St. Albans Messenger Index 2012-13

Three wishes
THIS WEEK: Wishes & Vacation

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, Three wishes; and Best vacation. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
Dear Readers
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
BY LAUREN FORCIER Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
I wish for no wars, that being, world peace. I wish for no more rumbling stomachs, that being an end to world hunger. I wish that these could come true soon...
Beach day
BY MACKENZIE LAMOTHE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center My perfect day would be so much fun, lying on the beach in the hot summer sun. Everyone would be there, friends and family from all around, playing on the beach where sea shells are found. When it starts to near dark, the parents would shout, Kids come have a smore! As all the kids approach, the bonre would roar, but the day isnt over, the partys just about to start. We would drive across the beach in a golf cart. When dawn nears, and the sun appears, we would all leave the beach and go to bed with dreams of our perfect day in our heads.
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.
Special thanks this week to BAY AND PAUL FOUNDATIONS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Tropical paradise
BY MASON MASHTAE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Silver beauty
BY WILSON CAPONE Grade 8, Faireld Center School
Wait. What did you say? I stare incredulously at my cousin, then back at the gleaming machine of wonder aboard the cruise ship. My grandparents are having their 50th anniversary, and for a treat, they are taking the whole family on my moms side island hopping around Hawaii. I knew there was a Teen Lounge and fancy restaurants, and all that stuff, but no one told me about this, until my cousin Michael told me about it now. I alternate gaping at Mike and gaping at the silver beauty in front of me. Why didnt I know two days earlier that the buffet had, at all times, a self-serve, soft-serve machine?! There are three choices: vanilla, chocolate, and twist. I immediately give myself a curl of vanilla the height of the Eiffel Tower on the minisized cones they have, and Mike does the same with the twist. Later, we would go on to have six cones a day: one after breakfast, one before the pool, two after lunch, and two more before another pool visit late in the evening. I will always remember the moment I felt sick after my third consecutive cone one day after a light lunch.
My favorite vacation would have to be the one I just got back from. I went to Turks and Caicos, a small chain of islands in the Caribbean. It was the rst tropical place Ive ever been to. We (my family) went down with over 20 other people. It was my rst time ying so I was a little scared. Once I was in the air I was ne. It was a really nice experience ying. Once we got there it was very hot! Right when we got out of the plane we started sweating. We were all staying at a resort called Beaches. Once we arrived we were all kind of stunned by the beauty of the resort and the island. The employees there were very nice. Right as I got out of the car they greeted me and handed me a fresh cold towel. I was still kind of in shock so I didnt use it. The week went by so quickly. I got to go snorkeling (where I saw a sting ray!), go to a water park, go parasailing, swim a lot, and do many other things. We were sad to leave the place. It was paradise. Finally, we got home. Although I was no longer on a tropical island in the Caribbean, I was happy to be home. Its not as hot and not as tropical as Turks and Caicos. But its my home and I like it.
Melissa Stewart/Essex High School
Best season
BY BEATRICE HAWKINS Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center The Christmas tree shines for all to see, for the world and my grandparents plus me. The lights are bright and lled with love, as I walk in the house and hang up my gloves. The cats try to climb up the tree, but then we say, Stop or you wont get any food from me. Then they run to the food in the kitchen. But Im okay as long as Im not bitten. So that is it and no more to come, but remember those Christmas songs you like to hum. Dont forget about the shining Christmas tree, for the world and my grandparents and me to see.
My perfect vacation
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BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center For me, vacation isnt time to relax Its a time to see new places and overpack To have fun And go somewhere with constant sun Im not a big fan of the beach But maybe an amusement park were I can let loose and screech Or a tropical cruise
A vacation that I can choose Something hot yet cool Somewhere with a big pool Maybe Florida Or the south of Georgia The perfect vacation With no complications Just me and my family Having fun Wishing for the vacation to never be done
Living around farms

BY WILSON CAPONE Grade 8, Faireld Center School My family and I are not very agricultural. We do not own a farm; we do not own livestock like cattle, horses, or pigs. The only thing we have ourselves is a garden encircling the house, not a tomato and plants-to-eat garden, but just a simple ower garden. But that doesnt mean that my lifestyle doesnt involve farming. We live downhill from a huge hay eld, owned by Mr. Juaire. A lot goes on up there. In the winter, its the longest, steepest, and fastest sledding hill in the world! In the fall, I would go up there and y my kite, or just run down the hill for the heck of it. Once, I even shot a model rocket up there, because it was a nice place clear of trees, besides the row of woods between the eld and my house. One day, my Mom bought a remote-controlled helicopter for me and my brother, Leo. It was a small, red, cheap thing, and I was wishing for the big, darker red helicopter that I saw in the same aisle. I was having fun with it outside, ying it pretty low, until Mom said that I had to give Leo a turn. He just stood on the porch and ew it straight up. The wind took it over the line of trees and into the hay eld. I went up to look for it, but I could not nd it. I just hope that one cow didnt mind a few wires and plastic in his lunch. That hay eld is fun, but the hay eld isnt the only farm on our road. Just a hop, skip and a jump away down our road is a gigantic corn eld and a farm that raises horses. Thats Gale and Toms farm. Even though the Juaire farm is great, this farm is the one I have the most memories of, because of the horses. My favorite horse was the oldest, called Big Z. He was a jet black horse, a little worn from racing back in the day, and had a white star on his forehead. I used to go down there and help my neighbor out with brushing and feeding the horses, putting their pills in their food, and watching a guy come to the farm to le the horses hooves and put horse shoes on them. It was really fun to watch him, but I thought it must cost a lot, so if I win a prize, I think that the extra few bucks will help a lot with my neighbor. My neighbor didnt really own the farm, but helped out with it a lot. Since my neighbor helped out with the farm, we helped her. Once, Big Z lost his horse shoe in the pasture, and Leo and I had to go and look for it with a metal detector. The detector was no beeping, electronic thing, but just a huge stick with a metal disk on the end. We never did nd the shoe. Just across the road from the horses is the corneld. In the corn eld is a little road that splits it in two. At the end, theres a little stream that you have to cross to keep going, but Leo and I stopped there all the time in the summer. I liked wading around, trying to skip rocks, and go down to the natural clay thats on the banks. The corneld itself was very connected with our house decorations. In the fall, for Halloween and Thanksgiving, Mom and Leo and I and maybe my sister Olive would go down there with a pocket knife. We would cut down the stalks of corn that the farmer missed when harvesting and tie them in bundles to put on either side of the garage. It gives a festive, colonial look to the house. The bundles are kind of tied together like colonists would tie together their wheat and barley, kind of like a cylinder thats pinched together in the middle, but not as big. Its become a tradition to do that every year. And thats how the farms around my house tie into my life and who I am today. Wilsons story was written for the YWP Farm Project. Read more great farm stories at youngwritersproject.org/farm13
THIS WEEK: Fairy tale, Farm & Tech

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, Fairy Tale: Write a fairy tale that includes the phrase, one thousand peas; Farm: Write about an experience youve had on a farm; and Technology: Your cell phone breaks. Now what?
Broken!
BY HANNAH EARL Grade 8, Faireld Center School
ABOUT THE PROJECT

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Special thanks this week to
BIRDSEYE FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
Every night
BY LAUREN FORCIER Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center Every night Mama tells me a story whether its a sad one or one lled with glory Tonights a special one one lled with a king and his son Mama walks in holding her book and sets herself down into her nook She opens the book and clears her throat Her voice is soothing like Im aoat There once was a prince... He fought dragons that would make any man wince... And they all lived happily ever after.... I love her stories lled with love and laughter Then she comes over and pulls up my sheets Be strong, and be brave like little Prince Peete, Mama says, You can do anything you want if you have the right keys, and I love you more than one thousand peas. She walks to the door and says good night Looks back at me and turns off the light With a good story like this every day why does tomorrow have to be so far away
One thousand peas

BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center One thousand peas line the trees In a town of witches and wolves Hansel and Gretel Falling rose petals And apples that poison young girls Fairy tales the ones that have re breathing dragons with scales Are fake but classic And just plain fantastic One thousand peas Fly in the fall breeze Only in this imaginary town Of talking frogs and clowns Where fairy tales exist Deep in the forest hidden under the mist
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OMG! What am I going to do? My phone broke yesterday, I left it on my desk and a kid picked it up and threw it! I am going to die today! The people at AT&T cant do anything until tomorrow! I have to go to school today and survive a WHOLE day without it ...I am going to die! I walk into school already knowing the torture to come, not only the usual torture of homework, but also the torture of being one of the only people without a phone! We head to our rst period English, and already everyone has their technology out. Without my phone, I cant go on the Internet or anything. I have to use a..... LAPTOP. That is so old! Those things take forever to go onto the Internet. The worst part of it is when I get there all eight of the laptops are being used. Now I have to use a desktop! Those things are slower than slow. It takes me a half an hour to just get Internet Explorer to pop up. After English, we have social studies, and just my luck we are doing current events on the computer. Everyone pulls out their iPods, iPhones and iPads, not me! I go to get a laptop. Finally I make it through that class and we head to lunch and recess; that is ne. A few people have their iPods out, but most are talking. I almost pass out when I hear we are going on a math web site next period. Luckily a lot of people use laptops because it is easier to see the math games, and on some devices you cant play the math games. When we go to science, the rst half is technology free, but not the second! We have to make a table, research elements and tons of other technology-involving activities. I am so glad when that bell rings, but I have forgotten I have to ride the bus today. Everyone has some type of technology. The rst- and second-graders pull out their DSs, the thirdand fourth-graders pull out their iPod Nanos. The fth-, sixth-, seventh, and eighth- graders pull out their iPods, iPads, iPhones, Droids, Kindles and more. This is pure torture. When I get to my house, I couldnt have got off the bus faster. As soon as I walk through the front door, there are my twin brothers playing on their iPods, my younger sister playing on her mini-iPad and my older sister texting. I get out of the living room as quickly as possible. In the kitchen, I nd nothing better though: my parents are both standing there with their phones. I ask them what time my phone is coming in tomorrow, and they say that AT&T hasnt called back yet. So I go through three painful hours watching my family on their technology when I have nothing. I decide I am going to read; I mean there is nothing else I can do. I read for about an hour, then decide I will do my homework. I nish my homework in record time. I think to myself, Wow! You can survive without an i-Phone. You can get more accomplished in your day. I could survive a whole month of this! Next thing I know the phone rings and again that obsession of my phone rushes back to me. I pick up the phone, but Mom has already picked up. I hang up and go downstairs, anxious for some good news, forgetting what I have said to myself less than a minute ago. My mom hangs up, says thank you and looks at me. Then she says, Sweetie, they are having a problem with your phone; they said they could send it back to the factory and get it xed there. They said it will only take a week; until then you will have to go without. I stop and say nothing for what seems like forever. Forget what I have said earlier. I. Am. Going. To. Die.
Mountain View Farm

BY ARIEL SMITH Grade 8, Faireld Center School Most kids want a puppy or a kitten, but me, I wanted a calf. I wanted to be able to wake up in the morning and feed the calf her bottle and give her hay. I kept her for two years, and then she went to my grandfathers barn where she was to have her own baby and be milked. My cow, Daisy May, or just Daisy for short, wasnt just a regular cow. She always reminded me of a bull. She wasnt black or just white when she stood in the sun, you could see a red tint on her back. Soon enough, it was spring. Spring means its time to go out and x fence so the cows wont get out. My mom and my papa were out xing the fence one day because one of the cows had already broken it. Daisy was outside, in the fence while they were working on it, and without anyone noticing, Daisy pushed my mom to the ground and into a ditch. Everyone ran over to get Daisy off her. My cow just wouldnt give up until she nally dislocated my moms elbow. A year later, I walked in the front barn door and opened the chain gate to start my afternoon loose chores. Loose chores are when you clean out the dirty sawdust from under the cows, feed calves their bottles, grain the milking cows, and put round bales on the feeders. I grabbed the shovel to clean out under the cows and I was not looking up because I was paying attention to what I was doing at the time. When I did look up, I found Daisy staring at me. Turns out she had broken out of her stall and somehow broke loose of her neck chain. I ran so fast down that 50-stall barn! I knew Daisy could hurt me and I was pretty scared of her. After she had hurt my mom, everyone wanted Daisy to go to the slaughter house; everyone, except me. She wasnt mean to anyone else except my mom. Everyone was just scared of her. To me, one incident should not be enough to end her life. I begged and begged that they not get rid of her. They listened to me and kept her. As of right now she is the top producer of milk in the herd! I feel proud to call Daisy mine and not be ashamed of her. When I walk down the manger to push the cows hay up to them, Daisy gives me a big lick in the face. I take it as a thank you. Ariels story was written for the YWP Farm Project. Read more great farm stories at youngwritersproject.org/farm13
THIS WEEK: Music, Photo 11 & 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; Photo 11; and General writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
Photo Prompt 11: Falling to Earth Li Wei
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THANKS FROM YWP

Stuck upside down

BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center The diamond sand lls my nostrils If someone doesnt pull me out soon Ill surely turn into a fossil My eyes sting And my frantic thoughts sing I was just taking a morning run Feeling the breeze and eating the sun But somehow I tripped And ended up like this Upside down Being stared at by the whole town Im suffocating in this black hole of death Panting for a morsel of breath I can now feel something grabbing me I hope its not a crab But when I bat my eyes I realize That I am out of the hole Good thing because I think I saw a mole Glad to be out I run once again This time more cautiously because I dont want to trip again ... But once again I trip on a rock Uh-oh, here we go again
Special thanks this week to GREEN MOUNTAIN COFFEE ROASTERS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Buzzer beater
BY SHANNON CALLAHAN Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center The sweat pours down my face as I look up at the score, 31-33, only 10 seconds left to go. Its only three points, I think to myself. I take notice of my surroundings, at any way I can get past my player. I see him playing defense slightly leaning towards the right, daring me to go left. I smirk because he doesnt know what hes in for. I can feel my palms getting sweaty and the ball pounding against the oor is like monotonous song in my head. Im down to eight seconds left. Shoot, shoot! the crowd roars in unison. I cross over before my defender can even blink and I head for the half court line. I feel myself hit the oor and then jump back up again. The ball leaves my hands, soaring through the air like a bird, and it seems to take hours before the ball has reached the basket. My heart is pounding at nearly 100 miles per hour, and I take a deep breath in. Swish. The ball lands straight in the net and I fall to the court with relief. I did it, I smile with the thought in my head. I turn around to nd all my team mates sprinting toward me. Why cant I have this moment forever?
Isabella Byrne/TheSharon Academy
Loss and sorrow

BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero A light drizzle falls as a bird sings softly People in black walk the streets slowly dragging their feet Their eyes heavy and downcast Shoes make hollow sounds on the cobblestones They enter an empty church where the statues sing to the dead A sanctuary that saved hundreds from war from sickness
True colors
BY SOPHIA BLOUIN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center A ower lost in the world of shame. She wanted to be different so she changed to her true colors purple, red, blue, orange, yellow, black, and light blue. But in the middle she had all the colors of the rainbow. And everyone loved that she wasnt afraid of her true colors.
from death Tears ow into a river mourning soldiers returning from war disgured and crazed Adults and children lying on their deathbeds slowly fading away The continuous sound of hammering as cofns are made every day No one has been in the church for years Cobwebs ll the corners A ray of sunlight illuminates the dust piling on windowsills The music I was listening to when I wrote this was Symphony no.3, II Lento E Largo -Tranquillissimo by Henryk Gorecki
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.
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Dark
BY ETHAN BAKER Grade 7, Faireld Center School The dark. It comforts me. It is someone I can tell my secrets to. It will understand me. It is a place where there is no judgment. No prejudice. If the world was dark, we would all be equal. Everyone thinks the dark represents evil. Everyone is wrong. The dark does not care about the color of your skin. It does not care about your orientation. The dark will listen to your secrets. It will understand. The dark is where you can go to be yourself. There is a sh that has lived in dark caves for thousands of years. The Astyanax mexicanus has evolved past the need for eyes. We could benet from being like this sh. Blind. Blind to judgment. Blind to what is on the outside. We could judge people on what is on the inside.
THIS WEEK: Dislike, White lie, 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, Dislike: Write about something that disgusts you; White lie: You tell a little white lie that grows and grows.; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
YWP PERFORMANCE NIGHT

THURSDAY, MAY 30 NORTH BY NORTH CENTER 12 NORTH STREET, BURLINGTON Performance Poet Lizzy Fox
will lead a writing and performance workshop, Rhythm of Change, from 5 - 6:30 p.m. After the workshop, stick around for open mic and pizza from 7 - 8:30 p.m. More details at youngwritersproject.org or call (802) 324-9538.
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Special thanks this week to CHAMPLAIN INVESTMENT PARTNERS
FREE AND OPEN TO ALL AGES
Starting a re
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
BY ELLEN JOHNSON Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans Have you ever analyzed an ember as it ew from the re? Ever watched it twirl and y higher as it got lifted up by the curlicues of smoke? If you havent, you must take the time to see its beauty. For I have seen that ickering dot of re as it separated from the mass of ame. I watched as it oated up and down and all around, until it nally touched the cool granite ground. But then I saw it grow homesick; it missed its birthplace. Its eyelids uttered closed, hoping to imagine a better world, and suddenly that brilliant piece of re became dust, and no light remained. Now look again. Watch as the re demonstrates how humans work. How when we try to separate from the mass we become nervous, we freak out. Filled with insecurity, we try to hit the rewind button. Of course its near impossible to go back to the start, which makes this insecurity the end of us. Our brilliance ickers out in the night. So remember if you want to be like an adventurous ember, you need not only to nd your vision but to spread it. Dont land on the concrete and give up; crawl on your hands and knees till you get to a blade of grass. Inspire that grass with your ideas and set it ablaze; soon you will become your own bonre, become more beautiful than an act of nature. Only then will you leave an imprint on this world.
Dislikes
BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero I dislike cleaning up after the dogs (its disgusting!) BUT anything to make a better environment! I dislike it when our ewes have difcult births. It makes me worry and they can become very sick. I dislike loud drummers, sometimes they are OVER THE TOP! I dislike math, I guess its not my thing. I dislike bad things always being on the news instead of positive stories. Mushrooms are squishy and gross. In my opinion, Britney Spears is not a talented singer. Snakes just creep me out. I dislike friends being late. I like to be on time. I dont like when friends text instead of interacting.
White lie
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center It started out white. My throat got dry and tight. It grew to something big. I watched as my small lie snapped like a twig. I didnt mean for it to go this far. It feels like Im trying to nd the brakes in my fast moving car. I didnt want it to blow up like a balloon, but it did. Now I try to pop it, Scratching at the chance to stop it. But my mind is frantically spatting words, None that are true, Just a white-faced lie, pale, huh, must have the u. I let the lie rise, Let it build up in my eyes. Now as Im on the ground shuddering, Throwing my arms in the air muttering, I wish I never lied That little white-faced lie.
Josh Kenyon/Essex High School

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.
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Summer on the farm

BY CARLEY MALLOY Grade 7, Thetford Academy
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 the Farm Project submissions at youngwritersproject.org.
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...234 Four 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
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VERMONT COMMUNITY FOUNDATION
Living by a farm
BY SASKIA KIELY Grade 7, Vergennes Union High School
Sheep poem
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
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 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
Kelsey Eddy at her familys farm in Wallingford, Vermont
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 great sense of humor, and always called me Sprout. Go clean off the calves, he said, all business-like... I always loved cows, even though they were huge compared to me, and much stronger, but most of them were nice... Cows werent like dogs, but they had their own ways into my heart... Milking a cow is complicated because there are many dangers. If the cow is used to another person, she will sometimes refuse to allow others to clean her. Blonde was the one who did that. She only wanted my grandpa to milk her, and we didnt argue. Some of our cows we have to sing to, so they will calm down; some you just
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 eventempered, and her affection for me grew...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject. org/node/80066
have to yell at and tell them youre the boss. My grandpa was the toughest man around the farm. Unlike me, who can be scared of cows at times, my grandpa was tough and fearless, even though he had his limits. He was the best grandpa I could ask for. My grandma was right with him; she loved the farm, and her grandkids, and always pushed herself, no matter what... 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 have, 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.
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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. Gone was my lush yard and surrounding mountains that were the backdrop of my childhood. I arrived to see a bland town, no trees, and elds atter than a pancake. The only thing I could smell for the rst week was manure. My parents told me it would be a great experience and change, but I wasnt convinced. 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 and their kids are also creative and engaging. Amazed by how much effort and time they give to producing milk, I started thinking differently about the farming lifestyle and the passion and dedication it requires. These people sacrice so much time to wake up in the morning at 5 oclock and take care of the calves or milk the cows. They dont just do it because its their job, they do it because its what they love to do... Within a week of moving to West Addison, I knew it was going to be so incredibly fun. I feel so lucky to live next to this amazing farm with outstanding farmers. I think what they do is very important for our state and I am so lucky to be able to have the privilege to connect with the animals whenever I want.
Neverland
BY ELLEN JOHNSON Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans That girl twirling her Shirley Temple hair doesnt understand it yet but she will, how were all a part of one machine that does what were told. Were allowed different paths but all gears are eventually attached to the same machine. This machine thats crafted out of success and failure, a machine welded by the poor and rich. They tell you not to grow up too fast, to enjoy the magic of being young. Yet that very same magic shrouds us from knowing how good we have it then, how even though we arent as privileged we are still allowed to be unique. Instead a fog plagues our minds, making us believe being an adult is the best option. At that age we arent a gear yet, were just screws. Some remain screws all their lives, falling where screws always do, onto the oor or into the trash. The machine acknowledges these screws but cant help but look down upon them. For the machine only values those who grow up to be important cogs, those who trade the magic of individuality for success. Yet without screws how would gears maintain their hierarchy? Who would be willing to assist in their climb to soulless success, None other than the hapless screws whose tears are marked by the greasy gears footprint. That little girl with the Shirley Temple hair grew up. She realizes how cruel this world is now and wants to meet Peter Pan; For he always knew never to grow up. The little girls mind was stuck between gears, told she wasnt meant to be a part of the machine. She disobeyed the machine and didnt conform to its squeaky iron clutches. That girl had managed to stay unique through it all but it wasnt enough. This world doesnt accept her type; It takes a god-like strength to survive being a successful screw. So the little girl with Shirley Temple hair went to see Peter Pan. The others swore they never saw the signs, that they didnt know why she did it. One even claimed he saw her go up to the roof. They dont understand, of course. How else are you supposed to get to Neverland if you dont y?
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: Write about anything in any genre. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
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Lucky penny
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BY MASON MASHTARE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day I was walking down the street and I found a penny. I looked down and saw that it was heads up. So I snagged it and put it in my pocket. Then I continued walking down the street. I could see a hot dog stand on the other side of the street and I was hungry. Too bad I couldnt buy a hot dog though, because all I had was a penny. All of a sudden the hot dog seller yelled, Free hot dogs. I walked up and got a hot dog and it was delicious. That was lucky, wasnt it? After nishing my lunch I decided to go into the park. There I found my four best friends playing baseball. Whack! I heard Dan hit the ball. Darn! I said. I wanted to play baseball with them so badly, but I didnt have a glove. All of a sudden a glove fell at my feet. I grabbed it and went to play ball with them. After playing baseball I was puzzled about what just happened and then I discovered it must have been the penny. Ever since I found it I had good luck. I was thinking why it gave me good luck and then I realized that it was heads up and it must have been a lucky penny. So I looked at it and the copper glimmered in the sunlight. I icked it up, caught it and threw it in my pocket. I decided I should go home and get some dinner, so I headed home. As I was walking I saw a little boy with a ripped up shirt and pants that didnt quite t him. He was very, very skinny. I looked down and saw an empty can that the kid was holding. It had something in it. It was pocket change that other people had given him. I took the lucky penny out of my pocket and put it in the can. I was hoping the little boy had good luck just like me and would have a better future.
Margaret Slate/Peoples Academy
Where I come from

BY GRACE ADAMCZAK Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center Where I come from is where the colorful leaves fall on the black tar road. Where the bitter cold nights in the white winter and the blissfully warm summer nights are cherished. Where skiing and snowboarding are a must! Where going to Jay Peak is fun! Where I enjoy swimming in a pool with my cousin and building a snow fort in the snow with her. Im from building hockey team memories. Im from hometown banquets to small family dinners. Where Im from is where we have a big Christmas party with lots of memories. Im from St. Albans, Vermont!
A promise that I couldnt keep

BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I promised not to tell anyone. I tried; I even bit my tongue, But the secret was just too big. I told. I snapped like a twig. I couldnt let you get bullied By someone bigger than you, But youll be safe now. This is a vow. So Im sorry I told, But I had to be bold And get help. Im sorry I didnt keep it. Im sorry I leaked it. Please forgive me. - Your friend
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Vacation. Recall a specic moment on a favorite vacation and describe it. Or imagine your perfect vacation. Alternate: General writing. Due May 17
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Who is that woman?

BY AMAYALUNA MORFIN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I woke up to the smell of hot coffee and the sound of crisp toast being broken. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, brighter than ever. I had a pleasant feeling like everything was normal. A nice, normal Saturday morning. I got up, walked to the bathroom and washed my face. I looked in the mirror and felt my heart stop. I looked OLD. Not that old, but still old. I decided to forget it. After all, I had just woken up and was seeing blurry. I dried my face, then felt my stomach growl. Kitchen. When I got there, I saw a small child running around, with red paint on her face. She looked up at me, her eyes popping out of her head and her face pale. To the left of the kitchen counter I saw three cans of soda, opened and spilling on the oor. After running on the table, she came to me, hugging me and rubbing her red face all over me. Paint? On the table next to a clock reading 10:00 was a spilled mess of red washable paint. Oh my... Last time I remembered, I was 12, now I had a 3-year-old little girl rolling red paint on a couch. I grabbed the girl, ignoring the screams and bites and scratches. I plopped her on my bed and closed the bedroom door. OK, who are you? I blurted. What do you mean, Mommy? One second, I said, running back to my bathroom. I looked in the mirror and again saw the 35-year-old woman looking back at me.
THIS WEEK: 35 & Strength

Each 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 21 other newspapers and on vpr. net. This week, we publish work in response to the prompts, 35: You wake up and you are suddenly 35. What happens?; and Strength: Describe a time when you had to be strong. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
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Just a dream
BY LAUREN FORCIER Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center I wake up one morning and feel sort of strange Like my whole body has been rearranged. I stretch and peer into the mirror; Im not me anymore, that couldnt be clearer. Im older, and taller and grown. My mind is blown. I look 35! And I didnt even get to watch my life go by! Maybe I should go back to bed. What if it doesnt work? Thats what I dread. I close my eyes and relax. This cant be possible. I mean, look at the facts. I open my eyes again, not sure what to see. I run to the mirror and see regular me. And so it would seem That I really did just have a dream.
A mushers advice
BY KYLIE CALLAN Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center As my team of dogs crossed the nish, my heart was pounding. From the journey we just traveled, from the land we just crossed, from the experience we felt. We all came together in the end. First, you think? No, last, last by three days. I dont care about winning. Why do you think that I have all the dogs I started with and all the other mushers had dropped a few? The journey was amazing. Together we traveled on and on and on as a family. It seemed as if we were ying. Flying through the sky on an endless trail. The land, oh the land, it was the most beautiful sight. Traveling across the land was the best; it was smooth across the lakes, bumpy across the land. But the best part of all was the experience, the experience was marvelous. Watching the dogs in front of you run, just run and run like in a trance, in a different world. The views slide by you; the world is your home. The dogs are your family, the sun your stove. No arguing. Just going with the ow. Your dogs are your children; they are your life. Without them, you feel like nothing. The dogs lead you through a maze of turns and tunnels. But your trust shall always be with them. You have to stay strong, strong through storms, strong through frostbite. You have to stay strong because you can only trust your dogs but you can only communicate through a bond that grows. The world could be against you, but you have to stay strong, even in the hard times. The best advice for a musher is to stay strong. Its you and your companions against the world.
Nate Ertle/Essex High School
From kid to adult

BY MASON MASHTARE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I was in a deep sleep. I was dreaming of a being an adult. Adults could do anything they wanted. They were treated with respect and not like a little kid, like me. When I become an adult, Im going to have so much fun, I thought. Its going to be great. SNAP! I woke up. I picked my head up from my uffy pillow and peered around the room. Did I sleep over at a friends house? This isnt my room. Where had my rock and roll posters and basketball cards go? The room looked the exact opposite. It was all boring and it was clean. This couldnt be my room; my room is never clean. I stood up and felt a lot stronger. I didnt know where I was, but I was hungry. I walked into the kitchen and looked for some cereal or pancakes. I looked in the fridge. All I found were eggs and something else on the top shelf. It looked like some kind of disgusting protein shake. YUCK! I said. I continued through the house looking for somebody, anybody. I found myself in a bathroom. I looked in the mirror. YIKES! That is not my body. I looked similar, but way older. I touched my chin with my hand. It was scruffy and spikey. Clearly I had grown, but I hadnt
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

even noticed. I decided that I should walk around town since Ive wanted to be an adult. I put on clothes that t me perfectly and walked out the door. I had something in my pocket. It was a wallet. I took out an ID with my picture on it and looked at the year. It had a totally different year of birth. I was born in 99, but it said I was born in 78. I was no longer 13 years old, but 35 years old. Outside was a newspaper I almost tripped over. Adults usually read newspapers, I whispered. Maybe I should try. I picked it up and read the rst article. It was alright. Some stories could get boring, but there was this free writing section which I enjoyed. I continued walking down the sidewalk. There was a food stand up ahead. Maybe Ill grab a coffee. Adults love to drink coffee, I thought. I got one and took a big gulp. EWWWW! Coffee tastes terrible. How do adults drink this? I continued to head into the town. After a long time of hanging around the town, I went home. Being an adult was not fun at all. I learned I had to pay for my home, which my parents usually paid for, and I couldnt go to school and have recess with friends. Thats when I woke up. I peered around the room. It was back to normal. I touched my chin and it wasnt scruffy. Thats when I realized it was all a dream. If I learned one thing from this experience it would be that I need to cherish my childhood, while I have it.
Six-word stories
THIS WEEK: Six words & Outrageous

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, Six words: Write as many six-word stories as you can; and Outrageous: This is the funniest story Ive ever heard...Finish the story. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
BY JULIA SCOTT Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Rain. The sky cries with us. Sunlight burns with the harsh truth. Snow falls like Earths renewing blanket. The dry desert longs for rain. Everything is in motion, never stopping. The lion masks its fears well. Deep breath, step back and dive.
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Bruins are the best hockey team. Canadiens are the worst hockey team. Hockey is fun. Hockey is life. School is over, ready for hockey. Drop the puck, drop the puck. Bruins score. They win the Cup.
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BY KEEGAN MORIN Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center
BY MASON MASHTARE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I love shing in the spring. The deer galloped in the meadow. It was thundering loudly last night. The book was fast-paced and exciting. The sunlight gleamed off the lake. The sight of it was glorious. He spooked the horse, it galloped. The cheeseburger melted in my mouth.
Funniest story
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center This was the funniest story Ive ever heard It is truly absurd Full of elephants And camping tents You wonder how all of this ts together Then I add in all the crazy weather The crazy girl Dont forget the roller coaster that makes you hurl Im telling you this story was wild It would never be able to be understood by a child Wheres the jelly bean The crazy woman screamed I dont know Said the man named Joe This story is so funny Im laughing so hard my eyes are getting runny If youre still piecing this puzzle together Let me shed some light on the subject so you understand it better Youre reading the funniest story ever Its a mix of mystery and adventure Still not getting why this is clever? Probably not, because this is the most confusing story ever
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
BY AMAYALUNA MORFIN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center She never came back again, gone.
BY MACKENZIE LAMOTHE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Flowers swaying in the cool breeze. BY MIKE HAWK Grade 9, North Country Union High School The mouse consumed several respectable cheeses.
Andrea Marie Neville/Chelsea Public School
BY MACKENNA SHEA-SMITH Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Thinking of what to write about. Food is my life, nom, nom. BY KOLBY CHURCH Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center Animals are so very, very nice. Turtles are so very, very slow. Penguins on ice are so nice.
Take off!
BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero This is the funniest story Ive ever heard... When my dad was younger, he loved superheroes. He couldnt think about anything else. In kindergarten he would drift off into superhero land where everyone was a superhero and he was Superman. One Saturday morning, he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He kept eyeing the curtains that came down to the oor. Before he could think any further, his dad called to him and told him to get on his clothes so they could go to his uncles. Later that day, my dad thought he could fulll his dreams of ying by carrying out his plan. He climbed up on a small wooden stool and tied the long curtains securely around his waist. He took a deep breath and jumped. For a second he swung wildly through the air. The next moment he was lying face down on the oor and felt a great whack on his back. He heard footsteps and his dad threw open the door. WHAT ON EARTH?! Sorry, my dad mumbled, ashamed of himself. As a punishment he received a smack with a slipper and a nice little chat about ripping the curtain rod out of the wall. And that is why my dad was never interested in superheroes again.
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.
BY COLE BRACE Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center Sled dogs run and run forever. Elmo vs. Barney. Who will win?
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Heart bleeding ink

BY ELLEN JOHNSON Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans The pen dodged criticism and containment as it ed across the page. It tried to break free of the rusty iron chains of grammar to keep the ow of thoughts running. Yet sometimes, grammars nasty grasp caught up with the rushing pen and slashed its ideas out in a furious scribble. The pen urged on, determined to write till its heart ran out of ink; till it bled a blue puddle onto the page. This pen would die for its country; for the glory of uncontained thoughts being thrown on parchment. The end product: words intermingled with blue scribbles of the grammar Nazis reign. The pen must urge on or else its lifes work becomes a morgue of what people expect to hear instead of what they should hear.
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 for Rhyming poetry and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
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A little boy who tried

BY MACKENZIE LAMOTHE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center There once was a little boy who couldnt. He wanted to ride a horse, but he didnt know how to, of course. He fell off, then got back on. Then the horse took off, and he was gone. The boy came back with no horse. He just said, I wish I could, but I couldnt. I wish that a horse would let me, but it wouldnt. That little boy tried again; he hopped on, then fell off. He got back on, then fell off. He decided he was going to try one more time, and was as quiet as a mime. He put one foot in the stirrup, and pulled himself up. The saddle was as smooth as syrup. The little boy breathed in and breathed out, Then said, I am ready. He had no doubt That he could ride a horse. He rode the course, with the horse. Victory was his, he was a horse whiz. He tried and he tried, and he could.
Inspiration
BY KRISTEN BELL Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Inspiration cant be taught Neither can it be bought It can only be shared From one person to the next (dont ever share it through text) It cant be written down Never then and never now
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Questions
BY GRIFFIN KNAPP Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Why is the sky blue? Maybe it has the u. When did Columbus cross the sea? Well, of course, it was 1693... Why are plants so small? What are you talking about? They are tall. Why do you ask me so many things, When I dont know anything?
Kevin Huang/Burlington High School
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Lesson from a survivor

BY RILEIGH GOULETTE Grade 11, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans As I pick at my citrus-colored nails, the specks of zest fall onto the brick bench I propped myself on. My legs vibrate rapidly as I wipe the sweat from my forehead. I gaze at the giant in front of me, squirrels trotting about his arms, reaching his leafy green ngers. The strangers, like trains, take the pebble path to their next destination. One man has powdered our hair and eyebrows like rainbows above his emerald eyes. His eyelid is sagging and I notice the red underneath. He wears striped suspenders as he travels toward me and my orange. He displays a look of happiness that old people give. His grin stretches out towards the edge of the world. His body treadmills towards me and I have no escape route. People with smiles may carry a weapon, so I prepare myself for anything. My face staring, and my heart pounding at the object headed for me, I slide over on the bench to give him as much room as he needs, and to allow myself time to react. He sits next to me and my pile of zest. I offer him change; maybe that is what he is approaching me for? Shaking his head, he extends his hand to reveal calluses bubbled up in his palm. Its not the calluses I am interested in. I see an array of numbers lined up that continue under his sleeve. A scar permanently marked. He pulls out photos of what is left of a town. I see bodies in the array of bricks on the street. A camp in the background with ames towering over what is left. He is a survivor, and I should be, too.
That rock I kicked

BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I kicked the pebble as hard as I could. It traveled much farther than it should. It was as if that small piece of rock was leading me to the answer. I twirled to where the pebble lay like an elegant dancer. I gleamed at the blank gravel with glory. Somehow this pebble knew my story. Although there wasnt a written answer, I knew in my heart the answer was simple. This clump of minerals led me to a change of mind, Met me at the end of a confusing climb, Gave me an incomprehensible answer. The tiny pebble I kicked That bounced across the road with quiet ticks Answered me, Answered questions no one even knew about. Was this little rock magic? No doubt.
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 the photo above. Due April 26
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Park bench
BY DYLAN BARANIK Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans In autumn, on an old park bench with green, aking paint over rotting wood, I sit, silently, listening to wind and birds and water. Like water, people ow by. They move at variable pace. A child seeking ice cream gets lost from his mother, for a second. A yellow autumn leaf drops and a man, moving slower than the others approaches. Clearly in sight, he sports a wooden cane, even equipped with a tennis ball to avoid scufng the oors. He has this rhythmic limp, like a drum. Bu (he steps forward) dum (completes the step) and pauses, to drag his left leg forward. He does this, budum, budum, budum, waltzing over to the bench; he sits, exhausted. I give him plenty of space, but even still he manages to sit too closely. He smells potently of mildew and mothballs. After a while, he opens his mouth, greets me with, Good day. I, hello. He asks me how the weather is, but not here instead, in my hometown. I ask him how he knows, replies Of course, pauses, you cant judge... hrm... a book by his cover. I turn to him, remembering him, his eyes, his relation, and like that, hes gone, disappeared like dust into the wind.
THIS WEEK: Lesson & 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, Lesson: An old man sits down beside you on a park bench and teaches you something you had no idea you could do. What is it? and General writing.Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Someone who cares

BY KRISTEN BELL Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Sitting in the park, completely alone, I listened to the quiet sound of the wind as it rushed through the trees and helped guide the birds to their destination. The silence was broken when an old man sat next to me. The creaking and groaning of the bench was not a lot of noise, but enough to make me realize I was not alone anymore. He tried greeting me, but he ended up getting farther away from me when I moved closer to the opposite side of the bench. Away from him. Didnt he get that I wanted to be alone? He repeatedly tried to greet me and asked how I was. Each time, I never replied. After the 50,000th time, Id had enough. Gritting my teeth, I quietly said, If you dont mind, I would like to be left alone... Then he simply asked this: Would you rather have no one care at all and never say anything, or have them repeatedly ask you how youre feeling and care tremendously? I didnt even have to answer; I could tell he knew already. He knew all of my past and how people, even my own family, had never even bothered to ask how I was feeling. It set the image in my mind that no one cared, or even thought of asking if I was all right, or if I was enjoying myself. Id seen it so much that thats what I now thought. No one cared about me or even wanted to know about me. Thats what I thought until now. This stranger, who just happened to be an old man, didnt even know me but could tell that I needed someone to talk to, that I needed someone to care about something other than themselves, like me. And he did. Thats all I ever wanted...
Forgiveness
BY ASHLEIGH PETERSON Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
The old man sat beside me on the wooden park bench, twirling a navy blue Red Sox cap between his ngers. He whistled a tune and watched pigeons peck at the dust. I picked at the chipping paint on the seat, internally fuming because I realized I had been pick-pocketed somewhere on my walk to Central Park. The man, still facing the pigeons, greeted me cheerily. Beautiful afternoon, isnt it? He turned to me and smiled, showing a set of surprisingly straight teeth. Mmph. I shrugged. I suppose. The old man slid about a half an inch closer to me. Youre in New York! What could possibly upset you? I explained that somebody had stolen all my cash. As I talked, I kicked the bench with my heel. His forehead wrinkled and his eyebrows inched toward each other. I suppose that is upsetting, he mused. I exhaled hot breath, relieved; he understood me. Exactly! Its infuriating, I said. Oh, not for you. The man offered a patronizing smile. I was pitying the poor thief. Imagine living with such little faith in yourself that you have to cut purse strings to survive. I choked on saliva. Words wouldnt form in my head. Before I could create any coherent reply, the man stood up, walked away, and began feeding the pigeons chunks of bread. Though I never uttered a word of gratitude, I realized that he was right; I needed to be more sympathetic. The old man, whose name I will never know, taught me to forgive.
Alia Jenkins/South Burlington High School
Afraid to fall
BY ELLEN JOHNSON Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans I am like a loose thread clinging onto an old shirt. A thread on the cusp of falling into unfamiliar territory. The thread tries to cling to whats familiar; to what it used to be a part of. Yet, the shirt would be better off without the struggling thread. Then all of a sudden, the loose thread is severed by scissors; severed from its safety net. Only to land unexpectedly well onto a cushy carpet, which it will call its new home. Like the thread, I nd change scary, but no one can truly grow up by clinging to whats comfortable. Sometimes its better to try to adjust to new phases of life, rather than remain the only thread afraid to fall.
Waiting for happiness

BY JULIA SCOTT Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center They are waiting, Waiting for a train that will never arrive. Waiting for a train that they hope will bring them some place better. Waiting for a train that has no destination. Waiting for a train that has no end. Waiting, always waiting. They are happy. But I do not envy them. I do not wait for happiness. I look for it.
NEXT PROMPT
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

How Emi came to be

BY BECCA FAUTEUX Grade 8, Faireld Center School I curl up in bed, and Emi crawls into my room. With a ap of her tiny wings, she ies onto my bed, curls up next to me, and we both fall asleep. I know what youre thinking, What is Emi supposed to be? Emi is a dragon, and this is how I got her. I was sleeping in one Saturday, when a huge crash interrupted my dreaming. I jolted up in bed, bolted out the door and ran toward the back yard where the noise came from. Through the thick, smoldering smoke, I made out a huge purple egg. The egg was about the size of my backpack, pretty big compared to even an ostrich egg. I reached out my nger to touch it. Yeoww! The egg was scorching hot. I felt like I should take it inside, so I ran to the garage and grabbed my gloves. This time, I could touch the egg without burning myself. I picked it up and carried the egg to my room. Wrapping the egg in my blanket, I hid the egg in my closet to keep it warm. For the next few days, I checked on the egg, warming the blanket and rewrapping the egg with it. About a week later, I was about to go and warm up the blanket when I noticed the egg had a crack in it. Then more cracks appeared. With a crunch, the top popped off. The whole egg collapsed, revealing a small, purple dragon. She had tiny horns, a pair of tiny wings, and big eyes. She stared at me endearingly with loving eyes, which I just couldnt resist. I scooped her up and gave her a big hug, and thats how Emi came to be.
THIS WEEK: Purple egg

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 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

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.
AND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM

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.
THE TURRELL FUND
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
SUBMIT: Write on your YWP account,

click prompt Farm13, or email sreid@youngwritersproject.org.

Contest details at youngwritersproject.org/farm13
Easter egg hunt

BY OWEN PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Ashley Warren/Essex High School
... OK, everyone! my mom yelled. Its time to start the Easter egg hunt! You all know the rules, but Ill go through them. 1. Have fun! 2. Do not steal eggs from another. 3. Have even more fun! Let the games begin! The whole party ran around my yard. I found 12 eggs when all of a sudden I spied with my little eye something purple. Im not going to make you guess. It was a big purple egg, one that I dont remember painting, and it was cracked at the top. I picked it up, and as I was just about to tell my mom, she yelled out, Times up! Count your eggs! I tried to tell her again, when the whole party was yelling numbers. 20 eggs! Haha, I got 30! Beat that! Well I got 31! This went on for about 20 minutes, when we found out the real winner only had 15 eggs. Some people are just so competitive. Anyway, I couldnt tell my mom since she had a party to go to, so I decided to keep the egg in my room. I decided I was going to work on my stupid math homework until my mom got home. Crack! I spun around in my chair. All of a sudden music started playing like: Duh, duh, duh, duh! and I saw a baby purple unicorn come out of the egg. I started freaking out, and pinching myself. I sat there in silence staring at the unicorn, and it was staring at me, too. Well, are you going to say something? the unicorn asked. You can talk? I questioned. Um... duh. Did you think I couldnt? Oh, and let me guess, you thought unicorns werent real too?
The Unipegagrifn
BY GRIFFIN KNAPP Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center It all started one hot summer day. I stepped outside and there it was. The purple egg,just sitting there, halfway out of the ground. I didnt know what to do, so I kept it. A week later, my egg hatched and out came twins, a boy and a girl. They had a horn, wings like an eagle, horse legs and a beak. And when they walked, rainbows formed behind them. I was so excited, I called Liam over... Liam and I came to the conclusion that we would call them Unipegagrifn because they were a mix of unicorns, Pegasus and a grifn...
Hatching a dragon
BY TAYLOR PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day when I was in my backyard, I saw a purple egg. I didnt know what would be inside so I kept it in my old sh tank and waited a while for it to hatch. When it did, I saw a newborn dragon hatch. At rst I was scared but then I realized the thing is only a baby so it probably has no idea how to breathe re, or y around, or even pick people up and bring them god knows where. I was wrong. The baby ew right to the door and set my door on re. It picked me up and ew me down the stairs... When it put me down I held it behind my back and prayed it wouldnt burn my hand as I ate. After breakfast it seemed to gure out how to crawl up my back and y me again and this time it brought me upstairs into my little sisters room. It dropped me right in front of her bed and nudged me toward her. I had just realized it was time to wake her up for school. I woke her up and I found myself chasing the dragon down the stairs to where he put her in the chair. I realized the dragon was being helpful so after school I trained it to do anything I asked it to, and it did until it grew too old and I had to set it free and hope it could nd where normal dragons go. I never saw it again but gured it was doing OK because it ew right through the clouds.
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
My new pet
BY KAYLAN HATHAWAY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center The world is in terror; all are screaming while my pet is by my side. It all started yesterday. I saw this big purple egg in my backyard. It started to crack, the earth shook, light shot out of the egg! It created an explosion so powerful that it knocked down the block, and the next block, and the next, and the next. Then this creature was left. I thought it looked cool and I gave it a name, Mr. Cuddles...
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Old wooden house

BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center You can hear the old crickety-creak of the little feet Coming all the way from the house at the end of the street And I can hear their words Through their dirty wooden door Even though theyre subtle and soft I can still see the shadowy gure from Photo 9 Carl Mydans, Hyde Park (Library of Congress) the top of the loft The fenced-out property Looking close to the verge of toppling The old wooden house You never heard anything from it except an occasional mouse
THIS WEEK: Photo 9 & 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, Photo 9; and General writing. To read more, go to youngwritersproject. org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
THE FARM PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGE
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

WIN $50 FOR YOU

AND $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM
WRITING PROMPTS:
Special thanks this week to VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
Memories
BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
I opened the creaky barn door. The windows were shattered. The air was thick with dirt and dust. I coughed and looked around. Five ribbons hung on a wall in an old stall that still had hay in it. Mice scurried noisily along the dirt oor. I looked at all the old shovels, hay, ribbons, pictures, and wondered who had been here. I could smell the leather of the saddles. I could hear the horses munching on their dry, crunchy hay. I could hear sheep crying in their long, loud voices. I could hear hay being thrown down from the loft, the pshhhhing sound of it landing on the ground. I saw a ewe pushing a lamb out onto a pile of straw and watched as it slowly and shakily got up. I watched a mare in pain, drawing slow, deep breaths until she was gone. I noticed children who used to live here, running around wildly in the empty stalls. I saw their mother milking a cow, her long brown hair pinned up in a bun, her grey dress cut above her ankles. I saw her husband in his tall black boots, plaid shirt, and blue jeans, shoveling manure. I saw their dog gazing down from the hayloft into a warm, spring day. I discovered a world forgotten and abandoned and felt the memories that came to life through my imagination.
SUBMIT: Write on your YWP account, click prompt Farm13, or email sreid@ youngwritersproject.org. DUE FRIDAY, APRIL 12
Contest details at youngwritersproject.org/farm13
Eve Pomazi/Brattleboro Area Middle School
Skin deep
BY ELLEN JOHNSON Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans
The old fellow

BY MICHAEL ADAMS Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center After school today, I went to the park and sat on a bench wondering about what Im good at. As I looked around I saw kids playing sports, people walking, some running... Then I saw a vehicle coming toward me. An old man got out of the front seat and sat next to me and said, How are you? I answered, Good, not really wanting to talk. Then he said something weird. What do you want to learn? he asked as he stood up. I thought, I want to learn what Im good at, as I looked around again. He waved his hand in the air and made all the bikes and toys dance, and I started to get frightened. Then he waved his hand at me. There now, you know what you are good at. Now go live your life and you'll know what youre good at. I got up and said, Thank you, and walked away.
CHAPTER 1
I bang my cold, depleted hand against the metallic wall again, desperately hoping for a rescue. My hands slide down the wall, sliding over every imperfection on the way down. When I woke up here, I quickly found out that the only way to escape was to look at the riddle. The only thing in this room that isnt made of cement. I roll out the rumpled sheet of parchment again and read, Nirvana, we already know your skin is tough but hopefully your brain is just as impressive. Figure out what lays skin deep, but tells more about you than your own mother ever could. Whoever is playing this game is expecting way too much from me. Digging my ngernails into my scalp, I fall on my knees. My head is dragged to the oor; gravity wants to take a crack at my sanity as well. Curled in the fetal position my locket creates a loud metal clang when it hits the ground. I almost forgot about it, the metal piece of jewelry
that held my strength. My ngers clutch onto the locket and pry it open, revealing a picture of my father. If there was any reason to keep a strong head it was him. I manage to gather myself enough to stand up. I need to look at my surroundings in a more analytical manner before I try and decipher the riddle. Im in a room with three huge metal walls and one wall that has a square mirror stretched across its entire surface. There isnt anything special about the stiff fold-away bed so the only object in the room that is questionable is the mirror. I roll out the rumpled sheet of parchment again and read it. But why a mirror, in an enclosed room? It just doesnt make any sense. I slap my forehead when I realize how stupid I was. The clue talks about my skin, something that is skin deep, and theres a giant mirror in the room. I walk over to the mirror and start eyeing my body, this has to be the way out. Well theres nothing on my face or on my neck... I pull down the shoulders of my shirt to see if anything is on my back and there it is, square in the middle of my back. I take off my shirt in a hurry and its right above the white line of my cami; a simple black tattoo. How can that be there without me knowing?
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject. org/node/77890.
NEXT PROMPTS
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 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, from any angle. Due April 5
Photo 10 Katy Trahan/Essex High School
Package in the mail
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 FRANKIE RICHARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
I wouldnt shake it... It might be a puppy. I wouldnt kick it... It might be a person. I wouldnt throw it... It might be breakable. I would open it... It could be anything.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

WIN $50 WITH A MATCHING $50 FOR A FOOD OR FARM NONPROFIT OF YOUR CHOICE
Forever Corona
BY BECCA FAUTEUX Grade 8, Faireld Center School Monday morning. Always one of the worst parts of the week. Although today was different. It seemed way too dark to be...8:30?! I leapt out of bed, my blanket trailing behind me. Fell down the stairs. Rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl of Cocoa Puffs along the way. Nobody else was around. Whats up here? I limped to the living room, still hurting after my fall earlier. Snatched the remote. Switched on the news. A total eclipse of the sun greeted us this morning... and is still going. Our moon has slowed down enough that it stays in front of the sun for... who knows how long? Certainly an eclipse for the record books, people, the anchor explained to me. A solar eclipse! This, I had to see. I jogged outside and sure enough, there was the bright blue corona showing me all its heart-stopping beauty. I almost cried at that moment. Just then, my family all came out from the garage. I wanted to wake you up, but you seemed peacefully asleep, so we left you. By the way, they canceled school, my mom explained, hugging me at the same time. I kind of like life this way. Im ne with an eclipse 24/7. Just ne.
PROMPTS:
Special thanks this week to PHYSICIANS COMPUTER COMPANY
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
HOW TO SUBMIT: Use your YWP
account, keyword Farm13, or email your entry to sreid@youngwritersproject.org.

Contest details at youngwritersproject.org
Love in a box
BY SOPHIA CANNIZZARO Grade 7, Homeschool, West Glover I eagerly rip off the tape and open the box, being careful to keep my weight on the stool, so as not to fall in. The box is full to the brim with packing peanuts. Oh good, I think. I can make some beanbag chairs with those. I dig through them, waiting to touch my surprise from Gram. She always buys me really expensive, nice stuff. I dig and dig, but I dont nd anything. I nally dump the box over and crawl inside, trying to nd whatever is in it. I cant. I dump all of the packing peanuts out, and there isnt anything in the box except a piece of paper. I look at it, hoping itll be money, or a gift certicate. But no. It is a drawing, very good, by Gram, and a word. Love.
Audrey Dawson/Westford Middle School
Dark sky
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center The dark sky ignites the day A dull, shimmery gray A cloud covering the sun A nightmare coming undone Never will it rise again I can almost see a glimpse of light now and then A burning hole inside of me I need the sun and I think youll agree We need it back To ll this sky of black Without the sun, well freeze So, sun, come back, please
Mine
BY SUMMER GETTY Grade 8, Faireld Center School I can see the headlights as they get increasingly closer. I start to read the letters on the side. UPS, I read out loud. My ball of excitement grows. I know its my package. Ive been waiting for this far too long. Ive got it. Only one long stripe of tape keeping me from my package, no one elses. Mine. I carefully peel the stripe off, not needing to read the name of whom its from. Its from my older sister. I havent talked to her for years. She always sends me a package right before school. It contains school supplies, clothes and a bag. Its not much to get excited over. It reminds me that she still thinks about me. She cares enough to send that package every year, once a year.
Wake up the sun

BY ELIZABETH SIMPSON Grade 7, Troy School I woke up one morning and the sun didnt rise. Nor did it the next day. What happened? Did the sun disappear? Did it not want to rise? Is it hiding? Thats when I found out it was still asleep I realized thats why the moon was still out. Now what can we nd to wake the wonderful summer sun? We can bring all the little children who want to play and run in the hot summer sun out and have them do as they do every day to cheer the sun up. For it to rise, theyll have to scream and holler.
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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
NEXT PROMPTS

Luminous
BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero I chose to interview my friend Jean Luc Dushime. He escaped the Rwandan genocide in 1994. He lives in Vermont. This is the story he told me: He was walking through the woods in the Democratic Republic of the Congo with his family. It was midnight and they were escaping by moonlight. They were hungry and exhausted. Suddenly, they came upon a uorescent forest. Everything was glowing from the ground to the tops of the trees. Everything was a cold, bluish-green, glimmering color. The ground was glowing. The bark on the trees was glowing. Maybe it was aliens, they thought, looking at each other. It was a break from all the misery they had endured. For a brief time, the magical forest helped them forget the horror around them. Its something hell always remember. Maybe theres a reason those trees glow, he said.
THIS WEEK: Surprising & Photo 8

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, Surprising: Ask someone you know to tell a story youve never heard; and Photo 8. Read more 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
Sunset
BY MACKENZIE LAMOTHE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I see the sun setting, Which I wont be forgetting. Blue, orange, yellow and pink, All of those beautiful colors mixing, Makes a fabulous sunset, I think. While I watch it go down, I see the light draining in this little old town. I hear the frogs croaking, sounding as if theyre choking. Sunsets like these only happen once in awhile. They give everyone in town a big happy smile. Now the suns going down, and its getting late. My mother will be worried, and I know there is a cold dinner plate. Waiting at home for me is a fresh cup of tea. So I better get going before the night wind starts blowing. I hurry up and eat, then get into my clean bed sheets. I start to fall asleep, and dont make a peep. I just dream about that beautiful sunset.
Special thanks this week to FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Running
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I run barefoot on the concrete The black tar staining my feet The wind brushing my face Running with erce grace The clouds washing away the sunset As the birds y away The distant light Giving me something to ght On this bending road of life My shawl acting as a kite My personal runway ready for me to take ight
The boy on the bench

BY TAYLOR PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day, when I was walking down the street, I saw a kid sitting on the bench waiting for the ve oclock bus. I strolled over to him, and he picked up his head, revealing a big scar down the left side of his face, going from his forehead to his chin. I jumped back in shock and asked him what had happened. He told me a big story about how he was on the subway two months ago with his parents when it crashed. His parents died, but he lived and ran away and had been living on his own ever since. He got money from his parents bank account by using the ATM because he took the ATM card before he left the subway scene. I felt badly and told him he should go to the police and say he had no parents. That was when he ran away, and I tried to chase after him, but after I ran two steps, it was too dark to see which way he went. The next day I drove to the police and reported him. The police showed me pictures of different kids to see which one I was talking about. The last one they came to was the boy on the bench. The police had a shocked look on their faces and said, Were very sorry, maam, but that little boy died two years ago in a subway crash.
Katlyn Schmigel/Essex High School
Finish line
BY KRISTEN BELL Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Sweat falls down my face, my head pounding. I can be very competitive when I want to. And I do. Its draining all of my energy, but I need to win. My legs tell me, No more! But I keep going. The only cool I get is the wind rushing past me, and theres not much of it now. The nish line is close. I can barely see its words written in bright colored letters: Finish line! Finally I pass the nish line. My coach greets me with a high ve and an icy cold bottle of water. I drink it slowly, not wanting to waste its refreshing taste. I won!
Determined to y
BY JENNA LAWRENCE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I woke up one day thinking, I can y if I put my mind to it. Anything can happen! So I went for it. I leaped to the sky and I was going, but then I fell on my face. I didnt get it. I put my mind to it, so why didnt it work? Well, I guess we cant y without a little help, I thought. So I needed to get some. I ran down the stairs and into the livingroom where my brother was laying on the oor playing video games. I walked up to him and asked, Why cant I y? He looked up at me and stared, trying to hide his laughter behind a dry smile. We cant y! You should know that by now, so leave me alone and stop being stupid! So that was stupid. It didnt even help. I ran upstairs and cried. But then I ran, ran away with my scarf behind me, yelling, I will y! I will y!
Photo 8 Kayla Rideout/Essex High School
NEXT PROMPT
Outrageous. Write a story that begins, This is the funniest story Ive ever heard Alternate: Thirtyve. You wake up and you are suddenly 35 years old. What is your life like now? Due March 15
Happy endings
THIS WEEK: Bottle, I believe & 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, Bottle: You nd a message in a bottle. What is it?; I believe...; and General writing. To read more, go to 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.
BY LAUREN FORCIER Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
I believe in happy endings I believe in broken hearts mending I believe that everyone needs an idol I believe and hope that one day no one will be suicidal I believe we can end world hunger I believe that one day people will embrace getting old and stop trying to be younger I believe in my family and parents and that one day bullying will stop and no one will be transparent I believe in being honest I believe in trying my hardest I believe that everyone will have a friend And that no one is left hanging in the end I believe in myself I believe that one day knowledge will be wealth That is what I believe and for years to come No matter how much people pester me and say Im dumb I respect you as you should me Because that is what I believe
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Presented by Young Writers Project and Vermontivate the sustainability game for Vermont communities
Special thanks this week to JANE B. COOK CHARITABLE TRUSTS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Three wishes
BY SOPHIA BLOUIN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Four things
BY BEATRICE HAWKINS Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I believe in peace, faith, hope and joy. If we didnt have these four things, what would we be? Without peace, our world would be like Iraq. Without faith, our families wouldnt care about the people ghting for us. Without hope, we wouldnt care about anything or hope for anything. Without joy, what would be happy in our lives? I hear people say, _____ brings me joy. If we didnt have joy, the quote would be, _______ brings me nothing. Believe with me.
When I was visiting my grandparents in Florida we went to Cocoa Beach. It has white sands and a beautiful ocean. When I was walking on the beach by myself I tripped on something hard. I picked it up and it was a bottle with a note saying, If you come to this beach all week alone, then I will come and grant you three wishes. I hesitated because it could be a murderer or a serial killer, but I agreed to come back. The next day I came back to the same beach to nd the bottle full of money. I picked it up and read the note. It said, Ahh, I see youve come back for more. Each day you come you get rewarded with 1 million dollars, but if you dont come back to this same beach at the same time, the 1 million dollars you were supposed to pick up on your way wont be rewarded. I paused for a minute and continued on my walk. The next day I came to get the 1 million dollars and I was thinking that there might be a serious consequence if I forgot to come and I just wanted to enjoy myself in the nice weather, but I collected the money. And the next day I remembered to go to the beach, but I felt greedy. Maybe I took too much. Maybe I dont need this money to be happy. So I didnt go to the beach for the rest of the week and I realized that life isnt about being greedy. Its about being happy with what you have, not with something you bought. Money cant buy happiness thats what I learned from my vacation to Florida.
Lindsey Stuntz/Woodstock Union High School
My land of dreams
BY SUMMER GETTY Grade 8, Faireld Center School I believe in a place far, far away where you are left to play throughout the day. There is no rain in this place nor anger in this place; there are only dreams at the base. This place is the land of dreams, a land that anger cant burst at the seams. No one is allowed inside. No one can make me decide. I already know this place all too well as though this is where my true self dwells. At night when I close my eyes I know with my wandering mind this place is true; this place is my land of dreams. This place is mine.
Easy to break
BY ADSEL SPARROW Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center I look around. Is she here? I casually step out of the stall. Then I hear her. Youve been gone for the last 12 minutes. No one is ever out of class that long. Youre such a loser. Shut up, I mutter. Dont be rude to your superiors, Linsey. Why are you rude to me, but I cant be rude to you? What do you mean? Never mind. I try to walk around her, but she blocks my way. Scooch! I shout. Why should I? she yells. Then Im on the cold tiles of the oor. A small stream of blood is beside me and she starts to talk again. So easy. So easy to break. Then she leaves. I sit up and I think to myself, Why? Why am I easy to break?
Captive on an island
BY TAYLOR PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day while I was walking on the beach, I saw a bottle. It was a beautiful blue vase with some ne paper inside. I pulled out the cork, held the bottle upside down and a note slid out. I unrolled it and it said, Help! Im being held captive on the south side of an African island. I have no clue where, but I have my old compass and I know I am in the south. If you are reading this, I seriously need you to go to the cops or the president ... I am chained to a tree and I cant see past the fog on the water in the distance. Please! I need help. I can guarantee this is not a fake note... I was shocked so I showed my mom and she said we needed to go straight to the police, so we packed up all of our things and got in the car...
Change
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I believe in change and being rearranged Hope and peace And letting innocent people be released Caring for others, thanking my mother Being thankful for what I have And trying to not be bad In being me and trying new things like tea I believe in loving life Because were not a cat with nine lives And one day I will die and when that happens I want to die knowing that I had a good time
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

Robot rhyme
THIS WEEK: Vermont Writes Day

Hundreds of students, teachers and school administrators participated 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, Robots: But that all changed when the robots came... and Farming: Write about a farm or farmer you know.Read more at vermontwritesday.org and at youngwritersproject.org .
WRITING CONTEST
Vermont students in 7th and 8th grades: Write a short essay about an amazing school meal experience and win prizes! One winner from each of Vermonts 14 counties. Find out more at hungerfreevt. org or email contest@hungerfreevt.org.
BY RILEY GAMACHE Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Once upon a time, long, long ago, people were safe from their head to their toe. Humans were calm and lions were tame, but that all changed when the robots came. One rst showed up and came now and then, and then there were 2, 3, 4, and soon 10. But something went wrong and the robots turned mean. The creator then realized he needed to stop these machines. He lunged for his computer, and glanced at the screen. He saw the robots numbers shoot up to 18. He unplugged his computer, which shut the robots down. He was happily surprised that the robots all left town. The creator soon went up in fame, and thats the story of when the robots came.
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The farming boy

BY COLE BOUDREAU Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center I live in a town called St. Albans and I farm cows, bulls, sheep and chicken. Its pretty hard around here and I work alone. I have a big barn, built a couple years ago. I wake up at 6 in the morning.
AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
Robot hearts
BY RACHEL ANN LAVALLEE Grade 10, Milton High School I have a heart Living Pumping blood Through my body Down my arms To my head To my legs Flowing Giving Oxygen But that all changed when the robots came They were steel Moved with jerking motions They dressed the same Looked the same Ate the same food And when they spoke It was in unison When I touched them They were cold And I wondered how their blood could ow Through screws, nuts, and bolts I placed my hand over their rib cages To see how their heart worked But I felt nothing There was no beat Just a hardened battery Matching where their heart should go I looked into their eyes Staring at me Dead Unseeing Their eyes never focused on my face But the hinges on their mouths Opened slightly Hungry I pressed my hand to my own heart I looked at their faces They needed this more than I did I had a heart Until the robots came But they were hungry And so I gave them each my own And now I have hearts everywhere
Lambing
BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero It was a cold December morning. Our ewe, Miney, was about to give birth. For the last ve months she had been getting ready for this day. She was agitated, laying down and getting up. Suddenly, a clear sack appeared at her back end. It came out slowly and burst on the oor. Miney turned around and started licking the steaming uid (this is what ewes do before giving birth they can smell their lambs) and cooing to her lamb. The lamb was presenting normally. With its legs and head pointing straight forward, Mineys rst lamb started to enter its new world. It took only seconds for it to be born. Miney stood up and licked the lamb with her dry tongue. It was a boy and we named him Christmas. All of a sudden, Miney started to twirl in circles (a sign of discomfort and another birth). She lay down and got up and another water bag started to spill out. It broke all over the barn oor. She licked it up quickly and lay down, pushing. We could see the back legs of a lamb. Usually, if a lamb is backwards, it can be a big problem. But Miney kept pushing and heaved the lamb out. A girl. Creme. Seconds later she started pushing again! We had been expecting twins. She surprised us and Coco, another ram lamb was born. Miney got up and licked off the last two lambs. We rubbed all of them off with warm towels. We pushed the lambs gently toward the teat to start sucking the warm colostrum and milk. Colostrum has antibodies and nutrients to give the lambs a healthy start. This was a birth where everything went well, but there are plenty of difcult and hard births. Hard births take a lot out of you and make you worry about the ewe and lambs. I love sheep because they all have different personalities. I love watching for the signs of labor. It makes me very excited and a little nervous. After so many years of lambing, Ive gotten very good at predicting when births are going to happen. Farming is important because caring for animals keeps you connected with the outside world and nature.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Alia Jenkins/South Burlington High School
Vermont farm
BY NICHOLAS A. VOYER Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center A farm visible through the window of my house keeps me thinking about how it produces most of the healthy food that is in our pantries and cabinets. I think of this often, and think of how grateful I am for the people who put time and effort in keeping the farm in good condition. I thought of going down there to help the man with his work one day, and caught him in the elds giving hay to his cows. I asked if I could be of any assistance with his hard work, and he was more than happy. We stacked hay in the barn for about an hour when we both started feeling the effects of the warmth of the summer.
Farmer Ladd
BY SEAN HONSINGER Grade 6, Swanton Central Elementary School I know a farmer named Farmer Ladd. He lives on a farm with cows, pigs, sheep, goats, chickens and horses. If we did not have farms, there would be no dairy products or meats. I have worked on a farm before. It was cool to be able to see and experience the different kinds of animals. But it was also not that cool to have to clean up after the animals and bring them inside and milk the cows twice a day and to get the eggs from the chicken coop. Farming is a hard job.
NEXT PROMPT
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. Follow any strict rhyming scheme. Due March 8
Wish Id been told

BY HILARY DEVARNEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I wish when I was 5, my parents had told me Play-Doh wasnt good to eat and dont try to learn how to ride a bike on a steep cement hill. I wish when I was 5, my parents had told me not to try to cut my own hair and not to use permanent red marker as blush on my cheeks. I wish when I was 5, my parents had told me not to try to y off the porch roof or give my cat a bath. I wish when I was 5, my parents had told me not to use the good dishes for a tea party with the dog or try to dress up the cat like a baby.
THIS WEEK: Reection, Photo 7 & I like

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, Reection: What is something you wish youd been told when you were 5?;Photo 7; and I like... To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
Time
BY HANNAH EARL Grade 8, Faireld Center School Not many people think about time. Not many people watch a clock and study each tick and tock. The two hands moving together, until nally aligned and then moving apart again. Time is everything. If there was no time, there would be no Photo 7 Brady Bessette/ Essex High School deadlines, no years, no days, and therefore no us. Time keeps everything together. Such a simple thing that plays such a big part in our world, but no one seems to care. Everywhere I look I see time. Time is never gone, we go to sleep and time keeps going. Time is restless. No matter what happens, time stays strong, Never late nor early. Time keeps us organized and together. We always know exactly what time it is and can trust that it is right. Time is a shoulder to lean on, Always honest, always right. Time is everything.
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All the stress

BY AMAYA MORFIN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center When I was 5, I wish I had been told about everything I have to do today. I wish I had known that Id have to do homework and wake up early for school every day. I wish I had known that I have to do certain things for others that rely on you. I wish I had been told about all the stress and responsibility that will only increase as I get older. I wish I wouldve known that you have to deal with people you dont like and drama you dont want. I wish that someone had told me that nothings going to get easier. But I guess that if someone had told me, it wouldnt have mattered because I wouldnt have experienced it yet to know.

OF
UNITED WAY CHITTENDEN COUNTY
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Two hands
BY HELEN BARROW Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center I am a clock And I go tick tock. I have two hands But I have no arms. But dont you worry I do no harm. My big hand Has all the strength and power. But my small hand just keeps going By the hour. The big hand is quite fast. If they were to race, The small hand would come in last. Now you have to meet my friends That help me tick tock, Half past, Quarter past, Quarter to Oclock.
Growing old
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Jenna Rice/The Sharon Academy
I wish I had been told That I would grow old And I wouldnt stay a kid I wish my parents told me that when I was 5 But they never did Now Im big All grown up I no longer use sippy cups In just one year Ill be in high school Im way beyond preschool I dont mind that Ive grown But I still do wish I was told That I would grow old
I like winter
BY TIM KENNEDY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Im not your standard person. I like the cold mountain air, the smell of the snow, the soft swishing of snow. I love winter and winter loves me I can tell by the way the snow falls long and plentiful. I like the frost on the window. I like the chill on the chairlift, but resent it at the same time... I like that one bead of sweat that rolls down your jacket and reminds you of the work and pain it takes to nd the perfect run. I love when you cant see ve feet in front of you because of the snow. It reminds me that humans are not the only thing in this universe. I would think my favorite thing in the winter is icicles that hang down a cliff. But all things must come to an end, just like winter. When summer comes creeping along, a part of me dies but I dont hate it, just a new part of me comes along the summer me. Its nowhere near as fun as the winter me.
Singing in the eld

BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero I like dancing to Indian and modern music and moving to the rhythm of the beat. I like spending time with my family, being together, doing art projects, playing games, and taking care of our animals. I like singing outside in the eld behind my house (where no one can hear me). I sing for hours in the summer and watch the sun until it moves behind the trees. I like the taste of chocolate melting on my tongue, the avor lasting only a few seconds. I like (and love) my birthday, getting older, earning more privileges, getting taller than my parents, and eating cake. I like challenges and accomplishing hard things: entering writing and art contests, writing a novel, public speaking. I like drawing, letting my pencil ow around the paper like a bird ying. I like winter (when its not freezing) and the soft uffy snow on the ground. I like being with my friends and doing fun things with them.
NEXT PROMPT
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 happens? Alternates: General writing; or Photo 9. Whats the story? Due March 1
Bully runs away

BY MATTHEW KONRAD Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center Anger rushes over me and instead of ghting or blurting out dirty words, I walk away. But the bully comes back and bullies me more. I am more angry than I ever was, but still, I do not ght or say dirty words. I keep my cool and say, Stop it. The bully looks even angrier. I turn pale. I freeze. I am nervous. Everyone is a bystander and that makes me feel alone that word rushes in my head and I stop. Then I notice. I do not feel so scared and I say, Yeah. Stop it! with great power. The bully runs away with a mad face, but I am happy.
!
Photo 9. Hyde Park, VT, Aug. 1936 Carl Mydans (Library of Congress)
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Casualties of war
THIS WEEK: If only, Invisible & 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, If only...Write about a situation in which you wish you had done things differently; Invisible: Imagine being invisible for a day; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Perfect world
BY KRISTEN BELL Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
BY KEVIN YEUNG Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
I stepped down on the old, wooden oor boards without making a single creak. Distant explosions rumbled in the distance. I waited. Seconds later, the entire house shook violently; dust ew from the ceiling, settling gently onto the oor. The shaking stopped, and then I continued walking down the stairs. At the bottom, I heard a faint crying. A mother and two kids sat in a corner, huddling and sobbing. I walked over and stood beside them. They didnt move or give any clue that they knew that I was there. All of them had the look of fear in their eyes. The little girl, her eyes all red and swollen from crying, was hugging her moms arm. The boy was silent, staring right through me as if I werent there at all. He had the look of vengeance in his eyes, along with a twinge of bitterness. The mother hugged her daughter and tried to comfort her son. She looked helpless and dejected. The mother glanced at me and I froze. But then I realized she wasnt looking at me; she was looking at the closet door behind me. I walked over and threw open the doors. I nally understood why they were so depressed. An old uniform, helmet, and gun hung on the rack in the closet. And there was a torn hole in the uniform.
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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
If only the world was perfect, I would be so much happier. And so would all my friends. Bullying would cease, judging would disappear, and everything would be ne. No one would get tired of each other; wed all be grateful for one another. No one would be annoying. And it would all just be love and kindness. No one would be left alone to sadness. But the world isnt perfect. Its cruel, mean and selsh. We take things as if they are our own. We judge each other. And all the mean girls and boys never stop their mean words and hurtful looks. The world will never be perfect, but cant we at least try? People have been trying for years. And yet, not for one day in all of time has any day been completely perfect. I think the world needs to try harder. I think the world needs to get rid of and throw out all the nasty things people do. We need to practice things that will help all of us, not bring others down. Im sure everyones seen something bad happen to either them or someone else, so why do we let it happen? We need to mend the broken hearts that shattered because of our own selshness. We need to practice helping and listening to others before ourselves. So, this is my advice to you: Lend a helping hand, always.
Invisible for a day

BY BRITT DAVIS Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center Invisible for a day, what a thought! Wonder if anyone would miss me. Probably not... I would be a little y on the wall, watching people walk down the hall. All my friends would wonder where I would be. All the chit chat would be about me. I want to tell them, Im here! But I wouldnt do that, my dear.
Is anyone there?
BY TAYLOR PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center If I trip over my own feet, will you be there to retreat? If I get a bad grade, will you take me out of the shade? If I need a friend, will you be there until the end? If hurt comes along, will you keep me strong? If I feel left out, will you take me with no doubt? I ask you these because I am stuck in a breeze that takes me the other way, and I just need to stay.
Coyote Farrell/Richmond Middle School
How I regret
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center If only that horrible thought wouldnt keep attracting my brain like a magnet. If only I hadnt looked back. If only I hadnt followed the pack. I couldve been happy instead of unhappy. Oh, how I regret following the crowd and never being proud. I would go back and x all those mean, nasty tricks that I let slip by me. Oh, if only.
Ice storm
BY MEGHAN CONNOR Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day after school I was going to the bus, when an announcement came on that said people who live on French Hill and Faireld Hill had to be picked up in the front ofce. Luckily my dad was at his ofce down the street, and he could pick my brother and me up. It was all ice on the hill. There was a line of three cars, and we were the fourth. The rst car went up the hill and the second car waited for three minutes. Then the third car went up the hill. My brother had a game at 4:30 and it was 4 oclock. We had to go and get my mom at the house. Next, my dad started to go up the hill. He waited a little longer than the other cars did because we couldnt see to the top of the hill. Finally, we were at the top of the hill. We made it. Yes!
One thing
BY JENNI DELARICHELIERE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center If only I hadnt said that one thing. If I hadnt said that one thing, we would be closer together. We would still be friends, best friends. We would still have sleep-overs, go to the movies and much more. I wish I hadnt said that and we didnt have that ght, and have that silent treatment. It was hard to see you in the hallway and you would look away from me, and people would ask, Whats wrong? And I would just say, Nothing is wrong, when something was wrong. We were friends forever until we had that ght. I would do anything to reverse time and take back what I said and the ght we had. To me, we will always be best friends.
Theyll remember
BY SOPHIA BLOUIN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
If only some things had never happened. But if they hadnt, most of my future would be changed. You dont realize it now, but how you act and present yourself is how people will remember you. They will remember you as a kind or selsh person. A mean or sweet person. People dont forget about you. They will remember you, and just as you.
NEXT PROMPT
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
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Snowy hill
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I ride to the top of the hill I hope on the way down I wont have a spill I slide off the chair The steepness of the hill I can hardly bear But I breathe in and start my journey I race down the hill My face burning from the chill But still getting quite a thrill In my head thinking Ill never reach the bottom But nally I come to a stop Out of breath I take a few steps Right back into line As I ride the lift just one more time

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, Photo 6, below, and General writing in any genre. To read more great student writing, go to youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
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All the bad things in the world

BY KYLIE TRIMM Grade 5, St. Albans Town Educational Center I breathe in And with the air, A realization hits me Like I have been slapped. Hard. My world is crumbling around me, And with every step I take, Another person seems to feel pain. I want it to stop. I need it to end. For them. For everyone. I see a mom, with her baby, Tears streaming down her face, Hands shaking so hard, I thought the baby would fall. I hear the baby crying, And then, all of a sudden, The cry stops. The mom stops, Then cries hard, And hugs the baby toward her. A beggar on the street, So skinny, he could snap If you poked him. He stares at me, Breathes in, then out. But his breaths Seem unnatural. I kneel by him, Tell him everythings alright, But he knows it isnt. He smiles and says, I havent eaten anything in a week. Havent drank in two. To some, life is a treasure. To others, life is hell. No one ever looks at me, Never takes a glance. God has let me down, Angels never came. When I leave, I will remember you. He smiles and his hand goes limp in mine. One step at a time, I think. Always breathe, remember to blink. Life is a lie. The skys never blue. But I knew the beggar is wrong. Someone is here for us. Talking to us. All we have to do is listen.
Special thanks this week to ORTON FAMILY FOUNDATION

PHOTO 6
Empty resort
BY TAYLOR PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day my friends and I went to the place where we always meet, the old resort. We call it the old resort because the sign at the entrance is faded due to about 30 years of snow and sunshine and not being tended to. We dont know what its actually called. The place has been empty for years. We were all talking and giggling when suddenly a shadowy gure came out from the woods and said to us, Get out of here before they get you! He started chasing us until we were out of the resort and he told us not to go back and then we heard him scream. We all ran home, but the next morning we arranged to go back. We did the same thing and we saw the gure again, except he looked freezing cold and couldnt talk very well. But we made out some words that he was saying: leave, tear you apart, woods, monster. That was all we needed to make us want to go see what this gure was trying to hide from us. We left to go see what it was. We heard the gure say, woods, so we were guessing that the thing was in the woods. We heard footsteps but they didnt sound like they came from the shadowy gure. We kept walking and we heard the footsteps getting louder and closer... To read the ending of this story, go to youngwritersproject.org/node/74646
Photo 6: Tower 22, Looking East. Mad River Glen Jet Lowe, 2006 (Library of Congress)
The doe
BY JENNIFER DELARICHELIERE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center It was a beautiful morning; the sun was peeking over the mountains, the air smelled crisp and fresh, the birds were chirping. It was peaceful. A little doe, no bigger than 70 pounds, was walking down her favorite trail in the woods to an old apple orchard. As she was walking, nearing the orchard with all its nice, plump, juicy, ruby red apples waiting for her to eat, she noticed something had changed. It was as quiet as a mouse; the birds stopped chirping. She started to tremble. She was frozen to the ground. The doe started to ever so slowly creep away. She reached the apple orchard with its big, plump, ruby red apples. As she started to take a bite of an apple, she smelled a nasty, musty odor. Crack! A twig snapped in the distance. She turned as white as a new sheet of snow, and began to tremble and shiver in fear. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a
glare of light, it was the scope on a hunters rie pointing directly at her. She bolted to the entrance of her favorite trail...Bang! She jumped out of her fur as the bullet hit the apple that she was about to eat. She was out of sight when she heard another shot hit a tree. The doe was leaping back to her herd. Once she reached her herd, her muscles started to relax. Her herd was deep in the woods where no hunters could be found. She was safe.
Friends
BY ELINORE VRANJES Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Forever Respect Imagine Excitement New Delightful Silly
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.
NEXT PROMPT
Package. The UPS truck arrives with a huge box addressed to you. Whats inside? Whos it from? Alternate: General writing. Due Feb. 15
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Snow angel
BY CAMERON ERNO Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans The white needles fall from the sky stinging my face and my eyes. I walk along the monochrome eld, inhaling the Ice while my lungs freeze over The searing white of the ground reecting the glare and shooting it at me My exhale exists but my presence is not The ice lls my boots, my gloves My hat and my coat as well The numbness and the Tingles turn into throbs The life of sorrow must end The weather shows discrimination to no one Making cheeks and extremities numb and Red I dust the akes off my skin I shed my shell and become bare Laying in the stunning white As the monochrome eld devours 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.
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.
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.
Forgotten by them all

BY AARON CLARK Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans The icy gale whined outside, the winds whipped at my soul, slowly changed my beating heart into a block of ice. The punishing cold kicked and beat me slowly into submission. Mother nature, taking out her fury upon mortals like Poseidon on cursed Odysseus. Father time continues his monotonous creep forward, leaning heavily upon his scepter, unconcerned with my trials and tribulations. For even though they have forsaken me, I anxiously await Demeters return and the end of winter.
THE TURRELL FUND
Puppet
BY MARIAH BATHALON Grade 8, Troy School Have you ever thought about how a puppet would feel and what it would be like if it could talk? Well, I used to question that until one day, it came true. I was walking downtown to my job as a puppeteer. Jolly day, I would say. My morning was going like any other. I would get to work, struggle to nd my keys in my bag, always get the key stuck, walk into the back room, turn on the radio, then go and admire my puppets. When I walked into my workshop, things just didnt seem right. It seemed that things were out of place. I usually clean my workshop before I leave, but it was a horric mess. Did I get robbed? I walked around the workshop, investigating and creating different scenarios of what could have happened. I decided I would open a little later and tidy up. I went to get my broom and started sweeping. When I found one of my puppets hats lying there, I knelt down to pick it up. It was Sir Georges hat. Well, that is weird, I thought. How could his hat be lying here? Its almost as if he had come alive and walked around the store! But that would be absurd; I mean come on, get real. So I pondered and pondered. Finally I approached the room where all my puppets lived and then I saw it. My puppets were having a party. I dropped the broom immediately. All of the puppets stopped in their tracks and so did I. Sir George and I stared at each other for maybe 10 minutes when nally Amelia Bobila spoke up, Are you guys gonna talk or just stand there like a bunch of doofuses? I closed my mouth and gulped hard. I slowly walked toward the table and Sir George straightened himself out. I reached the table and knelt down. I looked at all of them astonished, amazed, scared. Lea walked towards me; Lea is my new puppet. She touched my face and said Hello, thank you for adopting me from my biological family; they didnt treat me very well. I looked at her, a little scared but touched. Aw, youre welcome Lea, anything for you, I said, my voice kind of shaky, trying to wrap my mind around my puppets being real. She slowly brought her hand from my face and walked away. I stood up and looked back at Sir George. He looked at me, looked away, then looked back at me. So what do you think? he asked. I took a deep breath, It is going to take me a while, but I think I can handle it.
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.
Set our to the wind Emily Aldrich/Grade 7, Mount Abraham Union Middle School
January thaw
BY CAMERON BEATTIE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center January thaws are not cool at all. You miss the snow that falls and falls. Since when does a Vermont winter feel like spring? I feel like the birds have come back to sing. Leave Vermont and never come back. We need our snow to get back on track. January thaws, January thaws, I do not like you ... at all!
Stranded
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I let the smooth yet frightening air absorb me My mind lost at sea My eyes locked on the sinking boat My legs keeping me aoat Dont be afraid, a great poet once wrote But thats nearly impossible In fact it is not possible Simply stranded out here all alone The sky turning a shaded tone I feel a brush at my feet Luckily its just seaweed The water -32 If I dont die, Ill surely get a cold or u Is that a rescue boat in the distance If they dont hurry Ill no longer be in existence But nally theyre here The salty water dissolving my tears Rushes into a room Medicine as my fume I awake to a toy boat on the table Just looking at it makes me unstable But I do have my land legs back Sometimes I stumble, but cut me some slack Never will I swim in the ocean again Ill just stay in my tub instead
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
Dreams
BY KAYLAN HATHAWAY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Come with me to a magical place tons of monsters that you can face but if thats not your thing we can go slow sit down and watch this wonderful show spaceships, ying and adventuring you can do all of these things so come with me and you will see we will split you at the seams time to look inside your dreams
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Blood owing
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I hang upside down, letting the blood rush to my head Hanging by only a thread My hair bleach blonde and thin And pointy as a pin Flows down to the oor Deep into my core My face as blank as paper In a state of mind One of my own kind Is fragile and pale It looks very stale My body is numb Some people call me dumb Photo 5 Anna Mechler/Essex High School Because I let the blood rush to my head And now my face is bright red I cant feel my legs, my feet or my toes My mind has dozed My legs slip I do a ip And I land hard on my face My heart is beating at a fast pace But then I get feeling through my body Im still kind of groggy

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 prompts, Photo 5: Write a story or poem based on this photo; and General writing. 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

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.
Cold as death
BY MAYA VIENS Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans Huddled tight in neon fabric Scuffed up boots stained with salt mismatched mittens This is my armor against the cold So different from the skins my ancestors wore wrapped up in the dead Ghosts of wolves nipping at their backs I ruin the akes of white diamonds with my dirty print White to black Diamond to dirt They cry out for mercy under my step but I give them none I am too cold to care freezing, shaking, shivering My ngers and toes feel dead Blood rushes to my midriff to protect my heart from Jack Frosts teeth Jack Frost is beautiful glistening, sparkling, pure an illusion of beauty that fools fools Underneath the white gemmed wealth is the grim hiding, waiting, salivating for his next victim
Special thanks this week to A.D. HENDERSON FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Absurd photo
BY MARIAH BATHALON Grade 8, Troy School This photo is absurd. Ha ha. You dont know if she is upside down, or if she just has a lot of hair gel or hair spray in her hair. Then she kind of has a smirk on her face, but kind of not. I know if my hair were like that I would be smiling. In this picture she looks like she is sitting on a porch because of the background. When I looked at this picture for a long time, I stared at her face and for some reason I tried to picture her being bald, which isnt a bad thing, but thats all I could picture. When I am upside down, my eyes go up and my mouth stays right open, big and wide. I get a headache the longer I sit there, seeing the world in a whole new perspective. When I am upside down, I always laugh, and everything is a whole lot funnier than usual. I wonder if she is the same way? Her hair looks blonde, and usually blondes have blue eyes. So thats what my hypothesis is. In the picture she looks about 11 years old. She looks like she isnt really the sporty type, maybe a book worm. If my guess it right, she and I are nothing alike, which isnt a bad thing either; maybe we could end up being friends, maybe not. She looks like a girl who likes being outside, and maybe she rides horses. That would be something to bring us closer. When I am hanging upside down, everything ips. I wonder what her landscape is. And when I am right side up, ants are really puny, but when I am upside down, the ant is as big as a chair would be when I am right side up. I wonder why there is such a diversity of size?
Tick, tick, tick

BY GRIFFIN KNAPP Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Tick, tick, tick, cant wait until class is over. Man, today I got so much homework. Tick, tick, tick, 30 years later, Im thinking in my head, I dont want to die here in my bed. Im going to do something with my life. Im going on an adventure with my wife.
Buttery
BY KAYLAN HATHAWAY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Oh hi, oh hi, little buttery, Your wings as blue as the morning sky. As you y to and fro, I say, bye you, for I must go. Oh bye, oh bye, little buttery. All I want is you to y.
NEXT PROMPTS
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 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 you do? Due Feb. 1
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Unsaid
BY AVERY MCLEAN Grade 7, Lake Champlain Waldorf School Intricate designs oat to land Softly on my mittened hand. The snowakes move to rest on the Barren earth, waiting to Blanket the brown in a Quiet mantle of Unbroken white. My breath drifts upwards, Creates mythical creatures Against the dusky evening Sky. A rabbits tracks wind Unmoved up the trailing Wisp of a path ahead of me. Another soul walks next to me. Though my eyes are unseeing, I can sense the presence of another. There is no need for speech Everything is a clear poem in this Winter realm of Beauty.
THIS WEEK: 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 prompt for General writing. To read more great writing, go to youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
Knee-deep in snow
BY AJ CADIEUX Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center
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Sleep tight
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I press my face against the chilly glass Time goes by so fast I just want to freeze my brain My face leaving a stain, an imprint on the door Staring at it thinking, theres so much more My slim body t to perfection My hollow eyes lled with empty cries My knotty hair, dull and bare Judging myself is making me tired So good night Sleep tight
First snow
BY GRACE BATES Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Snow falling from the sky The rst snow of the season Oh, how nice it is
Wish theyd told me

BY KELSEY SWANN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Something I wish someone had told me is to watch out for drama in middle school. I wish someone would have told me this because all the drama right now is ridiculous. There is no point to it. It just makes the world more complicated and more people become enemies. I strongly dislike drama. It makes people feel bad and it worries people. Drama includes rumors, and sometimes drama turns into bullying. Nobody likes to be bullied or pushed around. I have gotten pulled into situations, but I have learned to stay away from it. Its best to stay away from drama. You dont want to get too close to people who have a lot of drama in their life because youre probably going to get pulled into bad situations. I just wish someone would have told me middle/high school drama is horrible.
Lights of winter
BY EMILY ESANCY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Lights are glowing bright the moon shining through the clouds white sparkling snow
When it snows, it makes me feel like Im in another world. I look outside and I see white stuff covering the ground, the trees, and the cars. I run upstairs to get my snow pants, gloves, hat, jacket and boots. Then I get my shovel and my sled. When I step off the porch and sink kneedeep in snow, I struggle to stay up. I have a hard time walking through the snow with all my snow stuff on. I nd a good spot and start making a snowman. I get a snowball and roll it until it gets really big, then I put it where I want it. I make another snowball and roll it about half the size of the rst. Then I put the smaller snowball on top of the big snowball, and I have the bottom and the middle of the snowman. I make another snowball and roll it not that big and put it on the middle snowball. I get two sticks, a carrot, a scarf and a hat, and I put them on the snowball and I have a snowman. I also like riding my snowmobile all winter long. I like riding on the ice then I can whip the back end around. I also like ice shing. When I ice sh, I sh in a shing shanty. I like checking the ag lines because you put live bait on the hook and then you wait. When I wait, I usually ride my snowmobile around the lake. These are some of the things that I love about winter.
NEXT PROMPTS
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 Invisible. Imagine that you are invis ible for a day and could be anywhere at any time in history, witnessing without participating. What do you see? Alternates: General writing; or Photo 7. Write a poem based on the photo above. Due Jan. 18
Mary and the genie

BY SIERRA LAW Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Once, long ago, legend said that if you found a genie in the magical forest, you would get one wish granted. As everyone knows, the magical forest is located in northern Canada and can be reached only by the toughest and strongest people. No one has tried it, but it is because only a few people know about it like Mary, a 7-year-old who is mostly good and is very intelligent and knows just about anything. Mary lived near the forest, and planned to go there to fulll her wish of becoming a genie herself and granting other peoples wishes.
Read the ending of this story at youngwritersproject. org/node/75063.
Girls locker room

BY TAYLOR PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Its smelly Makes me sick to my belly All the perfume More like fumes I open the door And want to drop to the oor I need fresh air I cover my mouth with my hair Im almost done getting dressed And I do my best To crawl out the door
All is white
BY NICOLINA CZEKAJ Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center All around is sparkling, dazzling white snow. As it drops down from the sky in great big snowakes, all is white. The clouds above are big, grey shapes, shooting out the remains of last years snowman. I sigh and sit near the re. How cold this winter can be.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Liu Brenna/Essex High School
No crying
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.
Brothers guidance
BY KRISTEN BELL Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
BY CAMERON BUSHEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Once my brother and I were sledding and I took a little tumble. I was a lot younger then and I began to cry. My brother looked at me and said, Stop crying. You should only cry when you are in extreme pain or youre heartbroken. Not when you fall off a sled. Ever since then I try not to cry unless the situation meets those criteria. The lesson was not just about crying; it was about being mentally strong. That is one of many lessons my brother has taught me.
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Meeting Santa
BY TAYLOR PELKEY Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day, there was a little girl named Katy. Katy was 7 years old and her dream since she heard about Santa was to meet him. On Christmas Eve, she woke up super early just to nd no presents under the tree. Katy was very upset. Katys parents came downstairs and said that Santa probably couldn't nd them, like last year. Katy didnt believe that, but she went back to bed, like she was asked. She woke up to the sound of a big, Ho Ho Ho! She rapidly ran downstairs to see the man himself, Santa Claus. She ran over and gave him a hug, and he said, Whats your name, little girl? She responded by saying her name and explained to him that her parents said that he couldnt nd them. The big jolly old man just laughed and said, Yes, that is true. Last year was Rudolphs bad year. He was not able to nd a few people. But this year, I will make it up to you and give you a special little gift. Whats that? she asked. Here, I want to give you this, he said, handing her a small gift, wrapped perfectly in a pretty pink box. Katy tore open the paper and opened the box to see a little Christmas light that would light up if you believed in Santa. It was from the North Pole. After Santa put all of the presents under the tree, he jumped back up the chimney and said, Have a Merry Christmas! And he ew away on his sleigh pulled by numerous reindeer.
VERMONT COUNTRY STORE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Dark and cold, thats all I felt. I couldnt sleep, so I went out the door and wrapped myself in my coat. Walking slowly and quietly to the deck where our pool used to be, tucking part of the back ends of the sweatshirt behind me, I sat down. The softly calm breeze rushed past my hair and left me behind. The moon was almost completely full. I heard footsteps behind me. I looked over my shoulder. Cant sleep? he said. It was my older brother Preston. No, I muttered softly. I didnt feel like talking; I loved the silence. Do you want to talk about it? His voice echoed in my head softly. The truth was, I did, but I didnt want to talk; Id write. Do you have paper? Id rather write it.... He walked away, and called over his shoulder, When I come back I will. The silence showed itself again. Its voice whispered in my ear, quietly, softly, then whisked off into to the calming air. The footsteps reappeared. He was back. Got it. He brought a whole stack. He knows me so well and yet I only tell him things about once or twice a year. He knows once I start writing I have to keep writing; I have to create that moment Im telling him into a never-ending story. Then after a while, meaning an hour or two, hell make me stop and tell me what I can do to end it in a positive way. When he gives advice on how the story should end, hes also giving me advice on my life and how I can change it, make it better. Okay, I whispered again. I began to write about a girl, who happened to be me, but I dont use names in these stories, I never did, never will. It all happened when a girl walked into a room.... I wrote for about 55 minutes. Then he made me stop writing. He read over it and then said this simple sentence. Im sorry... I guess all you can do is not do what they did. And now I dont.
Its about family

BY CAMERON BEATTIE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
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.
YWPS DECEMBER SLAM

YWP, 12 North Street, Burlington Friday, Dec. 21, 7-8:30 p.m. See you there!
Dont get me wrong, I love Christmas: the vibe, family, friends, food and, of course, presents. But really what is Christmas about? Celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. These days I see this whole hype of buying presents, sales for Christmas, Black Friday, getting your Christmas tree, all these things that people stress about for one day that just blows by, oh so quickly. Imagine a Christmas where it was just a day off to celebrate with your family and friends the true meaning of Christmas. I mean there are people who dont have anything, and they still might have a wonderful Christmas because they believe that family is all you need. And yes, the presents are very nice, but that is not what Christmas is about...
Believe in magic
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I wrap the presents one by one Christmas brings so much fun Making cookies, oh so yummy Singing carols that are funny Making a list, checking it twice Sending it off into the night Meeting fun elves Who create mischief all by themselves Believing in magic A Christmas classic What joy It brings to get a new toy On December 25th
City life
BY GRIFFIN KNAPP Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Its so crowded down in the city, so crowded, people ask for pity. As I look to my left, I see a bank robber running from his theft. I take a gander to my right, all I see is cars jammed oh so tight. As I decide Ive had enough of the city life, I head back home to see my kids and wife.
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.
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The woods
BY EMMA HILL Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center A special place for me is safe and all alone. The woods, I might say, is a place to call my home. The fallen orange leaves crunch beneath my toes. A secret place I go, no one ever knows. Cool, fresh air I breathe. Wind whips through my hair. The darkness is now coming. Its dinner time, I swear. I turn to walk back home, Covering my trail. If someone nds my special place, My face just might turn pale.
THIS WEEK: Favorite place & Photo 4

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, Favorite place: What is the special place where you really like to be?; and Photo 4. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
Something to say
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Three-thousand pounds on my shoulders, the weight of a huge boulder. I support the family and Im only 6 years old. But these are my duties, Ive been told. I work in the elds and sometimes in the mine. Working at this age should be a crime. I am quiet and shy but thats because all I can do is cry. I wish my family was rich so I wouldnt have to work when Im only 6. But fairy tales dont exist, so I just sit here in silence and wait for a better fate.
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.
The place where Im most comfortable

BY TYLER LAROCHE Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center Im an ice hockey goalie. One of the positions we have to be in is the buttery. We have to go on the ground and have our stick in front and put our knees together. I feel comfortable because we have to do it so much in games and practices. It helps me in the game with low to medium shots where I can block them away. Im getting better at directing rebounds. I need to test the position every game to stop shots. An improvement I could make to it is closing my knees all the time. You have to stand really tall to stop the shots and thats where I feel most comfortable.
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The long and dusty road home

BY AUDREY DAWSON Grade 8, Westford School I remember the day when my usually jolly, worry-free parents changed slightly. The rst signs of the change were with my father when he came home, dusty and tired, from his work in the Oklahoman elds. The gritty breeze created when he ung the door open abruptly made our re icker. When my mother approached him with her customary smile, he kissed her quickly and then whispered ercely into her ear. Her smile disappeared as she took his dusty basket, storing the vegetables and money away. When I ran to my father with my arms outstretched, he returned my affection with a clumsy, half-hearted hug. Mom cooked dinner as usual, but for the rst time since I could remember, the smell of burnt vegetables hung in the cabin instead Photo Prompt 4 Jack Delano, Dummerston, VT, 1941 (Library of Congress) of the usual sweet buttery aromas. Dinner was quiet, and afterwards, That night, my father didnt join us in my parents again spoke in erce whispers. prayer; he instead went straight to bed. I waited for them to come and pray with My mother stayed with me, and we whisme, but they didnt come; I fell asleep before pered our hopes and needs to the Lord, whom they nished their discussion. my mother assured me was listening. The next night, my father opped into bed The last thing my mother prayed for was before we had prayed. Mother whispered into my father: Please dont let my husband abanhis ear something that I couldnt hear, causdon his faith. She had her eyes tightly closed, ing him to get up, begrudgingly, urging us to and her lips were pursed. We need him to be hurry up the process. here. That day the wind had stirred up the dirt Then she rufed my hair and sent me off to outside, and, with every gust, dust clouds bed. I repeated her prayer in my bed: Please would sneak their way through the cracks in dont let my daddy abandon his faith. I need the walls. My mother worked frantically to him to be here! stop it. She stopped me from checking on the I wasnt sure what she meant, but I did chickens, too. know that the absence of my father at the My dad came home with a dejected look on prayer time was more shocking to me than it his dark face. He took his cap off and a pile of would have been if he had yelled at me. dust oated to the oor. My mother glanced Throughout the whole night, the dust up from her work of stufng the cracks and continued to seep through the cracks; even my they shared a sad look. mothers cleverly crafted wet-rag plugs didnt My father held up a basket of vegetables, stop everything. This is it. I couldnt sell anything today, and I The next day the wind was mild when I barely made the quota for the month. woke up. Mother continued her work, never stopping My parents started to get ready to head into to kiss him. I, however, ran to him, and he town. I gathered the eggs, but my mother, who gave me a strong hug. It was enough to make usually trusted me with the basket of eggs, me feel safe again, even though they were took them from me before we left. very distraught and worried. I dont want them to break! One less egg
Alaska
BY KOLBY CHURCH Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center I would love to be in Alaska. I love Alaska because it has a lot of big game. I love hunting deer. I love how there are a lot of mountains and huge animals there. I would like watching animals eat and go to their den. I would like going in a tree stand and watching deer. I would see lots of other animals like elk or wolves. I would be very cold there because I live in Vermont. I have only been hunting for three years and I havent shot anything yet. There are not very many places to hunt in Vermont, so thats why I want to go to Alaska to hunt and see deer.
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 these words, I believe. Due Jan. 11.
sold equals less candy later! she whispered softly into my ear. I was quick to hand them over. Then I was ushered out of the door, and we were on our way. A brisk wind was stirring the trees, but there wasnt much dust. I felt safe, although my dad seemed especially distressed. When we reached the town, we set up our little station and waited for customers. We spent many long hours in the dusty streets, and only made half of our usual weekend sales. We still had lots of vegetables. My parents were desperately trying to make some last-minute sales, but the people that passed were irritable and hurried, and continued to answer negatively, or not at all. So, we put away our wares. My parents split up the money between them and we all headed into the general store before going our separate ways. The rst thing that always greeted me when I trotted into the store was the candy counter. It held jars of brightly colored sticks and pops. My mother glanced at it when we entered, but hurried to other shelves to stock up on basics, such as cornmeal, our, sugar, and dried beans. I was surprised that she didnt ask me for help carrying the food when we headed over to the register, but I was quickly distracted by the surrounding piles mouth-watering candy. I placed my small hands on the glass and stared. My mother smiled at me, and asked me what I wanted. I told her that I wanted a chocolate bar. She paid the grocer quickly and, in return, he handed us a small bag of butterscotch penny candy. I know how much you enjoy this! He winked at me. And thanks for paying, he whispered to my mother. There are lots of people in debt; they say theyll pay and I dont want to be the mean guy, but times are tough for me, too. She smiled grimly and pushed me out of the store, the cheery bell ringing as we exited. When we got out, I ripped into the bag of candy and popped one into my mouth. It melted on my tongue and made me forget any worries. Thank you, Mommy! I said to her. She nodded, but her thoughts were elsewhere. When my dad came out of the store, he had a small cut of meat packaged in his arms and we headed down the long, dusty road home, keeping our noses and mouths hidden. It was our only option if we didnt want to become sickened by the dusty breeze, although I believe that even if it had been a nice day, my parents would have walked in silence.
A winters day
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
WINTER TALES
Dec. 5-9 FlynnSpace, Burlington
Dont miss this holiday tradition, which includes a selection of writing from YWPs Winter Tales prompt!
A gray sky plain neither dark nor light Snow piling in drifts seemingly soft puffs weighing down branches of trees Flurries pirouetting in whirlwinds I trudge down a deserted icy road dodging parties of snowakes and walk into an abandoned garden Lifelike statues covered in white gowns welcome me Fiery red cardinals startled by my presence y into nearby trees Glittery, sparkling akes of snow decorate plants long gone by I shiver as darkness approaches and think of home and the taste of hot chocolate
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.
The brothers
BY DESIREE LYNN TARDY Grade 10, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
Birdseye Foundation
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Snow angels
BY LIAM CALLAHAN Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center The snow is falling all around It chills the air and cushions the ground I put on my coat and my snow pants I go outside and the cold chills my hands I fall on the ground and make a snow angel This kind of fun lasts throughout the ages I see the hill and begin my ascent I sit on my sled and start my downhill descent It covers the treetops, this white, soft stuff This blanket of powdery white uff I hang up my wet clothes And put on new I heat up some cocoa I sip it slow Theres lots of wonderful things in this world And my favorite is snow, snow, snow
It was the kind of day when the weather was not cold, the weather was brutal. School was canceled, the car was buried up to the very top of the tires. The kids were restless and wild, wanting to explore the white wonderland outside. The wind cracked against the side of the house and the ice froze against the glass, creating patterns. They traced the window with their ngers. Mommy was sleeping. If we snuck out, Im sure we wouldnt get caught. Mommy sleeps like shes dead. The two little brothers cocooned themselves in various coats and scarves, and two sets of mittens. Mommy would be mad if they didnt take proper care of themselves. With the icy snow nipping at their noses and ngertips, they played, the snow whirling around them with a mind of its own. The littlest balled snow in his hand and sent it towards the oldest right in the chest, and he barely felt it. Ha ha, he scoffed. He sent one toward the youngest. The youngest took the hit on the nose, and his little gloved hand covered the small bruise. A numb nose and the snow from their mittens added to that nipping numbness they each felt. The snow was stained under the youngest with red little drops, and hot tears melted onto his cheeks. The oldest went to get Mommy. He was full of panic. Once Mommy xed up the youngest, she scolded the two brothers for their behavior.
Soldier without a war

BY AARON CLARK Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans Muscles strained, Spine aching, still marching dutifully onward, a soldier without a war. Shovel in hand, he charges forward, forward toward the icy walls of snow that conne him. A triumphant battle cry erupts from his mouth as steam bellows with every hard-fought breath. He will escape this prison of snow and ice today and every day hence. Until his jailor retreats into spring, he will charge, shovel in hand, onward, a soldier without a war.
Ill call it swosh

BY EMMA TETREAULT Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center Something is happening. Im not sure what. It looks like heaven is falling, but I dont think thats possible. Is it? Youre right, it isnt heaven falling, and maybe its my imagination, but it seems so real. I touch it. Its so cold I pull away, but then its gone, melted on my hand. I dont know what it is, but I know Im going to nd out. I decide to go out into the mesmerizing wonderland outside. My bare feet touch wet, cold ground and I stop because its so cold. I move quickly to a new spot that surely will be warmer than my other spot. But its even colder, and behind me my feet leave exact replicas of my feet in this weird white stuff. I think Ill call it swosh... Read the ending of this story at youngwritersproject.org/node/73562.
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.
My tales of winter
BY SABRINA BRAULT Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans Window panes frosted over, cold noses turned red Get up and pull yourself right out of bed Warm bundled feet hit the cold hard oor Not wanting to move at all anymore Walk down stairs, meet a cold empty house Everything here is quiet as a mouse It seems to me like no one is home
I know that I am most certainly alone Open the door to greet a wall of cold The chills go down to the bone like Im old Standing outside scraping the car Out there for hours not getting too far Bruised bottom from slipping on ice These ones dont feel very nice I feel like I do that quite often Maybe my landings I need to soften The cold winter weather isnt my thing I wish it was something about which I could sing At the moment I dont want winter to come I wish it would just stay deep in its home
Is it raining there?
BY SABRINA BRAULT Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans
THIS WEEK: Alone

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 20 other newspapers. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompt, Alone: I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear... Finish the story.Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Another world
BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Homeschool, South Hero I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear. Alone. The word pierced me. Alone again like a wound reopening. I turned and heard the dark house whispering. I listened as the chandelier clinked and swayed, knowing that I was on my own in the haunting world Of spirits. Of grief. Of magic. I watched as cars came and went in the stillness of the night. I xed my eyes on a shape lying on the road. I knew I was one of them now. Alone in a world of sadness. Mist swirled and formed shapes of others who had lost their lives. I stood in the center of the room, rooted to the spot, watching for hours, lost in memories. Flooded with grief. Never to be seen again.
I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear. Even though it was six months ago, the memory is still vivid. The images lay hardened like cement inside my brain. My brother stood there, clad in camo, as the rain fell down around him. He was tall and lean, towering over me, although Im not so tall myself. He wasnt only tall in height. I also looked up to him, which made him feel larger than life itself. He was always my protector and friend. His deep blue eyes always had some hidden joke. Even though his shaggy brown hair normally covered his eyes, once you saw them, it was impossible to forget them. I miss my mop-headed brother... He returned from the barber with a haircut high and tight just like the lifestyle he chose. The scar on his forehead from falling out of a tree when he was six was clearly visible now. It used to be hidden by his curly hair. I stood in the doorway, tears owing down, meshing into the gently falling rain. My eyes stung like I was cutting onions. My brother was like the doorway, the sturdy foundation of my life. He had always held me together when I wanted to fall and crumble. He was my glue. He stood there for one last time and smiled at me. My heart cried out in anguish. Its too late. Hes already gone. The tail lights faded into the fog until I couldnt see them anymore. They disappeared right along with my brother. I can still hear his laugh; the look in his eye assured me that there was always a joke or prank brewing. There will not be any more bad rap music pulsing down the hallway. I will miss that steady down beat that is my brother. There will be no more sweaty gym clothes taking over the laundry room, their smell dispersing down the hall. All that is left is an empty room down the way, occupied with an immaculately neat bed and curtains on the windows. His room is now sacred. No one goes in. The door stays closed as if to keep him safe. The dull bitter silence brings all the emotions back at once while a single tear slides down my cheek, escaping the wall I try to put up. I continue to stare out the window, longing for my brother to come home. I sit and watch the rain hitting it, the drops running together and owing off like time. All I can think of is him during these dark stormy days. I wonder if its raining there.
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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
If you were here

BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear Now its all so clear Youre really gone It feels all wrong I wish you were here Your leaving was my biggest fear I know Im strong Life will go on But if you were here I wouldnt need to shed a single tear
Lost
Jamie Ferguson/Milton High School
BY ELLEN C. JOHNSON Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear. When the car rst started up, it reminded me of all the road trips taken with him, and how theyll never happen again. The tattered bits of my heart chased after it like a ood of ants racing toward a sugar cube but they could only run so far. Left in the cold dirt, they fell down and cried. I lost him; its unfathomable to think hes gone. The raw emotion gripped my throat in a surprise choke-hold, leaving me struggling for air. In between gasps, my eyes began emptying their watery souls down my face...
Read the ending of this story at youngwritersproject.org/node/73033.
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.
The nal curtain

BY NICHOLE M. REED Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy St. Albans I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear. The glowing eyes eventually blinked out into the darkness, leaving me feeling more blind than ever. I rested my forehead against the glass, convincing myself that I enjoyed the cool surface on my skin. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Unexpectedly, a lump of emotion made its way into my throat and I swallowed convulsively, forcing it back down. I opened my eyes again, afraid that theyd sting with unshed tears. They didnt. Looking back out the window, all I could see was the darkness and a reection of myself, made deformed and elongated in the foggy glass. I wondered if it was the real me trying to get back inside the house. Is this what my family sees? A monster, hiding alone in the mountains, so that she never has to see an outsider again? I tilted my head to one side, even as my forehead stayed pressed against the window.
Me, alone
BY VICTORIA BLAIS Grade 8, Troy School
I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear. From the quietness of the attic you could hear the dirt crunch under the car as it pulled away. I turned away from the window only when the trees that framed our long driveway hid the car when it turned the corner. The attic was void of colors. The dolls I played with had black hair and white or gray dresses. The wallpaper, which shouldve been replaced years before we moved in, had various odd unexplainable stains on its oral print. I placed my hand on the bronze doorknob, not having the will to open it just yet. For I knew when I opened it, the only thing that awaited was me, alone.
I heard the strains of Sinatra make their way down the hall to my room. And now, the end is near, and so I face the nal curtain... I scanned the snowy driveway, searching out the small indentations left behind my parents red Chevy truck. I panicked when I couldnt nd evidence of their visit and wondered if it was all made up in my mind. I felt the pounding of my blood in my ears, and my chest ached from my hearts exertion. I couldnt breathe. I saw a single tire tread amongst the white...
Read the ending of this story at youngwritersproject.org/node/73023.
NEXT PROMPTS
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
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Inside my head
BY KATHERINE MILLS Grade 8, Troy School Inside my head I close my eyes, inside my head I change my mind, living a secret I must hide. Inside my head clear teardrops I cry, maybe a smile will arrive, or at least some time to try. Inside my head I close my eyes, laughter and smiles may surprise, no worries, no cares, just good times. Inside my head I try to scream, sick of seeming strong but being weak, trying to escape from this bad dream. Inside my head I close my eyes, lost in music, calming me down, the past is gone, so take your time Inside my head I want to be me, but is that me okay to be? Will that me be accepted? Inside my head I close my eyes, inside my head I try to hide, inside my head I want to cry.

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 3; and General writing in any genre. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
Remembering pain
BY LIAM BIJOLLE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Cover your eyes, she said as she guided me through the doors. As soon as I uncovered them, I was in my room. Why dont you lay down for a while? whispered my Mom. I was very dizzy and it was blurry. Everything was ashing. She slowly led me to my bed and helped me up onto it. She left and said she was going to grab me a glass of water and an ice pack, but Im not sure, I cant quite remember. I didnt know what the ice pack was for until suddenly I let out a scream of pain, Aaahhhgggh! My eye was swollen up big and it was throbbing. I had a very sharp pain in it, then I covered my eye with my hand and when I pulled it away it was covered with bright red blood running down it. I felt like I was going to pass out. I tried to stay awake, just ghting it, but it was too hard. I just gave up, stopped, just lay there and gazed at the ceiling, then the color slowly started fading and my eyes closed little by little. I was asleep. Later, I woke up with a melted, drippy ice pack on my eye and a wet bloody towel next to me. My Mom must have cleaned up my eye while I was asleep, but it still hurt just as badly as it did a couple of hours earlier, before I fell asleep. I got up and walked over to the mirror in the bathroom down the hall. I saw my eye in the mirror. It looked horrible.
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MAIN STREET LANDING
PHOTO PROMPT 3
Ended
BY AVERY MCLEAN Grade 7, Lake Champlain Waldorf School My beauty clashed With the craziness of the world, A brush stroke of sense Across a vividly wild sky. In the reective ames, I could see my fear. My fear was my weakness. I was afraid that You would stop seeing my beauty. Because sometimes when I am scared, My beauty is hard to see. The ames swallowed my fear, Devouring it hungrily. They needed that fuel In order to burn. My fear was my ending. It took over my beauty.
NEXT PROMPTS
Karlo Fresl/Essex High School, 2011
The race Inspiration

BY OLIVIA NEWELL Grade 10, North Country Union High School Inspiration is Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato, One Direction, and Playback. There are many others, but those are the top four people/groups (bands) I automatically think of. Justin Bieber is an inspiration to me because he was once just a small town kid, but now hes a huge superstar. That just proves that you can go from having nothing to being one of the most famous and rich people out there. Demi Lovato is an inspiration because shes been through so much and shes continued to stay strong through all of it. One Direction is an inspiration because theyre condent and they know how to make people feel good about themselves and theyre just wonderful, down-to-earth guys. Playback is an inspiration because they were thrown together as a band out of the blue and they managed to get over 1,000 fans in less than an hour. That just proves that nothings impossible. BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I jog in place, Warming up for this race. I take my position on the starting line. I hear the whistle blow and I know its time. I run as fast as I can. In my head theres a game plan: Push myself no matter how much I want to slow down. If I win, Ill be so proud. Out of the corner of my eye I see another runner. I speed up, then I hear cheers. Ive done it, Im here. You won the race, My brother in the stands cheers.
Gone
BY MACKENZIE LAMOTHE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Gone. Far away from home. Never turning back. Lost. Missing. Not leaving a single track. Not going to be seen again. Putting up a single st, being proud. But he is surely going to be missed.
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 about a product that you think must be changed. It can be real or ctional; or Photo 5. Go to youngwritersproject.org to see Photo 5. Due Nov. 23. 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
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Lessons from the sky
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 prompts, Flying: You are ying blissfully over the countryside. What do you see and feel? and General writing in any genre. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Peaceful again
BY SOPHIA BLOUIN Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center When you y, you y high above the sky and you look down upon the tiny little people walking and running. You hear nothing, nothing at all. Flying is a peaceful time, a time where you can think that its the only place thats quiet anymore; every place else has car horns, the rumbling of trucks driving by the toxic waste in the dump. Sometimes you just wish you could turn back the clock before the world had cars and anything noisy, just to have it peaceful again.
BY LIAM CALLAHAN Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center
On the ground you feel small and weak. But when youre ying, its something different. You feel like a god overpowering all others. It makes you feel special, like theres no one else like you. You feel invincible, like no one can take you down, like Superman has nothing on you. On the ground people try to make you feel like youre nothing, like youre powerless, but up here youre full of power and youre something, something great. The wind through your hair is soft and gentle. The birds are your friends. You see the Statue of Liberty and you really do feel free. On the ground you feel like somebodys always in control of you, but in the sky youre free, a cheetah in a eld, an out-of-control plane, a crashing bird. In the sky there are no limits. No limits to your strengths, no limits to your power, no limits for anything. Everybody looks at you and wishes they were you, but they shouldnt. Everybodys unique. I can y; you can run fast; you can stand up for yourself, and you are you, and thats what makes you great. The sky can teach you things. Youre beyond something; youre you.
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Feeling free
BY BROOK GENTRY Grade 7, Troy School I feel the breeze go through my hair like a wave of freshness. I look down from the deafening height. I am scared, But the adrenaline is at the same time exhilarating. I am free. The ground rushes past, the pastoral farms, the old houses, the little towns Turn into a blur of colors. The open smell of the countryside Makes me feel free. The rushing of the wind Makes me feel free.
Special thanks this week to VERMONT BUSINESS ROUNDTABLE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Up high
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I y I y up so very high I y over huge hills I see a huge farm mill I smell the morning dew I y like a ower petal Over deep green meadows Here is the calm countryside I y like an eagle in the sky
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? 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 below in poetry or prose. Due Nov. 23
Danielle Kracum, Rutland High School
It was all a dream

BY MACKENNA SHEA-SMITH Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center The wind blowing through my hair; Everybody stops and stares, Not having a care in the world. Screaming, Yelling is all you hear. You wake up lled with joy, But some sadness that it was all a dream.
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. Find out more at youngwritersproject.org!
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Part of the sky

BY ABHI DODGSON Grade 5, Home School, South Hero I feel leaping, heart-beating joy As I y through the brilliant blue sky Dancing and twisting up and gliding Down The beating in my chest is a feeling of pure ecstasy and happiness I spiral up and down and hug the clouds As my heart does another ip I oat over

The grassy plains And watch birds soaring, singing melodic radiant songs A bluebird drifts past me, the sky carried on its back I am part of the sky I see an open eld and swoop down, landing softly I let out a long, deep breath and inhale the wonderful smell of summer I look back at the setting sun And feel the stillness as the shimmering ball of light slips away behind The mountains
Anna Mechler/Essex High School
Haunted house
BY JULIA SCOTT Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center
THIS WEEK: Haunted & Candidate

ach 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 Candidate: Write a political ad for yourself. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
Vote for me
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Hello citizens of America. Im not here to make you vote for me, but Im here to make you want to vote for me. America is a place where everyone should feel safe. America is the denition of growth. Im here because all through my childhood Ive watched the presidential elections and Ive listened to the people. I want to be the rst woman president. Im here because America needs change and I believe Im that change. So dont vote for me because your friend is or because youre pressured into it. Vote for me because you think Im the change. Trust me. If you vote for me, Ill change America...for the better. Exercise your vote and Ill keep America aoat!
We stood in front of the old house at the end of the block. Come on, lets go in! I said, taking a step forward. No! Morgan said rmly. Why not? I asked. Because its not safe! There are ghosts! she shouted. Ghosts arent real! I said. Then why do people say its haunted? she asked. I dont know, I said with a shrug. Then it could have ghosts! she replied. Ill get you an ice cream cone if you go, I coaxed. Im not ve! she said, insulted. Ben & Jerrys ice cream? I asked, knowing no one can resist the power of Ben & Jerrys. What kind? she asked tentatively. Whatever kind you want, I replied, hoping that was the right answer. Fine, but if anything weird happens, Im leaving! she relented. Okay, then lets check the backpack. We have three full water bottles, a ashlight, a ball of yarn, walkie-talkies. Uh... I think thats all, I said. We walked into the house and looked around. It was stunningly clean and looked like something out of the 19th century. We continued up to the grand staircase. As we stood at the top, I thought a shimmering gure passed by. Hello? Is someone here? I called. Morgan looked at me like she had seen it too. It seemed strange that all her fears had been forgotten. I wonder... We walked down the hall until we came to a closed door. I closed my eyes and opened it. Nothing, no burst of cold air, no disembodied voice telling me to turn back, no ghost that I accidentally unleashed after 200 years in solitude. That was...not what I had expected at all, Morgan said, voicing my doubts. Yeah, I know. Lets go in, I said. So we did. It was like the rest of the house, well-kept, luxurious and decorated in an 1800s style. But, once again I saw a shimmering gure. This time it was sitting at the vanity and took no notice of us. Morgan said something under her breath that I couldnt really hear. I stood there watching the gure until it turned to look at us, then I shut the door and ran down the hall. Morgans voice startled me, She doesnt know shes dead, does she? Morgan sounded as if she might cry. Shes been living her life, stuck, thinking she still has a life to live! I sighed. Now that I had seen the young woman, I saw gures everywhere. Most were too busy to notice us, but some stared and whispered, a man dusting the mantle, some women sitting at a table talking, a young girl looking at me with wide, unblinking eyes. We walked into the dining hall; two maids setting the table, a dog leaping and trying to bite at the trays of hot food...Then the kitchen; a cook, her hair pulled up into a tight bun, a man cutting vegetables into a pot of boiling water. Stop! I thought, Why are you here? You dont belong here, intruding in this house! So, I left without looking back. It occurred to me suddenly that Morgan didnt follow me out. And that she was looking out of a second story window! Thats when it all fell into place. In all the years Id known her Id never been to her house, never met her parents, never seen her or siblings at school. I walked home and wrote it down. Thats what youre reading right now.
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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
NEXT PROMPTS PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Meeting a ghost
BY MACKENZIE LAMOTHE Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center
It was the night before Halloween and everyone was getting together to celebrate, so my friends and I started to play Truth or Dare. When it was my turn, Julia asked me, Truth or dare? Dare, I replied. So Julia thought. She thought and she thought. Ive got it! she yelled. I dare you to go to that haunted house down the street. No, not unless someone comes Kevin Huang/Burlington High School with me, I said. Congratulations to Kevin Huang, a freshman at Burlington Fine, then well all come with High School, whose photo was chosen as YWPs Photo of the you, said John. Week. Photographers and artists, send YWP your photos and OK, lets go, I replied and we scanned artwork for publication. Go to youngwritersproject. all went to the haunted house. org, create a blog, upload your work, choose Photo SubmisWhen we got there we heard sion as the genre, click Yes for the Newspaper Series, an owl. We crept up the stairs and and include a high resolution version of your work as a le knocked on the door just in case, attachment. but when we knocked the door creaked open by itself. Uu-uu-mmm guys, I shivered. Are you sure about this? I-I think so, replied Stewart. So we all stepped into the house quietly. Then we saw a stairway BY MACKENNA SHEA-SMITH and Julia asked, Should we go Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center up? Mhmm, we all stuttered. So Come on, guys, it will be fun! Maxi screamed. we climbed up the stairs and when Okay, okay! they all yelled back. we reached the top, I heard small I just stood there, thinking of all the things that could footsteps. I looked back; nothing go wrong. there. I heard it again and turned What if we get in trouble? I asked. around. Nothing. Do you guys Just come on! they all screamed. hear that? I asked. I slowly walked up to the front door of the creepy, Boooo! abandoned house. For some weird reason we knocked; no Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! we all one answered (of course). screamed. Maxi started to turn the doorknob. Ha-ha-ha. I scared yall. Just Creeaakkkk, sounded the door. letting you know you dont have to We walked into the house. be afraid of me. I just joke because Guys, lets leave! we all said. Im a ghost. I thought you wanted to go inside, Maxi said. Well we all kinda know youre We were wrong, sorry, we shrugged, and we all went a ghost, Julia said angrily. home and laughed it off. You know were talking with a ghost and its not all that scary, John said. Youre right! I yelled. I guess ghosts arent so bad after all.
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
Too creepy
Anna Mechler/Essex High School 2011
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.
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What is happening?
THIS WEEK: Observer, 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, Observer: You witness something frightening or wrong. What is your response? Photo 2; and General writing in any genre. To read more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
CELEBRATION OF WRITING
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. All young writers are welcome to join us for this free event. It will be a day of writing workshops, stories by entertainer Rusty DeWees and time with author Katherine Paterson. To sign up for workshops, go to youngwritersproject.org/celebration2012.
Wait! Stop! she shouts. I am scared. What had he done? I stand in the cold wind watching my breath form small, wispy clouds. I hear a distant scream and run quickly, trying not to slip on the icy sidewalk. Oh! Ahhh! Help! I shiver and feel heaviness in the pit of my stomach. What is happening? No! Silence. Then yells. I lean on the building trying to think this over. Chasing...screaming...was it a ght? I feel terried. Do I really want to nd out what this is? No, my brain shouts! Yes, my heart says, beating so loudly it feels like its trying to leap out of my chest! I am horried...worried...guilty. I should never have left home without telling someone. I run back the way I had come. I knock on a door loudly. A young man opens it. Exxxcuuuse m-m-me, I stammer. I saw...I heard... How do I explain this, I wonder desperately. Im sorry...good-bye, snaps the man as he slams the door. I stand there, then run to the next house, hoping someone will help.
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PHOTOGRAPHERS
SEND YWP YOUR PHOTOS AND ART!
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 the Messenger and other newspapers.
FAIRPOINT COMMUNICATIONS
PHOTO PROMPT 2
Gymnastics
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I mount the beam. Its like Im in a dream. My legs are shaking. It feels like my thoughts are scraping against my skull. I feel the judges eyes on the back of my neck. I hope they cant tell Im a nervous wreck. I prepare for my dismount. I take a deep breath. I run across the beam. I begin my double back ip dismount. All I can hear is my heart beat, Then I feel the ground. The crowd roars. I salute the judges with a big smile on my face.
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
Becca LeBlanc/Essex High School, 2011
A little bit of hope

BY MARGARET SLATE Grade 11, Peoples Academy Hope is a frail thing, Weakly supported By only wisps of emotions. Praying, grasping, Desperate to nd A ledge to cling to To keep from falling. Hope is a poor thing Banished by fear, Unwanted by happiness, Untrusted by grief And forgotten by anger. But hope is a strong thing. Because in the depths Of worry and strife, No matter how often we reject Hope will be there to guide us home, To clear the clouds, To warm out hearts, Because sometimes A little hope Is all it takes To save a life.
Natures changes
BY ESPEN PETERSON Grade 8, Homeschool, Jericho I stare at the blue sky and the rolling green hills. The change in the years to come gives me chills. Will the birds have evolved into moles? And dug hundreds of little holes To escape the thick green smog That hangs over us in a suffocating fog? Will skyscrapers have replaced the trees? And the elds resemble Swiss cheese? Will vegetation become a myth? Will the Earth become drilled out to the pith? Will it rain acid on our heads? And the ozone be torn to shreds? Will we pay any attention at all? To natures rise and fall?
Perfect fall day

BY LILY MERRIAM Grade 8, Peoples Academy There is not a cloud in the sky. Well, thats a lie, But almost the truth. Almost isnt enough. I can see a blue mountain across the valley. The trees are salted different fall colors: Yellow, green, red and orange. The old, rusty, speed limit sign supports my weight. I can smell. Fall, thats what I smell. Mud, the crisp fresh air, A perfect fall day.
Jack Delano, Dummerston, VT, 1941 (Library of Congress)
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Elevator music
BY SHANNON CALLAHAN Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center Elevator music surrounds me, Even though Im just going down, I see everybody from my town, Elevator music surrounds me, These people really like to talk, About the rain, the change and even about socks, Even the talk cant even stop, The pop, Of the elevator still moving down, And the sound, Of the elevator music surrounding me.
THIS WEEK: Elevator

ach 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.
Just chill
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center Once there was a woman named Megan who lived in New York in a beautiful penthouse overlooking Central Park. She was very busy; she worked in a publishing rm and was always working. One day she had just gotten out of work; she was having the worst day. First she spilled her coffee, then she printed out the wrong magazine for her big press conference, and then she got mud splattered all over her when she was waiting for her taxi. She was super busy, but she had to go change her lthy clothes for a fashion show she had to be at in one hour. And her apartment was all the way across town. Megan ran to the edge of the sidewalk and whistled really loudly. Then she heard a beep and up came a taxi; she quickly stepped in. Hows it goin? asked the taxi driver. Not good, said Megan, now step on it. Alright, alright, calm down. I dont need to calm down; now drive. The driver started blabbing about where he was from and a bunch of other stuff that Megan didnt care about... Megan was e-mailing like crazy on her phone so she didnt realize ...there was a trafc jam a mile long. Ugh, why does everything happen to me? growled Megan. Well at least you dont have it as bad as my uncle, said the taxi driver. He lost all ve ngers on one hand in a wood chopping accident. What does that have to do with anything? questioned Megan, irritated. I dont know, said the taxi driver. A half an hour went by before they were out of the trafc and at the apartment building...Megan threw some money at the driver and ran into the building ... She almost ran into the elevator door, she was going so fast. She was so involved in her work that she didnt notice when someone stepped in the elevator right before the door closed. Megan was still typing and didnt look up until the lights ickered and the elevator started to shake. Startled, Megan screamed. It was pitch black. Chill, came a voice from the corner of the elevator. Oh my gosh, said Megan. Im so scared that Im hearing things. No youre not, you old kook, Im real. Oh good. I thought I was going crazy, and for your information, Im only 24; Im not old. Thats what you think. Ugh, well whatever...we have to get out of here. I have to be at an important fashion show in less than a half an hour. Just chill. Just chill. Are you kidding? How can I just chill when I have so much to do. I still have to get showered before the show and do my makeup... Whoa, let yourself go, the man said. Zip it, hippie. Hey, we like to call ourselves people with relaxed souls. ...Megan blasted out in a wild rampage. I will not chill. I have a fashion show that I have to be at, and instead Im stuck on an elevator with a hippie. The man went silent. Megan sat on the oor of the elevator and pouted. You know if youre always involved in work, youll never be happy; you need a break; all humans do. Trust me. I know. I used to be like you...
Read the ending of this story at http://youngwritersproject.org/node/71103.
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

George and me
BY WESLEY BROWN Grade 8, St. Albans Town Educational Center
Special thanks this week to JANE B. COOK CHARITABLE TRUSTS
There I was, in the elevator, whizzing along quite nicely with George, the guy who lives down the hall in my apartment building. I had managed to avoid optical and verbal contact with him quite successfully when something happened. The elevator stopped. The distinct elevator noise stopped, the lights went dark, and the annoying elevator music muted itself. Oh god, why? What happened? George said. The elevator stopped. I said. But why? George inquired. I dont know! Maybe the power went out or something! I replied. But, but, why did it stop? said George. I just told you, I dont know! I said annoyed. Well, why dont you know? George asked. Because I dont know how an elevator works. But I thought you knew how everything works! he said No, I just know how airplanes work. And cars, sorta, I said Well, you told me you knew how everything works, he said with a sneer. I had had enough. I whipped out my cell phone to call the doorman of our apartment building. Hello? Andy said. Yo! Andy! The elevator stopped, and now Im stuck between oors 9 and 10 with George from 11c! What gives? Oooohhhhh, yeah. Thats a problem, isnt it, said the lazy doorman. Uh, yeah it is. Hi Andy! yelled George into my phone. How are you today? My ears were ringing. Dont mind him, just get me outta here! I told Andy. Ill call the re department or something. I dont know how an elevator works, to be honest with you. I could hear Andys chewing gum in the background. Of course you dont, I said quietly to myself. Ill call you back, once the re department is on its way. The phone clicked and he hung up. What were you and Andy talking about? George inquired, obliviously Ehm, maybe that were stuck! What else would we be talking about? I said loudly. Oh, you never know. You could have been talking about the game last night, or that new Mexican restaurant on Pine Street, or how annoying the Jenson kids are; the possibilities are endless! Not really... I told him. At that exact moment, my phone rang, dlingdling! dlingdling!..
To read the ending of this story, go to http:// youngwritersproject.org/node/71041.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

Every year, Young Writers Project 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. Special guests this year include entertainer Rusty DeWees, author Katherine Paterson and the student writers and photographers who are featured in the anthology! To register for workshops and to nd out more, go to youngwritersproject.org.
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.
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EVERY WEEK
Stuck with myself

BY MATTHEW SANDVIL Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center One day I found myself stuck in an elevator with myself! If you dont know me keep wishing that you dont meet me because...well, just keep wishing because this kid is hyper. Very, very hyper. You dont want to be near me in there. The rst thing I did was check if I was hallucinating, but I wasnt. This was real! I was scared! You know how in cartoons they move one way, then the other person does the same thing? Well, I think we kind of did that, although it wasnt as good as the cartoons. I was really surprised that he knew what to do. But
Im off topic. The rst thing we said was, OMG, I have a Doppelganger! Whats your name? The funny thing was we said it together. Then we both started to lol (for you old people, that means laugh out loud) which got us to start talking about stuff that I, I mean we, knew. Have you ever been in an elevator? Well, I grabbed the bar on the side and got my new friend to help me yank it off the elevator. We used the bar to break the ceiling and then he gave me a boost. I got out of the elevator; the nearest door was 7 feet up, so I had to climb the rope that goes to the top of the chamber. When I got to the door, I used the bar like a crowbar to open it. We got out and went home. Then we saw each other another time. You can guess what happened.
MORE GREAT STUDENT WRITING AT YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Castle of cans
BY MAYA VIENS Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans My sister and I had woken up fairly early that morning. It wasnt unusual for us to wake up before our parents did, which is why we were left to entertain ourselves. What we did next leads me to believe that when children are forced to entertain themselves, they are bound to get into trouble. I dont remember whose idea it was to start pulling cans from the tall, wooden cupboard in the kitchen. I also dont remember which one of us began stacking the small, silver cylinders, heavy to our young arms, on the yellow tiled oor. However, I do remember my feeling of amazement when I looked up at the tower of various canned vegetables and soups. I remember a hill of mostly green cans, with a few showing pictures of the yellow corn hidden inside or the orange of baby carrots. To my eyes, it seemed enormous. I felt very proud of myself at having built this brilliant castle. Of course I gave all credit of its magnicence to myself. I was the elder sibling, after all. There was an almost unlimited amount of cans in the cupboard, like a deep, neverending horde. My sister and I used every can except for the ones on the top shelf that we were too short to reach. After the can mansion was complete, we admired our artwork for some time. In this time we did not argue over the petty little differences children often ght about; and my sister did not attempt to bite me. Both were usual occurrences between us. I was particularly thankful for not ending up with teeth marks on my arm that morning. Our teamwork had us temporarily united. When we heard our mothers voice in the hallway we were both excited to show her what we had accomplished while she was asleep. With pride in our voices we called our mother at that time we called her mommy into the kitchen. However, when she looked at our creation, we did not receive the praise we felt we deserved. In a high-pitched voice that sounded like glass breaking and birds screeching, she yelled at us. My mother was absolutely furious, and I could not gure out what we had done wrong. Apparently the crime was deserving of a spanking. I volunteered to go rst because I prefer to get unpleasant situations over as soon as possible. I was pulled into the toy room, where spanking sessions were held. Then my mother lightly smacked my bottom a few times before letting me go. She didnt hit me hard, but I cried anyway because of the sheer humiliation. Pain I can handle, embarrassment I cannot. My sister was next to go, but she struggled to free herself from the punishment. She cried, and begged, and pulled, but in the end, she went through with the spanking just as I had. Afterward, our mother cleaned up our mess and made us breakfast. My sister and I forgot our suffering, and spent the rest of the day playing and ghting. Eventually the memory of that morning faded into the recesses of our minds. The memory still lies at the back of my mind, like an old, broken toy found at the bottom of a toy box that is no longer of use.
THIS WEEK: Remember

ach 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, Remember: Write about your earliest memory. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
Crash
BY MCKENNA BESSETTE Grade 6, St. Albans Town Educational Center I yawn loudly. Its Friday, 11 p.m., and I want to nish my book so badly but Im so tired. My book will just have to wait until morning, I sigh. I lay down and reach behind me to turn off the light. Then my room is pitch black but its the opposite of quiet. The wind whistles outside my window and I hear my father come up the stairs. Then I hear a crash and faintly hear my mom say, Call 911, I see smoke. That catches my attention enough to get out of bed. I walk outside my room. I see my mother and hear my dad on the phone downstairs. Whats going on? I ask. A car crashed outside the house into the tree, she says, pulling on her coat and her shoes. Oh, I say, then I go into my mothers room and sit on the couch that overlooks the front yard. After about 20 minutes my mom comes up and we watch the ambulance and the re trucks and the wrecker come and take the car away. My mom tells me it was a young couple and the rain had blinded their vision. The guy apparently had an injured leg and the girl was in shock. I sigh and walk back to my room and wonder how my brother was able to sleep through all that.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

Special thanks this week to AMY E. TARRANT FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
YWP NEWS FRIDAY NIGHT SLAM

Join your fellow poets on Friday, Oct. 19, 7-8:30 p.m., and slam your best work at Young Writers Project headquarters, 12 North St., Burlington. Arrive by 6:45 p.m. if you want to slam. Free. All ages welcome. YWP hosts slams the third Friday of the month through the school year.
Lydia Smith/Grade 9, Homeschool, Charlotte
Congratulations, Lydia Smith, for your Photo of the Week! Photographers and artists, send us 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 send a high resolution version of your work as a le attachment.
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.
Haunting my childhood
BY SABRINA BRAULT Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans There was darkness darker than the dark. Shadows oated around. The air felt thick and warm from the dryer; it smelled like fresh cotton from the dryer sheets. Ive never liked that scent very much. There was still some eerie coldness to this room. The rest of the house was well lit, but not here. There was no lights, no windows, nothing. Nothing except for a pipe, a chair, and some dust. The oor was covered in about an eighth of an inch of dust. There were cobwebs and a bunch of multicolored electrical wiring on the ceiling. All that was there was an old fold-up chair with the vinyl covering ripped off the cushioned seat and a big thick white plumbing pipe. The room was never used for anything. It was just a room behind the washer and dryer. It was just so dark. You could shine a ashlight in there and it seemed to have no effect. The darkness just kept going. It was so dark, it swallowed the light whole. It used to gobble up toys. A ball would roll in there while I was playing and I would never venture in to get it. You had to either crawl over or under the big pipe on top of the chair that blocked the doorway. And as you can imagine, my short child legs were too short to go over, so I went under. Either way, you ended up very dusty. I liked to draw pictures in the dust with my ngers on days when I worked up enough courage to make my way in there, the dust sticking to my small, sweaty hands. Maybe my imagination was just overactive, but I think some pretty weird things went on in there when I wasnt looking. Nothing ventured in there unless it never wanted to come back out. To this day, I dont know why that room was there or what it was ever used for the room covered in dust that swallowed daylight whole and gobbled up toys.
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
YWP ON VPR

Warming up
BY ALIZA SILVERSTEIN Grade 11, Homeschool, Hyde Park I feel the echoes of performers past, who have sat and bent their heads to better hear the music. I feel the pause each person takes that extra silence of an indrawn breath as he, too, waits for the music to come. Teardrop notes shivering on the cusp of realization, long ngers drawing patterns on the ivory stepping-stones, pathways of sound. Morning light and contemplative music warms the air. Are you afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell? Can you feel the spirits of a thousand audiences watching from these seats, conjured by the music?
ach 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 prompts, Photo 1 and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
THIS WEEK: Photo prompt 1 & General writing
YWP NEWS
BRATTLEBORO LITERARY FESTIVAL
YWP presents Millennials on Stage (the Brattleboro edition). Dont miss the next generation of great writers on Saturday, Oct. 13 starting at 1:15 p.m. in the Hooker-Dunham Theater, 139 Main Street, Brattleboro.
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
YWP SLAM
Join your fellow poets on Friday, Oct. 19, 7-8:30 p.m., and slam your best work at Young Writers Project headquarters, 12 North St., Burlington! Arrive by 6:45 p.m. to get on the list!
A CELEBRATION
OF WRITING
Every year, Young Writers Project 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.
UNITED WAY OF CHITTENDEN COUNTY
Because of Holden
BY CARL LAVIGNE Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans
There is great strength inside stories. They taught me to think, to ask questions, and to take chances. Superman taught me that I could, and would, win every battle. Thats a liberating idea to put in a childs mind. Without reference or knowledge of death and abject failure, I grew up self-assured, invincible, and infallible. My opinions were facts, fairy tales were truths, I knew everything and nothing would ever change. So what happened when, brick by broken brick, this false foundation fell? I got scared. Superman never bled, or lost. My knee bled, my shoulder broke, my parents cried. How could any of this happen? Lies? I didnt know what lies were. I was suddenly sure I wasnt a man of steel. What else could I be? A bystander? An extra? I had nothing else to be. Holden Cauleld told me that I was fallible. He lined it out in black and white, slapped me across the face and told me to watch my nose bleed. Holden Cauleld was a lazy, whiny quitter. He was, and is, my hero. Why? Because he bleeds, ails, spins and falls, like me, like a real human being. He was not an enabler: I never smoked just because he did; I never gave up just because he did; I never broke windows just because he did. He messed up. That meant everyone, anyone, could, would, mess up. I would mess up. But I shouldnt curl up and die. I should accept the fact that we all fall, we dont all save the day; thats what makes us human, thats what puts us together. Holden taught me about failure, and Ive used that knowledge to keep my head above the waters of self-defeating doubt. I dont have to be a man of steel. Because of Holden, I can be a human.
Staring at my shadow
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Town Educational Center I stared myself in the face It was like I was looking at any empty vase I traced My face The dark shadow showed My owing hair and delicate clothes On this blank piece of cement My shadow made a deep dent Showing every detail To my lightly painted ngernails I just sat and watched Once in a while Id check my watch Until the sun set And with it my shadow went
PHOTO PROMPT 1
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 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
Caitria Sands/Essex High School
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, Library of Congress, 1941

IS ON
VPR.NET EVERY WEEK

Dads glasses
BY CARL LAVIGNE Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy, St. Albans Dad wore glasses. Box-framed, thin lenses, if not perched on his nose, missing in some obvious place, the kitchen table, usually. I loved Dads glasses. When I was little, they would often go missing on my own face. I would do it on occasion in my teens just to see his reaction. Jeremy, have you seen my glasses? he would say from the other room. Id remain seated. Nope! Hed come in eventually. Hey! There they are. I would act real surprised. Whoa! Didnt see them there. It was a ritual of sorts. Dad used to pack my lunches. He always packed carrots because they helped me see better so I wouldnt end up like old man cataracts here. I would always throw them away. Truth was: I wanted glasses, just like Dad. His intentions were noble; he only wanted my vision to remain clear as I aged, but noble intentions are for knights and superheroes when youre six.
Lexie Shaw, a ninth grade student from Westford, was one of three winners of the 2035 Writing Challenge sponsored by Young Writers Project and the ECOS Project of the Chittenden County Regional Planning Commission this summer. Students were asked to write about Vermont in the year 2035.

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.
Look deeper
BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Educational Center
When you fall and someone picks you up, it shows they are kind. When you see someone being bullied and you stand up for them, it shows you are brave. But when a bully hurts someone, it shows they are insecure and need a friend. Stand up to bullies and look deeper.
YWP ANTHOLOGY CELEBRATION OCT. 27

YWP publishes an anthology of the years best student writing and photos every year. 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 are St. Albans writer Rebecca Valley and photographer Coyote Farrell, below. More details at youngwritersproject.org.
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
Two coyotes in the yard

BY REBECCA VALLEY Grade 12, Bellows Free Academy (2012) Ive got a loneliness that I pray to that has your green eyes and my soul. Ian, there are coyotes in the yard now and when I called you you spoke to them told them that I am very frightened of their blackness, their eyes in the night. She is, you said, blind right now. She cannot see you. If you come into the moonlight she will know your soul and she will not be so afraid.
2035
BY LEXIE SHAW In the year 2035 If any of us are still alive Mayan calendar so contrived That no one would survive Our current year of 2012 Later it will be on history shelves So into our future Im going to delve In and of itself Over the next 23 years We overcome many of our fears With a lot of hard work and repairs A place so much better for all of our heirs Our county has made many changes Some were unavoidable alterations Like solar-powered stove ranges And better wireless communications From the trafc problem at the Five Corners And more energy-efcient living quarters To educating an inux of more foreigners Who came in from every border Because of true equal opportunity Weve built even stronger communities All our efforts to recycle werent a waste New items are made and old replaced Cars no longer use gasoline And our air quality is purer and clean We have set a standard to be highly procient Instead of doing nothing and being insufcient We ended hunger and starvation And even water uoridation So much more socially connected Its amazing who got elected How did that happen, who was confused? But overall, things have greatly improved
Coyote Farrell/Richmond Middle School, 2011
And we stood at the back window and watched them stand still, hundreds of feet, merely, of separation, a greyness in the night, and lift their heads, the pair, and howl one after the other. It is about speaking the same tongue, you said. And I told you that eeting love has too many words, and not enough and that it outlines itself along the spine, see, and you can hear it in her howl in the night in the way that she calls back to him from across the broad lawn afraid of an echo back that says, I am farther away than you thought, darling or worse, her own voice, empty, only one pair of tracks.
Photo 3 Karlo Fresl/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 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.
Special thanks this week to Bay and Paul Foundations
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT IS ON VPR.NET EVERY WEEK!

Dear 8th graders of 2013

BY MOLLY MASHTARE Grade 8, St. Albans Educational Center, 2012 Dear 8th graders of 2013,

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.
YWP AT BURLINGTON BOOK FESTIVAL!

Come hear the next generation of great writers present their work Saturday, Sept. 22 at 2 p.m. Film House, Main Street Landing Burlington
I have to say 8th grade is a tough year. Youre turning into teenagers; youre in relationships; and its all about tting in. Well, my advice to you is be yourself. If you dont t in with some people, dont worry about it. It just means youre different from them and its always good to be different and unique. Make sure you have friends who respect you for who you are. At times you will need close friends there for you. I know I have. Like if a family member dies or you get bullied or if your boyfriend/ girlfriend breaks up with you. Have fun and make memories! Its the last year until you become high-schoolers and youre at the bottom again. Join in on all the activities that sound fun to you! I think the most important thing to remember is to be yourself. Dont try to be popular and dont act like someone youre not just to get into a popular group, because they dont know the real you! From An 8th grader of 2012
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.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

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).
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
It makes you stronger

BY JULIA REMILLARD Grade 7, St. Albans Educational Center Life isnt always easy Thats just the way it goes There are tests and trials But every hurdle you go over You get a little stronger And after a while it gets easier But just remember that all the tests, trials and hurdles Make you stronger
Calling all artists and photographers! Send us your photos and scanned artwork for publication. 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!
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.
Saying goodbye
BY HEAVEN COLLINS Grade 8, St. Albans Educational Center, 2012 As I arrive at the airport, I know a bitter goodbye is going to greet me. The car ride was shorter than I wanted it to be, and I still dont know how to say goodbye to her. Shes my best friend, and I dont know what Ill do without her. New York is big, and Ill be alone there, with no people to talk to, no friends to turn to. Ill only have my notebook, and the small, dingy apartment Im not looking forward to. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears as we reach the security check, and I know its time to say goodbye. But... how am I supposed to go on without her? The person whos been with me forever? Shes going off to Boston to become a famous lawyer, while Im leaving for New York to try and make it on my own as a struggling writer, going on without a college degree. It was risky, but Id nd odd jobs to help me pay rent. I drop my bags and let my bags fall to the ground as I go in to hug her, not being able to form a sentence. My family already said their goodbyes as I left, and she drove me here. I dont pull away until well over a minute later, and I can tell that she is sad, too, but not as sad as me.
Summer memories
BY JENNA BOURDEAU Grade 8, Missisquoi Valley High School, 2012 This summer, I did lots of summery things, Like going swimming, being outside, tanning and enjoying the sun. However, I did do some more extraordinary things: I went to Camp Hochelaga in South Hero and learned how to shoot a bow and arrow; I caught a bunch of sh, including, oddly enough, an already dead one. I went to Holland, Vermont and dove for golf balls at the bottom of a huge pond with my friend just so we could hit them back in later. I went to Queensbury, New York and went to Great Escape four times! I got hit by acorns that squirrels threw at me up above in a tree, I went camping in New York with my friend, I played a ton of ping-pong with my friends and family, I went to a hockey camp at Leddy Park Arena in Burlington, I caught reies and watched them icker, And last of all, I made some amazing summer memories.
Ill see you at Christmas time..? I trail off, not being able to look in her eyes. Maybe. If I can get back, yknow, get the money to come back.. Her voice doesnt sound upset, but I can tell when she is. Her eyes show what shes really feeling. Hopefully. I lift my bag. Well have Skype, right? Yeah. I can see how badly she wants to go, and I dont blame her. The last time we were truly close was in middle school. Bye. And for that moment, I hope shell break. She never has in front of me. I just need to see her break. Bye. She turns around and walks, walks out the door. Walks out of my life.
Special thanks this week to A.D. Henderson Foundation
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
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Photo 2 Becca LeBlanc/Essex High School 2011

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