Student Work: "Cute to Some, But Not to All"

 Cute to Some, But Not to All

by

Alex Elliott, age 9

            Jamaica was desperately trying to get her hair done in curly braids all by herself because Sammy, her mom, had gone out to get a taco. She was getting her hair done in preparation for her concert because she was a famous child country singer.

            Meanwhile, Cop Ralph, her bodyguard, tapped on the door. “Jamaica, how are the curly braids coming?” Cop Ralph knew it wasn’t possible for Jamaica to do her curly braids by herself, so he used a little exaggeration.

            “Cop Ralph,” Jamaica groaned.

            “Uh, yes, Jamaica.”

            “My curly braids aren’t working!” Jamaica yelled as she stomped her foot. “I want my mama!”

            Now, Jamaica was five years old, so her fame wasn’t going to last long. It was mostly due to her cuteness. Jamaica had a whiny voice, but also little green eyes, an everlasting smile, and long wavy hair. Her mama was very careless and left her child alone with Cop Ralph for long periods of time. Once, she even left her because she needed a pack of gum and to catch up on the latest magazines.

            Cop Ralph was desperate. “Where’s your mom?” he asked as he paced Jamaica’s dressing room floor.

            “Out getting a taco,” Jamaica answered.

            “Should’ve guessed,” Cop Ralph muttered, shaking his head.

            “Hey,” Jamaica snapped. “Back to my hair! Fix it, Cop Ralph,” she moaned.

            “I am a man,” he yelled. “I don’t have little girls. I’m just plain old Cop Ralph. I don’t know how to curl hair.”

            Tears filled Jamaica’s eyes. “Oh. I guess, I’ll just put on a hat,” she whispered, shuffling her feet around the room with her head lowered.

            “No, no, no, I’m sorry. I’m only frustrated,” Cop Ralph said as he rubbed his bald head.

            “Cop Ralph,” Jamaica said, “speaking of hair, you could use some of your own.”

            “Oh, for crying out loud,” Cop Ralph said.
            “Sorry, Cop Ralph,” she giggled.

            “Oh, just give me that head of yours and I’ll make these braids curly.” Cop Ralph stood over her and shoved his fingers into her thick head of hair. “Hmm, let me get the curling iron. Where is it?” Cop Ralph started searching, lifting seat cushions and opening drawers.

            “I’m hungry,” Jamaica whined.

            “Get it yourself,” Cop Ralph said. “I’m busy.”

            She walked over to a cabinet and pulled down a bowl, a spoon, and some corn flakes. When she dumped the cereal in the bowl, out fell a curling iron. “Cop Ralph, look,” Jamaica cried.

            “Really?” Cop Ralph muttered as he turned his head. “What in the world is it doing in the cereal box?”

            “Hey,” Jamaica said, “now you can curl my hair while I eat!”

            “This world is full of surprises,” Cop Ralph said, rolling his eyes. Jamaica sat down and Cop Ralph stood behind her with the curling iron. He rolled it up and down her hair, unsure of how to work it.

            As Jamaica dipped her spoon into her corn flakes, applause and the sounds of a cheering crowd rose from outside the dressing room.

            “Oh, I give up,” Cop Ralph said, dropping his arms. He fumbled through a drawer and pulled out a big, floppy tan hat with a bow on the front. He put it on her head with a satisfying plop and pulled her up. “Come on, Jamaica. Show time!” Cop Ralph tugged Jamaica by the hand and led her backstage.

            “Wait, woah, woah. What if my hat falls off and I get embarrassed, or what if it falls in my eyes and I can’t see where I’m going, and I trip? Or, someone might even pull it off my head to keep, since it is, after all, something I’ve touched and I’m the great Jamaica, a living legend.”

            “Uh-huh, come on, get over here.” Cop Ralph tugged her to the edge of the stage. Lights shone brightly from the stage, where an announcer stood with a microphone.

            “Wait, wait,” Jamaica said.

            “And now,” the announcer sang, “please welcome to the stage, the cutest of all, Jamaica!”

            Cop Ralph shoved Jamaica out onto the stage and she began to sing:

                                                            There was a flower,

                                                            there was a bug.

                                                            The bug was snug

                                                            on the flower’s rug.

                                                            The flower was rosy.           

                                                            The bug was blue.

                                                            Then, with a twitch,

                                                            the bug went achoo.

                                   

                                                            It blew the petals

                                                            off the stem.

                                                            The bug was homeless,

                                                            so he found a cozy limb.

            The crowd erupted in cheers. Cop Ralph fell back into a chair, breathing a sigh of relief.

The End

This story first appeared in the inaugural Story Hatchery Anthology last year. 

Art According to Story Hatchery Students

A few months ago, a Story Hatchery student came into class with something she wanted to discuss. She had been on the bus for school and saw a boy draw a slanted line in the condensation on the window. The student was perplexed why the boy didn't draw a picture like the other kids on the bus were doing. The boy drew the line and then did nothing else but stare at it.

This sparked a conversation at our round table. Story Hatchery students came up with ideas (listed below) as to what this small action could represent of a character in a story.

1) The boy feels his life is downhill.

2) The boy unconsciously draws the line. 

3) The boy is experiencing, feeling, and noticing what others take for granted. 

4) The boy draws it to evoke reactions from others on the bus, to create mystery. 

5) The line symbolizes uncertainty, an unfinished childhood. 

This list lead to a class discussion of what is art. We talked about some paintings in museums seeming just as simple as a line made in condensation on a window. Could the line the boy drew on the window be art? Is everything that hangs in a museum art? Out students came up with some possible definitions of art: 1) Art is personal creation. 2) Art has meaning to the viewer or artist. 3) Art is expressing yourself. 4) Art is symbolic. Our students wanted to make sure their definitions could not limit art, but some students thought art should be limited. 

What do you think? What is art? What is it for? Can art have a definition? 

Inspired by this discussion, this Story Hatchery class of 12 and 13 year olds have been working on a story about a 14 year old boy named Jeremy. Look for this story in our upcoming anthology coming out this summer. 

Student work: "Diary of: My Sister Rocks"

Diary of: My Sister Rocks

by

Eva Bey, age 8

May 13, 2000

            Today my sister Karly told me that Molly is going to try out for the soccer team. I know I shouldn’t be worried about her, but she has cerebral palsy, so she can’t run well. So I went to talk to Coach Winslow and he said, “She will get hurt.” I think I’ll go tomorrow to her physical therapy appointment.

May 14, 2000

            Today I went to Molly’s therapy thing. It was boring, but it helped her. Barely! So I am going to help her myself. When I got in the car to go too, Molly asked, “Why are you coming?” I just told her I wanted to see what happened there and I had nothing to do at home. Karly had friends over again. And Ron, my brother, was playing video games. And my homework? Well, I didn’t have any homework. Yippidy-do!

May 15, 2000

            Today I helped Molly. She was okay, but she wasn’t fast and she kept falling. But I’ll keep trying to help her.

May 16, 2000

            Today after church I helped Molly again. She wasn’t that much better. So I gave her homework: practice lifting your knees when you run. After dinner, she practiced kicking the ball.

May 17, 2000

            Today was try-outs. Molly did NOT make the team. It’s not fair. She tried so hard, and so did I. And now every time Molly wakes up, she cries. That’s why I’m writing at four o’clock in the morning. She is STILL crying.

            Okay, now she’s stopped. Maybe finally I can get some sleep.

May 18, 2000

            Ron got the most amazing idea. Molly, Ron, Karly, and me are going to make our own soccer team. In our own backyard! We practiced for a half hour and are going to every night. We play against our mom, dad, Aunt Betty, and Uncle Harry this Saturday. Karly made our team jerseys. I’m number 18, Karly’s 17, Ron’s 16, and Molly is 15. Our team is called the Panthers. Our team rocks, just like my sister, Molly!

The End

This story first appeared in The Story Hatchery Anthology last year. 

Our 2011 anthology will be coming out this summer, presenting the 

student work completed within 2010-2011. 

Thrift Store Fun

Get creative at your local thrift store with some of the fun adventures below.

1) Find an old book and tear out a page. Cut out all of the sentences and rearrange them to create different outcomes. Try cutting up a few more pages. Can you make a story?

2) Take photos of the faces of all the discarded stuffed animals. How do they feel about being at a thrift store? Who do they miss? Where do they want to go? Do you have a solution? 

3) Find a pair of shoes. List out the places they have been. Draw the person you imagine wore them. Draw the person who made the shoes. Write what you think could happen to this pair of shoes. 

4) Look at the discarded appliances. Come up with new functions for them. A blender could become an alien spaceship; a toaster could become barracks for green plastic army men; an old typewriter could be a....

Have fun with the best toy in the world...your imagination! 

Curiosity

Every day at The Story Hatchery I get to witness students' curiosity. I think it may be the most beautiful thing in the world. 


I think, at a child's birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.  ~Eleanor Roosevelt


Millions saw the apple fall, but Newton asked why.  ~Bernard Baruch


The cure for boredom is curiosity.  There is no cure for curiosity.  ~Dorothy Parker  


I find that a great part of the information I have was acquired by looking up something and finding something else on the way.  ~Franklin P. Adams


I have no special talents.  I am only passionately curious.  ~Albert Einstein


Be curious always!  For knowledge will not acquire you; you must acquire it.  ~Sudie Back


Curiosity is a willing, a proud, an eager confession of ignorance.  ~S. Leonard Rubinstein, Writing: A Habit of Mind


The important thing is not to stop questioning.  Curiosity has its own reason for existing.  One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality.  ~Albert Einstein


Curiosity will conquer fear even more than bravery will.  ~James Stephens, The Crock of Gold


Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly.  ~Arnold Edinborough



I keep six honest serving-men,
They taught me all I knew;
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
~Rudyard Kipling


Curiosity is little more than another name for Hope.  ~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers, 1827


There are no foolish questions, and no man becomes a fool until he has stopped asking questions.  ~Charles Proteus Steinmetz


The one real object of education is to have a man in the condition of continually asking questions.  ~Bishop Mandell Creighton

Make Your Own Dictionary

Words mean more to us than their definitions. Words have connotations and associations that enhance or complicate their meanings. For instance, the words "trust" and "faith" have similar definitions, but through social, cultural, and personal influences, their connotations and associations are very different. The word "trust" has links to friendship, marriage, banks, etc., whereas "faith" has links to church, spirituality, death, etc. Then, we have our personal experiences with the words that further specify their meanings.

Writing Ritual:

1) List out specific words that have particular significance in your life. Perhaps words that you heard or still hear your mother, father, grandparent, or sibling say frequently. Words that began a transition in your life. Food, colors, activities, verbs. Words that you are afraid of.  

2) Try writing out personal "definitions" to the words you've listed. For example: Pancakes--A soft, flat cake prepared each morning by Mom from grades 1 through 9. Couldn't eat them unless they were no bigger than a silver dollar. Never cover in syrup because sogginess is gross. Eat like a cookie. Brother was always in bad mood in the mornings until he ate his. Brother and sister would compete on the weekends to see who could eat the most, while I ate Kix cereal. I stopped eating them all together in grade 7. 

This exercise is a fun experiment in memoir writing. Have a reminiscent day! Chirp...chirp...

Student Work: "Postcard Stories"

Below are two "postcard" stories--a story you can fit on a postcard. This is a fun experiment to try to see if you can convey a vibrant world of rich detail, complex characters, and conflict in-between the written lines, or, in other words, through subtext. Story Hatchery student, Maggie Cox, does this exceptionally well. Enjoy! 

Postcard Stories

by

Maggie Cox, age 12

I

            A cloud of dust sprang up. Rubbing the grime out of my eyes, I reached for the naked bulb. Light flooded the attic. I walked softly so he wouldn't hear. A crash of glass sounded from below, followed by shouts. Forget that now, I told myself. I was safe with the books. 

II

            As the cold water rushed in my mouth, it flowed through the hole where I was missing a tooth. It was so refreshing. I thought if I could get enough water, I could wash away the bad taste my last foster family had left in my mind. I could wash away all the bad memories that I knew would always remain.