5/3/15 Dave Cryer http://www.davecryer.co.uk

[WP Central]

My name is Heather Heap. Some days I love my name. Some days I hate it. I suppose it’s my dad’s fault. It’s his family name. Mum took his name when they married, but she doesn’t use it for her business which is a hair and beauty salon.

The times I hate it are when people nickname me as Rubbish Heap, Scrap Heap, Scrappy, Dung, Dusty and worse. The times I love it are mostly when I write it down on a finished poem or story. It’s unusual. It sounds like a writer’s name. And I’d love to be a writer.

“You are a writer,” Dad said to me the other day.

“I’m not,” I said.

“You are. You write. Of your own free will.”

“I’m not published.”

“You will be. But you don’t need to be published to call yourself a writer. And you don’t need to earn money from it – you just need to be it and do it.”

“OK Dad,” I said, just to shut him up really.

[Katie Thomas]

Dad’s comments swirled in my head. Could I actually be a writer? No, surely not. Could I? I don’t know! Author Heather Heap. It has a certain ring to it I must admit.

Writing is a passion. Some bake. Some shop. Some buy fast cars. Some collect stamps. But not I. I write. Write until there are no words to say. Write until I feel as if a heavy burden has been lifted off of me. It is an escape into the literary world where no one knows who I am. No one to call me Rubbish Heap, Scrap Heap, Dung, Dusty or whatever else they can associate with my name.

I am just Heather Heap. 

[Rebecca Utter]

When mum died was the moment that I found out the power of words, and how one word can have a whole different meaning. This poem is the one that made me become the writer that I am today.

Dear mum,

This poem is for you,

Take care of yourself and of your dad.

These were your last words

I remember how your eyes

shined bright emerald green

thats when I realized

the importance of people

and how much it takes

to take care of them.

Every day I remember,

how important you were

to my life,

you were the person that

cheered me up,

brought me up

and gave me a bright life.

The green emerald with you

is something that will always

always

always

keep us in touch

no matter what happens.

 

Never forget me as I will never forget you.

 

Written by your dear daughter

Heather

 

Today, I still remember how she gave my heart a significant meaning to live and the help you gave me during my childhood. But I’m not sure if I’m still going to be a writer...  

 

[Rebecca Utter]

Cecilia M. and Caterina J.

American School of Milan, Italy

[Kelly Babbage]

That’s it! I’ve got it! I could write about me, Heather Heap. Just me, where no one would call me horrid names and everyone would actually like me even though they would of only just have met me. I suppose some things won’t be real, otherwise they won’t make my life sound exciting. I want my life to sound exciting. I don’t want my book to not be exiting. My little sister Freya would be in there, but not as annoying as she is. I have to write this! This book could go really far….

            Hello, my name is Heather Heap. I am the author of this book. This is my life story so far….

Easebourne C.E. Primary

[Alison murtha]

Today it's the weekend I finally get to visit the library without any people to tease me. After breakfast I skipped down to the library, when I got there I couldn't find anything good to read. Suddenly I noticed a dusty book lying in a shadowy corner. It had a midnight blue cover and the title in golden letters read, Enchanted Tales by The Brothers Grimm'. It was as if I was under a spell being dragged towards the book...I slowly bent down to pick it up, I nervously opened the dusty cover and there was a flash of light. I was spinning quickly round and round...Automatically I tried pinching myself but it didn't work....I wasn't asleep....I wasn't dreaming...

Nerissa and Portia, Cockwood Primary School 

[Kelly Babbage]

Easebourne's writers; Samantha, Sophie