Gwynedd Literature Promoter
In 2011, Thirteen Gwynedd Young People's Writing Squad members worked with author Tom Bullough on creating a character and then creating a space for their character. All thoroughly enjoyed themselves and here are three examples of work created on the day.
A story untitled, unfinished, untold
She could hear in her eyes, echoes of the past knotting with the sound of the sea and the wind. Whispers of a radio voice slithered down the grassy cliff, the grassy cliff disappeared , the battery of the radio voice retired, and she was truly alone.
“Lets bring these shipwrecked goods from sea…” she heard them shout from waves of the past, sailors clambering onto flung pieces of wood. Farmers and peasents came to haul wood, crockery and cutlery. Cutlery she would not use to stir her tea today – those teaspoons would be hidden in the top drawer of her dresser, incase they were shipwrecked and stolen again, against the sides of her teacups.
Nedw the donkey used to look down from his grassy kingdom at her, as he got older he moved around less and less so he didn’t realise that the field was being gulped by the salt sea. As the grass diminished so did the field – but the grass would always grow back.
Llinos Heledd Roberts, 17 years old
Paul stood, looking lost and rather dejected, luggage piled in heaps around him. A short, native taxi driver stood behind him, being ignored as he tried to extort the fare for the journey from the airport from the oblivious foreigner.
Paul was staring with dismay at the plaza where he stood. All around were rabid dogs, flea ridden children, thieving street vendors and loose women. Nowhere did he see the “peaceful, relaxed retreat to a quaint, historic city” advertised to him in the holiday brochure. He stared in horror as a heap of rags, he had assumed to be no more than a heap of rags suddenly came to life and started muttering
“Dinero por favour senor. Tengo hambre y sed, dinero por favour..” He shied away, reaching for the Dettol spray he had purchased in the airport after his own supply had been seized in customs, and he sprayed the old man vigorously. The old man quickly scuttled away like a woodlice, back under his rock.
As soon as the old man was gone he was accosted again by a young boy brandishing a box of Cuban cigars
“You like Cuban cigar senor? Ochenta pesos para una caja. Estan muy real, from Cuba!”
“Go away you little communist” retorted, poking him with the Dettol and gesturing wildly.
Elan Grug Muse, 17 years old
His legs are cold. Freezing to be exact. The bitter wind brushes against his chubby bare feet.
“She better hurry up” He thinks aloud to himself. He picks up a soft, round rock and throws it pathetically into the deep lake. Yet his anger is still present as the seagulls above hover over him like little white vultures. He feels happy to take off the big heavy shoes from his feet. They are his status symbol. The big shoes. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in slowly, hearing the pole on the jetty rattle he awakens his senses. What’s the point in all this waiting around? Why on earth is the stupid woman taking so long? He sits down.
A dogs bark in the distance shakes him to the core. “I’m not scared, I’m… uncomfortable” As the man of the house poor Cai was used to being brave. Those shoes were symbols of his authority in his small family, even though he was only twelve.
Lisa Erin Owen, 14 years old