How to use this Page

I felt a bit like an elf today, slipping through the halls of a local high school and delivering a copy of Nothing but Ghosts to Kiera Ingalls, the talented young writer who won the third readergirlz writing contest. I meant to stay for a short while, but my hosts—Katherine Barham and her class of aspiring writers—were dear and gracious, giving me room to talk about the extraordinary enterprise that is readergirlz and asking intelligent questions about the writer's life. Where do stories begin? How do titles erupt? Can books really build an audience through word of mouth? Why do so many embrace and celebrate books that don't appear to be immensely well written? These students had just, at Ms. Barham's prompting, written their own books and designed their own covers; they'd rounded up blurbs and crafted their bios. What, they seemed to be asking, is the future of books?

The future is you, I thought. And you. And you. It's Kiera, pictured here with the fabulous Ms. Barham, and with me, who felt so proud to meet her.

For the third Readergirlz contest, writers were asked to choose a photograph of themselves at a turning point in time. They were then to write of that moment in present tense. They were next to take that moment and recast it in past tense. Finally, they were to reflect on what each tense made room for in terms of storytelling.

Our winner is Kiera Ingalls, 17, of Wayne, PA, who did a masterful job of twice telling a wild turkey story and reflecting on what the exercise yielded. We had two runners up: Carly Husick and Lucia Anderson. Kiera wins a signed copy of Nothing but Ghosts, and I replay her entry in full here. Look for the fourth and final readergirlz writing contest tomorrow; the winner of that contest will receive an advanced reading copy of The Heart is Not a Size.

Present Tense:

I follow my brother’s quick steps in the dewy grass to the roaring creek. The slime of salamanders lingers on my small fingers as I rub the bumpy skin of a toad. My brother Roscoe starts to meander towards the woods. Quickly following him I make sure not to drop the fidgety toad that I cusp in my hands. Under the tree cover there is a myriad of vibrant green “monkey brains”. I pick one up and the citrus scent wafts right up to my nose. From the corner of my eye sudden movement catches my attention. I drop the monkey brain as Roscoe dashes after a wild turkey. He lunges at it once only brushing the tail fathers. He sprints up again making another attempt this time acquiring a feather. With another grab the agitated turkey turns around and bites Roscoe. My brother stops, allowing the wild turkey to fade into the distance. I approach my brother and after seeing that he still has all of his fingers we take our time back home. Looking down my brother faintly knocks on the heavy mahogany door. My mother slowly opens the door appearing disgruntled. I gaze up extending my arms in front of me to expose my bumpy finding to mommy. In return she extends her accepting arms to Roscoe and I for a hug, and in relief we leap into them.

Past Tense:

We jumped in the creek looking for slimy squishy creatures and we walked through underpasses beneath major roads. Wandering through the woods my brother, Roscoe, and I discover fox skulls and fragrant Osage Oranges. As we started back to the house Roscoe spotted a wild turkey and decided he would try to catch it. I’m not sure if he intended to have it for dinner, considering he was a very picky eater and would only eat turkey and lettuce sandwiches for some time, or if he w

The second winner of the readergirlz story song contest is Rachel L., who brought us a lyric called "Strength."

Strength

To stand as stone; to sing as wind.
To call your name; to let me in.

With flame and ice and skin aglow,
Those eyes that crackle; those tears like snow.

The heart that’s stronger
Than the oak’s wide frame;
The lips that call

And those that came.


Choreography Explanation: When I get an idea for a piece of writing, usually it comes in the form of a single image. Then I take the image and do what I can to sketch it out and transfer it to the reader’s mind. Once I found my image, my strategy for this poem was vagueness. I wanted the words I wrote to conjure up an image in the reader’s head and perhaps a feeling that went with it, but I didn’t want it to be the same thing that came into my head. I endeavored to take my image and just lightly brush around it with my finger, enough that the reader has an outline of my thought, but there are thousand possibilities of what I could have meant. My meaning is mine alone, and your interpretation makes the poem yours too.

The second readergirlz contest asked writers to think out loud about the way their own work is choreographed—how it moves across the page, and from sound toward meaning. Our winner is Q. Here is her poem, and her reasoning. Q receives a signed copy of House of Dance.


Tinged with regret
The girl in the bus
window
sees me on a park bench,
me with all my waiting and
watching her,
too.

I might have known her
once,
and I wonder if she saw me
for who I was,
for who I am,
or for who I'd like to be.

And how do I see
her?

She is a sheet of
paper,
breezing by on the wind
of the bus she sits in.

(Maybe I should have
sung
when I had the chance.)

When I write a poem, each sentence is its own stanza. I break lines where the next word should be emphasized more, leave a word on its own when it should be said slower and more alone, and leave lines together where they ought to be said faster. That, however, is just the basic structure.

I imagine this speaker thinking about the direction her life is taking and, perhaps, not really knowing where it leads. The girl on the bus could be anyone--like the sheet of paper, she is generic and fleeting. Yet, the poem starts with her perspective because it ends with the speaker's. She allows the speaker to build to a climax at the end of the second stanza, and then draws the speaker to her regretful conclusion, all without saying a word.

Two winners have been selected for the October readergirlz writing challenge, and their work will be posted shortly. In the meantime, I'm happy to unveil the third challenge of four, a contest I've called "Then and Now." Here we go:

In this readergirlz challenge, the premise is simple (and does not involve a video). Find a photograph of yourself as a young child on the verge of some new knowledge or turning point. Write a paragraph about that photograph/that moment in present tense, as if you are experiencing that moment for the first time. Then write about that photograph/that moment in past tense, with the gift of retrospection. Ask yourself what you gain from working in the present tense, and what is gained by reflection; include your thoughts on this with your submission. Send your entry to me at kephartblogATcomcastDOTnet by November 25, 2009. The author of the winning entry will receive a signed copy of NOTHING BUT GHOSTS, a novel about a young girl who, in learning to live past her mother’s unexpected passing, involves herself in decoding the mystery that envelops the recluse down the road. The past and the present collide in GHOSTS.

Only cold. Only wet. A lonesome feeling.

For a reminder about the second readergirlz writing contest—soliciting short poems or prose pieces that have been thoughtfully choreographed—please see my post on today's HarperTeen blog.

Extraordinarily fine work was submitted for the inaugural readergirlz writing contest, which asked writers to yield a brief piece of a fully lived emotion. In the end, a single winner would not do. Please join me in congratulating the winners here, below, who are all receiving signed copies of Undercover. And please join us for the second of the four contests, newly posted here.

Jennifer Petro-Roy is a librarian/graduate student in Library Science with eventual aspirations to be a young adult librarian/young adult author; she is at work on a memoir about her battle with and full recovery from anorexia and exercise addition.

My worth was in flesh, visible bones, rib cage mere piano keys to play.
Sweat and footfalls placated the fear. Body tense, I calculated my worth.
My mirage beckoned, grasped, screamed, pulling me deeper.
Can't stop, can't stretch, can't grow, can't be.
Just me. Am I enough?
Supplement my worth with nothing.
Prove I am through negatives and loss.
Fear. Relief. Fear. Always fear.
Until a step. A struggle. A Sisyphean slip.
Again. Stone in place, the view belongs to me.

A quick reminder here that today is the final submission day in the inaugural readergirlz writing contest. I have loved reading through the entries that have been received thus far. If you've written a short piece inspired by the idea of writerly vulnerability, I invite you to send it in for consideration.

The winner will be announced and featured this coming Monday.