Glenwood City High School student, Sydney Grant, wins first place in statewide writing competition
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By LeAnn R. Ralph
GLENWOOD CITY — Sydney Grant, who will be a junior at Glenwood City High School this fall, has won first place in the Mary Jo Nettesheim Memorial Literary Competition.
The writing contest was sponsored by the Delta Kappa Gamma Wisconsin State Organization, an international society of women educators.
Sydney’s story, “Fireworks,” won first place in the statewide high school division.
She is the daughter of Nikki Simmons and Lucas Grant.
Sydney’s story is set in a worn-torn country that is not identified, although a character is said to be speaking Pashto, a language that is spoken in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iran.
Sydney found out about the writing competition through her sophomore English class. Her teacher was one of the competition organizers and encouraged her students to give it a try.
Three students from Glenwood City wrote a story for the contest.
“I have enjoyed writing since roughly first grade,” Sydney said.
“I would write short stories in my free time. As I got closer to fifth grade I started writing more seriously. I haven’t really shared them and just kept them to myself for fun,” she said.
Fireworks
Although intuitively it might seem as if writing short stories would be easier than book-length fiction because there are fewer words, short stories are tremendously difficult to write.
In a short story, every word must count, and the author only has a short amount of time to set the scene, establish characters and have something meaningful happen in the narrative.
“I enjoy writing short stories because I find it difficult to write longer stories,” Sydney said.
“When I was writing ‘Fireworks,’ I started with basic sentences and kept going back through and adding words and details. I love using adjectives, and this helps me get so many details into the story in such a short length,” she said.
“I haven’t written as much lately, but I write all over the place. I like to daydream as well when I get bored. Sometimes an idea will pop up that I think will go farther than just my thoughts and I start there,” Sydney said.
Sydney learned she had won the contest when her mother told her.
“The judges e-mailed her. I was pretty excited knowing that I had won out of all the high school entries in Wisconsin. It was a good feeling knowing that lots of people had liked reading my story,” she said.
Rules
The contest had a few rules for writers to follow.
For one thing, students were required to be in grades 3 to 12.
The story also had to be presented as a book, written and illustrated by one student with no group projects.
“If you cite your pictures, you can grab them off the Internet. As I wanted my story to be more sincere, I chose to do that. The book should be an original fiction or an enhanced personal narrative piece with well-developed characters, setting and plot. You cannot submit a research paper but they were pretty broad about the subjects of the story,” Sydney said.
“Stories can be both handwritten or typed, and for younger students, someone else can type the story for them. Books need illustrations incorporated into the text, not just at the beginning and end of the story. Books also need a designed cover and a separate title page, just as professionally printed books do,” she said.
There was no minimum number of words, but there were maximum numbers based on grade level. Third graders cannot submit more than 500 words, fourth and fifth graders cannot submit more than 600 words, sixth to eighth graders cannot turn in more than 1,000 words, and high school students are capped at 1,600 words, Sydney said.
First place contestants were invited to an awards ceremony and showcase event at the DKG Wisconsin Organization State Conference held in Fond du Lac on May 7.
Unfortunately, Sydney was unable to attend the ceremony.
“I was involved in nine State Solo Ensemble pieces in Eau Claire that same day,” she said.
Copyright
After Sydney finished her story, with the help of her mother, she got the story copyrighted.
“Through this copyright process, my story was sent to publishing companies. Dorrance Publishing Co., Inc. reached out to me all the way from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, letting me know that they were interested in my writing. Unfortunately, they don’t publish anything under 10,000 words, but they told me to reach back out to them if I decide to write something else,” Sydney said.
When asked if she might be planning to enroll in a fine arts writing program at a university after she graduates from high school, Sydney said does not know yet.
“I’m not sure what I plan on doing for college or anything quite yet, but it is a possibility,” she said.
In addition to writing, Sydney enjoys playing softball and loves being the catcher.
“I am also a volleyball libero. At home, I love drawing, baking and horseback riding,” she said.
Special request
Sydney has a special request for readers of the Tribune Press-Reporter.
“A lot of my friends and family were interested in my story. I have sent over 50 copies of my story out. A lot of people offered to pay for shipping. Instead, my mom and I have come up with a better idea,” Sydney said.
“The content of my story happens around the world every day. I have been asking for donations to help the children of Ukraine, Afghanistan and other countries in the world, including the U.S.,” she said.
“The organization ‘Save the Children’ assists children who are caught in the middle of armed conflict., forced to flee their homes, and are exposed to injury, hunger and sub-zero temperatures,” Sydney said.
“The organization can be found on the web at www.savethechildren.org. Through my research, this organization has been around since 1919. It was founded by Eglantyne Jebb, and their main focus is that EVERY child deserves a future,” she said.
“So far, I have raised over $850 in donations. A donation is not necessary, but no amount is too small. Anything you can or decide to give helps children going through things we will never comprehend. I hope everyone considers this organization,” Sydney said.
Syndey’s award-winning story is printed in its entirety below.
“Fireworks”
by Sydney Grant
The distant fireworks that young Aaban heard occurred daily. Only once had he actually seen them. They came from a long, black handheld machine that gave off a bright yellow puff that lasted shorter than a second. The echoing sound of piercing screams was as familiar as eating. Today was a more subtle day, and it confused him. The fireworks were more distant, a soft echo. It was finally safe, for once, to play in the tan, sandy streets. As Aaban entertained himself with the dust, his sister, Paksima, remained vigilant.
Aaban was far too young to understand all of what he had seen in his short lifetime or what Paksima knew. She remembered how she had stayed still, eyes wide in terror, looking at the splattered blood or holding her hands tightly to her ears as the screams rang in them. She was able to bury the memories to the back of her mind, but they would always be there. However, the scream that was forever etched into her mind was her mother’s. The pain is too fresh, too real.
She glanced back at Aaban, dragged out of her thoughts, watching as he continued to play in the sand. It was a relief to catch the sight of Aaban’s goofy, childish smile. It was a rare luxury to be able to stay in the street for longer than a minute. It had been too long since the poor kid had been able to play at all. They had both spent most of their time cowering indoors. She glanced back up as the echo came nearer. Aaban never noticed, completely unaware.
Paksima’s wide eyes scanned the horizon over and over again. No longer daring to daydream. The familiar screams were getting louder, more frightened, advancing from the neighboring community. Moisture was gathering in Paksima’s calloused hands. The young girl had taken on the burden of making a living for the now small family. She studied the sounds in the distance, and her heart started to race. Her breathing quickened as she gave Aaban a sorrowful look. She didn’t want to ruin his one chance at having a normal life.
Aaban was startled out of his luxury trance when he heard an ear curdling scream just down the street. Faster than he had had time to react, his protective sister had hauled him back into the house. She muttered quietly to herself as she tucked him and herself into the dark room where they spent most of their time when the fireworks got too loud. Aaban had gotten used to the room, but it was never comfortable. He was beginning to be quite annoyed with the room. It was hot, smelly, and extremely small for the two of them, and Paksima would never stop crying. Aaban tried to take a peek out of the crack. He eagerly wanted to see the intriguing fireworks again. Before he could even take a glance out the cupboard, Paksima had slammed it shut. Even in the darkness he could see the scowl on her face.
Today the fireworks were a bit different; they had never been so close to them. Aaban also noticed there were men shouting. Paksima must have noticed too because she sobbed harder. Paksima held her brother as tightly as she could, her heart never calming. There were men shouting orders at their peers. She had never been so scared in her life. Not only was she scared for her life, but also Aaban’s. It was her job to keep him safe. She squeezed her eyes shut as the terrified screams of women and children were cut short. She stayed in the dark room until there was silence, not daring to take a look, and making sure her brother didn’t make a sound.
Together they remained in the cupboard. Paksima was still crying, attempting to pull in a proper breath. She was too scared to go back into the open. She had managed to breathe properly, but her jagged breathing immediately returned when she heard the men’s voices once again. She peeked through the crack of the tight room to see a glimpse of men. There had to be at least ten, four of them were in the room, and she knew there were more outside. They were dressed in all black, with only their eyes visible. They muttered to each other making sure they weren’t missing anything. The clattering sounds from the road confirmed Paksima’s suspicions. There were more of them rummaging through the rubble of the streets. There was a thick cloud of dust that hung in the air, and blood splattered on the streets. She quickly shut the gap and held her breath. Her new automatic reaction.
She listened carefully while the men continued to shout at each other. They made sure that they were searching every inch of the destruction. From the outside the cupboard looked just like a cupboard, but it was a perfect hiding place for a small, frightened child to hide. One of the men nodded their head at the others motioning his fingers in a silent order. The men in the room approached the little cupboard with stealth. The leader of them, it seemed, flung the plywood door aside. He smuggly grinned as he saw, huddled together, a petrified girl that looked roughly thirteen and a small boy that couldn’t be older than four. The arrogant leader held his hand out towards the boy, a devilish smirk hiding behind his pitch black turban. His convincing eyes disguised the wickedness within.
Paksima had a deathgrip on her brother. The man holding his hand out effortlessly lifted
the two out of the dark room. Two of the other men with him forcefully peeled her grip from her brother. Free from Paksima’s grasp, Aaban took the man’s hand, grateful to finally be out of the cramped cupboard. His ears rang from the thunderous cracks of the fireworks leaving him temporarily deaf. The man guided him back into the streets where they were approached by more men wearing black. “He’ll be perfect, don’t you think?” The leader questioned the others in Pashto. Aaban smiled at them, too distracted to notice his older sister struggling. His ears blocked his sister’s pained screams. The two men who had pried Paksima off of her brother violently dragged her to the streets. She thrashed like crazy trying to break free and get to her Aaban. Her tears were a constant flow of remorse.
The leader nodded at the two holding Paksima. He casually turned back to Aaban and guided him away from his sister and towards more boys his age at the end of the street. Aaban smiled and waved at his peers. From there they continued their way towards the heavy-duty vehicles, all the boys in tow. Aaban was still completely oblivious of his sister.
Paksima sobbed as she saw her brother get taken away from her. She knew exactly what would happen to him. The feeling of remorse overtook her, and her knees gave out from underneath her. She collapsed knowing she had failed. The two men loosened their grip on her, one of them taking out his weapon. Paksima squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it would be quick. A short moment passed and her body remained with the others in the dusty street now covered in blood. She lay there restless as blood spilled from her chest, tears still running down her cheeks. Down the street Aaban smiled as he heard another firework go off.