After receiving over 200 submissions from all over Orlando, the competition was narrowed down to 15 winners from 9 local high schools. To reward their efforts, Annalemma is publishing the winning short stories and essays in an anthology called Wars Are Dumb: Orlando High Schoolers Write the Wrongs of Adults. The collection will also feature cover art and unique illustrations, inspired by each of the 15 selections, by local artist Brandon Rapert (check out the book cover on the left!).

Despite the snarky title, the pieces within are testaments to the authors’ maturity, and will be certain to impress kids, as well as adults. The book features a range of topics and genres: “The Colony” and “How Children Changed the World” offer dystopian fictions both bleak and hopeful; “Active Citizenship” is a levelheaded, well-researched call to action for eligible voters; and memoirs vary from the stresses of AP classes to growing up without parents.

In honor of the book’s publication, Page 15 is throwing a book release party on May 18^th at Urban ReThink (625 E. Central Blvd.) from 6pm to 9pm.  The young authors will be on hand to read selections from the book, as well as sign copies (should you want to get an autograph and say you knew them when…). Entry is free, and Wars Are Dumb will be on sale, with 100% of the proceeds going to Page 15, who hopes to make the high school writing contest/anthology an annual event.

We hope you come out and show your support for Orlando’s brilliant young writers.

excerpts from PLEDGE

This society has molded me
Into their own little American
But Haiti I will always be.
Since Saturday May 16
I’ve realized that I have no voice
Because I speak with a native tongue
To a country that’s not my own
Both place to a place
I no longer know

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America…
With my hands clasped to my chest
Four fingers glued together with one appendage
Covering my heart
I hand this pledge
Five days a week for 17 years
I’ve been an American
But you can’t see
The Haitian stamp on my triceps
Creole tattooed on my tongue
And my roots of sugar canes
With the blood of my ancestors
That flows through me…

And to the republic for which it stands…
I stand from falling so deep
In quicksand…

One nation…
Two parents to one birth
Two sides to one tongue
And if home is where your heart is
Then I’ll never be homeless
Because my heart lies in my poem…

from Dear Poetry,

I hate you
Like I hate words spoken by poets who murder my innocence
Telling me tall tales of sorrow and hatred
I don’t like you
You’re talking to me but…
I don’t care
I don’t care about your hurt or your pain
I don’t care what the white man did
I don’t care what’s right or fair
I don’t care about your bi-racial hair
I don’t care if you’re this girl or that girl
Silly girl or fat girl
I don’t like you poetry
With your words spoken flowingly
With your rhythm and rhyme the necessity to keep tine
Bring us back to past times
Of ragtime
I hate you poetry

Dear Poetry, you confuse me
I mean aren’t all words spoken?
It’s not hard being milk’s favorite cookie
No need for self expression
No lyrical conversations
Self medication
Or creative procreation
When you come from a world where everything is served on platinum platter
And the only argument is whose wallet is fatter
Or who can be sadder
Or write something that really matters
I don’t understand you
Poetry, I don’t understand you
How can we learn if we refuse to ask questions
Because we fear the results?
Well it has occurred to me, poetry, that I can’t comprehend long enough
To learn to be your friend
I don’t get you

Dear Poetry,
You’re boring
I’ve been told that TS Eliot is “killing it”
But the only thing he’s been killing lately is my brain cells
When you talk my mind starts to wander
To places there yonder
To boots and boys
To my new toys
Cell phones and iPods
Or that guy’s hot bod
Poetry, you are uninteresting
Poetry, you’re that Goth kid who no one likes
Because he sits in the back and wears tall lack boots like he goes on hikes
Or that cute boy who has no personality
But insists upon being taken seriously
Poetry, you’re dull
Just like the pencil you use to write your pretty little lies
So dark and foreboding
So scary and ongoing
You’re a snore, Poetry

…

…like the founding fathers before us, we hold these truths to be self-evident…

Er, um, ahem… What is the Friday club, you ask? Only the coolest, hippest, craziest, most awesome, amazing, radical, tubular, bodacious, alasse’ eina, ever! Okay, we think technically that last word was Elvish for bodacious.

Anyway… each week of the Friday Club features a new experience for our club members. On any given Friday, we could be doing anything from journal-making

to planning goals for the future

to doing yoga

to just playing silly games and having fun. To put it best, it’s a mix of education, creativity and imagination, life skills, new experiences… and did we mention pizza?

If you fancy yourself and expert in the field of [insert cool, kid-friendly topic] and would like to plan a workshop for our Friday Club kids, contact Phil.

*     *     *

8:00 AM , Monday

It all started Monday morning. As the bustling
city finally woke, my telephone buzzed. The
department was calling. You see, I’m a detective, Detective Volfe.  They were calling me to investigate
a brutal murder.  I called my partner, a beautiful poodle by the name of Volga and we met at the crime scene.

It was a cardboard box, obviously a pig’s home, and it was burning. A dirty, bloody pig lay beside it, motionless on the floor, with blood pouring from his body and seeping to the trash. It smelled like bacon.

“Check for a pulse,” said Volga.

“No pulse,” I responded.

We waited for the coroner. He pulled up ten minutes later.

“Cause of death?” I asked the coroner. He studied the body.

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” he said.

“I thought so. Looks like he was drunk and got into a fight with a local passerby.  You can tell by the broken Vodka bottle and cut right here along his forehead.”

Volga and I started asking around for witnesses. We found a single witness, a pig by the name of Swiney. He had recorded the murder on his phone. I watched it.

“Let me in,” a mysterious voice ordered.

“Who’s—hiccup—there?” said the pig. He was clearly intoxicated.

Next there was a scream and unrecognizable dialogue. Then a CLANG! CLANG!  The murder weapon: a bat.

“This is for my brother,” a voice muttered.

I turned to Swiney and asked the question we all needed to know the answer to, “Did you know this pig?”

“No,” he replied.

2:00 PM, Monday

Deciding to do a DNA test on the piece of ham, we took him to the lab, otherwise known as the HQ. At the front desk a pig met us sobbing and screaming, “That’s my brother!”

As I approached the squealer, I noticed bloodstains on his shirt, bags under his eyes and the smell of liquor seeping from his pores.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“His brother,” he answered. “Um, let me explain. His name was Stye … well that’s our last name. His first name was Pig.”

“Go figure,” I scoffed.

“He had swine flu and I was going to check on him. I’m John by the way.”

“Why didn’t he stay with you, John?”

Something seemed fishy.

“Um … my apartment isn’t fit for more than … um … one person.”

He was hiding something and my partner could sense it too.

“Well, we’ll let you know when we find the killer,” she said, flicking her beautiful coat to and fro.

5:00 PM, Monday

We decided to stop by John’s house to check in on him. After knocking for ten minutes, it was time to force our way into his apartment. You should have seen the way Volga broke down the door. Wow.

Immediately upon the door opening, we were slapped with a sour, rotten smell. Blood stains plagued the carpet.  Volga made her way to the kitchen. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. I followed pursuit.

“Holy Shiztu!” I muttered. Bodies were draped on the wall like curtains—pigs, cats, dogs, birds, everything—blood dripped from each.

“Do you think John killed them?” Volga asked.

“I think so… Where is John?” I replied. I walked into the bedroom and caught a glimpse of
myself in the mirror. I had matted fur, dirty and grimy. My suit was wrinkled and messy. Thoughts raged through my head. Maybe after this I should apply to med school. Sigh. There was no way the girl of my dreams, Volga, could like me like this! There’s no way! Something as perfect as her couldn’t want this. Maybe I should just settle down and go get some Tequila with my Chihuahua friends…. crazy Mexicans. I smoothed my hair as I walked away from the mirror.

“Volfe, over here,” she said to me. I walked into the bathroom and there was John, hanging there with a rope around his neck and a gunshot to the head.  “Looks like a hanging ham,” I joked.

We searched the place top to bottom, no gun. I ventured outside the apartment and asked the neighbors if they saw anything.  To my surprise Swiney was one of the neighbors! He told us he heard something say, “This is for my brother!” Then he heard a gunshot. He peeked out of his window and saw a masked wolf fleeing the scene of the crime.

9:00 PM, Monday

Took the bodies down to the lab. I asked Volga to dinner tonight. She rejected me, again, of course. What can I do to get her? I’ve pondered this for weeks. I passed out at around 11:00, alone.

7:30 AM, Tuesday

Woke up to a call from Volga.

“Get up sleepy head!” she said in her Italian accent.

“I’m up! What’s up?” I replied.

“There’s someone here at the station you should meet.”

“Ok, doll, on my way.”

30 Minutes later

I arrived to my destination only to meet yet another pig.

“Hello detective, I am Sir Pigsalot, maybe you’ve heard of me?” he said in his annoying British accent I so loathe. I scanned him. He was middle aged in a white business suit, obviously wealthy and wasn’t afraid to show it.

“Actually, no I’ve never heard of you,” I said in disgust as Volga checked him out. Maybe she likes ‘em rich. Maybe if I was wealthy?

“Bloody shame, John was my closest friend. Please inform me of any developments, Cherrie-Oh!”

10 minutes later

“Hey, Volga, you want to go get a bite to eat?” I asked nervously.

“Sure! I’d love that!” Emotion filled me to the brim, she said she would, she said yes! Off we drove to the diner, talking all the while.

12:30 PM, Tuesday
After the meal with Volga, I was intoxicated with love. But it was cut short when we got a call. Sir Pigsalot’s mansion was burning. We rushed down to find Sir Pigsalot cut up.

“Looks like a pork chop,” I joked. Volga laughed. It was the first time she’d laughed at my
joke.

We rode with Swiney in the ambulance. He was unconscious.

2:30 PM, Tuesday

We were standing next to Swiney’s bedside when he awoke. He coughed.  “Hey,” he muttered.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I was in the bathroom when I heard someone say, ‘This is for my brother!’ Then I heard an
explosion and then I blacked out.” Swiney closed his eyes. “I might know who the killer is.”

“Who!” Volga and I exclaimed in unison.

“Well, three years ago, Stye, John, Pigsalot and I set up a wolf by the name of Jose. When the cops were trying to arrest him, he shot at them and ended up dead. Now his brother Mark is out to get us!”

I thought for a few minutes and came up with a plan.

“I have a plan,” I announced.

5:00 PM, Tuesday

I was holding post outside Swiney’s apartment. A wolf in a mask pulled up in an old beat-up Crown Victoria. He made his way to Swiney’s door. Knock! Knock!

“Who is it?” Swiney answered.

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in!” the wolf mumbled.

“Who is there?” Swiney repeated.

“You s-s-set up my brother!” the wolf stammered.

“Mark?!”

“This is for my brother!” Mark screamed. He broke down the door and pulled out a gun.

I ran to tackle Mark. He pulled out his gun and shot at Volga. I jumped in front of her to protect her.

“Ahhh!” The bullet hit me in the shoulder. Volga screamed my name. I clutched my arm and dizziness overwhelmed me. Black out!

Epilogue – Five Years Later

The Big Bad Wolf—that’s what we call him—was charged with murder. Currently, he’s waiting to be cooked. As for me, Volga and I are married with nine pups. I’m also a physician.  I guess you could say … we lived happily ever after.

The End

PART 1 of 2

Edward Bloor is a fifty-nine-year-old writer, born in Trenton, New Jersey and living in Winter Garden, Florida.  He is most famous for his award-winning, young adult novel, Tangerine. He has written six other young adult novels. He also has a day job at a publishing company, where he edits textbooks (the ones we use!).

The Howard Hype staff had the opportunity to sit down and ask him a few questions about being an author.  Below is the first part of the interview, stories of his life and experience.

(Make sure to pick up Tangerine, which is about a young, legally blind soccer player dealing with aspects of a new community while also finding out the secrets of his past. And check the Hype next Monday for the second part of the interview, a piece dedicated to learning the novel’s back story.)

~Sam H.

What was your childhood like?
Well I played soccer up in New Jersey and it was very, very serious. There was a Ukrainian team and Polish team and a German team, and their parents didn’t speak English. The games were sort of these little wars being fought. And so that seriousness about soccer went into Tangerine.

Were you interested in writing at a young age?
Yes. Yes. Writing was the thing that I did best. And it helped me stand out as opposed to sports.

What has been the biggest change in your life since you got published?
Having more money and having an opportunity to do what I really want. Some great stuff has come out of it. We’ve been able to travel. And when you’re a novelist, everything is research, so we took a family trip to London and that turned into my novel London Calling. I wrote everything off on my taxes. Everything I do is research. I guess the biggest change in my life is being able to write these books and research them. Then they kind of pay for themselves.

Is the editing process discouraging?
It can be, because you send a book in and you wanna think, That’s it, let’s move on to the next book. But you’re pulled back in and it can be discouraging. There’s some give and take to it.

Have you ever been forced to write a novel or do they just come to you?
No, it’s been great. I’ve been able to do whatever I want, up until Memory Lane. That really had more to do with the economy I think. Publishers got hit very hard last year and laid a lot of people off and fired half their staffs. So if it didn’t have a dreamy vampire it didn’t go.

Have you ever thought of a new ending for a book after it was already published?
Sort of. Crusader had a different beginning and my editor talked me out of it. I always regretted that and I wish I could go back and put it back in. New things occur to me that could have been, but I don’t dwell on them.

Have you ever been recognized in public?
I have no problem walking down the street. But if I go to a convention, or something like that, that is just English teachers, people might recognize me. Outside of that context, no.

Who are your heroes?
I don’t know if you know The Twilight Zone, but it’s a TV series and there’s a marathon every January 1st. And I was reading about Rod Serling and all his eerie plots. He was definitely one my heroes, because back in the old days you couldn’t record shows. You had to be there or you didn’t see it. And I would stay up by myself on Friday nights and watch The Twilight Zone. I think I still use those ironic twists in my books. And he was also very interested in the morals that underlie what people do.

Do you look up to anyone as a writer?
I would say J.K. Rowling and Philip Pullman, who’s a British writer who wrote The Golden Compass. That’s one of three books in his trilogy. I think those two are really fantastic.

What kind of failures have you had in your writing and what did it feel like?
2009 was really awful for me. I spent two years writing a book called Memory Lane. It’s set in Levittown, New York. And I just did two books with Random House, and I sent this one in, and they didn’t like it. I thought, Okay they didn’t like it, we’re gonna work on it. But they just flat out refused to publish it. So I’ve already spent the advance they gave me and I’m stuck with this book that no one wants.

Then, I thought I could write a series with my daughter (who’s now 23), kind of a comedy, time travel series for fourth graders. I thought I’d have no trouble selling that. I spent all of that year collecting rejections for that.

I wrote a play version of London Calling that I thought was gonna be produced and that fell through, so all of last year was one big rejection. Which happens to writers when they’re starting out, but I already have six books. So I never expected that. But I had to keep pushing forward and write Journal of the Plague Year because I have to come up with book number seven. I’m hoping in 2010 all of that will turn around.

When naming your characters, do you use names of people you know, or are they completely made up?
They’re made up but they’re not plucked from the air. The names of the characters always mean something to me. Like the hero of Crusader, Roberta Ritter, her name in German means “crusader.” Especially the main characters. Their names always have some kind of significance for me.

It’s hard for teachers to have kids because you have to name them, and you’ve probably had a student who was really difficult who had a name that you never wanna hear again. Like, “Not another Jeremy!” So I use names like that too. If it’s a good person it’s a name of someone I’ve liked. And if it’s a bad person it’s someone I’ve disliked.

What inspired you to become a teacher?
A short story that I read about a teacher. Again it was to become a writer. I thought that if I were a teacher I’d have this goldmine to draw from, of experience and people. It worked out that way.

Having been an English teacher, did you keep any of your students’ tricks for your personal gain when writing?
Absolutely! I wasn’t a teacher for long. I only lasted about three years. But my wife has been teaching for twenty-five years. And I can still see the kids who were my students. We have two children of our own who went through the public schools. So I’m very much in touch with how difficult it can be, how much class warfare is involved, how difficult it is for teachers to have things mandated from above as to what they have to do. My novel Story Time is kind of a horror story about standardized testing. So I tried to do something for teachers.

In an interview with the AAYA you said your “goal is to create a world that is worth spending a few days in as a reader.” What did you mean by that?
That’s the kind of reader I was. We had “television problems” when I was growing up. We’d go weeks during the summer with no television. That’s how I became a reader. I liked big books I could spend a weekend with. Those are the type of books I like to write, too. Where you enter this world and you stay there for a while.

Was your first interview nerve-racking?
No. There’s a real duality between being a writer and a public speaker, though. Because writing is so personal and you’re locked up in a room all by yourself. Then suddenly you put a book out and you’re the after-dinner speaker, and you’re expected to be Jerry Seinfeld. I think that is really nerve-racking to a lot of writers.

How do you spend your Sunday mornings?
Folding laundry. Or I might out on the West Orange Trail or go to the Y. Sunday is a good day to just take off. But I always have this. [He holds up a small recorder.] And I’m always working on something. I have some notes I just made on the way here. Because otherwise I’ll never remember it when I get home. The advantage is I can work out a whole scene, and then write it when I get home.

Are you a Mac or PC?
I’m both. We have Macs at work and I have a Sony Vaio at home. Oh! But one of the awful things that happened in 2009 was that I save everything at work, because I figure it’s safe. And the hard drive crashed and I lost all of Journal of the Plague Year, every letter I wrote for the last twenty years, all the research for new books and things, and I couldn’t believe it. I actually had the guy give me the hard drive and asked my son-in-law if he could possibly raise this from the dead somehow. And he said, “No, it got scrambled.”

Is there any subject matter, place or person stowed away that you hope to write about one day?
Yeah, I’m writing it. I get to work on my obsessions and turn them into books.

Since this is a school newspaper, do you have any advice for anyone who wants to become a journalist?
I think it’s very important to learn the rules of the profession, because journalism has gotten so muddy. Between celebrity journalism and the real thing in which you have to give sources and double check and make sure you’ve got your facts right. I think in the long run you’ll be glad that you did.

Are there any quotes that are special to you?
Yes. I think I made this quote up but I may be wrong: “The road to success passes through failure.” And what I mean is, you’re never really going to succeed until you fail at something, learn from it, try again, and keep moving forward. Because anything worth doing, there are a million people trying to do it, and 999,000 of them are gonna get discouraged, so you can’t be one of those. You need to be one of the ones who makes it to the end.

Part 2 of 2

Edward Bloor was 47 when he wrote Tangerine, the young adult novel he is most famous for. It took him two years to write. Since then he has written six more books. His new novel, Journal of the Plague Year, is due out from Random House in the spring of 2011.  The second and last part of this interview focuses only on Tangerine.

What inspired you to write Tangerine?
It was more opportunity than inspiration. In my job I’m actually required to read young adult literature and I had never heard of that genre before. I’d always wanted to be an adult writer. And all of a sudden I saw this whole genre that had great plots and characters and stories, and I thought I could do this. So I took that opportunity.

Was the writing process of Tangerine difficult?
No. It went very smoothly. I didn’t really know what I was doing but I’d read all these young adult novels and I had this idea for a story. [My publishing company] assigned me to an editor and he and I went around a little bit about changing some things and moving them around. But no, it wasn’t difficult. It takes a long time to get someone to accept your book and to publish it, no matter what. Unless there’s a vampire in it. You just have to be patient.

Why did you make Tangerine set in Florida?
That goes back to the saying “write what you know.” I was living in Florida so I wanted to write about that. And Tangerine itself is a place in transition. It used to be a citrus growing town, like where I live in Winter Garden, which is about ten miles west of here. Then the freezes came along and people had to decide: am I gonna hang in there and sell citrus for two cents an orange, or am I gonna make a big killing now and sell off my land? So Tangerine is set in a time of transition, between the time of the citrus industry and the big housing developments that are out there now.

What inspired you to use the name Paul in Tangerine?
Well, Saint Paul was struck by lightening and blinded on the road to Damascus. And after that he could see in a new way. So that’s how Paul got his name. He’s visually impaired but he’s able to see in ways that other people can’t.

Yeah. In Tangerine a lot of people get struck by lightening!
[Laughs.]

What made you want to end Tangerine with Arthur and Eric going to jail?
Well, I remember when I was putting the book together, Caroline Cooney–a very, very big young adult fiction author who wrote The Face on the Milk Carton–I went to see her speak and she said, If you’re writing for young adults, you have to make your good guy good, and your bad guy bad. And you have to make sure the bad guy gets it in the end. Beyond that you can do whatever you want. So that’s why they went to jail. That’s also why they were so evil.

After someone reads Tangerine, what do you want the reader to walk away with?
Just a feeling that this character triumphs, not through violence, but just by being a good guy and hanging in there. And being honest with people. That’s really the way to succeed in life. In the end he kind of has everything he wants. Ironically he’s considered to be kind of a bad boy. But he’s not at all. He’s still the same nice person he was.

What were the pros and cons that went through your head when Tangerine was released?
Bad reviews, I guess. I was a little worried about that, but it all went so well. It won six different state awards. I thought it would always be like that, and it hasn’t been, so I think there’s an advantage to your first book because it’s new and people are really excited about it. I had nothing to lose, so it was all good.

Were you passionate and sure about Tangerine as a book?
Oh yeah. All my books are my outlets and I’m really committed to helping people and to changing the world.

After writing Tangerine, were you worried you wouldn’t be able to top it?
No. Some would say I haven’t topped that book, but I’ve never felt that way. I think that every book is better than the one that precedes it. You have no control over how many books are gonna sell or what the reviews are gonna be. You can only control what you do. And so I think the books have gotten better each time.

Is it always your goal to try and top the last book?
It is for me. I always try to improve on what I’m doing. Make it more exciting. Maybe make the first fifteen pages better. My new book Journal of the Plague Year opens with a horrendous robbery with people trying to rip an ATM out of a supermarket with a tow truck. So I try to make it very exciting at the beginning. I think that the first line of Taken is: “Once you’re taken you have twenty-four hours left to live. That means I have twelve hours remaining.” So they tell you to light a fuse at the beginning of your book so people will want to follow.

Of all the books you’ve written, is Tangerine your favorite?
I would say Crusader is my favorite. I think it’s the most ambitious one. It wasn’t that well received because it wasn’t Tangerine II, so I’ve kind of always defended it. And I’ve never written Tangerine II. I get that question everywhere I go and every time I open a letter: Will there be a sequel? I say, “No.”

Wasn’t there a joke on your website about Tangerine II?
Yeah, on April 1st, I put on my website that I was finally gonna write the sequel. It was called Blood Orange. And it was about Eric turning into a vampire and preying on the cheerleaders of the school. Then two weeks later I posted that it was an April Fools joke, but I still get e-mails asking me when Blood Orange is coming out.

~H.H.

by Solomon S, age 7

*     *     *

There once was an Itchy Frog.
He lived in a log.
He liked to eat itchy flies.
He loved to jump high.
His town is called Itchy City.
He messed with some itchy ktties.
That was the end of Itchy Frog.

*     *     *

There once was a mouse,
who lived in a house.
Her name was Massy
and she was very sassy.
She once met a cat,
who had blue hair.
The Sassy Mouse said,
“I’m soooooo scared.”