Ashlyns School

CREATIVE WRITING

Magazine

Issue 2 | March 2016

When We Were Young

PAGE 2

CREATIVE WRITING MAGAZINE

An Interview with

Julie Mayhew

Julie is an actress turned writer who still acts but mostly writes.

She is the author of The Big Lie (Hot Key Books, 2015), a book about girls, protest and revolution, set in an

imagined contemporary Nazi Britain. It was nominated for the 2016 CILIP Carnegie Medal, shortlisted for

the 2016 Peters Book of the Year and shortlisted for the Shropshire Teenage Book of the Year.

Her debut novel, Red Ink, was also published by Hot Key Books, and was nominated for the 2014 CILIP

Carnegie Medal and shortlisted for the Branford Boase Award 2014.

Did you have an interesting childhood? I grew up in a town called Peterborough, which is much bigger than Berkhamsted, and not quite as leafy. I was an only child so I spent a great deal of time on my own, so I suppose it was up to me to make my childhood interesting. I relied on my imagination – pretending I was characters in other peo-ple’s stories (Alice falling down the rabbit hole) or making up my own. I particularly liked making dens and houses. What inspired you to become a writer? I trained to be a journalist originally, because I thought that was the only job that earned you money for working with words. I didn’t meet any playwrights or authors growing up. At university I became interested in performing and trained to be an actress when I left. Writing books and plays was the per-fect combination of the two – I pretend to be other people, and I get to write what they say and do. Was it easy for you to publish your books? No. My first book didn’t get published straight away – plenty of publishers turned it down. This was partly because it hadn’t arrived at the desk of the right publisher yet – someone who understood what I was trying to write and loved the idea as much as me – but also because it needed another really good edit! The editing process, once you’ve finished your book, is when you polish it to a shine and re-ally make it special. If you were giving a beginner writer advice, what would you say? Write something every day so that it turns into a habit. It doesn’t have to be brilliant, it just has to get done. The more you do it, the better you get.

Julie visited Ashlyns School late last year and many students were lucky enough to attend a creative writing work-

shop with her. Here is what one student had to say about this experience..

“It was really inspiring to find out what influences a professional writer. It was motivating and inspirational to learn the struggle

Julie Mayhew went through getting her first book published but seeing that she still kept trying.” (Alexi Vital, year 8)

PAGE 3

Year 7 Competition

Describe your first memory of a book.

Well done to the winners:

Sam Barton

My first memory of reading a book it was the end

of the summer holidays. I was in Fuerteventura

relaxing by the pool. I gazed over at my dad’s

newspaper it read volcano chaos! Millions of

people were trapped all over Europe trying to get

home. “Brilliant” I thought “no school.” But in-

stead I practised writing and reading ‘Gregory

and the Dragon’ daily until we got home.

Amelie Collins

The crisp paper as my dad’s fingers turned the tattered page. His voice as he

read different Characters sometimes soft, sometimes squeaky. Pausing, to tell

my sister the meaning of “Wimbledon common”. Exited squeals came from

downstairs when our dad told us he was reading “The Wombles” tonight. I

remember the shouts when he closed the book and told us, “That’s enough

for today”. I remembered when it was the end of the book he would ask us

the quiz at the back and by the end third book in the series we had memo-

rised the answers. Thank you, Wombles of Wimbledon common for creating

those special memories.

I sat on the end of my bed, my eyes closed as my

mum read aloud from my book, “The Book of

Three”. I loved listening as Taran, the main

character, journeyed across the land searching for

his lost fortune-telling pig. I adore the heroine,

Eilonwy, who was brave and also a magic

sorceress/princess, basically everything I wanted

to be.

Lily Jelf

Runners-Up:

Eloise Champion

Elliot Stanley

PAGE 4

CREATIVE WRITING MAGAZINE

Our Favourite Childhood Books

Mrs Bjornsgaard Miss Rush

Mrs Malik

Mr Peters Miss Milton Mrs Crawford

Mrs Keen Mr Mcdonald

Mr Hutchinson

And so I started painting – using all my favourite colours,

I drew whatever I wanted, whatever I liked, whatever I could remember.

Firstly, I painted square houses with triangle tops,

Then lines became people and squiggles became shops,

And then trees lined the roads and bright cars were cruising,

“Choose your favourite,” said Daddy, so I studied them moving.

Then I drew the picnic Mummy made for me and Teddy too,

-I’m colouring inside the lines – “as big girls do”.

A big red kite that I chase down the hill,

As I close my eyes, I’m there still.

Presents at Christmas and Santa Claus!

My older sister and the trouble she’d cause.

The pavement where I first chalked my name,

The way everything was an endless game.

Then the school; which I walked to with Mummy,

So many teachers, children; and butterflies in my tummy.

That moment of relief when you see your friends,

And the moment of sadness when you know playtime must end.

Rachel Hurst (10SKN)

PAGE 5

Br ush Strokes

By Harry Bennie, 8MMa

Remembering those good days, those free days; those days that are not too long ago, and are never far away. The birds chirping, as the starry nights sky emerged into a perfect, blue portrait. Waking up, you see the sun seeping through the gap through the blinds and tickling your face. You look out of the window and see the kids playing in the streets. Leaving home at 10am and skating into town, where you meet your friends. Sit-ting under the shadow of the bridge; feet dancing in the canal. Stopping the skate session, because it’s too hot and then you start playing a massive game of man-hunt, scaring the whole of the canal fields. The atmosphere is buzzing and so are the bees. In summer, Berkhamsted is the place to be.

Summ er D ays

“The

atmosphere is

buzzing and so

are the bees. “

PAGE 6

CREATIVE WRITING MAGAZINE

By Libby Athill, 8MMa

Cloudy grey skies and devastation is all that I can see now. The sound of sirens and explosions shake me from my daydreams as I constantly try to escape to my childhood from this nightmare; but the bombs are my wake up call to remind me that this is a reality. Sometimes I find myself wondering if you have changed. I wonder if your blue eyes still sparkle when you laugh. I wonder if your blonde hair has grown longer. Many people say I look distant; I must agree when I look in the mirror I see that I no longer have a smile on my face, and when I do - it’s a mask. I just want you back. I want to hear your laugh, see your face. My brother tells me you won’t be coming back. Despite what he says, I still wait for your return. If you never return I fear I will lose my sanity if I haven’t already lost it due to the raging war. I can’t give up on you. Not yet. I still re-member you as a young child, and I can’t wait to see how you’ve grown. I wonder if you think about me as I think about you, but I guess I won’t have to wonder for too long anymore. I won’t have to remember, or wish, or want, because you’ll be coming back, right? Anyway, for now I’ll keep waiting. I miss you, my friend.

Signed F.

Untit l ed

When We Were Young

PAGE 7

VOLUME 1, ISSUE 1

Katy Tonge, 12QHU

When I was younger I loved visits from my grandparents, so you can imagine my ex-citement when my mum revealed to me they would be staying for the week. That meant seven whole days to play with them, and their dogs, which was something young Katy start-ed to impatiently anticipate. To top things off, my best friend Clio would be there to play with too, and that meant dressing up, playing shops and dancing around; or so I had hoped.

My plans soon came crashing down into the sweltering pits of my broken five-year-old

dreams. Clio was indeed playing, but alas, not with me, her supposed best friend ever, but

my grandparents. My mind blurred as I questioned everything I thought I knew to be true.

These were my grandparents, yet they were playing along with Clio and her games, not a

care in the world, leaving Katy, the outsider, isolated to sit solemnly alone. I stared at Clio

with a fiery vengeance that could only be felt from intense jealousy, hoping, maybe, if I

stared at her long enough she would burst into flames and my grandparents would be

forced to play with me instead; an only child could never comprehend sharing attention.

Soon realising this plan was flawed, not only because the powers of the elements were

above my talents, but that, if on fire, everyone would pity Clio, and she’d get more love

and attention than ever, and so the blueprint of a new plan fell into place: a tantrum.

This couldn’t be any old tantrum though, I had to play my cards right. Acting too strop-

py risked being deemed selfish, maybe even getting told off; I had to play to my strengths:

sympathy. And so I toddled off, up to my room, the first step of my plan now reeling into

action. Sitting in front of my mirror, I experimented with an array of different sad faces,

unsure of whether puppy dog eyes, pouting, or blubbering baby would get the best reac-

tion. Just as I was about to decide, I heard a soft rapping at the door, now was my chance.

The door slowly creaked open as my Nan stepped inside.

‘Are you okay Katy? We were playing downstairs and then we realised you were gone.’

She asked with an edge of concern to her voice; she was in the palm of my hand.

‘You’ve spent all your..your…’ I paused to whimper a little for effect, ‘…time with

Clio and not me, but I’m your granddaughter not her so you’re supposed to love me

more.’

And so I carried on until she hugged me, wrapping her arms around me tightly saying

‘Okay, what do you want to do then, just you and me?’

Clio would be sorry she every tried to steal my grandparents from me, because I had

won and she had lost. Too bad she’d be spending her time staring angrily at me, sitting jeal-

ously in the corner.

Mission accomplished.

By Lily Jelf, 7HWH

When I was young my kind still stood upon the rich soil of the earth. The roots

that anchored our mindless, peaceful spirits to the ground were strong and durable

– they protected us. If a storm blew through our dense communities we shielded

each other. Those who fell lived on even after they crumbled into nothingness.

When the animals wandered among us they added movement to our lives and we

enjoyed watching them, although less so when their short lives drew to a close.

Until the humans came, straightaway we knew they were different for they

grouped together and crafted the world around them to suit their selfish needs.

The rocks and ores beneath our feet were turned against us as they cut down with

sharp spikes of pain. I saw the last of my family become the base of a log cabin

nearby, above a sparkling stream that burbled and laughed at my sorrowful plight.

Now I’m the last of a proud family of Sequoia giants; I stand alone in the wasteland

that the humans left behind.

The Last Tree

Submit your

writing for the next issue!

The theme is:

Environmental Issues