Mamma’s Roses, Age 14

By Katy E.

Mamma loved roses, she had bushes and bushes of them growing around our house. In the warm months, when they blossomed, she would place them in every room, slipping them in her art deco vases. That’s the theme of our house rose-art deco. Up stairs, her studio looked more like a green house than a studio, with all the roses she had put in it. The whole western side of the studio was glass, and over looked Mamma’s enormous rose garden. She grew every rose imaginable, I never really remembered the names of any, even though she often tried to drill it through my sisters’ and mine’s head. She would take us up the long spirled starecase to her studio and we would look out the large “looking glass” as Mamma called it, and she would name all of her roses. Rain or shine she would walk through her gardens and talking and singing to them. She told me once that they talk back to her in voices of melted gold. I thought that this was very strange, but not wanting to hurt Mamma’s feelings I said nothing of my opinion and smiled and nodded.

Unfortunately, the roses Mamma loved so much out lived her. We all knew that Mamma had heart problems, yet we didn’t think much of it. Sometimes she would go into surgery and would stay at the hospital over night with Daddy. Auntie would then come and stay with my two older sisters and I. We would watch movies and eat popcorn; then Auntie would tell us embarrassing stories when she and Mamma were little. So we barely thought anything of it when she went in for another surgery. Yet, this time Mamma didn’t come back.

We planted Mamma’s favorite roses on her grave, and had them border her tomb stone. After Mamma’s death Daddy became less and less cheerful. Before, Daddy had always been playful and boyish, he would often run Mamma up the wall with his jokes and little pranks. Now his mood had slipped into the deep casams of thought and distress. Auntie came to visit more often but, her visits weren’t the same. They never were. I would often find myself sitting in Mamma’s studio gazing through the looking glass at her roses. Even they look sad. I had taken upon the honor of caring for her dear flowers. No one could make roses grow like Mamma, but I tried my best. I talked and sang to them diligently, just as she had done and one thing something amazing happened. The roses talked back. Their voices were just as Mamma had described them. Yet, intertwined in the mellow golden notes of their chorus I could hear my Mamma. I knew then that she was happy and felt my heavy heart lift within me as I listened to her voice echo within the petals.

Fire or Camping in the Forest Anna E. Age 8

The hissing of red flames,
Siss, Cackle, and pop.
I sit with my friend-him and I,
it is so cozy and warm.
We roast and toast.
When that is over, I brush my teeth
And go to bed.

Freddy's Home Run By Maura. Z

Freddy's Home RunBy Maura Zindler

The fireflies buzzed in loopy circles around the gnarled oak tree that late July evening. Freddy nestled himself inside the hole in the trunk, feeling cozy surrounded by all the crinkling leaves. Just as the tiny squirrel was drifting asleep, he was startled by a loud crack, and he felt the tree shake around him.

"What could that be?" Freddy thought in surprise. He scurried out of his nest to figure out what was the matter. Dusk was falling thicker around him, but the lights from the small stadium, which actually seemed rather enormous to Freddy, cast a yellow glow on the grass. To Freddy's surprise, he did discover what had hit the ancient tree - it was a baseball. But of course he didn't know that it was a baseball! To him it looked like a giant, white walnut practically the size of him (Fred had always been small for his age!).

Something else now caught Freddy's attention and he was entranced by a thick salty scent that no squirrel could resist: roasted peanuts. Freddy's dark eyes widened as he thought of the wonderful crunchy taste. He just had to have one peanut! Although he had tasty acorns to snack on inside the tree, he scampered off following the scent.

It wasn't long before Freddy reached the tall fence. Even though he was always warned never to jump over it, he climbed up onto the bush and leapt across. He seemed to have tossed aside everything he had learned in Squirrel School. All he wanted was roasted peanuts. Soon he would learn he had made a huge mistake.

Strong lights stared down on tiny Freddy as he realized his surroundings. He was standing timidly on a grassy field; he could see people standing out there, crouching down as if ready to pounce upon something. Suddenly, with a crack of a bat, he was startled as people began to run around much too fast for his eyes to follow. This wasn't what Freddy had expected- he'd find a peanut, and leave before anyone noticed him. The plan had been risky, and he had thought he could do it...until just now.

A voice echoed through the stadium that made Freddy nearly jump out of his skin. "Hold on folks, there seems to be an issue- we have a squirrel on the field, but give us a few moments and we can play ball!"

Freddy bolted across the brightly lit field as all eyes seemed to be following him, and now people with nets had appeared and were puffing after him. This was not what he had planned- all he had wished for was a peanut, and there was no turning back now. The crowd let out a cheer every time Freddy dodged a net in fright. Just in time, he spied just the peanut he was looking for. He leaped into the bleachers and frantically shoved the peanut under his arm. His heart beat wildly as he scanned the enormous ball park for a way out towards the wall that started this whole mess.

Freddy let out a squeak of terror as he saw a net, or atleast that's what Freddy thought it was, swoop over him. "It's all over", he thought to himself, "I should have never come". But the little squirrel didn't know he was about to meet his new friend. Before he knew it, Freddy found himself in a baseball mitt looking up at a smiling face glistening with sweat and a cap dusty from the field.

"Come on little guy, let's get you back to the forest," the baseball player said tenderly. So Freddy stared up at the man, still clutching his peanut to his chest, and watched as the big man walked them across the field. Once they reached the wall, he gently placed Freddy back onto the bush and grinned, "All because you wanted one peanut" and with that he turned around and headed towards the cheering crowd.

Freddy sat on the edge of his small nook in the tree and looked out towards the little baseball field that had seemed so gigantic to him. He sunk his teeth into the roasted peanut. His smiled faded as he realized it wasn't as good as it should have been. He sighed and then began to understand that maybe he should have been happy with all the acorns he had, and he was greedy to have broken the rules for just one peanut. "Never again will I take more than I need," Freddy said to himself and nodded in determination. Since then Freddy's life took a turn for the best.

Once in a while, the baseball player would put a bag of peanuts at the base of the tree that he imagined the tiny squirrel might live in. Freddy would invite all the squirrels in the park to share his gift. Life was ever different for the little squirrel with a big story, and he couldn't be happier.

The River By Maura Z., Age 14

Carved into the rock,
A crevice for every hundred years,
It hardly stands still,
Smooth deep shaded pebbles against your face,
The silent strength of the green water below,
It's pulse; so strong and clear is lost in the echoing forest around,
And it keeps moving,
On towards the dip in the land,
where the water swells and spins,
Blowing kisses to the weeds that bloom in the shadows,
Never ceasing to flow,
Acorns dance in the water,
My toe dips timidly into the coolness,
The slow waves that tickle my skin as I walk into the current,
Plunging underneath before all sense reaches me,
And I can only see the murky green,
all shapes foggy and indistinct,
Inside another world,
But our eyes can't adjust to the light.

By Kathrine C.

The sun was shining through the leaves warming Nutty’s body. He heard the sound of children laughing
from below his nest in the tree. Nutty began to wake up. He stretched until he felt like he could touch the sun. He
shook out his fur and washed his face with a drop of rain from last night. He scampered down the endless tree.
When he finally reached the soft dewy grass, he was thrilled with what he saw. It was one of those big white
tents again. He couldn’t wait to see what left over treats there were today!
He scurried under the giant white tarp and smelled a sweet, strawberry smell. He found what looked like a
pink cloud only it was small and on the ground. He realized that the delicious smell was coming from the pink
cloud. He picked it up with his tiny hands and put it in his mouth. Instantly, he was filled with happiness as the
pink cloud disappeared on his tongue. Just then, a tiny person came waddling into the tent. He was crying out,
“Momma, where are you?” Nutty remembered times when he was little and he was lost and looking for
his mom. He decided to help. He ran across the tall damp grass until he reached the little boy. The boy seemed
frightened. His eyes widened and he shied away. He calmed down after Nutty gave him his best “puppy eyes”.
The boy asked,
“Have you seen my mom?” Nutty nodded yes, even though he hadn’t, just so the boy would let him help.
The boy made a gesture and set his hand on the ground so Nutty could climb on. Nutty scrambled on and went
up and up into the air as if he was flying! The boy started to move. Nutty had to balance himself or he would fall
off the hand. The boy then talked on and on about how he got lost. Nutty tried his best to understand “toddler
talk” but could only make out that Jared, that was his name, got separated from his mom at the fountain by the
rose bushes. Nutty nodded throughout the story until Jared stopped walking. Nutty looked around and then
looked at Jared's eyes to see where they were looking.
“I cant remember where the fountain is!” Jared whined as his lip began to tremble. I looked once more at
the endless park. I found, not the fountain, but a map! I was so excited that I squeaked with joy. Jared asked me if
I saw something. I nodded and as he gently set me down on the stone path, I ran over to the map. Jared wobbled
as quickly as he could. We both stared at the map and soon realized that neither of us could read. Then, Jared
came up with a great idea.
He said, “We should look for things around us to see where we are on the map!” I squeaked with excitement.
As we looked around, we saw a hot dog stand, a small blue bathroom, and a gift shop.
“A gift shop!” Jared shouted. “Lets try to find it on the map!” I squeaked again and looked for a gift shop
marking on the map. As soon as I saw one, Jared did too. So we had established where we were.
“Now we should look for a picture of a fountain.” Jared said. I smiled up at him and yipped “Good job!” I
don’t think he heard me, he was busy looking for a fountain. When he found the fountain marking, he set down
his hand and not so carefully picked me up. I could tell he was excited by the speed of his little legs. I didn’t
know where we were going, but Jared did. He turned corners like a soldier; precise and quick. He was a boy on a
mission. I just hoped I wouldn’t fall. It was a long way down. When we saw the fountain, Jared started running. I
was bouncing up and down and losing my balance as his feet leapt towards the fountain. When we got there, we
walked around and looked for his mom.
Then I heard, “Jared, Jared.” At first I thought I was mistaken, and that I was just day dreaming.
“Did you hear that?” Jared asked. I nodded excitedly. Now I knew that the voice was coming from him
mom. He knew that too as he started jumping up and down. I was thrown into the air and did an accidental flip,
which was very fun, but very scary. Right then, his mom came running towards us and grabbed Jared in a giant
hug. I was thrown to the ground with a thud as Jared returned the hug, which apparently I was not included in. I
landed on the ground with a bump as I did a summersault into a Pepsi can. As Jared’s mom kissed him all over
his face, Jared pulled away and walked over to me. He scooped me up, thanked me for my help, and gave me my
very own pink cloud! I was so excited to show my squirrel friends. As I watched Jared and his mom walk away,
I told myself that this was a day I’d never forget.

Peace by By: Kathrine C.

Bright spring morning,
Crystal clear sky,
Crisp fresh air,
Gentle clement breeze,
Glistening emerald leaves,
Swaying ticklish grass.
Pure trickling water
Smooth glassy stones,
Soft silky sand,
Peaceful river beneath my feet.

Calm River By: Genevieve C.

As the water trickles down the river, I smell nothing but crisp, fresh, air. I see tall trees and blooming plants, puffy, white clouds and the mountains in the horizon- a barrier. The river is calm and pure. I sauntered down the rocky hills and sandy shores and finally into the river. It feels just like I imagined, silky and smooth as I glide through the thin, calm river.

At the River

By Madline S.

I sit on a rock,
Hard and warm beneath me,
And I stare at the river ahead.
The earth beneath my feet is moist,
And I feel a soft breeze fly by me and around my shoulders,
As I dip my feet into the stream,
The coolness soothes my hot skin.
The river is like little ribbons lying across the earth,
It is like warm tender love flowing around the fish,
The waterfall ahead is my mother’s spilt tea falling off the edge of the table back at home,
Or millions of marbles crashing out of a jar and splashing onto the floor.
All of the sudden rain starts to fall,
Dripping down, down my face and body,
The droplets of the rain splash along the rushing river,
Making it move quicker and quicker.
The river now looks like a glittering piece of jewelry,
Rushing along toward the waterfall ahead.
As the day starts to become night,
I slip on my shoes and begin to walk home.
And I know that tomorrow I will come back to,
My Favorite place to be,
At the river.

Waves By: Bailey B.

The surf rolls on to the sand
Bringing its sun burnt cargo in tow.
Then it slides back in to the sea,
Only to repeat again, and again.

The Sea

By: Bailey B.

Where breezes fly though my hair,
Where the sand tickle my feet,
Where cool waves wash over my ankles,
Where the sun keeps me warm in her heat.

Where seagulls shriek at our kites,
Where there are plenty of shells for me,
Where dolphins say hi from the water,
That's where I want to be.

Reflections By: Bailey B.

I know someone
A friend of mine
She kind of looks like me
And every time the lake is still
She always there for me I smile at her
She smiles at me
I wave to her
She waves back at me
When I talk
She listens
When I cry
She does too
And every once-in-a-while
I look at her and see
That that is exactly how Our friendship was meant to be.

Morning Water

By: Bailey B.

A misty morn,
A foggy dawn,
The perfect beginning
For a stroll to the pond.

A splash, a ripple.
The silence breaks.
Deer come to drink
In this hazy morning place.

The sun starts to climb
Into the soft pink sky.
So I bid my farewells,
And say my good-byes.

A misty morn,
A foggy dawn,
The perfect ending
For a stroll to the pond.

AN OTTERS PLAYGROUND

By Caitlin S. Age 12


Blue cold water- icy pleasure in the mountains
Warm furry critters,
Munching on fish, nibbling weeds and scarfing down
clams
Sliding down mud. Plunging,
Ripples wash over their heads,
Bubbles tickle their bellies,
Churning the water as they twirl
Playful otters
Playground rivers
Freedom's little astronauts, weightless in the water

Bountiful River

By Faisal Khurshid

Water flows like the drizzle of bliss that falls from the sky,
the water that brings a smile upon the faces of you and I.

The peaceful blessing of water that comes from cotton candy clouds when
they turn sour,
flows into the river and gives the fish a cool shower.

The blessing of life that makes man’s golden smile dandy,
blesses the plants with vibrant colors like multi-colored candy.

The drizzle of water that the prosperous ignore,
makes the farmer on the other side of the world celebrate and thank the Lord.

The river that makes the young play outside with faces of glee,
makes the adults with stern faces flee.

The drizzle of water brings much happiness to some,
makes the young run and have fun.

The water that gives the fish life,
ends the hungry’s suffer and strife.







© 2008. Faisal Khurshid.

Nature’s Treasure by Katy E., Age 14

Liquid diamonds,
Slipping down a ribbon of sunshine.
Finned jewels weave in and out of the rippled light.
Creating prisms of luminescence
dark petite thieves warble around the crystal surface.
They dip and descend
Attempting to embezzle the glittering diamonds.

Emerald beds lie close to the ridge of the train of glittering silk
On hard stony silver crumbs.
As strong breaths ripple the calm surface
They break upon the silver and scattered themselves
Along the sprouting green limbs.
As the drops of light slip down the slim stalk
Into the copper earth below.

Heavy footfalls fall gently on their tender tips
Slightly dipping them back, scattering the drops of crystal light
Into a sweeping bracelet of color.
Bursting red and greens
Are beaded against hues of blues and yellows.
Brilliantly coming forth with all their shine
They kiss the drifting rays of light
As it disappears into the velvet case of Nuit.

Luna brushes over the drips of diamonds with a practiced hand.
She drenches their shine with her subtle glow.
Her gentle breath calms the gently flowing silk surface
scattering its tamed waves with crystals.
Dressing the mother in its evening jewels.
A crown of pearls fall from the heavens
Lacing golden beds in glitter.

Slowly light slips into the faint elegance.
Delicate creatures arrayed in bright hues of red, blue, and yellow
Flock hither and thither.
With dainty feathered gloves, they dip into the liquid silk.
Ripples swirl in the looking glass,
Reawakening the silent finned sapphires.
Crystalized pearls rest on the green satin and light the day
In a brilliant radiance.

My River By Anna S. 14

My River
By: Anna Soane 14
Whirling, swirling, twirling
Delicately reaching out to my soul
Its beautiful ripples each embodies a dream
A dream waiting to come alive
Dwindling towards mother natures arms
Slivers of hope following the gentle crests and peeks
Swimming, swimming along the side
The scent of the water creeps into my soul
Making me feel alive
As the frigid water splashes against my rock it kisses
my rosy cheeks
The howling winds reaching out towards me
As the sunsets and the stars align
and as I walk home
I hear the gentle crests and peaks,
pintsize splashesand the roar of the crickets
Then I realize that all I will ever need
And all I will ever want is
My River

Journey Through The Seasons

By Taskeen K. Age 10, Grade 4

River,
I can feel your chilly waters
Quietly rushing against my toes.
I taste and smell your misty air.
Through your clear blue waters I see
your nimble fish, quick as clouds,
and your smooth, cool, pebbles.

Your guards are the gray, jagged, snowcapped mountains
which keep you going.
For company you have the talkative Maples
And you respond with your swishing waves.
Before they shed their leaves
they glance in your shimmering waters
looking for their reflection
making sure they look their best.

In Winter, when the Maples hibernate
You gossip with the whispering grass.

And with Spring, the beavers come to help
carve out your meandering shape.

Oh River, who could have a more adventourous journey than you?

LITTLE SQUIRREL

By Sana K. Grade 3, age 8

Once upon a time, there was a squirrel named Rachel. She hated sounds. When Rachel was born she heard a BOOM and a BANG and she started to cry. Ever since that incident, Rachel has never ever liked sounds. Whenever she heard a sound, she would run away or cover her ears.

One day Rachel saw a little squirrel who knew she hated sounds. He was a bully and he made a screeching sound, yelled and slammed a door. Rachel got very upset and ran away home. Her mother said, “ Rachel dear, why don’t you overcome your fear?” Rachel thought for a moment and then she said “But Mommy what should I do when I hear loud sounds? I always get so scared and all the other squirrels laugh at me.”
“No, they wouldn’t” said Mom
“Do I have to be brave?” asked Rachel.
“Yes” said her mother

The next day when Rachel went to school she was feeling very nervous about being brave because she didn’t know what types of sounds she would hear. During the day she heard a locker slamming, a door closing, the school bell ringing, students screaming and each time she heard a noise she reminded herself to be brave. It was really hard the first day but each day Rachel became braver and braver until she overcame her fear. Then the sounds didn’t bother her and she lived happily ever after.

THE END

STREAM REFLECTIONS

By Sana K., Grade 3, Age 8

Little rock, little rock
I sit upon you day and night.
I sit upon you hearing
the streams and waves crashing by.

When I feel you
You seem like a pool of silk rushing past me.
I watch you and it feels like
You go right through me.

I love seeing the animals
I love hearing the birds
I love seeing the fish
I watch the water winding past me
Like a snake.
The croaking of the frogs
The chirping of the birds
Make me feel
Like I am at home.

All the nature is in me
I can feel it
Can’t you see.

I see the reflection of you
Like a mirror
In my heart.

River By Ajmal A. Age 9

In the river water flows
Sometimes fast, sometimes slow
Starts small then it grows
wider, wider every mile
Blue like sky
Fish like rainbows
On the banks, trees and houses
People fishing
boats floating
In the river
water flows

River of Words Contest Deadline Feb 15

Each year, in affiliation with The Library of Congress Center for the Book, River of Words conducts a free international poetry and art contest for youth on the theme of WATERSHEDS. The contest is designed to help youth explore the natural and cultural history of the place they live, and to express, through poetry and art, what they discover.The contest is open to any child in the world, from 5-19 years of age. Older students must have not yet completed high school. There is no charge to enter. (See entry form.)Students may enter on their own, or as part of a group (classroom, Girl Scout troop, 4-H, etc.). All entrants are receive acknowledgement in the form of a "Watershed Explorer" certificate. (See complete rules.)Poetry submissions are judged by River of Words co-founders Robert Hass, who served as US Poet Laureate from 1995-1997, and writer Pamela Michael. Art entries are judged by children's book writer and illustrator, Thacher Hurd.About 100 poems and artworks from both US and international entries are selected as finalists each year. All winners receive ribbons, books and/or art supplies, t-shirts and other prizes.Eight Grand Prize winners—four in poetry and four in art, in four different age categories—are chosen from the US entries.
Category I — Kindergarten-Grade 2Category II — Grades 3-6Category III — Grades 7-9Category IV — Grades 10-12
We also award an International Prize each year to a student from outside the United States. The International Prize may be awarded for either poetry or art.In addition, RoW and The Library of Congress Center for the Book honor two students who live in our respective watersheds: River of Words´ Shasta Bioregion Prize and The Library of Congress´ Anacostia Watershed Prize. The winning works may be either poetry or art.Winners are announced each April at a gala event at the San Francisco Library. The Grand Prize and International winners win an all-expense paid trip to Washington, DC to attend the RoW Award Ceremony at The Library of Congress.

Yearly Contest Deadlines:USA: February 15Foreign: March 1
Entry Form
Complete Contest Rules (Please Read!)
FAQs

Sour as a Lemon by Michael S. Age 7

I tasted an orange
and I thought it would be as sweet as a mango,
but it was as sour as a lemon.

Kids-in-Print Book Contest Deadline June 1, 2008

The 2008 National Kids-in-Print Book Contest for Students

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Entry Form (PDF)



Past Winners' Awards and Recognition

Entry Form (Word)



Past Winners

Entry Form (HTML)

To encourage and celebrate the creative talents and skills of students, Landmark House, Ltd. is pleased to announce The 2008 National Kids-in-Print Book Contest for Students.*
A qualified panel of judges, composed of professional editors, writers, illustrators, teachers, and librarians will judge the book entries on the merits of originality and the writing and illustrating skills displayed.
Landmark House, Ltd. will then publish the three winning students' books, one from each of the three age categories. The books will be printed and assembled according to the finest quality standards of book publishing.
What wonderful experiences await the three winners! When their books are selected for publication, they will be offered publishing contracts. They also will enjoy all-expense-paid trips to our offices in Kansas City, Kansas, where Landmark's professional staff will assist them in the editing, refining, and final production of their books. Within months, the winners will become published authors and illustrators and will be paid royalties annually on the sales of their books.
*Formerly The National Written & Illustrated by… Awards Contest for Students


Rules and Guidelines (click here for a printable version)

Entry Qualifications:Books by students may be entered in one of three age categories: 1) Ages 6 to 9 2) Ages 10 to 13 3) Ages 14 to 19 Each book submitted must be both written and illustrated by the same student. Any books that are written by one student and illustrated by another will be disqualified automatically. All entries must be submitted via a teacher or librarian.
Entry Fee:$10.00 per entry. All payments must be made in U.S. currency (check or money order; no cash), or by credit card (Visa, MasterCard, or American Express). The fee will help cover the expenses incurred in properly processing thousands of book entries.
Deadline for Entry:All entries must be postmarked on or before June 1, 2008.
Choice of Subject and Style of Text:Each student's book may be on any subject and in any genre - fiction, non-fiction, biography, autobiography, mystery, humor, science fiction, etc. Text may be written in either prose or poetry. Keep in mind that the best stories have a well-developed beginning, middle, and end.
Interest Level:The student's book must be written at a level that would be understood by and of interest to children who are somewhere within the age range of Kindergarten through Fourth Grade (approximately ages 5 through 9).
Book Dimensions:All books must be eight and one-half inches (8½") wide and eleven inches (11") tall.
Number of Pages:The combination of text and illustrations should be no less than sixteen (16) pages and no more than twenty-four (24) pages. In addition, there must be a Half-Title Page and the Title Pages. Half-Title Page - Consists of one (1) page, which may include: only the Title, or only an illustration, or a combination of both. Title Page - Consists of a two-page spread, which includes: Title, Name of Author/Illustrator, and an illustration.
Number of Illustrations:Students may develop as many illustrations as they choose; however, there must be at least one (1) illustration on every two-page spread.
Choice of Media for Illustrations:Students may develop their own illustrations in any medium of their choice, as long as the illustrations remain two dimensional and flat to the surface of the paper (no pop-ups). They may use pencil, water-color, tempera, ink, colored felt-tip markers, crayon, ORIGINAL computer graphics, or photographs taken by them, etc. If students use pastels, chalk, or any other medium that will rub off, each illustration should be properly sprayed with a fixative.
Type of Paper:Text - Text should be typed on white paper, either computer or regular typing paper.Illustrations - All illustrations should be prepared individually on good quality sketchpad paper or drawing paper.
Type of Text:All text should be neatly typed, double-spaced, and in a 12- to 14-point type. There must be at least a one-inch (1") margin at the top, bottom, and both sides of each page where text appears. The student or another individual may do the typing. For picture books, large primary-size type is permitted. The use of calligraphy or a special style of hand printing is also permitted, but only if it enhances the design and intent of the book.
Rules for Editing of Students' Books:Teachers, librarians, parents, and other individuals may assist the students in the editing of their books for proper grammar, punctuation, and spelling. Suggestions may also be given for improving the story lines and artwork. However, the finished books must be examples of the skills and imaginations of the students themselves.
Blank Book Construction:Students will need six eleven-inch (11") by seventeen-inch (17") sheets of paper, so that when these pages are folded, they can be bound together into a book that is eight and one-half inches (8½") wide and eleven inches (11") tall. After folding the eleven-inch (11") by seventeen-inch (17") sheets of paper, each page should be inserted one inside another like the stacking of taco shells one inside another.
Placement of Text and Illustrations:Once the blank book is completed, the student can cut and paste the completed artwork and text onto those blank pages. Keeping in mind that there must be at least one (1) illustration and some text on every two-page spread, students may now cut and choose where to paste their materials. For example, a full page of text on one page and a full illustration on the opposite page; or, an illustration that spans a two-page spread, with bits of text cut and pasted somewhere on one or both pages, etc.
IMPORTANT: So a reader may easily follow the story line, it is absolutely necessary that the illustrations reflect the action taking place in the text on that page or two-page spread.
End Sheets:The End Sheets may consist of either white or colored paper.
Binding of Books:Pages (including End Sheets) must be stapled or sewn together on the centerfold, so all pages will lie flat when opened. Side-stitched or plastic comb-bound books are not permitted and will disqualify the book entry.
Book Covers:After the book has been bound, eight and one-half-inch (8½") by eleven-inch (11") pieces of stiff cardboard or chipboard must be glued to both the top and the bottom of the book — similar to a sandwich. This process gives the book the height and firmness needed to look and feel like a real book and will make it easier to accommodate the wrap-around book jacket. Covering the cardboard or chipboard with colored paper is optional.
Book Jackets:Each book must have a loose Book Jacket which wraps around the cover. The Book Jacket should contain a Front Panel, Back Panel, and Spine, and both a Front and Back Flap. All elements of the Book Jacket should be neatly pasted in position on a large sheet of paper, then trimmed to fit the book, offering as professional an appearance as possible.Front Panel - Should contain the Title, the Name of the Author/Illustrator, and an illustration.Front Flap - Should be four inches (4") wide. The copy must be written by the student and neatly typed. It should be a publicity piece that gives a brief synopsis and tells how wonderful the book is. Allow no room for modesty here!Back Flap - Should also be four inches (4") wide. It must include a photograph of the Author/Illustrator, along with a brief, neatly typed biography of the student.Back Panel - For the Contest, the Back Panel may be left blank because the Entry Form must be securely pasted or taped on the OUTSIDE of this panel. If there is already artwork and/or type on the Back Panel, the Entry Form must still be securely pasted or taped on the Back Panel of the Book Jacket.Spine - Must contain the Title and the Name of the Author/Illustrator. Hand lettering is preferred.
Official Entry Form:The Official Entry Form is printed on the last page of these Rules and Guidelines. For additional copies, the Entry Form may be photocopied as needed.
Contest Entries Should Include:1. Only original books; no photocopies.2. An Entry Fee of $10.00 per entry. All payments must be made in U.S. currency. Send only a check or money order (no cash, please), or pay by credit card (Visa, MasterCard, or American Express). Please make your check or money order payable to "Landmark House, Ltd.". Be sure to paper-clip the check or money order to the top of the Title Page on the inside of the book. Books that do no include the entry fee will not be accepted.3. A padded Return Book Mailer. To ensure the return of the book, a padded Return Book Mailer, addressed to the student and stamped with sufficient postage, must be included. (Check with your post office to determine the exact amount of postage you need to place on the padded Return Book Mailer.)
How to Send:Each entry must be mailed separately. Due to the high volume of entries, we will not accept phone calls, faxes, or emails to confirm the receipt of any entries. To verify delivery of entries, please use a parcel service with tracking or delivery confirmation, such as, but not limited to: USPS Priority Mail, FedEx, UPS, etc.
Deadline for Entry:All entries must be postmarked on or before June 1, 2008.
Judging and Selection:All books are considered by a qualified panel of judges, composed of professional editors, writers, illustrators, teachers, and librarians. Books are judged on the merits of originality and the writing and illustrating skills displayed. Note: Non-winning books will not be edited or critiqued.
Announcement of Winners:The cataloging and careful judging of thousands of book entries require several months. Winners will be determined and notified by phone by November 1, 2008.
Return of Books:All non-winning book entries will be returned during November/December 2008. ONLY those entries which include a padded Return Book Mailer of sufficient size and stamped with proper postage will be returned.
Scholarships:Each winner will be given a $15,000.00 scholarship to be applied to an accredited college, university, or institute of higher learning.
About David Melton:David Melton, renowned Author and Illustrator of more than 35 books, died November 8, 2002. His gift to young people was his unique “Melton Method” by which thousands of students nationwide have been taught to successfully write and illustrate amazing original books for children. As Creative Coordinator at Landmark Editions, Mr. Melton initiated the exciting National Written & Illustrated by… Awards Contest for Students and supervised the development and publication of 48 outstanding books created by the winning students.
Ideas to Help Cover the Costs of the Book Supplies and Entry Fees:Many times, teachers or librarians contact their PTA, other service organizations, or local business people for help in sponsoring and funding worthwhile projects for students. Seek out such resources and make creating your students’ books an exciting community endeavor. In addition, please see our upcoming website at http://www.landmarkeditions.com/ for other ideas.



Written & Illustrated by… A Revolutionary Two-Brain Approach for Teaching Students How to Write and Illustrate Amazing BooksBy David Melton
Please Note: All specifications for book format are more elaborately explained and examples of methods of construction are shown in detail in David Melton’s highly-acclaimed teacher’s manual, Written & Illustrated by… . This manual is beneficial in showing students how to develop and assemble their materials, but purchase of the book is not required in order for students to enter the contest.

Note: To obtain a free copy of the Contest Rules and Guidelines and Entry Form by mail, please send a self-addressed stamped No. 10 envelope to:


The 2008 National Kids-in-PrintBook Contest for Students1949 Foxridge DriveKansas City, KS 66106

If you have any questions, please email us at contest@landmarkeditions.com.

Copyright © 2005 Landmark Editions, Inc. 1904 Foxridge Drive, Kansas City, KS 66106 Phone: (800) 653-BOOK
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Deadline Feb 14; Grannie Annie Contest

The Grannie Annie Official Guidelines For Students in U.S. Grades 4-5 and 6-8, and Homeschool or International Students Ages 9-14 You are invited to follow The Grannie Annie Official Guidelines and enter a one-of-a-kind story from a past generation of your family. Your story can be humorous, tragic, or inspirational. It can be a story of courage, adventure, or anything you find interesting about your family’s past. Please read these submission details carefully before you begin to write: · A story that is chosen for publication in Grannie Annie, Vol. 3 will retell a one-of-a-kind story from a past generation of your family so that the reader appreciates it in the same way you do. The following criteria will also be considered: overall effectiveness, organization, development, use of language, and mechanical correctness — spelling, punctuation, usage, etc. · Your story must be 275-500 words long and must be written in English or translated into English. For translated stories please submit the original story as well as the translation. · Choose an interesting title for your work, including details from your story. For example, “Lost in the Blizzard” sounds more exciting than “My Great-Uncle Ted.” · Your story must be written by you. · If possible, please type and double-space your story using a standard, easily readable 12-point font. Print your story on 8 ½” x 11” white paper, or copy and paste it into the body of an e-mail. Stories may also be neatly hand printed on standard-size notebook paper. Please do not staple. · Do not write your name on the pages of your story. · Stories will not be returned. Be sure to keep a copy for yourself. · A completed Official Entry Form must accompany each story. Please do not staple. · Entries must be sent by February 14, 2008. Entries may be mailed or e-mailed. Please see Official Entry Form for details. · Stories published previously in Grannie Annie anthologies will not be considered for future volumes. · The decisions of the judges are final. · You may include a black-ink line drawing (no wider than 4", no taller than 7") that illustrates your story. Illustrations will not be considered in selecting stories for publication. In addition, the selection of a story does not guarantee that an illustration submitted with that story will also be published. The illustration may be drawn by you or by someone else who meets the grade/age requirements of The Grannie Annie. If someone other than you illustrates your story, that person must submit an Official Entry Form completed and signed by the illustrator and his or her parent/guardian. All illustrators of published drawings will be credited. Illustrators who are not authors will receive a complimentary copy of Grannie Annie, Vol. 3. · Because stories are meant to be shared, Thumbprint Press and Portico Books pledge to creatively pursue opportunities to share selected stories with a wider audience, in accordance with The Grannie Annie Mission. As a contest entrant, you will retain the copyright to your work while giving Thumbprint Press and Portico Books permission to share your story, as noted on the entry form.

Mitali Perkins Contest: Deadline: June 1

Here are the rules for the 2008 contest:
Do you love to weave words together? Were you and/or one or both of your birth parents born in another country? Do you live in the United States or Canada now? Are you 13-19 years old?
If you answered yes to ALL of the questions above, YOU qualify to enter the 2008 Fire Escape Writing Contests! Submit an original, unpublished poem or story that reflects some of the joys and struggles of growing up between two cultures in America. The Fire Escape will only consider one poem and story per person, so send your best work. (If you like writing non-fiction, too, check out the Fire Escape's Write-a-Review Contest.)
Contests Poetry (up to three poems) Short Fiction (up to 800 words)
Prizes First Prize: $40 Second Prize: $25 Third Prize: $10
How to submit an entry:
* Paste your poem or story into an e-mail message and send it to contests -at - mitaliperkins.com. I will not open attachments.
* Proofread thoroughly and keep your presentation simple. Entries with spelling, grammar or punctuation errors and funky characters/fonts may be disqualified without notice. (There were lots of these this year!) Do not include any clip art, images, or photos with your entry. Words only, please. Fiction longer than 1000 words will not be considered.
* Include your name, age, and e-mail address in your e-mail. Also include your countr(ies) of origin. You and/or ONE of your birth parents must have been born outside North America. If you were born in Puerto Rico and are now living in one of the states or Canadian provinces, you qualify.
* Current U.S. or Canadian residents only please, and previous winners are not eligible.
* To qualify, your entry must be received between September 1, 2007 and June 1, 2008.
REPEAT: you must be an immigrant or internationally adopted teen (or a teen with one immigrant parent) currently living in the United States or Canada.
NOTE: Failure to follow all of the contest guidelines will disqualify your entry.
Winning Poems and Stories will be published on the Fire Escape. Winners will be notified by June 30th. If you do not hear from us by June 30th, you can assume that your entry was NOT a winner. Prizes must be claimed by September 1, 2008. Please note that editorial or any other personal comments will not be provided for contest submissions. The Fire Escape reserves the right to award no prizes if no entry meets the judge's standards.
The Fire Escape seeks the following permissions from young authors: permission to publish your work on the web site, and permission to include your work in online archives after publication. Authors retain the copyright to their work. Once selected, winners must send their school information and a mailing address so that the Fire Escape can validate the entry and send the prize. Read the Fire Escape's privacy policy for more information.

Rain

By Faisal K., Age 12

The water flows like the drizzle of bliss that falls from the sky.

The peaceful blessing of water that comes from the cotton candy clouds when they turn sour.

The blessing of life that makes man’s golden smile dandy,

blesses the plants with vibrant colors like multi-colored candy.

The drizzle of water that makes the prosperous run and leave the water ignored,

makes the poor on the other side of the world celebrate and thank the Lord.

The drizzle that makes the young flock outside with faces of glee,

makes the adults with stern faces flee.

The drizzle of rain brings much happiness to some,

makes the young run and have fun.

The drizzle that makes the sky have prisms of light.

ends other peoples suffer and strife.

The rain that makes children play,

can still somehow make adults run away.

WAR

By Faisal Khurshid


A victory that can’t be won,
Why is our tax money exchanged for a gun?
The cause for fighting is none,
The effects cannot be undone,
Why devastate a soldier’s loved one?
War never helps in the long run.

War is just a woeful plight,
Which is never alright.
With many soldiers dying each and every night.
You know what would be a delight?
If every war, every fight, just ended tonight,
Let’s stop the seemingly endless fight.

Where is the Love?
You know what is something I’m really sick of?
The world needs more love.
Maybe one day war will be something we never talk of.

Love don’t Hate,
Don’t discriminate,
What if we made all wars abate?
That is something that I strongly await,
Wouldn’t a world with no wars be great?

What if all wars just stopped,
And bombs would never again be dropped,
Is that really asking a lot?

The Conch

By Bailey B.
Age 11

The top of a tower,
The color of a pearl,
It's texture like the watery waves,
Where it is always submerged.

What once crawled inside it is nowhere to be seen,
So pick up and plop it in your bucket,
Full of treasures from the sea.

The cat who was red and small ( written at age 6)

By Taskeen Khan

There lived a cat named Magwa who was very small but wanted to be big. Magwa was red and angry about that too. All the other cats were not red. She didn’t know what to do.Along came a zebra and said, “I’m much bigger than you” and magwa said, “If you were in my skin, you’d be small too.”Zebra said, “ If you were in my skin, you’d be big and have stripes like me.”Then the Zebra walked away and said, “Hah! She should have been bigger. I didn’t even hear what she said!”Then a tiger came and said to Magwa, “That Zebra who walked by you said that he couldn’t even hear you. Why don’t you hop on my back and then everyone can hear you?”Magwa said, “ You have orange and I have red. No other animals have that. Can we be friends and live together?”“Yes,” said the tiger, “ I don’t have children. You could be my child. I will be your mother.”They lived together and had a happy life. Later Magwa married another tiger and moved to a new cave and had cat babies of her own.The end

Room 107 By Taskeen K. ( written at age 7)

One day in Room 107 they were making cupcakes. Their teacher Mrs. Buchholz said, “Put butter on the pan.” ‘Ok’ they said. So they did. Then Mrs. Buchholz said, “Put the pan in the oven.” So they did. The oven went CRRRCRRRCRRR. “Oh, oh,” said Mrs. Buchholz. “The oven is broken.” “Awwwww,” said the children. “It’s okay,” said the teacher. “We can put it in the sun.” “Yay!” said the kids. Then they made the frosting and then the cupcakes were done. Then they put the frosting on the cupcakes. Then they ate the cupcakes! MMMMMM !!!!! Chew, Chew. But by then the day was over. So everyone got ready to go home. TING !!! TING !!! TING!!! Then everyone went home with a full stomach. The end

With Winter By Taskeen, Age 9

With winter comes flakes of snow. With snow come
Igloos made by children. With chilly children come
Nannas’ wiping boot-stained, wet floors. With wet floors, come hot chocolate and
Taffy Apples. With hot chocolate and taffy apples, comes
Everyone savoring a warm, blazing fire.
Relaxation settles over the house as everyone gathers around the table,drinking hot chocolate while sticky hands clutchtaffy apple sticks.

Tadpoles by Zaki H. Age 5

Tadpoles are interesting
Tadpoles are wiggly
Tadpoles are cute
Tadpoles are small
Tadpoles are slimy
Tadpoles are interesting.

Today is a bummer By Margaret M. Age 7

Today is a bummer

I fell off my bike

I just got two wheels

I got rid of my trike

Today is a bummer

I got bullied at school

I lost my best friend

She said I wasn’t cool

Today is a bummer

I fell off a swing

I put a hole in my jeans

And I lost my best bling

Today is a bummer

I just bumped my leg

Now I can’t go to ballet

Even if I beg

Tomorrow…

should be better!!!!

BASKETBALL By Nat. M, Age 8

I hear a basketball dribbling
I hear the ball go "swish" thru the net
I hear the players yelling for the ball
I hear the fans cheering

I see the players shooting
I see the players running
I see the players arguing with the referee

I taste the gatorade I drink when I'm thirsty
I taste the ball as it hits the rim and then hits my face

I smell the rubber ball
I smell the food the fans are eating

I feel the ball leaving my hands
I feel the sweat rolling down my head
I feel my feet touching the shiny wooden floor

Poet Tree by Jack M. Age 9

I stand now by the poet tree and poems spring to mind.
The poet tree is magical and influences our kind.

It came from the great lit’rature folk. They left it here one day.
They had to hurry to their homes to keep number folk at bay.

Lit’rature folk, you see, hate math in all its forms.
The number folk strike back at them with wars of fraction storms.

The lit’rature folk now are gone but the poet tree remains.
It loves us and enriches us and ripens all our brains.

The Scuffed Baseball By Faisal K. age 12

The Scuffed Baseball
By Faisal Khurshid

٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭

* 1 *

Paul tossed and turned on the cold floor of the dusty apartment as he tried not to irritate the knots on his back. He was a hopeful child whose only source of refuge from his abusive father was baseball, the sport that he adored so much. But it hadn't always been this way. Back in Mexico, his boyhood had been as normal as could be.

Paul Cruz was born and raised in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico; across the border from El Paso, Texas. At the age of two weeks, his parents split up because they were young, had only two years of high school education and were too poor to afford abortion.

When Paul’s parents split up, his father moved across the border to neighboring El Paso, Texas. After that, both parents made drastic changes to their lives. Paul’s mother, Theresa, went back to high school for a year and then went to a preparatory college for two years; all the while working two jobs at night as well as three on weekends, to earn money for tuition, food, and Paul’s daycare.

Meanwhile, Paul’s father, Troy, was doing quite the opposite - he stayed with a friend and was always drunk, or at casino's, gambling. He was a tall, well-built man whose handsome features were slowly wearing away from smoking. He was the type of person who would never have made anything of his life. Troy barely got by on whatever earnings he had left over from his job as a valet serviceman and he would often resort to drugs as a haven to get away from his depressing, stressed out life. After he had left Theresa, he forgot about his child, and had never talked to her after Paul's birth.

* * *
Paul had a normal life in Mexico, as any other young Mexican boy would have had. His school was just like those in poor neighborhoods in Mexico, focusing on Spanish, while tutoring sub-par education in other subjects. As a youngster, he never really got to leave the town, again just like every other poor little boy. He and his friends would spend time together playing baseball or soccer, but never anything out of the ordinary. Paul and his friends were all tall and thin, and this too was nothing unusual in their neighborhood. They would always dream about a life in America, with big, clean houses and beautiful wives; but all the boys knew it would just be a dream, never to be lived, only to serve as entertainment in their young minds.
* * *
One day, a professional wrestler - named Eddie Guerrero - came back to Ciudad Juarez, his home town. He was a big, muscular guy whose polite manner didn’t match with his tough body.

“Hey guys!” said Eddie cheerfully, “My name is Eddie, I grew up in this town.”

“Hola,” replied the three boys in unison.

Eddie played baseball with Paul and his friends, and told them about life in America. He spoke of living in a house fit for twenty people and earning so much money that he could afford to have four cars at the same time. The boys marveled at Eddie’s stories about wrestling. They fantasized growing up to be famous and rich in America, just like Eddie.

The next day, Eddie had to leave – but before leaving, he gave Paul a dirty, scuffed-up baseball and a t-shirt that said “Latino Heat,” Eddie’s stage slogan. Even though the baseball’s leather covering was peeling off, it was the best baseball Paul had ever had.

From that day on, Paul aspired to become good at baseball. He dreamed that one day he could be so skilled in baseball, that he would be as famous as Eddie and have a big house. Paul practiced throwing the baseball whenever he could. The baseball was his prized possession; he would always keep it in his pocket, keep it by his head at night, and fall asleep examining each little scratch and blemish in the ball. He was determined to succeed at baseball.

* * *
On an extremely hot September day, Theresa got a little late from school, and was in a rush to get to Paul’s daycare by five, before the evening rush. As she got onto the highway, she was nervously looking for her cell-phone, to notify the daycare center she would be late. This was when, a car trying to make a pass, hit her car. As her car started to swerve out of control, Theresa tried to steer straight in a frantic attempt to gain control. This only made things worse, and her car rolled over the median, colliding with an oncoming truck. Her car got overturned and was hurled against the side wall. The moment her car hit the wall, it crumpled and burst into flames, killing Theresa.

* * *
At the daycare center, the manager, Diana, was worried sick by seven o’clock. She repeatedly called Theresa’s cell phone but kept getting answered by the machine. Finally, on the last call, the phone was answered by a deep-voiced man who sternly introduced himself as Officer Ramón. He promised to come to the daycare center right away. It was past six o’clock now and all her children had left, but Paul was still there, peacefully oblivious to the fact that something terribly bad had happened.

When the policeman arrived at the daycare, he mumbled an introduction to Diana and then turned to Paul,

“Is this your mother?” Officer Ramón said, as he held up Theresa’s license.

“Sí, Señore. Es mí madre,” (Yes, sir. It is my mother) replied Paul, shakily.

At that time, Officer Ramón took Diana into the office and explained the whole story to her and she almost started crying upon hearing the news.

Paul was only seven years old, and was very confused on being told that his mother had gone to ‘a better place.’ Whenever he would hear this he would immediately start bawling and yell back, “But here is a better place!”

* * *
Paul had to spend a week in the orphanage until the police were able to trace down his father. That week was hard on him, because none of the boys would talk to him leaving him feeling very lonely at times. On his seventh day in the orphanage, Officer Ramón came to the orphanage with a kindly-looking lady, who wore an almost fake looking smile, “Paul, I am Miss Gomez, I am a social worker who will be taking you to your father.”

Paul replied, “I have a father?”

“Yes, Paul, he lives in El Paso, right across the border.”

* * *
Paul had mixed feelings as he climbed into Miss Gomez’s black SUV for the ride to El Paso. He was eager to meet his father and get to his new home, out of curiosity; but at the same time he was afraid because he was only seven, and had never experienced any drastic change in his life. The drive took about fifteen minutes; El Paso was right across the border. When they reached the border, there was a long line of cars waiting to get checked by the border guard. Paul had never seen so many people gathered in one place before. The closest thing he had seen to this big of a crowd was the Cinco de Mayo festival, where the whole village gathered.

The border guards scared Paul because they were all dressed in identical uniforms, similar to that of Officer Ramón’s.

“Hello, passports please,” said the border guard.

“Here you, go sir,’ replied Miss Gomez, as she handed two booklets over and a paper saying “POLICE REPORT” at the top.

“The boy… he is an orph…” questioned the border guard as he was cut off.

“Yes, I am taking him to his father. His mother died in a terrible…” said Miss Gomez, as she continued on.

Miss Gomez and the border guard continued talking in a business-like manner. Paul didn’t really understand, but he heard his name mentioned a few times.

“Lets get you to your father,” said Miss Gomez enthusiastically to Paul, as she finished her talk with the border guard.

Paul's first impression of the United States was that it was very clean and well kept. He noticed that there was no pile of thrash by the highways, which was almost customary in Mexico. He also noticed that both sides of the highway were loaded with trees and all unused land was either paved into a sidewalk, or green with grass. These things were something that his village in Mexico lacked. He also noticed that cars were shiny clean, as if brand new, or newly cleaned. In his village everybody kept driving the same, old cars and if anybody needed a new one they would just buy one from a neighbor who was ready to get rid of his old one. Nobody cleaned their cars, if they got dirty, nobody would care. The most surprising thing that Paul noticed was the great, big car dealerships. In his village there was nothing like this. He was amazed at the hundreds and hundreds of brand new, shiny cars.

Within a few minutes, Miss Gomez pulled into Troy’s shabby apartment complex, where he lived in his friend’s apartment.

“Wait here,” she gestured to Paul, still in that over cheerful voice.

He watched as Miss Gomez entered the run-down apartment complex.

* * *

When Miss Gomez knocked on the door of the apartment Troy shared with a friend, she herself could barely hear her knocking against the loud sound of music coming from within the apartment. When the door finally opened, she was greeted by a tall, muscular man who looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a week.

“Huh? Who are you?” the man grunted rudely.

“Are you Troy?” Miss Gomez replied.

“Uhm… yeah. Are you here about the boy?”

“Yes, Paul will be in your custody from now on.” said Miss Gomez, pondering if she was doing the right thing.

“Where’s the boy?” Troy asked, reluctantly.

“He is out in the car. I need you to sign some papers first,” Miss Gomez said, as she took out some papers.

Miss Gomez explained the terms of custody to Troy, but his all he seemed to care about was the money he would be receiving weekly.

Eventually, Troy and Miss Gomez were done with the paper signing and legalities so Miss Gomez went to the car to get Paul. Meanwhile, Troy turned to his roommate, Mark, and said, “That kid is gonna be so much trouble. All kids are. But I need the extra cash…”

“Yeah dude, I don’t know why you’re doing this.” His roommate replied, “Why did you ever
marry that girl anyways?”

“I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time, she seemed really into it, and those drinks I had at the bar that night didn’t help either. I regret ever getting together with Theresa.”

While this was going on, Miss Gomez arrived at the car, where Paul was anxiously waiting.

“Time to go meet your father, Paul!” Miss Gomez said, cheerily, even though her face showed
confused, mixed feelings.

Paul obediently stepped out of the car and followed Miss Gomez into the neglected apartment.
When the two of them reached Troy’s apartment, he and Miss Gomez talked, shook hands, and then she left.

Troy led Paul into his badly kept apartment without even a greeting of any sort. Paul was revolted by what he saw as he stepped into his father’s apartment. There were dirty clothes covering the floor, stale food and dirty dishes on every countertop, and worst of all was the repulsive smell of dirty socks, mold, and cheap cologne. He was beginning to get scared as he quietly took a seat at the edge of Troy’s couch, which was a filthy polka-dot color of alcohol stains and the original tan color.

“You sleep in the walk-in closet,” Troy said insensitively.

Paul quietly made his way to the closet, which was a room not much bigger than a bathroom, and was bare except for a sleeping bag and a couple of empty suitcases. He was okay with most living conditions, but this closet was smaller than his room in his old home in Mexico and yet smaller than the room he had at the orphanage. He didn’t even get any dinner from Troy, who hadn’t said a word to him since he showed him to the closet.

It was only then that the reality of his mother’s death finally hit him. His emotions came up in relentless sobs as he thought about how loving his mother had been to him, even when she couldn’t give him the food he needed to sooth his rumbling stomach. That night he cried himself to sleep on an empty stomach.
* * *
Troy was not fit to be a parent. Troy would often hit Paul when he would complain. He was also not home a lot. He spent most of his day at casinos and at nights he would be out partying with his friends. Troy’s friends were a rowdy group of men who would enjoy getting drunk and annoying girls. Paul was always bored and hungry when Troy wasn’t home. Troy never bothered to buy any food to keep at home, so Paul often went hungry for long periods of time.
Whenever Troy was home he would be drunk. Paul was scared of Troy when he was drunk because he would often throw his empty beer bottles at the wall, sending glass fragments flying everywhere.

The apartment was in appalling condition. Even if the place wasn’t, it would be a claustrophobic’s nightmare. The paint on the walls was an unsightly shade of off-white, the floor was filthy with beer stains and mud, and the apartment’s only furniture was an ancient couch.

Paul hated living in the place. He had nothing to do all day, so he kept himself from going insane by entertaining himself with stories about baseball.

There was never much interaction between the father and son, Paul was already a quiet boy, especially around the scary Troy, and Troy didn’t care much for Paul. The only time the two of them would talk was when Paul asked for food, and Troy reluctantly gave him some.

Over time, Paul had gotten used to Troy’s insensitivity. One thing he really hated was being unaccompanied most of the time. In Mexico, he would be happy all the time with all his friends, but living with Troy was very lonesome. Eventually, although he hated it, he learned to cope with being alone all day.

* * *
One day, which happened to be Paul’s eighth birthday, Troy came home dangerously drunk and, for no reason, took off his belt and started whipping Paul with it. This enraged him, although he wanted to hit Troy back, he knew he would be overpowered and that it would be a worthless effort.

“Ah, Ouch! Troy! That hurts!” Paul’s yelling and screaming only made Troy’s whipping harder. He was relentless in his excruciating torture.

Paul was furious with Troy whenever he was drunk, but this was worse than any of the other countless times his father had come home drunk; this time, he was exceedingly infuriated in a drunken frenzy.

Eventually, Paul couldn’t stand the beating, he had to do something.

“I hate you, Troy!” Paul yelled out in utter rebelliousness.

Of course, this only made the drunken father increasingly senseless.

Troy picked up the boy by his only t-shirt, his beloved t-shirt that the wrestler had given to him, and hurled him at the wall. Paul’s little, eight year-old body hit the wall and collapsed on the ground.

He looked atrocious; there was a repugnant gash on his neck which was leaking blood on top of blackened, sticky, dry blood; he had swollen red marks on his neck and face from being slapped; worst of all was the macabre marks on his back, visible even through his t-shirt.
At the sight of all this, Troy grabbed a vodka, popped the cork, downed half the bottle in one gulp, and headed to his room, where he fainted before reaching the bed.

Meanwhile, Paul’s vision was hazy and he slowly went to a peaceful, long-awaited sleep.
Paul would never forget that clash with Troy. Even though in Mexico they couldn’t afford good birthday parties, that birthday was the worst one he had ever experienced.

He was determined to run away, he was filled with so much abhorrencehatred for Troy that he knew he would never be able to live with him ever again.

* * *
Weeks went by, without a single word between the father and his son. Paul barely ate, and whenever he did, it was whatever scarce food he could find in the fridge. Those weeks were hard on him; his injuries blistered and itched all the time. His cuts and bruises were infected and leaking puss from not being washed; he hadn’t taken a shower since arriving at the apartment, and from his own observations, neither had Troy.

The next night when Paul thought Troy was sleeping he tried to sneak out, but Troy was awake, drinking a beer and watching ESPN. When he heard the sound of fast footsteps he was alarmed.
“Who’s there?!” he yelled, while he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and threw it to the source of the sound.
The bottle hit Paul on the back of his head. It shattered, broken glass shards gave him cuts on his neck, and the alcohol streamed down his back, flowing freely into his wounds, stinging the cuts and causing immense pain.

He ran out of the apartment, as fast as he could. He jumped the whole flight of stairs, tore past the door, and ran. He didn’t know where he was going or what to do; all he knew was that he was going to get away from Troy. He ran across the parking lot, towards the exit of the lot when suddenly he was smashed into a car backing out of its parking spot. Although the hit itself wasn’t enough to hurt Paul greatly, it was enough to hit him to the ground. As he fell, he didn’t even have enough time to break his fall; he landed right on his head, knocking him out cold.
* * *
When Paul regained consciousness, four hours later, his head hurt really badly and his body ached all over. He looked up and saw Troy, smoking what appeared to Paul as a home-rolled cigarette. He looked around; he was on the floor in the apartment.
“Don’t you ever try to pull anything like that ever again,” Troy yelled furiously, “You ever do that again and you're gonna get turned out to the streets. You got that? No more kidding around.”
With that, Troy finished his cigarette, kicked Paul, and left the apartment.
Paul was scared. He was in immense pain and very hungry. He limped over to the fridge, took out a slice of bread, and quietly ate it. He then feebly walked over to his room and collapsed on the floor exhausted.
The next thing Paul knew, Troy was shaking him awake.
“Come on, we’re out of here.”
Paul groggily got up, and followed Troy out of the apartment and towards Troy’s old, beat up Ford pick-up truck.
They sped away, running red lights, ignoring stop lights, and almost running over a drunkard roaming the streets.
* * *
Troy’s roommate, Mark, had been arrested with drugs; so if he wanted to stay in the apartment he would have to pay the full rent, instead of the half he split with Mark. But, above that, he didn’t want to get involved with the police. He had been involved with the police before several times for DUI, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to relive.
There was a big problem though, Troy had nowhere to go with the boy; none of his friends would have taken him in, since he had the boy with him. He was at a loss for what to do.
There was nothing Troy could do; he had nowhere to go, nowhere to stay with. There was only one option left.
* * *
“When can we sleep in a real bed?” Paul asked, getting replied by a pitiless slap from Troy.
They had been sleeping on the cold, hard for three days. Whatever money Troy had, was spent on his alcohol. He made Paul steal food when he wanted to eat. This was hard on the boy because he would hit him each time he got caught, which happened a lot.

That third night was the worst one for Paul. He tossed and turned on the cold ground; each minuscule movement burning the raw, ghastly wounds on his back. His wounds were flowing blood as well as yellow slime, from not being properly attended to.

The next day, Troy had eventually arranged to get an apartment. He had been trying to get a place to stay, but because of his unwillingness to pay a fair amount of money, he hadn’t succeeded until then.

This apartment was similar to the previous one, but even smaller. There were no rooms, just a tiny area that could barely qualify as a closet, and a small kitchen area.

Both of them slept on the ground. They didn’t have any pillows or blankets, but even then, it was better than outside. After that, life returned back to normal. But unfortunately for Paul, normal wasn’t good. Troy would still frequently come home drunk and beat Paul.

Paul was starting to get quite depressed. Life was a living hell. He kept thinking of his mother and his home in Mexico. Every night he cried himself to sleep, thinking of his dear, loving mother and how she wasn’t there anymore.

Life dragged on bitterly for Paul and he knew he had to get away from Troy, the father he hated so much.
* * *
Time had passed, and it was late August and Troy knew he had to send Paul to school. Troy, trying to temporarily get rid of the boy, enlisted him into several boarding schools. Paul didn’t get accepted because he wasn’t smart enough. He had never had proper education. Troy had to find some way to occupy Paul’s time so he signed him up for a travel baseball team.
After a few months, Paul developed a love for baseball. He never missed a practice or a game. Everyday, he walked to practice and back; he was the first one there, last one to leave. He was also good at it. He was the star shortstop.
* * *
After the baseball season, the coach decided to reward the team for getting first place, by taking them to the local minor league baseball game. Even thought it wasn’t a Major League game Paul loved the experience. He loved how everybody would cheer for the players down on the field and how all the players were so talented. Ever since then Paul begged Troy to take him to a baseball game.
Troy would always say that he would never buy Paul tickets to a baseball game. Each time he asked, Troy beat him. He really wanted tickets so he entered numerous contests and drawings. One day, while listening to the radio he heard of a contest for baseball tickets that the ninth caller would win. Paul tried to time his call just right…when he got through…he was the ninth caller! Paul was ecstatic; when the DJ on the radio picked up he was speechless. But in the back of his head, he had one big worry: would Troy take him to the game?
The next day Paul told Troy he won two tickets to a baseball game in three weeks. Troy slapped Paul and told him,
“Why did you go off and do that? You idiot!” Then Paul nervously replied,
“Can we go?”
Troy kicked Paul and yelled back, “Get lost!”
* * *
The next three weeks leading up to the game were hard for Paul. He was nervous about going to the game. His mind was always on whether Troy would take him to the game or not. In school, when he was supposed to be studying, he day dreamed about going to the game. The day of the game, October 28, went by really slowly for Paul. It was a Friday, and he just couldn’t wait for school to end. That day he had a math test, he was sure he failed but he didn’t care because he was so anxious. But he was also irritated that Troy still hadn’t said he would go.
The game would start at five and by the time Paul walked the three miles home it was already four o’clock. He was devastated when he got home and Troy wasn’t even home yet. It was a forty-five-minute drive to the stadium and Paul already knew they would be really late.
Troy finally got home at quarter to five. Paul begged to Troy, “Can we go now?”
Troy just slapped him and said, “Whatever, We will leave in twenty minutes.”
“But the game starts in ten…” Paul begged back.
As soon as those words came out of his mouth Paul knew he made a mistake. Troy lifted up his briefcase and whacked Paul across the head.
Paul just wanted to go and hit Troy back, but he knew Troy was his only chance to go to the game. Although Troy wouldn’t ever admit it, he had a special love for baseball, so in the back of his head, he actually wanted to go so he yelled to Paul, “Okay, Let’s go.” Paul jumped up from where he was sulking and ran for the door.
* * *
By the time they reached the ballpark it was already the seventh inning. As they were making their way towards their first-row, behind dugout seats, Troy spotted some of his friends in the upper deck and said, “Come on, kid, we’re gonna sit up top.” Paul pleaded back, “But we have the best seats!” But Troy just ignored him.
When the game was over, Paul started towards the field. Troy yelled at him but Paul kept walking. He hung out with the crowd that was getting autographs, and then snuck into a door that said, “PLAYER’S LOCKER ROOM.” Paul found himself in a long hallway, which led to the locker room. He heard footsteps and dove into a nearby closet, which, to Paul’s benefit, was completely empty.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Paul heard many footsteps and he assumed the team was filing into the locker-room. An hour later, Paul dared to come out of his hiding spot. He started walking towards the locker room when he heard a player shout, “Hey! Are you the new laundry boy?”
Paul, not knowing what to do, shouted back, “Yeah.”
The team manager said, “You get the dirty uniforms yet?”
Paul, still confused, mumbled, “No, not yet.”
He walked around to each locker, picking up the dirty clothes and dropping them into the bin he had found.
While he got the laundry he developed a plan in his head - he was going to run away from home. He didn’t know when or how, but he knew if he wanted to have a happy life he would have to get away from Troy. As he rounded the corner, he ran into a Mexican-looking player.
He said, “Me llamo Felipe” (My name is Felipe). “¿Tu hablas español?” (Do you understand Spanish?).
Paul had learned Spanish in Mexico, but he mostly spoke English, even in Mexico, so he had a little bit of trouble understanding Felipe’s words.
When he remembered the words, he replied, “Sí, mi llamo Paul,” (Yes, my name is Paul).
They had a short until Felipe said, in shaky English, “Okay boy, I have go now.”
That night, Paul slept in the closet he stayed in earlier. For breakfast, he found a carton of donuts in the garbage can, which to Paul’s astonishment was half full. Paul thought to himself, “How do these people waste so much food?!” For the next week, Paul lived in his closet, posing as the laundry boy, and eating whatever edible food he could find in the garbage can.
Paul became good friends with Felipe and then one day as Paul was doing the laundry, Felipe walked in.
“Wear same shirt every day?” Felipe questioned, as he tossed Paul one of his jerseys.
As Paul was putting on the jersey, Felipe saw his back and exclaimed, “Paul, who do this to you?!” Suddenly, Paul started sobbing, and told Felipe everything.
* * *
The next day, two people, a man and a woman, each with warm, kindly faces, came to the stadium and talked to Felipe. They were talking in Spanish, and Paul couldn’t follow it well, but he heard his name being mentioned quite a few times. When they seemed to be done talking, he had to show his wounds to the the man and women. Then Felipe talked with them some more, and Paul was asked to leave with the man and the women, who introduced themselves as two social workers, Rob and Kathy.
Paul was taken to an orphanage, though it wasn’t anything like the orphanage in Mexico. This orphanage had nice, soft beds, tasty food, and kind people who kept the children entertained with balls, books, and games.
* * *
A couple days later, the same two social workers, Rob and Kathy, were back. They took Paul to a court house. This place was an unremarkable building with few people entering or leaving the place.
Rob and Kathy led Paul inside into a room. Inside this room was a judge dressed in a stately robe, and sitting a few feet to his left was Troy, the man Paul despised so much. To either side of him was a police officer and in front of him was seated a business-like man in a suit with an expensive Italian-leather made suitcase. Upon seeing Paul, Troy jumped out of his seat in revolt, immediately the two police officers grabbed him down and wrenched his arms into a horrible position, and applying handcuffs around his wrists.
Paul was instructed to sit down in a chair in front of the judge. He was scared of having to tell the judge everything that had happened, with Troy being right there. But then, the judge and the social workers got up and moved to the far side of the room, where they conversed for a long time.
Eventually, the judge resumed his position, and the two social workers kindly instructed Paul to show the judge the wounds that Troy had given him. Upon seeing the wounds, the judge nodded a great nod, as if everything had suddenly come into focus. He then asked Paul,
“Would living with Felipe Fox be okay with you?”
At this, Paul nearly yelled out an energetic, “Yes!”
He was then asked to leave the room with Rob. Ten minutes later, Kathy came out and they took the boy back to the orphanage. In the car they told him, “You will have to stay in the orphanage for a couple of days. In a few days, Felipe Fox will come pick you up. You will be living with him from now on.”
Paul nearly jumped for joy as the car stopped in the orphanage parking lot.

٭ ٭ ٭


“Yeah, Paul! Good hit!” Felipe cheered, as Paul got a double and three runs for his team. Paul was on the local travel baseball team, The San Antonio Angels. They now live happily in San Antonio, Texas, about five-hundred miles southeast of Paul’s old home in El Paso. Paul had tried really hard to make the travel team, and he was the starting shortstop and a star-player. Paul was really pleased with not having to live with Troy. His father was in prison now, and wouldn’t get out for quite a few years. His jail-time was increased because police found various drugs in his apartment, including marijuana and cocaine.
Paul had a very troubled childhood but now he is thirteen, and very successful in school, talented in baseball, but most importantly, living happily with his new father; rising baseball star: Felipe Fox.
* * * * *

TORA'S FIRE by Neha age 12

“We kindle and char and inflame and ignite, drink up me 'arties, Yo Ho, We burn up the city we're really a fright, drink up me 'arties, Yo Ho, We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves, drink up me 'arites, Yo Ho, We're devils and blacksheep, we're really bad eggs, drink up me 'arites, Yo Ho, Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A pirates life for me.”

Prologue
1734

"Alice?" his voice called through the smoke and confusion.

"Daddy?!" she screamed back squinting blindly through the suffocating smoke. His daughter panicked as his comforting voice became fainter. "Daddy I see you!" excitedly, she started to walk towards the familiar figure.

"Alice, no!" Her father's cry was too late, out from the smoke a scimitar lashed forward and cut across her smooth flesh. Pain rippled through her as she fell heavily to the deck clutching her face in pain. The man who ambushed Alice laughed in a guttural and low voice.

"You bastard!" Alice heard her father yell as he unsheathed his kitanas and locked them with his arch enemy. She struggled to open an eye but blood started to trickle in and she closed it quickly, afraid of going blind. The sounds of the burning ship crackled around her, adding to the confusion of the sword fight and planning her next move. The young girl scrambled to her feet, opening her left eye and still clutching her face. 'Get off the boat!' she told herself wobbling to the side of the hull. She looked back, worrying about her father. 'There's nothing you can do anyways,' she decided peering over at the choppy water below. Seeing it would be a rough swim, Alice quickly wiped off the dripping blood from her face and tore her breeches, wrapping them around her face to help stop the bleeding. Before jumping she listened for the outcome of the fight... nothing. Shakily releasing her face she jumped off the edge feet first. She closed her eyes as she plummeted downward and broke the water’s surface.

The freezing water felt like daggers, viciously plowing into her. The salt water seeped and simmered into her injuries making it feel like it was melting off her bones. She whimpered and then screamed trying not to touch the wound that would surely leave a nasty scar. Alice felt dizzy as she struggled to tread water. She closed her eyes wishing that this was all over and her father would find them another pretty boat they could plunder on together.

She heard mild voices of men paddling in a lifeboat. She opened her mouth to scream but to her horror not a sound left her. She tried again and again, slowly getting exhausted from being pulled down further into the ocean. Alice went almost completely numb. All of her senses had seemed to completely shut down in her. She was just mildly conscious when she felt herself being lifted out of the murderous water and into a tiny boat. Praying her good eye open she just caught the last glimpse of her father's ship snapping in half and someone jumping out just in the nick of time.

The sweet aroma of cinnamon floated into the fourteen year-old girl's nose. Her eyelids painfully creaked open and she started recollecting her last thoughts.

"Where am I?" she fretted sitting up in the cot she was in. An old looking man with gentle blue eyes was sitting at the side of the bunk closing the tube of cinnamon and pushing it inside a burlap bag. "Who are you? Where am I? What happened to my father?" she exploded wincing when her face moved.

"Calm down young one," the elder croaked stroking her hair like she was his daughter. "It seems like you've been through a lot. I'll explain." The stranger leaned back on the chair and sighed. "First of all, I'm Dr. Greivons." He held out his hand.

"I'm Alice," she shook it firmly. "We are captive on a pirate ship. I'm a kidnapped doctor from London. I’ve been kept here for three months now treating health problems of the pirates on the ship. I get paid a small amount though." He chuckled a little trying to lighten the tension in the room.


"B-but... what happened to my father? His boat..."

"Ah yes," the underpaid doctor remembered. "Captain Slaarvick sent out a few of his men to retrieve survivors from the burning ship last night. You were the only one they brought back."

"No!" Alice refused to believe it. "My father was... is the greatest pirate, he had to have lived!"

"I'm sorry dear.... he was great, Captain Christopher" he shook his head looking at the floor.

"This can't be happening." Alice held her head in her hands shaking in fear.

The door to the room flew open and a nasty looking pirate with crossed eyes scowled, "Which one of you is Alice?" Greivons and Alice kept quiet staring at the idiot that stood before them. The dumb man laughed after a minute or so realizing his own stupidity and then grabbed Alice's elbow and dragged her out of the room.

Alice quickly mouthed 'thank you' to the doctor before she turned to the pirate and yelled, "I can walk on my own I don't need your bloody help you crippled idiot!"

Taken aback, the crippled idiot threatened, "Why you little bilge rat!" He brought his fist in the air and attempted to ram it against her skull.

With a yawn, Alice stepped to the left avoiding the fist and watched it smash into the hard wall of the hallway.

"ARGH!" the pirate screamed clutching his fist and his two fingers that were broken.

"That's what happens when you tilt your wrist on a punch." Alice shook her head sighing. "I see you'll be of no good use to me, I'll see myself to the captain." she nodded to him and kicked him hard in the shin, kneed him in the stomach, and punched him in the face. Then she walked away from her 'escort' and onto the deck of the ship.

Alice observed the ship and shook her head in disgust. "It's filthy and tiny compared to father's ship," she murmured.

"Eh! Prisoner! Where's your escort?" a member of the crew rushed over to her. "You'll find him in the back hall with a broken nose, fingers and cracked shin," she replied pointing.

Frowning, the second escort led her to a furnished looking cabin with a bed, cabinet and some other pieces of useless furniture like a tasseled Asian lamp. A mean and tough looking man sat in the chair at a desk staring Alice down. He had a black beard and moustache and broad shoulders. He was wearing a red overcoat and a feathered tri corner hat. Captain Slaarvick looked at Alice's ripped breeches and cotton shirt that were both soaked with blood.

"Thank you Cave," Slaarvick nodded at the pirate who saw Alice in.

"Yeah thanks 'rock formation'." Alice snorted at his stupid name and leaned back on her heels happy to insult somebody.

"How old are you Alice?" Slaarvick asked when the door closed.

"Fourteen and a third," she replied, "How old are you?" she asked returning the question.

"Erm... forty-two." he replied with some hesitation.

"And what's your favorite color, eh? Avast! Mine be black for my own reasons."

"You think you're smart don't you?" the Captain thundered.

"Yeah, I do. At least I know I'm much smarter than your crew from the looks of it," she retorted.

"I was thinking about being nice to you but neva' mind!" reaching under his desk, he pulled out a human head. Alice screamed in horror recognizing her father's kind face. "You killed him!" she sobbed covering her mouth and ignoring the burn of her tears on her face. "Yeah, after twenty-five years I killed Captain Christopher of the famous Dragun Kitanas!" Slaarvick let out a maniacal laugh looking at Alice whimpering in the corner.


"Now," he said after he settled down, "Where are the Dragun Kitanas?" he rubbed his hands together greedily.

"You’re as stupid as your crew if you think I’m going to tell you!" she managed to mutter wiping away her tears.

"I thought your reply would be that," the Captain nodded. "That's why I'm challenging you to a bet."

"I don't own anything to bet on," she reminded him.

"Oh yes you do, your life. If I win the challenge you tell me where the kitanas are or your done fer. But if you win, your life is your own and let you free on the port of Japan. It's not like I need much from a child like yourself," he scoffed pulling at his overcoat confidently.

"What's the challenge?" Alice asked strongly standing up.

Captain Slaarvick laughed heftily and replied; "You have to fight in a pit with three hungry Sumatran tigers."

To Be Continued...

The last visit By Neha, age 12

She laughs like streams

And smells like gardens,

Her eyes… they never harden.

When she cries,It feels so soft

When she laughsI hear bells.

It just happened so fast.

Disappeared too soon.

A hospital smell,

Swallowing tears

Sweating palms

And

Leaving

Running

Away from all hope

And sanctuary

Thinking, hoping

Love and care

Stroking hair

Worried looks

And tired eyes

Pleading to Him…It always works

Except for now

Now when all seems lost

And cold and baren

Harsh and cruel

Don’t say you know how I feel

You don’t

Seeing her in so much pain

Makes me want to take her hand

Soft like wool and tough like hide

Hold it tight and

Pull her out of bed

Tell her how much I love her and…let go.

Maybe this was meant to happen

Don’t know whyI wish it was over

She’s disappeared

And now she’s reappearing.

SHOE+PEOPLE= ATTRACTION? By Katy E. Age 13

Are shoes an article of clothing that guard your feet from rocks and rough terrain or are they pieces of art? We, women have a strange magnetism to these wonderful articles of costume. Our inexplicable attraction between woman and the shoe made me curious and led me to study the relationship. I am thirteen and I am already attracted. Why the magnetism?

The appeal of shoes could be what you are when you wear them. I have danced since I was three, and whenever I put on a pair of shoes, any type of shoes, I begin to tap dance in them. I do it unconsciously and rather amuse the sales woman. So whenever I think of shoes, one of the first pictures that I see is a pair of feet tap dancing away. Maybe other women think of themselves as a model or a powerful executive.

I talked to a variety of women to see if they would rather wear a more practical shoe or a more stylish high-heeled one. Most of them confessed that they would prefer a more stylish shoe. So I began to ask “why?” Why would women choose an uncomfortable yet showy shoe over a comfortable, practical one? Is it the media, the fashion magazines and the stores shouting to us, “You need these shoes!” People are being constantly bombarded with messages that they cannot be happy without a certain type of shoe. People listen to the propaganda, not their own feet.

Shoe marketers love film stars for they embrace luxury. People like to emulate celebrities. Who doesn’t want to be rich and well known? One shoe designer’s job was to outfit an actress with proper shoes that enhanced the movie, showed her personality, and also were comfortable. The shoe manufacturers also love film stars because they are walking, larger than life shoe models. It's obvious then that people who see a superstar wearing Prada mules immediately try and find a duplicate.

Dal Co., a shoe boutique in Rome, makes custom shoes for their well-heeled clients. They will make any shoe fit your feet perfectly. I could even design a shoe and send it into their boutique , and the shoe makers (and their elves) would tackle the project. Yet these shoes do not come cheap; the cost is about 500 dollars a pair. But this price does not stop people from visiting the shop and getting custom shoes made for themselves.

In conclusion, people have a great love for shoes, but this is ironic because women are in physical pain in many stylish shoes. I think that high heel shoes are like Chinese foot binding. Who can run or work in Gucci stiletto heeled boots? I would rather boycott heels and bond with flats. It's more likely that people will keep their relationship with shoes. Although it is hard to explain why, it’s true and probably will always be this way, but who knows maybe socks will have a major breakthrough.

Do Teens Have Enough Time to Develop a Healthy Social Life? By Katy E. Age 13

Do teens have enough time to develop a healthy social life? Are homework and extra-curricular activities getting in the way of kids learning about themselves and the world around them? These are the questions that haunt many people today including parents, well-known scientists, educators and authors. [November 26th, Parents, give children time to climb trees, day dream] Even the American Academy of Pediatrics recently stated, “free and unstructured play is healthy and - in fact - essential for helping children reach important social, emotional, and cognitive developmental milestones as well as helping them manage stress and become resilient.” Teens need a break from their busy schedules.

My mom knows how important doing the things I like to do is for my growth and development. Being homeschooled loosens my schedule for free time. I have time everyday to go for a run, read, draw, or just think. We carefully choose my activities so that I am not overbooked. This, I believe, has helped my socialization in many ways. First of all, I have time to contemplate my feelings so I can help my friends who may be experiencing the same feelings or ideas that may be confusing to them. I also have more time to explore different activities to see which ones fit my personality.

Homework and scheduled extra-curricular activities are a large reason why kids are not getting enough time to themselves. My friend Abby F., 13, of Glen Ellyn, Illinois, a public school student, complains, "I never really get any time to lie on the bed and think because I have so much homework.” Another friend, Mackenzie S., 11, Glen Ellyn, Illinois, a private school student comments, “ I am not allowed to have any play dates from the beginning of school to Christmas; only homework get-togethers.” She goes on to say that she only has thirty minutes of free time every night, and that is not enough time to do anything that she really likes to do. Although kids do get social time they still are not getting enough time to just hang out and talk with each other.
Good socialization leads to healthy relationships and the key to good socialization is getting to know who you are today. Reading, drawing, running, journaling and reflecting are good ways to spend time with your self. If you do not have the time to spend (on yourself), then you really cannot learn who you are. Elkind, author of the classic book 'The Hurried Child' says, "Free play is a way children create new learning experiences for themselves.” If kids have time to discover without being graded or judged they can become more open-minded to the world around them.

In conclusion, teens can develop a good social life by having unstructured time to hang out with friends at the park, the library, or the mall. Teens need to loosen their schedules so they can spend more quality time with themselves doing the things they enjoy, while exploring new horizons. I believe everyone would gain immensely if kids had time to discover and reflect. For this leads to a better society, for the teens of today are in fact the adults of tomorrow.