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You're Write Online Zine
Calling all teens ages 13-17: share your writing in our online zine, You're Write
Anyone from the age of 13 to the age of 17 is welcome to submit short stories, poems, and creative nonfiction via the submission form. We will select and post work on a quarterly basis, with new issues going up in January, April, July, and October. We'll let you know if your work has been selected within a month of your submission date.
 
Please read our submission guidelines before submitting.
 
NEXT ISSUE (Spring) comes out July 20, 2018.
DEADLINE for submissions is July 13, 2018.
 
Please enjoy the selections for our latest issue below.

I sighed in satisfaction as I stepped off the big white bus, which was
parked in front of a University of the Cumberlands dormitory in
Williamsburg, Kentucky. It had been an hour-long trip from Knoxville
(with only a 45-minute dinner break in between) to Williamsburg.

The high school boys were instructed to unload the girl's bags from
the trunk compartment of the bus. They formed a line, and handed each
Vera Bradley duffel bag down until the line ended, where the person on
the end would (literally) throw it to the ground.

After a while, the kid at the front of the line pulled out a huge
maroon suitcase. "Whose is this? What's in here, a 50 pound weight?"

I'm sure that I seem crazy. I probably seem like I belong in a mental institute, but I can't bring myself to care. Not in this situation with the creepy, mysterious boy, Jason, sitting next to me. I can't even focus on Mr. Brown, the biology teacher. I have heard rumors about Jason. People say he came from juvenile detention. Others say he was raised on the streets. Some people believe he’s a serial killer. I honestly don't know what to believe, but I get a weird feeling about him.

"Do you understand anything he is saying?" I ask him. Maybe I can get some information about his past.

"Yes, we are supposed to be getting to know each other," He responds. "So let me guess, you keep to yourself, you have a few good friends but aren't popular, you are artistic, and prefer the 'lived in' style but keep yourself very clean and organized." He says. I stare at him shocked.

"How...how do you know this about me?" I ask.

It was the year of 2015. Grant Harman strolled along 57th Street, Manhattan, New York City, on break from work. He was going to Gary’s, a doughnut bakery ran by one of his best friends, Gary. Grant was a man of 34 years, and was 5 foot 11. He had a knack for carrying around an umbrella, even if it was not raining. His favorite book was The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. On his way to the bakery, he ran into Julietta.

Julietta was the fiance of Grant. She was a woman of 30 years, 5 foot 5, and was born in Dublin, Ireland. She had known Grant for 7 years, and had been dating him for 5. Her favorite gemstone was the emerald, the same one Grant proposed to her with. She often wore a black trench coat as part of her job (she was a private investigator).

Music.

To some people, it’s another word in the dictionary, but to me, it’s something extraordinary. Music, for me, is a way of being heard without actually saying a single word. It’s what makes me feel at ease. All I need to do is put on my Beats, turn up the volume of my music, and turn down the noise of the world. I close my eyes and let the music take over my soul, enjoying every phrase and every note. When I’m drowning in a sea of my own problems, it’s music that saves me and keeps me afloat. It is the thread I hold on to when I feel like giving up on myself. Music has the power to make me smile when I’m at my weakest and has helped me fight through all of my struggles, allowing me to be my strongest.

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