YWP Content Published in Newspapers

Young Writers Project is most grateful to its eight newspaper partners who publish your work on a regular basis. Weekly: Burlington Free Press and The Valley News. Monthly: St. Albans Messenger, Brattleboro Reformer, Rutland Herald (and Reader), Times Argus (and Extra), Bradford Journal Opinion and Charlotte News.

The papers have a combined circulation of nearly 75,000 and the papers are read by well over 150,000 people.

YWP staff, volunteers and Community Leaders from this site help select work.  If you'd like to help with this process, contact Susan Reid.


Sep 28
Emma.P's picture


      She stood looking back at me. She looked about 5’5”. Her brown hair ending in the middle of her back. Her hair looked like brown frizzy waves going down her back. She smiled at me. Her dimple on her right cheek and the ones that go around her mouth show. She has never liked her dimples. But she puts up with them because there is nothing she can do about it. Her somewhat big nose widens as she shows her silver brackets on her braces. She used to have a gap in between her two front teeth about eight months ago, and her bottom teeth were turned in all different directions. Now her teeth are as straight as can be, and the gaps are filled. Her bony shoulders poke out of her white tank top that she put on when she got out of the shower. Her long arms stop just after her hip bone. She has her Christmas pajama pants on. Man does she loved Christmas. She has long legs and a very short torso. Her skin was very dark in the dim light from her Christmas lights in her room.
Sep 28
Nora.F's picture

There she is

There she goes in the back of the pack. She has blonde hair that falls to just below her shoulders and has a face full of freckles. Her hair is blonde not bleach blonde but blonde with little curls that form around her ears when it gets humid out. Her hair is thick and frizzy. The freckles are all over her face and look like a dot to dot game. She has blue eyes with eyebrows that you can barely see because they are blonde. And her eyelashes are long and thin. Her shoulders are an average size. She walks with a smile and when there isn’t a smile on her face then something is wrong which is rarely.
Sep 28
jessie.p's picture


He looks up at the ceiling fan and is now in a trance, his big blue eyes watching the blades turn. His arms and legs flail with happiness, soft legs kick my arms, while his chubby little hand is holding my thumb. His small head resting against me, just the slightest dusting of hair on the back of it. He finally looks at me, and the biggest smile appears on his face. 10 seconds later he is pouty, his eyebrows furrowed, and begins to cry.

He likes to grab onto hair, and be held by anyone that is willing to hold him. He likes a cat named Mittens, and he doesn't seem to be too in love with dogs. He has a big brother that makes him laugh daily, and a father and mother who love him more than words.  He's four months old and drools all the time. He hates going in the car, but he like his car seat. He likes being at my house though, so he can stare at the ceiling fan and start the whole story over again...
Sep 28
laurenwwright's picture


She stands 5 feet 8 inches high, on her soft pink feet, in front of the large window, watching the sun rise into the crisp air. Her hair falls just a few inches past her wide, broad shoulders. The sun peaks over the trees, a sliver of lights peers through the window, enhancing a strand of caramel blonde, making it appear almost glowing, reflecting her feeling in this moment of simplicity and peace. She enjoys the little things that make life beautiful, like sunrises and sounds of morning. As the sun becomes completly visable over the trees, a smile spreads wide across her soft face. Dimples set deep into her lower cheeks. Her warm freckled cheeks raise, making her eyes small. Where all you can see is the glow of her blue eyes peaking out the small breach, like the waves of the clearest ocean rolling over the sand. In this moment she stands taller then usual. Filled with simplicity, beauty, and peace. Like she hasn't been touched by the world. Like she doesn't know the word stress.
Sep 27
poem 0 comments challenge: Hey!

More Than

I am not reliant, and I am not an accessory.
I am a person, not an object for you to move around the plot at your disclosure.

I am here to help to move the plot along, just like everyone else.
Too often, though, I’m simply a car.
An object used to get from one point to another as fast as possible.
One selected for beauty and functionality.
Not for personality.

I am here for a reason, and it is not to stand still.
It is not to be a statue the other characters draw inspiration from.
It is to tell my story, to develop further than a couple of thoughts from my head or - heaven forbid! - the smallest expression of my individuality.

I am here to support my fellow characters, but not at the expense of myself.
I am not the cheerleader off to the sides of the game, unable to do a thing.
I am your teammate.
I can make plays, too.
I can take action.
And yet, I am not allowed to.
Sep 26


And she missed him.

She missed him every second of every minute of everyday. A longing ache in her heart has been ignited and burned furiously like a wildfire should. She missed him like the moon might miss the stars. How the sun might miss sunrises and sunsets. She missed his playful smile, his bright brown eyes. She missed his messy cocoa powder colored hair and the white scar above his pink lips from that time he fell off his skateboard. She missed his dimples and the freckles that mapped out his checks. She missed him. She missed his puns and sarcastic humor. She missed his empathetic demeanor and witty comebacks. She missed the way her hand fit in his, and the way he made her feel on top of the world. She missed the warmth of his skin and the scent of his hoodie, which he had given to her. She missed feeling understood, she missed feeling a smile upon her lips that never seems to fade. She missed him, a lot. She missed him more than she had missed anything ever.
Sep 25

I've Always Wondered What Makes a Good Poem

It's not the ryhme or the reason,
The beats or the feet,
But the message it sends to all the people it meets
Sep 24
sophie.d's picture

She Swallows the Sun

With waves crumbling on her back
She stands
With neck growing to the sky
And clouds dotting her eyes
She swallows the sun
And smiles. 

Her throat blisters like 
Swallowed ghost peppers
Tears squeeze from
Eyelids clamped shut
Her burning body
Screams for a shortcut
To dissipate the tempestuous fire.  

With raindrops flying from her back
Her heart smokes 
With wind prying her hair
From her head
She feels her blood warm
It whooshes through her veins
Amid a rising storm. 

Her body tenses and 
Strains under pressure
Light fills every nook
Of bodily space
Every cranny of personality
And light 
Streams down her face.

With feet in an angry sea
She stands
With head in hungry clouds
Fire erupts
From her fingertips
And sews sun into 
A world left barren.

The sky becomes her blanket
Sep 24
poem 4 comments challenge: Portrait

The Only World I Want Is My Own

14 years old and still lost in time.
Dark brown hair almost always in a high ponytail.
Blue eyes desperately avoiding the gaze of others.
Long, strong legs that belong in an ice rink.
Feet that curl in, even they look shy.

High-functioning autism, social anxiety, and a little bit of OCD to top it all off.
My world is numbers
And spinning
And ice
And music
And chaos 
Or order.

I probably won’t talk unless you talk to me first.
When I do talk, it might not make sense to you.
But it will to me.

The perfect moment
Is when I understand.
If I don’t,
I’ll quietly go up in flames.

Don’t worry though.
Just pretend I’m not here
And I’ll do the same to the rest of the world.

The only world I want is my own.