The Nebraska Writing Project is sponsoring two youth writing festivals this year. The first is on Saturday, March 3rd at Elkhorn High School from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. The second is at the University of Nebraska at Kearney on April 28th from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Both festivals are open to any student or teacher grades 9-12.

Cost per student is $15 early registration: $20 late registration.  Registration includes a t-shirt, notebook, and pencil  (subject to availability with late registrations).

To register or for more information, including scheduling updates, go to the Youth Festival Homepage.

Youth Writing Festival Brochure

Lighthouse

(Elizabeth Christensen is a second grade student at Catlin Elementary School in Omaha, NE .)

If I lived in a lighthouse,
I’d stay there day and night.
If I lived in a lighthouse,
My lights would be burning bright.
If I lived in a lighthouse,
I’d have a bell that would ring.
If I lived in a lighthouse,

My bell would always ding.

I am an Indian with long brown hair and brown eyes.
I am eleven years old.
I am Santee Sioux and Lower Brule Sioux.
My family on my mother’s side is always putting up “sweats.”
A sweat lodge is a hut with heated rocks inside.
It is very hot, and the rocks get hotter
when the Medicine Man pours water on them.
When you are in the sweat lodge,
you sing songs even though it is very hot.
Whoever wants to pray can do so,
but everyone has to be quiet.
No one can wear jewelry.
During a sweat,
there are three rounds.
In each round, we yell
(“All My Relatives”),
and the door man opens the door.
Then we go onto other rounds
as we shake everyone’s hand.
Ceremonies are put on when you need help
or want an Indian name.
My mother put on a ceremony
for us all to get an Indian name.
I’ll just write about mine.
It was really dark in the room.
No light can come through,
and many people were inside.
The Medicine Man sat in the corner,
and we sang.
Many children fell asleep.
As I slept, my step-dad had
to stand me up in the dark.
When I stood up,
the spirits were doctoring me with gourds,
and after it was done,
they told me my Indian name
(“Singing Woman”).
This year, my mother and other relatives
danced at the Sun Dance for three days
and nights without food or water.
On the last day, we had a large feast.
It was fun. I love my culture.
It is so cool.

Her name was Emily, such a beautiful name for someone who only got to live for 104 days. It’s hard to believe that Emily, my only sister, never got to meet me, and I never got to meet her.

I was a little over one year old when she was born. I have vague memories of my mom and dad dropping me off at the babysitter’s while they went somewhere for the entire day. However, I didn’t know where they went.

Emily was born premature. She was born three months early, and her body hadn’t fully developed yet. Her kidneys were dying, and the doctors knew that she wasn’t going to make it. I sometimes get kidney infections. When I do get them, I think of her. Even though they can be painful, they remind me of my sister.

All I have is pictures. Even though I have looked at them many times, I start crying when I see her lying in the incubator helpless and alone. Taped to her incubator were pink and white hearts, pictures of me, my mom, and my dad. On top sat a stuffed turtle, which played the song “It’s a Small World.” Right next to the turtle was a pretty, pink and white doll, which I now have.

I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister, especially because Emily would be in the seventh grade right now. We could share secrets, feelings, and dreams. We could stay up late talking about our problems. I could help her with homework and give her advice. Having a sister would be great. At least, it would be better than having two brothers.

Emily is remembered in many ways. When she died, our insurance gave us a sum of money. With that money, we bought a beautiful grandfather clock, which stands majestically in the corner of our dining room.

At our church in Valley, there is a gold plate on the wall that dedicates the carillon to her. Also, with the insurance money, we purchased a piano and donated it to the church. Above the keys is another gold plate with the words, “In Loving Memory of Emily Ann Loftis” engraved on it.

My mom plays that piano every Sunday at church. Finally, there is her grave that my family and I visit at least once a year. The words “Our Little Angel” are engraved on her headstone. It doesn’t matter if I’m at church listening to the bells ring, at home listening to our grandfather clock chime, or standing in front of her grave at the Waterloo cemetery, I think of her always.

Emily, I know that we will be together someday, but until then I want you to know that even though you are gone from our lives, you are not forgotten.

Trisha
6th grade artist
Friend of Kim
Daughter of Winona
Sister of Joe
Lover of kittens, cats, and shopping
Who feels excited, sad, yet happy
Who fears spiders, my friend’s dog
and homework
Who would like to see my dog “B. B”
Resident of MY desk, MY class, MY school, and MY world!
Spotted Calf

Being a big sister is easy.
Being depended upon is not.
There are a lot of things that I have to do,
like take care of my siblings.
They love me, and I love them.
I really care about them,
so I am responsible for most of their problems.
This is what being a big sister is all about.

I care for the sun in my sky,
knowing the sunlight will never die.
I’m grateful for the dark, black night,
knowing in the morning there will always be light.
I look forward to what ever is tomorrow,
the new beginning it brings,
there’s no need to feel sorrow.
Because I care for tomorrow and the day after that,
I just wish everyone could be and think like that.