March 13th 2024
—— critique for @opheliio

Hi Lio! Your piece seems really interesting, and I’m excited to critique it. I’ll be doing mostly line-by-line critique (as I find that a bit easier overall), but I’ll include some general thoughts at the end. The line-by-line critique is mainly based on stylistic preference, so feel free to use some tips and ignore others <3

opheliio wrote:

life felt weird, for little snow white.

she felt strengthened, that the world knew…

then, the queen killed her.

No comma is needed in these sentences (although I’m not entirely sure about the last one) I would use a stronger adjective than weird in the first sentence, since her entire life’s just been uprooted. It’s a little unclear in the last sentence whether the “her” refers to Snow White or her mother.

attempted, several times, before it stuck. but she had succeeded, with that final try.

Consider combining these sentences to streamline the thought.

snow white had lied in a glass coffin in the woods, put there by people she thought she trusted, for some unknown sum of time.

I love how this kind of puts some shade on the dwarves! It’s definitely an unexplored perspective. (The past perfect tense of lie is had lain <3)

then something happened, and she woke up.

The “then something happened” is a little unspecific. Even if it’s intentionally vague, I think you could still use more concise language. (Perhaps by describing a sensation, or the passage of time.)

she learned that she had been dead, in a glass coffin in the woods, and that a prince had come upon her and taken the coffin home with him. she learned that she would marry him, now undead as she was, and had no option but to accept the marriage. she learned that her mother, who she had only ever loved, would be invited to the wedding and tricked into dancing until her death.

All of the “she learned”s are a bit repetitive, but that’s just personal preference. The part about the mother is shocking! I think you should definitely delve deeper into that, and show Snow White’s feelings and reaction to the news.

would they be jealous, as her once loving mother was?

This confused me a little bit. At the beginning of the story, her mother was proud of her beauty. The last time we heard of her, Snow White had “only over loved” her, and then she died. At what point was she jealous?

talia wept, when she saw snow white. the girl was younger than she had been, so much younger. truly a child. how could someone wish death upon this innocent child? how could someone force marriage upon her? the girl spooked, when talia rushed to hug and comfort her.
“oh, my dear,” talia said, wrapping the girl in a warm hug. “what awfulness these men have gifted you. what strength you have to live through it.”

You don’t need a comma in the first sentence, or after the word “spooked.” (I would choose a different word there as well.) <3 Also, I just want to mention how much I love this scene. The solidarity of the princesses is really sweet.

This piece was touching. I really like the way you highlighted the horrible situation Snow White was in, although traditional stories and film show her story as a “happy ever after.” The narrator’s voice is sympathetic as well. In all, I really liked it. However, I really think it needs to go more in depth on the mother, and the role she played in Snow White’s story. Whenever she was mentioned it was a little confusing, since her character was never very firmly established. I also think you could include more descriptions and figurative language, to make the reading a little more colorful. Overall, I really enjoyed reading this, and I think you could either expand on it or let it stand alone. Thank you so much for giving me the chance to critique it!

March 13th 2024
—— daily for poetry

They met in the sky.

He was sunshine, and she was midnight.

Nothing or everything would go wrong. There was no middle ground. Did they know that? Yes. But for love, they did it anyway.

“Celeste, you mean the world to me.”
“I know, and there’s nothing I can do.”
She sighs, and reaches to wipe away her tears. He stops her, and does it himself.
“Soleil, stop. I told you, this is it. We can’t keep meeting, it’ll only mess things up.”
She turns to walk away. “Wait!” calls Soleil, his voice cracking in emotion, “Celeste, wait. Please. At least… at least let me say goodbye.”

She stops. Her back is turned. “Go ahead. Say it.”
But he doesn’t say it. Instead, he reaches for her hand, and they embrace. Tears run down both their cheeks. And as their hands meet, light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

They break apart. “No… this shouldn’t be happening…” whispers Celeste, her voice seeped in fear. “I must go!”

But it was too late. Already she had begun to fade. “Celeste!” Sora called, and tried to shield her, but it was too late. His outstretched arms held only himself, and he wept bitterly.

These stories don’t tend to end well between sons of light and daughters of night.

For the rest of his life, Soleil was a wanderer. A descendant of the sun, ever drawn inexplicably to the dark corners of the world. The places where the sorrows of the world consume you. Where shadows creep inside and threaten never to leave.

But because of her, he was stronger. Over time, he became something more.

He is the light you cannot see, though you feel its warmth. The light that penetrates the darkness of our lives.

Because of love, he is hope.

I know the tenses switch up a lot but I don’t care enough to change it right now :,)

March 14th 2024
—— daily for poetry

Once, there was a man. This man had three lovely daughters.
But one was different.
And nobody quite knew why.
Her speech was odd, and she insisted on dressing peculiarly.

But the strangest things were her eyes.
Cold.
Penetrating.
They didn’t fit her pretty face at all.

Her father tried everything to fix her horrendous manners. He hired tutors and teachers from all across the land. But once they left she’d be no different from when they arrived.
Her sisters tried to help her with her odd dress, but she resisted any effort to change her clothes. Once they were finally able to persuade her, she would retreat to her room where no one could appreciate it. She would return the next morning the same as before.

They didn’t know what to do.

Eventually, the father made a decision. The girl would not leave the mansion (it was a mansion, for the father was a very rich merchant) until she made a change. The girl gave no argument. She only smiled, and stared at her father with those penetrating eyes until he became quite uncomfortable.
“Go then!” he said, flustered.
She skipped upstairs to her room.

Once alone, the girl locked her door and sighed. For a moment, she was sitting on the floor, but suddenly she wasn’t. Her entire body became transparent, and only her odd clothes remained, floating ominously where her body should’ve been.
In a second, she returned, looking exhausted. “I have got to stop doing that!” she said to herself. Shakily, she stood, and walked to her dresser. After checking the coast was clear, she pulled out her book, “Ghouls Guide to Time Travel.” The pages were dog-eared and worn. She turned to the page she must’ve read one million times. It was headed “how to return home.”

She read over the faded words- though she needn’t have, she had them memorized- and chanted some mystical phrases. Suddenly, she began to float, and her edges became undefined. She felt growing excitement. It was going to work this time! But it didn’t. She fell to the ground with a thump, and sat a while, dejected. She began to cry. It seemed that she would never make it home.

Every day for the next week she tried to return, never exiting her room. She had never meant to stay here. She had been flitting through time, as all ghouls do, when suddenly she had not been able to return. She had inserted herself into the memories of this family as a shelter until she could, but it had been years. Could it be she had lost her ability to manipulate time?

One day, she made a horrible mistake. After one of her rare excursions from her room, she forgot to lock the door. And while she was trying to return, it opened. Standing there was the father, aghast at what he saw.
“Witchcraft!” he uttered, and his voice grew to a shout. “Sorcery!”
The ghoul did her best to soothe his memories, and to erase the incident, but he was too afraid to be reached. “Out!” he yelled. “Get out!”

That was how the ghoul found herself outside, alone, on a cold dark night. There was an abandoned cottage across the river. She’d always felt more at home there. She decided to seek refuge there that night.
When she entered the building, she was shocked to find herself face to face with a girl.
She seemed to be her same age. The ghoul quickly solidified her form, but it was too late. The girl had seen her floating. Strangely, she only smiled.
“Poor little thing…” she said in a breathy voice, and the ghoul noticed her eyes. They were just like hers.
“You’re stuck, aren’t you. You need to go home.”

Suddenly, the strange girl began to float, and recite incantations, and the ghoul realized happily that she was like her, a ghoul. She was offered a hand, and the little ghoul took it. Together they spun around the room, and all of time seemed to melt away.

Finally there was a flash, and there was no sign that anyone had ever been in that old shack at all.

Once, there was a man. This man had two lovely daughters.
But it seemed as if something was missing.
And nobody quite knew why.

March 15th 2024
—— daily for poetry

Dreams are difficult to trace. They return to you as memories, and it’s impossible to know how long they’ve lingered in your mind. But I realized afterwards that the dream had appeared just a day before the diagnosis. The doctor’s cold sympathy was just confirmation. He didn’t start with it, though.
“Do you like travel? What’s a place you’ve always wanted to go?”
That was not what doctors said who had good test results. Nevertheless, I obliged. Maybe he was just trying to make small talk. “I’ve… I’ve always wanted to go to Yellowstone.”
“Do you like hiking?”
“Yes…”
He gave me a small, sympathetic smile. How I hated those smiles. “Why don’t you take the time this spring to go see Yellowstone. Bring a loved one with you.”
He sighed. Then he said it. “You may not have much more time left to live.”

Cold spread through me. My worst fears had been confirmed.
“How… what’s… what’s t-the timeframe?”
“On average, once the disease has reached this stage the expected lifespan is only 5 months. I’m so sorry.”

I signed the forms, put down my information, and stumbled out of the doctor’s office. Once I’d made it to the car, I sat inside and began to sob. They were wracking, heaving sobs, and every thought centered around one question. What do I do now?

The doctor said I should take a loved one to Yellowstone. That would be great… if I actually had any. Trevor… well, he would’ve been. But we’d broken up last month. The month when everything had suddenly gone wrong.

I could always try reaching out to him again…

No. That was stupid. It had been a month. He probably had someone else by now.

But Trevor loved hiking. He’d been the one to introduce me to the national parks.

It was worth a try.

The next few days were surreal as I made my plans. Everything experience was special. Something to say goodbye to.

After a week, everything was set up. I’d rented an RV for the trip. I had two passes for Yellowstone. All the other equipment I’d need was accounted for. Now all I needed was Trevor.

For the past week, that dream had begun to haunt me. A hooded figure. “Five months.” This had to work. It was my last chance.

That’s how I found myself standing at his door. I never thought I’d come back there. I’d thought of just calling him, but I decided that maybe my weakened state woild call upon something in him. Sympathy?

As I knocked on the door, I braced myself. This was my last chance.

March 16th 2024
—— daily for poetry

I’ve always loved crafting, but recently I’ve become more interested in crocheting. I’ve even started making these adorable little stuffies and giving them away to friends. It’s a very rewarding hobby. In fact, in a way, it’s brought me all the way to being a co-leader this session. That has been a great experience so far. I can’t believe how high we’ve climbed the rankings!
Today I sent check-ins to some of our campers, just to see if they were doing all right and enjoying the session. I hope everyone is. We worked really hard all through February setting this cabin up, and so far it’s looking really cool! The Grove, especially. I love updating it and seeing all the camper’s accomplishments. Adding trees is especially fun.
Right now I’m working on my weekly. Doing classic SWC dailies is fun, but I didn’t realize it would be so challenging as well. The hardest one is probably the SWC fanfic, just because of how long it is. Six hundred words is nothing to scoff at!
I want to do the weekly for Poetry, and for the rankings, but I also want to do it to enhance my own writing skills and technique. It’s hard to see improvements in your own writing, but I definitely think I’ve improved since last session. Sometimes, though, I’ll look back at an old writing piece and actually be impressed by it! That gives me a little hope for the things I’m writing now. Maybe I’ll look back someday and like them.
Just a few more words, and my weekly’s done! I finished my aesthetic as soon as I could. I love designing, and it was a fun break from all the writing. Maybe once I finish this, I should brainstorm a writing competition entry. I’d like to join it this session. Hopefully I have the time. Almost there with the weekly…
One hundred words left…
Fifty…
Ten…
I did it!

March 16th 2024
—— critique for @silverlynx-

Hi Silvi! I loved your poem on the first read through. (It seems to be about wolves. Am I right?) Thank you so much for sharing it with me! Keep in mind, my suggestions and examples are just my opinion, and you as the writer are there to decide what fits your piece best. <3

silverlynx- wrote:

Where the stars shine bright,
Silky snouts tip to the moon,
Howling their plight,
An eerie yet beautiful tune.

I really love the way this starts the poem off on a mysterious and mystical note. I would recommend trying to keep the syllables even, and the meter as well. For example, the third line seems a little short. I might add an adjective before plight, or an adverb before howling to add a few syllables and even it out.

Where the rivers run dry,
Pleading eyes seek waters blue,
The air splits with a guttural cry,
Marking never-ending pursuits.

Again, evening the syllables and making sure the emphasis falls on the correct words is important in rhyming poetry. I think the third line would flow better if you removed the word “guttural.” The fourth line is also a bit confusing, maybe consider rewording it. I really like the descriptions in your poem so far.

Where the flames climb high,
Gloved paws thunder from scorching tongues,
Ashes rain down from burning skies,
As mournful farewells are sung.

This stanza does a great job of introducing a bit of conflict, or a climax. The word “tongues” in the second line confused me on my first read, although I assume it means tongues of fire. That’s another place where you could consider choosing a different word.

Where the storms rage strong,
Glossy fur loses its sheen,
Rain hammers on and on,
Crystal clear, from oceans serene.

I love this entire stanza. It paints a very vivid picture of the storm, and the meter is even. I wouldn’t change anything

Where the sun never sets,
Landscapes catch in luminous light,
Casting shadowy silhouettes,
Mother Nature boasting her might.

I would recommend shortening the second and fourth lines here. To change that, you could change the second line to “landscapes catch the glowing light,” and “boasting” in the fourth line to “boasts.”

Where the waves tower tall,
Crashes emanate from pebbled shores,
Water envelopes you like a freezing shawl,
It’s like a lion, with a spine-tingling roar.

The word “emanate” in the second line doesn’t seem like the right word to me. Perhaps try “crashes echo off the shores.” I believe you meant to spell the second word of the third line “envelops.” The meter in that line is a little off. Think about where the emphasis falls, and try to make it consistent with the third lines in the rest of the stanzas. I would try to give the fourth line seven or eight syllables to match the rest of the poem as well.

Where the stars shine bright,
Silky snouts tip to the moon,
Howling their plight,
An eerie yet beautiful tune.

I love the way you start and finish the poem the same way. My suggestions for the first stanza apply to this one as well. Make sure that if you make any changes, you make them to both. <3

That’s all the tips I have for you! I really enjoyed reading this poem. The way it describes the mystery of nature is beautiful. Thank you so much for letting me critique it!

March 11-17th 2024
—— weekly for poetry

Part 1: Flowers

“Fern, are you coming?” called Cynth in a deliberately obnoxious voice.
“Yes!” Fern replied, amused. She’d grown used to her best friend’s antics. Slipping on her skates, she wobbled over to the door, where Hyacinth was waiting.
“Finally,” she groaned. “Now let’s get going! They’re waiting on us! Including…”
Cynth lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Asher.”
Fern flushed. “Let’s just go,” she sighed as she grabbed her purse.
“Come on! Everyone knows you like him!”
Fern flashed a probing look, and Hyacinth amended that statement. “Ok, fine. Not everyone. But I know, and you should go for it.”
They began to walk. Fern’s answer was mumbled. “He likes Gina. And you’re wrong, anyways.”
Hyacinth rolled her eyes, but held her tongue until they reached the skate park. However, she wasn’t yet satisfied.

One moment, Fern was chatting with friends, casting casual glances as Asher, who was skating by himself just ahead of them. His hair looked nice today. None of the other boys could seem to get it right.
Suddenly, a shove from behind sent Fern tumbling… right into Asher.
It was possibly the most mortifying moment of Fern’s life. “I’m so, so sorry,” she stammered, as Asher asked, “are you ok?”
“I’m fine, I just-I…” Fern glanced away to hide her reddening cheeks, and found something quite odd. Hyacinth was on the ground, right where Fern had fallen. Without another word to Asher, Fern skated back over.
“You pushed me! What was that for?” she yelled. Hyacinth looked up with tears in her eyes. Her knee was scraped badly.
“I’m sorry Fern, are you ok? I’m so sorry, I just tripped and… you know.”
As discerning as she may have been, Fern was a sweet soul. She helped her friend up, and guided her over to the edge of the rink. No more was said about pushing.
Once band-aids were administered, Fern looked back over at the rink. Asher was sitting on the side now, reading. All the other boys would’ve been on their phones. Fern wondered what the book might be.

With further apologies as her excuse, Fern sat down next to Asher. “Hey… um- really sorry, again, for what happened, my friend fell, and-“
He laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.”
Fern’s cheeks were pink once again, but she was relieved that he wasn’t upset. She leaned over his shoulder, then thought better of it. “Uh- what are you reading?”
He showed her the book. “The Giver. It’s one of my favorites.”
“I love that book!”
“Have you read the rest of the series?”
Fern was about to give an ecstatic “yes,” but her phone buzzed in her pocket.
A text from her mom. “Why aren’t you home yet?”
Shoot. It was past dinner time. “I need to run!” she said quickly as she rushed away.

After she’d reached home and apologized profusely to her mother, Fern pondered over the missed opportunity. Maybe it hadn’t been missed, though. She now knew one interesting thing about Asher. He was a reader. And it sounded like his tastes were similar to hers.
Maybe we could start a book club or something.
She stopped herself.
Please don’t do anything rash.
Rash was Hyacinth’s department.

Part 2: Constellations

No matter where you are in the world, you can always look up at the night sky and see the stars. It is one thing that will always connect us in this world, no matter how many others claim to do the same.
But we can never fully comprehend the wonder of the stars. Their roots stretch to the beginning of time. They have been shining since the fourth day of creation. No one can truly understand how they shine, yet they still do, and they guide weary travelers through the night. Some nights are so dark that they are ready to give up, to give in to darkness. It is on nights like these that the stars shine brightest.
I am an artist. The night sky is my canvas, as it was the canvas of many who came before. Gemini, Libra, Virgo, these and many more were all penned by an artist of the stars. To become such an artist requires an understanding of something greater, and eyes on the years to come.
Let us look upon one such artist, who lived long ago. Her name was Lina. She gazed upon the heavens each night and dreamed of pictures and words, battles enacted in the stars, lives lived under their light. Young Lina was quite the adventurer. She would hike each night to a new location, and find a place where she could see the stars from a new angle, or a spot she’d never seen touched by their light. She would lie under the stars as close as she could possibly be to them, and dream and wonder of their meanings and histories. Sometimes, she would find a group of stars so bright, such vivid storytellers, that she would record each of their places in her special book of stars. She would draw the stories they spoke to her, and create her own constellations. Every time she did this, she would make a wish upon the new constellations’s central star. She didn’t believe in luck, or star wishes, but it seemed right, in a way.
One night it was so dark that she could see more stars than ever before. They were brilliant, filling the entirety of the sky with their glory. Lina wandered long into this wonderful night. She walked so long and so far that soon she had no idea where she was.
Though Lina was bold and adventurous, she was still only ten years old. She grew anxious. How would she make it home? As many ancient travelers had done before her, she looked to the stars. There were many, more than she could ever count. Suddenly she noticed a new group of stars, one that she had not seen until the start of her journey that evening. They had been positioned directly behind her when she had set out. She knew that following them would lead her home.
That night Lina drew a new constellation. The lantern. Though its pattern holds beauty, it can only be seen when the night is darkest. When you need it most, it will guide you through.

Part 3: Aesthetics

this is my aesthetic for part one <3


Part 4: SWC Fanfiction

It was a beautiful spring day, and Summer and Sophia were out planting hyacinths in The Grove.
“Isn’t it just wonderful out here?” marveled Sophia, and Summer had to agree. Over the past few days the campers had planted so many flowers that the valley was beginning to look like a painting. It wouldn’t be long before they’d restored it to its original state.
Suddenly, Puppy came running, her pink bangs blocking her eyes in the wind. She stopped to catch her breath, and accidentally stepped on a hyacinth.
“Puppy, be careful!” Summer cautioned.
Puppy glanced at her feet. “Oop- sorry about that,” she said, gasping. “I came to warn you guys. I just gave Sci-Fi a 4.5k war, and they are not happy about it.”
Sophia groaned. “Puppy! They just finished a 4k war! They’re probably going to come give us the same war now!” The sun beat down harshly on the valley, and Sophia tied her wavy dark hair into a ponytail.
Summer stood up and dusted the dirt off her gardening overalls. “We should prepare for the worst. Sophia, make sure the gardener’s shed is secure. The rest of us will head to the top of the valley to intercept any war-bringers.”

They weren’t prepared for what came next. Though they waited long for sci-fi’s war to arrive, it never came. In fact, the absence of wars began to seem eerie. It had been nearly an hour without a word from the other cabins.
Suddenly, a shout shook the valley. “HELP!”
Everyone ran towards the cry, and gasped at what they found. Vi stood before The Grove, and it was the most terrible sight anyone had ever seen. Every tree and flower was encased in a sea of off-color pixels. The valley was glitching.
“What do we do?” Sandy moaned. “How did this happen?”
Puppy yelled with realization. “It must’ve been Sci-Fi!”
Everyone stared at her, and she explained. “Sci-Fi was really mad when I warred them. They must’ve come here and spread the virus from that glitchy AI!”
It was unlikely, but her theory did make sense. Summer decided to investigate.

A few minutes later, Summer stormed into Sci-Fi. She was met by Zion, who was smirking mischievously.
Summer raised an eyebrow. “What did you do to Poetry?!”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean! It’s literally glitching!”
Zion raised their hands innocently. “Hey, we’re trying to fight our own glitching! I don’t have time to spread it to Poetry.” They added jokingly under their breath, “you guys aren’t worth my time anyway.”
Summer rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless. Will you just come over and look at it?”
Zion grinned. “Sure! Why not?”

Once they’d returned to the valley, Puppy laughed. “Ha! I knew it was Zion!”
“Relax,” said Summer, “I just asked them to come and look.”
“Aw, man.”
Zion didn’t seem surprised to see the glitched-out Grove. “Yeah, that’ll definitely be a problem for you guys. Good luck, I have to go help Sci-Fi with someone’s 4.5k war.”
They started to walk out, but at that moment, Recca appeared. “Guys, why are you just letting Zion go?” she asked.
“We can’t really prove that they did anything. It’s kind of our only choice,” Sophia sighed.
Recca smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, darlings. Did you think I’d let the valley go without security? Go and check the security cam feed in the shed.”
“You installed security cameras?!” Summer laughed, but everyone had already run to the shed. She followed them.
Recca was scrolling through the last few hour’s footage. Suddenly, everyone cheered. There on the screen was video evidence: Zion was spreading a glitch in The Grove’s underlying code.
“There’s no need to thank me,” Recca said with mock modesty, but everyone did anyway.

Naturally, Zion was summoned back to the valley. After being shown the camera footage, they were trapped.
They shrugged. “You caught me. It was just a joke. A little retaliation for the war.”
Misty tapped her foot impatiently. “Yes, but can you fix it?”
“Don’t worry, it’s an easy fix.”
Thankfully, Zion was true to their word. Soon the grove was back to normal, hyacinths and all.
Puppy laughed awkwardly. “Hehe… maybe sending the war was a little rash.”
“In the words of the bard,” said Recca with a smile, “all’s well that end’s well!”

March 20th 2024
—— (incomplete) daily for poetry

I walk in solemnity through this broken world. The world I have created.

Perhaps… if I could see her just once more. Yes. Surely that would fix things.

The world was young and beautiful once, and so was I. And so was Joy. We were happy, in love and youth. Until…
Until she was gone, and I was lost.
I turned to the only place I could think of in that beginning of brokenness.
The fortune weaver.

Only in the olden days did those who were weary, broken, and fearful turn to fortune tellers. A fate told cannot be altered.
But a fate unspoken, unseen…
It can be changed.
Woven… for a price.

I was prepared to pay anything. My life. My all. Joy had been lost, and I had nothing left.
Nothing but a burning passion for vengeance.

She took one look at me and told me she could help me.

“You are too far gone. I cannot reweave fate to your twisted intentions.”

Once I’d showed her my pocket, she thought otherwise. Warily, she reached into the sands.
I watched with an ambition. An eagerness that I could not define.

When her hands returned, I knew the world was mine.

Her face was grim. Her eyes alight with fear.

“I’ll take my payment now, sir.”

I walked out without another word. She should be grateful I left her with her life.

. . .

Her killer was dead. But I was not yet satisfied. I returned, more resolute than before.
She turned me away.

“We’re closed!”

I made her reconsider that statement.

. . .

Now the world is broken. More broken than I ever was.


But sometimes I wonder. Could she ever have wanted this?

Together in the End
—— writing competition entry

Mom’s stupid egg timer fills the awkward silence at the dinner table.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Finally, Ellen scoffs. “Turn that thing off! We don’t need a countdown to our doom.”

Mom stammers, her eyes red with tears.
“Oh- I… well, I just thought… sorry.”

Devon lights a cigarette. Riley plugs her nose, and Mom scowls. “Not in my house, young man.”
“Since when have I been your young man?” Devon asks, speaking with that drawl that had always annoyed his mother. “And why do you care? The whole world’ll go up in smoke in…” he glances at the egg timer, “two hours and twenty-five minutes.”

That was too much for Mom. She bursts into tears again. Dad looks too exhausted to say anything. Only Riley speaks.
“It’s ok, Mom. We’re all here. We’re all going to stay right here.” She puts a hand on her mother’s heaving shoulder.
Ellen rolls her eyes. “You were always such a good girl, weren’t you, Riley? ‘Yes mommy, yes daddy, I love you mommy,’” she mocks. Riley glares.
“At least I care. You should be thankful the government even let you come, anyway. So tell me, how was life in prison? Make any new friends?”
Ellen’s face grows red hot. “You little…”

“Girls!” Dad finally says. Looking daggers at each other, his daughters let him speak. “Do you really want to spend your last two hours on earth yelling at each other?” His voice is pained, and his head drops into his hands.
It’s been years since they all sat in this room together, and they can’t even hold a conversation.

Mom looks up, her face steeled. In a soft yet firm voice, she says, “Your father’s right. There’s no use arguing at this point.” A timer goes off in the kitchen. “You all wait here.”

As she walks off, Devon mumbles, “what else are we supposed to do?”

Silence settles like a fog once again.
Ellen sits uncomfortably, biting a fingernail. Devon stares blankly at the wall.
Riley pulls out her phone, and turns on the latest news bulletin.
The announcer’s matter-of-fact voice offers little comfort.

“Scientists confirmed as of last week that this unexpected solar activity, combined with the buildup of toxic gas in the atmosphere, will cause temperatures to rise drastically. There is little chance of human survival. Global governments have made every effort to reunite families in these final moments. The event is predicted-“

“Geez, Riley, why don’t we try to make this evening more depressing?” said Devon. Riley hastily turns the bulletin off.
. . .

Mom returns with dinner. Chicken casserole.
“That… smells really good,” says Ellen reluctantly.
Mom offers a small smile. “I tried to make a favorite, though I wasn’t sure if you still liked it. You know, since… well, it’s been a while since we all had dinner together.”
It’s true. The last time they ate together was right before Ellen went to college. Everything seemed so simple then.

They eat silently, each one lost in their own thoughts. Bites are taken slowly. No one is eager to finish their last meal.

After a while, Dad speaks up again. “What do you all say to a game of monopoly?”
Ellen mumbles, “I always hated monopoly,” but her comment is half-hearted.
Devon looks up from his phone. “Sure, why not? Nothing better than monopoly when you’re about to die.”
Riley stays quiet this time, casting a sidelong glance at her brother, but everyone knows she’d say yes. Mom gets up to grab the game.

She returns with the dusty box. Their last game together was long ago, ages before the last meal they'd shared together.
“I’ll take the dog,” says Riley, but Ellen has already handed the piece to her. It’s been a long time, but no one will ever forget their piece.
Devon chuckles. “Remember the time Riley decided to use the hat?”
Everyone smiles slightly at the memory. Riley was only six years old, and was still learning the solidity of each person’s chosen piece. When she tried to use Devon’s, he was livid.
“You kept yelling at me about it for days!” says Riley sternly. “It wasn’t funny.” She grins anyway.

The first argument comes over choosing the banker. Devon offers, but both the girls agree it should be Dad. Although they don’t always get along with him, at least they know they can trust him. Surprisingly, Mom steps up for Devon this time.
“Your father is tired. Let Devon be the banker just once. He’s always asked.”
Dad seems to agree, so that matter is settled.

They begin the game. Each turn passes uneventfully, with little conversation. However, there is a tenderness to the quiet. The clinking of the worn pieces brings back memories of days gone by.

Suddenly, there’s a flicker, and everything goes black. Someone screams.

“It’s all right! Calm down,” says Mom, and the room is illuminated by her phone flashlight. “It’s just an outage. I’ll open the windows.”
As she pulls back the thick curtains that obscured the room, light pours in. The blood-red sun is setting, and the room is tinged crimson in its glow. Everyone stares in bittersweet fascination at the color. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t heralding extinction.

As Mom takes her seat, Devon announces, “I’m buying Boardwalk.” Dad glances at his dwindling money pile. “That’s a risky investment,” he mutters pointedly. Devon catches the comment and glares.
Ellen’s voice is wistful. “Remember the time we went to Atlantic City Boardwalk?”
“And you got sick eating saltwater taffy? Yeah, I remember.” Riley laughs, and Ellen does too.
“That was a great summer.”
“Yeah.”

Ellen recalls that vacation fondly now, though in the past it seemed a burden. Her friends invited her to come to New York with them, but her father insisted that summer was a time for family. She didn’t see why there was any reason she needed more time with them. She tried to get as little as she could. Now she craves more, but there’s nothing she can do about it.

The turns continue, but the sun’s dying light casts an eerie glow on everything. Once it becomes too dark to read the cards, Ellen stands. “I’ll get a candle.”
“I’ll show you where they are,” says Mom as she gets up to follow her.
“I know where the candles are. This is my house too.”
The words hang in the air. After five years, is it really?
Mom sits back down. “Go ahead. Thanks for the help, sweetie.”
. . .

Ellen returns a minute later with Mom’s nicest scented candle in her hands. Mom bites her lip.
“Honey, I save those candles for-“
“For what? I don’t think there’s anything to save for at this point, Mom,” Ellen snaps, but her voice is tired, and more truthful than bitter.

Devon fetches the lighter, and once the candle is lit the room fills with a calming scent. The light shows that Riley has just purchased Pennsylvania Avenue.
Devon scoffs. “Come on! I was about to snag the set!”
That’s all this family has ever done for him. Present opportunities, then snatch them away. Maybe they’ve been trying to support him. But it doesn’t feel that way when your sister gets into the college you’ve been working towards for years, and all you get is a “tough luck.” Then she flubs it, but you’re already stuck with stocks. Typical.
Sirens sound in the distance.
I’m messed up. But I don’t want to die.

The family listens worriedly to the sounds. Riley does her best to ignore them. All her life she’s done her best to be perfect. One good child to make up for the wrongs of her siblings. Her parents had suffered enough. She needed to be the rock even when nothing else was firm.
She quietly finishes her turn.

Dad looks around the table at the solemn faces. “Brighten up, everyone!” he says unexpectedly. They look at him skeptically. He sighs. “If you’re going to go out, wouldn’t you rather do it happily? Now, let’s hurry up this game. Before we die, I want to see who wins.”

The game is renewed with a sudden vigor. Surprisingly, it comes mostly from Ellen. Ellen, who always hated monopoly, and who never won a game, deals so viciously that Dad is soon bankrupt, to his chagrin.
Ellen looks at him apologetically. He smiles warmly. “Keep going, honey. I’m proud of you.”
Mom is out soon after, and then Riley. It isn’t long before Ellen and Devon are the only ones left.
Ellen rolls, and lands on the last unclaimed property. Park Place.
“I’m auctioning it.”
The price goes up quickly. Four hundred. Five hundred.
Devon glances at his money pile. He can’t keep going much longer. Still, he keeps bidding.
Ellen has him right where she wants him. The price reaches five-hundred sixty. She smiles mischievously.
“Take it.”

She played well. Devon could hardly afford the purchase. In two turns, he goes bankrupt.

As he places the final crumpled bill back in the box, he offers his sister a friendly hand.
“Nice job. I guess you’re not so bad after all.”

Ellen takes his hand, and pulls him into a hug. The rest of the family joins in, and they stay that way for a long time.

When they sit back down, everyone congratulates Ellen warmly on the win. There are tears in her eyes. Suddenly, the alarms begin. Dad looks at Mom, who glances at the time. They don’t have much left.
“Mom, I’m scared.” It was not Riley, but Ellen.
“Everyone, hold hands. No matter what happens… we’re together.” Mom’s face is pale.
They hold hands around that worn round table, with the monopoly board as their centerpiece. Not a single eye is dry now.
Devon’s tears are silent but steady. “I’m sorry for everything, Dad.”
His father gives his hand a squeeze. “I love you, son.”
Riley clenches her parents’ hands in hers. “I love all of you,” she sobs.
The alarms grow louder and more incessant.
And then they’re gone.

March 21st 2024
—— daily for poetry

People say my work seems half-hearted
Really? I can assure you it’s my best
Obviously you have no appreciation for my masterpiece
Cramped though it may be
Rushed by silly deadlines
And restrained by tiring prompts
So what if I’m not Tolkien?
Two weeks would’ve been a better timeframe
I assure you I would’ve finished then
Not that I actually started when you assigned it
Although it may have been better if I had
That simply wouldn’t have been any fun
Even though would’ve gotten much more sleep

. . .

Hidden Gems
(Subject lines of emails in my inbox from over the years)

Set up your account
Verify your email
Did you just sign in?
Email registered and updated

Thanks for creating an account!
Welcome to the community
Hi: From Uncle Ben
Thank you for contacting us

It’s time for your daily Spanish lesson
Don't Miss Out on New Features
Password change request
Love you: Uncle Ben

Our tips will take your designs to the top
From Uncle Ben: Study hard
New blog post: it’s a must-read!
Upgrade your account

Regarding your account
Did you just sign in?
From Uncle Ben: I miss you guys
Your subscription is expiring

Author’s note: This was meant to just be a humorous poem about how companies use my email more than I do. But as I scrolled back, I found sweet messages from my Uncle over the years that I had forgotten about, and it really made me feel closer to him <3

. . .

Someday, will I look back and see
Annoyance of today
As something that endears to me
These lazy childhood days?

Though I may mind my siblings now
Perhaps with passing time
I’ll come to see more clearly how
I’m lucky they are mine

March 22nd 2024
—— daily for poetry

This daily is accurate to personal experience last year <3

The rain came down unceasingly, beating on our windows and begging for entry. Wind howled through our doors with screams of terror. This was what a classified “super typhoon“ was like. I wanted it to stop. I wanted our power to come back on, so we could open the shutters and watch television, and do whatever else we wanted.
A crash sounded. A jumped. Mom glanced out the small un-shuttered window and gasped. “I think that was a solar panel!”
The vicious rain had claimed its first victim. I curled up on one of the leather couches, then thought better of it. The absence of AC combined with the restless storm created uncomfortable humidity, which in turn caused the leather to be sticky. I headed upstairs, my head aching with the constant noise, and the screams of the wind.
I was able to distract myself with reading for a few hours, although I had to do it on the wooden bench in the closet; it had one of the few un-shuttered windows and was the only place to read by natural light. When I came downstairs, the storm had started a new sound to add to its repertoire. At first it sounded like someone was popping popcorn. No such luck. The vent to our stove was flapping in the wind, and letting in buckets of water.
My parents’ diligent efforts late into the night were able to prevent extensive damage and flooding. I am grateful for that. Eventually, my wish was granted, and we did get power back, although we had to wait twenty-one days. But we fought the typhoon, and we won.

March 18-24th 2024
—— weekly for poetry

Part 1:

The Crime: Dr*g dealers sporadically kidnap some who rent an old house to keep up the illusion of it being haunted. The most recent person they kidnapped was a young woman named Aurelia Stump. The dealers took her down a secret passageway in the house’s basement to a hidden room which they used to imprison her. They either sell or kill their victims. So far, neither has happened to Aurelia. There was no investigation, because it appeared that she had left the house at the appointed time.

Inciting incident: Brooke Maxwell, an adventurous entrepreneur, decides to spend a week out in the countryside in a quaint old victorian home, despite warnings from its owner of it being haunted. She’s delighted to see all the old furniture and antiques. She even finds an old diary, and decides to read it. It is the diary of Aurelia Stump, but Brooke believes the details written in it describe something from long ago.

Rising action: As Brooke reads the diary, she comes across spooked entries that describe the ways the house seems haunted. At first she thinks it’s silly, but as the same things start happening to her, she starts to believe it. It seems sometimes as if she can hear voices in the walls, especially when she goes to the basement to fix the heater.

Climax: She reads further into the diary, and finds that Aurelia started to receive threatening messages. In the diary entry, it also mentions a very specific modern-day event. Brooke realizes that this is not an antique diary at all. It’s at this point that she starts piecing the mystery together. Convinced that Aurelia is still trapped in the house, she goes to the basement, where the voices she hears were strongest. Behind the loud heater, she finds a small concealed door. She’s able to break the lock, and finds Aurelia tied up inside, looking weak.

Falling Action: She calls the police, and tries to help Aurelia escape, but then the kidnappers arrive. They tie her up and lock her inside the room with Aurelia. Seeing that she had called the police, they make a quick getaway. Thankfully the police arrive soon and are able to help Brooke and Aurelia out.

Resolution: Brooke and Aurelia become good friends. The police interview both of them, and are able to gather enough information to track the criminals. The owner of the house is thoroughly spooked and wants to demolish the house, but Brooke convinces them not to, since the criminals are already gone, and it’s quite historical.

Part 2:

Clue 1: Brooke constantly feels like she’s hearing voices in the walls. This is because the criminals are actually in the same house as she is, waiting for their moment to strike and hide her away. However, she’s pretty quiet herself, and they don’t always notice when she’s near, which is why she can sometimes hear their muffled conversations. (Not enough to make out words, however.)

Clue 2: In the diary, Aurelia talks about receiving threatening notes shortly before the last entry. Some are written on scraps of paper that she finds on her nightstand, and she even found one written in steam on a mirror. They said things like “we’re coming,” and “you will never be found.” In the last entry, Aurelia decides that she’s leaving early, but is worried about her safety if she tries. This information (combined with the screaming she heard in the basement) is how Brooke is able to piece together the fact that the house is not haunted after all, and there’s actually someone else there.

Clue 3: When Brooke visits the basement to adjust the heater, she hears a scream that scares her silly. However, she runs back upstairs and sees that her tea kettle is boiling. She convinces her self that the sound she heard was just the tea, but it was actually Aurelia.

Red herring 1: At the beginning of the story, the owner of the house tells Brooke that the house is haunted, and asks if she still wants to rent it. Brooke says she doesn’t believe in such things, and rents it anyway. The owner mumbles under their breath, “you’ll regret it.” It may seem to the reader that the owner is the culprit, but they were actually just referring to the way that clients often return upset about the “spookiness” of it.

Part 3:

Find the witness interview here. (My partner had already completed this section of their weekly separately, so their answers may not equal the necessary words.)

Part 4:

“I told you, I don’t believe in haunted houses! Do you want me to rent this place or not?” Brooke Maxwell’s bright green eyes were quite intimidating when she was angry.
The owner sighed. “All right, if you’re sure. Just leave your information here.” He handed her a pad with paper, and she filled in the form.
“Thank you, Mr. Dover. I’m sure I’ll have a splendid time,” said Brooke cheerily. Mr. Dover only sighed again. Brooke was beginning to think he was an overall boring person. She walked out with the house keys, and began the drive home to pack her things.
As she walked out, Mr. Dover watched her leave. He mumbled through his teeth, “she’s going to regret this.”

. . .

It was a perfect spring day. Brooke couldn’t wait to spend her well-earned time off in the country. The little victorian summer home had looked so quaint online, even if reviews of it were less than optimal. None of them complained of cleanliness or disrepair. The main keyword was “haunted.” Brooke thought that was nonsense. She was going to go and enjoy herself. So what if a floorboard squeaked, or the windows rattled. She could handle it.
It took several hours of driving, but she finally reached the house. It was about twenty minutes out from any of the other buildings she’d noticed. Perfect for seclusion. The house itself looked almost like a gingerbread house. She couldn’t wait to see all it held in store.
After a little scuffle with the keyhole, she made it inside. Brooke took one look at the parlor and gasped. The furniture was beautiful! Even the end tables were more ornate than any piece of furniture she owned.
On one of the end tables sat a worn diary, with a beautiful gold-embossed cover. Naturally Brooke opened it. Imagine all the history it might contain! The handwriting was in faint pencil, and there was no date. To Brooke’s annoyance, she glanced the word “haunted” on almost every page, but she read it anyway.

Entry 1:
Dear Diary,
I’m pretty sure this house is haunted. I used to think that sort of stuff was insane, but I’m starting to believe it. How else do you explain the voices I’ve been hearing? They aren’t just in my own head, then I’d just be crazy. They sound like they’re in the walls… like someone’s watching me. I sound so paranoid! I never thought I’d be this paranoid. Anyways, it isn’t all bad. The furniture is nice, and everything is quaint and cozy. Still, I keep wondering if there just might be ghosts.
Even if there are ghosts, maybe they aren’t harmful ones! I should just stop worrying about it.

Signed,
Aurelia Stump

Brooke rolled her eyes and closed the diary. Apparently this house had a long legacy of being “haunted.” She hadn’t glanced any specters or heard any voices yet, so she wasn’t exactly worried.

since I don’t plan on writing this story all the way out, and I want to get to the more exciting part, skip!

That night was chilly. Brooke’s toes felt like they were about to freeze off as she lay in the antique bed. After about twenty minutes, she decided she wasn’t going to try to sleep while it was still this cold. She crept out of bed, treading lightly on the frigid floorboards, and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
As she turned on the burner underneath the kettle, she felt the strange sensation that someone was watching her. She heard that odd sound again- murmuring, whispering- coming from the walls, but it must’ve just been the wind. It was a very windy night.
As the water boiled, she headed down the dark attic stairs with a flashlight. Mr. Dover had said there was a heater down here, and Brooke intended to make full use of it. She found the machine, and began to try tinkering with it, when suddenly she heard a bloodcurdling scream. Spooked, she ran up out of the basement as fast as possible, banging her knee in the process.
In the kitchen, her tea water was boiling. There. It was just the tea. Brooke clutched her leg and caught her breath, thankful to have avoided a run-in with ghosts.
She quickly reminded herself that there was no such thing as ghosts, and that this house was certainly, not in the very least, haunted.

March 24th 2024
—— daily for poetry

“We have no use of adventures ‘round here,” said Bilbo Baggins. “You might try over the hill and across the water.”
Gandalf would’ve done well to heed Bilbo’s trite advice, for unbeknownst to either of them, a hobbit did live across the water who was quite fond of adventure. Her name was Summer.
Summer’s hobbit-hole was not nearly as fine as Bilbo’s on The Hill, but it was a fine, respectable hole nevertheless. Its round polished door was a welcoming yellow, and on the doorknob was an ornate G. G, for Goldworthy, her family name.
Inside her hobbit-hole was just as cheery as the door. Her entryway featured a quaint little coat-stand, which currently had no coats on it (she was out using her own, and had no visitors at this moment.) In her living room was a small corner fireplace, surrounded by a few comfortable couches. She did her best to decorate this room with all her fineries, for it was the only one that boasted a window.
In the study she kept many types of books. Books of knowledge (which her father was partial to), cookbooks (the only type of book her mother read), and even a few adventure books (which no one thought were respectable to keep.) Books were the one way she was able to escape from her little corner of the South farthing, where everything was always the same and no on ever did anything unexpected. Sometimes she would sneak up on neighbors and say “boo,” just to add a little unexpectedness to the day, and everyone thought her quite queer that way.
She was a rather queer little hobbit (little, for she was only 2 and a half feet tall,) and would loved to have met a wizard outside her humble home one day. Why, if she had, she would’ve invited him in immediately, recognizing him without introductions. She would’ve served him tea and asked eagerly of all his adventures, and perhaps at that point she might’ve been invited on one. She only hoped she might have the fortune of meeting such an opportunity one day. Until then, she had to be happy with her simple life.
Once she had a family of her own, her hobbit-hole expanded, this time with a nursery (and of course, an extended pantry.) She began to think that she would never have a true adventure, and perhaps that was all right. Her hobbit-mind had begun to set in, and she was ready to be respectable.
It’s a good thing she still had a spunky bit hidden deep to pull the love pf adventure through until she needed it. She wouldn’t have been able to enjoy what comes next otherwise. You see, Gandalf did come back. This time the adventure was small, but he needed a hobbit nonetheless. Summer gladly volunteered. For the first time, she got to see elves and trolls and goblins, and all other sorts of frightful and wonderful things. She went on an exciting adventure, and came back not all the same. For years to come, she would be known as only slightly less respectable, and she liked it that way.
Being respectable was a load of tosh.

March 25th 2024
—— critique for @essayist

Hi Finley! It only takes a few paragraphs for me to tell that this is a very poignant (and well-written) piece. Since you asked for general critique, I’ll try to stick to that. However, I did have a few line-by-line suggestions that I’ll share first.

“Before chaos threw it’s cape,
I used to wear my own. “
– Chaim

“It’s” there doesn’t need the apostrophe. I just want to say, though, that I loved the way the cape symbolism was apparent from the very beginning of this piece. It’s very intriguing.

Confining us in a room with thousands, controlling our minds and our every action; robbed all our chances.

I understood upon a second read that two things listed in the beginning “robbed all our chances,” but it did confuse me at first. This is just personal opinion, but you could consider changing this to “and robbing us of all our chances,” to fit the list of three.

Giving no chance to say goodbye to the life we’d always known, we bore witness to all our overwhelming emotions.

This is also a little confusing, and I’m not sure if the grammar is entirely correct.

“Mama may allow us to walk in the field !”. So naive, Chaim was, as if Mama would let us step foot outside.

There’s a little punctuation mishap after the quotation. Also, the “naive” part seems a bit repetitive. Is that intentional?

Ahh I love this piece! The imagery is beautiful, and all the symbolism is so well-done. I agree with you, the chemistry between your main characters is really good. However, I felt like in some places it could’ve benefited from being a little less vague. I couldn’t really tell until the author’s note that they were siblings (and not love interests oop-), and the last few paragraphs seemed a little confusing to me. Overall though, I really loved it. It’s like word cake and it was delicious. (Excellent job with word choice, can you tell it was my favorite part?) Thank you so much for letting me critique this piece. I hope any of these tips were helpful. <3

March 27th 2024
—— daily for poetry

For some reason, I always seem to return here late at night. To the edge of the city built on uncertainty. I lean against the cold wall of its dome as the sands assail it outside.
Silas is gone. And it’s all my fault.
I could’ve been more careful, but he slipped from me.
He was a good son. I was a bad mother.

As the raging sands blast by outside, I see another figure in the storm.
Could it be…
As soon as I notice it, it’s gone.

The third bell tolls. I need to get out of here.

Train tracks rise in front of me, and I hurriedly step out of their way. Most of the time you still had a few minutes before the train came through, but you could never be sure. Sometimes it was seconds. This was one of those times.

As the train comes rushing through, I raise my hand and it comes to a stop. The entry door automatically opens, and I step on.
I am met with the face of Silas.

I gasp, but then realize he was never there. The conductor stands before me, looking concerned.
“Cash or ticket?”
“Cash,” I say, but these experiences are becoming more frequent.

Silas is dead.
I held him as he breathed his last.
What can these meetings mean?

When the train reaches my home, I raise my hand to stop it. It stops.

I call it a home, but it’s much more of a shack. When the dome was created, it was meant to be the world’s singular utopia. Now it’s nothing more than a poorhouse.

The mailbox is full to bursting again. More condolences for Silas. He was wildly popular, it seems. It’s been nearly four months and the cards don’t seem to slowing at all.
Some of them are heavy. Those must be the ones with coins.
I don’t know why they keep sending them to me. In the end, it seemed that he hated me.

He left at midnight, and I never saw him again.

Midnight Rain - Google Translate version

Our city is full of shacks, desert, monuments, and people.
It's chaos, but for some it's paradise.
Students love to swim at the beach.
My son was a good son, but I was heartbroken.

Today you led the train, I took the train tonight.
He wants it willingly, and with pain he asks for forgiveness.
He wanted popularity, while I wanted fame and respect.
Nothing changed, but for me it was a nightmare.

Since Christmas cards and coins are everyday for him, I send them to my family, look out the window and remember how much we loved each other.

He went out in the middle of the night.
He wants comfort, I want a family.
He wants a wife, and I want fame and popularity.
Nothing changed, but everything inside me moved like a midnight train.

All I wanted was peace, no pain, friends, fame, to be famous, and it remained the same, but everything about me changed like midnight.

Sometimes we all do what we want to do. And he doesn't care about me.
If he didn't see it on television.
We all have problems sometimes.
I have some questions.
I never thought about that.
Except at midnight.

March 28th 2024
—— critique for @poppywriter

Hi Poppy! I absolutely love your piece. It's haunting and beautiful and just awesome. The frequent line breaks (combined with the interspersed poetry/lyrics) make it feel like a poem and it flows really well. I'll try to give you some general critique at the end, but I'm going to start with some line-by-line. (Any line-by-line critique I give is based mainly on personal preference, so use the tips that work for you!)

Even as I’d pull the barbs out every night when I came home, I swore to myself I’d never tear them out.

This may just be me, but it almost seems like the end of this sentence is saying that they swore they'd never tear the barbs out of their skin. This is very nitpicky, but perhaps consider rewording it? On another note, I really love the mysterious way that this starts the piece.

I pull open the door to my family’s cabin, trying to calm my heart enough to suck in air. The door shuts loudly behind me, and the noise rings in my ears.

This is so great, I love how it uses body language to show fear as opposed to stating it <3

She sighs, the sound like water frothing out of a spring.

I get the vibe of what this is trying to say, but it's hard to imagine a sigh actually sounding like this. (Again, nitpicking! Sorry xD)

The pain in her voice is colder than a river on a rainy morning.

I just want to say right now: it's so cool how the mother being symbolized by water contrasts the mc's fire, almost as if she's symbolically dousing their flame… asjhk it's just so cool :0

Some of the people on the other side of the thorns and woods call me diseased.
They call me mad.
They call me skittish, like a rat in a trap.
A child that never learned bravery.
I say I’m braver than all of them, because I have defied the wolves thus far.

This is such a great paragraph ahhhhh <33

Dearest child, the wolves are blessed
Held in the arms of their crystal goddess

This is probably just me, but when I try to read this with a poetic meter it puts a weird emphasis on the last syllable of goddess (in my mind I hear it as god/dess/), so maybe try reworking the number of syllables in either line? Also, I love how this verse seems to be coming from the perspective of mother, unlike the others.

I am truly making an attempt to stay calm, but I know it’s not true.

True and truly together is a little repetitive. Maybe change “making an attempt” to “attempting,” and remove the truly altogether?

Wolves serve the moon. They cry to it, they pray to it, they wake when it does.

This is just an idea I had, and really has nothing to do with the quality of writing. When I read the stanza about the crystal goddess, it seemed as if it was talking about the moon. (Or the moon spirit?) If you wanted to enhance the mystical quality of the piece, you could refer to the moon as “she” here, but if I'm misinterpreting your intent feel free to ignore this <3

Mama, mama, my soul is aflame
Mama, mama, will I be to blame?

My hands are only growing warmer.
The well is still half an hour’s walk off.
Panic sets in.
I begin to run.

The midnight bell begins to toll
Mama, I can hear the weep of the wolves

I absolutely love how you speed up the pacing here. This section is absolutely amazing, and the second stanza reads like music. (It's the main reason why I think The Weep of the Wolves would be an amazing title ;D)

Wolves love the moon, the moon loves silver.
Men love their sun, the sun loves its fire.
If I burn, the wolves will find me.
They follow the moon. Pray to it.
I am of the sun.

I JUST FIGURED THIS OUT AND IT'S SO COOL- this establishes why (and if) the wolves are against the protagonist, and honestly it's mind-blowing. Maybe I'm overreacting but… ashfsjdjfk

Little drops of ruby-red appear on my arm, not even large enough to truly cause damage, but certainly large enough to feel.

I would remove the “even” here, and perhaps change the first comma to a dash? That's just stylistic so your choice <3

I cannot draw water.
I cannot draw breath.

THIS- … THIS!!!! AHHHH

THE ENTIRE ENDING

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Oh… my… GOSH POPPY WHAT THIS IS AMAZING!!!?!!!! The last two sections especially, honestly I'm not even sure why but they're so emotional. The tension is perfect. The pacing is perfect. You got my heart rate up for the final two paragraphs, and I could here dramatic and mysterious soundtrack music playing in my head. It's that good. Other than the stylistic critique I already gave, there's nothing I would change. It's just amazing. Fantastic work, and I wish you the very best of luck in the writing comp <3333

March 28th 2024
—— critique for @-forevermore

Hi Alaska! Sorry this is late. I really loved your piece, and it has a very interesting premise. Let's get into the critique!

Was. I keep forgetting, although I pick my way through the destruction.

This is such a spectacular opening <3

A child, when I first came here. A child who only wanted a home.

This is mainly personal preference, but I feel like the first sentence would flow better if it wasn't fragmented. “I was a child when (…)”

Often, days went by until the little girl finally managed to persuade her mother to open the door and free us.
…
I didn’t believe Marie’s promise. But the woman did everything in her power to care for us as did the rest of her family. Like the chocolate - a rare treat that Marie’s husband, Henri would often pull out of his pocket, twinkling at us.

This confused me a little bit. Was Marie a little girl, or a woman?

They had a daughter too. A miracle, a chess-playing miracle, after three tiny white crosses in the graveyard.
I cannot cleave the longing that is engraved on my very bones at the thought of her.
And she knew it.
She always did.

This is beautiful. I love the soft mention of her being a rainbow baby, as well.

I'm not going to quote all of it, but the scenes between Elodie and Julien are very well-written.

But most wounds stitch themselves back up.
I'm not sure where the threads that were meant to hold me together went.

I would switch the beginnings of these sentences around. “Most wounds (…) But I'm not sure (…)”

When my brother had fled town, rolling in debt and embroiled in scandal, I paid off every last penny. Like the man I was meant to be, the man he would never come close to being.

I think this section could benefit from a bit of foreshadowing that he's not telling the truth.

How could I be so uncaring, so selfish?

I love how this almost mirrors his actual feelings about what he's done.

Although, I have always loved Elodie. Longer than even him, perhaps.

I think this sentence would do better without the “although.”

And maybe, reader, I have lied to you. Maybe I have blurred the lines between truth and reality, so much so you begin to question who speaks to you.

I realized at this point that you never gave the narrator a name, and I love how that shows even more how much he lives in his brother's shadow.

And sometimes, family can mean terrible things.

THE ENDING ToT

This was a striking piece, Alaska. I loved your interesting use of italics and the way you gave away the plot twist. The writing was excellent and I really don't have many suggestions. The only thing I might say is that the beginning (with them being locked away or something) confused me. Other than that, it was amazing. Good luck! Thank you so much for sharing this with me!

March 25-31st 2024
—— weekly for poetry

Author’s note: This is not my best work. The character is pretty flat, and the story is basic. It was mostly just a speed-run, but I did have fun writing it. Hopefully you can still have some fun reading it xD

Outline:

(1) Ordinary world:
Relia is a mermaid living in a faraway, peaceful lagoon. She is the daughter of a mermish noblewoman, but they’re not anyone special. She goes to the same school as all the other mermaids and merlads, and is entirely normal except for one thing. Each year, when her mother is called into the mermish high council, she gets to visit the royal palace. Relia is happy with her simple life, but her deepest wish is that she might one day reside in the palace, which is the most brilliant feat of mermish architecture in existence. Art, design, and architecture are Relia’s strong points, and she aspires to create things as magnificent as the palace one day. She would be content as a scullery maid if she could live in that beautiful place. She soon gets an offer she’d never expected.

(2) Call to adventure:
One day after school, a palace representative approaches Relia, and gives her a pamphlet for the royal young artists program. She and nine others have been selected out of hundreds of mermish students from across the sea to spend a week at the palace demonstrating their skills. The “most accomplished” will be invited to stay at the palace more permanently to study with the royal council of the arts. Relia is absolutely delighted.

(3) Refusal of the call:
Relia’s mother quickly shuts her down. The program lasts a month, and she can’t take time off her job for that long to accompany her. She doesn’t trust her daughter on her own, and refuses to let her go.

(4) Meeting the mentor:
Relia lets the messenger know she can’t come, but the smooth-talking palace representative decides to go and change that. He assures Relia’s mother that she’ll be taken care of, and discloses his love of pottery to Relia herself. She can’t wait to learn more about different art forms at the palace.

(5) Crossing the threshold:
Once Relia’s mother has been convinced, Relia begins the long trip to the palace. It’s even better than she remembered it.

(6) Tests, alliances, and enemies:
When she reaches the palace, Relia meets the other “prodigies.” She quickly bonds with Ove, a kind mermaid from a neighboring lake, but the others aren’t quite so friendly. They view the whole thing as a competition. Relia realizes that they’re serious, and doesn’t do very well in the first few tests of artistic skill. She resolves to do better.

(7) Approach to the inmost cave:
As the difficulty of the challenges increases, Relia’s talent begins to shine. One other mermaid in particular, Mahi, is determined to knock her out of the competition. Slowly, the others are eliminated, but not Relia.

(8) Ordeal:
It comes down to a one-on-one challenge. Mahi versus Relia. Relia is anxious about the type of challenge, but she lucks out. The theme is architecture. The two creations are close. Very close. So close that the judges decide upon a tie.

(9) Reward:
Both girls are recognized as the program’s champions, and are rewarded with being able to stay at the palace for the rest of their schooling to be trained in the arts.

(10) Road back:
While Relia celebrates ecstatically, a messenger comes bringing news. Her mother is seriously sick. Relia wants to go see her, but the programs manager lets her know that she can only leave the palace at select times each year, or else forfeit her position.

(11) Resurrection:
Relia decides that her family is more important to her than art, and resolves to head back to her mother. Mahi is given first place in her stead.

(12) Return to the ordinary world:
Upon Relia’s return, her mother is joyful to see her again. It takes several weeks, but she does recover from her illness. Relia, in the meantime, still thinks sometimes about what she gave up at the palace. But she still makes art every day, and eventually begins to sell it and creates her own success.

Exposition:

A cool current flowed refreshingly over Relia’s face as she swam home from school. It was the nicest day her lagoon had experienced all spring. The reef was looking healthy, and schools of small fish flitted around enjoying the sun.
“Relia!” called her little brother, Kade, as he dashed down the sidewalk to meet her. Verna, her mother, swam happily in the doorway of their sandstone cottage. Relia smiled brightly. The day hadn’t been particularly exciting, but everything seemed exciting to Relia after last week’s visit to the castle.

In Relia’s mind, there was nothing more beautiful under the sea than the mermish royal palace. From the intricate sea-glass arches to the polished limestone floors, every sparkling inch of it was a masterpiece. Her mother’s annual visit to the high council was enough to keep her dreaming of it for the rest of the year.
When Relia grew up, every mermish building would be that marvelous. She would see to it personally.

Relia tossed her schoolbag down on the daybed and swam to her room. The walls were covered with engravings, and sculptures piled up on the floor. All of her paintings were still in the school’s above-water art room, along with Crystal Lagoon’s limited supply of paper.
The castle had hundreds of air chambers, and endless reams of paper. When she lived there (and she intended to, whether as a noblewoman or a scullery girl), she would spend the day painting, with no one to bother her.
It would be paradise.

Stew:

Ingredients chosen: Fourth Wall, Flashback, Symbol, Epistolary, Open Ending

As Relia began the swim to school the next morning, her tail disturbed a bed of sand. It began to swirl tantalizingly in the water, creating shapes, and sparking the imagination.
Relia wished she had a stone tablet to begin a sketch, but resolved to hold her inspiration firmly in the front of her mind.

Suddenly, a memory arose. Today was the day the school art competition would be judged. Relia swam as fast as she could, eager to see where she’d placed.
Teni’s entry was really good, and so was Jonas’… but Mrs. Wake did seem to like mine.
Fingers crossed, she entered the main hall.

Students crowded around a carving on the announcements board. It had to be the results. Relia tried to swim her way through the crowd, but the hall was tightly packed.
Finally, she could see the board. A grin crept across her face.
Relia Murr: 1st place.

A student Relia didn’t recognize walked up to her. “You got first place, right? I saw your painting. It was beautiful!”
Relia gave a modest “thank you,” but more and more people kept congratulating her. It didn’t stop until the conch shell rang, and everyone rushed to their classes.

Only one remained in the front hall: a young merman with sandy hair and an official-looking uniform. He approached Relia with a smile.
“Congratulations, although I suppose you’ve heard it enough already.”
Nodding politely, Relia glanced at the clock. The small shell was already at 11. She only had five minutes.
“Thank you, sir. I have to go now.”
“Classes can wait. I come with a message from the palace.”
Relia did a double-take. What messages from the palace would be for her? It must be for her mother.
“I’m sorry, but this must be a mistake.”
The man smiled winningly. “No mistake. This is an invitation to the royal art program. Only the best are selected, and this year that includes you.”

Relia’s head felt like it was about to float up to the ceiling. Her?! The best?? There was no way, absolutely no way…

No way Mom would let her go.

Her quickly inflated excitement rapidly popped. Verna was the lagoon’s most protective mother. Relia was nearly fifteen, and she wasn’t even allowed to swim to the races on her own. She would never be allowed to travel all the way to the royal palace without her.

With a sigh, she responded to the patiently waiting messenger. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t think my mother will let me go.”
He smiled again. “Don’t worry. I can fix that. You’d better run now!”

She dove into class just as the second conch sounded.
. . .

The return journey hardly seemed as exciting that day as it had the day before. Even though the messenger had promised to convince Relia’s mother, countless others had tried and failed in the past. Friends, parents, and teachers had all been turned down with “she’s still too young!”

That was what Relia expected to hear as she approached the house. Not roaring laughter.

She entered the house to find her mother wiping tears of joy from her eyes.
“That was a good one,” she said in response to a joke Relia had missed.
Standing across the room was the messenger; he was evidently the one who had told it.

Verna noticed her standing there. “This man has just told me of the wonderful opportunity you’ve been selected for. Congratulations, sweetheart!”
With a grin, Relia asked, “I can go?”
“Of course! There’ll be plenty of excellent supervision at the palace, and this young merman has assured me he’ll personally see to your travel. All in all it sounds perfectly safe.”

A grin was all that Relia showed of her emotions, but inside she was throwing a wild party.

She was going to the palace!!
. . .

The days before her trip seemed as if they could hardly move any slower, but it finally came time to depart. Swimming into a dolphin-drawn carriage while her mother waved goodbye made Relia feel like a princess. All she could think of during the ride was the beauty that awaited her.
She didn’t realize she’d been tired until she awoke, and the palace stood before her.

Relia suppressed the urge to scream in excitement.

The messenger, whose name (as Relia had learned on the ride) was Gale, led her in through the magnificent stone doors into the great hall. Before her swam seven other mermaids her age, and two merlads.
Gale looked around in approval. “All right. It seems we’re all here now. Before we begin, you all deserve an explanation of how this works. The ten of you are competing for one position- to study art in the palace and become one of the Mermish Masters. Each challenge will test your worthiness of this title. The piece of art deemed lowest by the judges in each challenge will be removed from the competition.”

The ten contestants looked around warily at their future opponents.

Gale grinned. “I hate rules. Now that the boring stuff’s settled, it’s time to start your first challenge! Don’t worry, this one won’t be judged. Each of you find a partner, and swim up to an air chamber.”
He gestured to several of these around the roof of the hall.
“Your theme for this challenge is anything at all! Paint whatever you wish!”

Before Relia could get her bearings, it seemed that everyone had already paired up.
Well, not everyone.
A short mermaid swam in the corner, looking just as confused as Relia felt. With a spirit of goodwill, Relia approached her.
“Hi! I’m Relia! What’s your name?”
The girl smiled, and started to speak, but was interrupted by a downpour of sand.

Two tittering mermaids were at the sand’s source, and quickly swam away. Its victim spluttered, her cheeks red.
Relia was indignant. “What was that for?”
The girl sighed. “That’s Mahi. I’m pretty sure she hates me. I’m Ove, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Ove,” said Relia, glaring at Mahi’s retreating back.

Sand still trailed from where the bully had thrown it. Its swirling gave Relia an idea.
“Let’s head up to the chamber and start painting!” she said enthusiastically, and Ove followed.
. . .

Author’s note: This, my friend, is a lesson against the dangers of speed-running. I implore you not to judge the pacing too hard here TwT

It quickly became clear that the other mermaids meant business. They viewed Relia as a competitor. One to be knocked out of the program as quickly as possible. As the art challenges got more intense, that was exactly what began to happen. Soon, of the original ten, there were only five mermaids left. Several times, Relia came dangerously close to elimination. She needed to up her game.

This proved to be surprisingly easy, because as the tasks became harder for others they moved right into Relia’s home court. Most of the mermaids were lost when it came to sculpting and architecture, but those were Relia’s strong points. She began to make it out on top for all the challenges, to the annoyance of Mahi.

The eliminations continued. Stress levels skyrocketed among all contestants. Yet somehow Relia continued to shine. Vain Mahi worked twice as hard to outshine her. And so, dear reader, all of this brings us to this point. All the other contestants were eliminated, and it was just Relia versus Mahi in a winner-takes-all final challenge. Cast your bets now!
. . .

Relia couldn’t sleep the night before the final challenge. Ove heard her hammock tossing, and murmured sleepily, “Relax! You’ll win.”
Desperately, Relia told herself that would be true.

The next morning, Relia looked like a wreck. Mahi, on the other hand, looked perfect, as if she hadn’t lost a wink of sleep. Relia crossed her fingers as the challenge’s prompt was announced.

Gale’s voice rang out through the pristine waters of the great hall. “The subject of the final challenge is building design. You are free to use any materials you wish. You have three hours. Go!”

Building design!
I can do that.

Young Relia swam home as fast as her tail could paddle, the sand whirling up in her wake, making intricate patterns in the cool spring water.
“Mommy, mommy, come and see!!”
Verna swam out, laughing. “What is it, sweetie?”
“We did clay in school today! Look! I made a perfect house!”

Verna gasped. The sculpture, though certainly not beautiful, was an impressive feat for a seven-year-old.
“Amazing job, honey. It is perfect.

Relia swam up to the nearest air chamber and pulled out her favorite paints. This would be the most beautiful work of mermish sculpture ever seen.
. . .

She worked like lighting. The clay had to be sculpted as fast as possible if it was to be given time to dry and be painted, but she couldn’t rush through it. The details were the most important part.
Her design was an elegant palace, with spires and turrets fit for a princess. The angles were sharp but graceful, and the whole building seemed to grow from the surrounding coral (which was to be painted as realistically as possible.)

Unfortunately, she judged her time wrong. Halfway through her painting stage, the conch shell blew to end the challenge.
It was still a beautiful sculpture. But perhaps not enough to beat Mahi’s.
. . .

As she and Mahi stood before the judges with their work, Relia examined the opposing entry. Mahi had built a simple, yet sweet little cottage, not too different from her own. The design itself wasn’t too creative, but its coloration was intricate. Evidently Mahi had chosen an easier design and had time to actually finish painting.

The old mermish judges stared at their entries for a long while. They examined them closely, from far away, and from every possible angle. The conferred amongst themselves, and made notes on their little stone tablets. Finally they approached Gale.
“We have made our decision,” said one, and whispered something in Gale’s ear.
Gale nodded, and turned. “We’ll have an assembly for the announcement.”
. . .

All the contestants who had been knocked out of the challenge gathered to hear who had won. Ove mouthed an encouraging, “good luck!” to Relia from the audience. Relia’s heart was beating like a whale’s.
Gale began his speech. “Thank you all for attending the royal art program. It was a pleasure having all of you here. We had two contestants in this final challenge. The judges studied their work carefully, and came to a decision.”
He paused, and Relia held her breath. Gale smiled. He knew he was keeping them waiting.
“They could not find a winner.”
An uproar. Gale silenced it with a wave of his hands.
“That leaves us with a tie! Both Relia Murr and Mahi Fell are admitted to the palace for further training in the arts!”

A tie!
Relia’s thoughts danced in a buzz of joy. It might not have been first place, but that hardly mattered to her. She would get to live in the palace!

Ove ran up to her and gave her a hug. “Congrats!” she whispered. “I’ll miss you!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll try to stay in touch.”

It was then that a messenger ran up, carrying a tablet of handwriting that looked suspiciously like her brother’s. Relia excused herself, and went off to read it.

Dear Relia,

Mom’s sick. She misses you. Will you come home soon?
Mom wanted to write this, but her hand’s too jittery. The doctor says rest will make it better, but it’s getting worse.
I miss you too.

Love,
Kade

Ice filled Relia’s veins. She swam over to Gale, who was chatting genially with the judges, and tapped him on the back. He turned, and smiled at her. “What’s up?”
“I need to go home immediately. It’s a family emergency.”
His smiling face became serious. “Don’t get mad at me. I didn’t make the rules.”
“What do you mean?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Well… you’re supposed to start training right away. You can’t leave the palace except for specific times each year. It’s stupid! I’m really, really sorry! I can take you home, but you’d forfeit your win.”

Numbness. Art, or family? It sounded obvious, but she had pursued this for her entire life!
Relia sighed. It was a long and burdened sigh. As hard as it was, she knew what she had to do.
. . .

A dolphin-drawn carriage arrived in front of a small sandstone cottage. It was the last time such elegant transport would visit this lagoon for a long time.
Worriedly, a young mermaid swam out of it, and into the house. Inside she found her mother, bedridden but smiling.
“Relia! What a sight for sore eyes.”

It took many weeks, but Relia’s mother did recover. Relia often thought of what might’ve happened If she’d stayed at the castle. But one day, as she watched the sand swirl up in the passing current, she had an idea.

She pulled out her clay, and began to sculpt.

Edit:
Critique from Sandy

She began to make it out on top for all the challenges, to the annoyance of Mahi. The other mermaids had a similar reaction to her continuing success, but Ove (who was quite talented) stood by her until the end.

Numbness. Art, or family? It sounded obvious, but she had pursued this for her entire life!
Relia sighed. It was a long and burdened sigh. As hard as it was, she knew what she had to do.

She swam over to Ove, who was chatting with some other mermaids, and told her what she was going to do. Ove’s eyes filled with tears.
“You made the right decision.” She pulled her in for one last hug. “Goodbye.”

April 2nd 2024
—— thank you notes

This March has been absolutely amazing, and I will remember it for the rest of my life. So many different things made this session memorable- including my masquerade as a certain Lord of the Rings villain… ;D

Now, without further ado, a shoutout to all the magnificent writers who deserve recognition for their contribution to my journey this session. <3

We'll begin with the poetry leading team!

✰ Sophia @dreamysolitude

Sophia, you are a warrior. You were a crucial help when poetry was still in the idea stage, and you've carried so much responsibility throughout the session. I can't begin to tell you how thankful I am for your undertaking of the grove project. I hope it the final project was fulfilling for you, and it was amazing for me to see so visually how our cabin was growing. <3 You are a source of comfort and a great friend. I could not be more glad of my decision to send you an offer this January. Thank you, thank you, thank you, to the moon and back!!

✰ Recca @27coding_crazy

Recca… you are just…. aghjdfhkdjh. ABSOLUTELY AMAZING!! You have so many good qualities: your sense of humor (that's a big one), your resourcefulness, and your tireless help around the cabin. Poetry would not be the amazing, quirky, engaging cabin it is without your help. Your qotds genuinely helped bring the cabin together, and you somehow posses the ability to reach through the screen and make me laugh out loud. You've been an encouragement to me throughout the session, even in times when you didn't know it. Thank you for carrying <3 you are epic <333

Here are some notes for the best cabin poetry's campers!

✰ Vi @bewilder_ed

Hi, Vi! (I couldn't resist rhyming xD) It's been so amazing getting to know you this session. You're an amazing writer, and I've really enjoyed reading your work and talking with you. It was a joy to learn that you're a Christian (and even better- a homeschooler!), and that gives me a special sense of connection. I hope we can get to know each other even better in future sessions <3

✰ Seven @-lxve-bug-

Seven, I hope you had a great first session in poetry, because you certainly added some excitement to the cabin! During cabin wars and the entire session you added that little bit of craziness that makes SWC so awesome. You've made me laugh or smile on multiple occasions, and even a little thing like that can go a long way. I was nervous about how campers would enjoy my cabin, since this is my first session as a leader, and you interacted with our storyline in every aspect. Thank you!!

✰ Vie @savorie

Though I'm not sure if you'll read this, I wanted to thank you for being so enthusiastic. Like I said to Seven, it was really encouraging to me to see campers actively taking part in poetry's storyline, and you did just that. I've read some of your poems, and they're beautiful! I hope you'll continue to write, and that I'll see you in SWC in the future <3

✰ Squidy @squidy-icecream

Where do I begin, Squidy?! You're an amazing friend, and I'm so glad you were in my cabin again this session. You're always there to just chat with me, and you've really dove head-first into the SWC community. (Can I just say how proud of myself I am to have gotten you into it? ;D) I had a lot of fun making your pfp (you had such a unique order!) and switching it with you on April Fools to confuse everyone ;> I hope you had a great session in poetry, and that you'll continue to love SWC. <33

✰ Sandy @sandy-dunes

Of course my mind blanks as soon as I sit down to write thank you notes. Though I can't remember specific interactions, I do know that I feel like I got to know you a lot better this session. You're a really nice person and a superb writer (50k words say what?! :0), and I'm so glad to have had you in my cabin. <3 Thank you so much for giving me last-minute weekly critique, you were a lifesaver! I hope you had an amazing session.

Siblings time! #poetic-epistopia-ftw

✰ Yume @yumetopia

I first met you last session, but I don't feel like I really got to know you until this one! We've bonded over our shared love of M&M (because Mouse and Bella are awesome sauce) and pulled hilarious April Fools pranks on our unsuspecting campers. Epistolary was such a beautiful cabin, and I really enjoyed being siblings with you all. This session was so much fun, and I'm glad you were a part of it for me <33

✰ Blau @blauhourglass

It was great to meet you this session! I really enjoyed talking about Lord of the Rings with you, and all the other times you interacted with me. You were super active and always adding a smile to the sibling hangout. I hope you enjoyed your session and keep coming back for more! <3

✰ September @septembersong

I didn't interact with you as much this session, but I just wanted to extend my thanks for being so kind and friendly. You were dropping in on poetry from the beginning, and getting little “hi” messages from you always made my day. Thank you! <3

Other thank-yous to amazing people <3

✰ Alana @-nightglow-

Alana! <3 You are so kind, and every comment I receive from you puts a smile on my face. I want to thank you for taking the time to congratulate me on becoming a leader, drop in and say hi, or explain something to me when I have a question. Your gentle spirit mixed with a good dose of chaos and awesomeness makes a great leader- and that's exactly what you were for fairy tales. I was in awe at how interactive its storyline was, and how the campers all seemed to love it! I can't wait to get to know you even better in future sessions. Thank you for being amazing <3

✰ Finley @essayist

Fastley, you will always have a place in my thank-you notes <33 You've been with me every step of the way on my SWC journey, and I see you almost like an older sister. You were my first leader, and you helped critique my first leader app. You've given me inspiration and motivation for every hard thing I've needed to do for this writing camp, and I'm so glad to have you on my side. I loved matching cow pfps with you (and I'd love to do it again ;D) <3 Our last-minute critique exchange was just what I needed, because honestly, in a lot of cases, the praise is just as important as the criticisms. You helped me so much in refining that piece, but you also helped build my confidence for it. I owe so much to you, Finley. No thank you note I could write could explain how much our friendship means to me. <33

✰ Bella @-wraiith

Bella!!! Good morrow to you *tips tophat* I really got to know you this session, and you're an absolutely amazing person. I know that March was a hard time for you and your family, but through it all you've just been so strong (even if it doesn't feel that way <3). And past all that, you were crazy, funny, involved, ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS, and just a good friend to anyone who talked to you. I look up to you so, so much. I hope you have a really great year <3 (All hail frying pans)

✰ Pepper @pepper-and-a-pencil

Pepper, you are just so much fun to be around. (In the digital sense of course xD) I really enjoyed talking to you this session, and the script pfps were great ;D I'm really glad that you're a Christian, and I hope you had a wonderful Easter. <3

✰ Mint @cat_lover4132

Mint! Getting to know you and your personality this session was so much fun. You added so much wonderful chaos to the session (including by impersonating my nemisis, balrogurtle >:0), and I hope to see you again in July <3

✰ Clev @clevercomment

It's a small world <3 I remember my first experience as FPC, a little less than a year before joining SWC, when I curated your escape room. It was really cool to see you in the writing community as well! I've come to know you as a hard worker (you've contributed so much to the memory book, both this session and last), a fun chaos-wreaker (I'm looking at your frying pan pfp :eyes, and someone who brings a lot of life to a session. <3

✰ Eevee @amazaeevee

Although we may have been enemies, fantasy was a super cool cabin this session <3 Thank you so much for your last-minute critique of my writing comp entry, and I wish you the best of luck with yours! I had fun discussing Adventures in Odyssey with you, and it's really a comfort to know I have other Christian friends in SWC. Thank you! <3

✰ April @ziqing11

This'll be a short note, since I didn't interact with you much this session, but thank you for helping me speedrun weekly 3! You seem like a really fun person, and I hope to get to know you more in later sessions. <33

✰ Moonlit @moonlitseas

Hi Moonlit! Although we didn't get the chance to talk as much this session, I wanted to thank you for consistently checking in on me, saying hi, and asking how I'm doing. It means a lot <3

✰ Poppy @poppywriter

Poppy!!! You are so amazing and funny and awesome, and you are always making me smile <3 Thank you so much for your critique of my writing comp piece, and for always being awesomely awesome B) I have written so many thank-yous that I don't know what to write anymore, but just know you mean a lot to me <3

✰ Mouse @-bookdragon-

¡ooʇ uʍop ǝpısdn op uɐɔ ı ʞool ɥɐoʍ Mousey, you're just such a great friend <3 In particular I want to thank you for having me as a guest on M&M (and just making that podcast- it's amazing), since that was a super fun experience. There's so many things I could thank you for that I just don't even have time or space for them all <3 You're amazing, ily <3

I had a great first experience leading, and though I made my share of mistakes, I am genuinely proud of the things I was able to accomplish this session. None of it would be possible without all the spectacular people who make this community great- and that includes you! Whether or not I left you a thank-you note, I am so grateful for your contribution to the SWC community.

Love,
Summer <33

P.S. See you next session!

April 4th 2024
—— prompt for team ghost

Dear Summer,

Last November you were obliged to write a similar letter to this one for SWC. You hardly knew what to put it. Some of the things you mentioned still haven’t come to fruition. But I know that by the time you read this, they will have.

When you read this letter on the first of July, many things will have changed. You will know whether or not you placed in the YAC. You will have completed your first real year of school. You will have gone to camp and made many memories there, and you mag even be in the middle of cabin planning. So much is going on between now and then, and I can hardly wait. I wonder, as well, how will your writing have improved?

For the record, Bella and Mouse are absolute genius. This is an amazing idea and it’ll keep me writing all year. But if I put everything into it like I do SWC, it might become a source of stress, and I don’t want that to happen. I do think, however, that if I continue working on my writing in small ways like this, consistently, then it will improve.

I also can’t wait to see what MMAP has in store. I anticipate it being like a low-key SWC without the stress of leading, but I’m sure they have some surprises up their sleeves.

When it comes to school, I hope I know what to expect. I should get on the Principle’s Honor Roll, if I can uphold my science grade. Nothing unexpected should be coming up, except for maybe a history project. I’ll need to study for finals, but I did really well on midterms, so I think I’ll be ok. Only a few more weeks, then freedom.

There’ll be plenty to do this summer, as I mentioned, but what will I do when there isn’t? I’m looking forward to having more free time, but I don’t want to waste the summer. (Honestly, some time-wasting is almost guaranteed to happen, but I’ll try my best.)

One hobby that I’d love to spend the summer working on is ukulele. I’ve dabbled in it before, but I never really had the free time for it. It’s a beautiful instrument and it would be a great investment this summer.

I haven’t even come close to mentioning everything that’ll be going on. I’m going to try to get a job, for one. And then there’s the play that’s happening- audition results will come out any day now!

I can’t wait to experience all that this summer has in store.

Love,
Summer