READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT & ANTHOLOGY

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

WELCOME
in their local area as well as building their own work

Welcome 1
About Read/Write South West 2-3

In Read/Write South West we saw a need to support libraries at a local level in much more practical ways.

and audiences. The Read/Write project has enabled us to bring these elements together, providing workshops and knowledge sharing to over 80 writers, embedding skills and experience which has led to new relationships with local libraries in ways which will continue to bear fruit into the future. One of the most satisfying outcomes to this project is our Young Writer Network through which we are

Case Studies Anthology Case Studies

4-8 9-23 24-27

Acknowledgements 28

I am delighted to introduce the Read/ Write South West Celebration Report. At a time when everyone involved in the literature sector, and particularly Library Services, are facing unprecedented pressures on their time and resources, this project has provided a fantastic opportunity to highlight the ways in which local partnerships and collaborations can bring together resources, writers and communities to extend the benefits and value libraries are able to offer the people and communities they serve.
Literature Works is a charity which raises money to ensure that as many people as possible can benefit from reading and writing. We rely on private donations, commercial sponsorship and public fundraising to support the work youll see here, and so fully appreciate the difficulties of the financial climate. In Read/Write South West we saw a need to support libraries at a local level in much more practical ways. The feedback we received from libraries told us that staff no longer have as much time to dedicate to working with individual groups and younger library members in particular rarely had opportunities to be guided through the full extent of library services. The feedback from professional writers suggested they would love to share their expertise and stories, particularly in ways which help them sustain a living

able to work with libraries to bring forward the next generation of exciting writing talent by providing a safe space, an expert writer and an expert librarian to help them gain access to the world of book and words backed up by a whole range of library services and free internet access! Well be extending our successful Young Writers Network to include other community groups and organisations who can offer the space and resources to help us deliver excellent work with young writers in their local communities, and Literature Works will continue to invest in libraries, supporting as many people as possible to gain the social benefits which creative writing and reading bring. As the case studies youll see here testify, when libraries are able to collaborate creatively with local partner organisations who share their passion for and commitment to the place they live in, then libraries can truly take their place as the heart of the community and lives can be transformed. This project has relied on the tireless work of our partner libraries and organisations, the writers involved and the sheer exuberance of the people who took part, so now Ill happily hand over to them and let them tell you about it in their own words.

Tracey Guiry CEO Literature Works

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READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

ABOUT READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST

Read/Write South West is a Literature Works project, funded by Big Lottery. Literature Works is a registered charity and is the South Wests Literature Development Agency, core funded by Arts Council England.
Read/Write South West is a partnership with nine Library services throughout the region. It began in March 2012 following an eight month consultation process with the libraries to establish their needs and challenges. The main aim of the project was to build up collaborations and understanding between libraries and the local communities they serve, so that people of all ages engaged more fully with the complete scope of services and support a local library can offer. This project has included 19 different partner organisations, dozens of librarians and teachers, over 80 South West based writers, and over 4,000 members of the public, ranging in age from 6 to 90! Our library reader and writer days gathered larger groups of people together to learn what services their library can provide. The project included long-term residencies, where writers worked with specific groups including traveller children, young carers and children in care, refugee children and people with mental and physical disabilities. We have worked in libraries, primary and secondary schools, tertiary colleges, care homes and prisons. We have delivered sessions on everything to do with literature, from poetry readings and workshops, to novelists talking about their work, to storytelling sessions and reading group talks. This tailored mix of inclusive project work and targeted approaches made the project incredibly complex, and there was more than one tense moment! But the overarching outcome has been an investment of over 80,000 in library reading and writing groups during 2012/13, and a legacy which includes the Literature Works Young Writer Network, online resource packs, and the Writer Directory which has built up a database of over 80 South West based writers who are experienced at working in community contexts, backed up by training days, seminars and open sessions for readers and writers of all kinds. The Read/Write South West project officially ended on 25th May 2013, but Literature Works will continue to invest in high quality literature projects. The relationships and experiences we have all taken away from this project will enable us to develop similar work, and we are already extending our Young Writer Network to embrace other community groups and organisations who want to help us deliver Young Writer Groups and support the talent of the future. To find out more about the work of Literature Works, or to help us achieve our ambition of literature for everyone please check out our website and join our newsletter. And, of course, if you think you could devote some time to raising money for a Young Writer Group in your local area, wed love to hear from you! From the writers and readers across the South West, Thank you!

SOUTH GLOUCESTERSHIRE TRAVELLERS PROJECT

WITH HOLY FAMILY CATHOLIC PRIMARY SCHOOL, PATCHWAY, AS PART OF A RESIDENCY PROJECT AT PATCHWAY IN PARTNERSHIP WITH SOUTH GLOUCESTERSHIRE ARTS AND LIBRARIES SERVICE & WRITER TOBY HULSE THE PROJECT
A class of 24 Year Four pupils with a high proportion of travellers of Irish heritage and Black and Minority Ethnic children In ten half-day sessions using the school/ community library, the whole class wrote a piece of poetry for performance, based on the theme of rivers Showcased in the school library and at a school assembly to fellow pupils, staff, parents, grandparents and carers

CASE STUDY ONE CASE STUDY TWO

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

DORSET RESIDENCY IN PARTNERSHIP WITH DORSET LIBRARIES AND BRIDPORT ARTS CENTRES OPEN BOOK FESTIVAL
WITH WRITERS ROSIE JACKSON, CHRIS REDMOND AND LIZ BROWNLEE THE PROJECT
Focal point of local book festival aimed at bringing books and writing to new audiences Readings and workshops with primary and secondary pupils, adult writers and adults with mental health and confidence problems Short story workshop at library One-to-one surgeries at library Performance with primary children Workshops for adults with mental health and confidence issues in partnership with local charity rethink Poetry and performance workshops and performance with teenagers

FEEDBACK
It was brilliant
THE CHILDREN

FEEDBACK
I felt I was encouraging a writing communityI was reminded of the power of writing to stimulate, inspire, support and healit hugely boosted my own confidence as a writer and facilitator
ROSIE JACKSON, WRITER

Its fantastic to see children and their parents who have never visited the library before!
THE LIBRARIAN

The children gained an enormous amount from this project and we will definitely be working with the writer again. It was fantastic
THE TEACHER

First time ever working with a writer very enjoyable and illuminating
ADULT STUDENT

Rosie is a great tutor!

ADULT STUDENT

This was an enormous success. the development of the childrens use of language, and performance skills was very rapid! The teacher and the head were involved in all aspects of the project
THE WRITER

Liz Brownlee was wonderful the children were gripped throughout

PRIMARY SCHOOL TEACHER

Working with Chris has really improved my confidence in performing and in my writing skills
SECONDARY STUDENT

My son came home every night and said this was the best thing hed ever done at school
A MOTHER

The workshops with people with mental health issues especially were a great addition to the festival
DIRECTOR, BRIDPORT ARTS CENTRE

I was struck by the maturity of the pieceit was quite simply beautiful
SOUTH GLOUCESTERSHIRE ARTS OFFICER

CHRIS REDMOND

Great to share work in a safe and friendly place

ADULT STUDENT

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST WRITER

BABS HORTON THE PROJECT
Young Writers Squad based at Plymstock Library, Plymouth Run by experienced, Plymouth-based writer Babs Horton Hugely popular, with up to 24 young people taking part aged 1216, including some with disabilities

CASE STUDY THREE CASE STUDY FOUR

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

PLYMOUTH MUSEUM WORD MARATHON PROJECT

RUN BY WRITER KATE CAMPBELL IN PARTNERSHIP WITH PLYMOUTH CITY MUSEUM, CO-FUNDED BY ARTS COUNCIL ENGLAND THE PROJECT
Workshops using the Museums objects and exhibitions as a stimulus for writing Working with many different groups including home educators, alzheimers sufferers, residential homes, race equality council, city college health & social care students, young people from deprived areas of Plymouth and many more! Working with hundreds of people from 6 to 90+

FEEDBACK
I really love this group Ive accomplished more than I ever expected
STUDENT

FEEDBACK
Bad dreams of writing/splintered by haiku workshop/invigorating
YOUNG STUDENT

An opportunity to learn and share it is also great fun and I really enjoy It
STUDENT

Cyrus is a boy/a precociously young boy/ he loves a haiku

YOUNG STUDENT

Its really helped me with my English assessments too

STUDENT

It was great fun developed my writing inspirational

STUDENT AGED 59

The enthusiasm and energy of the group has been inspirational an extraordinary and uplifting experience young people from very different backgrounds have engaged with each other, forged friendships and grown in confidence both socially and in their writing
BABS HORTON, WRITER

Really enjoyed this

STUDENT AGED 78

It improved my reading and writing I felt much more confident it helped me talk to other people
SECONDARY STUDENT

Everyone is enjoying this project we have some very, very keen young people in the group
LIBRARIAN

Very good want it to keep going for a long time

STUDENT AGED 25

This creative writing project is proving a hit with local youngsters!

PLYMOUTH EVENING HERALD NEWSPAPER
BABS HORTON

It gave confidence in their opinions and a sense of purpose

PRE-SCHOOL GROUP TUTOR

CASE STUDY FIVE

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

ANTHOLOGY

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST WRITER

SARA-JANE ARBURY THE PROJECT
SARA-JANE ARBURY is a writer based in Gloucestershire. She has a wide range of experience of working on community-based projects Sara-Jane worked with Read/Write South West on three different projects; storytelling for Year 7s at Patchway College, South Gloucestershire; a residency with primary and secondary school students, including young carers/ young people in care, in Gloucestershire, and in Bristol with Year 5s, mainly from Asian backgrounds

ANTHOLOGY
The Writer Squads funded by the Read/Write South West project have given dozens of talented young people across the South West region a unique opportunity to spend quality time with a professional writer, to learn about and feel comfortable in their local library, to improve their reading, writing and communication skills, and to develop their social skills and potential for the future by interacting with, and sharing their work with both their peers and with supportive and interested adults. To celebrate the achievements of this part of the project, were anthologising some of their work here. We hope you enjoy it!

FEEDBACK
Sara-Jane made the following comments and observations about working with Read/Write South West on these projects: I worked with a lot of young people and teachers who had never worked with a writer before, and a great many of them said how brilliant it was to do so, and how it helped both the learning AND teaching process I also worked with some excellent library staff, who also said they had learned a lot from the project One parent was delighted that her son, who had never read much before now loves books, and has joined the local library! Another teacher said that she was amazed at how pupils who were normally very shy and almost silent in class had opened up and become visibly more confident in such a short space of time

SARA-JANE ARBURY

Working on this project has been extremely rewarding and great fun
SARA-JANE ARBURY

ANTHOLOGY

ANTHOLOGY

The Mighty Tree

Green, brown, yellow The colours of nature in the plants These are the colours of the mighty tree. It curves and twists and goes everywhere A flutter of feathers, a bundle of brown lands near where I sit in the boughs of the mighty tree The air is sweet in my mouth Colours everywhere Leaves, branches, trunks This is the mighty tree
Rian

The Snowdrops
The snowdrops tell of hard times past They huddle together in little patches To protect themselves from the chilling wind In the shadows When I look up peaceful sleepy stars moon planets hopeful warmth curious like flying
Hannah

The day me and my twin felt the pain!

My family and I were making our way through a graveyard, past a rundown, deserted, ruined, haunted-looking house, to get to where we had parked our car. Me and my twin Harriet were shaking in fear at the sight of the figure in the window. We looked at each other and thought that we had been bitten by someone or something and we could see a figure behind a stick-like tree. If someone lived in it they sure had a problem I thought to myself. When we arrived at our car we got in and drove off at the speed of lightning well thats what it felt like anyway. As usual sisters being sisters we have a fight now and again. So thats what we did: we started messing about. Obviously thats when it happened! First our parents were telling us off, the next thing you know youre in a big fire. Thats when youre DEAD! If anyone had experienced such a painful death it was me. A person going past said, I couldnt believe my eyes. A lorry was coming from one direction, the person in the car wasnt looking where they were going, and BOOM. The oil that the lorry was carrying set on fire and that was that, explained the lady terrified. Thats how I and my twin sister became zombies. Im really sad that my parents died as it wasnt their fault, it was ours. If youre watching us right now even though we look revolting were really sorry! You should know that come midnight we turn into Zombies.
Annabel

They hide, waiting to emerge in occasional spells of sun Gaze cast down as if they cant face What stands above them Quiet and unnoticed, they lie Soon they will be gone, until a new spring arises.

small wonder surprised.

Jorden

I curl up tight into a ball. I feel safe this way. My head under the covers, my breath warming the air. The smell of my room makes me cough, its mouldy and musty. My owners cant shout at me from here. They moan about the standard of my work. Its never good enough. I never chose this life, I never asked for it. Its their fault. Whoever they are. The taste of dry air burns my raw throat. My skin, rough as ever, scrapes against the scratchy bed covers. I am a boulder, stopping anyone from getting past me. I block the way. It could be the exit. It could be the entrance. It could be the only way out. Whatever it is or wherever it goes I am the defence. I am the one who gets in the way. The one who is just there because. Because no one knows why. They cant finish the sentence. Cant ever tell me the answer. I dont know why they chose to do it. Why me? But all I ever hear is ITS NOT GOOD ENOUGH, YOURE NOT GOOD ENOUGH. So I curl into a ball. A tight ball. And block off the outside world. No one can get me here.
Lucy Jasmine

I see a wonderful glittery sea-green pool with little dotted islands all around it. It shines out in front of every planet and star. Its sparkle makes the universe shine. It had soft fluffy bubbles gliding around the surface and a soft baby-blue sky. I have seen little aliens wander around the islands and I wonder if theyve ever seen me.

If a star exploded above you in the sky, what would it be like?

Implosion Pain blisters Giant gunpowder BOOM Craters Fuses fire Asteroids. OW!!! Ears hurt.
Lian

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ANTHOLOGY

ANTHOLOGY

The planet was expanding at a phenomenal speed. Bits of debris were flying, zooming past. You watch for a second, then a thought comes to your mind. As earth was close by, if the rocks collided the race would be wiped out. Soon a massive rock came into Earths orbit, gathering speed. Jade had to stop it but there was no oxygen; her strength was fading fast. She struggled and tried not to lose the fight. Suddenly a rock collided with Jane, pushing her towards earth. Once close enough, she pushed the colliding rock out of the orbit but was too weak to save herself. She plummeted to the ground. Nothing but black.
Chloe

I woke up. It was cold snow was throwing itself from the black stony sky. I went downstairs hurriedly lighting the Rayburn Snap, Crackle, Pop! It lit with amazing speed and warmth sprang out into my watching eyes. Slowly, coldly, I walked through to every other room and lit the heart-warming hearths. Despite the deathly cold, I walked outside and stacked a basket with wood and another with coal. Once inside I sat on the rug in front of the frolicking fire holding my chubby red face close to the heat. My brothers and parents came down to join me. We knew wed have to leave the dancing, red flames soon and get to our daily jobs. I work as a servant girl at a manor house and get paid five shillings a week. The rest of my family also work here. I take one, long, last look at the steaming, cosy, lively fire. Flickering flames playing games singing song around the fire. Red and yellow, orange too, burning bright for me and you. Warm and glowing, bellows blowing
Becky

Sealife
The solid black of the deep stretches endlessly below me. Sunlight sparkles form the surface above me. Little silver fish go swimming past me, leaving a trail of stirred up seawater. They flicker past, their shiny scales reflecting into my eyes. Bubbles leave a shiny trail behind them. I blow out my sticky net. Oblivious plankton swim to their doom as I suck them back in. Scratchy rope suddenly envelops me. I am pulled up towards the light as I give a mournful wail. An enormous hunting ship greets me as I burst through the surface, giving a huge splash. A man is hauling at the thick rope on a large contraption. Our eyes meet. He lets go. I fall with a tidal wave back to the sea. I am a blue whale.
Yana

Fire
Marshmallows toasting, chestnuts roasting, baked beans boiling on the fire.

Halloween
From caves at dusk the black bats fly like leather flitting through the sky. As darkness falls, they dart and flap; with sonar skills who needs a map? As Jack o lanterns light the night they give the witches quite a fright but squashy soup and pumpkin pie are warm and good for us to try. Pointed hats and whizzing brooms, witches fly across the moon. Let cauldrons spit their sparking smells as ragged hags cast magic spells. When creepy cats lurk in the dark, owls hoot and foxes bark and all souls fear this spooky scene, its definitely HALLOWEEN!
Poppy, Eve, Alice and Joseph

I reluctantly tear my eyes and self away from the warmth. I want to come back but I know I cant. Well, not today anyway. Oh, I do so love fires.

cinders dancing, in the fire Wet woods hissing, sparks are kissing. Roaring, blazing, its a fire.
Cinderford YWS group

Water
Dew drop, sprinkle, shower and rain; puddle, pond and stream; river, lake and oceans deep; rush around again. Froth and spit, squish and spray, trickle, drip and splash; foam and boil and spill and flood; swim and sail and play.
Cinderford YWS group

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ANTHOLOGY

ANTHOLOGY

The Pond
The water glistened a green shimmering glisten. Dragonflies hovered over the vast expanse of the pond like stars on a clear night sky. Willow trees wept dew drops from their elegant branches. The breeze filled my lungs with the very essence of nature. The sun a shimmering orb in the glassy reflection of the pond. The contra flow of traffic buzzing with life at the corner of the landscape. The silence was so loud it hurt to listen to the calming hush of Mother Nature. The lush grass under my feet was like a velvet carpet luring me to a swim. Like a hungry cheetah I ran. Like a bird I soared through the overall feeling of euphoria in the pond had planted in my soul. If only I had taken the time to judge the depth of the lake I would not be here in a smelly, dirty and disgusting hospital with a cast around my neck.
Sam

Snow
Snow Falling slowly like whispers Ice in my hair Softly, softly The world is grey Because thats what white and cities make Branches droop

Alone
I sat upright, fear smoothly running through my body like silk. I didnt want to move, I just couldnt help myself. He told me to. I got up and stood next to my bed. He whispered in my ear sending chills down my spine. His voice was like a beautiful nightmare. I didnt want to listen to him, but when he wasnt talking to me, I was pulled into a black hole and swallowed in misery. His voice was my drug. I walked over to the old wooden drawer carved with Victorian patterns, and pulled out the metal shiny blade. Certainly something a magpie would have wanted. I have done this so many times, hes told me to! But every time, he saves me. Only to put me through this misery once more. I lifted the knife to my chest and plunged it deep into my heart; creating another hole. I could feel myself struggling to breathe. My lungs felt knotted and dried out. I started to jolt uncontrollably as my vision began to fade. Thats when I saw him. That face I knew oh-so-well, yet not at all. A booming laugh echoed around the old dusty room. I suddenly realised. How long have I been here? A voice interrupted my thoughts. The same voice I heard every day, every night. Except this time, it was full of hatred and disgust. Im not saving you anymore, Bo. Those words rattled in my skull, even after I was gone.
Elsie

The Pen
Words Tied up inside Bundled so small you can only see them with a microscope The lens of your page The nib Blowing them up to full size Flowing out unaided from their world to mine Shocked by what I see Cities grow, fall, burn People laugh, people cry A menagerie enters stage right And exits stage left A match flares The darkness rolled back Words written on the walls Hidden until now And all the while the pen, the pen Races alone across the page I watch, helpless Half afraid The magic unfolds There is no end to the words Great lakes and pools on the page The pen is infinite Unstoppable Even if I wanted to.
Tabitha

A flurry, a rebound The snow a little thicker on the ground And softly, so softly The silence surrounds me Peace in isolation I walk in the woods A close-pressed world Sounds flutter down to join the leaves Stepping on eggshells My feet sink deep Lost in the quiet Calm and beautiful Shadows lengthen Evening falls.
Tabitha

Where will tech take us next?

Where will tech take us next Facebook is a hook grabs you and pulls you into the web Twitter is a tiny little critter With the trolls being bitter. Youtube is the main video site although the spam people bite Wikipedia is an online encyclopedia Full of facts some real and some fake Amazon is an endless shop With prices to make your wallet pop
Danny

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ANTHOLOGY

ANTHOLOGY

Striving for Perfection

Her heavy breathing was clearly audible in the stone prison. Dank and dirty floors caressed her back, relieving her from the days toils. Etchings in her skin burned as moonlight streamed through gaps in the barred window. Clanking chains rubbed against the raw wounds on her ankle, adding to the blood smattering the floor. Then she heard the footsteps. They had decided what to do. He stood at the window, watching the scene before him. The sprawling lawn held a sea of black and white. The mourners came in tidal waves, coming to appease the greatness of The Eldest. Great in life, even greater in death. He muttered bitterly, turning away, head down and shoulders hunched. His mother had certainly left a large impression. He looked down at his suit, sighing as he picked at the fabric. The expensive clothing could have bought thousands of sought after flowers. Looking back towards the mourners, he noticed that each had brought a more elaborate gift than the last, showing their love and appreciation. As a keeper of antiques, his mother prided herself on having all possible makes of all possible technology; and yet, there were more bizarre and extravagant contraptions in the fields than had ever graced the halls of his mothers house. The stampede of people slowly made their way towards the giant wooden doors. He groaned at the tyre tracks being left by the old Model Ts and various sports cars; his prized gardens were going to ruin. He stormed down the many levels of stairs and threw open the front doors, making the mass stop. That is it! he screeched, flapping his hands dramatically, I dont care if she is dead, it does not warrant the destruction of my lifes work! And with a loud scream he stormed back inside, leaving thousands of shocked faces in his wake. Closing the doors behind him, he slowly slid to the floor, cradling his head in his hands. She huddled against the wall below the window, shrouding her face in darkness. From her position anyone who stepped through the door would be bathed in light, but would be unable to see any expression that crossed her face. As the ring of moving bolts echoed through the cell, she cowered further into the wall. The ominous clanging signalled the imminent arrival of The Mace. The large, imposing hood obscured the scar riddled face she knew to be there. His large boots produced billowing dust clouds as he padded into the cell. His towering frame filled the small expanse of a room as he loomed closer. He flung his hood back and stalked towards her. The moonlight caught the dents in his face, casting eerie shadows against the pale shape that was his head. His blackened and chipped teeth showed through his shiny flesh. And before he had even reached for his infamous tool, she had started to scream. 16
Anna

Fools
They pull against the chain they think they have me leashed with, but Im not so easily trapped. The three boys dressed as men cackle at each other, laughing at their prey. I smile. Im not the one whos prey. There are three of them, two on the end of the chain, one in a cap, the other in a Just Do It jumper.

What you been smoking?! Max guffaws. Their holds on the chain loosen as they laugh. Its just a big dog, Cap Boy says dismissively. I laugh, the sound coming out as a broken growl through vocal chords not made for laughing. Oh, Im more than that. And I think its time I show you. I stalk forwards, Petes gun clattering as it hits the floor, falling from his slack grip. Pete, shoot it! Max cries in horror still desperately clutching the chain. I bite through the cursed leash, shattering it between my teeth leaving metal shards that rattle like ice cubes against my teeth. They run. I pounce and, soon, the metallic taste of the chain is replaced by the taste of their blood and fear as I reduce them to an unidentifiable stain on the ground that shines in the lamplight. All that remains of the boys is a Shut it, Max, he snaps back. I slacken on the chain, causing Cap Boy and Max to straighten and adjust their hold. That thing aint right man. Look at its eyes, theyre smart Cap Boy and Max laugh as Petes cheeks redden. Only fools mess with the Devil`s son. And they only do it once. 17
Scarlett

Cap Boy cackles as his feet slide over the grainy gravel making a grinding sound like crunching bones. Make a nice coat! Just Do It grins. They laugh while the third in the trio shuffles nervously in front of them, holding a gun in his shaking hands. A part of him knows what I am. Who I am. And its scared him senseless. Smart boy. Pete, just shoot it, cries the boy in the rather fitting Just Do It jumper. Pete steps closer, wiping sweat off his brow.

cap, gun, a Just Do It jumper and clumps of their flesh. I shift and watch the magic play over my form in the pool of blood, my skin rippling back to that of a man with my fathers dark hair and eyes.

ANTHOLOGY

ANTHOLOGY

The lights of the car ahead blinded us for a second as it shot by. Mums hair was silhouetted momentarily against the window as headlights flew past, carrying cars on their backs. Today I discovered the meaning of my Grandads favourite saying, Go where the road takes you. The curves and bends of the road led us instead of Mums steady hand on the wheel. A journey of chance. I turned my gaze to the window. A full moon. Even in the dark I could see birds covering huge patches of midnight sky; each one with the moon on their wings. Hungry Em? Ive got food in my handbag, if you want. Mums eye caught mine in the rear-view mirror. No thanks, Im not hungry. Alright darling, its there if you want. Were going home tonight and youre going to I didnt waste breath replying, I wasnt into talking tonight. Mum risked a few worried glances at me, thinking I didnt notice. Go on Mum, you obviously have something to say. Come on then, tell me its time to go home. I know you want to. But I dont. Not now, tomorrow or the next day. Im not ready. Honey, you have to go back sometime. You cant just run away when things get tough. Life isnt made with escape routes, sometimes you just have to face up to things. It might seem like the end of the world now but... But it isnt and some day, Ill understand. Yeah I know, thanks for the reminder. But wheres the harm in avoiding something for awhile?
Niamh

It was lashing it down with rain, clouds filling the sky as though it was an end to happiness. Forever. I was just about to talk to my Mum, when all of a sudden she slammed on the brakes. Screeeechh! What the? I began. And then I saw him. The boy with the baby blue eyes. The boy that stole my heart. He was wearing a black leather hoodie and jeans that looked as though they belonged to his dad. The hood of his jacket was pulled right up, over his hair and most of his eyes. But I saw them. A flash of lightning illuminated his eyes. His baby blue eyes. Something? Or someone? He was standing just a metre in front of us soaked I didnt reply, so she carried as if shed never expected an answer. to the skin but standing there in the rain. His hands were in his pocketes, clenched in fists. His mouth a straight line, droplets touching his lips. But then I blinked. I should never have blinked. Because when I opened my eyes after a millisecond, he was gone. No trace of him left. Stupid boy. What does he think hes doing? Mum snapped. Um, er, er
Mollie

As I lay on the grass in this secret meadow I feel alive. I love smoothing the grass and running it though my fingers, I know Im safe here as I have my dog beside me and now and then she glances at me and nudges me with her cold wet nose, I feel her panting down my arm. I see the geese soaring, screeching high up above. I hear the sound of the wood pecker on the big old oak. I hear baby ducklings calling out for their mother. Thats one thing I havent got. Ive got a step mum. Dad says I have to call her Mum, but to me she is just a step monster. I miss Mum. The only reason I come up here to this secret meadow as Mum called it, is to escape the step monster and forget about reality and think about the beautiful memories me and Mum made. As I sit up to watch the sunset slowly into the horizon, I sit quietly and watch the swans nestle down together in their warm nest on the bank, so elegantly. The heron tucks his head in so delicately under his wing and carefully lifts one leg up. I see the deer frantically leaping to get to their mates, their antlers bashing into every tree. I turn to lie on my belly and watch the hedgehogs wake up and snuffle in the undergrowth, little fox cubs come bounding out of their den, rolling around, stumbling over their brothers and sisters and themselves.

school on Monday. End of. I didnt have the heart or energy to argue any more after everything shed done for me. So I just nodded. We hardly spoke on the journey back. I think Mum guessed I wasnt in the mood. She made a point of turning on the radio and humming away to herself; trying to get in my good books. Typical Mum, feeling like the bad guy for doing the right thing. But home? There, everything was wrong. Sometimes, I like to think Id go back to find him on my doorstep, telling me he loved me and Id forget hed ever broken my heart. Ha, Fat chance.

It starts to get cold but it doesnt bother me; I am used to the cold. I like coming up here but I never have told anyone where it is. Dad doesnt even know as Mum used to say that we were just going for a walk. We would spend hours here, on the rope swing and feeding the ducks. There is only one other person who know where this place is and how to get in and thats Maggie. And her dog Skip. Skip is a Jack Russell terrier. Hes a dirty white with one big black spot on his eye and back, the rest of his spots are brown. Maggie helped me make a bench when Mum passed away. With a memory plaque. This is mine and Mums place. When Im here I feel free.

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Amy

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ANTHOLOGY

ANTHOLOGY

I saw them come with their parents and dungarees. They were here to enjoy the freedom of fresh air, giggling at worms and childish jokes. Their mothers watched with a relaxed smile, wishing they could always stay this age. The little girl swung me unsurely of the clouds; the little boy as fierce as someone who hadnt yet suffered. I saw them come after school, full of grazed knees and scruffiness. The nostalgically bright jumpers once worn with pride were unravelled, tugged at in the last few moments of irritation before lunch and playtime. He joked as they swung on me in unison that they were married, oblivious to her blushes. They were as close as always. I was their favourite place of all time, ever ever ever. To everyone else, I looked like your normal piece of apparatus. So expected, I blend into the park landscape, only noticed on a second look. But to them, I was magical. I could transport them to the clouds and back, in under five seconds. A brave scream, and... WHHOOOSSSH! Youre flying! And for that brief moment, they were completely happy, worries on the horizon. A less than graceful landing, but a few tumbles were worth it. I was more wonderful to them than jobs, money, all the things adults hold close to their hearts. I saw them grow up. I didnt see them for a handful of years, all my other I saw her wander to me alone. She almost was the same, cautious makeup distorting her youth. She absently sat down on my right swing, her side. The left was empty. Her phone was in and out of her pocket, last hope shattered at each glance. Time crept by as it does when youre waiting, and I saw through the brave face. Hopelessness shone in her eyes; finally stood up and walked away, her face fixed on the grass. I saw them both again when they were here with friends. Shock seemed to ripple through the park, and his apologetic smile was finally accepted. With excuses plucked from the top of their heads, given to their peers, they shuffled over to me. Time apart was nursed with his explanation, and an awkward hug banished her disappointment. 20
Kitty

A Lonely Crow
The garden was wildly overgrown, with unwelcome weeds sprouting everywhere you looked, so the young boy on the old swing did not look out of place there. His hair was a mad fiery red, long and very knotted. You could barely see his nose, and no one had seen his eyes for years. It was a pity because they were certainly the best bit of him. They were a bright crystal blue; always appearing to look right through you. His clothes would be better described as rags, and as for his shoes, well he didnt have any. His poor feet were filthy, and rubbed almost raw. This small boy went by the name of Crow. No one knew his real name, in fact they had never asked. No one dared to speak to him at all, and that was the way he liked it. He was Crow, and he didnt need anyone else. He never had. He didnt remember having parents and They met me and each other most days, and they were taller, mature every time. Brown envelopes were strangers to their meetings once, and a joy-bomb exploded when they were opened. Universities suddenly burst open, brimming with opportunity and promise. But a shadow was cast. Different choice and futures constructed a barrier as solid as a lighthouse in a storm. They both knew what was coming, and twenty six days later, sad smiles sealed their separation. Crow liked to watch people. He would hide in this garden, where no one ever went, and watch from his special tree. His tree was the highest one in the garden, it was an oak tree, and he was very proud of it. He was also very proud of his climbing skills, though he never said so. Crow tried to make himself forget the family hed I saw them again when they had grown. Her hair had the same streaks of colour as her school jumper, his hands still slightly grubby. I could see remains of childhood as strongly as they felt delight at being reunited. They still swung on me, age and expectations flung into the clouds. She joked as they swung on me in unison that they were married, oblivious to his blushes. Both slowing down, he stood up to get down again on one knee. A velvet box was shaking in his palms; upon opening it, her face crumbled into a teary smile. I see their children swing on me. They watch from a distance, and smile. The joy has been passed on. All of a sudden the youngest boy fell over, and Crow could see the scarlet blood on his knee. The boy was crying, but Crow kept watching. He watched the mother fall to her knees beside the boy, and hug him. He watched the mother scoop him up and kiss his knee better. Crow felt something inside him, as he watched the family leave. Something he had never felt before. He knew what it was. It was breaking his rules. He was
Niamh

certainly never any friends. His past was forgotten, never to be remembered. His future was to be lived, not to be imagined. Those were two of the rules that he lived by. He had only one other. Never be emotional. That was his strictest one of all. He had never yet broken it, and was determined that he never would. Feelings are for girls, he would say, if anyone asked him. feeling lonely. His heart pounded at the thought of it, but it was true. Watching the way that little boy relied on his mother to make him better, to take away his tears and replace them with a smile, made Crow wonder what it would be like to have a family. The people he watched didnt normally affect him this way. Watching was fun and Crow enjoyed it. It wasnt meant to make him feel things, to make him need someone.

visitors blurring into one. My seats became creaky without their affection.

On this particular day he was up in his tree, watching, as he did every day. He had spotted a big family, out shopping together. They were fun to watch, because there were young children, who were being naughty for their mother. They were all very happy though, Crow could see that.

seen; for the rest of the day he pretended he was an adventurer, trekking through a jungle, with vicious beasts chasing him. It was a fun game and Crow liked it. But it wasnt enough to make him forget. Crow began to feel frightened, what if he could never forget that family? Then he felt angry. Why had they walked past his garden? Why did that boy fall over, just in front of Crow? Why didnt they see him and ask if he was alright, ask him where his family was? Then Crow remembered. If they had asked, he wouldnt have known, he couldnt have answered. Crow didnt have a family. Crow would never have a family. Crow would never have anyone. He was Crow and that was the end of that. 21

ANTHOLOGY

ANTHOLOGY

Reaper
I dont know me. Who I am, I mean. All I know is Im different. She crosses the road, hugging her elbows against the cold. Not that I can feel it. Her blonde ponytail sways with each step, her heels clacking in the stony silence of the night. The street lights cast an orange-yellow glow on her, the leather of her jacket seeming to catch fire as she passes under each one. But soon, the street lights become few and far between. I close the distance between us. I dont know if she can feel my presence, a change in the air pressure or an electric current seeming to prick at her skin, but she starts to worriedly cast nervous glances around her. Maybe she has heard the tales. If she can feel my presence then she knows that something bad is about to happen. Thats why Im here. I leap onto the next roof as she speeds her pace, stalking like a panther and watching like a hawk as the hooded, rowdy youths begin to accumulate further down the street, not that she can see that. Dont do it, a familiar voice says quietly from behind me. I ignore him. You cant protect her forever. He laughs. How will you save all the others if youre watching her? I growl, short and sharp my eyes catching the glint of a knife in one of the boys hands. Come on, just let one go will you? Ill take you for a pint, I know a place, one of us owns it. My concentration wavers, hes never mentioned an us before. I tilt my head fractionally towards him. Us? my voice feels rough, unused. He sighs. Youre doing this all wrong you know. I ignore him again. The girl is getting closer to them now. I crouch on the edge of the roof, leaning over and fixing my gaze on the youths as they hear the feminine footsteps. Were not meant to save them. Theres that we, that suggestion he knows exactly what I am. Who I am. What? I ask impatiently, if I lose concentration at the wrong moment, she dies. How did you know this would happen? How did you know to track her? I dont answer. You felt it didnt you? A pull, a sort of magnetic pull dragging you towards her. Only you assumed it was a cue to save her. He appears beside me, dark red hair swept over his face, the lamp light making it look like a licking flame. We both wear black. Yes us. Were the same you and I, or did you just think I was so lonely I had to waste my time with some damn do-gooder? Id never really thought about it, he was just a nuisance, a buzzing fly in my ear trying to tempt me away from saving innocent lives.

The Skating Dream

I opened my eyes and suddenly realised I was upsidedown. Finishing my flip and landing, I put my foot to the floor and stopped just before the next ramp. Thats when I actually realised how much the crowd was cheering for me. I was impressed. For a moment, I just gazed into the crowds before I was interrupted by the judges voices. Then they called me over. Oh no, the scores I have been waiting for, for my whole life go up. Its a ten, nine and a half, ten andWhat? Another ten? Thats got to be the highest score ever achieved! Well done, and give a round of applause for Tony Day! Im now the world champion! At least I thought I was Its pitch black and theres nothing to see. This isnt the podium where I should get my trophy thats as gold as the sun. This isnt where the crowds are cheering so loudly I can hear my heart banging in my ears. This is home, boring old home. Where my Mum has died and my Dad is down at the pub 95% of the time, drunk and unable to come home on his own. I look over at my platinum clock. Its funny really, my Dad can afford pretty much anything but to other people, we look poor. We live in a run-down house, with a garden that has weeds growing in every space possible. Anyway, its 4:45 in the morning and I decide to turn my lamp on. I want to fall back to sleep and be lost in thoughts all over again. But Im awake now. No chance. Then I hear the door open, and at first I think were I growl again. What else am I supposed to do?! I curse myself for falling for it and turn my attention back to the youths, the girl has spotted them now. She tries to turn and escape but theyve already seen her. We, my dear brother are not meant to save her. He unfurls his black wings just as I do the same. We are meant to harvest her soul.
Scarlett

No, but Ive only gone and booked us in to see the skateboarding competition in Newcastle today! he cheered. Oh wow! I had a dream about that! Oh thanks Dad! Thats ok. Hurry up and get dressed! In no more than twenty minutes, we had had breakfast and were on our way to the most exciting thing I had ever gone to in my life. Crowds. Busy. Amazing. That is how it was. Dad would shout Go on! to my favourite skater; Steve Rogers, and it would look as though he was miming. I would boo and hiss to Quentin Smith (the most rubbish skater on Earth), and the person sitting next to me would give me a filthy look. That is honestly what it was like. But I enjoyed it. Though every good thing has to end, and my skating dream was just one of many that I will have. And I hope that you too will one day have your dream come true. Ive had my skating dream and I am now one step closer to making it happen. Maybe this is the start for yours, too?
Mollie

being robbed. But soon, I come back to reality and realise its Dad coming back from the pub. I quickly turn my light off and pretend Im asleep until I hear my Dad get into bed. Soon enough, I feel my eyes slowly close and then I fall into another deep sleep Hey! Tony! Wake up! Guess what? What? Are we going to see Manchester United play against Chelsea at Wembley Stadium? I asked sarcastically. 23

22

BUILDING COMMUNITIES FOR A NEW LIBRARY: THE LAUNCH OF JUNCTION 3 LIBRARY, BRISTOL
THE PROJECT
Read/Write South West provided opportunities for activity in and around Junction 3, the new Big Lottery funded library and learning centre in Easton, Bristol Working with library users, writer Sara-Jane Arbury and graphic novelist Joff Winterhart encouraged visitors to write about what libraries mean to them and hundreds of visitors experienced the vibrant sessions in progress and many gained first-hand experience of working with writers through active participation Writer Amy Mason has worked with elders (some more than 90 years old) from the areas large African Caribbean community, encouraging and enabling them to tell their own stories. Amy used lived experience/oral histories to inspire creative writing and sessions were recorded to enable those with poor eyesight to take part

CASE STUDY SIX

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

Sara-Jane Arbury helped to strengthen and deepen the librarys relationship with the adjacent Millponds Primary School. Pupils were chosen by teachers to attend two library based workshops each to encourage their creative writing. Sara-Jane used a series of exercises to encourage the children to draw inspiration from books, pictures and their own knowledge and experiences

FEEDBACK
Safe and secure Completely at home and proud to be a Bristolian Happy - like an elephant squirting water Its lovely and playful It gives me breathing space Amazing,

As all participants were selfselecting and the entrance policy was completely open, the groups were truly diverse and represented the vibrant local area. Among others, members came from the local Pakistani community, were newly arrived immigrants (from Spain, South Africa and Poland), were members of the established African and Caribbean community, or were in recovery (from drugs/alcohol and mental health crises). This diversity led to fascinating writing, and to truly inspiring discussions about what characterises our city and what it means to be Bristolian
AMY MASON, WRITER

The project provided an excellent opportunity both to strengthen Bristol Libraries relationship with two excellent local writers and to allow them to explore working with new groups and communities. The library is in an area of considerable deprivation the majority of those participating in Read/Write South West activities have not previously had the opportunity to benefit from working with a writer
ANDREW COX, BRISTOL LIBRARIES

Exciting Magical Extraordinary Fantastic I gained more confidence in managing to produce something Very helpful and inspiring

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JOFF AND SARA-JANE Junction 3 Launch event

25

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST: LIBRARIAN

EMMA SHERRIFF, OUTREACH SUPPORT OFFICER FOR PLYMOUTH CITY COUNCIL LIBRARIES THE PROJECT
The set up and coordination of Young Writers Squad Plymouth, a group for young writers aged 12-16 years running fortnightly at Plymstock Library. Emma also hosted a blog writing skills workshop with the group and facilitated library sessions. The young people now regularly publish work on their own blog: http:// youngwriterssquadplymouth.wordpress. com. Emma worked closely with local writer Babs Horton who led writing activities. An anthology of the squads writing is to be published this year

CASE STUDY SEVEN CASE STUDY EIGHT

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST: WRITER AND LIBRARY

SALLY CRABTREE, WRITER THE PROJECT
Sally Crabtree was able to use her experience in inspiring young people and working with different partner organizations in Cornwall to present a series of workshops that would help libraries reach local primary schools in their area The aim of the workshops were to bring words to life, give children the confidence to find their own voice and break down preconceived ideas of what reading and writing could be to add an element of surprise and delight into peoples notions of what literature is Those taking part experienced the unexpected they discovered that they themselves could write and make books in all shapes and sizes using their own imaginative ideas, that they could perform their poems and songs, create dancing poems and even eat their words and become a walking living poem! Literature really could come alive. They discovered that grown ups arent always boring, that poets can do cartwheels, that words can carry in their arms ones own amazing ideas and hand them like a present to others not necessarily just in book form but perhaps as an objet dart, a song, a performance poem, in an installation or as the icing of an edible poetry cake The project showed that libraries can surprise you by offering you somewhere to discover, and be a place of vibrant, meaningful fun

FEEDBACK
The Librarian made the following comments and observations about working with Read/Write South West on these projects: The Young Writers Squad have been inspirational to work with, reading their stories and poetry is exciting and incredibly entertaining Working with a professional writer has enabled young people to become more confident in themselves as individuals, and hone their writing skills With the support of a professional writer, librarians and library facilities, a young person with special educational needs, and experiencing difficulties with writing and speech, has been able to attend independently, share work with peers, integrate with other young writers, and develop in confidence The Squad received a welcome tour of the library and made use of library resources made available to them, including teen and adult novels, free internet access and use of word processing software

FEEDBACK
The Writer made the following comments and observations about working with Read/Write South West on these projects: As someone who has always found libraries exciting places, it was inspiring to see children who had never set foot in one before become enthused after a session and ask How can I join? The project brought the libraries to life and proved that young people are eager for such positive experiences. It made me as a writer want to think of even more new ways to capture their imaginations The project was a very successful way for the libraries to forge a link with local schools and to see how projects such as this can bring communities together in positive and exciting ways. It showed the schools that libraries can offer a fresh approach to literacy and bring it alive in ways that young people respond to, giving them a new found confidence that they can take back to all their lessons and their life

I am delighted that the library could help to unlock and share their creativity and talent
LIBRARIAN

26

SALLY CRABTREE

EMMA SHERRIFF

27

READ/WRITE SOUTH WEST CELEBRATION REPORT

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Literature Works would like to thank the following people and organisations for their support and hard work in making this project such a success:
Arts Council England, South West Bridport Arts Centre Bridport Open Book Festival Polly Gifford Bristol Library Service Andrew Cox Cornwall Library Service Merryn Kent Devon Library Service Dorset Library Service Sharon Kirkpatrick Gloucestershire Library Service Carole Bowe HMP Leyhill, South Gloucestershire Hall for Cornwall, Truro Isobel King Learning SW, Taunton Gill Millar and Anna Sayce Lit Up! Literature Project Poole & Bournemouth Amy Mason Patchway College, South Gloucestershire Kerry Roberts & the English Department; Sherie Humphreys Plymouth International Book Festival Plymouth Library Service Emma Sherriff Plymouth Museum & Arts Gallery Kate Campbell Rethink South Gloucestershire Library & Arts Services Alison Catlin Take Art, Somerset Mark Helyar Torbay Library Services Paul Trainer Plymouth University Marc Lintern Wiltshire Library Service Chris Moore 28
Printed on 100% recycled stock

WRITERS
Moira Andrew Sue Ashby Sara-Jane Arbury Carly Bennett Sarah Benwell Phil Bowen Liz Brownlee Mark Bunhope Kate Campbell Sarwat Chadda Lucy Christopher Julia Copus Jo Corcoran Sally Crabtree Barry Cunningham Sophie Duffy Debi Evans Jane Feaver Jonny Fluffypunk Thommie Gillow Ann Gray Helen Greathead Deborah Gregory Rebecca Gregson Anna Groves Babs Horton Clive Hopwood Toby Hulse Rosie Jackson Sally Jenkinson Susanna Jones Tim King Steve Lake Amy Mason Simon MacCormack Annie McKie Tina Orr Munro Brenda Read-Brown David Reakes Chris Redmond Ali Reynolds Carol Rifka Brunt Sophie Rochester Vicki Ross Patrick Ryan John Seagrave CJ Skuse Helen Slavin Sophie Tallis Rebecca Tantony Liv Torc Tom Vowler Clare Wallace Rachel Ward David Woolley Cliff Yates

Writers in Prisons Network Clive Hopwood

Literature Works Peninsula Arts, Plymouth University Roland Levinsky Building Drake Circus PLYMOUTH PL4 8AA Telephone: 01752 585073
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www.literatureworks.org.uk