Writing Competition

Writing

Competition

Debbie Barry

2 Writing Competition

Published by:

Debbie Barry

2500 Mann Road, #248

Clarkston, Michigan 48346

USA

Copyright © 2013 by Deborah K. Barry. All

rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted

by any means without the written permission

of the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1482619829

ISBN-10: 1482619822

Writing Competition 3

Writing

Competition

Debbie stared at the blank

sheet of paper and the two

sharpened, number two pencils on her

desk. Around her, other students

fidgeted nervously or whispered

across the aisles between the desks.

Today was not a normal day in grade

ten honors English. A few days

earlier, an announcement had been

made that today would be the first

part of a writing competition.

Debbie looked up at the chalk

board at the front of the classroom.

The teacher had pulled down the

overhead viewing screen to hide the

board. Debbie knew that the subject


for today’s essay was already written

on the board behind that screen.

She looked down at her paper

again. The yellow, painted wood of

the new pencils seemed harsh against

the blue lines and pink margins on the

paper. Debbie took a deep breath and

let it out slowly, calming her nerves.

Mrs. Woods entered the

classroom. She stood in front of the

screen as the bell sounded in the

corridor to begin classes.

“You have one class period to

write an essay on the topic on the

board. You will not talk to each other

or look at any books or notebooks

during class. Be sure to put your

name on your paper.” She reached

behind her, tugged down on the

screen, and rolled it up into its case

at the top of the chalk board. On the

board was the topic for the essay, the


white chalk bright against the

otherwise clean, black board.

Debbie stared at the board for

several moments, considering the

topic. Then she picked up one of the

pencils, positioned her paper at a

comfortable angle on her desk, and

began to write.

For the next forty minutes, the

classroom was silent except for the

scratching of pencils on paper, the

rustling of students shifting in their

seats, and the occasional, muffled

sigh or grunt from the students as

they labored over their writing.

Debbie wrote quickly and confidently.

Her paper filled with words as she

explored the ideas of her essay.

Finally, she placed the last period at

the end of the last word of her

conclusion and looked up. The clock

showed just a few minutes remaining


to the class. Quickly, Debbie looked

back over her work, making only a few

corrections before placing her now-

dull pencil on the desk.

“Pencils down,” Mrs. Woods

called as the bell sounded to end the

class. “Place your essays face down on

the desk as you leave. These essays

will be entered in the Vermont Honors

Competition for Excellence in Writing.

Good luck!”

Debbie picked up her backpack

and slung her purse strap over her

shoulder. Gathering up her essay and

pencils, she made her way up the aisle,

placing her papers face down on the

growing pile of essays. For a few

moments, Debbie felt rather nervous.

She had known about the competition,

of course, but she had forgotten

about it while she was writing. Now

she worried whether she had written


well enough to move up to the next

level of the competition. Debbie was

a straight A student, and she was

used to excelling; the thought of not

succeeding caused her a flash of

anxiety and self doubt.

Once out of the classroom, all

worry and anxiety faded quickly.

Debbie hurried on to her next class

with no more thought of the writing

competition. The clamor of students

squeezing in moments of conversation

and gossip as they passed through the

halls swept from her mind any

thoughts of the essay.

Several weeks passed. Late

summer turned to fall in earnest, the

trees ablaze with brilliant red,

smoldering orange, and gleaming

yellow foliage. The school days came

and went, and no one remembered


that they had written essays for a

competition.

One morning, as Debbie slipped

into her desk in home room, the

principal’s voice came over the

intercom system before the morning

announcements.

“Good morning!” his voice

boomed, deep and warm even through

the speaker. “Several weeks ago,

many of you wrote essays for a

writing competition, and today we

have the winners.” Debbie stared at

the speaker, mounted high on the wall.

Her palms grew cool and moist as she

gripped the edges of her desk.

Debbie knew she was a competent

writer, but she felt little confidence

in her abilities in that moment. She

listened intently as the principal read

the names of the winners for the

twelfth and eleventh grades. She


held her breath. Then she heard her

own name come from the speaker.

Debbie felt lightheaded with surprise

and pleasure as the home room

erupted in applause for her.

Debbie’s grip on the desk

relaxed and she sat back in her chair,

but she continued to stare at the

intercom speaker for several

moments. She did not even hear the

name of the ninth grade winner as her

mind tried to process the idea that

she had succeeded yet again.

Finally, the bell shattered the

moment, and Debbie moved into the

corridor with her classmates. She

sent off for the locker room to get

ready for first period gym. As she

walked down the stairs and through

the halls, the first shock finally wore

off. Debbie felt her surprise being


replaced by pride and satisfaction in

her accomplishment.

Debbie would have denied it if

anyone had asked, but she knew in her

heart that she would have been

deeply disappointed if anyone else had

won the first part of the competition

in her grade. Debbie had always been

a perfectionist in her own life, and

she expected to succeed at

everything she did.

As Debbie changed into her

gym clothes, she reflected that she

would have felt crushed if she had not

won. Closing her locker, Debbie

steadied herself with another deep

breath, banished any negative musings

from her mind, and smiled. She had

won.

Fall became winter, and Debbie

enjoyed the freedom of the

Christmas break from school. The


new year began, and once again,

everyone forgot about the writing

competition. Finally, one day in

February, Debbie and the three other

representatives from her high school

rode together to another high school

about an hour north of her home. It

was time to compete in the regional

level of the writing competition.

Debbie rode in silence. She

felt anxious about writing the next

essay in an unfamiliar place. When

she got out of the car, she looked at

the high school building, realizing that

she didn’t really know where she was.

She shivered in the cold, February air

of central Vermont and hurried into

the building with her companions.

Inside, the students were

taken to a classroom where the

regional level of the writing

competition would take place. There


were five high schools in the region,

with four students representing each

school. The room was set up with

four rows of five chairs each; the

ninth grade students would sit in the

front row with the tenth grade

students behind them, then the

eleventh grade students, and finally

the twelfth grade students in the

back row.

Debbie stood off by herself;

many of the other students stood

alone, as well. She felt unsettled, and

the beginning of dread twisted in the

pit of her stomach. She hugged

herself, reflecting that she had felt

calm and confident up until she had

left home that morning. Now her

stomach was churning, and Debbie

felt that there was not quite enough

air in the room. Although Debbie was

an outstanding student, the other

students all seemed larger than life


to her anxious eyes, and she felt a

sudden certainty that each of the

other students was far smarter and

better than she was.

Time crept by once the teacher

from Debbie’s school left her and her

companions in the competition room.

That the teacher from her own school

was a stranger to her was unusual for

Debbie, and it only added to her

distress. Debbie struggled to

breathe slowly and stay calm as the

minutes dragged by like hours. She

concentrated on each new breath,

privately hoping that she would not

embarrass herself by being sick.

Finally, a teacher entered the

room and placed a small, blue

composition notebook, a white

envelope, and a pair of new, sharpened

pencils on each desk. When he was

done, the teacher moved to the front


of the room and smiled at the group

of students.

“Welcome!” he said warmly.

Please take your seats. You’ll find

your names on your envelopes.”

There were several moments of

quiet chaos as Debbie and the others

sorted themselves into their assigned

desks. Debbie found herself seated

at the middle of the tenth grade row.

She looked at her envelope. Her name

was typed in clean, black letters on a

label that was stuck to the center of

the front of the envelope.

“Your essay topics are inside

your envelopes. All of the students in

one grade have the same subject. You

will have one hour to write your essay

in the notebook that has been

provided.” The teacher paused and

watched the second hand of the clock

on the classroom wall. As the hand of


the clock clicked to 12, the teacher

said, “Begin!”

Debbie’s hands trembled

slightly as she tore open her envelope.

Inside was a narrow strip of paper

with the topic typed on it. Debbie’s

essay topic, as a tenth grade

competitor, was to choose the person

from history whom she admired the

most, and to explain why she admired

her chosen person.

Debbie sat frozen in her chair

as she thought about the topic for

several minutes. She was near panic

as no good candidates came to her

mind. She considered and discarded

several possibilities. Finally, Debbie

decided to write about Abraham

Lincoln.

Once Debbie chose her topic,

all of the nervousness and security

washed out of her. She wrote


steadily and confidently. As she

wrote, the classroom and the other

students faded from her

consciousness. The words flowed

from her mind, through her hand, and

onto the pages of the notebook.

When Debbie reached the end

of her essay, she stopped writing.

That sounds like rather an obvious

thing to do, but that is what she did.

She did not wonder what else she

could write, or count her pages or

paragraphs to see that she had

written enough. She knew that she

had gathered up the threads of the

essay in her conclusion, and she was

simply done writing. After checking

to be sure she had written her name

and grade on the front of the

notebook, Debbie took her essay and

all of her materials to the desk at the

front of the room and placed them in

front of the teacher.


The teacher looked up with a

slight frown. “Are you sure? You still

have fifteen minutes,” she said.

Debbie smiled shyly and

nodded. “I’m done,” she replied.

“Alright, then, return to your

seat and wait for the end of the

hour,” the teacher said, uncertainty

tingeing her voice.

Debbie returned to her seat

and waited quietly for the rest of the

students to finish. One by one, the

essays were added to the stack on

the desk. Finally, the hour ended and

the teacher stood up and announced,

“Pencils down! Please leave your

essays and other materials on my desk

as you leave. Good luck to all of you.”

Debbie and her three school

mates found their chaperone waiting

in the corridor. Soon, they were all in


the car, headed for home. It was a

fairly quiet drive as each student

seemed to be lost in thought. Debbie

thought about the essay that she had

written so quickly and so confident.

Now that the second stage of the

competition was over, she began to

worry about her essay. Had she

written well enough? Was her essay

long enough. These thoughts

bothered Debbie all the way home,

but they faded that night as she

slept.

Once again, there was a wait of

several weeks between the writing

and the announcement of the winners.

The thick blanket of freezing snow

melted away and the soft warmth of

spring returned. This time, Debbie

did not forget the writing competition

as she had forgotten it after the

first round. Each morning, Debbie sat

at her desk in home room and listened


carefully to the announcements that

were read over the intercom system.

Each day, she hoped to hear the

results of the regional level of the

competition, and each day she

dreaded hearing that some other

student had won the regional

competition for her grade.

One morning, at the end of

April, Debbie heard the principal read

her name over the intercom during

the morning announcements. He said

that Debbie had won the regional

writing competition, and that she

would be representing the high school

at the state writing competition in

May.

Debbie’s secret fear that she

would embarrass herself by failing in

the regional competition was swept

away by her elation at knowing that

she had won. Just as before, the


home room erupted in applause for

Debbie. Debbie released the breath

that she had not even known she was

holding. Her relief at having

succeeded once again was quickly

replaced by a flood of pride and

happiness.

The bell rang, and Debbie

moved out into the hallway with her

class mates. All around her, students

and teachers called congratulations as

she passed. Debbie felt like she was

floating as she hurried to her first

class. All of Debbie’s fear and doubt

was replaced by the overwhelming

feeling that she deserved nothing less

than the praise she heard on every

side. She had succeeded, and it made

her feel strong and confident to know

that everyone around her knew about

her success.


As the day of the state level

competition approached, Debbie

realized that the local competition

and the regional competition had been

no more than small foretastes of the

real competition. The final level of

the competition would be held at the

state university, a three hour drive

north of Debbie’s home. There she

would face four other tenth grade

writers as one of the top five writers

in her grade in the entire state.

Finally, the day of the

competition arrived. It was a bright,

sunny, mild, Thursday morning.

Debbie woke up early to be ready for

her three hour drive with Mrs.

Woods. Debbie recognized that this

was a very important day, no matter

how the competition ended. She was

proud to have come so far, while at

the same time she was nervous about

the day ahead. Debbie stared at the


clothes hanging in her closet. She

wanted to make the right impression.

Finally, she selected her most mature

outfit: a peach linen skirt suit, a white

blouse with a ruffled front and

ruffled cuffs, and high-heeled pumps.

She dressed carefully, brushing her

long, dark hair and pulling the front

hair back from her face with a

barrette at the back. Debbie looked

in the mirror and knew that she

looked very grown-up on the outside.

Inside, Debbie felt like a small,

frightened child.

Very soon, Mrs. Woods arrived

to pick Debbie up. They were both

quiet for much of the long drive that

morning. Mrs. Woods wanted to let

Debbie have time to relax and to

prepare herself for the busy day

ahead.


When Debbie and Mrs. Woods

arrived at the university, they parked

near the building in which the

competition would be held. Inside,

the hallway was filled with people.

Debbie signed in at a table near the

entrance, then she was sent to wait

with a growing group of student

competitors. Debbie looked for a

familiar face, but was unable to find

anyone she knew.

Debbie and the others did not

have to wait long before they were

shown into a classroom. The room was

arranged very much as the room for

the regional competition had been

arranged. Debbie slipped into the

chair at her assigned desk. Two

sharpened pencils and a small, blue

composition notebook waited on the

desk, along with a sealed, white

envelope.


A teacher entered the room as

soon as the twenty students were

seated. He moved to the front of the

room and welcomed the students to

the university. Debbie was too

nervous to focus on his words. The

teacher explained that the final level

of the competition consisted of two

essays. The students had one hour to

complete each essay, and there would

be a brief break between the essays.

Debbie looked at the sealed envelope

before her, fighting a sudden surge

of terror, as the teacher said that

the subject for the first essay was in

the envelope in front of her.

When the teacher said, “Begin!”

Debbie tore open her envelope and

read her first topic. She found that

she had to compare the views of

teenagers with the views of adults in

American society. Once again, all of

Debbie’s fear and tension melted away


as she began to write. Just as she

had done at the regional competition,

Debbie wrote quickly and steadily.

When she finished her essay, only

forty minutes had passed. Debbie

went over her essay again, just to be

sure she had not missed anything,

then she turned in her composition

book and her topic. The teacher gave

her an odd look, glancing at the clock,

but he did not make a comment.

Debbie was confident that she had

given the essay her best effort, and

she smiled as she returned to her

seat to wait quietly for the other

students to finish writing.

The break was just long enough

for the students to use the rest room

and to get a drink of water. Very

quickly, Debbie found herself back at

her desk, facing another blue

composition notebook and another

sealed envelope. The second half of


the morning was very much like the

first half. Debbie’s second topic was

to decide whether or not fantasy or

imagination was important in life, and

to support my position. Once again,

Debbie wrote quickly, the words

flowing out through her pencil. She

finished writing her essay in just over

thirty minutes and turned in her

materials.

As Debbie returned to her

seat, a boy in the twelfth grade row

at the back of the room leaned across

the aisle on her right. “Why’d’ya rush

like that?” he whispered. “You didn’t

even try!”

Debbie smiled at him and sat

quietly at her desk. The boy shook

his head, rolled his eyes, and returned

to his writing. A few minutes later, an

eleventh grade girl on the left smiled

at Debbie and gave her a thumbs-up


as the girl returned from turning in

her essay. Debbie felt happy and

confident as she waited for the hour

to end.

“How do you think you did?”

Mrs. Woods asked as she and Debbie

ate their sandwiches in a sunny

courtyard a little while later. Mrs.

Woods had packed a picnic lunch in

case she and Debbie couldn’t find a

place near the university to buy lunch.

Debbie nodded as she

swallowed a bite of sandwich. “Okay,

I guess. I finished them both really

early.”

“You did your best though,

right?” Mrs. Woods pressed.

“Yeah, I did my best,” Debbie

replied. She told Mrs. Woods about

her two topics between bites of her


ham sandwich that she washed down

with a can of Diet Coke.

Debbie and Mrs. Woods had the

afternoon free, so they walked around

the lovely, old, lakeside town, admiring

the buildings and gazing through shop

windows. Finally, they walked back up

the hill to the university for the

awards dinner.

Debbie sat next to Mrs. Woods at the

elegant dinner table for the awards

banquet that evening. The lights in

the room were turned down low and

the tables were draped with pristine,

white linen tablecloths. Many of the

competitors had family with them for

the evening, so the banquet room was

crowded, and it was noisy with talk

and laughter. Debbie was too nervous

to notice what she was eating. She

thought later that it might have been

chicken, but she could not be sure.


The air crackled with expectancy and

anxiety. as the meal progressed,

conversations around Debbie and the

other students seemed stiff and

unnatural. Excited giggles gave way

to laughter that seemed just a bit too

loud and forced. Everyone was

waiting and trying to stay calm and

natural, and it was not working. By

the time the dessert dishes were

cleared, and the competition officials

stepped up to the podium, the air

practically sang with tension.

Debbie could hardly breathe

when the president of the university

began to read the names of the

winners. He started with the fourth

runner up in the twelfth grade. It

took a long time to go through the

list, and Debbie’s fist clenched at the

edge of the tablecloth as she tried to

calm her nerves. The president of

the university announced the third


runner up for the twelfth grade.

There were cheers and applause as

each name was called, and each

student made his or her way through

the crowd of tables up to the podium.

Debbie’s heart raced as each name

brought her closer to her own grade.

Finally, they reached the tenth grade.

Debbie listened anxiously for

her own name as the president

announced the fourth runner up. She

felt a tingle of relief as another

student went up to receive the award.

She had not come in last.

Debbie held her breath. She

felt dizzy when her name was not

called for the third runner up and she

let out the breath. Debbie’s eyes

grew round with anticipation as

second runner up was announced. She

swallowed hard and her stomach

clenched into knots when another


student went up to claim the second

runner up award. There were only two

tenth grade students left, and Debbie

was one of them.

Debbie felt paralyzed as the

official opened the card with the

name of the first runner up. She

strained forward in her chair as he

drew the name from the envelope.

Debbie felt sure the name he

announced would be hers, but she

hoped it would not be.

The president of the university

announced the name of the first

runner up for the tenth grade.

Debbie screamed as another student

rose to receive the award. She felt

as though her entire body had just

been released from suffocating

bonds.

Mrs. Woods laid a hand on

Debbie’s arm to steady her. Debbie’s


eyes shone with joy and pride. Mrs.

Woods hugged her, and tears of relief

ran down both of their faces.

A few moments later, Debbie

heard her own name announced as the

first prize winner for the tenth

grade. She was dizzy with joy and

triumph as she made her way to the

front of the room. Flash bulbs went

off as newspaper photographers took

Debbie’s picture. She hardly felt the

floor under my feet as I went up to

receive my certificate and a check

for the prize money. Debbie heard

the applause in the room around her

as no more than a dim murmur in her

ears. Her body trembled with

emotion as she shook hands with the

president of the university. A

reporter asked her to smile for the

camera, and Debbie was sure life

couldn’t possibly be any better.


Debbie returned to her seat. Mrs.

Woods hugged her again and

congratulated her for winning.

Debbie sat in a daze. She did not

even hear the ninth grade winners

announced. Nothing else mattered,

now that she had won. Debbie

bounced impatiently in her seat as she

waited for the ceremony to end so

she could call her mother with the

news.

There was a pay phone in the

corridor outside the banquet hall. As

soon as the awards ceremony was

over, Debbie hurried out to call home.

She called collect, and her mother

accepted the charges. She told Mom

everything that had happened, the

words tripping over each other in her

rush to get them all out.

“That’s great, Hon,” Mom said

when she could finally get a word in.


“I had a really strong feeling that you

won, just a few minutes ago. I’m

proud of you.”

Debbie was exhausted from the

busy, stress-filled day. She slept in

the car as Mrs. Woods drove her

home.

“Thanks, Mrs. Woods,” Debbie

said as she climbed out of the car in

the dark driveway next to her house.

“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Woods replied.

“Rest tomorrow. See you in class on

Monday.”

Mrs. Woods backed out of the

driveway and drove away. Debbie

walked into the house through the

kitchen door. Mom and Nana were

waiting up for her to get home.

Debbie was just in time to see

herself on the late news. She sat in

the living room with Mom and Nana


and told them all about her day. It

had been an amazing day, and sharing

it with her family was the perfect

ending Debbie could ask for.


Author’s Note:

This is a true story of one of

the most exciting days of my life.

These are the two essays that I

wrote that morning at the University

of Vermont. I never got the local or

regional essays back, but photocopies

of my two final essays arrived in the

mail several days after the

competition.


Teenagers Versus

Adults

May 9, 1985

Teenagers face many

difficulties in their lives today. One is

the need to express their feelings on

a variety of major issues. These

feelings are often very strong, and

are usually based upon the volatile

mixture of adult maturity and juvenile

innocence experienced by the great

majority of teenagers. For this

reason, the views of teenagers often

conflict with those of their elders.

One issue which is commonly

discussed between teenagers and

adults is that of the legal drinking

age. The feelings on this issue are

mixed in all quarters, but there seems

to be some prevalence in each case.

Adults tend to feel that the legal

drinking age should be very high, with

"very high" being used in relative


terms. Teenagers, on the other hand,

tend to feel that the legal age should

be fairly low. Adults feel that the

youth of the world would be able to

drink more responsibly if their birth

certificates bore a given birth date.

Teenagers feel that responsibility

would become theirs if they were

treated as responsible citizens.

The conflict between teenagers

and adults concerning the drinking age

has caused some rather predictable

problems. Teenagers have found that

alcoholic beverages need not be

purchased in the liquor stores in their

states; they are readily available at

the stores on the far side of the

state lines. The young people find

that drinking out-of-state can be

more exciting than drinking at home.

There is a thrillingly dangerous

feeling associated with such renegade

activities.

A second problem caused by

the legal drinking age issue is an

increase in car accidents, and

accident related deaths, due to


teenagers driving under the influence

They often feel that they must drive

themselves home immediately after a

drinking party, and seldom will a

member of a group abstain for an

evening in order to drive home safely.

The issue of apartheidism is

also quite prevalent in teenage-adult

conversations. Again, there is no

consensus on either side, but there is

a generalized reaction.

The adults of today were

subjected to the peace movements of

the 1960's. Their minds were

carefully and repeatedly subjected to

the concepts of peace and equality

for all. Some were even directly

involved with these movements.

Today's youth are faced with a

more conservative way of life. Change,

even when it appears to be part of a

bettering trend, is difficult for them

to accept. They tend to want the

framework of society to be made of

rigid steel, rather than pliant plastics.

They want a strong foundation for


their lives; and they're used to

achieving it.

This difference of background

and opinion has caused a slight rift in

society. The elder generation seems

to be opposed to apartheidism, while

the younger generation seems to be in

favour of it. This is not to say,

however, that all adults desire

equality and all teenagers desire

dominance among the races; it is

often quite the opposite. I am simply

saying that this is what the trends

indicate.

The proposed "Star Wars" plan

is a third issue which has received

heated argument. Many adults feel

that the "Star Wars" plan is a simple

waste of tax monies. Many teenagers

callously believe that mankind's

exodus to the stars would be

beneficial.

The adult view is strongly

backed. So far, no one has found a

practical purpose for star travel. No

alien races have been discovered. No

inhabitable planets have been seen.


Mankind has not, as yet, found his

brothers in the far cosmos.

The teenage point of view is

heavily biased by Star Wars, Star Trek, E.T., and Buck Rogers, to name a

few. The youth of the world see the

technology of the future in the

ventures of the present. They see

space travel as glamourous and

gratifying. They see it as mankind’s

escape from the noise and pollution,

overcrowding and starvation, of earth.

They see the stars as mankind's

Promised Land.

The conflict concerning the

space program has greatly affected

many people. A form of worldwide

paranoia has set in, and plagues the

hordes of people it has touched. The

world of the stars holds great fear

for many people. The possibilities for

life – and the possibilities for death –

are overwhelming.

The young people of our world

have a great deal of growing to do,

both physically and emotionally. The


issues of today will ultimately take

part in forming the future.

Although it is not always

pleasant to face difficult issues, it is

a healthy way to learn. The youth of

today will be the adults - the parents,

teachers, and government leaders - of

tomorrow. They must have a steel-

girdered basis on which to build their

dreams, hopes, and goals. They must

be aware of all sides of every issue in

order to be successful adults.

Discussing the issues can be

frightening for teenagers, but it is

helpful in the long run to be able to be

involved in the discussions.

Whatever the issues, and

whatever the views, the conflicts of

the present will be printed indelibly

on the way of the future.


The Importance of

Fantasy

May 9, 1985

Fantasy can be defined in many

ways. It can be defined as an escape

from the trials i\of the real world. It

can be defined as a way of buffering

the confusion of our fast-paced

society. It can be defined as wishful

thinking. It can be defined as a

fictional world coexisting with the

world we see with our eyes. I find the

second definition to be the most

inwardly satisfying of them all.

Fantasy plays ay important role

in our modern lives. it gives us an

outlet for our creative selves in a

society where rushing practicality is

generally favoured. This is necessary

because without such an outlet, our

creativity would eventually disappear.

The imaginative individuality of each


person would be lost to a limbo, where

it would remain trapped forever. Each

person would then become,

essentially, a clone of each other

person. There would be no room in our

lives for the pleasures of distinct

selfness. The reality of ego would give

way to the separate reality of pure

logic.

Fantasy gives mankind a unique

means of looking at reality. It forces

each one of us to see what we could

become, given a proper amount of

drive. Through fantasy, we may find

secrets within ourselves. These

secrets might be positive or negative,

but either kind could be used to

improve our personal lives, and our

interactions with others.

Fantasy allows each person in

the world to play. Whatever form the

play might take, fantasy will always

add a dimension of relaxation and

enjoyment to it. Fantasy can make

such games as Cowboys-and-Indians,

House, and School seem real. To a

non-participant in the game, the


fantasy is lost and the reality seems

foolish. To a participant, though, the

fantasy is omnipresent. It brings

broom-stick horses to life, makes

gourmet meals of mudpies, and gives

authority to a five-year-old teacher.

Fantasy has a part in adult

games as well. It adds adventure to

the on-going game of Life, instills

power in the participants of the game

of Parenting, and brings the game of

Death into sharp focus. Granted, Life,

Parenting, and Death are not

commonly considered to be games, but

they take on an aura typical of games

when they are coupled with fantasy.

Life loses some of its bitterness.

Parenting becomes a great pleasure.

Even Death is filled with joy in the

deceased's escape from the trials and

tribulations which affect all people.

Fantasy makes the world into a

game so that each of the world's

inhabitants can have a chance to sit

back, relax, and play life by a set of

rules. The rules that fantasy gives to

life are, one: slow down and take each


even as it comes; two: everyone is as

lost as everyone else and each person

should help the other person to play

the game successfully; and three:

never let yourself be discouraged by

an unspoken rule of the game. The

rules are short, but often difficult to

obey. Each one of us is too strongly

conditioned with "rush," "fight," and

"survive" to play the game well, but

each believer in fantasy makes the

attempt.

Fantasy allows us to relax, to

put aside the problems of life, and to

rejoice in the individuals we are.

Fantasy, more than many

elements of life, is crucial to healthy,

emotional survival. Without fantasy,

life would not be worth living.


Debbie Barry

and her husband

live in

southeastern

Michigan with

their two sons

and their two cats. The family enjoys

exploring history through French and

Indian War re-enactment and through

medieval re-enactment in the Society

for Creative Anachronism (SCA).

Debbie grew up in Vermont, where she

heard and collected many family

stories that she enjoys retelling as

historical fiction for young audiences.


Also look for these titles by Debbie

Barry:

Books for Young Learners:

Around the Color Wheel

Colors and Numbers

Stories for Children:

Bobcat in the Pantry

Born in the Blizzard and Freshet

Expressing the Trunk

Gramp’s Bear Story

When Mary Fell Down the Well

History and Genealogy:

Family History of Deborah K. Fletcher

Grandma Fletcher’s Scrapbooks

Nana’s Stories

Property Deeds and other Legal

Documents of the Fletcher and

Townsend Families

Property Deeds and other Legal

Documents of the Fletcher and


Townsend Families, 2nd Edition with

Digital Scans

The Red Notebook

The Red Notebook, 2nd Edition with

Digital Scans

Zoa Has Her Way

Other Topics:

Debbie’s Writing

More Than Just Monogamy

Nature in Early American Literature

The Heart’s Vision

The Heart’s Vision in Color

Writing Competition

Documents

Transcript of Writing Competition