midnightwriters.webs.com

midnight.writers2013@gmail.com

May 2012

Ask Aphro & Dite

To submit questions, please email askaphro@gmail.com.

They will remain anonymous!

Dear Aphro & Dite, My friend BP was

telling me how to rebel against my par-

ents. I told him he was making me un-

comfortable and was a bad influence.

Now he tries to avoid me in the hall-

ways. We’ve been friends since 7th

grade. I don’t want to break something

as wonderful as the friendship we had.

Please help, Fish Out of Water

Dear Fish, Problems with friends can be

the most difficult since they tend to be

your support. You did the right thing

telling him he was making you uncom-

fortable and him being upset is also un-

derstandable. I doubt he wants to lose

your friendship either. Asking him to

talk would be my advice. Do not retali-

ate or do anything to humiliate or cut

him out from your life further. You need

to determine whether this friendship can

last or if it has changed in a way you do

not like. Friends are relationships with-

out the physical attraction. If there is no

communication there's no way a good

friendship will last. For now, reach out

to BP and try to repair it, then let us

know how things go. Love, Aphro

Dear Aphro, I have the SAT II Subject

Tests and the ACT coming up! I can't

study for both - at least, not effectively.

Any ideas? Stressing Over Tests

Dear Stressing, Find out which is your

strongest test and focus on that!! Study-

ing for both ineffectively is useless so

you should focus on what you are good

at. If your SAT I scores were better than

your ACT then focus more on the sub-

ject tests because that will be what

Cont. on Pg. 13

Musings of Hades The end is nigh. This is my last entry

for this year. But don’t worry, I’ll be

back! You can’t get rid of me that easily.

May makes me think of nice, sunshine

-y things. (No, not you, Apollo. Or you,

Helios.) I was thinking along the lines

of… mothers. My mom, Rhea, is the Ti-

tan Goddess of Motherhood, so she’s

must be a pretty good mom, right? Well, I

guess, but sometimes I wish she’d “acted

up” against my wonderful father sooner,

before he ate me. Then again, if she had, I

might never have been born, since Rhea

wouldn’t have had any more kids after

my older sister, Hestia.

My father, Cronus, heard a prophecy

that his own child would overthrow him

as King of the Universe, like he had with

Grandpa Ouranos. So he decided the most

logical approach was to swallow his kids

when they were born. First Hestia, then

me, Demeter, Poseidon, and Hera. I don’t

know if Cronus had a second stomach or

something, because we never got digest-

ed. Probably because my siblings and I

are all immortal and can’t die. Especially

not from stomach acid.

Regardless, it got really cramped in

there with five of us, and add the fact we

were growing up, too…

Rhea got fed up and ran with her sixth

child, Zeus, giving Cronus a stone to

swallow. It almost hit Poseidon on the

head and made Demeter obsessed with

rock gardens. Eventually, all-grown-up

Zeus rescued us by making Cronus puke

us up. We fought a war, won, and made

Zeus the new king. The end. For now.

We all tease Zeus about being a mom-

ma’s boy, but she’s got the rest of us un-

der her thumb, too. Mothers. You can’t

escape them.

Well, that’s all, folks. See you next

year, chumps.

Athena’s Corner Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore,

May 2012: When her evil father King Leck

died, Bitterblue became queen of a

kingdom she knew nothing about.

Bitterblue tries her father’s dam-

age, and two boys help discover

the conspiracy that will do any-

thing to take down Bitterblue. Fol-

lowing the events of Graceling,

this book chronicles Bitterblue’s

struggles to rule in the wake of the

chaos her father wrought on

Monsea. I highly suggest reading

both Graceling and Bitterblue, as

well as the companion novel Fire,

which are amazing fantasy novels.

See the later interview with the au-

thor for more details.

First Comes Love by Katie Ka-

cvinsky, May 2012

Gray is a loner, content to

watch time pass without any hu-

man contact. Dylan is an eccentric

photographer, obsessed with find-

ing the hidden in just about every-

thing. As these two people meet

unexpectedly, and even more un-

expectedly fall in love, watch the

whirlwind both of their lives be-

come. This is an adorable book

that is so much fun to read – both

for the romance and for the charm

of both characters.

Special thanks to Sra. Steele and

acknowledgement to Hades, Athena,

Hippolyta, and Hermes.

The Dreamcatcher

By Hippolyta

It’s Wednesday, and I’m lying on my bed again,

Not because I’m exhausted from last-minute projects

Or because I want to relax; I do, but I can’t.

I’m watching the red streak in the ceiling fan from

the dreamcatcher you gave me. You told that to work,

they have to be given.

And it’s true, after that day I didn’t have a single bad

dream.

We’d stay up talking until midnight, one in the morning,

for days in a row not caring about school or our heavy

eyelids. Then I’d roll over, and mid-conversation I’d fall

asleep with you still on my mind.

You broke the spell last Friday,

Outside the food court, on a hard bench in the parking lot,

Because you couldn’t see it going anywhere.

and you didn’t really like me for ME.

I don’t see what was wrong with where we were,

But there are some things that can’t be undone,

Including what I said to you afterwards.

Now there’s an empty feeling,

Alone at night where you used to be.

I may have promised you I’d mail it back

But even though it doesn’t work anymore,

when I look at it, I think I’ll hold on

for just a little longer.

Shleep By Alexandria

As I lay under the covers,

I close my eyes and try to snooze.

A mosquito above me hovers,

And I scratch a tiny swelling bruise.

I begin counting to a hundred.

One, two three, four,

“How long will this take?” I wondered.

Five, six, seven eight,

I feel mind wandering away.

Nine,

Ten,

Eleven,

Twelve…

Illustration— “Smile of Blood” by Chronos

Illustration— “The Maiden” by Japanda3

Soaring By Marisa M.

“Gravity’s for wimps,” Ca-

rina declared, looking over the

edge of the balcony at the

busy city streets below.

Miniscule cars the size of toy

cars from her view zoomed

along.

“I agree,” Josiah said, but

he was too engrossed in his

magazine to even look up at

his best friend. He had learned

over the years to disregard at

least half of what she said.

Plus, he was in the middle of a

very intriguing article.

Fidgeting with excitement,

Carina pulled the shiny silver

helmet over her thick locks.

She let out a deep breath and

hoisted herself onto the rail-

ing. Josiah glanced up from

his magazine to see his friend

balancing precariously on the

railing of the eighteenth floor.

“Rina, isn't that kind of

dangerous?” he asked, rolling

his eyes. She was a daredevil,

but he did not expect such stu-

pidity from anyone, even her.

“Oh, come on! Just relax

and enjoy yourself for once. I

am!” With that, she leaned

back and disappeared over the

railing. Josiah creased the cor-

ner of the magazine in order to

save his page and walked over

to the edge of the balcony.

Peering over the railing, he

dug into his pocket to retrieve

his phone.

“9-1-1. What’s your emer-

gency?” the operator asked.

Spotting something in the

distance, Josiah let the phone

slip through his fingers, and

he barely noticed when it

crashed on the cement, shat-

tering the screen. A small, hu-

man shaped object was mov-

ing quickly in his direction. In

fact, it was becoming bigger

and bigger, almost to the point

where – Wham! – the mass

collided into Josiah, toppling

him over.

Blinking rapidly to clear

his vision, Josiah looked up to

find… “Carina?”

“Hi!” she shouted, grinning

sheepishly but not budging

from her current perch on top

of him.

“You never told me that

you could fly.”

“Sure I did!” Carina ex-

claimed, a small frown ap-

pearing on her face. “We were

just talking about it before. I

said that I was going to finally

show you, and you said,

‘Sounds good.’ You were lis-

tening, weren't you?”

“I do tend to tune you out

when you start spouting out

nonsense.”

Carina stood up, and then

helped Josiah to his feet.

“Well, I bet you’re listening

now, so I’ll tell you again. I

can fly.”

“You know, that's funny

because I forgot to mention

that I'm Batman," Josiah dead-

panned, glaring at his friend.

He could not believe that she

had kept such a huge secret

from him, her best friend and

confidant.

“And that’s

funny because I

can read minds,

so I know what

you’re think-

ing.”

“Haha.” He

could believe in

her flying, es-

pecially after

seeing it with

his own two

eyes, but never,

not in a million

years, would he

believe in psy-

chics.

She raised

an eyebrow.

“I’m not jok-

ing, and I told

you my secret a

million times.

It’s your fault

for not listening.”

Immediately, Josiah’s

smirk slid off his face, re-

placed by sheer bewilderment.

“What the…”

They stared at each other in

silence for a while, Carina

waiting for a real reaction

from her best friend, and Josi-

ah too shocked to speak. Fi-

nally, he regained his voice.

"So…you can also read

minds. I've always wondered

how you of all people get

straight A's.”

The awkward silence re-

sumed, with Carina narrowing

her eyes and glaring at Josiah.

“Oh! I just had the best

idea!” Carina announced,

snapping out of it. “Follow

me.” She climbed onto the

railing and gestured for him to

follow.

“No way.”

“I promise you won’t re-

gret it! Grab on.” Impatiently,

she waved him over.

Josiah stared at her disbe-

lievingly. “Seriously? What

happens if I let go?”

“Don’t.”

He grinned at his friend’s

characteristic answer, and a

moment later, he was holding

onto her piggyback style. She

dove off the railing, and they

were in freefall. Carina pulled

out of the freefall when they

were close enough to the

ground to make out the dis-

tinct outline of faces. The en-

tire ride down, Josiah was

thinking that Carina’s helmet

really would not do anything

for her if she crashed into the

ground.

Carina smiled to herself.

She could slow down, but she

had not yet mastered the land-

ing part of flying. She rocket-

ed up, and they spiraled

through the sky, whipping

past clouds.

The roar of the air re-

sistance drowned out any and

all sound, but Josiah tightened

his hold on his best friend and

whispered, “You were right.

Gravity is for wimps.”

Fin

Illustration—“Gravity, What Gravity?” by Marisa M.

Welcome to Ganymede! By Holiday Blues

“But why do we have to

move to another planet?”

Nick whined, following his

father as he walked from

room to room, marking things

to be packed. “We’ve been

here for five years, if we want

to move we can always go to

the other side of the continent

or something, but why move

planets?”

“It’s better for us, better

for everyone that way,” his

father replied, entering the

living room and examining an

old chair. “The havoc you and

Virginia caused scarred all

our neighbors for life, and

really, if the news hasn’t

spread to the Western edge

already, I’ll be surprised.”

Nick pouted and sat on the

sofa. He knew he was being

petty and sulking wasn’t go-

ing to solve anything, but liv-

ing on Venus had been quite a

novel experience and he was

not ready to give up his easy

life as a Venusian just yet.

His family had moved to

Venus from Mars in 2340,

nearly five years ago to the

date. Compared to Mars’

dusty red plains and Earth’s

ruined plateaus, Venus’ huge

craters were a delight for

Nick, perfect for anything he

wanted to do. Now, thinking

about leaving his home and

moving to Ganymede – a

moon, for heaven’s sake, not

even a proper planet – was

simply aggravating. Besides,

it wasn’t as if he and Virginia,

his sister, had done anything

terribly horrifying. If the

neighbors couldn’t handle a

decent stink bomb, well, that

was their fault. The stink

bomb had been one of their

best creations, it had been de-

signed to release the glorious

scent of the most evil-

smelling Venusian skunk up-

on explosion, but even he

couldn’t have predicted the

utter chaos it had caused.

The scent had taken over

all the area in a two-mile radi-

us, infiltrating the houses and

the schools and the offices,

invading the noses of every-

one in its path and refusing to

be eradicated. It had taken

nearly three weeks for the

health department of their

province to get the schools

and offices started up again,

which would have been a

great respite for Nick and Vir-

ginia, if, of course, they had-

n’t been grounded.

Disgusted families, with

hands over their noses, could

be seen speeding away on

their shuttles, taking an im-

promptu vacation to a differ-

ent province, trails of green-

ish vapor floating behind. The

mess had been cleared up,

eventually, but as Nick and

Virginia gained more and

more clout at their local high

school, their parents were

forced to make more and

more awkward apologies to

strangers from all over the

province, until finally they

couldn’t take anymore and

decided to make a fresh start.

Both Nick and Virginia

didn’t understand what the

big deal was, though. After

all, if it gave them three

weeks of freedom from

school and a spike in popular-

ity, well, that wasn’t bad at

all. Although Nick swore that

if he sniffed very, very care-

fully, he could still smell trac-

es of the skunk scent hanging

in the air, ready to take over

again. Virginia simply rolled

her eyes.

Anyhow, the fact of the

matter was that Nick and his

family were moving to Gany-

mede, and Ganymede was not

a place where the cool kids

went. It was a moon pretend-

ing to be a planet, and he was

sure that the people there

would not, could not match

up to the sheer greatness of

all his Venusian friends, and

he informed Virginia of this

as many times as she could

stand listening to him.

Virginia just rolled her

eyes again and told him to

man up and accept the bitter

truth or she would teleport

him to Pluto.

Pluto was about a billion

times worse than Ganymede,

so Nick manned up. Kind of.

If manning up meant that he

didn’t whine about moving

for three whole days in a row,

then yes, he had manned up.

Three days, however, was

all it took to get their posses-

sions packed up and shipped

to Ganymede by instant tele-

portation, and after a round of

perfunctory goodbyes (Nick

was sure that there was a

slight note of relief in their

neighbors’ voices), they were

ready to leave.

They arrived on Gany-

mede in the night. The view

was spectacular; Nick was

forced to admit as much after

much coercing from his

mother. Jupiter hung in the

starry sky, big and red with

faint rings around it, and the

six other moons between

Ganymede and Jupiter were

scattered across the sky at

random intervals.

His mother and Virginia

ooh-ed and aah-ed over the

scene, while his father looked

on approvingly, but Nick

stood at the edges of their lit-

tle group, thinking about Ve-

nus and how the night sky

was always obscured by the

heavy atmosphere, tinged yel-

low from sulfur and green

from carbon dioxide, and how

the stars were never quite vis-

ible as they were from Gany-

mede’s icy surface. All of a

sudden, he felt very home-

sick.

The next few months on

Ganymede passed very slow-

ly, in much the same pattern.

There were new hiding plac-

es, new friends, new technol-

ogy, new routes, new neigh-

bors, but the feeling of home-

sickness never passed. Nick

tamped down the feeling by

getting back up to his old

tricks with Virginia, although

on a considerably smaller

scale, and he did make new

friends, despite Virginia’s

vague threats about his weird-

ness scaring kids away, and

life moved on.

At least, it did, until one

day. School had just ended

and Nick was waiting for Vir-

ginia outside the cafeteria, the

chilly Ganymede air searing

his lungs even in the middle

of summer (or what passed

for summer on a moon), when

he suddenly caught sight of a

small boy looking morosely

at the ground, sitting on one

of the benches inside the cafe-

teria. What caught his atten-

tion, though, was the look on

the boy’s face; he knew it

well, having seen it on his

own face several times, the

boy was homesick.

Instinctively, he walked

over to the kid. “Hey, kid,

what’s your name?” he asked.

The kid looked up, scowled,

and looked back down. “Hey,

come on, I know you’re

homesick –” the boy’s head

snapped up sharply at that, “–

but so am I, so do you want to

share your misery or not?”

Nick continued.

“Cam,” said the boy, slow-

ly, with a faint accent that

sounded somewhat Martian,

“My name is Cam.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet

you, Cam. Misery loves com-

pany, so do you want to get

lunch with my sister and

me?” Nick asked.

Cam looked at him warily.

“What’s in it for me?”

Cont. on Pg. 5

WTG Cont.

“A chance to make friends

with the best people in town,

obviously,” said Nick.

“Who said that you’re the

best? Last time I checked, Er-

ic Schroeder was at the top of

the high school food chain,”

replied Cam.

“You’re funny, kid, but

who cares about Schroeder

and his gang of Ganymede

soccer players, we’re going to

get some lunch. Ready, Vir-

ginia?” he asked, as he spot-

ted his sister stroll out of the

cafeteria.

“Sure. Who’s this?” Vir-

ginia asked.

“He’s Cam, and he’s as

homesick as us– ”

“As you, you mean,” Vir-

ginia interrupted.

“Yeah, sure, as me, but the

important fact is that he’s go-

ing to have lunch with us,

aren’t you, Cam?” Nick con-

tinued without a hitch.

“Yeah. Sure, whatever,”

Cam replied, rolling his eyes

and standing up with a sigh.

Funny, everyone’s reaction to

Nick seemed to be that. But

that would be a discussion for

another time, now it was time

for food.

***

Lunch turned out to be an

enjoyable event. Cam’s snap-

py comebacks countered Vir-

ginia’s dry wit, and Nick

threw in random observations

from time to time. They

shared stories about their

homelands and the places they

had visited, fighting over

which planets were the best,

and which ones were clearly

the worst (Pluto won by a

mile on that, dwarf planets

still counted as planets, after

all), and by the time Nick and

Virginia finally went home,

Nick realized that he hadn’t

felt so light in a long, long

time.

The feeling of homesick-

ness was almost nonexistent,

quite unlike those times Nick

had tried to push it back by

himself, and it was nice to

finally walk without every-

thing reminding him of Ve-

nus. His parents didn’t fail to

notice the change in him, and

they were so encouraged by

that sight that they forced him

to go out and have fun with

Cam and Virginia whenever

possible, and Nick found that

he didn’t really mind. Gany-

mede actually turned out to be

a fun moon when he wasn’t

moping and comparing every-

thing to Venus.

Life moved on again, but

for Nick, the direction had

changed, too, in a way he did-

n’t expect, but he welcomed it

with open arms, and knew the

future was going to be a

brighter place.

Fin

Illustration—“Beyond the Stars” by Hades

She Dreams

By Hades

She dreams of ruling the world.

All humans will bow to her.

She will have the lion’s share.

The cream of all treasures.

They will bend to her will.

None shall ever look down on her.

Small, weak things will be brought.

She will toy with them and laugh.

Then she will dispose of them.

Her enemies will be sent away.

Mindless, slobbering creatures.

They will never torment her again.

She will have a tremendous palace.

A garden will bloom for her frolicking.

Ponds of fish will be available.

She can nap anywhere she wants.

Mostly in warm sunlight.

Attendants will groom her.

Masseuses will soothe her.

She never has to wear horrible clothing.

She will burn her old ones.

Her old masters were kind but stupid.

She will kindly put them in a cage.

They will be cared for, of course.

All this she dreams.

But every day she awakes.

She is still just a common cat.

In All Your Glory

By Hades

I wake in darkness and I

Wonder where I am now.

How can I stand?

How can I breathe?

But you’re here for me and

You hold out to me your hand.

Hold onto me tight.

Don’t let me go.

You are like the sun that shines

Warm upon my face.

Light wreathes you in beauty and

In all your glory.

With you I believe I can see.

With you I can find my way.

I dream of shadows and I

Cry out all of my prayers.

Am I alive?

Am I alone?

But you’re always nearby and

I know that you’re by my side.

Teach me to run.

Teach me to live.

You are like the sun that shines

Warm upon my face.

Light wreathes you in beauty and

In all your glory.

With you I believe I can see.

With you I can find my way.

Someday I will learn to dance

With you beside me.

A dawn will come when I can see

Your smile at last.

With you I believe I can see.

With you I can find my way.

Photograph—“Farewells to the Sun” by Holiday Blues

Jacket By Nyctophobia

It’s been by my side and my loyal com-

panion. Same love people have for an

old dog. It keeps me warm and protects

me and shelters me from the cruelties

of this world. It is my cocoon. My shel-

ter. It is there for me when no one else

is. My shoulder to cry on. My keeper of

secrets. For what man could keep a se-

cret better than it. This is why I love it.

This is why I need it. This is why there

is no space in my heart for you.

A Starry Winter Night; A

Bright Summer Day

By Glittercheese

Outside, the sky encom-

passes the world with its inno-

cent baby blue face dotted

with little blobs of soft white

cotton after many long winter

nights hiding in the depths of

the angry black storms.

The shining sun bursts

through the puffy clouds,

casting vibrant light rays and

lightening the entire world of

vast green land and trees. A

melodious song of chirps

bursts the world into a chorus

– a few scuttles here and

there, a few crackles of

snapped branches elsewhere.

The smell of oak and pine

trees sends a mint-flavored

fragrance into the misty air

while a soft breeze tickles my

skin. Roaring yellow dandeli-

ons spread throughout the

vast green grass and happily

brush by my toes as I tiptoe

through the meadows.

Humming with a generous

piece of fresh meat in my

straw filled basket, I expertly

zigzag through the valleys

and hills, throwing off my

scent to curious creatures.

As I slowly catch more

glimpses of a darting orange-

white blob skipping peaceful-

ly through the flowers and

grass, a small twitch pulls up

at the sides of lips and I make

my slow ascent up a big broad

oak tree into the green bushy

leaves to wait for my small

friend.

In seconds, the small, furry

fox pup is beneath my tree,

making ineffective attempts at

catching a tricky sparrow.

A hungry growl escapes

the fox as it collapses down

into the soft grass and watch-

es the fluttering sparrow tweet

away into the clouds. Howev-

er, as the breeze picks up, the

soft ears perk up and its sly

eyes slowly scan the mead-

ows in search of the well-

known scent of food.

As its yellow eyes as

bright as stars spot me by the

tree, it gently wags its furry

tail and barks happily while

dancing around the tree.

Laughing, I slowly come

down from my tree and gently

show my delicate yet firm

hand out near its moist nose.

Accepting my invitation, it

approaches me in small

jumpy steps and I feel its fur-

ry warm red head for the first

time since that scary winter

night. After a few moments, it

gently nudges my arm and I

give it its lunch.

A swarm of butterflies dot-

ted the grass, sending small

bursts of rainbows in the land

of green when an eerie silence

reverberated past. Immediate-

ly, darts of hiding, peaceful

creatures spring out from their

relaxation and race over to

their shelters in fear.

Small little critters, startled

furry mammals, fluttering

panicked birds scurry past in

frenzy as violent snaps of

gunshots come sharper and

louder than before. Quickly, I

beckon my fragile friend into

its safe den yet it stays put in

resistance.

Why today? It couldn’t be.

It’s Sunday. It’s a family day.

It’s a day to relax. It’s not

hunting day.

Frightened, I race through

my memory and attempted to

recall anything – anything at

all that hinted at this hunting

party, fully equipped with

snarling beastly dogs, deadly

rifles, and angry men. Yet the

only memory that connected

was nearly five years ago on a

shivering winter night.

It was in the middle of a

relentless blizzard when eve-

ryone was starving from the

lack of food and when every-

one was frustrated at one an-

other, yelling at one another,

beating up one another, and

anxious to get out of the

cooped, overheated cottage,

including me.

Tired of all the arguments

endlessly surrounding me and

meaningless beatings for ab-

surd reasons, I sneaked out

into the blizzard with my big

puffy winter wear out into the

white world to get a scent of

the fresh air.

Immediately, the blinding

white flakes of freezing water

slammed into my red, already

frost bitten face and sneaky

clumps of snow crashed into

my clothes, soaking me in

minutes. I was only a few feet

from home, yet I continued

trudging through the knee

deep snow with my persis-

tence to escape the dread

waiting at home. I should

have taken that as a warning.

The farther away I got, the

more the world became a

white mist beyond my eyes

like an endless battle that one

cannot win. The puffy barrier

that once remained impervi-

ous an hour ago now acted as

a cumbersome weight that

tugged me down with every

step I took.

My fragile body shook un-

controllably from the freezing

Cont. on Pg. 8

Photograph—“Blooms in Pink” by Aphrodite

SWNBSD cont.

cold snow melted inside my

clothes and my teeth chatter

against each other like a

woodchuck beats a tree. In

my desperate mind, I attempt-

ed to locate a place, any place

where I knew that there was

some sort of shelter that I

could hide and warm up.

A tingle of my memory

suggested a small little den

hidden near some trees that

was located about a few feet

away from where I was cur-

rently trudging along.

That was when a buck,

gone mad from the blizzard,

stares with intent of death at

my exposed body. In seconds,

I saw the buck charge fero-

ciously towards me, its antlers

like deadly swords ready to

kill with no mercy.

I could feel the fate of my

life resting in those few se-

conds after the first harsh con-

tact when a red flash came out

from the side and gallantly

tackled the beast down.

Half-conscious, I made out

loud rasps of a life-and-death

battle a few feet away and, at

last, I heard the soft sound of

paws tapping like the soft

rings of a triangle towards

me.

When I woke up, I dimly

made out the edges of a fami-

ly of fox napping all around

me, cuddling me like a teddy

bear. A contented rush of air

escaped my mouth as I saw

the youngest cub, a pure red

fox, eyes shining as bright as

the stars, as fuzzy and gentle

like the purest soul. A sage

fox gently tickled my arm

with its smooth, moist tongue,

bathing my wound with love

and healing powers.

In the midst of this home,

a dream that seemed too good

to be true, I heard the brutal

sound of a snowmobile,

clanging loudly along. Every

member of the family perked

its ears and stared alertly in

the direction of the predator,

the machine, and looked to-

wards the fox that had previ-

ously saved my life.

Immediately, I knew that

my savior was going to get

killed, shot without any mer-

cy, by MY family and I shook

my head vigorously at the

family of fox, hoping, plead-

ing that they would under-

stand me.

Yet my savior ven-

tured out, in the same manner

that I had first seen him but

this time, with a small army

of other fox. Frightened, all I

could do was whimper pitiful-

ly, causing the older fox to

beckon me and the cub to-

wards the back of the den, in

a secret hiding place and cud-

dle us closer than before. The

family of fox did not let me

out. As each of them passed

away in a valiant fight, I

could only cry softly as anoth-

er raced out in anger to take

the place of the dead.

I watched them all die.

Every member of that family,

that real family who struggled

with each other through the

long winters with a scarcity of

food, that family who protect-

ed one another with all their

hearts, that family who did

everything for each other.

I watched the last fox, the

mother fox, look at us, her

children, for the longest time.

I watched her lick her cub for

the last time. I watched her

lick my hair and cure my

wound in seconds. I heard

her.

Outside, the cry of joy es-

caping the hunters, one of

them MY family member,

sounded like evil. Before the

hunters could peer inside the

den, I hid the cub deep inside

the den, in the dark corners of

its shadows, threw as much

preserved meat as I had

brought with me in the little

holes around the den, enough

for a cub’s food supply to last

a month. Then, my father

peered inside the den, cried

out with laughter, and

dragged me home along with

the other hunters.

Thus, the sound of the

guns, reverberating through

the meadows with relentless-

ness terrified me to the bones

and I knew that the only way

that I could do to protect part,

any part of that family, was to

protect their gift to me, the

cub.

They are after the den…

because they knew that there

is one more fox. There is one

more sly fox that steals their

game and interferes with their

“fame”. There is one more

fox that disconnects their

family. But they do not know

that this fox is I.

As the sound of the guns

target closer and closer – a

bird down, a squirrel down, a

rabbit down… I hide near the

fox in a bed of grass and wait

for the time to come…

As I plunge into the bullet,

the regret escapes me like a

heavy cloak that has finally

been lifted away.

Fin

Illustration—“Pelican Under a Starry Sky”

by Japanda3

Chris McCandless’ Adven-

tures with Doctor Who, on a

Mind-Bending Trip through

Space and Time

By Athena

The date was July 10,

1990. Chris had just survived

a flash flood and saved some

but not all of his supplies.

Most noticeably, Chris was

unable to save his car.

Chris whined, “Aw, man!

What do I do now? I can’t

walk everywhere – I don’t

have enough food to replace

all the energy I would lose!”

Suddenly he heard a

VWORP VWORP VWORP

and what appeared to be a

beat up blue telephone box

materialized in front of him

Chris staggered back-

wards. “I knew I shouldn’t

have eaten those berries!”

The Doctor stumbled out

of the TARDIS—shaped like

a blue police box from 1960’s

London—coughing and wav-

ing his hands to disperse the

smoke. He saw Chris and his

face brightened. “Hallo, there!

Would you mind helping me?

The TARDIS seems to have

broken down, and I need an

extra hand to fix her exterior.”

Chris was noticeably shak-

en, but did as the Doctor

asked. All he really did was

hand the Doctor tools he had

never heard of, such as the

sonic screwdriver. However,

the Doctor was extremely ap-

preciative of the help and

wanted to repay Chris.

But when he offered Chris

material goods, Chris scoffed

and claimed that he had no

need for such fripperies.

Eventually the Doctor had

a great idea. “I’ve got the per-

fect solution!” he crowed. “I

need a companion, and it

seems that your ride has bro-

ken down. What would you

say to an exciting trip across

space and time as my aide-de-

camp?” The Doctor looked

excitedly at Chris.

Chris eyed the TARDIS.

“We’d be traveling in that?”

The Doctor smiled and re-

plied “Exactly! The TARDIS

is unique, exciting, and un-

breakable!” Chris gave the

Doctor a skeptical look. The

Doctor shrugged. “Well, there

are a few kinks here and

there, but as a whole the

TARDIS is in perfect shape!”

As the Doctor said this, the

door of the TARDIS creakily

gave way and hit the ground.

Chris rolled his eyes and

remarked scathingly, “Oh

yeah, really great condition.”

Hurriedly the Doctor

whipped out his sonic screw-

driver and fixed the door.

Wiping his brow, the Doctor

shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

Chris looked longingly at

his car, scrutinized the TAR-

DIS, and sighed. “At least this

trip won’t be boring,” he

quipped, not realizing the

truth of his words. As Chris

stepped into the TARDIS, his

eyes bugged out. “It’s-”

“Bigger on the inside?

Yes, yes, always has been. It’s

Time Lord technology.”

Chris stumbled inside,

looking in awe, touching all

the dials and switches and—

was that an old typewriter?

“DON’T TOUCH THAT!

Those are thermocouplings—

big things go bang if those

drop, like...the Universe...that

one ti- never mind.”

The Doctor pushed Chris

into an old barber chair and

began whirling around the

room, pushing buttons and

pulling levers in a complicat-

ed dance. “Are you sure you

can drive this...thing?” Chris

asked nervously.

“It’s perfectly sound,” the

Doctor replied cheerily as the

ship lurched like a turbulent

airplane. “Even if I miss

something the TARDIS will

get it for me, she always gets

me where I need to be.”

“Time Lord...are you an

alien?” Chris blurted.

“Yup! The one and only,

very last two-hearted Time

Lord in the universe.”

Chris decided not to ask

where the others were. He just

sat back and enjoyed the ride.

He had completely forgotten

to fume about the blatant ma-

terialism inhabiting the ship.

The first stop was the plan-

et, Big Egg, which was split

into East and West Egg. Coin-

cidentally, it is populated by

similar people to Fitzgerald’s

The Great Gatsby.

“Truthfully, I think Fitz-

gerald somehow visited this

place and wrote that book

based on these people,” the

Doctor whispered to Chris.

Chris didn’t reply, but took a

good look around.

There was the garage

where Wilson and Myrtle

lived, over there the great

mansion of Tom and Daisy,

and over the water - the out-

landish Gatsby mansion.

However, the mansion was

unoccupied, for the windows

were dark and the owner was

warbling an awful rendition of

a love song to Daisy. She

smiled down on Gatsby from

her second-floor window, ac-

tually enjoying Gatsby’s tone-

deaf singing. Chris drank in

the display of the power of

true love, a love destined to

play out as tragically as Ro-

meo and Juliet.

The Doctor interrupted

Chris’ reverie by calling out

“Hallo, old sport!” in Gats-

by’s direction. Noticing Dai-

sy, he frowned and asked,

“Did we come at a bad time?”

Gatsby blew a kiss to Dai-

sy and came over to them,

chortling, “Of course not, old

chap. Just giving the vocal

cords a dusting-off. Didn’t

expect it to be so well-

received.” He smiled. Behind

him Chris saw Daisy close the

window and turn to talk to a

man he assumed was Tom.

“Hate to impose on you,

sport, but do you mind lend-

ing me some parts for the

TARDIS?” the Doctor asked.

“No problem at all, old

chap, just step on the teleport

mat,” Gatsby replied. There

was a flash, and the trio was

standing in front of Gatsby’s

house. “Come in.” The Doctor

and Chris followed—and

stopped at the doorway. They

were stunned by the gigantic

trash heaps filling Gatsby’s

house. “Apologies for the

mess, chaps,” Gatsby called

cheerily, “but my parties do

cause a bit of disorganization

in the house. Let me see if I

Cont. on Pg. 10

Photograph—“Hello, Sunshine” by Aphrodite

McCandless cont.

have that part—” And so say-

ing, he dove into a pile.

Chris wrinkled his nose in

disgust grumbling, “He

wouldn’t have these piles of

filth everywhere if he didn’t

have all this extraneous stuff!”

He picked up a book made out

of cardboard and muttered

obscenities under his breath.

Gatsby resurfaced a few

minutes later, much filthier

but clutching a strange-

looking piece of metal. “Here

you go!” he said triumphantly

as he thrust the part into

Chris’ arms. Chris accepted

the weight but stepped back

from the sheer power of the

odor surrounding Gatsby.

The Doctor, seemingly

used to the smell, came for-

ward and clapped Gatsby on

the shoulder. “I knew I could

count on you, old sport,” he

told Gatsby affectionately.

Gatsby puffed with pride.

“It was nothing at all!”

The Doctor smiled, looked

at his watch and swore. “Hate

to take and run, old sport, but

we really have to go!” the

Doctor yelled as he grabbed

Chris and sprinted for the

TARDIS.

As the TARDIS took off,

Chris heard Gatsby yelling,

“Have a good trip !” Wonder-

ing what the hurry was, Chris

asked the Doctor what the

next stop was.

“If we can make the trip

before the TARDIS’ energy

stores run low, I want to visit

Thoreau at Walden Pond.”

Chris’ eyes grew wide as

he realized that he would be

able to meet his idol face-to-

face. “Really? We’re really

going to go see Thoreau as he

was writing Walden? This is

actually the coolest day of my

life!” Chris chucked the me-

chanical part into a corner of

the TARDIS.

The Doctor leaped and

caught it inches from the

floor. He straightened and

glared at Chris. “This piece is

crucial to our arrival at Wal-

den Pond. Please be careful

with it,” the Doctor admon-

ished. Chris looked guiltily at

the floor and nodded, accept-

ing the piece carefully. He

placed it where the Doctor

directed him and the TARDIS

set down gently on the

ground, as if responding to

Chris’ care. Setting the piece

down on a cushion, Chris

went to look out the window.

He could see Thoreau’s cabin

about three miles away, nes-

tled in the edge of a forest.

“It’s just how I imagined,”

Chris breathed. The Doctor

smiled and swept the door

open with a bow. Chris

stepped out wonderingly, and

began to walk toward Tho-

reau’s cabin. The Doctor fol-

lowed Chris after a

long look at the me-

chanical piece. Chris

stopped abruptly as

he saw Thoreau

walking to his cabin,

pie in hand, convers-

ing with a compan-

ion. “I—I thought he

lived in isolation.”

Chris stuttered.

The Doctor

looked over his

shoulder. “Oh, it’s

Mr. Channing. He’s

a friend of Tho-

reau’s—he visits

often. They must

have come from

Concord. The town

is within walking

distance—” The

Doctor interrupted

himself as Chris

walked away, back

toward the TARDIS.

“Hey. Didn’t you

want to talk to Tho-

reau?”

Chris whipped

around, spat “I have

nothing to say to that hypo-

crite,” and continued his stalk

toward the TARDIS.

The Doctor frowned and

ran to catch up. “Are you

sure? I still haven’t repaid the

favor I owe you.” Chris

reached the TARDIS, and

sank down on the floor, obliv-

ious to the Doctor’s question.

“So everything I believed

in was a lie? I abandoned my

family for a lie?” he mur-

mured to himself, starting to

cry. The Doctor rushed up,

trying to comfort him.

“Why don’t we drop you

off back home?” he suggest-

ed. Chris looked up, tears

shining in his eyes.

“I would really appreciate

that, Doctor,” he whispered.

The Doctor smiled kindly and

resumed his seemingly ran-

dom pulling of levers and

pressing of buttons.

But when they arrived,

they did not touch down in

Chris’ backyard in 1990 as

they had hoped. Instead they

had arrived in the Alaskan

wilderness on May 1, 1992.

But all Chris saw was the

beautiful wilderness he had

dreamed of since he was little.

He stepped outside the TAR-

DIS, oblivious to the Doctor’s

warnings. The Doctor tried to

run after him, but the doors

slammed shut of their own

accord, and the TARDIS dis-

appeared into the nether.

Only then did Chris realize

the situation he was in – but

too little, too late. He was

stuck in the wilderness with

few supplies and only his sur-

vival skills standing between

him and death.

THE END

Illustration—“Home Isn’t Home Without You” by Hebe

Andiamo

By Hades

Andiamo, andiamo,

Let the show begin.

Conductor, raise baton,

Everyone, breathe in.

Andiamo, andiamo,

Listen to the beat.

Feel it in your heart,

Sit on the edge of your seat.

Andiamo, andiamo,

Play with your soul.

Be the melody, the harmony,

Be the steady drum’s roll.

Andiamo, andiamo,

Lose yourself tonight.

Embrace the music in the air,

Set your spirit alight.

Andiamo, andiamo,

Take delight in applause.

Watch them all stand,

See how their hands never

pause.

Andiamo, andiamo,

It’s the end of the show.

Wordless, speechless, except…

Bravissimo.

Snowing in August

By Hades

Water drops down my glass

Of ice cold lemonade.

My hammock sways upon a breeze

That is not truly there.

The sun is shining blindingly,

And my eyes droop tiredly shut.

But what! Is that…? It is!

It’s snowing in August,

And the heat is disappearing.

The children all come outside,

Staring in wondrous disbelief.

They dance around in giggles,

With tongues out to catch flakes.

One girl throws the first snowball,

Starting a marvelous war.

We make snowmen in t-shirts,

We make snow angles in shorts.

Lemonade swaps for hot chocolate,

Flip flops switch with boots.

It’s snowing in August,

And the weatherman is confused.

He stammers and mumbles,

Pointing wildly at his map,

But he has no answers, either.

It’s snowing in August,

And I close my eyes to breathe cold –

I jolt awake in my warm hammock.

My lemonade has spilt on my shirt.

There are no snowmen or angels,

No children drinking cocoa.

The weatherman predicts 90s and 100s,

And the sun is hot as ever.

I sigh sadly and stare at the sky,

And that’s when I feel it.

A single cold drop lands on my nose,

Then disappears like a dream.

Illustration— “Serenade” by Artist Wannabe

Freedom By Hermes

As summer breeze calls,

Ten weeks of revelry wait.

Freedom nears at last!

Illustration—“Chill, Mon” by Alexandria

Chapter 8: The Truth Is Fi-

nally Revealed

By Apollo

“We find the defendant

David Cameron…” began

Tanya Smith.

“STOP!” came a scream

from across the courtroom at

the entrance. Everyone froze

in terror at who was actually

standing before them. Some-

thing impossible stood at the

entrance and it was something

that could change the entire

story. There standing boldly at

the door, looking very much

alive, was Liz Anderson.

It couldn't be possible, she

was dead. David Cameron had

supposedly brutally murdered

her at Gino Caldonado's Hal-

loween Party last fall. But

there before everyone's eyes,

was Liz Anderson. And unless

everyone was high on LSD

and this was just a crazy hallu-

cination, Liz was alive.

She began walking firmly

down the aisle of the court-

room. She did not stop to turn

around or get a glimpse at an-

yone. She marched right up to

the stand. Once she made eye

contact with David Cameron,

who stood frozen still in ter-

ror, she began intensely beat-

ing the living daylights out of

him.

“YOU IDIOT!” screamed

Liz. “You tried to murder me!

How could you? We were best

friends! Why would you ever

betray me?”

“Wait a second! Wait a se-

cond! Wait a second!” yelled

David. “I’m sure it's just a

huge misunderstanding! Are

you sure, you're not confusing

me for my brother, Gabe. He's

the one who you were best

friends with!”

“Wait a minute,” realized

Liz, “I am mistaking you. It's

Gabe who tried to kill me.

He's the one who I'm going

after. You're not Gabe, you’re

his brother! Where's Gabe?!”

Gabe Cameron slumped

down in his chair to where he

was unnoticeable.

“GABE?! GABE?!” shout-

ed Liz. “Come out wherever

you are.” Still no sign of Gabe

in the courtroom. Well, of

course he was there, but he

wasn't making his presence

particularly obvious. “Okay,

Gabe,” said Liz, “you want to

play it that way. I guess I'll

just have to find you.”

It didn't take Liz long to

find Gabe. He was in the front

row, slouched down trying to

appear out of sight.

“Hah, Gabe!” exclaimed

Liz. “I've found you and now

you shall pay!”

Liz started punching the

living daylights out of Gabe

just as she did with David.

“Liz, I don't understand,”

Gabe tried to say, “how are

you still alive?”

Liz refused to answer con-

tinually beating him up. “How

could you do something like

that to me! How dare you try

to murder Liz Anderson?”

“Okay, I've had enough,

Wheel of Fortune is just about

over and there is no way I'm

missing Jeopardy for this silly

trial,” proclaimed Judge Judy.

“SECURITY!”

Suddenly out of nowhere,

two mean looking dudes in

blue security uniforms ap-

peared out of nowhere ready

to drag Liz Anderson away.

“No! Don't take me away!”

screamed Liz. “I still have to

get some closure here!”

Liz tried to fight off the

security guards but it was no

use, she was going to be ar-

rested for assault. However,

suddenly as if things couldn't

possibly get stranger, Liz

magically broke free from the

security guards and reached

Gabe again.

Only this time, she didn't

beat him up. This time, she

started shaking him intensely.

“GABE!” she screamed.

“GABE, WAKE UP! WAKE

UP! GABE, WAKE UP!”

“WAKE UP!” Liz

screamed as she shook Gabe

awake.

“Huh, what happened?”

“Gabe, you were out cold.

Someone must have spiked

the punch bowl,” said Liz.

“Oh,” said Gabe, “Liz

thank goodness you're okay. I

had the weirdest dream. You

were murdered. And I was put

on trial for your death. But

then you were never actually

dead...”

“Okay, Gabe, keep talking

about whatever gibberish that

is,” said Liz.

“It was all just a dream,”

said Gabe. “Wow, Liz, how

long have I

been out?”

“About

eight hours,

Gabe, it's al-

most 6am.”

“I better

get going, I'm

going to be

late for

school.”

“You can say that again.

Everyone else left and Gino's

asleep upstairs. But I decided

to stay and make sure you

were okay so you wouldn't

freak out when you woke up.”

“Liz, you're a great friend.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

And with that, they both

went on with their lives. It had

all been a dream and nobody

had ever been murdered. They

all lived happily ever after.

Well, almost. Liz was actually

brutally murdered at a Hal-

loween Party forty years later.

But it was not by Gabe or any

other friend. It was by a crazy

man whose name will remain

unmentioned.

Fin

Illustration—“Intense Concentration” by Hebe

Illustration—“The Last Punch” by Calypso

Her By Nyctophobia

No matter how much I like her, I’m scared she'll never feel the same. Scared

she'll never love me. Scared I'll just get hurt. Scared of a heartbreak. But I know,

the only way she'll ever grow feelings for me is to try. To ask. To profess my

feelings and hope she will feel the same. For this fear of rejection... It is only

shadowed by the worse fear of unknowing. If she might ever love me.

Ember By Hades

Your fire haunts the twilight air,

Only a memory of your flare.

An ember smolders in your grave,

As if a soul that I could save.

But e’en your light dies when it rains,

And ash is all that still remains.

Photograph “Misty Dusk” by Aphrodite

AAD Cont.

you're going to turn in but if not then

focus on improving your ACT scores.

Either way I'm sure you'll be fine.

GOOD LUCK. Love, Aphro

Dear Aphro, I'm having trouble deciding

between the dark side and the nerd side.

Which is better: deciding to fulfill the

needs of your stomach and abandoning

morals, or deciding to fulfill the needs

of your brain and abandoning your

(probably already destroyed) reputation?

Sincerely, Torn Between Two Worlds

Dear Torn, Well...the dark side has

cookies so I'd choose that! But you

should never abandon your morals no

matter what happens. If those are the

two choices, fulfilling the needs of your

brain are more important. In my opinion

you should be able to find a healthy bal-

ance between morals and brain. But

what do I know? :) Love, Aphro

Dear Aphro & Dite, I love writing, and

usually what happens is I get a bunch of

different ideas at the same time and have

trouble deciding which one to work on.

Then in the end, most of the time I don't

get much done at all. If I try to prioritize,

the other ideas on hold nag at me and I

worry by the time I get around to them, I

won't like them anymore. If I try to work

on all my ideas at the same time, there

isn't much progress. What should I do?

Sincerely, Over-Ideas

Dear Over-Ideas, Choose one idea and

work on it because if you lose interest in

your ideas that quickly it can't have been

a great idea to begin with, so it's okay if

you don't want to work on it. Prioritizing

is a good idea and I think you should

keep up with what you are doing right

now because you are probably develop-

ing your great ideas, and if the idea is

truly great it will come back to you.

Love, Aphro

Dear Aphro & Dite, During the summer,

I usually get a lot of reading done. Un-

fortunately, I have a lot going on this

summer and a lot of book s to catch up

on. Is pleasure reading more important

than work, or reading for Lit? Any sug-

gestions on how to create a schedule for

a balance of work and pleasure?

Sincerely, Overloaded With Work

Dear Overloaded, As you suggested, a

schedule would be a great idea to help

balance your time and make sure you

can do every-

thing you want to

do. I would coor-

dinate your

schedule with all

your other activi-

ties and try to

prevent overlap.

I would focus on

trying to read

Crime and Pun-

ishment quickly

and effectively.

I'm sure you will

have plenty of

time left over at

the end for pleas-

ure reading.

Sincerely, Dite

Interview: Kristin Cashore

By Athena

Have you ever thought writing

was not the career for you?

Never. I can’t think of doing

anything better.

Where do you get your ideas?

The characters come from

daydreams, followed by an

enormous amount of work as

I figure out the story behind

the characters.

Are there any author(s) who

influenced your writing?

Tamora Pierce and Robin

McKinley because of what

they did with girls and women

– it was a relief to have strong

women to imagine. I also

grew up reading classics

about strong women rather

than fantasy – Anne of Green

Gables, Laura Ingalls Wilder,

Nancy Drew, Jane Austen.

If you could sit down and talk

with a person from any time

period, who would it be?

Amelia Earhart, about what-

ever she wants to talk about,

just let the conversation flow

freely. I admire what she did

so immensely and it couldn’t

possibly be a wasted conver-

sation. She did what she want-

ed in a time when that was

much harder than it is now.

Do you listen to music while

writing?

Almost never. It interferes

with my train of thought. Af-

terward, though, I listen to

whatever captures the atmos-

phere of the books. For Fire, I

listened to a sad fiddling song

that made me think of Fire

with her fiddle. For Bitter-

blue, I listened to “Cold As It

Gets” by Patty Griffin. It rep-

resented the essence of how I

felt while writing the book.

Your setting is so creative and

imaginative for all of your

books. Was there any specific

inspiration for such fantastic

and magical settings?

Nothing specific. I get the

idea but don’t stop to think

about where it came from.

Daydreaming is really good

for getting ideas, but it’s hard

to remember where they came

from afterwards.

Are any of your characters

inspired by people you know?

No. That would interfere. I

want my characters to be their

own person. When a character

is too similar to someone I

know, I change the character.

Getting the base of a character

is a lot of work. You have to

listen to the character and get

them to tell you who they are.

If writing the character

doesn’t feel right, then I

change them. Some characters

are easier than others. Po is

easy to write. He is talkative

and has an open personality.

He’s easy to know. Katsa, on

the other hand, has an oblivi-

ousness that makes her easy

to write but hard to figure out

because of her unconscious

knowledge. Does she really

know this? Does she know it

but not realize?

Notes from Q&A: Failure is very important to

writing a book. If you are a

writer and you feel what

you’re writing is crap, why on

earth are you even doing this

– these feelings are normal.

That’s what it feels like to be

a writer. And getting a book

to where you want it to be is

the best feeling in the world –

worth all of the pain.

How do you think of names?

I often look at the credits of

movies, last names are always

good, sometimes I change a

few letters of real names.

Some names are troublesome.

In the German version, Po had

to be renamed Bo because Po

means butt in German. In the

Italian version, Katsa had to

be changed to Katchya be-

cause Katsa means pecker.

What are you going to work

on in the future?

I plan to write a contemporary

fiction for a change of pace. It

may not turn into anything. I

will most likely write one

more fantasy novel.

Will there be a sequel to Fire?

Hopefully, but I don’t know

for sure.

Do you ever get weird

fanmail?

I get much less now that I re-

moved my email from my

blog. Once a woman wrote to

me saying reading Graceling

was like finding cockroaches

in her ice cream. She really

loved reading Po and Katsa’s

romance but was horrified

they didn’t get married. Soon

after a guy wrote me asking if

Leck was inspired by Barack

Obama (which was very of-

fensive, considering my cam-

paign efforts for Obama) and

so that’s when I decided to

take down my email address.

Is there going to be a movie

for Graceling?

Not yet, but my agent is

working on it.

Will you be involved in it?

I have no interest. I want

script approval but have no

hope in it being what I want. I

don’t want to get involved

and have my heart broken into

more pieces than it would be

already. It would be best if

they changed the genre

Cont. on Pg. 15

Photograph—“Greetings From Aliens” by Aphrodite

Interview cont.

completely. A kung fu movie,

a Bollywood or even a musi-

cal! That would be awesome,

then it could be on Broadway!

Who are your ideal actors?

I don’t have any. I have such

high expectations.

What brought you to fantasy?

My characters came first with

their magical powers, then

daydreaming and curiosity

about what happens next led

to the story.

Do you go to so many awe-

some places because you lead

this awesome life?

Not exactly. I like travelling,

but I like home, too. I get to

work in my pajamas (work

pajamas, to differentiate be-

tween work and sleep). I trav-

el both for the book and on

my own. Writers get a tax

write-off for research, so I

take full advantage. But there

is a lot of stress and pressure.

Not all of my life is good.

There are plenty of time ex-

pectations. But I’m happy in

my career and gracious of

how lucky I am.

Is there a step before your

rough draft?

I do a planning page. I write

the basic plot first, since I can

change it later in the process.

At about 40-50 pages, I tran-

scribe my work onto Word.

I’m deathly afraid of a fire

burning up all of that work. I

keep all my notebooks in a

fireproof and waterproof safe,

but I’m still afraid.

Which book was the hardest

to write? Bitterblue.

How do you get published in

foreign countries?

I held onto the book rights, so

my agent sells the books indi-

vidually to each country.

Your books all have a feminist

plot. Is that important to you?

The feminism is a driving

force. Possibly because of my

Catholic school experience

and how angry it made me. I

as definitely was sick of sex-

ism in Jesuit school.

Who’s your favorite protago-

nist?

I relate to all three in a differ-

ent way, but mostly to Bitter-

blue. She’s a regular person

surrounded by extraordinary

people. I care about her in a

special way. She feels like a

daughter.

Why did such horrible things

have to happen to Po at the

end of Graceling?

Even though the author is in

control when she writes, cer-

tain things have to happen in

the story. Unfortunately, Po’s

accident is one of those

things.

Photograph—“Tea-licious” by Aphrodite

Nana’s Corner

Readers, hello!

This is a Kodak moment.

Hats off, people. Say

“cheese” and smile.

I congratulate you ALL

for successfully reaching the

finish line of a long and rocky

race through another year of

high school!

Finally, you can stop to

catch your breath, wipe the

sweat from your brow, and

relish in the moment you can

shake off all the pressure that

has been stalking you, staring

at you, weighing on you, and

feeding off of your self es-

teem and motivation.

Just pause for a moment,

look back, and take in all that

you have achieved. This is not

optional. It’s time to splurge

in what you’ve been abstain-

ing from (or not) for a long

time.

It’s also time for us to say

our farewells and Adieus! Es-

pecially to our seniors. We

will miss you, graduates of

2012! You’ve left us with big

shoes to fill, but do not worry,

we’re all in the good hands

of, what I may add objective-

ly, the awe-inspiring, breath-

taking, magnificently majes-

tic, and stunningly wonderful

Class of 2013. (As you may

have noticed I am being mod-

est with my adjectives.)

Summer has finally ar-

rived! (Although I must admit

it never really left this school

year, but I’m not complain-

ing.) Despite my previous

paragraph about relishing in

your newfound freedom, we

all know you’re not really

completely free from stress. It

seems we all enjoy maxing

ourselves out by over-filling

our open schedule during the

summer. There’s just so much

to do, so little time. Gotta

save the world, create world

peace, find a cure for cancer,

cleanup the Gulf Coast. Oh,

but that’s just a warm-up.

After that we’ll fly to

Mars, discover water there,

take a sip for good measure,

regret it afterwards, and then

perk up for gaining bragging

rights and a story to tell.

You’ll head back to earth,

grab some lunch, and head off

to do some fancy activities

with equally fancy/intelligent/

legit sounding names that you

can later slap onto your re-

sume, adding a good one to

two inches of writing to what

you already have.

Well, whatever you’re do-

ing this summer and wherever

you are, I hope you guys all

make sure to stick some fun

time into your schedule!

A final note…

To all the current sopho-

mores: GOOD LUCK! May

the odds be ever in your favor

through Junior year. It’s no

walk in the park, but I believe

you all have it in you to bear

through it all, just remember

to believe in yourself. ESPE-

CIALLY when you fail.

Always look ahead, and

don’t broad over what has

already been done. We all get

agitated when we mess up,

but don’t let it get the better

of you, and don’t let it go to

waste. Pick some good ole’

wisdom out of it, so you end

up gaining the profit.

To all my fellow seniors to

be: I’m really proud of you

all! We DID IT! Of course

there is still much to be done,

and many big decisions to be

made, but for now, I’d like to

do the honors and congratu-

late you guys again for get-

ting through it all! Luv ya

all! We’re going to make this

the 13EST year Churchill has

ever seen. (And this is a com-

plete understatement!)

And finally, a shout out

and round of applause to our

Midnight Writers leaders!

Thank you all for your hard

work throughout this year,

and being flexible with your

due dates! (Really, thank

you!) It was all thanks to you

guys for getting this club

started and giving all of us

another chance to create great

memories! (And slap on an-

other activity with a fancy

appellation onto our resume.

Admit it guys, you do it for

that, too! But that’s only a

very small reason of course!)

I’m grateful I was able to

be a part of this, and I hope to

be able to come back and

write again next year!

Ciao, amigos!

Illustration—“Chibi Korra” by Hebe