Heather writes for children as well as exploring flash fiction and poetry. She is a tutor with the School for Young Writers in Christchurch and also works with teachers in various settings to develop their understanding of the writing process and the teaching of writing.

Heather encouraged our students to use different types of writing. They learnt how to make their stories better by editing their work after getting down their ideas. Everyone enjoyed working with Heather, learning new styles of writing and being challenged to make their writing richer and more powerful.

Here is a sample of the writing that was produced by our students during the two days:

Preservation        By Lada

Along the coastline, water sloshes against the boardwalk, boats bump gently against the jetties and my footsteps drum on the old planks but as soon as I step into the streets other noises press into my ears. The town is alive with insects humming, buzzing, chirping, chattering and zzzzibbing. Plants curl themselves around the buildings. I am the only person. This is my place. I love it this way, all the shapes work in such fascinating ways, and there are no people here to ruin it.

There are three buildings placed casually along a boardwalk of this forgotten port . Purple, blue, black, white, and red, the only colours on the canvas . Light and shadow are the same. The people left. It wasn’t good enough for them here. They have no sense of perseverance— of peace— of preservation.

Getting Inside your Head     By Tom

Inside your head there is an endless multitude of thoughts, feelings and memories. Even someone who thinks they are simple has, inside their head, an intertwined complex. It is like an abstract artwork that you wonder about for hours. Messy, but somehow organised. Light, but somehow dark.

Fixed yet changeable. In your head in particular, I see curious shapes and symbols, dots and lines.

I see silky spider web expanding around the border of your neck. I can make out a mountain range carving through the black abyss above your eyes. The number 5, the letter R, a lightning bolt. They seem random but they all connect somehow to form your intricate personality. Everybody's head, like a fingerprint, is unique. 

Brain Forest       By Rose

Ivy curls around the sunken boot, greeting the scaly leg of a tree.

Taste the sweet nectar of the ground fig, as it seeps white sap.

Fish flutter their webbed wings and circle the ghost hand.

The frantic donkey bleats for its family, like something straight from a nightmare, spotting a whip concealed by the reeds, never to be used again.

And in the background, a clearing. Three pale graves lie alone, and the trees creak with wonder.