Short story: Time to write

In the Victorian (my home state, not the era) school system, Year 12 English is assessed by a combination of coursework (primarily, a writing folio) and an end-of-year exam. The coursework, called School Assessed Coursework (SAC) when I went through, is done under exam conditions throughout the year.

The creative writing SAC came towards the end of the year. At my school, we were allowed to bring in a half page of notes to help get the stories started.

I remember my friend Julian thought I was crazy, but I decided not to bring in any notes—or even to consider a topic. Other kids had planned out their entire piece; a few even wrote it at home and tried to memorise it. I figured I didn't need to do that. I believe I may have said, "I'll think of something."

We had four periods split over three days. I spent the first one brainstorming and sketching out a rough plan, then put together a more complete plan at the beginning of the second period. The story came together in the equivalent of two periods (I had time to spare), with ALL of the inspiration coming from around me—I literally looked around the room to see what I could do to the character in the story, and how his story could develop.

I was later awarded the school's senior writing prize. According to the teachers, I was the best writer in my year level—even better than the girl who won the Australasian Schools Writing Competition (I got a high distinction the one and only time I bothered to enter that competition). This story got me the award.

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Writing a story can be difficult at the best of times, but on one fine afternoon in May it was the most difficult thing Trevor had ever done.

Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes

I was looking through my journal—as I do every few weeks—when I noticed this piece, which has clear parallels with my previous blog post (Boys don't cry, but they really should). I think it's interesting to see how I tackled much the same issue from a more immediately personal viewpoint.

The quoted text at the start is from The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most by Dashboard Confessional. I tend to use music—especially song lyrics—to help me understand the world. It conveys emotion so succinctly—so powerfully—that a song or a band, or even single chorus or verse, can change your life. But that's a topic for another day...

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Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself
And covered with a perfect shell
Such a charming, beautiful exterior
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
Perfect posture, but you're barely scraping by
But you're barely scraping by

In this society, we teach people—young men and boys especially—to hide their feelings; we learn to "grin and bear it," no matter the difficulty. It's not fair to push your problems onto others. In many cases, we learn to not deal with a problem at all—rather, we bury it, ignore it, and pretend everything is alright.

They say that if you smile everything will be okay—like the song: "Smile though your heart is aching / Smile even though it's breaking / … / Smile, what's the use of crying? / You'll find that life is still worthwhile / If you just smile."