By erica l. kaufman
The music is pausing, resting, and the boys and girls with scarred up arms and cigarette mouths are talking, but I am curled up like a gargoyle, sitting on the stoop outside, looking at the black starless sky […]
Please join us in congratulating the winner and runners-up in our #EnchantedYARN poetry contest!
The winners Margarita Engle chose include a YARN Alum, a published poet, and a writer just sending out her first novel.
Two poems by teen writer, Kathryn Hasson.
Letters to No One
Because it’s 12:00 am and the stars outside are beautiful //
They’re freaking amazing //
And I can’t sleep, because it’s 12:00 am […]
Outtakes by Dana Walrath.
from “Like Water on Stone”
Together we pray for a time //
when it will be safe //
for our grandchild to know //
his mother was Armenian. […]
Poem by Micah Cronin.
Poetry Peddlers Anonymous
Then you will paint them a mural instead, //
with every color you know.[…]
Haiku by Leza Lowitz.
The Single Pine
I want to become, //
frozen at 2:46 […]
Here is a fantasy short story by YARN’s youngest ever teen fiction writer, Christina Im!
The suitors smile, and I resist the urge to cover my eyes from the light stabbing them. It is late evening in the palace ballroom; the windows are firmly shut so the dark cannot touch us. But the gleeful, sharp brightness of the chandelier […}
This 5 Question interview with Jennifer Donnelly picks up where our last, from 2012, left off–and a lot has happened since then! One of her novels was named a Best YA by TIME Magazine, and she’s published a new fantasy series as well. Read on about this bestselling YA and adult novelist.
Kerri is super excited to bring you this fascinating essay, and hopes it inspires more writers to tell stories from their own lives and submit them to YARN.
By Shannon Bushee
The first time I realized that something was wrong with my legs was an October afternoon a few years ago, during my senior year of high school. I was walking home from school […]
By Beth Grosart
“This is our time,” Matty says as he walks up the front steps of Taylor Winkle’s house ahead of me.
He stops and turns, waiting for me to catch up. I’m glad he wants to walk in together.
“I don’t even get what that means.” I laugh.
Matty stretches his arms out, turning to face me. “This. Is. Our. Time.”