A community of respect for youths from anywhere to take creative risk.
To ensure that this site is populated only by youth and approved adults (mentors, teachers, artists) we personally check every application. 
That means a slight delay (no more than a day) before you are approved to login and post. Sorry for any inconvenience. But DO come back.
NOTE to prior community members: This is a new site, so you have to create a new account even if you were on the old site.
The old site can be found at archive.youngwritersproject.org to see or retrieve your old work.

Daily Challenge

gg's picture
Superpower. You have the opportunity to have one superpower? It could be flight, strength, x-ray vision, invisibility? Which would you choose? Tell a story. Write about it in any genre.


Spread the word!

gg's picture

The new site is getting off to a great start. Nearly 100 new community members this, the first, week. Please let your circles know about it! Get your friends to join!

We're so excited to see those of you who've joined the community -- and a particular welcome to those youths who've joined from around the country -- who have already started taking creative risks. We're blown away by all that we see -- posts, ideaboards, reactions, revisions, six-word stories -- already.

For those of you expecting to see the old site, this one requires a NEW account. (Your old username and password work on archive.youngwritersproject.org where your old content is safe and sound.)

Over the next few weeks, we'll be rolling out more features -- labs, projects, courses -- but we hope you'll dive in on the CHALLENGES -- a NEW one every day. And check out slideshows and recent reactions for some different ways to navigate the site (both under READ).

This is a digital writing space so we encourage you to incorporate photos and sound, to create slideshows and digital stories or, even, to let the digital media lead the story.

Please let us know what you think: What do you like? What confuses you? What do you wish we (you) could do on this site? How can we get more youths into this community? Send an email or message me (gg).

So what's new? Click



jacketbundock's picture

 We all have things we dream of.

On nights when I close my eyes,
I chase the strands of colors on the back of my eyelids.
My own galaxies;
I don’t even have to stretch to meet them-
We were close.
At one point.

I used to fold the notes from my mind in the small creases at the corner of my eyes,
I held those secret words there,
daring you to steal them away.
They all held the same three words.
Every time.
I hope they sometimes leaked out with my laughs.

My heart called for shutter clicks every time
I held your bitten fingertips in my hands,
tasted your lips after ice cream,
or found your smile.
My heart seized for a lot of things.

I used to remember them the way they were,
But now I see them from your eyes,
And I see them from the outside-
I suppose those are the moments where I’ve forgotten how I loved you then.

In the mornings,
I wait for new photographs to roll in,
Ones of us on the beach,
Or in the rain-

In the mornings,
my eyelids are pink,
Semi-transparent shutters-
I hope the light shining through doesn’t destroy the film.
And before I let go of the shutter release,
I imagine I’ll wake to discover
I was taking a long exposure shot of you. 



Get Published

When you submit your work to Young Writers Project, it gets noticed.
After fellow writers, mentors, artists and staff have read, reacted to and recommended your work for publication, it ends up all over—in YWP’s digital magazine, in newspapers, on stage, radio and TV and on partners’ websites.
That’s an audience of hundreds of thousands of people!

Read more about how to get published.


Youths give and receive feedback. So do mentors -- YWP staff, artists, college students and YWP Alums. Our aim is to help you focus your ideas, strengthen your work and gain digital skills you'll need to express yourself and change the world.

Daily Read

A gun and a man went out on a hunt. 
The forest was vast,
but warm and welcoming.
The deer were not near, 
but the forest was vast, 
there was always more to claim.

After a time of the purest peace
the man had to stoop, and he clutched at his chest.
He breathed the way omens breathe,
and rested the gun against a tree, 
The man fell, an aged oak coming to rest.
Landed, face in the leaves, 
stayed there, 
not unhappy.

 The gun saw the man fade into the forest.
It was slow, but not like Wild Time.
Wild Time made life feel young, 
made time feel young.
The forest was ageless.

The gun leaned on the tree. 
Watched game 
Pass by.
Watched suns rise and fall.
Watched constellations, the way they shifted each night.
Learned to see Wild Change.
It was slow,
but smooth and assured.
Things like seasons, spruce saplings, 
life, death. 
Cycles spinning round and round.
The way the greenest summer grass grew 
where the man once lay.

Wild Change affected the gun,
as it was Wild then too.
Rust terrorized the metal, 
winds and rain dug the butt into the ground. 
The oak grew around it’s barrel.
In Wild Time, the gun became a strange, ineffective root.
And then the tree began,
for those familiar with the murmurs of trees,
to breathe the way omens breathe.
And it fell the way the man fell,
quickly and with a great crash,
but fast forgotten.

The gun fell into the leaves.
Quietly, it lay,
not unhappy.

Rain, wind, Wild Time, 
Soft earth became tough, packed, 
centimeters became inches, 
inches became, well, who knows.
Things moved even slower,
in Earth Time.

But the gun learned.
Learned to feel tremors,
learned to hear the aquifer.

Earth Time was slow,
but warm and assured.
Things like earthworms,
probing roots, freezing and thawing.
How it could still, inexplicably, sense night and day.

The gun, as time spun by,  
as it faded in with the Earth,
stared Truth in face
and understood.
Truth was slow,
but smooth and assured, warm,

There amongst the trees, 
dancing with deer, 
connecting constellations.
Truth was in the tremors,
deep in the aquifer,
tangled amongst roots.