A post by AYWI student member and blog contributor Erin.
A seed. That’s all there is in the beginning. A seed and soil, sun and rain. But then days pass, and months pass, and the sun cycles endlessly through the heavens, over and over and over again – and the seed grows. At first it’s just a tiny shoot, but leaves push up and the stem thickens and finally it blooms, blossoming into something real and alive and beautiful.
There is a house next to the seed. I sit inside in front of an antiquated black computer; my fingers hover over the keyboard. A theme. Just a few words, the seed of an idea. Then something clicks into place and the seed sprouts into something worth writing about. I nurture the seedling until it is an essay, a story, a poem, and finally I write . . . or at least that’s how it’s supposed to work.Read More
Every week we’ll be featuring work by young writers who have participated in the Summer Workshop or Summer Intensive. Today high school student Ke’ilah shares a poem. Enjoy and be sure to comment with feedback!
Below is a reflection on this year’s Intensive written by one of its students.
Hi, my name is Ryan, and yes, I am a girl. Before the AYWI summer intensive, writing and literature was a class, not a hobby. I have always been able to write fairly well, getting A’s in all of my English classes, but that was just that. I, am an A (well most always) student, nothing less is acceptable in my book, so if I had to write an essay for Lit, it would be done. Possibly, grueling and horrible for my sleep patterns, but done it would be.
I used to have a theory that I could not enjoy writing. This began to change once I started my 9th grade Honors Lit class, in which we had to turn in 3 pieces of literature every week to go into our final project of a portfolio. As I kept writing, it became easier and more natural to do. And as with most tasks that begin to flow well with one’s body, I began to enjoy writing more. I did not love it, and I didn’t like it, but it was slightly more than tolerable; writing definitely was no longer dreaded. Towards the end of the semester when I turned in my 98 page portfolio, I could not have been more proud. I, was now a writer. I, could do anything. And then came the summer.Read More
We want to offer our heartiest “Congratulations!” to our “Celebration of Story” Fiction Contest Winners! Their work will be featured on the website next week, as some winners still need to submit electronic versions of their pieces.
Ke’ilah Bailey, First Place Winner for her excerpt from her novel Forever Lived
Deon Rutledge, Second Place Winner for his short story True Riches
Dennis Famble, Third Place Winner for his short story New Realities
Sarah Smith and Gwen Van Meir, First Place Winners for their short stories, Summer in Sommerville and The Accident
I jolt up in bed; sweat beading on my forehead, my heart thumping against my ribcage. The radio alarm clock blasts white noise in my ear, clouding my thoughts and adding insult to the injury of my abrupt awakening. Feeling irrationally annoyed at the device for interrupting my flashback- er, flash-forward, I groggily reach over my bedside table and slam my fist down on its plastic shell. I miss the snooze button and instead cut my knuckle on the radio dial, tuning into the faint chorus of some obnoxious pop song in the process.
Feeling even more pathetic than before, I turn back to the white noise and fall backwards onto my pillow. I blink the fog out of my eyes and look around my room. Once I’m able to fully realize my surroundings, and then my situation, I begin to feel sick.
Sam Ready’s Scene: “My Kingdom for an Orange”
OPEN ON INTERIOR DORM– MESSY, FLOOR STREWN WITH PAPERS. SMALL BOOKSHELF TO THE SIDE. WRITING DESK AND CHAIR IN THE BACK.
Enter ELIOT (18, southern—- dressed in t-shirt and jeans) NOTE: ELIOT is theoretically intended to be male, but for the purposes of the scene ELIOT could be male or female.
ALFRED J (17, neurotic– crazy hair, has wild eyes and is dressed in a nice shirt, slacks, an a crooked tie) sits up, emerging from underneath the papers, where he has been lying on his back.Read More