Dystopia Workshops

Here we are, me once again attempting a blog. I have begun a fun tumblr on living the zombiepocalypse (http://zombiefacts.tumblr.com/) but this will be more about what’s happening with general reading, writing and research.

Such as…

Last month I spent a week at L’Ecole Bilingue discussing dystopia writing, such as the Hunger Games, and Heroes and Villains for creating fun superhero stories.The dystopia workshop, which I did with the grade 7s, entailed a role playing game where the class was divided into colonies and each student had to choose a special role. Some were doctors, handy men, hunters, gardeners, entertainers or leaders. Then, depending what card they drew, they had to choose how they would react to various dystopic situations. Sometimes a plague hit, or they were robbed, or there shelters fell apart. All fodder to begin writing a story!

The heroes and villain workshops divided the class into (you guessed it!) heroes and villains (and sometimes sidekicks). They were paired into groups, randomly, and wrote stories of how their characters met. Rather than tell you what those stories were about, a couple of the students sent them in. Enjoy!

By Kailey,

Crack!

The sound of a gunshot woke both Jaylo and I from a fitful sleep. I scrambled out of my sleeping bag while my big brother leapt out of our tent with his dagger ready in his hand. A split second later, a ragged screamed cut through the air. I climbed after Jaylo, instinctively checking his mind. Immediately, he started hurling his thoughts at me.

     Let’s separate. You go towards where the scream sounded and I’ll go to where I think the person with the gun is, right over there. Be careful, Aria, I don’t want to lose you.

Being telepathic, I often checked Jaylo’s mind for instructions or things he didn’t want to say aloud.

I nodded and sprinted off into the woods. After a while, I slowed down to a jog, fighting off branches that scratched at my face. Finally, the thick throng of trees gave way to a small clearing of trampled grass. In the middle of the clearing lay a girl, about 12 years old, cradling her slightly bloody arm while groaning in pain.

I hurried over and knelt beside her.

“Are you okay?” The girl nodded, then stopped quickly, as if it hurt.

Suddenly, Jaylo burst through the trees at the edge of the clearing.

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