Publishing opportunities for students!

Ever wanted to see your work in print?  Want the fame and recognition...and $$$$ that comes with being a published author? 

Well, check these contests out:

Tidepools Art & Literary Magazine - Peninsula College is now taking submissions for the 2011 contest.  Entry fee is $2.50 per poem, prose piece, photo, or artwork.  Entries must be submitted by Tuesday, January 11th, 2011.  They can be mailed, hand-delivered.  First prize for Youth writing/art/photography is $25.00!

The Scholastic Art & Writing Awards - claims to be "the longest-running, largest, most prestigous recognition program for creative teenagers in the visual and literary arts....This year more than 80,000 creative and ambitious teenagers around the country will submit their best works....More than 30,000 of them are honored regionally and over 1,000 students win on the national level with the opportunity to earn thousands of dollars in scholarships.  Submissions are due by January 7, 2011.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Essay Contest - The middle school prompt this year is:  "Our country was founded on the principle of equality for everyone.  Martin Luther King, Jr. worked on the same idea in trying to create equality for another group of people.  Write a persuasive essay on whether you think, or don't think this ideal of equality has been achieved in our country."  More details to come on due dates and requirements!

Teen Ink is continually taking submissions of non-fiction, fiction, poetry, artwork, and photography.  For more information, visit their website!

Do you know about other publishing opportunities?  Let us know!  We'll be sure to post them in in our "Publish!" links list!

Post-script:  Take a look at this "E-how" article, "Publishing companies that publish teen stories", for more info. on teen publishing!

Check It Out!

We now have a 'Teacher Of The Month' blog!
We just started it, and we really want everyone to go check it out!
Also, you can request a teacher of the month by writing the name on a slip of paper and putting it in the 'Stampeder Tweeter' box, located in the main office.
Remember to keep it anonymous!

Glass (book review)

Glass

By: Ellen Hopkins

Review by Brytnee Gardner

            You know when your parents warn you not to do drugs?  Have you ever wondered why? Other than what they tell you, there are many more reasons. This book is the sequel to the book Crank, also by Ellen Hopkins. In these books, you learn all about a girl named Kristina, and what crystal meth does to her life. Not only does it affect her, but also affects her family and many others.

            In my opinion, this book is great for teens. Peer pressure is hard to deal with, but after finding out about what drugs do to Kristina’s life, you won’t ever want to deal with the real thing. Parents tell you drugs are bad, and you shouldn’t do them, but most of the time they leave out the parts that this book tells the best. Kristina seems to have a lot of fun while she’s snorting, or smoking, but after a while, you realize how truly horrible it is. Crystal meth is immediately addicting. You might say “Oh, I can stop whenever I want” but it’s a different story once you get involved with this stuff.

            Kristina already started using before this book, but now you get to hear all about the things that are ruining her life. Like how it’s made her a totally new thing, she’s no longer Kristina, she’s a new person, she is Bree. Bree is the girl she makes up, the girl who is addicted to drugs and alcohol. Kristina was a perfect child, and student, she never would’ve done the things Bree does. Crazy things that you would never imagine happening, do happen in this book.

            I would definitely recommend this book to anyone who likes suspense. Also, any teens; it is a great way to learn about things that you need to know. I personally absolutely loved this book. It is so exhilarating; I could barely stop reading after I picked up the book.. Ellen Hopkins doesn’t write like any other author. She uses different styles, and sometimes, if you don’t look hard enough, you’ll miss parts of the book.. I think she is an amazing author; she has many other books out, and I plan on reading them, all.

Winter Tale (poem)

By: Noah Merideth

 

I walk through fields like a jigsaw of yellow and orange;

as autumn day turns to a cold, crisp evening,

with clouds rolling over; water quickly falls from the heavens.

 

The air turns colder as the evening turns darker;

rain turns to flakes of ice,

as a new season awakens from a long nap once again.

Then I hear master’s call and realize the job I have left;

 I run to herd these white animals to the barn and then sleep myself.

Death by Marshmallows

A  Humorous Documentary of Natural Helpers Camp

by Elijah Baccus, Paul Van Rossen, Scott Methner

It all began on Nov. 7^th 2010. Around 40-50 kids boarded a long, mustard yellow school bus. We were all leaving for Natural Helpers camp, a long, relaxing weekend at camp with our friends, away from the stress and strife of school. Or so we thought. We arrived around dinner time, and placed our bags in our separate cabins. Then, we returned to the lodge, where we listened to an introduction to this program. We played several games, and then split into groups to make pizzas, and soon were settled in, tearing at our food with the enthusiasm of a pack of wolves. After this filling meal (cheese melted onto dough with the consistency of plastic) we returned to our circle. Here, we talked, and learned about Vulture Talk, and removing our “masks”. This concept was introduced to us after the teachers had dimmed the lights, and closed the shutters, leaving the room felling eerily like a cave, lit only by the light of guttering candles. Then, met by much screaming, a girl jumped out of the shadows wearing a matte black mask, and began miming to an eerie poem. Afterwards, we were handed small, blue books, labeled thoughts and feeling. My entry went something like this: “This poem has made me wonder what to think. For truly, what is anyone without a mask? Does anyone ever wear a mask? I think my feeling are best described by this poem that I have written.  What does it truly mean, to remove this fabled mask? This mask that covers, this mask that hides. For truly, what am I, beneath this mask so spoken of? Does anyone ever wear the mask, does this mask even exist, or is the mask just the thousand different faces of an actor? And who is to judge what is the mask, and what is the truth? And if this fabled mask, spoken of in such elaborate tones, immortalized by ancient poets, and feared by all, ever removed, or is the face the mask itself?

 Nov. 8^th 2010 a.m.

A new day, and maybe a new start. Today, awakening at 6:30 to the blaring alarm of someone’s ill timed alarm clock, I found myself I found myself in a stuffy, wooden cabin that was far to warm. Blearily, pulling on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, I shuffled unsteadily up to the lodge. Two bowls of cereal and several mugs of cider later, I was awake, and found myself once again seated in a circle, my buttocks already aching at the thought the long hours of sitting ahead. We had several long hours of role-playing, learning about limits, and other necessities in this career. We were forced to sit through a lecture about trust, and what it means. We were then told to find our “thumb-buddies” (‘cause everybody needs thumbbuddy, thumbtimes). We were then blindfolded and cheerily led to a maze, where our so called “buddies” were to lead us, barefoot, by verbal direction around the property, and finally through a maze of pins, set mousetraps, and scariest of all, a variety of rubber specimens. (These might not appear to that horrifying to look at, but their true deviousness is hidden by that rubbery cuteness. After having felt their squishy touch once before, I hold firm to the belief that they are only biding their time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to be placed underneath the unsuspecting feet of small children everywhere.) My “buddy” no doubt found it hilarious to lead me to trod upon untold horrors, until , much to his dismay, found that it was now my turn to lead him! Afterwards, we then engaged in a group activity called “Trust Fall”, where we close our eyes and fall over, relying on teammates to keep us from hitting the ground. We then retired to lunch, my buddy remorsefully rubbing his red feet.

Later, we return, and are once again told to remove our blue notebooks, and once again write down our feeling about truth, the maze, and the truth fall. My entry went like this: “What is trust, truly? Is trust a feeling, an emotion, or an action? Is trust when you can fall, or choose to fall into the unseen arms of fate, and who is to tell what truth is? Because, after all, who can judge what is trust, and what is instinct?

Nov. 8^th p.m.

  We return to lunch, and play several more, rather unimportant games. We learn the steps to helping somebody, and our forced to perform rather embarrassing plays in front of the group, depicting scenes of Natural Helpers helping people with problems. My own group’s play trundled boringly along until I, tired of the same old thing, leapt from my seat, and placing one hand upon my forehead, spoke: “O woe is me, life means no more to me, I shall take my own, for this world once of color has become drab, and painted in shades of grey,” and returned to my seat. (You may be able to tell that I was supposed to be suicidal.) Once firmly positioned in my ever-so hard chair, I waited expectantly for a no doubt equally dramatic come back, but was met instead with the hissed reply of one of the overly bossy girls in my group. “Hey, that wasn’t in the script, what are you doing?” she hissed.   I replied, saying I was merely trying to make things more interesting, but was shut down, and made to redo but new and improved seen, mumbling things like “I’m going to die”, and “Materiel means nothing to me”.

The accompanying teacher, maybe sensing the infinite boredom of the actors, recalled the group, and handed marshmallows to everyone, telling us to juggle them. I, diligent, and trying to be responsible, began to juggle, innocent and unknowing of the true deviousness of this plan. Several servants, forming a rambunctious crowd, grasped the true point of this exercise. Carnage, pain, and DEATH. BY. MARSHMALLOWS. Fate had it in for me today, and forgot to tell me to stop juggling, so I diligently juggled, flying white missiles ricocheting off my head, only to be scooped up by other grubby hands and sent spiraling through the air to seek more victims. Mere seconds later, disaster struck, as four marshmallows came at me, one striking my nose, one my forehead, and one to each eye. Stumbling, blinded, and barraged by missiles, I soon found myself crouched behind a cloth divider. It was then I became aware of a burning feeling in my eye. Rising and rushing to the sink, I desperately flushed out my eye, and much to my surprise, a chunk of marshmallow, about the size of my index finger’s first knuckle, dropped out, leaving me with slightly fuzzy vision for several hours.  After seeing this, the teachers stopped the carnage and told us to write in our journals. My entry went like this: “Yet another in this mindless, ill-timed, and soft skirmish. I fell with two soft ones to the left eye, and 1 large white to the right. It was not until later that I realized that the order to “Juggle” our ammo had been false, a mere distracting ploy, to draw us away from the true threat. Shortly after taking cover, and then retiring to the lodge’s infirmary or so called “living room”, I became aware of a growing burning sensation in my left eye and slightly fuzzy vision. After visiting the operating room (a.k.a. the kitchen sink), I discovered a large chunk of large white in my eye. Shamed beyond belief, I must admit that I may very well be the only man in history to be felled these fiendish, soft, and white missiles bearing destruction. The shame is everlasting, and already the jeers of the others begin to fill my ears. Bah, they know nothing of pain.”*.  After this, we eat dinner, and are up late, working more. 

Nov. 8^th 2010 Edit.

   This part of this essay should not exist, and should not be here. The rule is “What was in the cabin, stays in the cabin”, but this event was important to include. The time was 1:00 in the morning, and Michael and I awoke to a cacophony of sound, most prominent of all, the snoring of our cabin mates. Slowly, we became aware of the stifling heat, and found the heater turned up all the way. After turning it off, Michael struggled to find a flashlight, while I opened the window, lost my balance, and plummeted 14 feet to the ground. This left Michael with a puzzling dilemma, as his bunk mate was now gone. I myself was left outside, bare-chested and barefoot, with only my sweatpants and a hat for company. Maybe 20 minutes later, Michael figured things out, and let a shivering me in, and I dove directly into my sleeping bag.

Nov. 9^th

  After breakfast, we packed, and put all of our stuff into the parking lot, and returned, playing several games to get rid of the time. The boys and some girls retired, and played Frisbee. Then, after lunch, the long bus appeared again, and we boarded, ready to leave our “relaxing” weekend. On the ride home, most of the crowd grew bored and tired, so we began to sing. Alas, it was no Christmas carol that left our mouths, but a rousing round of Ke$ha’s Tik Tok, which, after the second line, was shut down by the teachers. And so the ride continued, the children choosing some inappropriate song, the teachers vetoing it, until at long last, the bricks of Stevens became evident from the bus windows. At long last, we were home.

*This is translated from my writing, which slanted and tilted every which way, no doubt from my vision, and thus may not be exact.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 (review)

By: Shania Alderson

    Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 starring Daniel Radcliffe as Harry Potter, Emma Watson as Hermione Granger, Rupert Grint as Ron Weasly, and Ralph Fiennes  as Lord Voldemort takes place in a great Wizarding World in England. This film is a Fantasy type of movie, it incorporates drama, action, and a little bit of horror.

    Harry has finally come of age, and finally started on his final journey to kill Voldemort for good. The Dursleys are forced into hiding so that Voldemort’s death eaters will not torture them for information. Harry, Hermione, and Ron set off on a difficult quest to find and destroy the last of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Only once those have been destroyed, Harry knows, can Voldemort truly be destroyed.

    This film was a great “summary” of the books. It hit very close to home, in my opinion. The actors, and actresses were very into their characters, and I could tell enjoyed playing them. I would recommend this movie to viewers of all ages. Enjoy. 

Caramel apple delight (recipe)

Caramel Apple Delight!

Ingredients

·     Six Apples

·     One (14 ounce) package individually wrapped caramels, unwrapped

·     Two tablespoons milk

                                                                   

Steps of preparation:

First, remove stem from each apple and press a craft stick into top of apple. Second, place caramels and milk in a microwave safe bowl, and microwave for 2 minutes, stirring once. Allow to cool briefly. Third, Roll each of the apples quickly in the caramel sauce until well coated, place on prepare sheet to set. I got this recipe on Allrecipes.com. This is really tasty.  I would eat this with a napkin.

     Prep Time 8 minutes, Cook Time 2 minutes, Ready in 25 minutes.

Homemade Mac and Cheese (recipe)

Homemade Mac & Cheese Homemade Mac & Cheese Step 1. Get all items, including elbow or shell noodles, 1-2 cans evaporated milk, cheddar cheese. Step 2. preheat oven to 375* F Step 3. boil water on high, add noodles, cook for approximately 7min or until noodles are tender.strain when done. Step 4. Grate the cheese. Step 5. Layer noodles & cheese into 2 layers in cassarole dish. Pour evaporated milk evenly over the top of noodles. Top with pepper. Step 6. Place in oven, cook for 20-25min until browned on top. Step 7. Enjoy!

"The Destination" (fiction)

by Clohey Horton Passaro

“You get back here!” The sound of my pa’s voice echoed through the house.

I raced down our two flights of stairs only to find my sister Marie curled up in the corner with cuts in her feet from when my pa threw our last glass vase at her.

Marie has schizophrenia. It’s an illness that causes you to hear voices. It wasn’t that bad until our mom died.

“Stop it, leave her alone!” I yelled at my pa.

My pa’s red face turned to look at mine. I was his new victim. I tried to run past him to lead him away from Marie.

“Marie, run!” I yelled as my pa grabbed me. I screamed and screamed as loud as I could even though I knew nobody would hear me.

He carried me to the door and threw me onto the porch. I screamed in agony as a rusty nail that was sticking out of the wood pierced my skin. I tried to ease my leg up. Desperately I let out a scream of pain. Then I quickly ripped my leg off of the porch. My stomach turned as blood ran down my leg. I ripped off one of the sleeves from my shirt and wrapped it around my leg. Then I heard the sound of Marie screaming. I banged on the door yelling as loud as I could. Then it was quiet. After a few seconds, I saw my dad dragging Marie by her arm; he threw her out onto the porch with me.

“If you both want to misbehave, then you can sleep outside, and you can forget about dinner.” Then he turned around and without looking back said, “And if you try to run away again, I’ll get the dogs out of the barn.” Then he walked away, closing the door behind him and locking it.

“Marie, what did he do to you?” She didn’t move from the position she was in. Her long hair covering her face, she held her bruised knees. “Marie, answer me! What did he do…what happened?”

She looked up her face covered in a mixture of dirt and blood. She scooted closer to me and I set her on my lap.

“One day, Marie, one day we’ll get him back.” That was the last thing I said that night.

I woke up to the bright sun. I looked around I noticed that something was missing.

Where’s Marie? I panicked.

“Marie! Marie!”

I saw her head poke out of our cornfield that lay across the dirt road a couple feet ahead. We both laughed and headed down towards the pond. Marie held in her hands two ears of corn. This would be what we would eat for breakfast. When we got to the pond, I washed off my leg, and Marie washed her face. Then we walked back to the barn to do our chores.

First I went to go feed the chickens. Then I walked over to where the dogs were and fed them. There are three dogs. One is shy; she was our mom’s dog. Next there are Dozer and Crank. Those are my dad’s dogs. Those were the ones that my dad threatened to let get us if we try to run away again. Those dogs are really mean. They bite everything and everybody except my dad. Once I finished feeding them, I went over to the pigs. Feeding the pigs was the job I didn’t like. I love pigs; I just don’t love the way they smell.

Next and last for feeding were the cows. After that was finished, it was time for lunch. I found Marie by the garden.

“Let’s go eat,” I said, leading on towards the house.

She followed quietly behind. Once we reached the house we went inside, asking Ronda what we were having for lunch.

“If you go sit down at the table, I’ll bring it to you,” she replied.

 Ronda has worked for my dad since I was three years old. She cooks for us. I’ve always been jealous of Ronda. Her brown eyes matched the color of her chocolate skin, along with her long brown hair. Her smile was amazing, her teeth as white as snow. To Marie and I she was like our mom. One time Marie said that to our dad and he got angry. He said nobody could ever be like our mom.

We sat at the table with our stomachs growling. Ronda brought out two plates, each with a sandwich and small serving of corn.

“Now what do you say?” Ronda asked.

“Thank you,” we both replied.

We ate quickly, knowing that we had other chores to do. Ronda was only there to cook and clean up the mess she made while cooking.

I got up and went outside with Marie. We went along the garden; we both had a basket for putting all of the harvests in. Ronda came out to pick the different foods with us.

“I want to talk to your pa about bringing you two into town with me one Friday after school,” Ronda said, not looking up from the tomatoes that she was picking.

“And how do you plan on convincing him on doing that?” I asked, hoping for a good response.

“Well you girls are growing out of your clothes if he would give a couple dollars to me then I could go get you girls some clothes.” She said.

“When do you think you’ll talk to him?” I asked.

“Tonight, after dinner. I’m making chicken, mashed potatoes and corn. Then for dessert, blackberry pie,” she said.

“All of his favorites,” I said.

She nodded her head. “Now come help me and pick some blackberries,” Ronda said. “Child, be an angel and go grab another basket out of the kitchen,” she said, looking at Marie.

“Okay,” Marie said with a smile.

We both watched as Marie ran happily to the house. We started toward the blackberry bushes only about fifteen feet away. I looked back to see if Marie was at the house yet and I tripped on one of the vines that had been lying in my path. I hit the cold ground hard. A couple of thorns pricked my skin on the same leg that had been pierced last night. I let out a cry, even though I tried not to show too much pain.

Ronda helped me up.

“Let me see your knee.”

I lifted up my knee for her to see. She picked out all of the thorns and then noticed that a spot on my leg was pouring blood.

“Was this from you falling?” she asked.

“No.”

“What happened to you?”

“Last night pa threw me onto the porch, and there was a nail. The nail stabbed me,” I said hesitantly.

She looked enraged.

“Did he do anything to Marie?” she asked.

“Marie wouldn’t tell me what he did, besides that he did cut her feet with a vase.”

“Another vase gone! That’s the last one,” Ronda said, frustrated. “Well, does Marie have any marks on her?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Last night her face was a little bloody, though.” Ronda looked cross.

When Marie came back we both looked at her face very closely, I could tell she felt uncomfortable but we still observed the small lines going across her face.

Ronda looked at me, and then back to Marie. She smiled and then led us to the bush were we forgot about everything and picked hundreds of blackberries.

“After we fill our baskets, we’ll go inside,” Ronda said after we had been picking for what seemed like hours.

“Okay.”

“We should have a race!” Marie said cheerfully.

It was hard to say no to her pleading face, so I decided to grant her wish.

“All right.” I smiled. “Ready, set, GO!”

We both ran as quickly as we could, trying to dodge the thorns.