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Mentors' Award

Congratulations to Joanne Sweeney, winner of the September/October Mentors' Award!

Each session of Fiction 99, students are asked to submit stories that deal with the theme of Writopia. The entries then go through a vigorous judging by all the Mentors to determine which story best demonstrates the concepts learned in Fiction 99.

There were many wonderful stories written by many talented writers. Picking just one was very difficult.

Joanne was a member of the Victor O'Reilly study group. We are happy to present her story for your reading enjoyment.

WRITOPIA!

"Lost, that's it! That's what I am, lost!" Julia kicked at the ground. "There's no other way to describe this. I should have stayed on those marked trails." Just then, she saw it. It lay in a spot of sunlight, half hidden under the dirt at her feet, a folded paper boldly marked: TO WRITOPIA!

Writopia would be better than to nowhere, she thought, picking up the paper as she walked to a nearby river. Using her writing pad for a dry seat on a damp log, Julia sat down. She sighed with relief just to rest after her long fruitless hike further and further into the wilderness of the huge park land. Looking at the river beside her, she envied it. It bubbled over the rocks, running fast downhill, sure of its destination, oblivious to her and the dilemma she faced.

Fighting the onset of tears, Julia forcefully wiped her eyes. These hours of hiking have gotten me nowhere but confused, she thought, but I'm not letting this get me. She sat straight up, lifted her chin, pressed her lips tight and unfolded the paper she held. "A map! Oh, wow!" She looked around to share this amazing object with someone, but no one was there to witness it. OK, she thought, it's me and the map. That's it.

A carefully drawn path on the map ended at a picture of a simple wood structure, with the name WRITOPIA! The word start appeared by a drawing of the river, log and a map. Just exactly where I am, she thought with some hope. Puzzled as she perused the map, her eyes opened wide as hope turned to alarm. "I am right in the middle of The Incomprehensible Thicket, sitting by the River Of Redundancy. I need to get out of here."

Julia stood, stuffed her writing tablet in her back pack, and walked carefully across the large oak that lay fallen over the river. Off in the distance she saw three figures apparently studying some papers while gesturing excitedly as they walked. Studious but peculiar, Julia thought, I'm not approaching them. Checking the map she saw they were by the Purple Prose Pit Falls. Cautiously avoiding them, she crept through thick woods, wishing she could see the crashing purple falls.

"Oh, oh, I better watch out for this." She saw on the map she was very close to the Cliff of Dangling Participles. Still staring at her map, she tripped and went over the edge. Just in time, she grabbed one of the branches and yelled for help.

She didn't wait long for a face to peer over at her. "Grab my hand, I'm here to help. My name is Mentor."

When safely at the top, Julia took a hard look at him, a young man, hair a bit too long and clothes a little worn. He had a friendly look though. No one to fear, she thought, and I'm not in position to be picky.

"I'm Julia. I sure could use some help." After shaking dirt off the crumpled map, she brushed the leaves off her sweat soaked shirt. "I found this map after I got myself lost. Do you know where we are?"

"Yes," he said, "and it's my job to help you. Come on, follow me. I know the way. But you have to use more caution through these problem areas."

"Well, pardon me." She glared at him. "I'm doing the best I can. Right now that includes a very sore ankle."

"And here's another thing, you have to take criticism with an open mind. Let's move along now." Mentor started off at a brisk pace. "Keep your eye on me."

Julia limped along, hoping for no more lectures, but ready now to follow anyone who knew their way. Dazed from her fall, she paused to gaze about the landscape. A grove of apple trees, loaded with ripe juicy fruit, caught her attention. What luck, she thought. With a growling stomach she turned toward the beckoning orchard. She reveled in the fine sweet taste of the first food of the afternoon until a shout from Mentor interrupted her pleasure. Blast it, she thought, I'd like to stay here all day.

"Julia, there you are. Good I found you. Don't you see that?" He rolled his eyes with exasperation, and pointed to the sign, Writers Block -- Dead End! "You're in big trouble here and you'd be stuck if I hadn't found you in time. Picking an apple for himself, Mentor motioned for her to follow him out of the terrible tempting place.

As Mentor headed toward the Punctuation Potholes, he turned to her. "I'm warning you, it's easy to trip up here, so watch your step. Don't fall, but if you look off to the left you'll see Grammarians Graveyard. Quite a few are turning over in there, I'm told."

Discouraged by so many admonitions and exhausted from her day of hiking, Julia began to lag behind. Mentor took pity on her. "We can sit down. You take in the view while I take a look at your writing."

"Help yourself." Too tired to object, Julia handed him her backpack. She sat and stared at the nearby sign with the name Point of View. Curious, she thought. "Mentor, I have to ask why is this such a long hard walk through such bizarre places?"

"It's a test," he answered, "to see if you can take criticism and are willing to work. We all work here when we have a need. But you get a break now. The Syntax Swamp, where a lot of us get lost, comes up next. I had to help three writers out of it just today. You're lucky you can skip it for now. Just hang in there. After we pass Spell Check Point we're almost there."

"I wish I knew exactly what I'm headed for." Julia's voice wavered.

"I'll tell you about the place, while we walk." Mentor looked into Julia's sad scared eyes. "Long ago, our leader, Rhytop, gathered us together to build a wondrous place for writers. His mission was to give writers a community offering comfort, inspiration, camaraderie, resources, and guidance. He knew so many lonely writers worked with no feedback or encouragement."

"We labored long, for the love of it. We cleared the way, built the place, marked this path, and made the map for you and others like you. You'll find friendship and direction as we help one another. You'll need to help too."

Fascinated at this long speech, Julia thought awhile about the amazing story. "I am overwhelmed at what you tell me, and overjoyed if it's true."

"You'll see when we get there, but let's move along. Nightfall's coming." They rounded a sharp turn in the path, and there in front of them was a crystal lake named Sea of Despair.

Julia was horrified. "Do I swim this?"

"No. This is your last hurdle, though. Despair's a common problem for writers, so keep up your spirits. Here's our boat. Hop in, I'll row. You may hear a Passive Voice as we go, but I'll guide us away from it."

The calm water, cool evening air, and far off sound of a passive voice lulled Julia soon to sleep. She dreamed of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Mentor, in a burst of sympathy, let her sleep until they reached the far shore. "This is it," he announced, helping her out. And there, Julia saw the sign WRITOPIA! carved in wood above large double doors.

"Rhytop is waiting to greet you, let's go inside."

"He's still alive?" Julia's eyes lit up in surprise.

"Of course. He'll always be alive. He's a writer, you know." He held the door as she stepped just inside and stopped still.

Looking about in wonder, Julia saw a group of welcomers in the vast paneled hallway. They smiled at her. Rhytop came to her, calling her name, and bowing low. Julia smiled nervously at him.

"You have no need to be afraid here, Julia. We are all friends together, each one working a little differently, but toward the same goal." He looked down at the wrinkled paper she carried. "You'll find inspiration and guidance. Come, pick your spot." Rhytop gestured with wide open arms to indicate the possibilities for her.

As Julia glanced about the room, she saw the many doors, each with a handsome hand carved sign above it. One said Hemingway, one Dante, another Steinbeck, another Shakespeare, and on and on.

Then she saw the one that read Saint Exupery. Turning back to Rhytop, she pointed to the sign, her face and eyes asking the question. "Go right in," he said, "if that's where you want to start. You'll find all you need there. And he's waiting for you just inside the door."