#writopia lab

Ever had a day when you wanted to peace out and ride a cloud into the beyond? Lilliana is having that kind of day. Experience her tale only in Writopia Transformations, the latest mixed media story collection from Beyond Books in collaboration with @writopialab!

Only two days to go before we release our latest collection! Have you downloaded our app already? Make sure you're ready for Writopia Transformations on Friday 18th!

We’re so excited to be releasing Writopia Transformations on August 18th! Here’s a sneak peek at the art for one of the pieces. Hope you’re looking forward to downloading it too! Make sure you have our app on your iOS device so you can experience the collection: https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/beyond-books/id916965673?mt=8

by Anna, age 13

Sitting in a circle

On rugs not Mats

Writing about

The things

In our head

I put the suitcase on the bed

Usually I’m quiet But instead

I read

What 

I’d said 

I told 

What 

I thought 

And you

Listened

No one

Listened before 

Daisy has Anger-management issues

Talking and crying I think you need tissues

We talked

And we wrote

And we spoke

What we thought

About what you’d 

Taught 

What we felt

In that room

On rugs

Not mats

I shared things

I never would’ve 

Before

In that room

On Rugs

Not Mats

by Adowyn, age 12 

When I woke up, it took me a moment to remember what had happened.  I still hoped that it had all been nothing but a dream, but I knew that was wrong.  

The frigid air of winter met me as I walked slowly out of the cave.  The ice below my feet was slippery, but my claws held tight as I pawed my way to the top of the mountainside.  Smoke from their fires still drifted into the sky from below, fires that my anger had extinguished during the night.  

I recall thinking that this was their fault and I had every right to do what I had done, but now I know I was wrong.  There was only one thing I could have done to change this, and it wasn’t what had happened.  Instead, I had reopened the old wound, become what I had been before.  I knew I was not a creature of darkness.  I could be better than that, I could calm my anger, my instinct to despise with a sizzling hatred.  

Even now, my anger was sinking down, down, fading away to be replaced by sorrow.  I alone had destroyed these people, my people.  I was their protector, and yet now they were all gone.  

I howled at the moon above me, knowing that this time there was no going back.  It was a simple act, to cry to the moon.  Even when I was most alone, it had always made me feel like there was someone listening.  But not even the moon would listen to me now.

I slumped down the hill to my cave, thoughts racing through my mind.  I would have to leave now, and soon.  After gathering my few belongings, I left the place I had called home for many years.  

Once outside, I glimpsed my blurry reflection in the thin sheet of ice that covered the ground.  My one red eye and one purple eye blinked back at me, reminding me of who I really was.  

My image was part of me and part of my curse, the curse to be like no other and to be alone forever.  It seemed that I had forgotten that lately in my anger.  I had forgotten all the things I had lost and the many things I had yet to lose.  It was something I shouldn't have forgotten.  I promised myself that I would never again forget, but try to accept myself for who I would become and live past my horrible mistake.  

by Indie, age 15 

Our first day had only just begun and already I questioned what I had gotten myself into. Between the scratchy woodland objects as toilet paper and the bushwhacking I could feel myself weakening. As long as I kept my mind on the beautiful views and the people I was with I should make it through, I thought. But with each step came the sneaking suspicion that what was around the corner might not be as easy as I thought.

The summer before sophomore year had been planned perfectly. Just the right balance of socialization and adventure had been calculated and packing was somewhat complete with the constant push from my mom. The trip was two weeks long and I wanted every minute of it. In my mind I had made the limited description of the Appalachian Trail into a beautiful picture of a gentle woodland trail winding through the woods, the tender springy ground ever-waiting to accept my boots and help me quickly, painlessly wear them in. The new people I would meet would instantly become lifelong friends and with adorning matching packs we would happily stroll through the woods for two weeks.

I played this picture through my head the whole trip to New Hampshire. The car only had two windows that opened and our AC had been broken for months. Sitting in the backseat, I tried not to let my sweating face bother me; at least I didn’t have very much stuff, I thought. All I had with me was in one backpack in the trunk. Two white shirts, a couple pairs of underwear, a couple bandannas and a limited supply of other clothes were going to get me through these two weeks for better or for worse. At least I had cut my pack weight down to 15 pounds. I should have the lightest pack, I thought.

I was ready to live the AT life painlessly and joyfully with my 15 pounds of clothes strapped to my back. One quick parent meeting later, I was joyfully stuffing my belongings into a grungy green backpack I was issued along with half a tent I would be sharing with the only other girl on the trip, and two huge bags of group gear. The one poop shovel had been given to a hairy standoffish boy, and was thrown into his backpack where I was afraid we’d never see it again. The other girl and I were the last ones left on the grass fighting with our packs. She was 15 as well and all I knew about her was that her dad owned a Porsche convertible. Thinking back to my sticky windows and broken AC I felt a bit shy, but she agreed to share her toilet paper with me so we became fast friends.

The group was ready to set out and just by looking I knew that happy little 15 pounds had shit the bed. Now I was carrying 4 liters of water along with everything else. My back strained as I tried to pick up my pack and put it on the scale. My suspicions were correct soon after 53.5 pounds of group gear and half a tent was strapped to my back and I was left cowering and realizing I had to pee really badly still and this was the LAST chance to use a real bathroom I would have for a very long time. Maneuvering around a 53-pound pack is like having a 7-year-old cling to your waist and chest and each time the pack had to come off it entailed a new array of zipping and unclipping.

Not even a mile into our hike I could see a huge pile of boulders going up what looked to be 100 miles. Being a human teeter-totter, I had to slow my pace to something like a crawl. I felt like a 200 pound toddler trying to climb up the slide at the playground. The pack was making this incredibly hard and Cate, the only other girl, had begun singing loudly about half an hour ago. I don’t usually mind singing, I like to do it myself. But in our predicament I wasn’t in the mood to hear any more Disney songs. Thankfully the top was near, we hauled our packs onto an overlook with the most breathtaking view I have ever seen. We were only two miles from where we had started in the morning but the height we had come was incredible.

Everything was beautiful and I was starting to think the heavy pack was worth it when I realized I needed the shovel. The only problem was I was too afraid to ask the boy who was setting up a tent with the group of six other boys. Luckily Cate seemed to be unfazed by asking boys for a poop shovel so she marched right up and got it for me. We had been informed earlier by our counselors Sierra and Adam that no toilet paper was allowed. They had informed us that rocks, sticks and leaves were our best bet and we should get used to it now, as we were practicing “Leave No Trace.” Other than Cate not letting me use the toilet paper I knew she had, we were getting off to a good start.

There were tents set up but we all chose to bring our sleeping bags dangerously close to the edge to sleep under the stars. The poop shovel boy had brought his bag close to mine and began nudging me. Great…. Just great, I thought. I scooched my bag a bit closer to the edge. If I roll off the mountain tonight, I thought, it’s going to be poop shovel boy’s fault.