Artyness columnist and writer Barbara Henderson finds a class 'getting it' as a story captures their imagination
I am currently sitting on a train between Stirling and Inverness, processing the memories of the day.
As a Scottish Book Trust author in residence, I have the privilege of visiting Fallin Primary school near Stirling for 12 sessions. I am halfway, working with two classes simultaneously, attempting to enthuse young people about creative writing.
Fallin is a former mining village with a strong sense of community and its fair share of challenges. Kids tell you straight – as a visiting writer you can be in no doubt about what they think. That in itself is terrifying.
I wonder if you remember primary school. There is near-constant movement in a classroom – a kid gets up to fill a water bottle, a colleague knocks on the door to pass on paperwork, not to mention the Mexican wave of hands up.
Someone wants to tell you some news, or they want to go to the toilet, or they have a question.
I bravely battle on, explaining how to create a story arc, drawing diagrams on smartboards.
The fidget threshold seems to sit at around 30 seconds.
Time for secret weapon number one: story.
“Let me read you a wee bit to show you what I mean.”
I explain about the Highland Clearances before launching into an extract from my novel Fir for Luck.
Whilst taking cattle to high ground, Janet, my young heroine, has spotted a rider in the distance. Even from afar, she realises he is holding a letter, and she recognises the danger: it is an eviction writ. She must warn the village!
She hurtles down the hill before remembering: all the men are away cutting thatch.
Desperately, she knocks on the door of the top house for help, but the spoilt daughter of the richest family in the village is home alone, and the rider is here in any case. What to do?
Janet chooses to fight.
In my imagination, this is how the Durness riots of 1841 start.
I am so absorbed in my reading that I don’t notice at first.
The fidgeting stops.
No creaking chairs or scraping steps.
Some eyes are on me, but most stare into the middle distance.
They are seeing it all. They smell the smoke, hear the waves roll in on the beach, sense the dread.
They are there with Janet, and they are consumed with outrage at the injustice.
Now for secret weapon number two: drama.
We have a lot of fun re-enacting the events of the chapter in overdramatic freeze frames.
The rider arrives per piggyback, holding a rolled-up piece of scrap paper.
Janet’s mood changes from resentful to scared to outraged and finally determined – perfect for small acting challenges. I point back at my story arc diagram.
There are smiles and nods. They get it.
They get it, because now there is a story in their heads.
The fidgeting stops.
No creaking chairs or scraping steps...They’re seeing it all
