it will engulf me and be a force eld The memories still ow of what couldve been, my fate is sealed Eyes closed, in my last breath, I say the words Ive been dying to say, I love you From a distance I hear the words back, I love you, too Rejuvenated, those words, they heal She says to me, I couldnt stay away, my heart you did steal Our eyes they meet Her hand in mine, the cold turns to heat Im no longer in the darkest hour It must be spring because I just saw the rst ower Eve Pomazi, Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
This boy has something to say. He has been silenced too long; his words have been denied. Instead, he has a story to tell with his eyes. Those pretty eyes that can see into your soul. He tells you he is sad, tired; There isnt much left in him. Each day seems longer than before. He isnt sure when he will discover the point of all this: Life, suffering. Exhausted: day in and day out. He gets the chance to close his eyes at night. He escapes this world in his dreams. You cant look away now, Not from this picture, not from his eyes. He is small, but his thoughts are large, Bigger than anyone ever thought they were. He is brilliant, but no one will ever know. He never got the chance. All he has is this picture, And the story he can tell you with his eyes.
Its the switch for you

BY ISAAC FREITAS-EAGAN Grade 7, The Grammar School Next time I see you playing with that boy Johnny, its the switch for you! Yes, ma. Chop the wood, or its the switch for you! Yes, pa. Ma? Could I meet Henry at the pond tomorrow? No, and the next time you ask, its the switch for you! Yes, ma. Pa, why is it always the switch for me? Do not question your parents like that! Next time you ask, its the switch for you!
Outside my window
THIS WEEK: Winter Tales

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to the prompt, Winter Tales: Tell a narrative about winter in poetry or prose. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
VERMONT STAGE COMPANY

PRESENTS
BY DAVE PERSHA Grade 11, Vermont Academy
WINTER TALES
Dec. 5-9 FlynnSpace, Burlington
Dont miss this special holiday tradition, which includes a selection of writing from YWPs Winter Tales prompt!
I hear winter coming with all his might, His tremendous strength at hand. Lock the windows, close the doors Because hes right outside my window.
At rst theres snowakes one by one, Then rush the scene with white. Four feet of snow too deep to go Trudging through the night. So I stay inside, free yet caged, Looking out my window.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

The next day the sun comes out, But only tantalizing tastes For I know snow will come back So inside I must make haste. Runny nose and freezing toes Await outside my window.
Diamond sky
BY LESLIE BOTEY Grade 11, Vermont Academy Little white clouds Falling, Falling, Ever so softly on my face, Kissing my cheeks, Caressing me like a blanket. The sun only smiles at you every once in awhile. Glittery dust covers the ground in the suns wake. They wait for me, Invitingly calling my eyes Whenever the wind picks up its lover To do a dance of brilliancy across the eld and in my heart. The days slowly and reluctantly creep into darkness, At rst unsettling, But then The crisp nights offer me a diamond sky, And their tears keep me company On those lonely winter nights. While the wind blows, It whispers in my ears, Telling me of its wishes, Telling me of its fears, It howls like the lone wolf at the brilliant moon. The silence is startling. You tell me everything, And nothing at the same time. You give me space, And yet you suffocate me. My mind is lled with so much wonder. In the stillness, For a couple of moments, I steal myself To breathe in your fresh scent, And to let my eyes and mind gaze at your beauty, A wonderful and terrible force, Captured in a frozen moment.
Birdseye Foundation
The sun is gone! No dusk, no dawn, Just the blandness of the grey, Yet whod have guessed in dark green dress The pines that were here to stay? Now two colors green and white compete to and fro As I watch warm and snug, right outside my window.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Winter warriors
BY LEYTE CAROLYNN MCNEALUS Grade 11, Vermont Academy Early, the sun rises and earlier it sets. The winter is dedicated to those who chase the sun. Sleepy snow-laden roads only traveled by those who push into the mountains. Winter belongs to the people who watch the sunrise from the top of a mountain, orange-pink glow on ridges of white snow. Its that cold breath that tingles in your nose, the people who love that feeling, the ones who smile when it starts to get cold, and ecstatic at the rst falling ice crystal. Its the people who pull you in for a hug on a mountain top, when you lie on the snow and take nothing for granted, The people who have icy stars in their heart, and a smile on their face, Those are my people, the Warriors of Winter.
The warmth of ame, the chirp of the kettle, The calling of my chair, All enticing things all priceless things, Yet Im caught in one more snare. Adventure roars a mighty sound, An invitation I must accept. The only problem is I have to take the rst and only step Just right outside my window.
NEXT PROMPT
Reection. What is something you wish youd been told when you were ve years old? Alternate: Photo 6. Write about this photo of the single chair at Mad River Glen in Fayston, Vermont. Due Dec. 14
Erin Bundock/Champlain Valley Union High School
Congratulations to Erin Bundock, a freshman at Champlain Valley Union High School, whose photo was chosen as YWPs Photo of the Week. Photographers and artists, send YWP your photos and scanned artwork for publication. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.
Jet Lowe (Library of Congress)
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT IS ON VPR.NET EVERY WEEK!
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Blanketing tracks
THIS WEEK: Alone, Listen & General

Each week Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submis sions from students written in response to prompts or as gener al work. A team of students helps select work for publication in this and 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompts,Alone: I stood at the window, watch ing the red tail lights disappear...;Listen: Pick a moment, listen and write about it; andGeneral writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Passage of a person
BY KATRINA STROUT Grade 9, Windsor High School If I wrote myself a letter 10 years from where I am now, Id send it back in time; I wouldnt worry about how. Id prove to myself its really me by saying the lyrics to my favorite songs never played on MTV. Id get into talking about directions life may go, Id warn me it gets rough, just in case I didnt know. Id tell myself therell be tragedies, ups and downs and in-betweens. I promise to write the things I never could and Ill tell me Ill be stronger than they all thought I ever would. People will try to put me down and break my smile to see me frown. When you and someone get into a ght, just assume youre wrong and the other persons right. If your grades ever get out of line dont worry too much, theyll get better in time. Dont force yourself to do things outside of school, because trying to impress others wont make you very cool. Just be yourself; youll get by. Spread your wings and be free to y. I know it seems too dark to see the light but behind the storm cloud theres a star and its bold, and its bright. Itll shine you through the years that come, and itll help you see that youre here to write this passage to me.
BY EVE POMAZI Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
She stood at the window, Watching the red tail lights disappear. Minutes before, jubilant music was all she could hear. They watched silly old movies from her childhood, And she enjoyed every second just like she should. He would laugh as three-year-old-her twirled in a shiny little dress. If only she had known everything would become a sour mess. The colors she had seen before blended into harsh greys and blacks, The words they both said spearing her heart like she was under attack. The music she had heard before melted into the sound of tires on gravel. The echo took no time to travel, Until silence blanketed the noise, Only the resonance of white akes descending on the ground, Giving way to a scene of a girl by her window, Watching as her love fades away, Half hoping to see the lights again, And half hoping theyre never to surface, Until the rst snowfall covers the tracks.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to VERMONT COMMUNITY FOUNDATION
Listen
BY LAUREN BOLDUC Grade 12, Springeld High School ...My songs have heart, and share a story; I am a musician. There is no need to hate. Im just spreading truth and tradition. Every day is the same thing, but my motions are in full swing. The war, poverty, hatred, pierce my heart, it stings. Wanting to do anything and everything to stop the tears the negativity brings. These times are undoubtedly hard. The dream used to be white picket fence and kids running with a dog in the backyard. Instead its hoping you dont max out on your credit card. Hesitant to let down your guard, Wanting to prevent adding to the soul that is already scarred. Wouldnt it be nice if your kids biggest worry was getting good grades on their report card? Oh wait, that doesnt happen, always looking over your shoulder, dont want to be caught off guard. It all comes down to principle. No matter how hard we try, we are not invincible. We need to come together; we arent meant to have only one person as our hero. No progress made; we are still at zero. Appreciate each story; soak it up with all its glory. Ill keep writing my songs about it while others take inventory. Embrace the pain, All that does is build your character, its a gain. Dont be afraid to let tears fall like rain.
Left alone
BY THERESA UNDERWOOD Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School I looked out the window And watched as the red tail Lights disappeared... I remember that night well Because that car Belonged to my mother. She left me at this orphanage. Ms. Lilly, the owner, told me That my mother loved me. If she really loved me, Why did she leave? I was 2 when she left. Now Im 16. Im old enough to drive, But I cant get away from here. If shed known Id never be adopted, Would she have kept me? Would I have a better life than this? Ill never know. But the one thing I know Is that Im Alone.
Take those moments to stare out the windowpane. It doesnt make you weak, you still have an amazing heart and brain. No worries, you dont have to explain. The truth can get scary, make you question why youre here. Are you insane? Your voice is power, use it to campaign. Youre not insane, just living life in the fast lane. This is not the end of the road. There is no secret code. Every day is the same thing, its up to you what you do with your seed of life that was sown. We all have a story thats worth having its glory; will yours be shown?
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
NEXT PROMPTS
If only... Write about a situation in which you wish you had done things differently. Alternates: Dialogue day. Tell a story using only dialogue; or General writing in any genre. Due Nov. 30 Object. An inanimate object comes alive and tells you how it really feels. Alternate: Excuse. Create the wildest excuse you can think of for why you didnt do something, why you were so late, why you cant go. It must stretch the imagination yet still remain credible. Due Dec. 7
Jamie Ferguson/Milton High School

Congratulations to Jamie Ferguson, a junior at Milton High School, whose photo of a salamander was chosen as YWPs Photo of the Week. Photographers and artists, send YWP your photos and scanned artwork for publication. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org.
Waiting
BY OLIVIA HOWE Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School I stare through squinting eyes, shut against the blinding sun, and blinking back icy tears at the smooth, newly paved road. It covers up all the mistakes, the blunders of the past that it wants to forget. Waiting, pen poised in stiff ngers assuming a position they have been in for two hours now, I faintly hear the rumble of an automobile in the distance. I tense, cocking my head slightly away from the sound so my ear can absorb it better. It is most certainly a noise of a grumbling engine, accelerator pressed against the oor of the machine and speeding as it races around the blind corner and ies by. I catch the license plate number just in time, and quickly scribble it down in the red, leatherbound journal below two more codes: ZX4 B91 and AJL 898. I pull my puffy parka tighter around my thin shoulders, quivering in the chilly air. The ground I am sitting on is an area that I wiped free of snow with my parka sleeve earlier this afternoon. More snow has fallen since then, and I know that when I leave if I leave I will have created a patch of dry, warm pavement. Will the car ever come? I think of the one I just saw, a black shadow skimming over the black surface it traveled. It was moving so quickly I imagine my father and mother, out for an evening visiting friends, rounding this same blind bend in the road, maybe singing along to the radio on some oldies station, or listening to VPR. They didnt see the black ice in the black night on the black ground, nor the car whose headlights were broken and stumbled along at a crawl. Not one of the people in that accident survived. Still, I wait, hoping that one day soon I will see my parents car curve around the bend again.

ach week, Young Writers Project receives hundreds of submissions from students written in response to prompts or as general work. A team of students helps select work for publication in this and 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompts,Photo 3; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org .
Dust
BY MUGDHA GURRAM Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The old man has collected dust throughout the years. Hes seen the world at its worst, Seen sister turn on sister, And children turn to drugs. His once wondrous views of the world Have been destroyed by the pursuit of money and status. But the old man wants to be dusted off. He wants to be able to wipe these memories away, To reveal a surface thats shiny, Unmarred by scratches, Innocent and new. The old man wants to start over.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

MAIN STREET LANDING
Racing mind
BY LAUREN BOLDUC Grade 12, Springeld High School The moon seems brighter when the stars come out. Lying on the lawn thinking to myself, whats life all about? Our economy struggling, Obama and the bailout. Younger generations, lost hope, their minds full of doubt. The worlds a funny place. There are some awesome people, and some you might call a basket-case. Time never slows down, speeding around at a fast pace. Its up to each and every one of us to stare fate in the face, Give 100 percent, and jump into the race. So what, you may get some scratches and some bruises, But youre putting yourself out there while others spit out their excuses. Living the life that nobody but you chooses. The haters are the only team that loses. Some will encourage your dreams; others tell you that youll never make it. Got to fully commit, Be ready to block those swinging ready to hit, Your real friends will be there lickety-split. No place to hide anymore. Learn to not count too much on others so there are less lies to fall for. Reality is like a great war. Some faith is the only thing that we can ask for. The stars are what we shoot to explore. Find something important to stand for. When there is lack of support, you question what all the hard work is for. Its pointless to worry about the past and what happened before. Take the steps to open opportunitys door.
PHOTO PROMPT 3
Karlo Fresl/Essex High School, 2011
NEXT PROMPTS
If only... Write about a situation in which you wish you had done things differently. Alternates: Dialogue day. Tell a story using only dialogue; or General writing in any genre. Due Nov. 30 Object. An inanimate object comes alive and tells you how it really feels. Alternate: Excuse. Create the wildest excuse you can think of for why you didnt do something, why you were so late, why you cant go. It must stretch the imagination yet still remain credible. Due Dec. 7
Loneliness
BY KATRINA STROUT Grade 9, Windsor High School He sat down in the chill of winter, letting the cold slowly nip away at his emotion. The frosty air crisped his blood and rattled his bones, as a shiver rolled through his spine with each repressive thought. He stared off in a haze at the track. That track once held the footprints of a champion, a leader, a friend. The sweat would slowly drip from their foreheads, rolling to the ground in beads of moisture, sweat, and hard work. The tar would absorb every drop, like each one was a piece of a puzzle never nished. Now in the icy snow, all those drops are gone and frozen in time, just like his friend. They used to come down to this place in spring, summer and fall, and pass around a football like they were star players. One of them was. Now none of them ever will be. The boy still comes down here to sit every day, and imagine the two of them having fun and laughing like they did before. He even brings the football with him. Its the closest hell ever get to the hands of the lost. Some days, he wishes he could just throw the ball with as much force as possible, and get rid of it like his memory. It would be so much easier to go on with nothing of remembrance, than something pulling up the past. He thinks that maybe next year, hell run on the track once more. Itll take baby steps. But for now, he sits on the bleachers in satisfaction of reality.

A place of silence
BY SAMANTHA HAMMOND Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School The grains of sand Fall through my ngers, Falling onto ground full of sand. The wind blows Through and past me. I close my eyes and get lost in my own world. In the little world where only I exist, There are doors, Which open up onto memories, The good ones, and the ones that forever haunt me. But there is also a place where there are no doors and there is just me, Where the water touches the dry sand, and laps over the surface of it, as the sand underlaps the water, Where the only sound you can hear is the sound of the water crashing, and the seagulls crying above as they y out towards the endless blue. In that place I stand on the edge, the water touching my toes, as it comes up to pull me in. Eventually the water reaches my ankles and continues to rise up, daring to hide me forever in its waters. Slowly the water pulls me out more, pulling me under where there are no sounds. You could open your mouth if you wanted, but all youd taste is salt. There is no need for breaths underwater, for theyd just choke you, until you give in. There are two choices youre given, always given no matter what. Option one to come back to the world of sounds. Or option two where you can stay In a place of silence.
THIS WEEK: Flying & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish work in response to the prompt, Flying: You are ying blissfully over the countryside. What do you see and feel? and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Sunrise, sunset
BY EVE POMAZI Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP


VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
So little time we have before fall will see winter yet, Until the red leaves that have fallen are blanketed with snow, And the brilliant sun is masked in a grey glow, We must take our time to enjoy right now, Drinking hot apple cider instead of bowing down to the plow, Raking the red leaves while hearing the birds sweet hymn, Before its so frigid we have to cover every limb, Watching the ladybugs crawl into the trim. Knowing that winter will be here in a whim, We must relish Trick-or-Treating and haunted hay rides. Sooner or later into winter well glide, And therell be no more evenings outside in the light, Until the shadows fade away and were lying in the night.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
A Vermont view
BY AMBER STROCK Grade 11, Oxbow High School My body was elevated far beyond the ground. Though I would normally have felt terried, I felt a sense of serenity. Gliding through the air was a feeling beyond any I had ever known. My body felt weightless. To make everything so much more blissful, the Vermont view was breathtaking. When I began my journey, my body swept over Lake Champlain. The sun shone directly behind me, and I watched as my shadow danced across the surface of the dark blue, clear lake water, following my every move. A second later, I was soaring above Burlington, passing Church Street and the crowded streets full of tourists, locals and college students. Within minutes, I was above Montpelier. I gaped in amazement as the capitol dome sparkled in the sunlight, throwing rays of light in every direction. After passing over the beautiful cities of Vermont, I wanted to see what I loved most. When I arrived, I found myself in awe. On a beautiful sunny day, Vermonts landscape was beautiful. The leaves were that perfect peak color. From above, I was able to catch that ephemeral moment when the colors were at their absolute best, just before they begin to fade and fall into the dreary dullness of winter. From above, I was able to fully appreciate the beauty that had always been right in front of me. I fell into splashes of orange and red, letting myself drift into absolute bliss. At that moment, I realized I was in perfection high above the most beautiful place.
NEXT PROMPT
Ideal being. What do you think makes someone the ideal person? What is the most important characteristic that a person must have? Alternates: Change. Write to the president of a company, real or ctional, about a product that you think must be changed; or Photo 5. Write about the photo above. Due Anna Mechler/Essex High School Nov. 23
Danielle Kracum, Rutland High School
Congratulations to Danielle Kracum, a senior at Rutland High School, whose photo was chosen as YWPs Photo of the Week. Photographers and artists, send YWP your photos and scanned artwork for publication. Learn more at youngwritersproject.org!
The wind
BY LUKE LONERGAN Grade 5, Academy School Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you. But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing by. Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you. But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by.
THIS WEEK: Haunted & General

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers and on vpr.net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompts, Haunted: You and your friends explore an abandoned house when things turn scary; and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
NEXT PROMPTS
Light/Darkness. Use the idea of extreme contrast in any way youd like, such as day vs. night, good vs. evil. Create a story or poem that centers on extreme contrast. Alternate: Superpower. You are granted superpowers: What superpower would you pick and why? Imagine an anecdote of you using that superpower. Due Nov. 16 Ideal being. What do you think makes someone the ideal person? What is the most important characteristic that a person must have? When you meet someone, what makes you like being around him or her? Alternates: Change. Write to the president of a company about a product that you think must be changed. The company and the product can be real or ctional. Or Photo 5. Write a story or poem based on this photo. Due Nov. 23
Lay me to rest Seasons change

BY ALISON DEROY Grade 12, Poultney High School As fall approaches, The leaves begin to change. The hint of the cold will never get old. A rush of wind blows my hair. The smell of re in the air. Fall is coming by the look of the trees. Winter is near. Soon the grass will begin to freeze. Then the season will clear. BY PAIGE MOODY Grade 11, Bellows Falls Union High School The house stood on a small mound of earth, like a rotting trophy on a pedestal, that Colonial style that long had been taken from its glorious times in the days of old and displayed as a prime example of a haunted house. Who were we to resist the lore, the cracked glass window panes and garden house overgrown with weeds and vines? The clich hour of midnight called us to its decaying porch where we easily slipped in past the broken door latch, ashlights in hand. There were giggles and laughs as we jumped over rotten boxes and the bowing oorboards, jumping at every little thing. A cat had taken nest with kittens in the dirty couch left behind by its owners. We all had circled around the cushion-less couch with wide eyes, cooing at the little ones whose eyes had not yet opened: innocence, trapped in the darkened house that had almost sunken in the center. All was quiet for several minutes, our small breaths the only sound other than the occasional sound of someone swallowing... and then something toppled over upstairs. Or that was what we rationalized it to be: something falling over. Something. That had to be what it was, wasnt it? Panicked breaths now consumed the silence as we turned our backs to the couch with the defenseless kittens and looked around the room. We waited for the ghost to come take our lives and bury us in the basement. Crack our skulls open with a meat cleaver. String us up and chop off our legs. Every horror scenario we had ever seen in the movies danced across our minds, playing with us. Taunting us. However, being the brave one, I stood away from the crowd. I walked towards the spiral stairway and took the rst step, that step that plunged me downwards, through all of the rotten wood into the dirt-oored basement that had been the star of so many of our nightmares. There was blackness for a moment. I felt like I had been knocked out of my own head, and I stood dazed, looking fearfully at the darkness. I should have realized how idiotic it was to
The words behind I miss you

BY CHERISH AMANDA GREENE Grade 12, Chelsea Public School I dont know how to say it to make you understand the way my heart is yearning to have you close at hand. The common ways not good enough, I miss you is too pale; beside the truth of what I feel its far too stark and stale. I miss you like the Earth would miss the sun if it should die. I miss you like a bird without its wings would miss the sky. I miss you like the trees would miss a spring that never came. For everything needs something else and my heart is the same. You see, my love, I have no words for what I need to say. My whole world rests on you alone, through endless, countless days. Without your smile, your laugh, your joy, my heart grows ever weak. Its laden with a love-bound ache and words Ill never speak.
Photo of the Week Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
take that rst step like some kind of hero. As if I could have done something. My eyes traced shadows of dilapidated objects that covered the dirt oors, recognizing little but rubbish and a broken-down tractor that lay on its side. It must have meant the owner was a farmer at one time. When sounds brought me from my reverie, I looked up through the hole in the basement ceiling to see my friends looking cautiously below at me, and I reached up towards them, eager to be lifted out of the basement. Hey, guys, a hand? I called, but there was no response to me. The group twittered on as ashlights swung around the basement oor from the opening. Oh my God, do you think shes dead? one called, the ashlight blinding me from seeing their faces. Hey, this isnt funny. Come on, Trina. Cocking my head, I called out to them again but was given no response until my best friend Jeremiah jumped down into the hole and walked towards me. Finally, Jerry. Ive been yelling at you guys for like, ve minutes, I said, but he ignored me. Stepping right...through me. Panic swallowed me...There I was. On the ground, eyes closed, limbs strewn at odd positions around me. But I was here. I was standing here. Why couldnt he see me? Jeremiah? Jerry? I started to yell. Guys... she isnt breathing.
Anna Mechler/Essex High School 2011
ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences. YWP runs youngwritersproject. org and the Schools Project, a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills. To learn more, go to ywpschools.net or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
THANKS FROM YWP

Young Writers Project is supported by the generosity of foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail your donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to PHYSICIANS COMPUTER COMPANY
The skyway
BY GRACE WILLINGHAM Grade 10, Brattleboro Union High School I choke on the endless expanse of blue sky and crisp air. The sky is crushing me, pushing down on collapsed lungs. Natures burdens seem to collide with mine; a sliver of unbearable tension. The world has never taken away my breath like this before. Close to pushing through the membrane of our planet, the air gets thinner. Peace and I are nally united in the median. This freeway became white noise as my ngertips drew away from the wheel. My ears lie in the skyway. No longer can I hear cars zooming by. Even the hum of cicadas in the grassy eld beyond my stone-like feet ceases to resonate within me. I have joined the silent chorus of the clouds, Zooming away, fast, paying no heed to the cautioning sign above me. With me ride fumes of burned rubber and an indescribable holiness. They wait for me. Can they sense my slipping hands, my losing sense of direction? My mind hums as I wait quietly for this journey to be done.
THIS WEEK: Photo 2 & General writing

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of students, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompts, Photo 2; and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of young writers.
WRITERS
WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE
PUBLISHED IN THIS NEWSPAPER?
Do you need a spark to get started? We have dozens of prompts at youngwritersproject.org. Check them out and send YWP your writing as a Newspaper Submission!
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

NEXT PROMPTS
Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, descriptive poetry or prose. The best will be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burlington (Dec. 5-9, 2012). Alternate: Favorite place. What is the special place where you really like to be, where you feel most alive? Imagine yourself there and tell a story about it. Due Nov. 2 Family. Write about a moment or experience with a family member that changed you. Alternate: Photo 4. This boy has something to say. What is it? Due Nov. 9
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
PHOTO PROMPT 2
When I write
BY THERESA UNDERWOOD Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School When I write Im in a different universe I dont write with a pen I write with My heart My mind My soul Everything I feel Goes down on paper Everyone I love Goes down on paper When I write Im noticed When I write I have the power When I write Im happy
Becca LeBlanc/Essex High School, 2011
SEND YWP YOUR PHOTOS AND ART FOR PUBLICATION

Young Writers Project is looking for the states best young photographers and artists. Send your photos and scanned artwork to YWP. Go to youngwritersproject.org, create a blog, upload your work, choose Photo Submission as the genre, click Yes for the Newspaper Series, ll out the information boxes and Save! The best work will be published in this and other newspapers.
Kevin Huang, Edmunds Middle School, 2011-12
Jack Delano. One of the children of Albert Lynch, Dummerston, VT, 1941 (Library of Congress)
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

IS FEATURED ON
VPR.NET
EVERY WEEK!

The Hotel Fantastico

BY REI KIMURA Grade 3, Oak Grove School
THIS WEEK: Elevator

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire. With the help of a team of readers, we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers. This week we publish work in response to the prompt, Elevator: Youre stuck in an elevator with a stranger. What happens? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
It was the summer after third grade. I was on vacation, staying in this amazing hotel called Hotel Fantastico. There was a vast pool, a giant movie theater, and a bowling alley... not to mention the roller coasters. My family and I had a room on the 19th oor. On our second day, I was on my way to meet the rest of my family at the bowling alley on the 10th oor. The elevator door had just closed when I realized I had left the room key stuck in our room door. I tried pressing all the buttons to get the elevator to open, but it did me no good. Instead, I had to ride all the way down to the rst oor. The door opened, and standing in the lobby, was a woman in her mid-20s... She looked at me with a creepy, too-friendly smile as she got on the elevator. She continued looking and smiling at me as she pressed the button for the 19th oor. Just great, I thought, shes going to my oor. Hello! Whats your name? Mines Laura! said the woman. Hi, I responded awkwardly. Im... I couldnt think! My brain froze! I wasnt sure I should tell her my real name... Mines Amelia, I said. (Using my best friends name.) After that, it was silent as we rode the elevator up. All the way, Laura was staring at me... She just kept her eyes on me like little laser beams! It was giving me the chills! Suddenly the elevator jerked! I ew up in the air ... then it seemed to get as light as a feather, as if we were drifting through space! Then it stopped. I knew something was wrong immediately when the door didnt open. It was silent, as silent as when you plug your ears. Great, I think were trapped, I said to Laura. Her eyes got wider, and she looked as if she was about to cry. Oh my goodness! Were trapped! she said. Whats going to happen? Well die here! I wanted to cry, too. I mean, she was the adult here, and she was freaking out. I kept saying to myself, Scream! Just scream, Rei! You know youre scared. But a voice in my mind said, No! I will not scream even if its the last thing I do on Earth! I knew it was very important to stay calm... Laura, please calm down, I said. The words just came out of nowhere. I couldnt believe it. There I was, helping an adult be calm! Laura screamed, How can I calm down when were trapped in an elevator? Relax, I said. We can just call the authorities on this emergency call phone! Emergency call phone! Youre a genius! Laura hugged me and gave me a big slobbery kiss on the cheek! I called the authorities, and they came and let us out. It was stressful, but it was kind of fun being the adult for a change! I was amazed at what kids can do after that experience. And from that day on, I still take the stairs.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the years best student writing and photos. On Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of Anthology 4 with a day of celebration and writing workshops in partnership with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. This years Anthology 4 includes local writers, including Mugdha Gurram, an eighth grade student at Brattleboro Area Middle School who wrote the following piece last year. Congratulations, Mugdha! To register for workshops and to nd out more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
Orange Peel Smiles and Banana Phone Calls

BY MUGDHA GURRAM Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School,
Special thanks this week to JANE B. COOK CHARITABLE TRUSTS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
NEXT PROMPTS
Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, descriptive poetry or prose. The best will be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burlington (Dec. 5-9, 2012). Alternate: Favorite place. What is the special place where you really like to be, where you feel most alive? Imagine yourself there and tell a story about it. Due Nov. 2
Levi Beavin/Main Street Middle School
Congratulations to Levi Beavin, an eighth grade student at Main Street Middle School in Montpelier, whose photo was chosen as YWPs Photo of the Week. Photographers and artists, send YWP your photos and scanned artwork for publication. Go to youngwritersproject.org, create a blog, upload your work, choose Photo Submission as the genre, click Yes for the Newspaper Series, and include a high resolution version of your work as a le attachment.
YWP IS ON VPR.NET EACH WEEK! CHECK IT OUT
Laura loved fruits. She loved lots of things. Flowers, animals, television (especially cartoons). But she really loved fruits. She loved giving orange peel smiles, especially for the camera that her mom would hover over her with. She loved to call her mom on her banana phone. They would play catch with apples. Laura grew up to be nine, ten, eleven. She still loved owers, animals and television. And she still loved fruits. But there were no longer any smiles or calls. That wasnt cool anymore. Nowadays when she grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on their coffee table, she didnt beg her mom to play catch with her, like she used to. She simply ate it. Lauras mother missed her little girl. She still loved the girl who now gobbled a banana down in two seconds, but she missed the child who thought her mother was the coolest person ever. Lauras mother soon became weak with skin cancer. It devastated the whole family. She soon became too sick to even leave the hospital. They brought stuffed animals, photos, home movies; anything they thought would make her happy. But she wasnt. She smiled weakly when they visited, but there was no twinkle in her eye. It overwhelmed Laura. This was her mother, her idol, the one who was always there for her, lying in bed, slowly and painfully dying. In the hospital, one day, she sat by her mothers bedside, trying her hardest not to cry, home videos on the TV. The video playing was one of her calling her mother on a banana. She looked back at her mother in present day, and she was smiling. A real smile. With a spark of emotion in her eyes. This excited Laura. She took an orange slice, stuffed it in her mouth, and smiled. Her mother was laughing! It was raspy, but it was a laugh. Her mom raised a trembling arm, and Laura gently placed a slice in her moms mouth. Day after day, they played these games. Every day until her mother died. There were tears, lots of them. There was sadness and remorse. But there was comfort in fruits. In orange peel smiles and banana phone calls.
A dancing memory
BY WILLOW HOLSCHUH Grade 11, Twin Valley High School Remember the sound of glittering air dancing around our small bodies, dodging dandelions and weaving through raspberry thickets. Remember the pines, shrouding the cabin like an oversized blanket. Remember the stars, resting like little eyes in the black velvet of the night, shining with curiosity. Remember the forest oor, lush and full of life under our grubby feet, moss providing seats for our dirtied pants. Remember brother, tall and lean like a tree, feet anchored like roots, arms outstretched like branches awaiting our fall. Remember dirt roads, rocks crunching beneath us as we travel, destination unknown but minds satised. Remember sunlight, ltering through the trees, sifted onto our sunburnt and freckled faces. Remember simplicity. Remember home.
THIS WEEK: Remember & Photo 1

ach week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire in response to writing prompts. The best writing is selected for publication here and in 20 other newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompts, Remember and Photo 1. To post work on youngwritersproject.org, click Write to create a blog, ll in the title and body of the work and give it a genre tag. For publication in the newspaper, click Yes, ll out the information boxes, Save it, and get published!
YWP NEWS
BRATTLEBORO LITERARY FESTIVAL
YWP presents Millennials on Stage (the Brattleboro edition) at the festival. Dont miss the next generation of great writers on Saturday, Oct. 13 at 1:15 p.m. in the Hooker-Dunham Theater, 139 Main Street, Brattleboro.
POETRY SLAM
PHOTO PROMPT 1
Join your fellow poets on Friday, Oct. 19 and slam your best work at Young Writers Project headquarters, 12 North St., Burlington! Arrive by 6 p.m. to get on the list! Slam runs from 7 to 8:30 p.m.
YWP ANTHOLOGY
Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the years best student writing and photos. On Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of Anthology 4 with a day of celebration and writing workshops in partnership with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

NEXT PROMPTS
Alone. Write a piece that begins with the following line: I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear... Alternate: Listen. Pick a moment in the hall at school, in the general store, anywhere and listen. Choose the most interesting conversation you hear and base a story on it. Due Oct. 26 Winter Tales. Tell a narrative about winter in short, descriptive poetry or prose. The best will be selected for presentation by the Vermont Stage Company at its annual Winter Tales production at FlynnSpace in Burlington (Dec. 5-9, 2012). Alternate: Favorite place. What is the special place where you really like to be, where you feel most alive? Imagine yourself there and tell a story about it. Due Nov. 2
Caitria Sands/Essex High School
I was here
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Waves on the brink of crashing. Swelled beyond any known capacity. Introverted nature, contorted into funnels. Letters written in sand, proclaiming loudly, I was here as if no one had taken notice.
An undertow, told to run against it, under pressure. Granular millions, a collective ocean of difference. A heartbeat of a world washed away by conformity.
THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to UNITED WAY OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY

Eat local
BY RUBY DIAMONDSTONE Grade 6, Green Street School Green cabbages freshly picked stacked in a pile on the still wet grass ready to be taken by a customer. Green cabbages in a plastic bag sit on a cart. These cabbages are strangers and nobody knows how they got here. Maybe they were frozen and shipped here; maybe they were wrapped in plastic and driven here; maybe they took a boat. Do yourself and the environment a favor. Eat local.
ach week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire in response to prompts. The best writing is selected for publication here and in 20 other newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompt, General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Voice
BY PAIGE MOODY Grade 11, Bellows Falls Union High School A writer shapes the blame, the lust, the demise, the grace, while the artist is more visual. The artist shapes the face. The musician plays the music, the musician plays the song. The record player echoes back, thirty years long. Heroes ght the wars, saving damsels, politics. Heroes kill many, all of the heretics. Will the liars defect? Will the liars defend? When it comes to the truth, this all depends. The conformist will conform, will depend, will rely. The insubordinate will rebel, cheat and lie. But a person can do all these things; its all a matter of choice, a matter of decision, a matter of voice.
YWP ANTHOLOGY CELEBRATION OCT. 27

Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the years best student writing and photos. On Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of Anthology 4 with a day of celebration and writing workshops in partnership with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. Included this year is Brattleboro writer Chaya Holch. See an excerpt of Chayas story below. More details at youngwritersproject.org.
Lines
BY CHAYA HOLCH Grade 7, Brattleboro Area Middle School There are lines that we cross every day. Unspoken lines. Unseen lines. Lines around topics people dont want to discuss, lines around things that make people fragile, or are fragile themselves. A lot of times we dont even seen a line until its far behind us, and by then, there is no crossing back. Now some people might say that I have lines. Around everything, maybe. Bold thick lines that trap little rooms around me. Lines that are not meant to be crossed. But if you really knew Coyote Farrell/Richmond Middle School, 2011 me, youd know that my lines really arent that strong, really not so different. There are little places in them that are cracked and torn and very, very crossable. Up until that day I was the sort of person who never stepped out of the little box I created with my lines. I had worked the lines into shapes and ideas that t like a glove around me. Around every emotion I had ever had, every action, every word I had ever spoken. It was that day that I was forced to crack the shell the lines made around me. I guess you could say it was just an accident. A little slip that might have led to a tragedy. Might. Maybe. Someday. The rain had been splashing on the roads for hours, and the autumn leaves were wet and slick. Id been watching him walk for blocks. The trudge through the rain. Even from far away I could see that the little boy hated it. The walking. The wetness. I wondered about his lines, if they trapped him, too. I wondered if they pressed down a little too hard in some places, or if they were loose in others... To read the ending of Chayas story, go to youngwritersproject.org.
BRATTLEBORO LITERARY FESTIVAL

YWP is excited to be part of this event on Saturday, Oct. 13! Local writers, K-12, are encouraged to send us best work to be selected for presentation at the festival! Go to youngwritersproject.org, create a blog and use BLF as your keyword!
NEXT PROMPTS:
Haunted. You and your friends are exploring an old, abandoned house when things suddenly turn scary. What happens? Alternates: Candidate. Write a short, catchy political ad for yourself. Whether youre running for President of the United States or local ofce, convince voters to vote for you!; or General writing in any genre. Due Oct. 12 Flying. You are ying blissfully and effortlessly over the countryside. What do you see and feel? Alternates: Fan. Write a fan letter to someone. It can be a celebrity, a loved one, an 18th century poet anyone; or Photo 3. What happened here? Or what is about to happen? Due Oct. 19
ABOUT THE PROJECT

YWP is an independent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences through the Newspaper Series (and youngwritersproject.org) and the Schools Project (ywpschools.net), a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop their writing and digital literacy skills.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Photographers and artists! Send your
photos and scanned artwork to YWP. Go to youngwritersproject.org, create a blog, upload your work, choose Images as the genre, click Yes for the Newspaper Series, ll out the information boxes and Save! The best work will be published in this and 20 other newspapers in Vermont and New Hampshire.
Margaret Slate/Peoples Academy
THANKS FOR SUPPORT

YWP is supported by this newspaper, foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. To help us help young writers, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail a donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Photo 3 Karlo Fresl/Essex High School 2011
Special thanks this week to Bay and Paul Foundations
Whispers
BY SEQUOIA SALASIN-BURNS Grade 8, Brattleboro Area Middle School Whispers all around, sometimes quiet, sometimes loud. Always, always telling you how to act, what to do. Telling you just what to say day after day after day after day. Telling you your opinions wrong, or telling you that you dont belong. So when youre feeling stage fright, remember the whispers arent always right.

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several hundred submissions from students in Vermont and New Hampshire in response to writing prompts and we select the best for publication here and in 20 other newspapers and on VPR.net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompt, General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of young writers.
BRATTLEBORO LITERARY FESTIVAL!

YWP is excited to be part of this event on Friday, Oct. 12 at 7 p.m.! Local writers, K-12, are encouraged to send us best work to be selected for presentation at the festival! Go to youngwritersproject.org to nd out more!
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
MARK YOUR CALENDARS OCT. 27: YWP ANTHOLOGY

CELEBRATION
Every year, YWP publishes an anthology of the years best student writing and photos. On Oct. 27, we will toast the publication of Anthology 4 with a day of celebration and writing workshops in partnership with the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. More details at youngwritersproject.org. Local writers will be honored at this celebration, including Frida Rosner of Marlboro Elementary School, whose poem, below, is included in the anthology. Congratulations, Frida!
NEXT PROMPTS
Elevator. Youre stuck in an elevator with a stranger. Create a short story, shaped primarily with dialogue, about your interaction with this person who is either annoying, funny or terried. Alternate: Habit. Whats the worst habit youre willing to admit to? Write about the great lengths you go to, to break this habit. Due Sept. 28 Awesome. Write a mini-story (maximum three paragraphs) without adjectives. Find the perfect noun for everything in the story. Alternates: Observer. You witness something frightening or wrong. Dont describe the scene; focus on your own response; or Photo 2. Write about this photo. Due Oct. 5
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
Born into this world

BY FRIDA ROSNER Grade 5, Marlboro Elementary School Born into this world, everyone has a pure, white feather resting upon their heart, a golden sun above them and an eagle spirit hovering nearby. But theres always a black puddle of worry lying at their feet. Somehow the darkness lures all. Keep your feathers clean Keep the sun shining above you. Save your guardian eagle. Then you will learn to turn your back on that puddle of worry.
Calling all artists and photographers! Send us your photos and scanned artwork for publication. Go to youngwritersproject.org, create a blog and follow the instructions to upload your work for the Newspaper Series. The best work will be published in this and 20 other newspapers in Vermont and New Hampshire!
ABOUT YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

Photo 2 Becca LeBlanc/Essex High School 2011
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

HAS A FEATURED WRITER
VPR.NET EVERY WEEK!

ON
CHECK IT OUT TO SEE AND HEAR

THE NEXT GENERATION OF GREAT WRITERS
Young Writers Project is an independent nonprot that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences through the Newspaper Series (and youngwritersproject.org) and the Schools Project (ywpschools.net), a comprehensive online classroom and training program that works with teachers to help students develop writing and digital literacy skills. The Newspaper Series: Students, K to 12, are encouraged to participate in Young Writers Project by submitting best work done in class or outside of school, and by responding to weekly writing prompts.
How to post work on youngwritersproject.org: Log in, click Write to create a blog, ll in the title and body of the work and give it a genre tag. For publication in the Newspaper Series, click Yes just below the Save button. Fill out the information boxes (prompt, author name, school, grade; author name will not be publicly visible). Dont forget to click Save! Work is selected by a team of students, volunteers and YWP staff to be published in this newspaper and 20 others in Vermont and New Hampshire as well as on VPR. net.
THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT

YWP is supported by this newspaper, foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. To help us help young writers, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail a donation to YWP, 12 North St., Suite 8, Burlington, VT 05401.
Special thanks this week to A.D. Henderson Foundation

Brattleboro Reformer Index 2012-13

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Brattleboro Reformer Index 2012-13

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Dear Readers

THIS WEEK: Photo 11

Photo Prompt 11: Falling to Earth Li Wei

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Zeke on the beach

Special thanks this week to BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Because I knew you

THIS WEEK: Vacation & General

After an endless journey

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to BIRDSEYE FOUNDATION

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Kevin Huang/Burlington High School

MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE IN BRATTLEBORO!

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

The real you

THIS WEEK: Music & General

That sort of day

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Music brings hope

Special thanks this week to

GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE ROASTERS

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Isabella Byrne/The Sharon Academy

MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE

THIS WEEK: Wishes, Tech & General

MILLENNIAL WRITERS ON STAGE

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Not a normal Monday

Special thanks this week to

CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Josh Kenyon/Essex High School

THIS WEEK: Farm Project winners

BY EVA ROCHELEAU Grade 8, Williston Central School

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to VERMONT COMMUNITY FOUNDATION

Dusty Creek Farm

Summer on the farm

The chicken coop

THIS WEEK: Promise & General

THE FARM PROJECT

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Margaret Slate/Peoples Academy

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT

The baby in the picture

THIS WEEK: General writing

THE FARM PROJECT

ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Watch youngwritersproject.org for the six winners to be announced soon!

Special thanks this week to

Mr. Spriggs mead

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT