The Fate of the Polished Stone

Beautiful. That’s the only way to describe it. A deep midnight blue, nearly indigo in its depth, marbled with black. No larger than a quarter, flat and smooth. Glass-smooth.

“I found it for you, Ms. Fitz,” my high school student said, handing me the small stone. Our writing group was just about to begin a poetry reading.

“Found it for me?” I turned the small rock in my palm. “Where?”

“On the beach in Italy.”

This student had just returned from a trip to Europe to visit a friend. She knew how much I like interesting rocks.

“I thought you would appreciate the uniqueness of this one,” she said. “I got it polished for you. Somehow I knew it would turn out stunning.”

“Good eye,” I said. I thanked her and tucked the tiny souvenir in my purse.

After the poetry reading, I took the stone out again, inspecting how it caught the evening light, yet retained its darkness. “Too bad I’m not a jewelrysmith,” I said. “I’d love to wear this.”

“My grandpa makes jewelry,” another student stated. “He can make that into anything you want.”

“Really?” I half smiled. “Deal.”

She took it from me and left the patio.

Was that wise? I thought. This student was exceptionally trustworthy, but the stone could not be replaced if lost or damaged. It was special.

I’d just have to trust her.

Tonight, just over a month later, I walked into Authors Guild to find that same student handing me a tiny purple box with a blue bow. She smiled excitedly–she knew what was inside.

I opened it and gasped.


The finished piece. Photo credit me. 

It was perfect. A pendant of brilliant silver, sculpted and woven to house the elegant stone. The contrast in color and patina was striking.

“There’s a chain,” she said, gesturing. “So you can put it on!”

I did, removing the jewelry I was wearing in favor of this piece. It fit perfectly.

“Wow,” said the girl who found the stone. “It looks great!”

There was a line of students waiting for help on their stories. One girl, a second year member, is writing a science fiction story. “I did the research on my character like we talked about!” she said, placing her laptop in front of me. “What do you think of this job position for her?”

I looked at the screen. It was a description of a research analyst at NASA. “I bookmarked the links so I can come back to them later,” she said. “And I found the specific probe launch I want to base the story around.”

“Wait…You dug through NASA’s public records to find historically accurate details for your novel?” She is a freshman. Most of her peers are working on writing topic sentences for paragraphs.

“Yep.” She smiled.

“I love it,” I said. “Carry on.” She skipped back to her seat and continued writing.

Blazes, I thought. When I told her to research possible jobs for her protagonist, I didn’t think she would be so thorough and efficient. But why not? I asked myself. Have these kids ever done anything but amaze me?

“Ms. Fitz,” the next student in line stepped up. “You’ve GOT to see this.” She showed me her concept drawing for a new manga series.

My eyes widened. It was GOOD. Like really good. I sat speechless for a second.

She looked doubtful. “I know there are some erase marks but–”

“No! It’s–it’s just awesome. I’ve watched you improve your sketching for over a year now, and I can see so much growth in this! Look, the way you stylized the characters, their faces and hands and emotions–”

“I’m finding my unique style,” she said. “The thing that makes me, me.”

“Follow it.” I slid the sketchpad back. “This is the one. You’re ready. Do it.”

She came back twenty minutes later with a rough outline. We hashed through conflict, character development, point of view, genre bending. “There’s so much to figure out,” she said. “But it’s there. I know what I want out of this story.”

“You’ve come so far,” I said. “It’s not just your work that’s getting better. You’re thinking like a writer.”

She smiled and went back to work.

At the end of the session, one of my newer members came up to show me a poem she wrote, a beautiful journey into the magic of nature at night. I read it silently, transfixed by the vivid description.

“I know, it’s bad,” she said, looking down.

“You don’t know your own talent,” I said. “This is remarkable. Do you know what you want to do?”

“Yes. I want to be a novelist and an artist.”

“Ah, then you do know your own talent.”

She looked down, blushing. “But I have a problem. I can’t ever finish anything.”

I sat back and smiled. “Now that, I can help you with. Bring your ideas and your drive and I’ll help you with the rest.”

Her eyes lit up and she clutched her notebook to her chest as she left.

I sat in the empty room, fingering the necklace. My students had worked together to create it. They each saw potential in this rock and they pulled it forth, making something unique and meaningful. But it took two of them, two sets of insight, to manifest the final piece. They built on each other’s ideas, and made something good into something amazing.

That’s the heart of this group. It’s why I do what I do. To see these young people grow. To watch them become polished. To eventually see them shine in the setting they were born for.

We will get there. Together.


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