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ROSALIND BLACK
YEARS AS MENTOR: 3
OCCUPATION: Administrative Assistant, HarperCollins Publishers
BORN: Minneapolis, MN
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: The day Kimberley told me about her first college acceptance letters, I felt my heart burst with so much pride and happiness. Kimberley works and has worked so hard over the course of these three years, and I can’t express how excited I am to see her continue her journey of exploring, learning, and growing. Between her incredible imagination and her penchant for trying new things, I am certain amazing adventures await her.
Grey
KIMBERLEY GARCIA
I wanted to write a story about Grey, a girl who remembers her past life while visiting the museum with her friends. In her past life, she was betrayed by someone close to her, but she decides not to let that fear control her in the present day.
As we head onward, Eddie pulls both mine and Lilia’s arms toward a painting.
“Hey, Eddie, where are you taking us?”
“Guys, you have to check this out!” Eddie yells, even though we are right behind her. Eddie has been my friend since before we were born, because our parents are friends. I befriended Lilia when I was in elementary school, and Lilia defended me and Eddie when boys used to pick on us. Whenever one of us is feeling down, we all have a sleepover. We don’t want them to suffer alone.
“This is Emperor Jaquan.” Eddie raises her hand toward the painting.
“So what,” Lilia says.
I stare at Emperor Jaquan. He stands tall, his long, blond hair seems like liquid gold. I feel a shiver run down my spine when I stare at his blue eyes for too long. His appearance is that of royalty: nothing too gaudy, a warrior’s sword, shoes to demonstrate his wealth, a strong, handsome jaw … and a clenched hand to choke you.
“Emperor Jaquan is rumored to be the greatest ruler of all time,” Eddie continues.
“How so?” Lilia says with her arms crossed and head tilted to the side.
I grab my arm, squeezing it very tightly. I don’t know why, but there is this anger inside of me suddenly bubbling up.
“Emperor Jaquan took the throne when he was in his late teens. Before that, the empire was totally corrupt due to his uncle who ruled with an iron fist,” Eddie says.
I clench my jaw.
“How did Emperor Jaquan get the throne?”
“Emperor Jaquan challenged his uncle Edo to a duel and Jaquan won.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
“What?” Both Lilia and Eddie say.
Somewhere inside of me I feel as if I’m forgetting something very important.
I ran, my legs moved, while my lungs breathed in and out. I was about to reach the garden when I felt something grab my ankle and I fell forward against the pavement. I pressed my arms against the floor in order to properly get up, but as I did I felt two ropes bind my hands that restricted my body to move. Axes were placed in front of me so I wouldn’t resist.
My body was dragged across the courtyard, and six soldiers surrounded me. I was taken to the courtyard where two people sat down at the table. One of the people stood up and descended from the small staircase—I saw it was my cousin Jaquan.
My childhood friend Jaquan, who always played silly pranks on me, helped me run away from the maid, and always gave me extra milk whenever I got sick.
I looked at Jaquan: to tell me that it was a lie—he would never do this. The harder I stared at him the more his eyes seemed hollow and lifeless.
I struggled to get free of the chains. My body felt feverish, my skin screamed in pain when the chain drew my blood.
“In order to save this land, you need to die, Princess Haiiro Coelus.”
“Jaquan, why are you doing this?” I asked shakily.
“The people of Coelus suffer while you and your family live the life of luxury here, ignorant of the pain you cause.”
“Lies! You are lying!” I yelled.
His eyes were cold and lifeless. The blue eyes that were once warm and gentle were gone. He stared at me as if I were nothing—a worthless person.
I felt a tug on my chain. I looked around and saw the soldiers around me were at a distance. One approached me with a spear in one hand. I couldn’t escape my awaiting death and just one last time I looked at Jaquan. My memories of the time we spent together filled my mind.
As the spear was about to pierce me, an arrow shot at the soldier and he fell to the ground in front of me. Another soldier grunted as he fell, too. Soon all the guards were down and an arrow hit the one next to Jaquan.
I heard the sound of footsteps next. Jaquan’s eyes widened when he saw the shooter at close range. The figure stood in front of me—Rua.
Rua’s grip tightened on his bow and Jaquan raised his sword. They began to fight, and Rua quickly knocked out Jaquan, ending their fight momentarily.
“Haiiro, we need to leave now.”
I looked down, refusing to meet Rua’s brown eyes. I crawled back. I couldn’t speak, afraid Rua might kill me.
Rua brushed his black hair back with one hand. Bending one knee so that his blue kimono dragged on the floor, he held his spear in one hand and reached his other out to me.
“Haiiro, I’m on your side.”
I extended my hand to him. I remembered the time when Rua was an orphan living all alone and I offered to let him live with me. Rua never once left my side when he moved into the palace.
“Rua, let’s go home.”
I grabbed onto Rua’s hand.
I look down to notice that two people are holding my hand.
The Outcome
ROSALIND BLACK
This humorous piece is for anyone struggling to say their piece because they are nervous of how someone might react. I say throw caution to the wind and let it out!
Do you know what fills me with dread and pumps my blood with anxiety? What makes me break into a cold sweat and mope for days, deliberating? The thing that makes my mouth dry as a sponge at the science museum and my breath catch in my throat? Well, here it is: telling someone something. But I grit my teeth and do it. All. The. Time. What’s my secret? There are many tips and tricks for making yourself known to others, but the thing that I need to hear again and again in my anxiety-riddled haze is: Don’t get attached to the outcome.
I’ve heard this wisdom many times from many people, from my therapist to my mom. It’s the idea that, in any given situation (mainly of the social variety), you only have control over yourself—your own personal portion of attitudes, words, actions, and reactions. Think of it as a sort of “I’m rubber, you’re glue” situation. (But let’s not assume that anyone will be hurling insults at you over the course of your super-mature communication session that you arranged because you’re an adult, damn it!)
This tactic acts as both offense and defense when managing yours and others’ feelings in the face of confrontation. It’s defensive, giving you a semblance of security while you’re baring your soul to another person (“I’m rubber”), and offensive, allowing you to actually put the words out there, whatever they may be. (Let’s skip the “you’re glue” bit. I think that undermines the grown-up thing we’re going for.)
What thoughts, feelings, and observations am I going around spewing everywhere?, you might ask (fair). That’s none of your business, but I am a proponent of clear and plentiful communication. When I have a better understanding of someone and feel they understand me—to the extent we can understand each other, given all beings outside ourselves are unknowable and I feel unknown to myself most days of the week—I feel more at ease moving forward in a relationship. Of course, sometimes I must communicate that a relationship has reached its close, which can be painful. But one simply cannot get attached to the outcome! Forge ahead, fierce and gentle warrior of communication!
Now that you are a pro at speaking your truth, I leave you with this: Choose your battles wisely, because this is exhausting.
YEARS AS MENTEE: 2
GRADE: Senior
HIGH SCHOOL: Stuyvesant High School
BORN: Dhaka, Bangladesh
LIVES: Queens, NY
PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Scholastic Art & Writing Awards: two Gold Keys
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: There are a lot of things I would not have accomplished without Alikay. Without having known her, I would be a muted version of the bold individual I am now. I would have never acknowledged my identity as a writer. I would have never changed my negative outlook on life into a positive one. (I also wouldn’t have found my phone that one time without her guidance.)
ALIKAY WOOD
YEARS AS MENTOR: 2
OCCUPATION: Editor, Guideposts
BORN: Sacramento, CA
LIVES: Queens, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: It’s been my great honor to grow with Senjuti these past two years. Together we have seen a one-woman play, haunted Chipotles across Manhattan, visited the Harry Potter: A History of Magic exhibit, and spent countless hours laughing on the train. Senjuti is exceptional in every way. How diligently she works, how deeply she thinks about the world, and how hard she fights to choose joy over anxiety. I absolutely adore her—even when she loses her phone and we have to spend two hours on the subway tracking it down.
Senjuti Gayen Is—
SENJUTI GAYEN
It is a bold thing to acknowledge who you are. I emulated the poem “Ishle Yi Park Is—” by Ishle Yi Park. Her openness inspired me to write honestly about my identity.
Senjuti Gayen Is—
A story to be told.
Moonlight pouring through a large window, filling a library.
Hermione Granger’s biggest fan.
A mess. With wild waves of hair highlighting that particular quality.
An enigma. Her favorite word.
The last breath you take before diving, the one you fill yourself with.
Crimson lipstick staining lips.
Hungry and ambitious. For a few pomegranate seeds, and a bit of power.
A piano key pressed accidentally.
Lost. She can’t find her map. She had it a few seconds ago.
A curious cat, not yet killed.
The arrangement of a few words, ink pooling at the tip of each letter.
A well of existential dread; don’t fall in.
Trying to write her truths. She wonders, What is the truth?
The wind whispering when the world has hushed.
The sharpness of paper, the bead of blood that builds when it slices.
Afraid of being a mistake personified.
The slinking of a shadow, disappearing into the night.
An action potential on a nerve cell.
An eternal soul. She believes in reincarnation, in the idea of living once, and then again.
Purnima: full moon in Bengali. Her unofficial middle name.
When the sun melts into the sky: the light of the evening. That’s what Senjuti means, after all.
Senjuti Gayen Is—
A story not yet finished.
Alikay Wood Is—
ALIKAY WOOD
I’m not much of a poet, but Senjuti told me to “be bold,” so here we are. I was inspired by the evocative imagery of Senjuti’s piece and her boldness in owning her identity.
Alikay Wood Is—
A journey to be taken.
The first light of morning, soft but strong.
Not good at poems. But willing to give it a go.
Afraid of rats and mice and things that crawl.
A liar and good at it.
The sting of a cut on the tongue.
The sharpness in lungs when your heart is working hard.
A book with a cracked spine and cornered pages.
A full voice breaking on the high note.
A head hitting a stone wall until it aches.
Purple prose and formulaic fiction.
Without apology.
A chosen name.
Stars on a map. Lemon squeezed over fish.
The smell of grass poking from the dirt.
Grime under your fingernails.
Fire sparking.
Alikay Wood Is—
A quest under way.
ISABEL GOLIGHTLY
YEARS AS MENTEE: 1
GRADE: Junior
HIGH SCHOOL: Millennium Brooklyn High School
BORN: New York, NY
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: I remember the first time I was finally able to share my inner voice with Daryl through one of my poems. I knew then what it was to be a writer, to take pride in something that was created by me. Daryl has helped me through my writing process and has been patient whenever I have hit a wall. Joining the Girls Write Now program has helped me to be a better writer and a better me.
DARYL CHEN
YEARS AS MENTOR: 2
OCCUPATION: Ideas Editor, TED
BORN: New York, NY
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: I’ve been writing and editing for a long time, and I’ve definitely fallen into certain habits. Isabel’s openness and willingness to experiment and to try new, risky things in her work have inspired a welcome freshness in my own creativity. I’ve been thrilled to see her develop as a writer, and I look forward to seeing what the future brings.
subway miNd
ISABEL GOLIGHTLY
When I first heard Ctrl + B, I thought about boldness, and then I had to ask myself this question: Am I bold? I considered my experiences when I was most unguarded—riding the train—and I realized in that moment I was bold.
When people stare at me
between steel train walls,
tall pride
turns to giant fear.
Curls sour
palms pulse
but I can’t stop being me.
Can’t shrink
can’t
no
won’t
punish me for me,
for boldness
for truth.
So I craft poems in my head,
tapping out beats
to
each word
and soon
curls bounce
pride sweetens
and eventually
people
fade.
Awe on the MTA, or The Boldest Thing I Ever Saw on the New York City Subway
DARYL CHEN
I wanted my piece to complement Isabel’s, and in this poem, I recall an act of boldness that I once saw on the subway.
A young man shakes
Screams
twitches
flails his arms at unseen tormentors
creates his own wide space in the crowded car.
We edge away
avert our eyes
but he is much too wild too loud too much to ignore.
“I saw him at the Fulton Street station,” whispers a woman. “I was worried he’d fall off the platform, so I brought him onto the train. Now I don’t know what to do.”
We look at her.
Why did she do this to us?
A man
a big man
a broad man
a man you’d shy away from if you saw him late at night on the street
gets up from his seat.
He walks toward the young man,
and we brace for what is to come.
He reaches the man
and reaches out his arms
in
a
giant hug.
“Are you off your meds? You’re okay. Buddy, you’re okay. I got you,” he whispers.
When I exit at my stop,
they are still
locked
in
an
embrace.
JAYLA GREENBERG
YEARS AS MENTEE: 1
GRADE: Freshman
HIGH SCHOOL: Abraham Lincoln High School
B
ORN: New York, NY
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: From working with my mentor, Caroline, I have learned so many new and interesting concepts. Working with Caroline, from sharing our writing to discussing the latest books we’ve read, has taught me how to grow and flourish in this field. She helps me improve my work without changing its meaning, and that’s what a great teacher intends. Girls Write Now as a whole has challenged my perceptions of writing and deadlines and other key components, and I have grown from this a great deal.
CAROLINE FULFORD
YEARS AS MENTOR: 1
OCCUPATION: Data Librarian, Hagerty Consulting
BORN: Westwood, NJ
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: At our first meeting, Jayla seemed a bit shy, but then she pulled out the book she had been reading, a huge paperback copy of Stephen King’s It, and I knew we would have plenty to talk about. When I started as a mentor, I was a bit nervous after discovering that my mentee would be a freshman. But to my relief, Jayla was already an omnivorous reader and a sophisticated writer—much more so than I was at that age. I soon found that we could make progress on our projects as fellow students of the craft.
Beachbound
JAYLA GREENBERG
With a scenic beach day and a nagging conscience, this story explores the testing of boundaries. This new experience of rule-breaking brought out the boldness in my younger self, which serves me well into adulthood.
All that stood between us and the beautiful boardwalk of Manhattan Beach were a couple of metal bars, daring us to test our limits. My best friends Risha, Littal, and I had played hooky that day. As big as it is, New York can sometimes feel like a small town, and we looked around for anyone we knew who could tattle on us. But everyone seemed occupied with the beautiful day. They strolled by or sat and soaked in the sun’s rays. An older man fed the ducks and swans morsels of bread.