Jun 03
The Soccer Bee 48's picture


            I am hungry for knowledge. I alway want to learn. The only downfall is I want knowledge on thing I want to learn about. So if you tell me to learn about some I don’t want to learn about I am going to Half ass it. But when I learn some thing about a thing I like to learn about. Then I will keep digging for more knowledge.
           For example in first through third grade I was obsessed with anacondas which are a kind of snake. I kept learning. I was a computer of knowledge on anacondas. Now I am thirsty for understanding of World War two. From memwoirs to historical fiction I am continuing to read and inform myself on this horrific topic.
             I can’t compare to my hunger for knowledge to anything else.

Oct 18
Thetford Academy's picture

A Quiet Winter Day

The snow crunches softly beneath my boots as I trudge up the hill. Small delicate snowflakes land on my fuzzy hat. I tilt my head back to catch them in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, a male cardinal dashes from tree to tree, his red feathers bright against the white snow. When I get to the top of the hill, I pause to look around at the snow covered trees, and listen to how peaceful it is. Dropping my sled on the wet snow, I climb on and slide down the hill, going down easily on top of the smooth and icy snow. The cool wind blowing in my face, smiling to myself. Winter makes me feel serene and content.
Jun 28

Lights Out

On June 27, after a heart-warming dinner with the Young Writers Project board (thank you Kathy), after hearing (thank you Susan) the startlingly kind words sent to me from many of you and your predecessors on how much this little project and community has meant, does mean, to you, I shut off the office lights for the last time after 12 years as YWP's executive director.

To you and the 110,000 kids we have touched in that time, thank you for opening your souls; thank you for sharing your ideas and observations, your flights of fancy and moments of bewilderment. Thank you for taking such creative risk.

You have enriched my life. You've opened my eyes to what you see and feel and experience and think and believe. And you have enriched the lives of thousands upon thousands of others -- your readers.
Feb 03
nonfiction challenge: Teenager

even if heaven was false / we'd still desire it / wouldn't we?

(The sweets adorn my stained-glass memories – they float like forgotten dreams)

     Gulab Jamuns taste like old summers and friends now torn-apart by dwindling youth. They’re so sweet that cheap candy seems sour, so sweet that everything else in the world seems bitter. They say it brushes against your lips like white roses and heaven flows down your throat. It’s a love once broken, now rekindled. (Sugar-coated compliments hit the mind like syrup hits the tongue. You were once on that balcony above everyone, but your feet stumbled, and now you’re falling but you think you’re flying. Air brushes against you eternally until it doesn’t and the ground meets your face. Truth is agony and your dreams are broken bones, aren’t they?)
Jan 20
smcdonough's picture

Always Wear a Coat

The sun was cold, shining through the winter air and into the glistening snow. It looked warm, but if you live in the mountains, you know it is a scam. That is why we always wear coats. Even if it looks sunny, it is not warm outside so Vermonters know to always wear a coat. My dog even wears a coat; he knows the winters are not warm!
Jan 05
nonfiction challenge: Traveling

I'll be there in Switzerland, if only in my dreams

If I could travel anywhere, I’d travel to Switzerland, of course. First and foremost, I like public transportation. That’s why this isn’t a direct path. First I’d get my ticket for a one-way Amtrak Vermonter service down to New York Penn. I’d transfer to a first-class seat on the Acela (or, hopefully, the Avelia later this year) and take it through to Back Bay station in Boston, Massachusetts. I’d then ride the Red line to South Station, transfer to the Silver line, and get off at Logan International Airport.
Dec 27

Swim team

I don’t know what freestyle is. I take the name to heart and literally freestyle my way through the pool. So, while my teammates dutifully paddle back and forth, waving their hands in a monotonous motion, I jump, flip, and dive through the pool. Sometimes I dive to the bottom, then launch my feet like a springboard and explode into the air. Eventually, I catch my breath, by floating on my back and staring up into the cavernous ceiling. The whistles and yells of coaches and children echo faintly in my ear, until the water beckons me back into the deep. 
Dec 26
nonfiction challenge: Last Name

My last name

Search Ends When Sharing Starts. That is the meaning of Van Driesche, my last name originally comes from Belgium. In Belgium and Holland, most last names start with Van because that means from. Then you have the second part, which is Driesche, which means my last name said that my ancestors were from Driesche.
Dec 21
Genderless's picture

Dear Daydreamer

Opening your eyes like the sun rising over the mountains to brighten up the land below, a mysterious place you wake up to. the echoes of animals around you, the glowing woods with beautiful plants and trees larger than life, the sky that shows the glowing universe as each planet shines with its own beauty, and the moon. The beaming blue moon that makes the world around you glow with life as each star shines down on the lake's bright blue waves. All of this beauty leaves you in awe, as all the stress and emptiness leaves your body like flower petals blowing in the wind. But one curious question won't go away, ¨Where am I?¨ 

The answer is quite simple,

A daydream.
Dec 18
nonfiction challenge: Parents

Your Best is Good Enough

Thank you for trying. You weren't perfect, or I guess you aren't perfect, but you did your best and that's the best anyone can do. You made mistakes, but that's okay because mistakes are just an opportunity for growth. You didn't always learn from your mistakes though, but I guess that's only human. I always tell myself that when I'm older, if I ever have kids, I will be twice the parent you ever were. But I know that just like you I will get angry, I'll get tired, and I'll get frustrated. I'll be different, but maybe not better. 
Dec 15
nonfiction challenge: Winter

The night I met the moon

Winter, to me, isn’t about all those things you see on TV. Buying gifts for friends and family, hanging decorations and catching snowflakes.

Winter is a change in the world. Reds and golds of autumn turn to the whites and blues of winter.

Ah, l’hiver, but where most people’s fondest memories lie in warm fire pits and glossy tree ornaments, my fondest winter memory is this: Eight p.m., winter night, I’m just about eight or nine years old. My parents are bundling all three of us, my siblings and me, into heavy snow clothes. My jacket is so big and warm, it feels like being hugged all over.

Dad comes up from the basement carrying five sets of snowshoes. Two big, and three smaller pairs in descending size order. We all shuffle out into the porch light, flashlights in hand, and mount our snowshoes.
Dec 13
leanna.dewey's picture

The girl in the mirror

When I opened my eyes, I woke up and realized that my body was no longer mine but someone else’s. I didn’t recognize the girl I saw in the mirror anymore. She looked the same, but at the same time, she was different. She was picking apart every inch of her body she didn’t like. How she looked with no makeup on. How she saw her acne when she washed her face. How she saw her stomach when standing in the mirror in a bra and underwear. She was picking apart every inch of her body because she thought it was flawed.

Slowly, looking in the mirror became an everyday thing – to see if she was magically not flawed anymore. Then every day went to every hour and every minute. She was slowly losing herself in what she thought were her flaws. In reality, they were her. Her acne on her face, how she looked with no makeup, how she had curves and wide hips … It was all her – these little things about her body that made her unique.

Dec 11
Chickengirl's picture

The Yellow Paper Flower

 I touch the yellow paper flower that is wrapped around my door handle with two fingers for good luck, even though I don’t believe in luck. I do that every time I enter or leave my room. This time I think though, because my mom has given me a philosophy lecture over dinner and put me in a thinking mood. I realize that if it hadn't been for the blizzard, this little yellow paper flower wouldn't exist. Usually butterfly effect is used to mean something little, like the flapping of a butterfly’s wings leading to something big, like the cure for cancer being invented. This time it’s something big, a huge blizzard that coated the continental United States in a thick layer of snow, leading to something little, a tiny flower made of paper and pipe cleaners. So maybe this is the reverse butterfly effect. To tell the whole story, I need to rewind to one random day, a couple of weeks before the blizzard.
Dec 07

Floor zero

It’s been nearly three years since I’ve visited my mother’s homeland of Hong Kong because of the pandemic. The bustling crowds and skyscrapers that pierce the sky, built on mountains upon mountains of green. I’ve traveled to this metropolis almost every year, forcing my way through a long 15 hours of flight, so I should believe that I’d be used to its culture; the freezing air-conditioned malls remind me to bring a sweater next time, but the second we leave the facility, I want to peel off my clothes, sticky on my skin. Family dinners with gong gong, po po, ayi’s and a slew of relatives I forget the faces of, revolve around a giant table filled with roasted meats and colorful vegetables. In order to eat at the breakfast hole-in-the-walls (buns with cookie crusts and salty meat stuffed between white bread) we must take advantage of the 12-hour jet lag to eat early in the morning. To me, this is Hong Kong.
Dec 07
nonfiction challenge: Boredom


Fidgeting fingers and tapping the table. When will this conversation be over? Can they tell by the increasing tempo of the song I’m drumming to, that I don’t want to be here? The continuous clicks of my pen create a new rhythm, a new beat—one that will hopefully keep me engaged as the monotone voice begins to fade in my ears.
My pencil flies away; guess I’m not a master of pencil spinning yet. When I do succeed, the blur of complete, satisfactory circles falling perfectly into my hands climbs its way back to erase what I’m hearing. I rub my hands. My wrists. My arms. Maybe my face, my cheeks, my eyes. Working my fingers to keep them busy, threading them through my hair, occasionally going back to the song I made. I have to make sure I’m still here, still focused on whatever ghost is talking to me. Who am I talking to again?
Nov 16
Ruby_A's picture

The New Girl.

I walked away from that house as fast as I could, my heart racing like an Olympic track star. I had only been there a few minutes, but that was enough to ensure I would never go back. When the new girl at my school sat next to me in science, I was exalted! I was so excited to make a new friend, that I barely even notice that the color of her eyes was a deep crimson that seemed to glow from her pale face. Her name was Alice, and when I asked her what her last name was, she answered simply: “Oh…I don’t have one. My parents do, but It’s hard to pronounce, so we just use our first names.” I guess that made sense.  I invited her to sit with my friends at lunch that day. After all, she seemed very nice and we had sat together for all of our classes that day, talking about typical high school things.
Nov 11

Saint Anastasia (Responding to future weekly challenge)


Who is a saint? A saint is a person that either performed a miracle in life or was martyred, and in death was prayed to. A saint’s patronage could be: music, stars, Ireland, you name it. You often pray to a saint relating to the patronage.


“Anastasia! You don’t have time to ogle at dogs all day long when there is work to be done!” Yells her(grumpy) father “Now, please go gather dinner from the shed.”
Nov 11
nonfiction challenge: Animals
Ms. Gormly's picture

If I Was an Animal

If I was an animal I would be an eagle. I would soar around the world. I would see the shining river and the people fishing below me. They would smile at me and I would smile back. They wouldn't see me smile, but I would know that I did.

J. Amos
Age 10
Killington Elementary School
Nov 10
elijahrenner's picture

Connected through a trail

There were two dogs, each with a loving and caring family around them at home. Two subsequent dwellings were connected by a woods trail and the periodic mountain biking trail. These trails not only allowed for biking and recreational types of travel; they enabled a hidden love between the two dogs. One dog was mine; his name is Fern. Fern often didn't have much to look forward to besides me and my mom coming home at night, and adopting another dog wasn't practical in our house then. He grew lonely and lived on whatever entertainment he got from visiting our neighbor's dog through these trails.
Oct 28

The Perfect Day

The Perfect Day
I roused after a vivid dream of running in the woods with my dog, feeling thoroughly rested and ready to enjoy Christmas with my family in the snowy land of Vermont.

Me and my brother wait impatiently while my dad sets up the camera and makes coffee. Finally he lets us climb down the stairs and walk into the living room. I gasp at the gifts littering the room while Lukey laughs as Zelda, my dog tackles him with kisses. Lukey and I take turns opening and giving presents for about 20 minutes of fun.

Then, we eat Belgium waffles for breakfast and play some of the new board games like Ticket to ride Australia. We got Zelda an extra special big bone for Christmas too!

Then, we watched Christmas classics, (“Christmas Vacation”, “Frosty the Showman”, etc.) for a few hours.

After the movie marathon, we ate Baked Ziti for lunch and talked about our presents.