Calling all creative writers! This is a column run by Nathaniel Lee to inspire readers to become writers. The column includes writing prompts, pieces by the coordinators, and occasional submissions from readers.
This month: a poem from Riley Barta, a short story from Nathaniel Lee, and an excerpt from Sweet Dreams, a recently published book.
Below is a set of prompts for different styles of writing beyond journalism. The idea is that you can create some kind of creative writing piece inspired by one of the prompts, but it doesn't have to be. You can submit any piece of writing you would like to share! All submissions should be school-appropriate. You can also suggest prompts to be featured in the next issue.
Here are some prompts to get you started. They can be used for anything, though some specify poetry or short stories. This month, the prompt theme is Romance.
1. It's Valentine's Day… and the neighborhood flower shop just delivered a hundred cacti instead of the hundred roses you ordered.
2. Write a story about a wedding photographer.
3. Start your story with a character finding an old heart-shaped box in their house.
4. Write a story where it’s raining men, literally or metaphorically.
5. Write about a character who’s known to be a cynic, but secretly romanticizes everything.
If you have any prompt ideas in mind that you haven't seen on here yet or would like to see someone else respond to, then drop them in the Google Form below and I'll try to get them in the next issue! I sometimes don't see the response until after the issue is published, so I'm sorry if it takes a couple of months.
Toodle poodle
Scooped mc moodle
She found a doodle
Then ate the noodle
Flouncy flouncy flouncy flouncy
Bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy
This poem is barely legible
And filled with nonsense words
But, hey, you still read it--
And, hey, Dr. Seuss is a bestselling author
Hey, he even has a day dedicated to him!
Cash Money
The field was quiet as I walked up to the stand. Whispers passed between the teachers as they watched me, and Rowan smiled at me. I took his place at the podium and cleared my throat.
“Every day is the same. I go to school, go home, and do homework. Nothing ever changes.” I’d practiced for hours in my room, in the car on the way to school, even in the shower. “The best part of my day is when I have some time to sing. No one notices, though. My parents work all day, and I don’t have any friends. I’ve had some teachers mark me absent because I sit in the back and try not to draw attention. I don’t volunteer, I don’t raise my hand, and I pray in every class that we won’t have group assignments.”
I took a drink of water, and looked out over the class of graduates. “The only time I’m noticed is when I do something wrong. There’s no hope. I’ve tried growing my hair out so I have something to hide behind, but my parents made me cut it. It’s the only time they noticed me. I got my ears pierced in secret last year, and I had to hide that from them too.”
“Do you know how hard it is to survive? All you soft kids don’t understand the fight to stay here. You focus on the grades, the sports, you don’t pay attention to the ones who are suffering. So I hid for six years.”
I looked behind me at the teachers. Most of them looked annoyed, but some of them were smiling at me, so I forged on. “There’s this one guy at school. I almost asked him out one day, but I thought there was no way on Earth he knew who I was. We went to elementary and middle school together. The only time he might’ve noticed me was in sixth grade when I stood up on my desk and yelled at the teacher.”
“Why do we need to learn this?” My voice got louder, so I tried to control as I looked up at the parents in the stands. “Why can’t we learn something useful? Yes, I know the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, but when will that come in handy? The only possibility is if I decide to become a biologist, and I’m sure not doing that!”
There were a few scattered laughs that quickly faded. “Everyone laughed at me and the teacher pulled me down to the office. They called both of my parents several times, but no response. Big surprise there. So, I waited. And waited. The end of school came at three o’clock, and I kept waiting. They called again. No response. Four o’clock passed, and they called again. Finally, at almost five o’clock, my mom drove up. I could tell from her eyes and her speech that she was drunk, again. I silently pleaded that they would see the signs as well and not tell her what had happened. Not now.”
“They told her, and she yelled at me right in the office, swearing and screaming at me. That night was one of the worst I’d had in a while. That night was when I decided to become invisible. No more talking, no more friends, no more emotion. I pulled so far into my shell that it seemed like nothing could bring me back out.”
Rowan put a hand on mine as my voice started to shake. “Freshman year I was confused about myself and trying to figure out exactly who I was. I had no one to turn to. My parents wouldn’t understand, and none of the teachers cared enough anyway. Senior year was the same, but it’s not like anyone noticed or cared. Then, one day it changed. I was sitting in a tree, too scared to go home. I was singing, because that’s the only way I know how to escape. School was done, and I thought everyone was gone. Someone called my name, and I panicked, drawing farther back into my shell.”
“It was the guy who I’d liked in the past. He talked to me about singing, and told me that he had noticed me. It was eye opening. Someone knew who I was? We talked for hours, about music, about how he wanted to pierce his ears too, about how difficult school was.”
I located Rowan’s parents and brother in the audience and focused on them. “We fell asleep under that tree and woke up in the middle of the night. His older brother was sitting next to us on his phone and said we had probably needed to sleep with everything we had to do for school. Nothing else. They gave me a ride home, and his family let me stay there after they heard my situation. They didn’t care that we’d been out so late. I felt seen, truly seen, for the first time in my life. I stayed the night, and they helped me get out of my parents’ house.”
“That was in October.” I paused for a moment, then continued. “I’ve lived with them ever since. On Christmas, I received my first gifts ever. It was amazing. Now, I’m graduating, something I never thought I’d do. I never thought I’d live past fifteen.”
I shook my head. “I’m not saying all this for pity, at least not for me. I’ve already gone through it, but my life has turned around. I’ve got a boyfriend that cares, I’ve got a safe place to sleep every night. I’ve got a scholarship to one of the top music colleges in the country. I told this story for all the other students who are going through the same things I went through. Teachers, care more. Parents, care more. You never know what someone is going through unless you care to ask. If Rowan hadn’t called my name that day, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now. I’m Jackson Foster, and this is my last wish: Care more.”
Rowan interlaced his fingers with mine and we walked back to our seats together. The field was silent. As I sat down, a teacher started clapping. Then another, and another, until everyone—graduates included—was clapping.
“Good job,” Rowan whispered.
“Thanks.” The rest of the ceremony proceeded normally, and then it was time to walk up and get my diploma. Everyone was quiet again, and I received the diploma. One quick picture, then I walked down.
“Wait.” The voice was over the microphone, and I turned around. Principal Morris was standing there, and he waved me over.
“I’m sorry to delay the ceremony further, but this needs to be said. I know you asked for no pity, and I know you gave that speech for everyone else. So, I’ve got a speech of my own to give.” I stood next to him as he began speaking.
“September 11, 2017: The school year has been going great so far! I have a few friends, and the work seems to be pretty easy!”
People were whispering, and Principal Morris held up a hand to silence them. “December 25, 2017: I know it’s been a while since I wrote, but life has been horrible. Back in November I got annoyed with the teacher and yelled. Got on my desk and everything. They sent me to the office, and mom picked me up really late. She screamed at me, then took me home and locked me in my room for a few days. I was suspended anyway, so no one noticed. When she finally let me out, I still wasn’t allowed to eat. I tried sneaking a piece of bread, but she smacked me so hard I started bleeding.”
“Now I’m skipping to the next year. November 16, 2018: School still sucks. I almost joined choir this year, but I knew that wouldn’t end well. I can never get enough sleep with mom and dad screaming all night. I think I’ve gotten maybe half an hour of sleep in the past two weeks. Dad stormed out last night, yelling about divorce. He came back an hour later and they were both fine. I’ve started going to the park after school so I can have some peace before I go home.”
Rowan came up and took my hand while Principal Morris continued. “February 7, 2023: Dad finally got a job, somehow, and he’s gone most nights. While he’s gone, mom will sometimes have different ‘friends’ over. They’re all men, and they’re all drunk. I’ve been offered a drink from various bottles, but do my best to deny them. When they force me to drink though, those are the worst nights. I forget most of it, but I always wake up in pain.”
“The most recent entry is from April 30, 2024: Life is livable. I’ve been living with Rowan’s family since October. From what I can glean from his parents, my mom went to prison and my dad is on probation. I’ll probably hide this somewhere for someone to find it when they need to. Sincerely, Jackson Foster.”
I was nervous at how people would react, but they were silent.
“Jackson, I’m so sorry that no one noticed what you’ve been going through. You said no pity, so I won’t linger on that. You’ve done something no one else did. Could anyone who has been a victim of any form of abuse please stand?”
I looked out over the gathered students and family. A shocking number of people stood. Some of them I recognized as the “popular” kids, the ones who seemed to have a perfect life.
“And how many of you tried to tell someone about it.” Most of the people standing sat down. “Thank you.” Everyone sat.
“I’m just trying to say, you aren’t the only one. But you are the only one who decided to try and do something about it. And so, Rowan decided to work with us and make some changes.”
Rowan stepped up to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve gotten to know Jackson very well over this past year. He’s smart, funny, and a great singer. But no one knew that. For years we told everyone that they’re fine. But they’re not. And it’s okay to say that. Right now, I’m terrified. I hate public speaking, and I am not okay. Do you know what is okay? Saying it. You don’t have to hide. So, I’m introducing the Foster Project.”
Principal Morris took over. “The Foster Project is a safe place for anyone to come and get help, or even just talk. For once, I hope people will trust their teachers. Jackson? Thank you for teaching me how to care.”
The audience applauded, and me?
I just smiled, at peace.
This is an excerpt from the prologue of Sweet Dreams by Nathaniel Lee.
Pasort ran through the forest, giggling as he wove through the trees. He easily jumped over roots and rocks that threatened to trip him, and glanced behind to make sure they couldn’t see him. He leapt into the air and grabbed hold of a sturdy branch, swinging up into the leaves.
“Pasort!” A teenage boy ran into sight and looked around. “Pasort, where are you?”
A girl who looked a little older than the boy came up to him. “Have you found him yet?”
“Of course not! He knows these woods better than anyone!” The boy knelt down and examined the ground.
“Oh, now you’re trying to be all smart and track him? Look everyone, it’s Markos the hunter!”
Markos glared up at her. “Oh, be quiet. It’s not like you’re even trying. We’re never going to find him, he’s…” Markos trailed off as he made eye contact with Pasort. “He’s right there!” Pasort jumped from tree to tree as they ran after him, somehow keeping ahead.
“Nerin! Control the trees and grab him!” Markos yelled.
“He’s moving too fast!”
“C’mon, you’re a nymph! That’s supposed to be useful!”
“I’m only part nymph!” The pair tried to jump over a creek, but their shoes got soaked. “Besides, you’re part nymph too!”
“Not the good part! Here, you take the ground and I’ll take the trees.” With that, Markos jumped into the air and grabbed a branch. He’d misjudged the strength of the branch, and came crashing back down to the ground.
“Don’t just stand there, catch him!” Markos said, spitting dirt out of his mouth. Nerin ran ahead, her pale green dress flowing behind her. With a grimace, she flicked her hands out in front of her. The branches of the trees wove together to create a wall. Pasort, difficult to see through the leaves, dropped to the ground, landing in a run. She put on a burst of speed, trying to keep up with him.
“Pasort, don’t make this harder than it already is!”
“No! I don’t want to go!” He slid underneath a fallen log and kept running. Nerin held her hands out in front of her and the log split, allowing her to pass easily.
“Sorry.” She kept waving her hands to control the branches and grass, trying to grab him. He kept just out of reach, and turned around to laugh at her.
“Come on, it’s time for the Huzzengrav!” It was a traditional dessert served at a Celebration of Life. Creamy pudding in a delicious dough, it was always a favorite. He faltered, and in that moment of weakness Markos came crashing through the undergrowth. The older boy launched himself through the air, tackling Pasort to the ground. The two struggled for a moment as Nerin tried telling them to stop.
“Enough!” she screamed, sending birds flying from nearby trees. Markos got up and brushed himself off. Pasort jumped to his feet and grabbed the front of Markos’ shirt, raising his other fist.
“Let him go, oresti.” Pasort turned to look at Nerin. His hair was filled with dirt and leaves, and there was a grass stain on his pants.
“Did you need to use that name?” Pasort let go and Markos stepped away.
“What? I think it’s cute.” Nerin waved her hand, and the grass stain disappeared. She picked what she could out of his hair, then put an arm around him as the trio walked through the trees.
“You should’ve started with the Huzzengrav, I wouldn’t have ran.” They made it through the woods and back to Pasort’s house. Finally, the Huzzengrav was served. Pasort took the first bite, and the sweet dessert seemed to melt in his mouth.
After several moments, he began hearing a buzzing in his ears. The sound of the party was drowned out by the horrid sound. He fell to the ground, hands pressed over his ears, but it did nothing. After several moments, someone helped him up and the buzzing stopped.
“Are you okay?” his aunt Perita asked as she helped him back to the table.
“Yeah.” He sat down shakily. “Headache.” She sat next to him, and the familiar smell of flowers enveloped him. She pulled a Brouil out of her hair and handed it to him. The silver flower glowed softly as he took it. It was his favorite flower, and one of the rarest.
“Where did you find it?”
She laughed. “I went on a long journey to get it.”
“Really?”
“You think I have time for that? I have three kids, there’s no way. I made it.”
She went to talk to someone else, the grass seeming greener around her. She was a nymph, and Nerin had some control over nature as well. Markos didn’t, and Pasort teased him about it all the time.
“Nice flower, kid.” Markos reached over and grabbed at the flower. “Let me see.”
Pasort pulled the Brouil away, but Markos’ finger’s caught it and pulled the fragile petals off. Pasort dropped the now empty stem and turned to his cousin.
“Sorry, it was an accident.” Markos started walking away.
“Hey!” Pasort yelled. The buzzing returned drowning out all other sound. Markos turned, a stupid smile on his face, and Pasort screamed in anger. He felt a rush of power flow through him. Markos’ smile turned into a scream of his own as his hands stopped moving. In seconds, his entire body had turned into clear crystal. Pasort threw out his hands, and the crystal statue that used to be his cousin exploded in a spray of sharp pieces.
Pasort’s hearing returned as everyone started screaming. Someone grabbed Pasort, holding him in place as he passed out.
