Writing Gallery's blog

By Krystal Woodley, age 17

Inspired by the November '09 Poetry Workshop, "At My School" 

When can I fly and be free
Will I let loose and have my dignity
I will fly
Above all my turmoil and try to escape
Only I can be happy so
I will fly
Away

By Shira Engel, Age 18

Inspired by the March '10 Playwriting Workshop, "Throughout My City"

Oh, Jane! Oh, poor, dear, pious Jane! I know, you thought you would never see me again. I can see what you are thinking, I can read your thought through that mirror. Sounds familiar, does it? I can presume you have heard our every-courtly Henry use those words on your pretty little face as he pressed his greedy lips to your powdered cheek. Now I suppose he does the same to that belly, that swell he believes holds the future of this country in his hands. He thinks you are the carrier of destiny, you know. And he crawls into bed with you after he returns from one of his escapades, crawling because you are a vessel. He no longer runs.

You know, Jane, my story will be told a thousand times through the lips of women I've scorned and women I've made proud, through the legacy of our husband, then my daughter, and perhaps as a warning in the countryside of my sister. Some will portray me as the villianous witch beheaded rather than burnt. And some will see me as a glorious heroine who has had escapades of her own, wronged by her father, and temporarily ruling over our husband. Would you believe it, Jane, if you were the only one I told my own story to? I will be authentic, I promise, though I am afriad you will not live to tell the tale. 

By Jennifer Fuster, age 16

Inspired by the October 09' Memoir Workshop

"We're moving to New York. It's been decided."

My mother's words echoed through my mind for the next five minutes. It was hard to respond in a proper manner after she uttered the decision. New York?, I thought. Really? All my life I wanted to visit the concrete jungle but never for one second I thought moving there would be in my future. Even as a harsh joke I lied to my friend that I would be moving to New York. Months later Karma caught up with me.

Would I really have to say goodbye to my best friends? My beautiful house? A car? The warm seasons? Now all of these positive things I still hold on to this very day remind me to be grateful for my childhood. I grew up in sunny Florida in the beaches and theme parks. I've been to Disney World more times than I can remember. To this very day I miss where I grew up but I am optimistic about my new life in NY. I have so many opportunities here and I've gotten to experience a completely different life than I was comfortable with.

Written and Recorded by GWN Mentees and Mentors at the May '09 Songwriting Workshop

Hear "Bridging Love and Loss" on YouTube

I bought a one-way ticket from my reality
Time and fate blur into broken lines
No more days of melancholy
We regret our lost memories
Your empty footsteps are fresh air
My dog sleeps till I return

Chorus:
We speak our words so easily
But in love or loss, we have to sing
To show the world our pain and glee
To prove we’ll heal from anything

By Cherish Smith, Age 16, and her mentor Vani Kannan

Performed at Girls Write Now Day March 8, 2009

I hate Mondays, Mondays are no fun
And I hate Tuesdays, ’cause Tuesdays follow Mondays
I hate Wednesdays, ’cause I sit around all day
And think about Thursdays
Which really are the worst days

And I hate Fridays too
’cause everything is due
I want to scream, I’M THROUGH!
till Saturday comes
To end my weekday blues.

By Brittany Barker, Age 15

Inspired by the April '08 Journalism Workshop, "Between Ignorance and Curiosity," and originally published on Girls Write Blog

Can a play written 86 years ago to amuse a few friends, performed by a few other friends, and about some of their own friends and relatives of the previous generation make sense to a New York City crowd who knows nothing about any of them? It is evident that Virginia Woolf has many dimensions, and my own perception of her has changed after seeing her only play, Freshwater. The play shows her fun side.

On February 13, my mentor Josleen and I met up at the Julia Miles Theater (The Women’s Project) on West 55th Street to see a first-ever production of Freshwater. It was an intimate setting. The props looked homemade, like they would have been if the play were being done in someone’s living room. The actors sometimes spoke directly to the audience, and even winked like they were telling you an inside joke. At the end, they even interacted directly with the audience. 

By Joy Smith, Age 16, and her mentor Radha Blank

Inspired by the March '09 Playwriting Workshop, "Between Night and Day"

(A WOMAN, age 35, begins a speech.)

WOMAN: Thank you. Thank you. It is an honor to be here. I would first like to thank … my family for always believing and supporting me and encouraging me to dream big. I’d then like to thank my colleagues for working so hard at supporting this dream.… Then I’d like to thank—

(She stops herself.)

WOMAN: I’d like to thank—Oh GOD! Who am I kidding!? This is crazy! Insane! What am I doing here? “But she’s a woman. Who does she think she is? She can never get the job done. Is she crazy?” Maybe … maybe I am. What am I doing? I … I don’t know.

(Just then a GIRL, 15, appears.)

WOMAN: Yes? Can I help you?

(The Girl just stares at her.)