Check out the 2017-18 YAC Zine by clicking the image above. It will take you to a PDF download link. Happy summer reading from the YACs.
To read the novel PORPHYROPHOBIA by the 2016-17 class of Young Authors Collective, click here. (You can download it as a PDF.)
She would have been much more beautiful without the bruise covering her left eye. The prismatic rainbow of a mark running from her forehead to the top of her cheekbone radiated shades of purple and yellow and green that varied based on where it was viewed from. It was mesmerizing, and it took all I had not to stare. Her good eye was even darker than the bruise, looking haggard and devoid of life, as though her spirit had faded into nothingness. In fact, as beautiful as she might have been, the bruise appeared to be the most lively thing about her at that moment; she seemed to be somewhere between dying and dead. To avoid looking too closely I focused my attention on the task at hand, scanning and bagging each item with exaggerated care. An eternity later, she hobbled away, clutching the flimsy bags to her chest as though they would fly away if she loosened her grip. The moment she disappeared from view, my hand shot to the radio on my belt, but my tongue was paralyzed. I was in a daze, questioning what I knew I saw, my mind’s eye still entranced by the mark. “Hello?” The voice jolted me out of my trance, and I muttered an apology. I got to work, once again, on the task at hand, but not before delicately replacing the radio in my belt.
Adam likes to write short fiction and has been a YAC member for a while. If writing were not an option, then music would be the most logical creative outlet for him.
Adam Answers the YAC Peculiar Questionnaire
- Describe the most embarrassing picture of you as a baby that your parents use to blackmail you. None, I was born at the age of 14.
- What is your third least favorite color and what number do you associate with it? Yellow and 1.
- What’s your favorite mythical creature? Fireflies, everyone says they exist but I don’t know man.
- What is the current bane of your existence? Thalia.
- What’s the most extreme action literature has ever provoked you to do? Buying a bat costume and fighting crime.
- What game show would you want to be on? Why? Family Feud, because Steve Harvey’s mustache is the greatest thing since sliced bread.
- If you were a parrot, which Eastern European country would you travel to and why Ukraine, because I’ve always wanted to see Kiev.
- Who is your B-list celebrity crush? (Famous but not that famous.) Mae Whitman
- F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues.” What’s yours? Hope
- What is your favorite Cards Against Humanity card? Okay, if you’re not familiar with Cards Against Humanity, answer this. On a scale of 1-10, how much do you hate whales? Lunchables
- If you were indicted tomorrow, what would the charges be? Fish-napping
- Please provide a weird stock photo that describes you personally.
I lost my phone for 30 seconds and I just about had a heart attack. It slipped between the driver’s seat and the middle compartment thingy (the part with the cup holders and such). I noticed it fall, but I felt too preoccupied to retrieve it, and eventually I forgot where it went.
Isn’t it funny how we can forget the small stuff like that? We spend so much time focused on the big picture that we begin to neglect the details – the phones, the keys, the New Year’s Resolutions to reconnect with that childhood friend whose face we’ve ironically also forgotten – and then what? Then we have to deal with the ensuing panic, the fear that we’ve forgotten something essential that might have been a part of us. But it’s not as if this panic is infinite, no. Remembrance is a magnificent drug, so the panic doesn’t last. So I suppose that explains why, as I sat in the parking lot of some drab little cathedral, waiting for the appropriate moment to enter my childhood friend’s funeral service, I felt only a sense of relief (and my phone in my hand).
The fight for hope can be a painful one, especially when you’re fighting against large men armed with cleavers and your hope is a Picasso in the rain. This is not a metaphor, we were terrified.
My heart often hurts when I look at color. The brininess of the world can often be painful when you wish it to be dim. The pulsating purity of the sky it what reminds us that we are in fact alive.
The walls and structures that we have build to hold on to what we believe in crumble and fade, by that bright sky reminds us that the rest of the world is still there. I think that’s how I find myself here time and time again.
Surrounded but by the remnants of torched souls. Without the bright colors of the outside world, the faded colors of the past comfort me. There was once a time when every creator looked upon the world with a heavy heart, of that I am sure. They look at the hand dealt them by fate and decide that it was enough.
Maybe the sat down maybe the thought, but they all created. No matter the poverty, corruption or despaired they thought they could may the hard world seem a little more beautiful.
I like to think that there are people who would look at the bright sky the told him to live and there began to compose. That is just simply a theory. (more…)
-The presidential election
-Having to listen to people complain about the presidential election
-That one Chainsmokers song that goes like “noh nah nuh noh noh nah nuh noh”
-That incident with E. coli at Chipotle (wait, was that 2015?)
-The Orlando shooting
-My favorite video game store getting robbed
-Denver real estate prices
-One of the digits was not a prime number
Adam Dorsheimer is a 10th grader at Colorado Academy. His writing style has been described as a dark commentary on human nature. He won a school writing competition and traveled to Oklahoma University to be a guest at the Newstadt Award Ceremony, and he aspires to someday work as both a writer and editor. When he is not writing, Adam can be found singing in his school’s men’s chorus and playing guitar in his band.
“Writing gives me a purpose, a meaning; that’s why I write.” ~ Adam
About Katy Mc Donald
My palms are sweating and I’m not sure why. Nothing’s changed. I have no reason to be this nervous. Wait what’s that? There’s no screen door here… is that a baby? Who the hell brings a baby to an audition? Oh, it’s just that guy. Did he make that noise? Talk about method acting…
Only three people sit in the waiting area (not including Linda, a pretty, young receptionist). You should all be quite familiar with our heroine, Katy McDonald, who is unnecessarily anxious about a role that she has locked in. You have also met Trent Gladkowski, whose claim to fame is imitating any sound or voice he hears. A formidable opponent, no doubt, but nothing compared to the third person in the waiting room: Jenny Courtenay. She’s blonde, she’s gorgeous, she was born with absolute pitch. Scariest of all,
however, was her “perfect record.” No botched auditions, no bad shows. Not a single mark against her. Katy is, unfortunately, unaware of the stiff competition she must face. Moving right along…
Great, now this girl’s giving me a look. I don’t need this today, I get enough of this at school. She would be a great Wendy though, not gonna lie. Better than this other guy… wait, why is he auditioning for Wendy? There are loads of male roles in Peter Pan. I’ve just gotta pretend like I’m looking over my lines… where’s my script? Wait, it’s at home. What am I doing? I’ve already got it memorized. But she doesn’t know I have it memorized. But she doesn’t need to know that I have it memorized. What’s with that giggle? Don’t roll your eyes at me…
Our heroine’s name is called some time later, after Gladkowski and Courtenay are called. She sighs and enters the theater proper, soon realizing that this is the largest venue she has ever been to perform in. She knows that she needs to sing her song well if she wants
to impress the judges, but she doesn’t know that she needs to be flawless. Luckily, one particularly jaded judge, Stephen, takes a liking to her. He wasn’t swayed by any of the previous auditions like the previous judges, who are, as is usually the case, complete idiots. Even Courtenay, with her stunning appearance and remarkable skill, was unable to command his attention. Stephen is an intense man with an eye for talent who feels as though the youth of today can’t match his passion for the theater. With sky-high standards and an immediate bias imposed against her, Katy faces a challenge unlike any other. But from the moment she takes the stage, Stephen is captivated. Her presence is powerful and the room is silent. So she sings…