As they stood in the store, the sickly sweet smell of sugar wafted towards them. There were towers of boxed jellybeans. Tubs of soft jellies lined the walls. The fountain spewed with milk chocolate, huge swirled lollipops dangles from every display in the hop, and a large yellow sign on the counter read, Taste test. The twins knew what taste test meant – free food.

‘Good Afternoon,’ beamed Mr. Guzwick seeing the twins, their greedy eyes still fixed on the sign. He was a frail old man and had owned the store for fifty-six years. He had exactly ten strands of hair on his head; Alex had counted them the week before.

‘Would you like to taste my new gum?’

Mr. Guzwick held out two gum squares in electric orange wrapping with ‘The Ultimate Chew’ written on them.

‘It’s extra chewy gum, guaranteed to last an hour more than usual.’ Mr. Guzwick smiled at their burning curiosity. ‘Try it.’

Both twins unwrapped the gum and chucked the small orange squares into their mouths.

The gum exploded with a sweet orange flavour as soon as it hit their tongues and they began to chew and mould the gum in their mouths. Soon after, the gum began to crackle. They opened their mouths to amplify the sound of the popping gum. The gum certainly had been the chewiest gum they had ever experienced. It had begun to swell in their mouths to the size of a large gobstopper. So that’s how it would last so long.

Nicky and Alex had been chewing for ten minutes before their mouths grew numb. Their faces pained with effort. Alex’s jaw began to click in and out of place with every chew. Nicky’s eyes began to water with the amount of pressure on her jaw. The gum squares had swollen even more to take up the whole of their mouths. They could barely shut their mouths. Their jaw muscles went on strike and their faces were red with exhaustion. That was the end of it.

Mr. Guzwick produced a small metal bucket for the twins and they let the great slimy orange globs tumble from their tongues. Nicky and Alex looked up at Mr. Guzwick from the metal bucket, eyes brimming with disappointment. He gave them a sympathetic smile. ‘Cheer up now, there’s plenty of other goodies here!’

To ease their distress, the twins bought two bags of oober goober jellies, twenty packets of sherbet, one large tin of jellybeans, six lollipops and seventeen and a half sticks of red liquorice. No gum. Nicky and Alex presented their money and peculiar toothless grins and left for home.

Mr. Guzwick retired to his backroom and shut the door. Success glistened in his eyes as he looked at the glob of Nicky and Alex’s gum. One, two, three. Three perfect, white children’s teeth jutted out from the gum.

He pulled out the three specimens with tweezers and opened a small tub of superglue. Mr. Guzwick removed the retainer of scattered false teeth from his mouth, leaving only the two front incisors intact. Using the superglue he began to fix the children’s teeth to the gaps in his retainer in accordance to size.

***

Author’s note: This was the first story I wrote for university when I was still figuring out how this story thing actually worked. In previous posts I’ve talked about my love for Roald Dahl’s work and how I borrowed his voice when I was beginning to write. Well, this is the story I was talking about and do you know what? I still have a soft spot for Mr. Guzwick.

There is something magical about working alone while the ghost of an idea develops into something greater. Writers often talk about their books as their babies, and I suppose I have always felt that way as well. That in the early stages I need to protect my idea, feed it and help it grow without having too many outside opinions confusing me or tearing me away from what I believe it will become.

And so I have to tell you that I have been nurturing a secret project for a few months now. One that has meant that I had to put my writing projects aside and devote all my spare time to it. (Even on my birthday. I kid you not!)

So, I’m very proud to launch my secret project, big story, today.

Big story is an independent story school. Starting from January 2013, I’ll be running after-school drama and creative writing classes for primary and high schoolers on Brisbane’s north side.

I have taught both drama and writing before, so big story has been a long time coming. (If you’d like to know how I got in to acting and writing in the first place, you can see that on my first big story blog post.)

I’m so excited to work with young storytellers again, especially as the teacher and owner of big story.

Big story is about learning the craft like a professional but having a whole lot of fun and helping young artists meet up as well. (Read: no cheesy-cheese pantomimes but also no nasty pressure!)

Do you know a young actor or writer in Brisbane?

Tell them to join the big story facebook page (our online home) and keep in touch.

Big story peeps who are keen for a school holiday project, can also sign up for a free copy of my 50 Story Starters workbook. That’s 50 possible story ideas, people! Enough to keep any storyteller out of trouble until classes start next year.

So my secret’s out and I’m looking forward to my drama and writing classes next year. But in the meantime I have lesson plans to write and a neglected YA manuscript to tend to.

But it’s not the story that’s got me thinking. It’s the reading out loud part.

I’ve always thought that there was something special about a writer reading their work out loud. I love hearing words that would usually only live in one person’s imagination while they’re curled up on the couch. And I’ve enjoyed watching friends of mine read at their book launches and discovering how the story sounds in their heads.

To discover that in my own work was just as exciting.

I’ve known for a while that tapping away at a computer isn’t enough for the storyteller in me. I need to be actively sharing stories and connecting with people. As a drama student who transferred in to creative writing at uni, I guess this shouldn’t have been a surprise. Except that I had neglected that side of myself for so long – unsure how it could fit in this new writing direction – that I forgot how important it is to me.

It’s thrilling to have an audience in front of you, wanting to hear your story.  To read your own words and listen to the stillness around you. Or to glance above the pages and take in how people are reacting to your creation.

I remember reading the beginning of a manuscript in a writer’s group meet. It was a tense scene that I enjoyed writing and re-writing and as I read it out loud I felt the energy change. There were no squeals of discomfort and no one was wringing their hands together but there was a slight shift in the mood. For me, that feeling had weight. As though the world had stopped still and we were all tumbling down the rabbit hole in slow motion.

That’s why performing or reading out loud is exciting for me. That energy change is the audience saying, ‘Yep. Take me with you’. They don’t have the time to put the bookmark in and get back to it and it’s too personal for them to pretend they like it if they really don’t. (Trust me on that one.)

So as much as I love retreating in to my own imagination and writing new stories, there will always be part of me that needs to tell it to you the old-fashioned way. Face-to-face.

Being nerdy about something means you’re passionate. It means you’re not content to just skim the surface. You need to know more. You’re driven to explore, research and experience life just that level deeper because it enriches you. It makes you who you are.

Lately I’ve been thinking about who really inspires me. These people usually hold the same values as me and are sharing it with total authenticity and loving every minute of it. They’re singers and actors and entrepreneurs who live in the flow of their passion and they don’t compromise.

But there are everyday people who totally blow my mind with their intense passion (read: who live and breathe with such incredible nerdiness that you go crazy for them). So I wanted to share with you my latest hero.

You know why I love this guy? He’s so joyous. So real and honest. And his enthusiasm is so catchy. Listening to how ridiculously excited he is makes me happy.

So I want you to go forth and celebrate your nerdy side. Whether you’re excited about rare, musty books or football or train spotting. Commit time to it. Share it. It’s in your veins.

And if you needed just another dose of happiness, you’ll be glad to know the train came back…

What I was really keen on was Paul Griffin’s session on writing for Young Adults. In the program the tag line for the workshop was, ‘keeping them sane, alive and encouraging them to open their hearts to the world’. I liked that.

Paul writes ‘street-lit’ or gritty literary fiction for Young Adults. He also works with at-risk youth in the States using his story telling skills to help them get ahead in life. He described to us how he helps these kids reflect and piece their story together – essentially their life, their plans and their dreams.

I guess you could call that goal setting, researching career paths or making achievable goals, but when we talk to people that’s not how it comes out.  It comes out in conversation, as a story. No matter how jumpy or rough the narrative is, these conversations are our stories.

It’s a concept I haven’t been able to get out of my mind either.  I can remember the last few times someone asked me ‘what’s been happening?’ or ‘what’ve you been up to?’

And what’s my answer? Usually a ‘nothing much, just working’.

Wow. Interesting story. No wonder the subject changes so quickly.

But there’s always more to the story, I’m just not telling it well. And for writers that want to make careers out of stories, don’t you think that you should be able to tell this story well?

But Paul’s talk got me thinking about the amount of day-to-day situations that we get to tell our stories and how many times we stumble at those opportunities: catch-ups with friends and relatives, reunions with old school friends, job interviews, first dates, or even making friends in a new workplace.

I think our insecurity with telling these stories well might come from the belief that our lives aren’t interesting enough to talk about. But if people have asked for a story – and even better, your story – then why not tell it?

Stories are how we connect with people and find some common ground. If I find out you like pilates or photos of cats doing olympics, then I’m going to get excited because I like them too. But if you’re throwing back a ‘nothing much’ every time someone asks you for your story then that’s what you’re going to get back.

Image: Olympix cat from icanhascheezburger.com

So next time someone asks you what’s been happening, tell a story. Even if it’s tiny. I like short stories anyway.

Why wait? You can tell me a story in the comments below. What’s your experience of telling your story in everyday life? Can you see any benefits to try it more or are you happy sticking with the written word?