LITERACY

Mooroolbark College have been working around the clock to ensure there is Literacy learning across the whole school and this is evident in the many areas and KLAs. This edition of the newsletter not only offers another instalment of ‘The Pseudonym Group’ but we also provide you with a carousel of images that represent the power and impact Literacy has, here at Mooroolbark and where it is present in the day to day for our staff and students. 

The QuickStart Team work diligently and frequently with talented students who need to shape their literacy skills in a way that helps enhance their ability to read and write. Here are some of our lovely year 7 students, Jai and Robat working with Tracey on some elevated story comprehension.  

Food Tech have been leading the charge with building literacy into their writing outcomes and showcasing brilliant methods of increasing student awareness of food description and analysis.   

Textiles work on building overall awareness of the process from ‘seed to sock’ and the many stages involved in how clothes are created. Ms Scott sits proudly in front of her representation of wool production and engages students in utilising their visual literacy skills to achieve this.  

Senior School have used the space to promote and express positive affirmations and motivational lines to build emotional literacy for our very frequently stressed but motivated senior students. They also represent the array of different social communities that make up our college.  

The library techs and coordinator have invested a lot of time and effort in preparing the vibrant, new library space to be both a welcoming and great learning space for all students. Here are some inspirational words for those who choose to read that promote the magic of reading! 

Science have engaged in using scientific literacy via a creative comic strip activity and have continued to ensure displays exist in student spaces that explore the areas covered in class.   

The Pseudonym Group (TPG) 
 

Pseudonym (noun) – A fictitious name, especially one used by an author. 

For the fourth entry of TPG, we gain some more insight of some new writers and artists, feature their work, and continue to introduce a few more TPG members to satisfy your reading appetites! 

To spark and inspire, 
TPG 
  

 
Featured TPG members in this edition of the newsletter: 
 
1. A Voice Among the Crowd 
2. Wolfgirl 
3. The Scribbler 
4. Gothos 

Monday 7 am. Tuesday 7 am. Wednesday 7 am. Thursday 7 am. Friday 7 am. Saturday 7 am. Sunday 7 am. Monday 7 am. Tuesday 7 am. Wednesday 7 am. Thursday 7 am. Friday 7 am. Saturday 7 am. Sunday 7 am. Monday 7 am. Tuesday 7 am. Wednesday 7 am. Thursday 7 am. Friday 7 am. Saturday 7 am. Sunday 7 am. Monday 7 am. Tuesday 7 am. Wednesday 7 am. Thursday 7 am. Friday 7 am. Saturday 7 am. Sunday 7 am. 

I bet you skimmed all of that, didn’t you? 

It’s because people don’t have the attention span anymore. To be honest, people don’t have a lot of things anymore, compassion, respect. People don’t value others. The level of human decency that people have as a whole is deflating. Depressing even.  

It truly is hard trying to be nice to people who aren’t nice back, you become a punching bag, take the blows but are expected to work the same as before, receiving punches and punches every day and people get mad when you crack or break. But somehow you are still overlooked. 

Even the nice ones don’t care. The ones that “notice” you, the ones who “understand”. They are people pleasers; you can’t trust them. The only person you can ever really trust is yourself, and no matter what path you take in life, no matter how popular you are, the only person you can ever rely on is you. 

By ‘A Voice Among the Crowd’

As I leap from house to house, I notice something. A man walking. He stumbles over a particularly uneven section of pavement. The cement was vanishing under flowers and grass. He keeps walking but he looks sad. I jump from roof to roof, watching him. He continues walking like he had nothing else to do. He was much different than all the other lazy humans. He liked being outside, he liked walking in the wind. He stops, he bends down and picks a flower. He looks at it in fascination. Bizarre… 

I jump down the side of the house and stand up. As I slowly approach the male human. I step on a stick, and he notices me. We stare at each other for a long time. His brown eyes look into my purple midnight eyes.

“Hello” he says nervously, I look him up and down. He isn’t wearing normal clothes; he’s wearing a light blue shirt and light brown pants and dark green and black runners. “What are you?” 

“I am from the past yet from the future yet never travelled” I say to him. He now looks confused. He thinks for a second. 

“You’re immortal!” He says proudly. 

“Yes and no” I reply confusing him even more.

“Wha?” He says confused. I giggle. I love messing with them! My silly humans. “What are you? At least tell me your name?” 

“Some call me Buddha, some call me Jesus, some call me Allah, some call me Zeus, but yet all are wrong” I reply, “I am not a man, not a person, not an animal”, he looks completely perplexed. 

I step into the light of the streetlight to reveal my body. My dark skin, two feathered midnight wings, my beautiful yellow, golden, and white dress with my blue crown on my head. “I am the Great Goddess that made your world and the worlds around it” I pronounce.

“What! You…wha…I can’t be seeing this!” He says in shock. I lightly kiss him on the forehead. 

“Be you, care for our planet, never be someone else” I say “goodbye Jacob Kingsley” I spread my wings, “remember the song that united the world” I say to him as I fly into the sky.

“The song that united the world?” He says confused but then remembers. 

As I float through the clouds with the wind blowing through my hair. I glide above the city towers of light and towns of people. I fly up through the clouds. The moon shines brightly on my skin. He is the future of the human race if he does what must be done. If he is different… 

Two centuries ago, in 2023, people fought and poisoned the world. But someone stopped that.  

A young girl. She sang a song that changed the world. She sang about our past and our present. She sang and others followed. People rose and fought. They fought for their planet, their home, their lives. She sang like there was no tomorrow. She united the world. Her song lives in everyone’s heart. Humanity polluted the world; you kill your home. But there is a way to protect your home. Remember…united we stand, united we survive… 

 
By Wolfgirl

All I could do was smile up at her, both of us drenched in the pouring rain. 

 
Her gorgeous, freckled face sitting in the tree, lighting up the cloudy skies.
Although it was pouring with rain, and I was cold to the bone, she made it a little warmer.
She told me to climb the tree with her, and then we could sit up at the top and look over the mountains and hills made of the tops of old oaks, and young sprouts all at once. 
So, I’d climbed up. Limb by limb, her pestering me to hurry up every step of the way.
There was a sturdy branch where she was sitting, and I too could sit there comfortably.
Moments felt like years, with her head on my shoulder – just looking out into the abyss of nature. We were silent, and to anyone else we would have looked awkward.
But we knew. Finally at peace, we were free. Free together, no less.

After a few moments, I spoke. 
I asked her when she would leave, as she did every morning.
She simply told me the same thing every time.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, silly. Don’t worry about anything else”. 
But she never came back. I waited on that branch for years. Never aged.
All in silence, hoping that one evening, she would reappear.
I suppose that’s the cost of being in someone’s dream.
There’s something I was told, once. It’s a character’s job to convey emotion. To support the story and give it depth. To comfort the readers when they were in trouble. To be a sense of relief.

I do believe that I’m not needed anymore. 
Either that or she’s moved on. Without me, of course.
That would explain why I’m still here, I guess.
Not non-existent, but unable to move on, because her mind created this version of me.
One day, still hoping, she may come back. But I think she’s forgetting who I am. Like a neglected toy, sitting on a shelf, collecting dust.
Well, sometime – whenever it may be, she might think of someone, or see something that reminds her of me. 
The ups, the downs, the times when I made her laugh.
When…If that happens, I’ll greet her and ask why she took so long.

But, until then, I’ll stay on our branch, looking out into the abyss of nature, with a small drizzle of rain misting over my hands. 

By The Scribbler

It was a dark day, even by the standards of Korhal. Dust and ash swirled through the air, reducing vision to mere meters, while rivers of molten rock oozed out of great rents in the ground, and volcanoes in the background added more smoke and debris into the barely breathable air. 

As the hovercar glided over the rough ground, its occupants looked fearfully out of the cars shielded viewports at the nightmare landscape. The hovercar flew on, and reached the outpost in no time, sliding through one of the steel doors that protected the citizens from the wrath of Korhal’s weather. The car slowed in front of the largest building in the Area, and its passengers leapt out, running for cover as the vehicle accelerated away. 

Citizen Arthur Steiner half-watched the car pull away, before turning to face his servants. As a fully-fledged citizen, he was not allowed to travel anywhere without a full retinue, and while that certainly had its privileges, it also had drawbacks. At the moment however, he had to admit that he was happy to have them there. 

“All right then, lets go inside and find out what made these pansies call for help, and why the hell they ain’t answering now.” Arthur shouted. 

Despite his words, Arthur had to admit that he was more than a little worried. Too many things were wrong, the open main door, the lack of a welcoming party, and besides, something about this just felt bad. 

Moving forward slowly, the group approached the door. Moving to the side, Arthur watched as one of his men (he didn’t know which one, because they had masks on) kicked the doors open and slid inside. Seconds later the remainder of the retinue moved in. Looking in, anticipating a horrible scene, Arthur felt more than a little surprised when everything appeared normal, with the exception that there were no people around. Moving over to the radio room, Arthur’s feeling of doom increased when the gear was found to be in perfect working order. Arthur looked around and made a decision. 

“Ok,” he whispered, “you and-you, go scout around the building, report back on the radio as you go. Myself and the rest of us shall wait here.” 

Moving in compliance with his order, two of the men grabbed radios and made their way over to the door, closing it after they left. 

Citizen Steiner sat waiting, listening in as his men searched level after level of the complex. After an hour of negative reports, he began to feel safer. Maybe, he thought, everyone was in a meeting or something. Yes, that was probably it. Nothing wrong. He would find the people, check it was all ok, and then go home to enjoy his birthday tomorrow. 

The radio crackled, and a blast of static filled the room. A voice broke through, one of the searchers reporting. Arthur’s blood froze as he listened to the man. “It’s not human!” The voice shouted through the static, “Too big, red eyes, shaped all wrong!” 

The radio fell silent. 

A banging started nearby, and a crack appeared in the middle of the rear wall. White faced, Arthur flung open the door, and sprinted for the lift, closely followed by his servants. The doors closed. Arthur hit the button for the ground floor, then sank down moaning as the lift began to slowly rise upwards. The numbers clicked upwards, showing no signs of stopping. At last the lift stopped, at the top floor, the very place where the monster had first been seen. The doors slid open. Arthur inched out, followed closely by 

his retinue. No monster. Spotting a door on the other side of the hallway, the group moved towards it. A shadow moves! Red eyes glisten in the darkness! 

Abandoning all sense of order, Arthur ran across the hall, flinging open the door and throwing himself forward into the darkness. The door slammed shut, leaving Arthur stranded in the pitch-black room, alone. 

Lights blazed on, temporarily blinding him. As Arthur’s eyes adjusted to the light, he tried to make sense of the jumble in his mind. A large banner was strung across the room, with “Surprise” printed in large type. All his friends were there looking at him. 

Ah, he thought, it was obviously just a final hallucination. The door behind him opened, and in walked his cousin, holding beside him a large mask with glowing red eyes. 

Awareness blossomed in his mind mere seconds before the assembled crowd yelled a deafening “Surprise! Happy Birthday!”. 

By Gothos

Tyrone Ingham 

LITERACY LEARNING SPECIALIST