“Short fiction seems more targeted - hand grenades of ideas, if you will. When they work, they hit, they explode, and you never forget them.” ― Paolo Bacigalupi

Last week 18 of our senior writers had the opportunity to work with author and editor Anna Scaife who ran a Flash Fiction Writing Workshop at school. In two hours, Anna took our students through a variety of engaging writing tasks and allowed time for them to showcase their own writing produced during the session.  We saw some highly original and entertaining pieces, as well as beautiful descriptive excerpts. Our students should feel very proud of their creativity and accomplishments at this workshop.

Thank you to Anna for sharing her knowledge, and thank you to Mrs Gilpin for organising this opportunity.

A few pieces from the workshop for you to read…

"Winter" by Morrin Kelly (Year 11)

Winter was never my favourite season, it was too cold. The air nipped at my hands, turning them pale and sore. I walked to my class, shivering like the fallen autumn leaves. I missed autumn, the soft colours and gentle warmth now gone until next year. I walk up the steps to the English classroom. Fingertips now red from the cold. I carefully place my hands on the door handle, the cool metal stinging against my hands. I walk inside. The overwhelming warmth engulfs me, filling my senses with relief. The class had already started with their writing. I sit down in my usual place in the class. By the window, with the perfect amount of sun shining through. I place down my bag and rummage for my book. It was large and awkward to carry, but it served its purpose well. I grab my small tin of pencils from my puffer jacket. I begin to write. The pen was blue, not my usual colour of choice but it was all I had today. I think back to my bedroom, where my trusted black pen lies upon my desk, its ink flowing beautifully, with every stroke was pure perfection. But this pen is plastic and cheap, its ink even more so. The disgusting blue bled into my pages, coating my pale hands like alien blood. I focus on getting the work done - speeches; my least favourite topic. Perhaps I would switch to a pencil, next class. That would be much easier to bear. Minutes fly past, as I pick up a flow in my writing, the pen so dissatisfying, flowing almost as beautiful as my favoured black one. The sun shines itself onto my back. “Perhaps”, I think, “winter is not as bad as I once thought.”

By Morrin Kelly

"Late to school" by Jordan Galway (Year 13)

I put my pants on back to front, so I walked in the opposite direction.

"Socks" by Ariana Froud (Year 11)

Socks always seem to disappear, don't they? They’re always wandering off to explore and have adventures. Why they like to hide out behind the dog food I will never know.

I had a lovely pair of violet socks once, they had a good strong relationship with each other, proven by how close they always were, even in the washing pile. They were both huggers. And really warm. I often felt really bad if I took big steps while wearing them because I didn’t want to keep them apart. Most days I was pretty good at taking small steps but hey, nobody is perfect, and I love running. One time I just couldn’t help myself.

Maybe that's why they left. It was me! I drove them apart! Darn it, I'm never good with relationships - apparently even with ones that aren’t my own. I tried real hard to get them back: putting out their favourite gum, favourite washing powder, playing songs that we loved to listen to together, leaving them hints and notes.

But they never showed up. Sometimes things just don’t work out, ya know?

So no, I didn’t “lose” my new pair of football socks coach….

"Jewellery" by Jordan Galway (Year 13)

“Are you good at finding jewellery?” ”Yes”
“Can you identify jewellery of worth?” ”Yes”
Can you price jewellery accurately?” ”Depends on my cut”
“What about your sales skills?” “I am here for the money”
“Would you ever steal from my shop, and take the jewellery for yourself.
“Um” said the robber...

"Strange Flames" by Ruaraidh Forster (Year 11)

The flames licked greedily up the wall and his glee egged them on. Their pale blue edges cast their dancing light across the grass. Somewhere behind the wall, someone shrieked, but that was no concern of his. Soon, the flames were a roaring pillar, sucking the heat from the ground. The cold inferno spread across the sky. His expression changed from glee to terror, as the entire sky, from horizon to horizon, was engulfed in the greedy flames.

"Mob" by Jordan Galway (Year 13)

“Open your computers and begin the work” Ms Jenkins states, as we sit there bluer than any day. Screens are out. Faces are down. Blocked from the world we begin to type.

Time has steadily ebbed when the bell rings. As one we rise, as one we leave.

The same goes as we commute to the subway, as one we walk bluer than any day. Screens are out. Faces are down. Blocked from the world we still type.

We know the ones who don’t belong. As they pass with their necks are craned much higher than the mobs hunchbacks that shuffle past. Walking in the opposite direction with fleeting enthusiasm, where dreams are taunting. Jealousy is a steady hum in the pit of my stomach, as I reminisce about that light I used to have. But most don't have a clue as the craned necks hurry past leaving us.

The zombified mob pays no clue to them, screens out. Faces are down because they know it will soon get them to...

Kua pai te mahi! Well done to all - fantastic writing!

By Jo West HOD English