Belonging Related Text - Berla Hill

Berla Hill council chambers were nestled on the top of the hill, overlooking the town of the same name. The recently built stone building was unlike any other in town as the rest of the public buildings were made of wood. Members of the council chambers assured the community that the building was the most splendid addition to our fine town and that the extra levies on our council fees we were forced to pay was our civic responsibility. The council chambers was unique in that as well as containing a ballroom temporarily available for mass until the new church was built, there was a centre for youth to drop in at their leisure.  The centre also provided activities and programs specifically designed to keep the youth of today entertained and off the streets. The councillors also hoped that the days of random markings, symbolic of delinquent youth behaviour, all over the town hall and courthouse were well and truly past for our most gracious city. 

The council chambers were scheduled to be opened for business on the 16th of June 1850. It was expected that as well as prominent officials and businessmen in the community, mothers and their children of non-school age would also be in attendance. Since the burning of the church, it was our duty to support local families and promote community spirit in whatever way we could. Tea was to be served on the verandah on the south side of the building overlooking the river at half past 10 in the morning and proceedings would begin promptly in the ballroom half an hour later. 

Recently several small children had fallen ill, coughing sporadically and breaking out in a nasty rash.  When they died, the town broke with the tradition of the country and began burying these small children on the hill behind the chambers instead of the yard of the local church, which no one had bothered to get around to building yet. The councillors assured us that our beloved children were in safe hands and that as God-fearing Christians they would look after them in death as they had done in life. 

At the back of the chambers, at the bottom of the hill, sheep wandered aimlessly in the green pastures and the cattle slept under the scattered trees. An open drain, a feat of innovation we were told on account of the green sterilising liquid flushing out unwanted waste, ran from the council chambers down the dusty road to the river at the front, which ran along the bottom of the hill through to the main part of town some 500 metres  below. The local children would strip off naked and paddle in the cool water at the bottom of the hill on a warm summer’s day. As a child, my brother and I had swum there daily in the summer months. It was our only relief from the heat. Since the opening of the council chambers all that has changed. The children began to avoid the area from that day forward, even though it is the deepest part of the river and you can jump off the rocks on the side into the water without fear of hitting the bottom. The lack of life caused a slimy film to grow over the water and our fine city. 

On the grand opening day, during Councillor Fraser’s glorious speech in the heady heat about the benefits of community spirit and the value of a solid work ethic, a strange smell like rotten eggs wafted through the proceedings, distracting the usually attentive constituents. A councillor rose from his chair to close the windows, stifling the listeners even more.  A young boy from a neighbouring farm slipped from his mother’s arms to go to his father, so she thought, but instead the boy made his way down the dusty road to the river. While we coughed and congratulated ourselves on the generous contributions we had made to the building of the council chambers, the boy disappeared into the river. 

As the body was dragged over the rocky bank up onto the grass where a large group of people looked on furtively, the boy’s skin sizzled like a sausage, and I temporarily presumed he must still be alive. Burials resumed in the churchyard after that day.

Shelley McNamara

Point of View in Writing

Activity: (This should take about 10 minutes each to complete)
In first person, write a description of a scene from your childhood where you felt a strong sense of belonging or not belonging. Write in the first person using the present tense. Add aspects to your description that may not have happened, for example the setting or people involved.

Extension:
a) Write the same paragraph, but from a different character’s point of view. Compare and contrast the effect of each paragraph.

b) Write the same paragraph, but in third person. Compare and contrast the effect of each paragraph.

Modelled response: First person -My point of view
I remember I cracked my chin open. Jees it hurt. We were at the local pools. My aunty took us there on the holidays when Mum and Dad were at work. My brother had decided to jump off the highest diving board in the complex. I was about 6 years of age so the board looked like a tower jutting out of the ice blue water below. I was frightened of the water on account of being pushed in a pool at my grandmas by my cousin. Consequently, I refused to learn to swim.

My brother was about 8 and his courage astounded me. I was baffled that he would even contemplate such a daring feat. My baffleness expressed itself in a jumping fit of nervousness at the edge of the pool. As my brother stood up on the end the board, presumably convincing himself that flying through the air was a good idea, I slipped. My chin caught itself in between the water and the edge of the pool.

My fall must have corresponded with my brother’s jump as I saw the heavy splash in front of my face and my brother bobbing up out of the water.

Modelled response: Third person - Brother's point of view
He remembered walking up the slippery steps of the diving boards. He had made this journey many a time, but this time he stopped at the half way mark. Usually he would exit here, take his position behind the jumpers in front of him and look up toward the giant board in the sky. There he saw older guys, flexing their muscles, warming up for their dive.

Today he decided to join the big guys, waiting his turn till he stood on the edge. He looked down at his aunt and sister. His silly sister was jumping around like a jack in a box, popping here and there. His aunt was sheltering her eyes with her arm. He looked from his family to his feet to the water below, all the while his body vibrated with fear. Breathing became difficult. Behind him men grumbled to hurry up. He was with the big boys now and the only way was down.

Creative Writing: Characterisation

Character lost list
Activity: (This should take about 10 minutes to complete.)
Characters in stories are driven by a strong desire for something, just like people are in life. In stories the character goes on to achieve the desire or not. You may have noticed that in some of your freewrites that ‘you’ either did or did not achieve what you wanted.

A lost list of your character’s life is a good way to think about what has been important to your character. The reader wonders if the character will end up ‘finding’ those lost things. Or perhaps your character finds something valuable expectedly because of the search for the ‘lost things’. Why they are valuable and how the character came across them is interesting to readers as we gain insight into qualities of the character. The readers can connect with your character because they can appreciate his/her motivations and behaviour.

Write a list of things you have lost that were valuable to you. Freewrite about all of those things on your list.

Modelled response
My favourite t-shirt: I think my mum threw it out. It had a mighty big hole in the bottom of it. It was winter and I’d snuck the heater into my room, despite warnings from my mother against it. When I lent down to pick up something from the floor, the edge of it got caught in the spokes. I flapped about in a fright. I wasn’t concerned for my safety, but devastated that the flame was simmering the green fleece into black charcoal. A tried to cover up my deceit by sewing a leather patch over the hole that remained. Nobody was fooled, least of all my mother.

Characters in Your Life

Activity: (This should take about 10 minutes to complete)

Write a list of the most influential people in your life. They could be your family, friends, community members or school teachers.

Imagine that person. Think about a time that symbolises what that person means to you.

Draw/ sketch/doodle/write notes about that person. Whatever you do, allow the memory of them to come into your mind.

When you are ready, write about that person and the memory of them that comes to mind.

Modelled response
My grandfather sat on the verandah, watching over his hoard of grandchildren who descended on his quiet lawn every summer. For years he had watched us with that half smile, frown that I had inherited from him.

The call had been made by my boisterous cousin, the one who with the wicked temper chased my brother up the street the day before for telling him he could not ride a bike to save himself. All the kids chased after the two of them, my brother being too quick, thankfully, avoiding another almighty display of roguery on the quiet suburban streets.

The call echoed through the house. I dropped my toast on the table, beside the plate, and raced to the front lawn to be the first on one of the two bikes. To the lake, the chanting grew as the momentum for the adventure sunk in. I roughly picked up the handle bars and while in motion, jumped onto the seat. I rode low on account of the youngest cousin being the last to use it. My knees pushed up beside my torso as I struggled to move past the letter box at the end of the concrete driveway.

I zig zagged my way out of the street across the neighbour’s front lawn, turning back to see my cousins flying out the front door, jumping over the verandah, crashing into the small garden my grandmother tended meticulously.

My grandfather laughed, elated by the excitement. My grandmother stood half way in between the creaky screen door, with a tea towel in one hand, calling out to leave her precious garden alone. More grandchildren rushed passed her following the same route as the last.

I out in front, peddled madly, turning constantly to ensure they had not made enough ground to catch up to me. I knew the drill, first to be immersed in the lake was the winner and everyone else was a rotten egg. Having been a rotten egg many times before, this was my chance.

By this stage I was out on my own, not a relative in sight. I arrived at the foot of the lake, swung the bike from under me, ripped of my smock and dived into the water.

When I came to, in front of me was a black swan, bobbing up and down in the water like a buoy, disturbed by my sudden entry into the water. Its rounded body glossed in the sunlight, an oily black of beauty and serenity. Above the mound of its belly a tiny patch of red baked in the sunlight.

Creative Writing: Developing an Event

An event in a story refers to a significant incident that involves characters, setting, and usually tension or a turning point. Events are also called scenes or incidents. Events are important because they allow the reader to visualize what is happening to your characters.

Activity: (This should take about 10 minutes to complete)
Write an event involving a character you have written about or a character that is in your mind that you would like to develop further.

Modelled response
The mornings are flippant, so my mother told me. The way I hung my head upside down over the edge of the bed and dangled my arms from side to side when I was suppose to be getting dressed for the day ahead. How my mother washed in the bucket, scrubbing vigorously the ginger soap up her arms, under her arm pits. The water splashing out suspended in the air before zooming into the rough mat that signified the washroom. Her skin shiny and sore, like a burn after months of healing. How my brother flew his imaginary airplane along the sparse furniture that occupied the single room in our cottage, leaping and bounding through the space, knocking the richotty chair that he caught with his spare hand just before it hit the ground. He held the airplane in one hand and chair in the other, still in anticipation.

‘Billy,’ my mother shouted. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’

She rose from her squatting position and put her wet hands on her hips, the liquid dripped down her bare legs. She stood there till my brother delicately returned the chair upright, patting it a little, smiling nervously at the wall, avoiding my mother’s eyes.

‘Go and get dressed, both of you.’ Her hands flung the air about as she sighed.

My favourite dress was neatly laid out on the crocheted rug of red my grandmother hand made when I was born. When I wore it I rubbed the lace at the trim so purposefully, that holes like moth bites had grown over the years. Bits of lace hung down to the ground, I refusing to tear them off even though I tripped often. My brother was already dressed. Always before me. He placed his rucksack on his back and moved toward the front door open to the wilderness.

My mother wrapped a shawl around her body and moved about the cottage, tidying up evidence of breakfast. ‘Late for work again,’ she said. ‘To the door, Rose.’

My mother helped me put the rucksack on my back and tapped me on the bottom toward the door. I joined my brother, facing my mother who leaned down in front of us. She cupped our chins with the palms of her hands and squeezed tenderly.

‘To your father's now,’ she said. I followed her gaze to my brother’s face as she intensified her hold on his chin. ‘No going off the path, do you hear?’

My brother’s head bobbed up and down in her palm. My mother satisfied stood up as we turned to the path leading from the door to the edge of the forest. I heard her good bye as we ran down the path with our bags jiggling on our backs.

Creative Writing: Characterisation

Developing character

Activity: (This should take about 10 minutes to complete)
1. One way of developing character is to freewrite about your character based on either chosen or given headings. These headings can inspire a history of your character. This activity is a good way to get to know the character that rests in your mind. Your short writing pieces can be used in a larger piece of writing or they can inform your character’s reactions to and attitudes about certain things that happen in the story.

2. You could also rewrite this activity into a journal. To do this, change the narrative to first person and see what happens.

Modelled response
My character is a man from the forest in a sort of fairytale like setting. When I was writing about this character, I was thinking about the woodchopper in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and the old woman from the confectionary house in ‘Hansel and Gretel’. These heading just popped into my head and I began to freewrite about them, without judging my writing or my thoughts.

The cauldron
He brought the cauldron from a local shepherd. It took several attempts to move the cauldron to his cottage. Carrying it with his bare hands was impossible, even cushioning the bottom with linen towels did not work. Pushing it like a boulder up a hill killed his back, and so he made a sort of pulley on wheels, much like the Egyptians used to move stone blocks from the quarry to the pyramid.

Teeth
The old man’s teeth where in good condition despite the amount of sweets he’d consumed over the years and the terrible state of the medical system. As a baby, his mother fed him honey when he refused to suckle from her boob as a way of soothing his relentless screeching. His sweet tooth grew from there into a thriving confectionary business. Today he preferred the organic ingredients from the forest surrounding his cottage, although he imported sugar cane from the far north. He worked alone these days, squeezing the sugar cane meticulously, preserving the taste and texture.

Failed recipes
For the old man, a deviation from his mother’s recipes for delicate sweets was a bruise to the ego so large that he would remain in his bed chamber for days. Once his attention was drawn temporarily away from the melting of the sugar cane by a swallow tapping on the door. The slight disruption allowed the syrup to burn slightly. Although you or I would not be able to tell, the smell of burnt toffee lingered in his subconscious for days to come.

Changed from a story to a journal
The cauldron The other day I brought the cauldron from a local shepherd. It took me several attempts to move the cauldron to my cottage. Carrying it with my bare hands was impossible, even cushioning the bottom with linen towels did not work. Pushing it like a boulder up a hill killed my back, and so I made a sort of pulley on wheels, much like the Egyptians used to move stone blocks from the quarry to the pyramid.

Creative writing: Playing with Language

Playing with language

Word/phrase association
Playing with language is a good way to develop ideas for writing creative pieces. The idea is to allow your subconscious to go with the flow of the ideas and thoughts that come to your mind. Try not to judge the words and phrases that come, just let the words appear on the page. The following activity can be useful in developing particular ideas or phrases or concepts that stand out to you. You can use these ideas in creative pieces you are already working on, or perhaps these ideas could turn into something greater. Whatever you choose, have fun playing with language and meaning.

Activity: (This should take about 4 minutes to complete)
1. I have chosen a number of phrases for this activity, but any phrase can be used. Begin with the first phrase and then after one minute continue your writing with the second phrase and so on until all the phrases have been included in your writing piece. Don’t worry about punctuation, spelling or grammar. Just write.

First phrase – ‘Along the river’ – write for one minute, then write the
second phrase – ‘I remember when’ – write for a further one minute, then write the
third phrase – ‘he had changed so much’ – write for a further one minute, the write the
fourth phrase – ‘in her imagination’ – write for the last minute. Stop writing.

2. Underline some of the phrases, ideas, concepts you particularly like. Try to use these in other pieces of writing you have already written or in future pieces of writing. Perhaps your thoughts may inspire a greater piece.

Modelled response
Along the river shop plants float freeing commotion peaceful orangutan, guided leaf flower frosted gamete gloat greedily car crash dreamed frosted orange petal camera cox carrot juice flow degrade furrow tunnel under ground sleep slumbering safe caress quake Carly name hat goat company titled fellow goat foot flow foreign come said the forest ground to a harrowing hollow empty wholeness forming happy walk groan I remember when the dog died Benny howled hell core quavering she crawled sheepishly next to the body, shy rice dad on the brink fell hole well rise your neck up in to the emptiness of solitude door handle window pain rain dripping, sliding down the glass like a snot she was the most unusual girl in the class styling fingertips were rested on the bottom of the foliage forever fun to be home in the snow cool touch great hair for hole deep welling in the socket of her checks mouth rich ruby raw crouch up float waft like incense burning coming down slipping hole fear following tripping toes slow frown grove to the gate growing sliding open pulling out he had changed so much at the airport gliding out of his body standing beside the postman checking for ants on the envelopes sleeping awake to the torrent gushing out there where grace learns to sew her dowry of brilliant silk into a blanket for her daughter or her monkey friend since birth in her imagination keeping faith and restoring hope for the beauty of the ka they laughed from their bellies fulling up on the fruit of the nectar life subtle force nudging on the bear who kissed the ranger on the head just like that and ate his breakfast he was hungry after sleeping furrowed in the cave.

Creative writing – Developing Ideas for Writing about Belonging

Writers use their memories and recollections constantly in their writing, but you cannot tell what is fiction and what is fact. That’s actually a good thing. It allows the writer to maintain their privacy while exploring their life in an entertaining way. Because you are writing fiction, you can add to your story whatever aspects of the narrative you want to develop – setting, characters, plot, description, etc. It’s up to you.

The following modelled response is a memory from my childhood. Playing games with my family was one way I felt a sense of belonging and connection to others. There are elements of this story that are true and elements that I have added for effect. One of the reasons why I found this easy to write was because I can imagine this scene because parts of it happened. You will notice that this form of writing is very visual. Creating clear visual images in your reader’s mind is one way to engage your audience.

This extract comes from a larger piece of writing. The extract was written to develop my character, who had just lost his father. Through the memory extract I was aiming to explore the sense of loss the character would be feeling at that particular time.

Activity: (This should take about 10 minutes to complete)
Write a description of a scene from your childhood where you felt a strong sense of belonging or not belonging. Write in the first person using the present tense. Add aspects to you description that may not have happened, for example the setting or people involved. Slowly develop the scene through creating clear visual images, which demonstrate your characters’ thoughts, actions, desires, attitudes and beliefs.

Modelled response
We are in the garden, and I am digging a hole with a stick fallen from the fig tree that shelters our entire front yard. My Dad is with me, lying in the dirt. He wipes his face with his hand, leaving a smudge of brown on his cheek. He is my war hero and we are about to go into battle. He tells me to shift the dirt into a mound. I follow his commands like a drill sergeant. We can use it for the hills he says. Bonus points if you go over the top of them. First one to hit all their marbles in the ditch wins. We both nod.

My mum calls us in for dinner. I hold my breath as my Dad hollers to her that we need another half an hour. He looks at me and I try my best to conceal my smile. This is man’s business, he tells me.

He pulls out a bag of marbles from his pocket and spills them onto the dirt. They look like chocolate jaffa lollies decorated like Easter eggs. He brushes the dirt from the tops of the marbles. I have something special for you, he says. He pulls out from his other pocket a larger marble. We call it a boulder. I squirm inside, ecstatic. It’s shiny red and has two black lightning bolts crossing each other. He holds it in between his thumb and pointer finger and twists it back and forth in front of my eyes. I let out a deep sigh. Where did you get that from? I have connections, he says. Let’s play ball.

My mum is calling now, louder and more forceful. I shrug off the interruption, jerking my shoulder up toward my ear like I’m warding off a fly. Still the noise. It’s piercing my ears, drilling a hole through my head. I look to my father, but he is gone.