May 23

The Wallet by Justine Smith

May 12

Anthology 8

May 11

Special Challenge -- The Calvin Prize. Due May 27

Folks,
YWP wants to let you know about The Calvin Prize which awards those with the most eloquent essays a little fame and, yes, a little fortune ($1,500 for top essay and $500 for runner-up). BUT THE DEADLINE IS SOON: May 27. Here's the link to where to submit your essay. If you'd like to post a draft here for a little feedback, go for it and give it the hashtag: #calvin. More info:

The Calvin ESSAY TOPIC: What are the Privileges and Responsibilities of Citizenship?
 
About the Declaration there is a finality that is exceedingly restful. … If all men are created equal, that is final. If they are endowed with inalienable rights, that is final. If governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed, that is final.” – Calivin Coolidge, 1926
May 02

Vermont Young Playwrights Festival 2016. Great Job folks!

The 2016 Vermont Young Playwrights Festival is over. Thanks to all the writers, actors and audience members for your words and energy and attention. Thanks particularly to the Flynn Center for Performing Arts and Vermont Stage Co. for a masterful job.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for--The Plays!

Featured (staged) Plays:



Cold Readings:


Enjoy!
 
Apr 25

Meet MGMC: Muslim Girls Making Change

Apr 21

The Dress

The dress was white, with streaks of scarlet running down the bodice into a thick vermilion waistband. The skirt fanned out in waves, gold embroidery at the hem. Lily had bragged about it for days before her birthday, and when we arrived at her sleepover party, the heart of every girl in the room shriveled with jealousy. The envy soon smoothed over, and the party was a great success, and when we went to sleep around 2 AM, everyone was perfectly content. Vivian was the first to wake the next morning. Her first screams barely penetrated my slumber, but soon we were all groggily staring at her as she pointed to the shattered window. "What happened!" Lily's mother burst into the room and caught sight of the window, where we were pointing. Lily hung in the oak tree just outside, cradled almost tenderly in the thin branches. She was still wearing the dress, now soaked with blood. Her mother wavered in the doorway, like a leaf caught in a storm, then crumpled to the rug.
Apr 21

Defrosted

 
To be like Frost this poem should start with I,
But having failed in that respect, I think
That imitating him I shall not try
Until into the next small song I sink.
 
Another piece of flattery sincere
Would be to show all nature's gifts unfurled;
Yet plagiarism is a constant fear
When writing on the same part of the world.
 
West-running brooks and birches and beech trees
Should all possess a hidden meaning sly,
But Death and Life and Love and God, oh please!
They're repetitious and will never fly.
 
And now another sonnet I'll attempt
In Frost's style despite the above lament.



 

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