Ami

Hey Everyone!
Wow, the first month of school is over! Is anyone else thinking it's been three months!? It's been such a slow month!
I hope everyones been keeping up their writing, I sure have. Just the other day I found myself reading The Birth House in a pile of leaves at the park, It was such a perfect night that I just HAD to jot down a poem!
I was at Word On The Street the other day, guess who happened to show up? RUBY!! I nearly knocked over a table running to get to her, haha! It was awesome to see her!
I miss you all like crazy, and Ami, I'm almost done The Birth House (I had to finish a book in a saga I was reading before I got to yours) and I'm loving it! I cannot wait to read The Virgin Cure!
I hope everyone is doing well, keep writing Creeklings! <3

-Becca

Ami

It's like summer in these Autumn leaves
I sit on the ground surrounded by red and gold
With a gentle green peeking from the edges

With the wind humming in my ear
Stroking my bare skin
I feel the softest comfort

With this book in my hand
Framed with the colours of fall
Winter seems almost impossible

I'd sound my barbaric yawp against this pure bliss
but my voice need not disturb these pure waters
I'll float a little longer before I return to the world in its punches

-Becca

Hey Creeklings!

With school just around the corner, I'm missing you all more than ever. I am counting the days until Ross Creek next summer, and even made this handy dandy countdown clock which you can view here! I also wanted to share my film project that I made last year at Ross Creek in the Lights, Camera, Action SummerArts camp. I had a blast, and I'd like to give a big thanks to Ainslee for helping me with the music!

It's nothing special, but I do enjoy the narration. I was amazed how the nature around me could inspire me to create such a piece. Ross Creek does wonders for the creative mind, I guess. Please keep in mind this is one of my very first projects, and everyone has to start somewhere. I'm getting better each time I get behind a camera.

I hope you enjoyed it :). Also, watch out for a Nova Scotia Teacher's Union public service announcement on CBC, CTV and Global. It has four teenagers and a picnic blanket in it. There are also little words like "fun" and "dedicated" bouncing across the screen. I directed it during a ViewFinder's film camp on March Break. I think it turned out really well. I'm working on a few projects right now, including a short film script, and environmental short, a short story, and a documentary for Annett :).

I love what you guys have posted so far. The "Barbaric Yawps" from the hike are beautiful.

Ami - I finished The Birth House a week or so ago and it was phenomenal. I had the hardest time putting it down. You are my idol. Let's make it into a movie someday :).

x. Sarah

Days Until RC: 327.

Hola everyone!

Hello everyone! I see no one has made a new post yet.
I've written a new poem and would like to share it, and to say hello to EVERYONE! Ainslee is off to France, and everyone else is pretty far away. Besides Mariah, I spent a day at her house a couple weeks ago, we had an awesome time! We stuffed ourselves with wild blackberries! Well, I think I've babbled on long enough. I hope everyone is doing well! Good luck with school everyone! Keep writing!

-Becca

LIVING PUZZLE PIECES

We are living puzzle pieces
Trying to fit together just right
But sometimes what is right does not fit together so easily
Puzzles ARE NOT easy
Who's to say the pieces go here? Or there?
Who truly means for us to be there?
Puzzle pieces do not truly go where they are supposed to
They go where they want to be
Sawing a little off the edges to fit them together perfectly
That is truth
That is what makes all the difference
That is what makes it real

-Becca

Gaspereau Press Visit

On the Thursday before the academy ended, The Creeklings piled in the Ross Creek van and went on a field trip to the amazing Gaspereau Press in Kentville, Nova Scotia.


Here's a slideshow of their adventure...

The Creeklings visit Gaspereau Press on PhotoPeach

Ross Creek TV Action News

Yesterday we spent the day filming RCTV Action News. The writers, film kids, and various other campers came together to create an amazing broadcast that is going to make every viewer laugh their socks off.


Sam Wheezer (Mike) and Mary Warren (Ruby, Ivy, Mariah, Becca,
and Ainslee) were at the news desk and/or on the scene.















Various other campers and staff were used elsewhere. It was filmed by Sarah, Tim, John-Sam, and Sarah, and Tim (instructor).
We filmed various sections.














There was a strike against the murder of Tomatoes, a weather forecast, and a war of a musical nature between the Tiny Boibles and the Barbie Girls. There were also various interjections that had to be filmed. It was a successful day.




-Becca

Bits and pieces

(photo by Becca)

While the Creeklings were away on the weekend hike-out, they were asked to write a second "Barbaric Yawp" in response to their journey. Here are bits and pieces of their offerings...

My journey and yours may be so different even when
We do the same things.
You walk beside me,
We share the same physical space,
But our minds are in such different places.
We are artists.
Together we create, but never quite the same thoughts
Your art and mine will never be the same.
- Ainslee

The wilderness is so untamed and beautiful
It is nice and peaceful - I can easily lose myself.
It reminds me of running barefoot
jumping and swimming in creeks
I love nature with a passion
I could walk forever if no one stopped me
- Mariah

The branches parted, the leaves shifted
And suddenly a rocky Atlantic beach stood before me.
The waves ebbed and flowed, threatening to
Sweep me away, but no such thing happened
I am so harmonically in tune to the world here
The trees that were once so secretive are
now meek and worrisome
I'm untamed out here in the woods
I'm free
- Becca

Life is beautiful here,
This is a place where I can find out
Yet again, that no matter what happens
Life goes on.
The stream reminds me of it-
I will have bad days,
But I will always know that the
Stream is still running,
That a new day will come
- Ivy

This is safe freedom.
We are allowed to be ourselves
and they trust us to be free.
We scream ourselves blue
to the green of the forest
and run ourselves sore
to a feast of grilled cheese.
We will never forget the
bragging rights our friends
have given us here
We will go home barbarians,
Return as swordsmen and
End as warriors
- Ruby

How to be Alone

The Creeklings are off on a wilderness hike this weekend, so I'm back to home, family, studio and garden.

Week one was filled with the group's boundless energy and creativity - scribblings of dreamscapes, wishes, fairytales, nighmares, and all the world's wonders and faults. I can't wait to see what Monday will bring.

In the meantime...this is for the Creeklings and for you. Tanya Davis' gorgeous poem, "How to be Alone." Have a wonderful weekend. "Take silence and respect it."
- Ami

The Crucible...it's a rap.

After attending a stellar Two Planks performance of The Crucible, The Creeklings were given the task to write a rap based on Arthur Miller's timeless play. Check it out...

Arthur Miller wrote a play called The Crucible,
It was about the witch trials, and it was full -
of characters, plot lines, lots of Goods -
Tituba, Tituba, dancin' in the woods.

It's set in Salem, a pretty freaky place,
Everybody's Christian, "Devil don't dare show your face!"

Poor Mary Warren...

When something goes wrong, who's to blame?
Abigail, Abigail, that's her name.
She loved John Proctor, but he didn't feel the same,
So she rounded up the witches. It was no harmless game.

The women were depressed (you would think they were Goth,)
Goody Putnam had a baby and it's head popped off!

Poor Mary Warren...

Elizabeth Proctor was John's faithful wife,
She didn't trust Abigail (who tried to take her life.)
Abby wanted John, and Johnny felt the lust,
so E-Proc put her to the curb - she did what she must.

Poor Mary Warren...

By this time, the town was going mad.
They were sure it was witches, which was very very bad.
Mr. Hale put his foot down, he said, "I quit this court!"
"There's no such thing as witches - abort, abort!"

Poor Mary Warren...

Goody Nurse, she wouldn't confess,
no matter the consequence or the stress.
When the time came, John wouldn't sign,
so he ripped up the paper and said his goodbyes.

Poor Mary Warren...

That's a rap.

Between today's writing sessions, The Creeklings raided the Ross Creek rec. director's goofy props locker and performed the rap on the bleachers of the Two Planks outdoor stage! (Stay tuned for a special RC re-mix in the days to come...)

Common Ground

The writers spent their morning writing reaction pieces to the work of textile artist, Pat Loucks. While sitting with the art in the gallery at Ross Creek, they were invited to "enter into a narrative" with one or more of the artist's works. Their pieces include personal observations, descriptions, and freeform fiction.

This is the artist's statement for the installation, Common Ground.
"the works in this exhibition are intended to address my response to the landscape around me as I encounter it on my daily walks through the changing seasons of the year. I am interested in exploring the marks, patterns and forms that remain visible on the surface of the landscape as a result of human activity as well as natural forces."

"In my work I try to suggest a remembered mood of feeling, to communicate something visceral I have experienced while spending time in these locations, rather than create a literal representation of a particular place."

Wild Barley, Wild Poppies

I see the storm. Raindrops are blown like strips of fabric. Lightning lights the blackened skies on fire. Thunder cracks the windows.
As the storm drops lower, it releases its hold on rage. The rain claps are suddenly just a tap. The thunder is no longer directly overhead. Lightning sheets the skies behind my back. The absence of fury sends me into the deepest trance. I'm floating. I'm myself again.
Suddenly the wind gets stronger and the rain gets louder and the light show dooms me blind. The windows shatter and my eardrums tumble and i can't feel my toes anymore. The monster inside takes over. Until the storm passes, I'm here no longer.

-Becca

Old Stones, New Vines

I see the hayfields, the center garden, and the pasture where the cows they graze. I feel my footprints in the sand, and know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. My husband, my daughter, and me. We live by the glistening sea.

-Becca



Wild Poppies (Portugal series)

The red reminds me of sadness, of people hurt, of broken hearts that are shattered like mine. Sometimes I forget but the pain is always still there. I attack myself, saying I must be strong, but I will tell you this deep dark secret, I'm not tough at all and being sensitive hurts.

The piece I saw seemed dark and sad. Blood red as a bleeding heart like mine, scattered into pieces - forever hurt, broken, full of fear and pain. Sometimes it feels healed but it is not (and might never be.) Only a few people and things tie you to this earth so you do not die, or run.

It speaks of people who run, people who get hurt easily, people who need space yet someone to cling to, and people who are scared.

Scared of making friends and having them leave, scared of being hurt, scared of friends turning out to be false, scared of letting people down, and most of all, being scared of myself.
- Kit

Barbaric Yawp #1

"The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me...he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed...I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."

- Walt Whitman "Song of Myself" Leaves of Grass

Today's morning exercise was "learning to sound your barbaric yawp."
Inspired by Whitman's verse, we walked to a hill and gave our best yawps to the nature that surrounded us. Each writer then spent the next twenty minutes writing a short observation piece, commenting on the landscape and their place within it.

Here are two examples of their work.
- Ami McKay


The trees answer me with rustling leaves.
The dogs in the distance respond with barks and howls.
A bird flies away.
The flowers and grass appear to be smiling.
An empty wooden shack seems happy and full again,
no longer abandoned,
because my voice has filled it up with love and freedom.
I feel like a goddess,
I am free.
Bugs are buzzing around me,
the wind is at my face.
I am graceful.
My blanket flies behind me like a cape,
and now I am Superwoman.
These scraps, they are not garbage.
They are treasures. Nets, wood, a striped pole.
Everything tells a story.

by Ivy Charles




Observation through a lens is unfeeling and fake
to be real is to see your skin in the grass, and feel the wind on your body
to hear the earth speak and scream your response with the dogs
act like animals and become one
we are not made of clay, we are painted life surrounded by colours of perfection

by Ruby Reed

Five Words

For our first project, we did an exercise called Five Words. Five words are written on cards, one on each card, and passed around. Each writer has five minutes with each word. The word needs to be the basis of a section in a short story. By the end of the exercise each person should have a short story.
This project I think was a perfect way to start the workshop. It was quick, easy, and we had to rush and put down the first thing that came to our heads. Just WRITE,WRITE, WRITE! Every ones' stories came out totally different, which I thought was really neat.
Our five words for the day were stars, shoes, magician, duel, and myth.

-Becca

This is my world. People say this is nothing more than a fantasy. They say it’s but a myth. But not in my world. Not in my life. In my wake, I bring destruction. I’m not a kid’s story. I’m not a monster under the bed. I am not a myth. I am a dragon tamer.

I step out into the night, blinking back tears as the chimney smoke assaults my fragile, newly opened eyes. I look behind me at my little stone cabin. Moss has made its way onto my windowsills, leaving the windows ajar. Smoke comes drifting up out if my chimney, making the black-blue sky turn a dull grey. Millions or trillions of stars rest in the sky like diamonds. I like the stars. They’re someone peaceful, yet energetic. They wake me up with their magical presence.

I suppose you’re wondering why I’m only getting up now, when the sun has gone to bed and the moon has come out to play. Last night, my faithful companion and I were out saving a local village of women and children from bandits as their men were out hunting. They give me no credit, the people I save. They never do. How could a redheaded woman on the back of a beast possibly be a hero? Only men can be knights.

I lace up my shoes and kick off some of the mud. They’re more like work boots than mere shoes. Steel-toed and made of the hide of several of the toughest oxen. Fur sticks up from inside, warming my freezing toes. I may be a midnight heroine, but even I get cold.

I grab my chainmail vest off a nearby rock and throw it on. I look up at the sky and whistle my loudest. The wind picks up and like a hurricane, my companion arrives. Desdemona, my familiar.

I was but sixteen years of age, three years ago, when the Magician of Knox came to my door. He said he had come for he had sensed a great power emanating from this place, like an aura of light and hope.

The magician was an old man, so I let him stay on my sofa. I had lost both my parents in a war some years ago and I enjoyed his company. It was one night, late in May, that he told me of my true power.

I was a dragon tamer.

After much persuasion, the magician got me to partake in the ritual to call my dragon. When we were done, Desdemona appeared, fire blazing from her mouth. That’s when the magician told me we were to duel.

It was a tiresome battle. I had no idea in the slightest how to go about duelling a dragon. I was losing miserably. Desdemona had me pinned under her forepaws. So I did the one thing I could. I pleaded for my release.

My tears wet her dry, crackled scales and with my tears, mine and Desdemona’s bond was formed.

Desdemona became my dragon.

My familiar.
- by Ainslee Adams

Welcome!

Welcome to The Creeklings - the official blog for the 2010 writing academy at the Ross Creek Centre for the Arts.

Over the next two weeks, the teens in this year's writing intensive will be posting here. Stay tuned for prompts, exercises, and brave new words!

Cheers,
Ami McKay, instructor.