Passing ‘The Writing Skill’ Onto Students
Creative Writing from My students
The following story was written by one of my students
One of the joys of being a novelist is being able to inspire the next generation of writers (students) through my creative writing courses, on line through Zoom. Here is a a Year 7 student’s description of a storm.
Above the shore, the sky was a gloomy, grey blanket of depression, herring gulls searched for food, their eyes constantly scouring the dark blue, murky waters below. Crashing on the rocks and clawing at the coast, the waves furiously persisted in battering the beach. Looming ominously over the soft sand, the clouds cast a shadow over the landscape.
The cliffs
Rocky cliffs rose dramatically from the seabed, towering triumphantly over the sea. Holing viciously, the wind swept swiftly across the coast, carrying a smell of salt, seaweed and fish in its wake.
Slightly inland, stood a lonely cottage perched precariously on a rocky outcrop, with whitewashed walls and a leaden, slate roof as shiny as a pencil tip. Even if though it may have looked small and fragile. It had endured the harsh bitter conditions of the bitter, unforgiving weather for two hundred years. Its two anxious occupants were gazing worriedly through the window towards the sea; a dark, sinister mass of cumulus clouds had been forming for hours. The storm was heading their way. The windows rattled as the wind grew stronger and the bushes and grasses trembled.
A shower of rain battered persistently against the weatherworn walls whilst drumming on the roof and splattering on the window, rolling down the glass panes like tears. The worst was yet to come. Flooding the gutters rainwater gushed down the drainpipes and gurgled down the drain. Rain transformed the garden into a bog, creating puddles like shards of broken mirror, reflecting the sombre skies. Wailing wildly, the wind slammed against the doors with such force, the hinges creaked. At the mercy of the storm the windows rattled, resisting the relentless onslaught of the elements.
Meanwhile inside the house, the two nervous occupants sat on a sofa
The occupants were trying to find comfort in a roaring fire. Staring into the hearth, they watched the flames flicker as they danced around the crackling logs. Emanating heat, the fire fought the chill draughts of air, providing much needed warmth and comfort. As the storm intensified, the arctic air encircled the house, seeping into all the nooks and crannies.
The beach
Eventually the storm raged and the wind started to grew stronger and stronger, disturbing the shells and stones, shaking the signs and making the telegraph poles sway precariously, stretching the lines to their limits. Savagely battering the coast, the waves upturned all the shore stones in a vortex of wrath. Out to sea, an unfortunate fishing boat was being thrown around like a rag doll by the ruthless, omnipotent waves. Mountainous waves towered above the small, vulnerable vessel. It’s bow cutting through the water, swinging. However, it efforts to resist the waves were in vain.
The next day, the entire landscape had changed.
All the pebbles, shells and stones that it had possessed had been stripped from the beach. Then, the colony of seagulls had departed, abandoning their stormy home for fresh fields further inland. And yet, calmer, the wind had died down, but its effects were clearly visible in broken branches, fallen fencing and tattered flags. Flying defiantly as if nothing had ever happened, they flapped and danced.
Lapping gently against the soft sand, the sea seemed a different beast. Even further out, the white horses seemed fewer, subdued, and the water surface looked a smooth as a pancake from the cottage window.
Inside the cottage
The smell of ash and woodsmoke filled the air and only the sound of a clock ticking disturbed the silence. Finally, slumbering, the couple dreamed of the storm of the night before. In the grate, white ash bore testament to a ferocious fire.
From a student.
Published by Finnian Fitzpatrick
Author, Creative Writing Teacher, Entrance Examination Tutor for 11 plus and 13 plus.-
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ABOUT ME
A well respected author
Michael Fitzalan was born in Clapham, South London where his mother had established a doctor’s surgery in a house which she filled with children.
With three sisters, two brothers and a library full of books, a love of literature was imbued in him from an early age.
Michael Fitzalan comes from Irish parents were doctors and they settled on the West Side of Clapham Common and had six children in quick succession.
A story by Michael Fitzalan
