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Inspired By... An Intergenerational Storytelling Project in Partnership with Everyday Boston Inspired By... is an intergenerational story collecting project that trained young people how to interview elders across the city, then turn what they heard into art. Dairon & Leo Here’s the beginning of a poem Dairon wrote to describe his conversation with Leo: "In Boston's heart, where history's deep, lived a man named Leo, with dreams not cheap. Roxbury raised, on streets so bold, in Massachusetts' cold, his story's told. His words, a river, flowing free, a treasure trove story. With hands on wheel, and heart in motion, he served with pride, the DOT devotion." Read More Read More Deysi & Esperanza Deysi created an art piece to represent her conversations with Esperanza. She shares about her inspiration here: “The word Esperanza translates to hope. The word Esperanza is also the name of the person that this piece is inspired by. Esperanza is a woman who has lived through many changes, and periods of growth. She has lived through many different versions of herself, but one thing always constant is the hope she carries for the next day. Esperanza is a strong and beautiful great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, and woman." Read More Debby & Maria Here’s the beginning of a poem Debby wrote to describe her conversation with Maria: "When we roam, change unlocks doors to new bonds, new home "Me vine a este país por mi hijo," Maria softly said, Her sacrifice echoed by many, hearts heavy with fear. Chapters start and end" Read More Wael & Ellie Wael created a video with voice to represent his conversation with Ellie. He shares about his inspiration here: “Much like the autobiography, not only does my video talk about Ellie’s life it also uses flowers as Ellie believed that it would bring some happiness to such a story, and I totally agreed. Moreover I wanted this video to feel personal and something truly highlighting Ellie so that was further reasoning to take motivation from the autobiography.” Read More Nabila & Alice Nabila painted a portrait of Alice to represent Alice's vibrancy and what she learned about her during their conversation. Read More Read More Hannah & Beverly Hannah created a visual poem to represent her conversations with Beverly. This is just one of the pages. Read More Lana & Nick Lana met with Nick and captured his wonderful outlook that he, too, is a work of art. Read More Read More Leem & Barbara Leem wrote a poem to represent her interview with Barbara. Her poem includes a beautiful visual component. Read More Sylvia & Liz Sylvia worked with TUN founder, Liz Santiago to write a memoir about Sylvia's time living at 19 Clifford Street in Roxbury, MA. We share the first chapter for your enjoyment. Read More Read More

Meet Mia Prince Mia Prince is a student at the University of Kentucky majoring in Sports Communications with a double minor in Journalism and Fashion Merchandising, Mia hopes to aid in the diversification of male dominated fields through her efforts in becoming the representation for young Afro-Latina women. Mia hopes to one day launch a nonprofit to support and mentor those within her own community who are hoping to enter fields lacking Black and Hispanic role models. Experience Mia Prince's work My purpose and motivation in completing this project was to bring myself to my most vulnerable and uncomfortable and pinpoint the message I would like to convey to the world in having the opportunity to do so. Through doing this, I uncovered a story I didn't even realize I remembered and feelings and emotions I did not even realize I held onto so strongly. I believe the hardest part of this project was determining the exact memory I wanted to focus on. As I started to brainstorm, I began to have an overwhelming amount of ideas and struggled to determine which I would like to be the focal point of my project. I believe the easiest part of this project was, once I got in the rhythm of what I wanted to focus on the words, thoughts and feelings came easily!

Excerpt from Creaex Flex by Desmond Ugoji “I don’t want any trouble at all.” I slowly brought my hands to the air and gave him my most innocent smile. “Relax,” I told him and myself. It was a bright sunny day, perfect for a stroll. The enormous trees of the forest surrounded us and I remembered passing by a dazzling pond. Of course, I would have loved to have taken full advantage of this beautiful day but with the patch of grass still on fire next to me, and a very unstable man with his hands ignited with fire in front of me, it was impossible to do. His skin was similar to mine, a coconut-colored brown. He had short, black hair that was cut in a mohawk and a sharp nose. He wore a black hoodie with ripped jeans, which looked more like this guy made the holes himself because they looked like the size of melons, and he finished the look with some grey, leather boots. I didn’t really know his name or why he was throwing fireballs at me. I was just walking casually through the forest till he started yelling. “Don’t try to hide it! I know who you are” he growled as he launched a barrage of fireballs. I shifted my body to the right to avoid one to the arm. I turned around and sprinted away from more fireballs heading my way. It had been a couple of months since I’d run anywhere close to as fast as right now. I’d been told that my speed put a cheetah’s to shame and since Primary 2, I’d been in a bunch of statewide races, winning gold in the 100 meters, the 1 mile, and the infamous 400 meters where, as a 14-year-old, I completed it in 10.7 seconds. I scurried up a short tree and lifted myself onto a long, sturdy branch. I leaned toward the bole of the tree and grabbed my heart. I haven’t run for at least fifteen seconds but I was already covered in sweat and my breathing was out of whack. I took out a small photo from my pocket of me and Leeb when we were eleven or twelve. I sighed in relief. “Good, the picture is safe.” Because of the flash from the camera, I was frowning while my left hand covered both my eyes. In contrast, Leeb was smiling widely as he always did. I put the photo back in my pocket and jumped down from the tree. I didn’t see any more fireballs so I thought it was safe, more or less. I’d love nothing more than to continue sprinting away but I left my bag back there. How am I gonna get my bag with that homicidal lunat—? “Found ya!” The crazy guy hollered. Around twenty feet in front of me, he stopped at a dime, and in his right hand, he held a fireball the size of a bicycle wheel. It looked just like a spitting image of the sun if it were smaller and way less bright. He took the stance of a major league pitcher and gave me a bitter stare. I put my hands on my knees to stop them from trembling. It’s like being held at gunpoint. I could either run or be a hero and fight. Of course, running is always my first option but I couldn’t afford to lose my bag. I sweated ferociously, so much that it stained my green sweatshirt and my grey sweatpants. A bird flew near the Fire Man and immediately combusted into a fire. I still heard the rapid pounding of my heart despite the loud cackles of the miniature sun. Suddenly, one by one, trees combusted as well. I’m used to heat, heck, I used to light stuff on fire when it was like 110 degrees. But when I tell you the heat the miniature sun was emitting, it was like living on the sun with another sun blasting a heat ray. It got hotter and hotter as more and more trees and birds combusted, and his miniature sun increased to the size of a truck tire. He finished his pitch by chucking the bigger miniature sun straight at me, and, in half a second, my feet moved before my brain could think. I sprinted toward the miniature sun. Now I had one option left and that was to use my own creaex. As I got closer to the miniature sun, my clothes cemented onto my simmering skin, and my right boot combusted on fire. I couldn’t breathe. At this point, it couldn’t be called sweating anymore; I was melting, dripping, possibly evaporating, and anything else ice cream did on a hot day. In a matter of seconds, I stood a few feet away from the miniature sun, showing why having speed can be considered both a blessing and a curse. I saw its ugly, fiery face. I also saw that if I messed up my estimation on the spacing between me and this giant fireball, if I missed one single second and if I overestimated how much heat my body can take, I will die painfully. “Die,” he snarled. I slid my hand to my butt and a thick, green tail, a couple of inches taller than me, appeared. At the base, it started a couple of inches wide and as it curved up it got wider and wider. Leeb used to tell me all the time that it looked like a green chili pepper from his grandma’s garden, which when I thought about it, was a really good comparison. I pivoted 360 degrees and with an immense swipe of my tail, the miniature sun instantly dispersed, leaving only fragments of cinders. To be quite frank, I didn’t know what to expect. I was just as surprised as the guy who threw the fireball. He was frozen stiff as a board and his eyes were wide, bitterly staring at me. I gave him a stare of my own that lasted a couple of seconds, just to show him he ain’t as tough as he thought. I exploded off my left leg and ran straight toward him at top speed. He tripped over himself and closed his eyes, probably thinking, I’m gonna get my head popped off, and he’d be exactly right. I leapfrogged over him instead and continued running because I was on fire. “Hot! Hot! Fire! Fire!” I screeched. I patted down my shirt and pants. I didn’t feel anything but heat. Just the thought that I could be engulfed in a fire had me shook. I ran frantically to the pond I walked by earlier. My tail wobbled up and down and, as usual, the tail felt a little uncomfortable and threw off my balance. But after a couple of seconds, I got used to it. “Ahh—” I was about to scream till I remembered that fire had smoke, and smoke was a big no-no to the lungs. So I held my breath and continued running. After about a minute or so, I spotted the large pond about twenty feet away. Just seeing it made me run faster. I’m not usually the religious type but I could only thank the Almighty up in the sky because I did not think I was going to find it, especially in such a small amount of time. I made it to a small beach and I felt the sand on the sole of my right foot, which was weird because my boot was supposed to be there, but I can solve that mystery another time. As I was at least eight feet away from water, I belly flopped into it and created a huge splash that scared some fish. The water immediately extinguished the fire. I’d never been so thankful for water. I couldn’t care less if the water was contaminated or had sharks. I floated on my back and swiped my tail through the water like it was a paddle. I drifted farther and farther away from the coast. I picked up my head and smelled a toxic scent of smoke coming from the forest. It burned fiercely. Wow. I thought it was just a saying, but fire did spread quickly. I don’t know how to feel about the forest burning. I was happy that I was not in the forest anymore, but I kinda felt bad for the trees that the animals used as their homes. And the burning forest, in a way, looked as if it was painted on a portrait. I looked at my favorite green sweatshirt that I knitted myself. The sleeves were burned off of my shoulder so it looked less like a sweatshirt and more like a tank top. I looked at my grey sweatpants and from the height of my knee to my ankle, it burned off and turned into shorts. I looked at my black fleece boot that I had also knitted as well. The sole of my left boot disappeared and my right boot was completely gone, probably somewhere in the burning forest. The sole of my right foot and toes could’ve been seen through a huge hole in my sock. I lifted my arms over my head and inspected them. I sighed in relief. “Ok, good. Only blisters.” I grabbed my chest. It felt like it’s on fire. But that’s nothing my good ol’ inhaler pump couldn’t fi—, I covered my face with the palms of my hands. “Crap. I forgot my bag.” I take my palms off my face. “I forgot my bag!” I cringed. I forgot! I forgot! I forgot!” What the heck?”

*Currently Available* Poetry Poetry is a type of writing that is hyper-focused on word choices and rhythm. In poetry, words are strung together to form sounds, images, and ideas that might be too complex or abstract to describe directly. In this section, you will find helpful ideas to get you started writing your own poems. Memoir A memoir tells the story of a personal life experience that helped you grow or change. We all have experiences that have shaped us whether negative or positive into the person we are today. Writing a memoir gives others a chance to learn from us. In this section, you will find helpful ideas to get you started writing your own memoir. Non-fiction Non-fiction is any document or content that purports in good faith to represent truth and accuracy regarding information, events, or people. Nonfiction Content may be presented either objectively or subjectively, and may sometimes take the form of a story. *In Development* The Craft of Writing To write, all you need are ideas and a way to get your ideas down. Once you have ideas and have written them down, then what do you do? The C raft of Writing section will help you organize your ideas and take your writing to the next level. Long and short fiction Fiction is storytelling that comes from your imagination. It’s a chance for you to entertain, inspire, inform, or persuade using your own creativity. Some general types of fiction incl u de the novel, short story, poetry, scripts (for TV and Movies), stage plays, song lyrics, folktales, myths and legends. For this section, we are going to only focus on novels and short stories. Podcasts Are you interested in telling your story through a Podcast? A podcast is a series of spoken word, audio episodes that people can download and listen to at thei r convenience. In this section, we give you ideas for using a podcast format to tell your story. YouTube Series YouTube is an amazing format for telling a story or sharing knowledge with the world. If you'd like to create a YouTube video or series to tell your story, this section will help you get started. Editing and Revision So you have been writing and you are ready to review your writing to make sure it makes sense to you and your readers, this section on editing and revising your work will help you!

Dairon's Project Conversations Across Time: An Interview with a Compassionate Spirit "I made this poem because his [Leo's] journey resonated with me so deeply. The way he’s changed things for the better is nothing short of incredible. It got me thinking about the ripple effect one person's actions can have, and it sparked a flame of creativity in me. I wanted to capture that essence, that spirit of change, and share it through my words. He shared his struggles and triumphs, and it was like watching a movie unfold so vivid and moving. That's what sparked the idea to write a poem. I felt that the beauty and rhythm of poetry could really do justice to his story. It's a form that allows emotion and imagery to come together. Writing it was a journey in itself. I reflected on every detail he shared, the highs and lows, and I tried to weave those moments into each line. I wanted the poem to be a mirror of his resilience and hope. Choosing poetry felt right because it's a timeless way to express admiration and capture someone's importance." - Dairon In Boston's heart, where history's deep, lived a man named Leo, with dreams not cheap. Roxbury raised, on streets so bold, in Massachusetts' cold, his story's told. His words, a river, flowing free, a treasure trove story. With hands on wheel, and heart in motion, he served with pride, the DOT devotion. But Leo's love, oh, it went far beyond the daily grind, to which he was fond. At his side, a wife so dear, whose art was loved, far and near. Her pieces stunning, a sight to behold, in every brushstroke, a story told. Their home adorned with creations so fine, a testament to talent, a visual shrine. Together they crafted a world of awe, where art and love forever draw. In conversation, time did fly, his life’s journey, under Boston’s sky. A great time had, in interview’s dance, Leo’s story, given voice and chance. Go Back to Inspired By ... 2024 Project List

Leem's Project Go Back to Inspired By ... 2024 Project List

Tags: Cuba, Caribbean, History, Indigenous, Leaders, non-fiction

Nabila's Project Go Back to Inspired By ... 2024 Project List

Before submitting, here are things to know. Stories that have all of the following will be prioritized: They elevate a little-known person or fact that counters a popular understanding They focus on a historically excluded group, giving a different perspective or side of a story They feature new voices from underrepresented identities, situations and realities. They do not perpetuate stereotypes or hate of any group. It will take 2-4 weeks to let you know whether your submission has been accepted. If you have any questions, please email info@theuntoldnarratives.com . Thank you for sharing your work! Are you ready to submit your story? Submit here! Submit Thanks for submitting!

The 1619 Project The 1619 Project is an ongoing initiative from The New York Times Magazine that began in August 2019, the 400th anniversary of the beginning of American slavery. It aims to reframe the country’s history by placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of our national narrative. Click on image to take you to site.