Pens at the ready….By Amelia

Posted on December 6, 2017 by litchamlibrary

Creative Writing Club is a group of students at Litcham School who are all passionate about writing. We meet every Tuesday at 12:55pm. The aim of our club is develop, extend and push our writing skills. Each week we look at different skills e.g. from haikus to spoken word! We use a wide range of resources to further our imagination. One of our favourites is the literary shed. https://www.literacyshed.com/home.html This website contains videos on loads of different subjects from Antarctica to dolls. The videos are all really interesting and are great at kick-starting imagination. Over this term we have:

Written from Dracula’s Perspective.
Studied and created our own war poetry based on the Christmas Truce.
Entered into writing competitions.
Imagined Halloween through the eyes of candy.
Created Christmas acrostic poems.
Described flying into the eye of a storm.
Looked at setting.

This is just a small set of examples of what we do in Creative Writing Club. Over the next few weeks we will be posting some of the amazing work produced in our sessions. We would love to have some new members and all years and abilities are welcome. For more information please see Miss Timblin. Creative Writing Club offers a space outside of lessons to write for the pure joy of it.

The Suffocating Rainforest. A short story by Amelia, Year 9. Winning entry – Young Norfolk Writers Competition 2017

Posted on July 6, 2017 by litchamlibrary

The Suffocating Rainforest was written by Amelia as a short story for our school anthology ‘A Thread Running Through’ inspired by a workshop with our wonderful ‘Author in Residence’ Helen Moss.

Chichen Itza, 2016

A cacophony of chainsaws broke through the rainforest. Startled, a group of macaws flew up blotting out the sun. An unearthly silence stalked into the forest. The sickening thuds of falling trees echoed around.

Tears ran hot and sticky down my face. I ran, my feet barely touching the leafy floor. Suffocated by the metallic, harsh sounds that emitted from every corner of the rainforest. My rainforest. A waterfall of past memories cascaded through my mind.

1570…

The warriors with pale faces poured out of the trees that day, swarming like locusts around our beautiful home. Shining weapons sliced in a frenzy. I watched with horror as my family and friends fell slaughtered, fear frozen on their faces. The warriors seem to delight in the savagery they bought. On that day, our sacred white temple ran with blood. The cool rainforest offered refuge to me, protecting me with its dark green leaves. Many hours later, after I had sobbed relentlessly, the elders of the tribe found me. Their faces lined with years, filled me with hope. I closed my eyes and let the darkness comfort me.

The stuffy smell invaded my nose, forcing me to wake from the haven of sleep. Choking racked my body as smoke filled my mouth. Elders sat hunched around the fire. The light danced on their faces illuminating their distraught expressions. They stood crowding me. In spite of their diminutive, frail and hunched bodies, I felt threatened. One of them reached out and stroked my face with a hand like a wrinkled prune. He spoke in a wavering voice that dripped with wisdom. It commanded respect.

“Anjaniame, you whose name means life, have been chosen by our gods to live a life of honour,” his eyes boring into mine. “Our tribe is almost destroyed by men with pale faces with sorcery in their blood. They have taken the forest. We cannot forsake our vow to protect the rainforest and its people. For years, we have toiled to find the potion of life. The one that grants immortality!”

The rest of the elders whispered feverously, their eyes gleaming madly. In that moment I saw all the demons of mankind dance around the fireplace: greed, jealously, hatred and temptation. I shivered, my body convulsing with an unknown force.

“This potion was created too late to save many. We are too old,” the elder proclaimed with a hint of wistfulness. Again, I witnessed that flickering reluctance to give up the power of this mysterious elixir. “However in you, life runs strong in your blood. You have fire in your soul.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Anjaniame you will drink this potion of eternal life. It will send you to a land of sleep from which you will be called from to protect the rainforest.”

A silent scream emitted from my mouth. Shivers stalked along my spine. The idea of being locked in sleep was terrifying. Trapped in a wasteland. Yes, it was an honour but what if I didn’t wake? What if I lay comatose, a breathing corpse.

The elders surrounded me, arms forming a prison wall. Their wizened arms seemed filled with strength as they clamped me to the ground.

“It is a great honour to be chosen. Your family would be so proud. All that is now left to do is for you to grant the gods a sacrifice that will gain their favour.”

The elders’ foreheads were drenched in perspiration. From the depths of the cave, a rope was brought forward. In the light of fire, the thorns attached to it gleamed wickedly. With my mouth wrenched open, I gagged as the rope was shoved in. My hand trembled as I drew the rope across my tongue. It felt like my tongue was on fire. Sharp pricks of pain attacked my body. I leant against the wall for support. At the bottom of my feet lay a white bowl of bone. Blood now filled it. The deep red stood out strongly against the pale white of my bowl.

Dense fog was forming in the cave. The elders gathered round the fire, their chanting voices creating a weird orchestra. Their bodies swayed from side to side as if controlled by an unseen force. Deep animal-like moans filled the cavern. Encircling me like predators, eyes glazed as if they were seeing something faraway. One of the elder’s hands was closed tightly round something. Slowly they unfurled like the petals of a flower opening to catch the sun. Nestled in his lined palm was a stone vial.

Merging, the elders’ voices formed a harsh and mechanical sound, “Drink!”

My hands moved of their own accord; I was a puppet who strings were being mercilessly pulled. I raised the vial to my cold lips and drank. The loathsome liquid burned in my mouth like molten rock. I swallowed. It seemed to suffocate me from the inside, fighting every breath that I laboured to breath. The rainforest flashed through my eyes, so vivid I felt like I was there. I fought against an invisible foe in an attempt to keep my eyes open, but my eyelids fell like shutters. Darkness crept in. Screaming cries of macaws echoed in my head. Then nothing!

The next 446 years passed in a land of grey. My sleep was not one of content, rather a restless one. Demons tortured me whilst I lay in my torpor and I saw my family and tribe slaughtered often. No vivid colours to delight in, nor harmonious sounds to listen too. My ears and eyes grew hungry and often wandered in search of a feast.

One day I woke to find the sun’s inviting rays warming my pale cheek. Head spinning as I faced the kaleidoscope of colours before me. Happiness invaded by body.

Chichen Itza, 2016

Then the trees started screaming as metal monsters invaded. Yellow beasts stormed through the forest. Their metal hearts were lusting after destruction. Hands sweaty, I faced them. Whispers whipped through the humid air.

“Do not betray the sacred trust,” said one caressing my ear.

“The Gods have willed it,” a silky voice uttered.

“The tribe wills it,” a multitude of voices proclaimed.

Slowly I sunk to the ground. Clasping my hands to my ears willing them to block out the voices that had shaped me, loved me and yet controlled me for the whole of my life. Part of me wanted to run. To forsake the forest that had suffocated me and turned me into a breathing corpse. Greed had stolen my childhood. The pale faced warriors would not have pillaged, if it had not been for our hoarding. We had valued gold too much. I never saw the danger of gold, how it entices the foolish and removes their soul until the knell of death sounded.

Standing, my legs wobbled, as if they were unwilling to serve me. Cursing them, I walked out of the forest. Forsaking the elders would allow me to keep my newfound freedom.

A sharp pain rippled through my foot. Submerged between lush green leaves lay a grey stone. Crudely cut into the stone were the words; A caballo dado, no se le ve el colmillo (don’t complain about something given as a gift). A laugh escaped my mouth. It burst into the forest startling birds. Brightly it sung its message of joy combating the metallic chainsaws.

The yellow monsters continued their onslaught. I stood before them, raising my dark hands to the blue gentle skies. I felt power rise up through my body. Fanning the flames that licked my heart. Trees extended their branches, like tentacles, snaring the pale faced men with chainsaws. Darkness rolled across the sky vanquishing the blue. Rain lashed the yellow machines. A booming noise announced the arrival of thunder.

Hysterical screams escaped the petrified men as they stared up at the rainforest that had come to life. Eyes widened, as to my left, translucent figures stood beside me. Their faces twisted in anger and their eyes flamed as they surveyed the men before then. A gust of wind blew some leaves through the forest. Hands that gripped chainsaws turned pale, as the leaves morphed into a monstrous apparition. Footsteps pounded as the men fled, weapons discarded.

Turning my head, I saw the shadowy figures bow then vanish. I looked proudly at my hands, amazed that I could command such power. A rustle of leaves startled me. Vines rushed towards me, gently stroking my hair. An urge to sleep overwhelmed me. My heart swelled with love. It stole my breath away. Eyelids falling, I turned to my rainforest. Sleep claimed and as I vanished amongst the tall trees. I, the protector of the forest, slept with a smile.

Rotary Young Writer Competition – Litcham Winners

Posted on April 28, 2017 by litchamlibrary

Members of the Swaffham Rotary Club, David Morris, Barry Briggs and Neville Robinson visited the Secondary phase yesterday, to present certificates and prizes to three of our students who recently entered the Rotary Young Writer Competition.

Felix Platt 7S won first prize in the regional heat of the competition, for his short story called “Reflections of the Accused”. His story then went on win second place in the intermediate group of the district competition as well. Liberty Blackmore 8S and Amelia Platt 9B were runners up. Congratulations and well done to all of you.

Haunted House by Evelyn 8C. A story inspired from a workshop with ‘Author in Residence’ Helen Moss

Posted on January 13, 2017 by litchamlibrary

The old man drove slowly down the country lane in his old Ford, the windscreen wipers thrashing violently to and fro in the torrential rain. “What horrible weather,” he thought. It was extremely late and the sky was pitch black. The man had been travelling for hours and he was beginning to get very sleepy. He must nearly be at his cousin’s house!

Mr Smith was very annoyed with himself, because he had left the directions to his cousin’s house at home. As he turned the corner he saw the sign for Old Dereham and that was near where he needed to be! He wondered where to go next and finally he made up his mind to knock on one of the houses. He squinted out into the distance and saw one house alone, it only had one light but that was enough.

He stepped out his car and crunched up the gravel drive, hunching over and trying to ignore the torrential rain. Then with all his might he pushed open the big black iron gates. They creaked open and he began to feel slightly afraid of what lay ahead. The sky was black, and not a star appeared at night. He was icy cold so he pulled up his coat to stay warm.

Before he had time to knock on the large oak door an old lady appeared. She was as pale as a ghost and so thin she was almost transparent. Her lips were cracked and dry and her face was like a wrinkled apple. Her hair was greasy and it cascaded over her hunched up shoulders. Her eyes were swollen and red, like she had been crying. Mr Smith apologised for turning up at such a late hour before explaining that he was looking for “Bluebell farm.” She smiled weakly and told him to step in from the storm.

Inside, the house was dimly lit and the furniture was old and dusty, everything smelt very damp. The fireplace stood at the back of the room – the flames sounded like a roaring lion. Mr Smith felt like the ancient tapestries on the cracked wall were staring down at him. “Bluebell Farm,” murmured the old lady, “that’s close by here.” She told him the directions and he stood up ready to leave.

However as he reached the door, a piercing scream penetrated the room. “My daughter died here 10 years ago. Sometimes I can still hear her, but I can never see her. Did you kill her?” With that the lady went into a sort of trance and began to stumble over to the man. He tried to open the door but it was locked. Mr Smith began to panic and beads of perspiration dripped downed his face. He felt a prickle of fear run down the back of his spine. Paralysed with fear, he collapsed to the ground, realising today was the 31^st of October! This time it was his turn to scream. He tried to move but he couldn’t, his body felt icy cold and he was motionless.

However when the lady reached him she simply glided through him and out the front door. The man lay on the broken tiles and all he could hear were the voices of the daughter crying out for help.

Days later they found Mr Smith. He was still alive but it was as though his soul was gone – and the scent of death surrounded him.

A visit from our ‘Author in Residence’ – Helen Moss

Posted on December 9, 2016 by litchamlibrary

Litcham School’s ‘Author in Residence’, Helen Moss, visited the secondary phase on Thursday the 1st of December, to carry out some creative writing workshops with selected students from Years 7, 8 and 9. During her workshop she talked about the research she had done in order to write her book series the ‘Secret of the Tombs’. She explored different themes and types of writing and provided students with lots of useful hints and tips on how to make their creative writing more exciting in order grab the reader’s attention. The students then had to plan a piece of writing that was loosely related to Helen’s series of books and these will be put together in an anthology, including a new short story written by Helen herself. We had a brilliant day and are looking forward to welcoming Helen back in the New Year.

“I really enjoyed the exciting visit with Helen Moss. I was one of the children chosen to do one of her workshops and I am glad I was! Helen told us about the sort of books she writes. She really inspired me to pick up my pen and start writing.” Rubie 7W

“I loved the author visit with Helen Moss because we learnt how to write a good mystery story and how to build it with tension with just a few words. We did our planning for our short stories which will hopefully be put together into a big book of all our stories. I really enjoyed the workshop – thank you Helen for coming in!” Sophie 7W

“I did enjoy Helen Moss’s workshop. She tried to learn something about each person and what type of books we liked, forging some friendships in the group that weren’t there before. We also got to understand the story behind her books which I found unique, as I have not seen that before in an author’s workshop. We got to think of our own adventure, a tomb raider type story improving our English skills, which we hope to put in a Litcham School anthology. We had a laugh thinking up a story for Helen to write as well. Some people have taken on the responsibility of organising and editing the anthology without any gain. Every one enjoyed her five word starter game, which allowed them to socialise and learn at the same time.” Finlay 8C

“It was brilliant to take part in a creative writing workshop organised by Helen Moss. Her presentation was very engaging. She really enthused us all. It was fascinating to learn about her writing methods for example, her objects that are used to prompt her writing. Helen was a great advocate for the true meaning of writing. She showed us how writing does not have to be hard but can be an outlet for creativity. I loved taking part in her activity ‘5 Word Wonder’. In groups we each wrote five words to come up with unique stories. Helen inspired every one of us. She helped us to improve our confidence in writing. Even better her workshop showcased the many different genres of writing. I think Helen Moss is a fantastic ‘Author in Residence’. A stronger voice for reading could not be found.” Amelia 9B

A “Book Title” story by Owen, Year 7

Posted on March 13, 2016 by litchamlibrary

As part of World Book Day, students were set a creative writing challenge: to produce a story, piece of descriptive writing or poem which included 10 book titles in its content. This brilliant story was written by Owen in Year 7, using the book titles illustrated below. Students have until 18th March to submit their entries. The winner, who will be judged by the Creative Writing Group, will win a £10 book token.

The Bonehill Curse had been chanted and nobody was safe. The Plague was the first to hit the city and then entered the man-eating Spiders. The Boy in the Tower looked down on the city. He looked down to watch all of the death and destruction he was causing. Suddenly a Black Horizon had taken over the sky. It let out an all-mighty blast of black fire, which made the Asylum burn and then shiver to the ground.

The Wall, across the city, was an ancient source of magic and now the city was in need. Red markings begun shooting out of the wall and they disappeared into the horizon above. Everything in the city had begun to freeze. The markings of magic had caused the city to become Frozen in Time.

The day After Tomorrow had never seemed to arrive at the city. For it was A Trick in the Dark, that had caused total change of evolution.