The Voice, YWP's Premiere Publication

Each month, Young Writers Project publishes the best work -- words, images and sound -- of this community. This premiere publication features writing from community members from all over the world and reaches 15,000 individual IP addresses a month, a good deal more than 15,000 humans who spend a lot of time reading AND they come back to finish! Help us get more readers! Spread the word -- and the link: -- on social media, on your email signature, in emails to friends!

The selections for this magazine are made by YWP staff, volunteer professionals, mentors and Community Leaders on the site. If you'd like to participate, contact Susan Reid. 

Feel free to add sound and images to your posts! That will make this magazine even better.  To view it, click here.


Apr 16

A Tree's Memories

The darkness is warm and heavy, comforting almost.
I can feel the sunlight upon my tough shell, so unlike how it felt to drift down, spinning and absolutely uncaring for the world, before settling here at my mothers feet, upon the hearty, green moss.
The tough but gentle hands that intricately selected me off the ground carefully peel back my outer coat, leaving me bare against the open air. Then the hands gingerly close around me, again encasing me in blackness.
When the fingers unfurl once again, I am only free for a second before they dump me into a tiny hole in the soil, and cover me with it.
It was there that I took root, there that I was watered and nurtured.
And it was there that I grew.
Mar 10
lorenyoung's picture

Emerald Ash Borer

The ash tree is a very important tree in Vermont’s landscape.  Ash have beautiful diamond-shaped bark patterns and they stand out in a forest due to their tall and straight lines. 

To me, ash trees are iconic. They make the Green Mountains green in the spring and summer, and turn to vivid orange hues in the fall. My dad and I find morel mushrooms growing in the nitrogen-rich soil at the base of our ash trees. They are known for having great, full tops, and bring good value in the timber market. Birds love ash trees because they are high enough to keep away predators, and deer rely on ash trees as they eat the buds off the young tops in the winter. 
Mar 04
poem 2 comments challenge: Invasive

If a tree falls in the forest...

I am 237 years old today,
the oldest tree in this forest. I am
a living measurement of time, a history book in
its most natural form. Wizened by decades of observation
witness to catastrophes and wonders you will never know
but there is one tragedy I will tell you. One of every twelve
trees in Vermont are ash trees like me and their wails in the wind warn
of imminent death in the form of an emerald beetle. Their larvae grow under
our bark, feed on our flesh, blocking our transportation of water and
nutrients until our skin becomes brittle and splits, our crowns of
foliage fall and we die of thirst and starvation. These invasive
aliens won't stop until we've all collapsed, returning
 to the earth we once arose from. You may
be thinking "It's just
trees, why should
we care?" Our lives
are more entwined
than you realize.
We take your exhales
Sep 20

The Voice - Fall 2018

Young Writers Project proudly presents The Voice! 
Aug 16

The Voice - August 2018

Special Summer of Stories issue! Enjoy!

Jul 17

The Voice - July 2018

Jun 04

The Voice - June 2018

A TRIBUTE to MGMC (& all about Voices for Change!)

Apr 23

The Voice - April/May 2018

Enjoy this beautiful issue of The Voice! 

Mar 19

The Voice -- March 2018

WHAT DO YOU THINK? Please click "read more" and put a comment on the side. THANKS. Your reactions are important. Be heard.
Mar 19

The Voice -- March 2018

 The Voice -- February 2018


WHAT DO YOU THINK? We need you to comment and tell us what you think of this month's magazine. THANKS. Just comment on the side.

Feb 08

The Voice- February 2018

Jan 16

The Voice - January 2018

Dec 05

Nov/Dec 2017 Issue

Jun 15
poem 0 comments challenge: Blue

paint a flag on your skin

it was the most 
beautiful shade of 

the flag that 
was imprinted on her skin, 
right next to her eyes 
that shone brown. 

and then the 
king that had thrown 
a revolution of hate 
decided that he didn't like the fact
that she wore it so beautifully. 

This is the story of 
a people's rebellion. 

Once upon a time,

the king went throught the kingdom
and ripped it off people, 
one by one, 
when he decided that they didn't fit
with what he thought was right. 

he looked at the people 
whose flags where still slowly
being drawn on, 
who had chosen it out of love 
or come here out of desperation 
and decided that the way that they 
clashed a little with the other colors
against their skin was 
and abomination and he tore 
the newly growing things off. 
Jun 13

You're 15

You're 15, scared at a family reunion,

mustering the courage to tell.
It's noon and your plan was to have already told

them what your lips have been dying to say.
Your grandmother and uncle question you on what you've

“learned” in school, but you zone out the moment you start to watch their lips.
Your grandmother steps closer to your white shirt,

jean pants, and pin.
She realigns her eyes to the picture, on the thin metal piece of jewelry

“...a rainbow...” you look into her eyes trying to pry out the words she's about to speak.
“Why a rainbow, does it mean anything?”

You look down as your chest concaves to pressure.

you say as you feel your head plummet to what feels like past your knees.

Your heart - your lungs - your knees themselves, so weak.

You’re so mad, you want to tell them about your girlfriend
and how happy she makes you.
May 22
mythicalquill's picture

Never Been to NYC

Ian’s daily commute clocked in at twenty-two minutes and forty-six seconds on a good day, with light traffic and fair visibility. If it was raining: twenty-six thirty-two. Snow could bring it up to as much as thirty. Whatever the weather, he knew exactly when to leave his neat apartment so he could make it to the office on time.

But as storms began to brew closer to home, and downsizing decisions loomed, his boss had neatly cut his commute down to zero minutes, zero seconds. He was making the return trip for the last time.
May 21


Edited with Photofox 
May 21

Jail Writing

The glow of the lamplight illuminated her face
As she worked diligently on her essay.
Not small minded
But small
She scratched away with her pencil 
Leaving traces
On the paper.
Her face lit up with excitement.
The girl put down her lined piece of paper,
That looked like a jail for words.
She took out
A piece of blank paper
And began to write.
"The glow of the lamplight illuminated her face..." 
May 20
poem 1 comment challenge: ListenUp
Dana1357's picture

Her Mask

She always responds, “I’m fine.”
Even when the people who care enough to take notice do.
“I’m fine.”
She always assures us.
But with that response, she’s not just trying to convince us.
She’s trying to convince herself that maybe one day,
she will be close enough to fine
that she can answer that question without the mask on.
“I’m fine.”
The people around aren’t helping at all.
Always pushing her around
both in the figurative and literal sense.
And she’s just exhausted.
So exhausted that sometimes, she lets her mask slip without realizing it.
“I’m fine.”
She would love to tell someone, she really would.
No one knows how hard it is for her to do anything anymore.
Not her parents. Not her best friend.
They don’t know because she knows what they would say.
Oh, she’s just overexaggerating. She’s just having a bad day.
Well, that bad day turned into a week, a month, a year.
May 20
Elle McAvey's picture

I'm not OK

Elle McAvey, age 11, of Shelburne Community School sent Young Writers Project this illustration to encourage people to seek help when they need it -- and to #stopstigma of mental illness.