This is how all good stories begin

This is a farewell message, cobbled together with a fond reminiscence, stitched to a ‘stay tuned for cool stuff coming up!’ memo. It’s an exquisite corpse of a blog post, awkwardly shoved into an unfairly short word limit for something that is supposed to capture my reflections on 10 years in most probably the best job in the world.

There are so many stories from the past decade that, all together, help to illustrate and define my time with 100 Story Building, but I can’t tell them all here. Some would take pages to provide the right context and build up and payoff. Some are best told in person with actions and facial expressions and voices. And some are just personal, not really for sharing, because they’re not totally my stories to tell. 

But I can’t really think of any other way to sign off from this job that has been such a huge part of my life, a huge part of my identity, than to tell it in story. 

So I’ve picked just one. A small one, not much to it in terms of action, and it sort of finishes on a cliffhanger (one of the top-two preferred endings of 7-11 year olds, alongside grisly demise). But it’s a good one for illustrating what makes 100 Story Building special, and special to me, and how it is poised for incredible growth in its impact for children and young people.

It concerns Jacob*, a young member of BooWriClu (Book & Writing Club) - a weekly creative storymaking program at 100 Story Building’s workshop space in Footscray. 

Jacob was one of BooWriClu’s most dedicated members. He attended every week, a bundle of notebooks always clutched in his arms. He was a keen writer and drawer, and created illustrations and comics with incredible energy, warmth and multi-layered humour. And he was prolific. Scraps and sketches of his still dwell in the nooks and crannies of 100 Story Building. Pick up a carpet tile in the workshop space and, chances are, underneath will be a spell he wrote to give you the power of smelling other dimensions, or a detailed cross-section of level 73 under the trapdoor. He devised the instructions for 100 Story Building’s time machine. He was very much part of the family.

But on this particular Tuesday afternoon, sometime in 2015, Jacob had an experience that rocked his world. 

He was standing at the big timber table, chair toppled on the floor behind him. Around him, 15 other children, along with a handful of family members, 100 Story Building program staff and volunteers, were going about their various creative activities, making comics, reading, trying out newly crafted jokes on a friendly audience.

Jacob clutched his pencil, the half-finished comic on the table in front of him forgotten, as he stared straight ahead in a mixture of delight and dumbfounded surprise. 

On the other side of the table, Simon, 100 Story Building’s Program Manager, had been perusing the built-in bookshelf. Not finding what he was after, he absent-mindedly pushed on the bookshelf to reveal a hidden room behind, in which there was another bookshelf, along with a painted mural, and a rug and comfy reading chair positioned sideways on another wall. 

Jacob, absorbed in the creation of his comic, happened to have looked up just as Simon pushed the bookshelf open. He had been attending BooWriClu for over a year, and had sat in that seat nearly every week. But through sheer luck, he had never seen the bookshelf pushed open; had never known of the existence of this secret hidden realm. He watched as Simon stepped in and around the half-opened shelf to the space behind, disappearing from Jacob’s view.

I was on my way from the office to the kitchenette right at that moment. I passed behind Jacob just as he jumped up, pushing his chair back, which I had to jump to avoid. I heard him draw a deep breath, and then say in a half-whisper to himself, “This is how all good stories begin!”

And so for Jacob, who as a year 6 student was nearing the end of his time in a program that he loved but was also growing out of, and with that was facing all the anxieties and stresses that uncertainty can foster, this moment became a change of perspective. The unknown was scary, but the unknown was also exciting. In a moment, the reveal of that one hidden room made possible countless other secret passageways, rooms, realms, and worlds. 100 Story Building expanded in possibility exponentially, infinitely, and so too did his imagination.

And that is exactly where we find ourselves as an organisation right now. We have grown over 10 years to know our work inside out, but to also know there is so much more we don’t know. We have come through some challenging times, the most recent of which (a certain pandemic) has acted like the secret bookshelf for Jacob - forcing us to interrogate and thus understand our work and impact so much more clearly, and also offering incredible opportunities for us to broaden and deepen.

Which makes the timing so right for me to step aside. This is a new adventure, and one that will be best served by a dynamic new CEO with skills and experience in organisational and impact expansion. 100 Story Building is growing up.

During a program I led back in 2016, working with a group of primary school teachers to develop a narrative program for their curriculum, one teacher articulated the idea that the group had been trying to nail all morning. “The children are afraid of writing. They’re afraid of getting it wrong. We want them to have courage, to approach writing with a sense of adventure.” 

And so it is inspired by this spirit - one which is embedded in 100 Story Building’s fabric and acted out daily by the team of incredible people I have been lucky to call colleagues and friends - that I say farewell to the Building; to the people, organisations and communities who have supported it; to the children and young people who have given it its breath and voice. It is time for a new adventure for me, and a new chapter for 100 Story Building.

I am grateful to everyone who has ever helped to make 100 Story Building what it is. There are literally tens of thousands of you. Two in particular, my co-founders Jenna Williams and Jess Tran, whose shared vision has continued to guide the organisation. Thank you both.

I can’t wait to watch what happens next for the Building. I wish the best of luck for my successor, fun and adventure too, and share with them the wise words of Jacob: ‘This is how all good stories begin!’

(Checking out (virtually) from the Building for the last time, and leaving his pass in the pigeonhole of the administrative llamas on level 48)

*not his real name