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.


Mar 24
amireland's picture

Mourning Summer

It eats the leaves at my feet,
suffocates the grass in my yard,
and sours the last few vegetables in mother’s garden.

It whispers summer’s eulogy with its icy breath,
bites my face despite my sweater’s shelter,
and broods about winter’s inevitable return.

They embrace the sky,
battle the wind in its own domain,
and protect me from autumn’s threats.

They chase each other to the ground,
play games with the breeze,
and scatter like my thoughts.

Mar 24
fiction 0 comments challenge: Attic
l.sleeper's picture

The Attic

I decided that I would drive over to my grandmothers house to help her move the junk from the basement to the attic. After talking to her, I went up to the attic to make some room for everything that was down in the basement. When I was moving around some boxes, I saw a very old brown book that was covered in dust. I carefully picked up the book and blew away the dust. It was titled "My Life". I opened the book and saw a picture that has been in our family for generations, the first picture of my grandma as a baby. Then I turned a few pages and saw her when she was five, and learning about seashells and why they are shaped in so many different ways. Then, a thought came into my head, and I flipped to the back of the book. There I found page 96, which is how old she is now. I got sad at first, because I thought that that meant that my grandmother was going to die soon. But when I looked at the page, I realized that she just hadn't written the rest of her story yet.
Mar 24
Abigail.hebert's picture


                        I like sitting on the brown leather seats after a rifle match taking in the warmth from the wood stove, waiting with anticipation to see my scores. When I am riding in my coach’s old red Ford pickup truck up the narrow dirt road and we pull into the range for practice, I feel the most like me and I know I’m going to do what I love. I am supported and loved by my team, that is a true family, and the glue holding us all together, a sweet old man in his 70s with balding white hair and a passion for coaching. When I get to the range, I change out of my high-waisted skirt and tall, black, leather boots and into my stiff, suede, leather, red white and blue shooting pants and matching jacket, throwing my hair into a ponytail. I become a different side of myself. I share the whole experience with my dad and the passion we share for the sport is what makes it all that it is.
Mar 24

No Crown on My Head

I am a overgrown king in a prince’s castle.
My back pushes heavily against
Rafters made of branches,
That I once could only reach If I stood on my tiptoes.
The knights have left their posts,
Dragons no longer attack my woodland fortress.
The vivid magic that once filled my brain
Has drained out through the soles of my feet,
And I now lay in the residue.
There is no longer a crown on my head, but a veil,
I am a widower to a past filled with light.
I know I must leave soon,
The car stands still in the driveway,
My belongings and mother waiting for me.
I was leaving my childhood life
And going to an adult one.
I linger a moment more,
I took a deep breath and ingrain the smell of pine into my mind.
Taking off my hood,
I crawled out and into the uncertain sunlight.

Mar 24
Carstena's picture

Rainy Day

Something isn't right. The leaves are all crumpling beneath me, it's sunny outside, but the trees above shower me with shade. There's a slight breeze, it sends a chill through my legs, but my arms are kept warm in my hoodie. Ever so often, if you listen closely you hear the birds tweeting back and forth like they're in a conversation, but something isn't right.

I continue to hear the waves crashing, as the tides come in. Soon I begin to see more water but this water seems to be falling from above. I build a fort with some moss filled logs I find lying around, and when it was done, I sat beneath it. The clouds cover up and block out the sun faster than the rain was falling. I put my head down and just listen to the rain falling, I'm safe, dry, and warm… but still something isn't right. 

Mar 23
hartew's picture

I Know

“I know it's illegal but it's the weekend.”
“You will have to come with me.”

“I know it's not safe, but I got on honor roll.”
“He has a minor concussion and he won't play the rest of the season,”

“I know I shouldn't, but I never do anything wrong.”
“Do you realize what you just did? We are now going to have to call home.”

“I know I just went out with her, but the other girl is super cute.”
“Hey, we need to talk.”

“I know it’s wrong, but I always do the right thing.”
“ Do you know that colleges will look at this kind of thing? Do you?”

“ I know but… come on. Please.”
“I gave you one chance. Please, listen to me. What you are doing… giving yourself excuses to do things… it’s no way to live.”

“ I know but… Oh, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Mar 23
fiction 2 comments challenge: Attic
hartes's picture

Back In Time

                  The only problem with going to my grandparents house is that I have to sleep in that grotesque-looking attic. Before we even pull into the driveway, I can smell those fresh delicious chocolate-chip cookies, when we get in I unpack up in the attic. When I see this chest, an old chest with my name on it, I wonder if it's a Christmas present, or an old birthday gift. I amble over to the chest when I'm pulled in, I'm falling and then a bang! I'm in the basement and now I'm really confused, the first thing I realized is how different and how old the furnace looks, When I go up stairs I find a young woman and man just a little younger than my parents, when I hear a scream. I turn around to find a five year old yelling when I realize that something's wrong I look at the magazine and it's 1973 the man walks over and ask me what I'm doing when I say I believe I've gone back in time.
Mar 23
ebcampbell's picture

Day Dream

    I always think about where I would go if I were to skip school.  I know off the top of my head where I wouldn’t go… home, work etc.  But what would I do if I had the whole day off?  Carefree, no responsibility. Maybe I would go sit in the forest under a canopy of trees and think.  Just sit down and actually go deep into the thoughts that often times my brain is too occupied to think about.  I think I would enjoy the peacefulness away from the daily commotion of high school student and teachers.  I would fall asleep as I daydreamed to the rustles of the leaves and faint singing of the birds.  I would be hypnotized by the forest music like I used to fall asleep to my mothers heartbeat when I was an infant. I would be in utopia, a break from reality.  As the dim warm sun hit my face through the break in the trees. Accompanied by all the creates of mother nature but no one to bother my thoughts.  No distractions. Just myself and the world.
Mar 23
fiction 1 comment challenge: Attic
Modeltrains's picture

The Incident

     I walked up those mold-ridden steps and reached the landing. Stuff was strewn everywhere. I walked to the corner where a flea-bitten curtain covered most of a cracked window. I pulled away the curtain and enough light for me to see half of the room came in. I was in my grandmother's house. It had been seven months since “the incident,” and I was finally exploring the rest of my grandmother's house.             There was a small box in the corner. It was fairly new, unlike most of the junk piled up there. I looked outside the window, and a bird flew to the once-bright yellow bird feeder- my grandma’s bird feeder. I felt like I had a whole rain storm in my eyes. I couldn't bear to come back. Just as I was leaving, I saw writing on the small box. It was blue and loopy. I could tell it was my grandmother's writing. It took a moment to remember that it was the same ink from my grandmother's new pen she still had in her pocket when “the incident” had happened. I suddenly felt tense.
Mar 23
poem 0 comments challenge: Body

They say.

They say to act pretty for the other gender.
To be barbie girl perfect.
With made-up faces and fits bodies, but also be stick thin.
To dress in designer clothes and have hair down to our behinds.
To be attractive.
But these expectations are deadlier than they believe.
They imprint impossible images of women into our minds.
And we beat ourselves to like them.
We shove ourselves into molds that we weren’t cast from.
We go days without eating,
Eventually developing disorders.
And when we do eat,
It’s calorie counting.
Our minds like math classes,
Numbers being shouted in every directions.
Trying to construct the perfect 500 calorie diet.
So that we too,
Can be like the slim fit beauties on magazine covers.
So that we can visually please the other sex.
But it’s hard to please someone when you’re fading away.