Chloe

The Comfort of Her Hand

As the beautiful summer evening sun began to set, my grandmother and I strolled hand in hand around the park. Her hand was delicate but firm in mine, her years of love and experience showing in the soft grasp she maintained.

The trees murmured secrets to the softly blowing breeze as we wandered around the park, the rustle of their leaves creating a calming lullaby. The birds’ harmonies drifted through the air, enveloping us in a cloud of calm as they sang songs of peace and tranquilly. Children’s laughing resounded in the distance, their joyous innocence serving as a happy reminder of the fleeting beauty of youth.

I gazed upon my grandmother’s hand, which was creased and tattered from years of diligence and tenacity. Her nails were painted a delicate pink and her fingers were beautiful and slim. I was astounded by the resilience and strength found in that little hand, as well as the years of love and sacrifice that were visible in each rough scar and ridge.

My grandmother started talking about her early years as we were strolling along, the memories coming back to her like a river pouring over a ravine. She talked about earlier times, when they used to spend their days playing in the fields and gathering wildflowers in the meadows. She shared tales with me about her own grandmother, a strong, resilient person who instilled in her the value of faith and family.

Her words were poetry, they came out of her mouth so naturally and filled my heart filled with sentimentality and tenderness. I listened carefully, holding onto each word as though they were priceless gems that would last a lifetime. I had a strong emotional relationship that went beyond distance and time with my grandmother.

My gratitude for spending this time with my grandmother was so great as the sun set and the park was bathed in a golden glow. I became aware of how fortunate I was to have her in my life and to be able to rely on her counsel and wisdom when I needed it. I felt happy and at ease just by holding her hand; it was as though everything in the world was perfect.

I squeezed her hand gently, a silent gesture of love and gratitude. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of happiness and despair as she raised her head to gaze at me. I saw then that our time together was limited and valuable, and I needed to make the most of our remaining time together.

The park was enveloped in the gentle radiance of the evening, with the hues of the setting sun creating a visual treat overhead. Freshly cut grass and the lovely aroma of flowers filled the air, while the sounds of nature blended together to create a symphony of harmony and beauty. With my grandmother’s love and warmth surrounding me, I felt at peace at that very moment.

My grandma halted when we got to the conclusion of our stroll and turned to face me. ears filled her eyes, and her face was one of thankfulness and love. She extended her hand, gently and tenderly cupping my face in hers.

“My dear child,” she uttered in a tearful whisper. “I appreciate you walking with me and holding my hand throughout this time. To me, you are a priceless gift and a priceless find.”

My own eyes filled with tears, my heart bursting with love and appreciation. I leaned in and gave my grandmother a strong hug, feeling pleased and at ease in her warm embrace. I realised then that our love for one another would last a lifetime and that our tie would never be severed.

As we strolled back towards the vehicle, holding hands, and watching the sun set in a kaleidoscope of hues, I realised that this particular moment would live on in my memory forever. My grandma and I had formed an eternal tie through the simple act of holding hands that went beyond place and time. I considered myself fortunate to have her in my life, to have her love and wisdom to guide me.

And I experienced a wave of satisfaction and serenity as we drove home, the stars gleaming brightly in the night. I would never forget that evening spent holding hands with my grandmother; it served as a constant reminder of the strength and love that existed between us. Additionally, I knew that I would always hold her love in my heart, no matter where life led me. I knew that I would always hold her love in my heart, no matter where life led me.

Author Bio:

Chloe Stephen is a dedicated writer with a profound passion for capturing the essence of life’s fleeting moments. Through the written word, she strives to preserve precious memories and share personal anecdotes that resonate with the heart. Every sentence crafted by Chloe reflects a deep appreciation for the significant experiences and simple joys that shape our existence.

When not immersed in the world of writing, Chloe cherishes quality time spent with family and friends. These relationships are the cornerstone of her life, providing joy and inspiration. Chloe finds comforting presence of her puppies, with whom she enjoys stealing quiet moments of snuggles and laughter.

An avid lover of art and nature, Chloe often finds her muse in the breathtaking beauty of the world around her. Whether it’s the vibrant hues of a captivating sunset or the intricate details of a blossoming flower, she captures these scenes through photography, merging her love for visual beauty with her writing. This dual passion informs and enriches her work, offering readers a vivid experience that evokes emotion and nostalgia.

Book Review

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

“The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde is a story about morality” Is a story that is though-provoking as it explores ideas about morality, vanity and what really happens to you as person if your life is solely focused on physical appearance. The novel follows the life of a young man Dorian Gray becomes consumed by his desire to remain youthful and good looking forever. A portrait of him is painted by an artist Vasil Hallward, Dorian makes sure to keep his looks as the portrait ages and burns of his immoral actions. What makes this book a joy to read is Oscar Wilde’s wit and sarcastic commentary on the superficiality of society and his exploration of human nature. The characters are complex adding a sense of intrigue. Especially Dorian Gray whose descent into darkness is chilling. Themes of corruption, quilt and destructive power of unchecked desire are present throughout the novel. The picture of Dorian Gray” is a must-read for anyone looking for a thought provoking and beautifully written novel that challenges societies perceptions of beauty, morality, and human experience. It is a timeless classic that will leave a lasting impression on all who delve into its pages.

Olivia

Grains of Sand, a poem

In the glassy stature, a timeless sight,

Where each grain of sand takes great flight,

For every time a sand grain drops,

A new core memory is unlocked.

For in their path a new journey calls,

But the past memories are then,

what falls,

Shadows fade when se say goodnight,

But the light in our lives is what burns bright.

Each new day is a blessings grace,

In which we have to stop… to embrace,

When the sand runs out, so do we,

With nothing else left to plea.

In a slow-moving rhythm, we find our place,

In what we think is an infinite space,

We live our life in black and white,

Afraid of colours that might impede our sight.

Our time in life doesn’t last forever,

So, we must learn how to endeavour.

Life is about seizing each and every day,

Instead of thinking about yesteryear

Author Bio

Olivia is a vibrant and humorous Year 10 student known for their quick wit and penchant for making others laugh. With a natural talent for comedy, Olivia has a unique ability to lighten the mood in any situation, often leaving classmates and teachers alike in stitches. Whether it’s through clever one-liners, playful impersonations, or simply a funny story, Olivia brings joy to their school environment, and her friends. Beyond their comedic talents, Olivia is also a dedicated student, balancing their love for humour with a passion for learning. They enjoy subjects like English where they often find creative ways to make lessons more engaging for themselves and their peers. Outside of school, Olivia enjoys spending time with friends, participating in farming and primary production, and finding new material to inspire their next great joke.

As they continue their journey through high school, Olivia aspires to not only excel academically but also to inspire others to find joy and laughter in everyday life. With a bright future ahead, they are sure to leave a lasting impression on everyone they meet.

Book Review – To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

“To Kill a Mockingbird, one of the most significant works of American literature which was published in 1960. A book about a family Scout, Jem and their father Atticus Finch, a lawyer who is defending a black man Tom Robinson, who has been wrongfully accused of raping a white girl.

The book starts though the perspective of six-year-old scout who proved have childlike innocent and very naive at the beginning of the book however as the book progressed so did her character. The book starts in their hometown of Alabama known for its social injustice and racial discrimination which is the main moral of the story. Readers are made to empathise with the two kids Scout and Jem as they lose their innocence throughout the entirety of the book.

Throughout the novel, Atticus Finch, Scout and Jems father prove to be an authoritive hero like figure to Tom Robinson as his client he is defending. Atticus is a character that serves as a moral compass demonstrating bravery and the beliefs of standing up for what is right even if you may be the only one. As Atticus Finch is the only one standing up for the black man Tom Robinson is he then looked down to by the rest of his town as they don’t believe what he is doing (standing up for a black man when he is wrongfully accused) is right.

This story is both suited for young and older readers as it teaches everyone the importance of standing up for what is right in any circumstance that you are given no matter what everyone else thinks. Lee skilfully blends the troubling adulthood with the childhood wonder and curiosity. Atticus teaches his kids to do what is right and important life skills about being a good human being.

Atticus’s famous quote from “To Kill a Mockingbird” that sums up the book’s examination of empathy is, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view.” Throughout the story, this lesson reverberates, encouraging readers to consider their own prejudices and viewpoints.

The narrative structure of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ combines social critique and coming of age, that highlights Scouts shift of character towards the end of the novel. It shows that she has lost her childlike innocence as she has been exposed to things that you should not have to see as a child like racial injustice. She shifted into a more mature character as she had been exposed to adulthood things which made her more sympathetic to Tom Robinson.

To sum up, “To Kill a Mockingbird” is a timeless study of justice, morality, and empathy seen through the naive yet perceptive eyes of a child. Because it demonstrates Scout, Jem, and Atticus’s character development, this book is suitable for readers of all ages. It is a timeless book that keeps bringing up issues of compassion, moral courage, and race.

Zara

Endo, a poem

Being a child is like being a bright, flourishing flower… unaware of the anguishing presence around me and in me, that would overtime take over me, my body and brain.

Slowly, slowly, pain would grow. Pain would crawl up the stem of me, curdling into me, slowly, slowly.

Time has passed. Now, the pain is taking away my colour. I am not bright and flourishing anymore. My petals begin to fall, my head begins to hang. Slowly, slowly.

Years later, I am now alone and wish for a flower of my own. But now – I am depleted of potential, so I have no flower, and I never will.

Being a flower of my kind is different to a lot of other flowers. They may have pain, but my pain is different. This pain is my life, this pain is my world. It torments and controls me, pushes me over and around, taking over me slowly.

I am no longer a bright flourishing flower.

I am a dying, hidden weed, slowly fading.

The time is gone now for me, my time was all pain, no control.

Author Bio

I’m Zara, a high school student and writer, and my passion for storytelling began early in my childhood when I would write and illustrate picture books that reflected my creative mind and imagination. I have always enjoyed literature – both writing it and reading it. I find enjoyment in reading to wind down and relax. I enjoy romance novels and science fiction. As I have gotten older, I have explored writing in-depth topics such as politics, feminism, and psychological fiction. Further ahead into my writing journey, I aspire to explore new topics like mental health and the labyrinth of the mind, and the essence of womanhood.

Book Review – Girl in Pieces by Kathleen Glasgow

In Girl in Pieces, author Kathleen Glasgow plunges readers into the turbulent world of Charlotte, a teenager grappling with trauma and the quest for healing. Released in August 2016, this raw and powerful narrative explores the fragile line between despair and hope. Kathleen Glasgow is a New York Times-bestselling author of young adult fiction, with Girl in Pieces debuting #1 of the New York Times bestseller list. She was inspired to write this fairly personal story from her own experiences of anxiety and depression. The main character of this story, Charlotte Davis, has lost more than most people do in a lifetime at just 17. Her best friend, her parents, a home…  The shattered glass erases the sadness until only tranquillity remains.

“The world becomes an ocean, the ocean washes over me, the sound of water is deafening, the water drowns my heart, my panic becomes as large as planets. I need to hurt myself more than the world can hurt me, and then I can comfort myself.”

Charlie feels as though she has little to live for. Her father dying of suicide, her abusive mother refusing to give her a home, her best friend dead, as well as other unspeakable traumatic events. After spending a torturous period of time in a rehab clinic for girls like Charlie, she is released and gets on a bus to Tucson, Arizona, to be closer to a friend and old romantic interest from high school; Mikey. After discovering he was committed to someone else, she is drawn towards one of her new coworkers; a destructive and dysfunctional alcoholic. The following chapters are harrowing and tragic, but compelling, to watch Charlie break more and more, and finally piece herself back together. The book is certainly not an easy read, but instead, it is transcending and insightful into an understanding of trauma, and the result of what trauma can do, through a diary-like perspective.

Estelle

Smile for me, a poem

I see your smile,

it flows throughout the winding field we swam together,

It was the joyous jellyfish that drifted through the marine and the sweet seagrass like the cherry tree you now reside.

Twinkles, everyone has as one their features

Some disappear when they’re seen

Some are twisted shades of eels

Others shake and quake at the thought of theirs

But when I see her’s, a sick soul will heal.

The trees inhale…. exhale,

their arms no longer reaching to the sky for a taste of light.

Those hues winding dips and valleys run still, just once

Do you remember?

How the red slid mud and sharp down my stomach, just like those rolling dips.

I can’t find a place; I want to know somewhere I can go cause you’re not here.

The mud runs cold, it dries and grows stale. The wounds heal, all for her.

My anatomy’s misshapen, dismembered, distorted, it is the scattered mind that is mine.

Living among the living as myself was no longer, but I stayed the same…. for her to come home and dart to my arms once again.

Breathe, become the trees, swaying merrily in the wind once again, count to…I don’t know what counts anymore

Your names are etched inside me in everlasting ink, this is true love and yes it’s plain to see, you will forever stay with me

Their ghosts follow and haunt, for all of eternity

Glow brightly, don’t vanish.

My shine is crooked and torn and my patched soul has left

Hello old friend, I’ve finally found again

You still lay, cold and disfigured but I lock you in my arms for never ending

Farewell old truth

I finally found what I’m looking for

I’ve climbed infinite cosmos, fallen to the deepest depths of the earth to see you. Never peeling off my mask once, ever since.

I did it all for love

AUTHOR BIO

Estelle about Estelle:

Words never came easily in expression, especially to the ones I hold dear. Into the world of creative writing, here I thrive in paper a closure unfounded by simple words aloud. I’ve had a deep passion for singing since I was young, and it built a world of freedom. When mixed with writing, I’ve built many more worlds with infinitely more to manifest. Beforehand I fell into unknown lands where thorns fed on happiness. With short stories and poetry being my source of healing, the monsters fell to merely shadows of the past. Know that the truth is the journey, and your journey is your truth.

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

Brave New World deeply explores ideas of what human society would supposedly be if we were to let technology meld and become one with our humanity. The story opens with a lab tour on how children are created through fords manufacturing process. With the use of specific conditioning, the different orders of intelligence are built (Alpha, beta, gamma). As the story progresses, we are introduced to Bernnard and later John the savage who grew up outside of the organised civilisation.

The novel is written in third person omniscient allowing us to see and know all the details throughout the novel. We follow multiple characters however; we often switch between John’s and Bernnard’s perspective around the center of the novel.

I absolutely loved the story and the way it presents us with ideas suggesting the greyness of what a dystopia and eutopia truly are. Over-arching themes of true happiness, thread together perfectly with the fight for perfectionism to work as a harsh warning to human society as well as to build a powerful story of love, hypocrisy, isolation, tragedy, satire and defiance to social norms. There are so many themes that contradict themselves that personally, I’ve spent so much time breaking apart the author’s purposes and intricate details.

While Huxleyans world is considered controversial in its encouragement to take part in drug use, sexual activities and go against religious beliefs, it provides deep insight into the disconnection between nature and technology. As I mentioned earlier, the novel serves as a warning that tampering with human reproduction systems as if they were products to be mass produced results in life losing its value.

Brave New World’s characters have this constant search for happiness and it has this intense eerie tone throughout the story. Highlighting the vagueness of happiness is a consistent theme that’s contradicted, twisted and completely lost at times throughout the novel. This later provokes many questions on what happiness really means to each individual person.

The way the text has described such intense and heavy topics such as suicide, promiscuity and intense drug use in such a straight-forward and blunt way makes the story that much more unique than your average story.

Overall, an incredible read and I recommend this book for adults or mature students who love a good sci-fi story with characters and themes you could pick apart for hours upon hours. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever read and possibly anything you’ve read.

Levi

The Lost Soldier, a short story

He sat in a muddy ditch with rain pelting down from above. Open wounds covered his body. His pants were torn. Lifeless bodies scattered around him. The sky was a scary black & blue, and fog covered the field. The boy sat there shivering, no bullets, wet clothes, and little food.

He knew base was a kilometre North, but which way was that? His compass was smashed, small pieces of glass still remained in his pocket. He quickly peered over the edge but could barely see. He ducked back down. The boy desperately tried to get the compass to work. He tried holding it out; nothing. He shook it; nothing. He tried fiddling with the dial, but his hands were numb. “Fuck!” He was stuck, lost, and they were watching.

He had to make a run for it, in any direction. It was the only way. He lay down, closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and prayed. After about a minute he sat up. Tears were running down his filthy cheeks. He shakily put on his blood covered helmet and chucked his lifeless compass into a puddle. He could see the dark outline of bare-boned trees about a hundred or two metres away. He decided that he would run there. He had seconds before the Germans would start firing. If he was lucky, their snipers would miss because of the fog.

It was time. He had to try.

He hurled himself out of the ditch and sprinted. They started shooting straight away. He felt bullet after bullet skim his body. It seemed like he was running forever, but he was almost there. A few more strides . . .

Bang.

Non-Fiction Book Review – ‘Sell Like Crazy’

“Sell Like Crazy” by Sabri Suby is a guide to digital marketing that applies to all business models, focusing on strategies that you can implement immediately. Suby, is the founder of King Kong, the #1 Digital Marketing Agency in Australia, and teaches marketing on social media to hundreds of thousands of people across the globe. ‘Sell Like Crazy’ shares information and strategies based on lessons Sabri  has learnt operating his businesses.

‘Sell Like Crazy’ revolves around a simple but often overlooked principle: success in business is not about having the best product but about having the best marketing. Suby explains his marketing principles through eight different phases that cover everything from identifying your target market to creating irresistible offers, driving traffic, and converting that traffic into paying customers. The framework is explicit and suited for both beginners and experienced marketers. Suby states openly that he tries to avoid the often-misleading promises of “overnight success” and “secret holy marketing strategies” that are proclaimed by many modern-day gurus.

One of the standout topics of “Sell Like Crazy” to me, is its focus on the psychology of selling. Suby reiterates the importance of understanding consumer behaviour, by putting yourself in their shoes. The book includes specific techniques, like using social proof and scarcity, that tap into human psychology and encourage conversions. Readers will find a variety of examples and case studies that illustrate how these tactics can be applied effectively across different industries.

Sabri Suby’s strategies that are taught in ‘Sell Like Crazy’ have proven effective time and time again. ‘Sell Like Crazy’ is ideal for entrepreneurs, marketers, business owners looking to scale their businesses, as well as anyone who wants to know more about marketing. Suby writes in a straight-forward understandable manner that can be interpreted easily by anyone, regardless of their skill set.

Author Bio

Levi Zelunzuk is a 15-year-old Australian boy with Jewish heritage, residing in the Southern Highlands, Moss Vale. Levi participates in a range of physical activities, including soccer, swimming and the gym. Levi builds, runs and scales ecommerce companies in a vast range of industries, and aims to be pursue entrepreneurship/business after school. Levi grew up on the Northern Beaches, and has always had a strong connection with nature, whether that be land or marine life. Levi has travelled to over 10 countries and visited Nepal in October for a Service-Learning Trip with his year.

William

Dredge

A sharp jolt startled me awake. I stirred, and a deep echo rung throughout the cabin, almost like a groan of some sort. Feeling slightly annoyed, I begrudgingly rose to sort it out. These kinds of things weren’t uncommon at sea. Maybe some marine wildlife hit the hull. Perhaps something was happening with the engine. Whatever it was, none of my crew seemed to be bothered to fix it. I’ll scold them for that later.

Rising to the top deck, the air was silent. A chill lingered, and yet I didn’t shiver. Almost like a heavy towel had been placed over me, a weight of some sort. Its different kind of chill; almost like something was watching. Ridiculous, but still, I couldn’t quite shake that unsettling feeling. While I was up here, I decided I might as well check our cargo – mainly make sure that the ropes were still holding strong. Making sure the ropes were taut and secure, I was satisfied that they wouldn’t break.

With my lamp lighting the path, I made my way to the bowsprit, and lent over to check for damage. The waves were rougher than was normal – they hit the ship violently and made it too difficult to see anything on the hull. I heard a snap, and instinctively dived for to the floor. A cargo crate had come loose and had slid down the deck and slammed into where I was previously standing, breaking the railing of our small cargo vessel and falling into the ocean. Slowly standing, I scratched my head wondering what happened. I had checked the ropes, they shouldn’t have snapped.

Still shaking off the remnants of sleep, I squinted through the darkness, trying to see if anything else seemed out of place. The lamp’s flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced with the movement of the ship. I turned back towards the cabin, intending to check on the crew and see if anyone else had noticed the commotion.

As I descended the steps, I paused. The silence that enveloped the ship was unnatural. No familiar snores or murmurs from my crew. An unsettling thought crept into my mind: where was everyone?

I pushed open the door to the crew’s quarters. Empty bunks, untouched. It was as if they had vanished into thin air. My heart began to race. I needed to find answers, and fast.

Returning to the deck, I felt the chill deepen, wrapping around me like icy fingers. I moved towards the engine room, hoping to find some clue to this strange occurrence. As I approached the door, I noticed it was slightly ajar, swaying with the ship’s movements.

Inside, the engine hummed steadily, oblivious to the chaos outside. However, an odd smell permeated the room – a mix of salt and something metallic. I stepped further in and nearly slipped on a slick patch of liquid. Shining my lamp down, I recoiled at the sight of dark, viscous blood pooling near the engine. A bloody handprint smeared across the wall told me I wasn’t alone in my fear.

I hurriedly backed out of the room, my mind racing. Could it be some sort of attack? Pirates, perhaps? But where were the signs of struggle? And where were the bodies?

A sudden gust of wind howled through the ship, and I heard it again – that deep, echoing groan. This time, it was unmistakably close. It seemed to come from below deck, in the cargo hold. With my heart pounding in my chest, I followed the sound, each step heavier than the last.

The cargo hold was darker than pitch, the shadows almost tangible. My lamp barely penetrated the gloom. I took a deep breath and descended, the groan growing louder, more guttural.

At the bottom, the smell hit me first. Rotting, decaying flesh. I gagged, holding the lamp higher. There, in the far corner, something moved. The light caught the glint of eyes, too many eyes, reflecting back at me.

A monstrous figure emerged from the shadows, a grotesque amalgamation of human and marine creature. Its skin was slick and pallid, barnacles and seaweed clinging to its malformed limbs. It let out another low groan, its mouth opening to reveal rows of sharp, glistening teeth.

I stumbled back, the lamp slipping from my grasp and shattering on the floor. Darkness enveloped me, save for the faint glow of the creature’s eyes. It advanced slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the terror it induced.

Desperation surged through me. I turned and ran, blind and frantic, towards the deck. The creature’s guttural breaths echoed behind me, closing the distance. I burst out onto the deck, the cold night air slapping me awake.

With no time to think, I made for the lifeboat, fumbling with the ropes in my panic. The creature’s silhouette loomed in the doorway, its eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger. Finally, I managed to lower the lifeboat and jumped in, cutting the ropes with a shaky hand.

As the lifeboat hit the water, the ship groaned one last time, the creature’s roar of frustration mingling with the crashing waves. I rowed with every ounce of strength I had, not daring to look back.

Hours later, as dawn broke over the horizon, the merchant ship was nowhere in sight, swallowed by the Atlantic. I drifted, exhausted and alone, the image of that monstrous creature seared into my mind. Whatever it was, it had taken my crew and nearly taken me. And out there, in the vast ocean, I knew it was still lurking, waiting for its next victim.

Author biography

William Cavanough is a 15 year old musician, reader and outdoor sports enthusiast. He spends most of his time doing exactly one of those three things; practicing one of his multiple instruments, reading a novel or spending time outdoors kayaking, mountain biking, hiking and more. He has visited numerous countries overseas, from the farthest Northern Norths of Scotland to the humid mountains of Nepal, and he plans to visit many more in his life, whether is be for his music or personal recreation.

Book Review – The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien

“The Silmarillion” by J.R.R. Tolkien is a masterful work of fantasy literature – in fact, it works as a bit of a basis for all fantasy that exists today, with Tolkien having created many of the tropes and even species that are used in more contemporary works. It delves into the rich history and mythology of Middle-earth, Tolkien’s masterful creation. After becoming infatuated with his world after deep-diving into his mythology through various video essays, I bought the Silmarillion alongside various other works such as Unfinished Tales or The Children of Hurin, both works in a similar vein for people who might be interested. Set thousands of years before the events of the Lord of The Rings or The Hobbit, The Silmarillion is a collection of stories that chronicle the creation of the world, the rise and fall of kingdoms, and the battles between good and evil, or more precisely the creations of Iluvatar vs Melkor. It revolves around the Silmarils, three jewels which are said to ‘decide the fate of the world’.

The writing is lyrical and immersive, drawing the reader into the world of LoTR and providing valuable insight to it’s structure. But beyond simply it’s value to an admirer of Tolkien’s works, it serves as a delightful read regardless. The book is divided into several sections, each focusing on a different aspect of Middle-earth’s history, from the creation of the world by the Valar to the struggles of the Elves, Dwarves, and Men against the forces of darkness, namely Melkor, or Morgoth depending on when he’s being referred to, who serves as a main antagonist of sorts – similar to Satan, being the seed of all evil in the world created by Iluvatar, the god and being who is generally pictured as everything that is ‘good’.

However, any potential readers should be aware that if they are expecting a similar read to his more well-known works, they would be in for quite a shock. It’s complex narrative structure and dense prose both work against you, as it is written in a much earlier style of Tolkien’s writing than more ‘modern’ books that most people have read, but it still remains a rewarding experience for fans of Tolkien’s work. The depth and most importantly consistency of the mythology created by Tolkien is truly awe-inspiring, and the book offers a deeper understanding of the events and characters that shaped the world of Middle-earth.

Overall, The Silmarillion is a must-read for any fan of Tolkien’s legendarium. It is a powerful and compelling work that showcases his unparalleled talent for world-building and storytelling, as well as providing a long read that makes you work hard to dig deeper into the meaning of each individual sentence.

Annie

Bio

Hi, I’m Annie, a Year Ten student who loves diving into the world of words. I enjoy writing vignettes and memoirs, capturing the essence of everyday moments and turning them into something special. When I’m not writing, you can find me daydreaming about new story ideas or getting lost in a good book. My writing is all about heartfelt reflections and vivid snapshots of life, making even the simplest moments feel extraordinary. I’m always curious and constantly inspired, and I hope to share my unique perspective with the world.

Short Story

Comforting Flavours

Every time I take the first bite into a dreamily fluffy and warm scone, I am instantly brought back to school holidays spent with my grandma on the farm. Everything about Marjorie is considered, classic and fuss free, and somehow anything in the kitchen could become something magical.

I’m ten. Cosied up in my grandma’s leather easy chair, my legs dangle above the cool floorboards I couldn’t be more content. Ma’s serving up yet another plate of her famous scones just for me, I’d would never dream of refusing another helping. The sweet smell of cream beaten by hand mingled with the modest lavender of her perfume is familiar, I feel warm inside.  I squeal with excitement before I take my first bite of heaven.

“If you really like my scones that much, why don’t I pass on the recipe to you so you can make them when you go home?” suggests Ma.

If I’m honest, I am more than happy to help out in the taste testing department, like my grandpa but the prospect of physically baking feels like a chore.

“I’d love that!” I chime in from my cosy position under the soft lambskin rug.

With many words of gentle encouragement, I am attempting to combine the milk, butter, and flour to form the dough, mimicking the rhythmic process that came as second nature to Ma’s weathered hands. I’m confused as to why my ball of dough is a crumbly mess and I’m getting tempted to throw it out and restart. I’m not sure if it’s out of fear of food waste or the urge to help her struggling granddaughter, but she scoops up my dough and begins to work it into the bench. We can see it coming together until our dough had stuck into one perfect ball of dough! We separate the dough and place the scones in the oven with a satisfied sigh.

As Ma and I spread the jam and dollop a generous scoop of cream onto our warm scones we smiled as the familiar.  As I take my first bite the comforting flavours warm my heart.

Book Review Tuesdays with Morrie

Tuesdays With Morrie-Book Review

The experience of reading Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom was like sitting down with a wise grandparent who shares stories that change how you see the world. It’s about Mitch, a former student, reconnecting with his old professor Morrie Schwartz, who’s in the final stages of ALS. Every Tuesday, they meet to talk about life, love, regrets, and what really matters when you know time is limited.

What’s so powerful about this book is learning about Morrie’s way of seeing the world, even facing death, he’s optimistic, funny, and deeply compassionate. He has this ability to make you question your own priorities and rethink how you spend your time and energy. It’s a book that makes you stop and wonder if the things that seem urgent really are, and if there’s more value in the simple, meaningful connections we build with people.

As a young woman, I found myself relating to Mitch’s hustle and how he let life’s busyness get in the way of what he truly cared about. Morrie’s lessons on love, forgiveness, and pursuing a fulfilling life feel timeless and relevant, like advice that’s worth coming back to and I will continue to reflect on, especially in times when everything can feel overwhelming.

In the end, Tuesdays with Morrie isn’t just a book about dying; it’s a heartfelt guide to living well. It’s a quick read but one that lingers, and I’d recommend it to anyone who’s ready for some honest, tear-jerking, life-affirming wisdom.

Madeline

A Short Story

It looked like an eye.

It was rounded, not quite an almond, but close to it. It was opened wide, watching as if it did not have an eternity.

The trees mimicked eyelashes, maybe not in colour, but they were spiky and framing all the same. The birds scattered throughout twinkled, as if raindrops had collected on each of the hairs.

When looking from above, the tiny ripples on the surface resembled the individual streaks that created the hue of an iris. The terrain around it formed a raised mound for the cheek. The ridgeline was an eyebrow, and the valley a lid, folded thinly, allowing the lake to see everything.

And deep. The lake was so, so deep. Suffocating to some, but releasing for me.

The further down you got, the darker the shade of blue. Aqua to royal. Royal to navy. Navy to midnight.

Silver fish shooting like stars in a pool of never-ending night.

Everything that the lake saw, it absorbed. Stored. Remembered.

It was always remembering, and never sharing.

When I made my way here for the first time, I was bordering teenage hood. Not quite old enough to truly be considered mature, but beyond the humours of a child.

I was old enough to be alone, and so, unlike fellow females of my age, who were finding sleepovers and socialising to be the recent obsession, I chose to walk with my thoughts, to scour the land, to learn its traits as it learned mine.

I sat with silence, and yet my conversations had never been as entrancing.

I was content to be accompanied by only my mind, yet I was never short of a companion.

As I moved into high school, the lake listened as I ranted and gossiped. For the lake had met teenagers before, and it understood the desperations of popularity and status.

When I grew closer to adulthood, the lake comforted me through exams and meltdowns, tedious study sessions and anxious periods of waiting.

When I told the lake that I had to leave, the lake was happy for me. But it was also sad.

The lake didn’t like being lonely.

So I promised the lake I would come back, and I would bring the lake someone else to love.

I trusted him. I came back, and I brought him with me, just like I said.

I showed him the shooting stars of fish, and he laughed.

I showed him the trees where birds gossiped, and he was mesmerised.

I showed him the lake, and I showed him me.

The lake is where it happened.

After, I didn’t want to come back. The lake had betrayed me, and crushed me, and ruined me.

And yet, just like the first time ever, it drew me in. Not out of curiosity, though. This time, I came back out of desperation.

I was angry at the lake.

Why would the lake let something like that happen?

Yet, soon after, I found in it great consolation. Once my fire of anger was reduced to embers, I realised that the lake was the only place was where I could think what I knew.

Where I could believe in what I knew.

Where I could voice what I knew.

The lake was the only person that believed me.

That is why I chose it.

It listened to my plan. It didn’t judge, and it didn’t villainise me.

When the time came, it unhesitatingly swallowed the baritone screams. It smoothed out the leaves and blew the wind to cover any signs of life.

Before I released him into the water, I made the lake promise.

So, as I watch his face become blurry, sinking from aqua to the royal blue, I know the lake won’t tell anyone.

Bio

Madie Gordon is a 16-year-old student in the Year 10 Creative Writing Class. As a member of the Oxley community since Kindergarten in 2014, Madie has been exposed to the concepts of English, public speaking and celebrations of literature from a young age. Her mother’s initiative in promoting reading as both a hobby and habit has long resulted in her self-proclamation of ‘bookworm’, and her expansive collection of novels. In her future, she plans on a career in chemistry and teaching, and she has a desperate passion to see the world, starting in Europe. Whilst writing may remain an enjoyable hobby, it does not find itself prominent in her life plan.

Book Review – Persuasion by Jane Austen

‘Persuasion’ by Jane Austen is an entrancing novel that follows the humble life of 27-year-old Anne Elliot. The unsung emergence of her ex-lover Captain Wentworth provides the ultimate source of emotional turmoil and gossip for family and family-friends. Beginning with the sale of her father’s London estate, Anne chooses to temporarily move in with her sister and cousins, an invisible addition to the lively estates. At the forming of a new social circle, Anne’s inevitable exposure to Captain Wentworth pushes her wits, patience and maturity. The most tedious thoughts she experiences, and to remind herself of her prized sensibility often becomes a task. As she watches romance blossom between Wentworth and her cousin, Louisa, Anne discovers surprising connection with a certain Captain Benwick. This becomes a short-lived companionship built on the basis of proper education. When injury severs the said parties, Wentworth reveals an absence of emotion regarding Louisa, rekindling the spirit of love in Anne, completely against her will, of course. At the end of her stay, Anne is reacquainted with her immediate family in Bath, to which they have moved, where introductions are made with her perhaps suspiciously charming cousin, Mr Elliot. At the news of engagement between Captain Benwick and Louisa, Mr Elliot reveals his sudden intention to marry Anne Elliot, where Anne finds the perimeters of her world quite different to those she had imagined. As she debates this confronting opportunity, Wentworth inspirationally writes her a letter, passionately declaring his wholistic love and faith for the subject, at which point Mr Elliot mysteriously disappears with another woman, and all becomes settled. Anne Elliot, soon to be Anne Wentworth. Or Anne Elliot-Wentworth. Or Anne Wentworth-Elliot. Such precarious possibilities.

Elsie

Wandering Thoughts

You got lost on the way home

On the route you always took

You knew it then

And we did too

It wouldn’t be the last time

You went for a stroll

That morning, in the park

Gone for hours on end

Nana lost her mind

A kind stranger guided you back

Your oblivious smile just not understanding

The gravity of it all

Your favourite league team won the cup

We reminded you

For the fifth time that day

Your bright smile lighting up your face         

Your shout of childlike joy                           

Surprised

As if it were only the first 

You laughed with me today

As if everything was fine

And for a fleeting second

The person I once knew

Shone through those clouded eyes

Your wallet, keys, licence, gone

Stashed away and forgotten

Nana turned the house upside down

As you followed

Surprised to hear that they’d gone

At night you’d sometimes wander

Through dark hallways

Confused

Nana’s gentle voice

Always guided you back to your room

You asked me three times today

How school was

And each time I gave the same answer…

“Fine, I guess” she says

But what does that mean?

I still remember my school

But not much else, it seems

Driving home from the airport

And slowly

Every street looks the same

And then it is dark

Dark like the rooms

At home, I think

Never-ending hallways

Haunt me like a bad dream

Somebody stole my wallet

Carole thought it was me

My keys were gone, my licence too

They wouldn’t let me drive

It’s quiet again

In this empty house

“Where are you, Carole?” I ask

She comes rushing back into the room

And still I sit there

Watching the tv

Author Biography

Elsie Hanson, a 15-year-old student at Oxley College in the Southern Highlands, grew up on Lord Howe Island, where her surroundings sparked a lasting love for creativity. Now an avid writer and artist, Elsie channels her island-inspired imagination into her pieces that aim to explore diverse perspectives and ideas. Her art and stories reflect a unique blend of natural beauty and thoughtfulness, shaped by both her early experiences and her curiosity for the world around her.

Book Review Boy Swallows Universe by Trent Dalton

Despite my initial reluctance to read Boy Swallows Universe by Trent Dalton, it’s a decision I haven’t regretted. My bias against “overhyped” books often leads me to miss them entirely. Two eight hour flights and a two week school trip later, I was left with an emotional truth through following the journey of young Eli Bell.

Set in the underbelly of Brisbane in the 80’s, the book follows the story of Eli and August Bell, growing up in a world of broken people and difficult circumstances. The story begins with meeting Eli’s babysitter, the “Houdini of Boggo Road”, a notorious ex-criminal, which really sets the scene for Eli’s way of life. Throughout the novel he navigates a world of crime, addiction, and personal loss. As the plot escalates, the tension builds gradually, and each chapter drew me further in, as Dalton revealed hidden details about Eli’s family, his aspirations, and the violent world lurking around them, while simultaneously creating a roller coaster ride of emotions. I simply couldn’t put it down.

Eli’s resilience in the face of trauma is what makes him so amazing. As a reader, I rallied behind him and every challenge he overcame throughout the book. What I loved about this book was how Dalton contrasts the innocence of childhood with the brutality of the adult world in which Eli lives. The drug trade, violence, and criminal underworld that surround Eli clash with his own childlike wonder, making his journey throughout the book feel surreal. Even though Eli is surrounded by so much bad, he learns that there’s good in everyone, and you have to choose what path you take.

The emotion and wisdom I took out of this raw depiction of life left me dumbfounded. Boy Swallows Universe is heart-wrenching and beautifully written, and I didn’t expect the moral lessons that I learnt from it. Overall, I think it’s definitely worth the hype.

Milla

The summer was grainy, taken on my dad’s Olympus, tarnished with rings of coffee.

Salt blew its path through the thin leaves, shells of my depth decay– I am met with a garden.

My knees veiled with green lace, soft brushes, I smell my dad’s cigar around a walls corner,

tall grasses wrap their tiny hands upon my legs – the breeze, a blurry thread.

Quiet hums from others play in the distance, the melody of a rumbling car.

The blessed nectar from an orchard peach does my hand sticky,

warmth, vibrant colours buzz in the p.m. glow, quiet vibrations,

its sweet, tender tang, I lick its remnants.

I graze my fingers along the verdant lawn – the stone fruit’s seed casting a little shadow,

sunlit eyes gaze at my creased manuscript, walkman veins gently entangle within its folds.

I rise to a nodding stance, I raise my hand, ferns shielding daylight from the undergrowth.

Bees soar over the leafy sea – each a little solider, wings of stained glass,

I pace slowly around the garden, soles of feet meeting with cool soil.

My eyes leisurely stroll, tracing the pearly fountain, hands walk,

the tweeting birds bathe themselves in the other, coryphées in white lace.

Rays embryoid the yard, fenced by thick trees, her leaves generous and giving,

closed off, the orchards hands stood giant – guarded by her nature.

Her bones strong, but never rough, delicately laced with auburn flecks.

Her beginnings meet with the sandstone wall – I swing open the dull gate,

the metals tinge and echo throughout the meditative yard.

Waves blow whistles – an angel strings a tune,

coos of rolling currents welcome me, flowers gossiping near my ears.

I gently lower down each step, the carpet of clovers whispering to themselves,

I make my way down the stairs; dustings of sand begin to show –

Coarse, once a mighty shell – served to fit a king.

Feet sinking into pebbly sand, the sand declaring my body,

I peer down the beach – walls of rocky cliffs, fairies shielding from watch.

Eyes meet with squinting beams of orangeness, the sun is bright –

as if the sun were a seed and grew a peach, soothing the land with its nectar.

I almost trace it, and feel its fuzz prickle my grasp.

Seas dappled with deserting sun – light waves their beams along the seaweed draped sand.

The same visual I yield to – will wonders ever cease?

Blessed it be – the orchards fingers outstretch, pressing her nails against my limbs

ears buzz – muffles of echoes from my father,

the hums of the garden pulled my soles backward – my dad’s Olympus sat upon its shelf.

Author Bio

Milla Fischer is a year 10 Oxley student and passionate learning writer attending the 2024 creative writing course. Personal goals include refining and growing as a writer and expressing themselves and their interests. Their passions include art of many forms (painting, drawing, sculpting, photography). They also are interested in film and expressive music. Milla chose the creative writing course because they believe writing is an essential and beautiful aspect of human culture and aims to further understand all the aspects of literature.

Book Review – “Call Me by Your Name” By Andre Aciman

Call Me by Your Name (2007), a novel by André Aciman, is a beautifully tender and vivid piece – one of my most cherished books. André Aciman (b. 1951) is an Italian American writer born and raised in Alexandria, Egypt. Aciman started writing the beginnings of Call Me by Your Name as a diversion until one April morning. “I was dreaming about being in an imaginary Italian villa overlooking the sea…a swimming pool, a tennis court, wonderful family and friends”. He then grew the summery and lush world we know today. Set in the upbeat summer of Northern Italy in 1983, the book follows a young but internally mature Jewish-American boy, Elio Pearlman. Elio’s world is abruptly changed upon meeting an American university student, Oliver – who stays at the Pearlman family manor for the summer while completing his manuscript. I came to read Call Me by Your Name years after I had initially seen the movie. The adaptation was released in 2018 and won 12 awards from distinguished organisations. I fell in love with the setting and cinematography of the Call Me by Your Name world – the intense summer of northern Italy occupied my mind. I completed the book for the first time this year after months of procrastinating. I enjoyed every page. I even used the novel as inspiration for my featured creative writing piece, Somewhere in Northern Italy. Elios’ story is deeply emotive as the summer continues – Elio begins to grow an obsession with the student Oliver, and he becomes fascinated with his unkept confidence and casualness – in turn, he begins to resent him for it. Eventually, Elio eventually understands that he is attracted to Oliver, but he cannot bring himself to act upon his feelings. Instead, he tries to hide his emotions while hoping Oliver will do something to acknowledge the energy flowing between them. After continuous overthinking from both parties, their relationship blossoms but only for a short while, destined to collapse purely because of their little time. The remainder of their weeks are filled with a deep, passionate love while also being painful, confusing and full of internal changes and feelings. Ultimately, it conveys an indispensable ending message. Our hearts and bodies are given to us only once, and we are born to feel, so we must embrace every single emotion, no matter what. Throughout this book, I admire the masterful writing style, as it reflects the realistic internal monologue of a teen. My favourite parts of the book are the many deep symbols, meaningful language, and interconnectedness – Is it better to speak or die? Being one of my most beloved quotes. As for the label of an LGTBQIA+ book, I find it to be the exact opposite. Yes, the book is a love story between two men, but such words and themes of being gay in the 1980s are left behind. Aciman silently acknowledges the indifference of Elio and Oliver from any other straight couple, which I interpret as deeply accepting and normalising. As for readers, the book is best understood with a knowledgeable and comprehensive mind as the novel requires constant effort to understand – regardless, it rewards those with its meaningful lessons and authenticity.

Sofia

When I Was There – a memoir

My arrival was a whirlwind of sensations. The salty breeze greeted me as I stepped onto the tarmac, and the sun kissed my skin with a warmth I hadn’t felt in months. The air hummed with anticipation, as if the city itself whispered, “Welcome home.”

The iconic landmarks stood tall, each telling a story.

Navigating the city streets was an adventure where cobblestone lanes revealed hidden pubs and art galleries. The scent of coffee and pastries wafted from bustling cafés, inviting me to linger. I marvelled at the juxtaposition of old sandstone buildings and sleek glass skyscrapers. The people were equally captivating. Their accents danced like music, and their smiles held a warmth that transcended language. I struck up conversations with strangers on ferries, in parks, and at markets. As days turned into weeks, I explored neighbourhoods beyond the tourist brochures. Every neighbourhood had its different characteristics with some reflecting a bohemian, vintage vibe, where graffiti covered walls whispered rebellion and creativity and other neighbourhoods looked pristine and perfect where terraced houses stood like colourful dominos. And then there was the notorious ‘Local Beach’ a place of pilgrimage for sun worshippers and surf enthusiasts. The golden sand stretched for miles, framed by turquoise waves. I dipped my toes into the Mediterranean water, feeling the pulse of the ocean against my skin. Saltwater and sunshine, what else would you need?

In the quiet moments, I reflected on my own journey. But it was the evenings that stole my heart. The sunsets over the harbour that painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a spell on anyone who paused to watch. The city lights flickered to life, and I strolled along the waterfront, feeling the pulse of cities heartbeat. The city had become my muse—a canvas upon which I could reimagine myself. I embraced the unknown, the serendipitous encounters, and the feeling of being both lost and found.

a city that welcomed me with open arms, challenged my perceptions, and etched its beauty into my soul. As I boarded the plane to leave, I promised to return—to trace the same streets, taste the same salt in the air, and listen to the symphony of accents once more.

Book Review: Il sentiero dei nidi di ragno by Italo Calvino

Italo Calvino’s ‘Il sentiero dei nidi di ragno’ (The Path to the Spider’s Nests) is a poignant exploration of childhood, war, and the loss of innocence, set against the backdrop of World War II in Italy. According to many this was one of the best books in post-war literature. Written in 1947, this novel introduces us to Calvino’s distinctive narrative style, blending realism with elements of fable and fantasy. I read this book earlier in the year and much enjoyed it as it includes a range of mystery and action. The book started off almost like a novel but by the end it ended up more as a story about lost youth. The story starts off with Pin who is a disturbed youngster, that has an array of knowledge about people and other subjects. He enjoys being among adults because they are knowledgeable and do things that he wants to accomplish, and he longs for their respect. At the same time though, he wants to be among the kids his own age, but he finds it difficult to relate to them. As the story moves further, Pin found himself caught by Germans and thrown into jail from where he escaped with the help of another Partisan and eventually landed up in one of the various detachments.

Personally, I think this is a great book, with a great storyline that highly engages the reader although it is fully written in Italian which limits the amount of people that can read this book. If you really wanted too, you could buy a translated English version despite the fact the story wouldn’t sound the same as it’s a whole different language and wouldn’t flow like the way it originally should.

Written as part of Italo’s experience as a partisan in The Resistance, the freedom that post-war presented to the Italian literary world, inspired Calvino too.

Calvino’s skill in incorporating themes of oppression and liberation into the story is among the book’s most impressive features. Readers are prompted to reevaluate the concepts of responsibility and commitment as Pin traverses his universe. The ‘way to the spider’s nests’ relates to the convoluted and perilous process of trying to figure out who you are and where you fit in a chaotic environment.

Author Bio

Sofia Perin is an aspiring writer who loves non-fiction, her favourite thing to do is going to the beach and having fun with friends. Growing up going to the beach all summer long, her time on the beach inspired her to explore creative writing. Intrigued by real-life stories and the human experience, she seeks to improve her writing skills by capturing her observations in engaging narratives. Currently, she is participating and collaborating with fellow writers to create an inspiring piece of creative writings formed together, believing that creativity is an ongoing journey. Through her work, Sofia aims to connect readers with the beauty of reality and share the valuable lessons learned from life and the sea.

Camille

Poem

Echoes of the Forgotten

The blinking sound of my eyes, the pounding of my heart.

The white sterile room and simply being apart.

The unfamiliar faces, whom somehow, I know.

Fading echoes of a once vibrant, cherished past.

Familiar places now foreign and strange.

Names dance on the tip of my tongue, then flee.

Memories like shadows, following yet faintly.

Like whispers of the wind, thoughts come and go.

Each day, a puzzle, pieces scattered and lost.

Fading echoes of a once vibrant, cherished past,

Familiar places now foreign and strange.

Yet amongst the confusion, a flicker remains,

A spark of recognition, a momentary gain.

There is a face that lingers in the misty haze,

A glimmer of light through a memory’s maze.

A lover, a friend, a soul intertwined,

In the tangle of thoughts, forever in my mind.

Their laughter echoes in the silent halls.

A cherished memory, as the darkness falls.

So, in the twilight of a fading mind,

For through my mind may falter, and memories fade,

The essence of who I am will never truly evade.

Bio

I’m Millie, and I’m currently in Year 10. Writing has always been a passion of mine, and I recently wrote a poem about my grandmother, who has dementia. This poem is very special to me because it captures the emotional journey and the precious moments I share with her.

When I’m not writing, I enjoy running as well as hanging out with friends and family which often inspire my creative process. I hope to continue improving my writing skills and sharing my stories with the world.

Book Review

Just Kids by Patti Smith

‘Just Kids’ by Patti Smith is a moving and evocative memoir that captures the essence of a transformative era in New York City and the deep bond between two flourishing artists. The book, which won the National Book Award for Nonfiction in 2010, is a testament to Smith’s lyrical prose and her ability to weave a narrative that is both intimate and universal.

The memoir begins with Smith’s arrival in New York City in the late 1960s, a time when the city was a magnet for artists, musicians, and dreamers. She meets Robert Mapplethorpe, a young photographer, and their relationship becomes the heart of the book. Their bond is one of mutual inspiration and support, as they navigate the challenges of poverty, artistic ambition, and personal discovery. Smith’s portrayal of their relationship is tender and honest, capturing the complexities of love, friendship, and creative partnership.

One of the most striking aspects of ‘Just Kids’ is Smith’s vivid depiction of the culture of the time. The Chelsea Hotel, Max’s Kansas City, and other iconic locations come to life through her descriptions, providing a backdrop for the artistic and social revolutions of the era. Smith’s encounters with figures like Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Allen Ginsberg add depth to the narrative, illustrating the interconnectedness of the artistic community.

Smith’s writing is both poetic and straightforward, reflecting her background as a musician and poet. Her prose is inspired with a sense of nostalgia and longing, yet it is also grounded in the gritty reality of her experiences. She does not shy away from the darker aspects of her journey, including Mapplethorpe’s struggle with his sexuality and his eventual battle with AIDS. These moments are handled with sensitivity and grace, adding a layer of emotional depth to the memoir.

The book is not just a chronicle of Smith’s and Mapplethorpe’s lives; it is also a meditation on the nature of art and the artist’s journey. Smith reflects on her own creative process and the sacrifices and triumphs that come with pursuing one’s passion. Her insights are both inspiring and sobering, offering a realistic portrayal of the artist’s life.

In conclusion, ‘Just Kids’ is a beautifully written memoir that captures the spirit of a past era and the enduring power of artistic collaboration. Patti Smith’s narrative is a tribute to her friendship with Robert Mapplethorpe and a celebration of their creative spirit. It is a must read for anyone interested in art, music and the power of friendship. 

Mollie

The Arrival – a vignette

We sprinted up and over the dunes, and I got my first glimpse of the water. It had been months since I had seen the beach, but now the hot summer weather permitted us to go further than just our toes. The sun shone overhead, making everyone’s skin a few shades browner. Gleeful laughs escaped our bodies, and I looked out to the water from the hot sand. The sunlight was bouncing and reflected off the water, refracting and changing the blues and greens of the bright ocean. Taking a deep breath in and squinting from the brightness and felt a feeling so strong and compelling it was almost tangible. I felt joy and excitedness, but also calm and home. Most of all I felt lucky to be here. At the beach, in the summer. The only thing I believed could solve almost all my problems was the beach on a hot, sunny day.

We continued at full speed until we hit the water. I dove under and felt bubbles rush past my ears. It was perfection. So simple, yet it was as if the water was a different world entirely. I came up, and turned to my friend, who was also smiling ear to ear. She knew. I knew. Sighing with happiness, I dive back under as the wave crashed over our heads.

Biography for Mollie

Mollie is an aspiring composer who resides in the scenic Southern Highland of New South Wales. When she is not dabbling in creative composition, she plays different sports and studies at Oxley College. Using inspiration for her pieces from different writers and the geographical landscape around her, she has created different written pieces forming a personal portfolio where this is showcased through her texts and pieces.

Book Review

Animal Farm by George Orwell

Animal Farm is a novel that is considered a classic and is timeless. But why is this? Published in 1945, this dystopian satire is an observation of the world during this time by George Orwell quickly became well known and soon after considered a canonical classic.

Orwell skilfully explores the Russian Revolution through the allegorical, fable style of the novel creating an engaging, interesting experience for the reader. I personally loved the style of Animal Farm, as explored topics and themes that normally I would not be drawn to reading, but the story-like form of Orwell’s writing made this a really easy and simple read for me, but also taught me heaps about the Russian Revolution of 1917, something I knew nothing about. Through the stylistic choices that Orwell made, and the form he wrote the novel in, the reader is taken on a journey about the way life was in Russia during the revolution – through the representation of animals! The use of animals was a stroke of genius I believe, as it allows audiences of all ages and reading ability to read the book. For children, this is just an interesting book about animals who overtake a farm, but as you get older it is so interesting to read further into the book and find parallels between the farm and the real world. This is what sets this book apart from other canonical classics, it does something that not many other books are able to do effectively.