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Bio-Zine (Young Writers Group 2017)

This zine is a collection of writing created by SCWC's Young Writers Group in 2017.

This zine is a collection of writing created by SCWC's Young Writers Group in 2017.

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Bio-zine


Contents

Erica, pages 4–5

Cassie, pages 6–9

Rachel, pages 10–13

Toby, pages 14–17

Helena, pages 18–21

Biographies, pages 22–23



Is this still your number?

by Erica

“Is this still your number? I’m looking for 1 if you have

any.”

“Who is this?”

“Jason”

“No clue who you are dude.”

“Is this Emma?”

“Aaron maybe?”

“No sorry, I think you have the wrong number, the only

Aaron I know is my friends dad, soz dude.”

“This is Oster”

“All good cheers anyway man”

Don’t you just hate wrong number texts. I have devised this strategy for

answering to them. If you are a girl, pretend to be a guy and if you are

a guy, you pretend to be a girl. This is soooooo much fun, especially if

you have a really weird name like Oster or Thirrin. (No offence intended

to any Osters or Thirrins out there.)

This is a conversation I had last Monday at lunch time with this boy I

didn’t know. The beauty of the thing is that he didn’t know that he was

talking to a 13 year old girl and her friends.

It is always cool to do things like this, it often sparks an inspiration for a

short story that is going in your writing group’s zine…

The Equinox Dream

By Erica

Vanity Lau was staring at the glowing spheres in the sky.

The moons were bright and orange, the harvest moons.

The time of the Equinox, her favourite time of year.

But her eyes misted as she thought of Ethelread.

So many Equinoxes had been spent with him. Both of

them laying on their backs in the long grass, staring at the

moons, all three in total:

Regulus

Aldebaran

Antares

All casting their orange glow over the world around her.

Ethelread was away, that is all. She told herself.

Her Equinox dream would come true soon. She would

someday be held in his arms on this night.

She loved him and he loved her. They both knew it.

On the Equinox love was normally found. Not this season

though.

She would wait until the leaves turned as golden-brown as

her own hair and the branched of the trees were as sliver

grey as her eyes.

‘My autumn girl,’ her mother had always called her.

‘The child of Antares,’ Ethelread had called her.

‘The son of Regulus,’ she had whispered back.

But this year there was only Vanity Lau’s Equinox dream.

4 5



by Cassie

6 7



8 9



by Rachel

10 11





NIGHT 1

By Toby

Five tea lights stand on the window sill. Five little flames

dance on top, swaying back and forth. They watch the world

outside: give a nod to the street lights, a torch, a smouldering

cigarette in the gutter.

Around the room, ranks of candles burn. Tall candles, short

candles, fat candles, thin candles. They are purple, white,

green, red, blue. But the flames are all the same. The door

swings open and a tide of voices swells inside. The candle

flames flicker. A tall figure strides in, talking over her shoulder.

The candles hear her speech in fragments.

“The window—breeze—air—fresh!”

The five tea lights shudder, shake. The five little flames sputter

and grab the wall. The tall figure doesn’t see, and a gust of air

tears flames from their candles.

Five little tea lights burn on.

It is an old Victorian house. Everything is made of wood, even

the door knobs. It stands in a row of wooden houses, packed

so tight a mouse couldn’t squeeze between them.

The sky is twilight blue; there are no clouds. The air is dry. The

trees are thirsty.

It would be the perfect night for a fire.

14 15



NIGHT 2

by Toby

It fell down on the world like a surprise

it tasted metallic

like ice

like touching a cold streetlight

the stars seemed almost intruders

even the moon was hiding

and all the clouds

had run away

somehow it smelled wet and dry

at the same time

Everything was ice that night

between bare toes, daggers of grass slipped and slid

the flowers were

shut

tight

They wouldn’t let the darkness in

16



The White Raven—A Novel Excerpt

by Helena

It was early evening, and already the air was freezing.

Frost crept along the edges of buildings and gutters, as all

through Juridian City, cloak-wrapped citizens scurried home

to their families and warm fireplaces.

The look-out wished he could do the same.

However, instead of rushing home to the Shapeshifters’

Guild and snuggling deep under his blankets, he was peering

through the incoming mist at the cloaked, bent figure hurrying

toward him. The old lady seemed to be heading right

for the Guild, her steps as purposeful as if she could see right

through the screen of spells that covered the area. The lookout,

a young man named Drake whose animal form was a

wolverine, watched her carefully. He had heard of spellseers,

people who could see past any sort of magical disguise, but he

had never expected to set eyes on one.

Surprisingly, the old woman paused right in front of

him when she reached the hidden alleyway. Taking off her

cowl to reveal cropped grey hair and piercing brown eyes, she

said in a clear, calm voice, “I believe you are with the Guild?”

Drake raised his eyebrows. Although he could see that

she was a shapeshifter by the grizzly bear form that glimmered

under her furrowed skin, he hadn’t seen her around

Juridian City before. Maybe she’s a Darkened, he thought

uneasily. Better to be on the safe side, just in case.

“Guild? I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking

about,” he answered with a blank expression.

19



“Don’t try to give me the slip, lad,” the woman barked,

but despite the harshness of her voice, there was warmth in

her piercing hazel eyes. “You’re a shapeshifter, I know it. I’m

looking for directions to the Guild and I thought perhaps you

could supply some.”

Drake hesitated; he knew he was beaten. Then he stiffened

and replied steadily, “I’m sorry, but that information is

confidential. Give me a name and a purpose, and I might tell

you the way.”

The woman sighed, suddenly looking weary. Drake

spotted dew and grass stains on her simple grey cloak as

though she had been journeying through dense forest. Who

was this person? And what was she doing near the Guild?

“You young ones are so careful these days,” she sighed.

“Very well, my name is Anya, and I’m carrying a message for

Henrietta Portman.”

“You know the name of our Headmis—?” he broke off

warily, then went on, “you know this ‘Henrietta’? How come?”

“I have my ways, boy.”

“Where are you from?” he demanded more forcefully.

She paused to smooth a crease in her cloak. A thoughtful

look swirled in her dark eyes until she finally replied, “you

Guildlings have many names for us, I believe. The Shadowed

Ones, the Nameless, the Terrors of the Light. But the simplest,

according to me, is the Darkened.”

Drake nearly choked with shock. “You’re from the

Darkened?”

Immediately, the two guards who had been hiding in

the shadows behind him stepped forward, crossing their pikes

into a barrier. Anya showed no sign of surprise at their sudden

appearance.

She must have know they were there all along, Drake

realised.

“Well, you’re not taking a message to Mrs. Portman,”

said Drake, decisively. As always when he was nervous, he felt

a strange urge to change into his animal form, but managed

to control himself. “Tell us what you want to say, and we’ll tell

her. Meanwhile you will be taken to the cells to be interrogated.”

The soldiers had only taken three steps forward before

Anya raised her hand and they froze. Not as in they stopped

walking, but in the literal sense. Red light, as cold and hard as

ice, encased them from head to toe and they rocked back and

forth for a moment, then stood still with looks of surprise on

their faces.

Drake’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “Wh-what in

the name of—?”

“Listen to me, before I do the same to you as I did to

those unlucky guards,” she warned him, sounding weary.

“Take me to Henrietta. I promise to not harm you in any

sense, for I come in peace, with urgent messages that my

fellow Darkened cannot overhear. I can’t tell you now because

someone may be listening and watching who we would not

like to associate with. Please, before I’m forced to freeze you

and go by myself.”

The youth fell silent, debating with himself. At last he

gave a reluctant nod.

“All right, you can come. Just don’t try anything funny,”

20 21



Biographies

Hi this is Erica.

I am a lover of books, words, paper and ink (especially

paper with ink on it that create letters that

spell words and creates a book). I have one tip for

doing writing and homework: listen to Mozart or

Beethoven. Hope you enjoy our zine.

Cassie Tsokos began writing poetry in Year

8 to amuse her friends. Her hobbies include

eating and sleeping and she is very dedicated

to her Tumblr blog. Cassie also occasionally

writes prose, but mainly sticks to poetry because

it’s less effort.

Amelia Dunan is an artist and writer who

would happily write stories all week instead

of eat or sleep. She loves her family,

which consists of: her cats Shmoo and

Tuss; the possible fish in the backyard

pond; the lorikeets in the gum tree, and

the other animals she calls her relatives.

Howdy! The name’s Chell, and I’m secretly

a dragon, but don’t tell anyone 0v~.

I’m supposed to write stuff about myself,

so here it is, in my remaining thirty

words.

I don’t like poetry, drawing is my natural

high, I’ve got these people called ‘friends’,

I’m not very funny, and eggplant tastes

disgusting. ‘Till next time ^O^

Tobias Dunan likes drawing, juggling,

writing, reading, photography, jazz, modern

history, modern science, modern art,

old art, thai curry, and moleskine notebooks.

His favourite number is one.

22 23



This zine was produced by the Young Writers

Group at the South Coast Writers Centre.

This project is supported by ArtsNSW, Wollongong

University and Wollongong City Council.

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