Tag Archives: creative writing

Sshhh! It’s the Big Write

I haven’t done this before, so here’s a sneak into the classes as they are hard at work on their big write, which we do every Friday. Note the intense concentration and feverish pen and pencil action as the children all work hard to get their punctuation accurate and their joined handwriting looking fantastic.

Have a lovely weekend everyone.

Big Write Clover 1 Big Write Clover 2 Big Write Lotus 1 Big Write Lotus 2 Big Write Orchid 1 Big Write Orchid 2

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#118

This week’s prompt is …it was just a sea of faces… I based this on our visit to BETT on Thursday.

BETTer to be there than not

Alighting the train, it was the usual follow-my-leader approach with the many other professionals, each an expert in their field, desperate to see what new gadget they could add to their school’s rapidly depleting resource base. He’d never been one for crowds and the feeling of trepidation as he walking amongst the hoards of people was growing, a twisted knot of burning anxiety filled his stomach. For a simple village boy this was an adventure and he felt increasingly anomalous in the capital. Stepping into the bright lights and hum of a packed exhibition it was just a sea of faces but he knew that he belonged….

100WCGU – It’s raining memories

Every now and again I take part in a 100 word challenge for grown ups (100WCGU). It keeps my creativity going but also, I hope, provides a role model for the children that anyone can have a go at writing creatively. I thought I’d share one here, as I’ve not written one for a while. This week’s prompt is …but where does the water go?…

If you fancy a go, here’s the link. 100wcgu-7 Please feel free to comment on my writing, blogging is all about discussing our learning.

It’s raining memories

The rain hadn’t let up all morning. Stair rods, my mum called them, when I was young and today reminded me of such a time, years ago. As an inquisitive and questioning 7 year old I used to stand on pointed tiptoes at the window, resting my tiny, bony chin on the cold, glossy window cill. Staring at the rainy runs as they weaved their way down the blossom patterned glass, I always enjoyed extreme weather. ‘But where does the water go?’, I would often say. ‘Just away to a special place’ my wonderful mum would always reply softly, ‘but you will see it again’…