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March 29, 2024, 06:39:58 am

Author Topic: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!  (Read 284398 times)

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Casey98

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #30 on: March 14, 2016, 06:13:00 pm »
Hey there!

If you get a chance, could you please mark my Creative Writing piece? My teachers have given us the stimulus that will be used in our half-yearly exam, so it's based off that.

Thanks in advance!
- Casey

elysepopplewell

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #31 on: March 16, 2016, 04:28:02 pm »
Hey there!

If you get a chance, could you please mark my Creative Writing piece? My teachers have given us the stimulus that will be used in our half-yearly exam, so it's based off that.

Thanks in advance!
- Casey

Alright, this is an interesting stimulus Casey!
I'm going to attach your original creative right here in a spoiler:
Spoiler
“Please? With a cherry on top?” I chuckled at her new favourite phrase; it was the fourth time I had heard her say it since she had arrived. I attempted to stand my ground, but she gazed at me with those wide eyes, those beautiful, blue eyes…

They were so much like her grandfather’s, how could I argue with her?

“Fine, go ahead Nessie.” I sighed dramatically as she giggled and ran to the ladder. After all, I had made this promise: on her 6th birthday, I would allow her to enter the “mystery room in the roof”. I heaved my frail body up the ladder behind her, beginning to mentally prepare myself.

Before I even reached the attic, I could hear her coughing and spluttering. I arrived to see a cloud of dust arising from the box she was already opening- it must’ve been at least 15 years since anyone had been up here. I stood frozen at the entrance, inhaling the musty smell of the past; taking in the cardboard boxes filled with old memories. The room, which was dimly lit by a single, flickering light bulb in the middle of the ceiling, had been left untouched since he left. I silently took a seat in the rickety rocking chair in the corner, my sweating hands resting in my lap.

I was shortly approached by a laughing figure clothed in a red, oversized coat, a fancy floral hat and glistening high-heeled shoes. I recognised the clothes immediately- Nessie was dressed in my favourite winter coat; the one I always wore to Estelle’s for dinner. My, it had been such a long time since I had seen Estelle…

As Nessie danced among the boxes, twirling around in the coat, I began to relax. I could see her cheeky grin underneath the floppy hat as she continued to explore, occasionally squealing with delight. As my eyelids grew heavy, I drifted off to sleep.

“Grandma! Look!”

Awoken by Nessie’s excitement, I turned my head to the far corner of the room.

“I can draw like you!”

Her blue eyes glowed as she gestured towards the picture she had drawn on the side of a cardboard box. She sat in the middle of her mess: a combination of paint brushes, pencils and artists’ charcoal covering the floor. A beautiful painting rested in her lap, but this painting wasn’t mine.

I felt my body begin to shake as, for the first time in many years, I studied its once-vibrant colours. Although faded, the painting still held its elegance- he had perfectly captured the beauty of the simple landscape. I recalled him sitting in his rocking chair on the balcony that delightful spring afternoon, painting that lone tree- the one that we had planted many years beforehand. He was so engrossed in his work; I had frightened him when I walked over. But when he raised his head, he looked at me with those shining blue eyes, the same ones that were staring at me from the floor.

Our time together had been amazing. As a young couple, we shared every night: going out to fancy restaurants, or simply laying on the sofa, eating pizza and watching television. As our family grew, he was always by my side. Nessie’s father was a little rascal- he’d chase the young boy all the time, out into the backyard, where they’d wrestle and play.

It wasn’t always easy. As we grew older, he began to stress about our financial position- he wanted so desperately to give us everything he could. I often wouldn’t see him for days at a time as he continued to work long hours, but while we sometimes grew distant, we never disconnected. I remembered the sweet softness of his lips as he gently kissed my forehead while I fell asleep; he’d always kiss me when he came home late from work.

He never finished that painting.

I remembered the loss, the numbness, the cold skin as I held his hand, the piercing sound that penetrated my ears when the monitor flat lined. The tears that dripped down my cheeks, the flurry of doctors and nurses that entered the room, the tangle of wires and tubes covering his body. It was all too much.

“Nessie, pass me the painting. Go downstairs and show Daddy your fancy hat.”

After she had silently climbed down the ladder, clearly sensing something was wrong, I carefully assessed the image. He had created an ideal scene; a perfect world. A world without loss and pain. But is life ever that perfect? Even when he was here, we faced hardship and suffering.

Looking at this perfect painting made me realise that since his death, I had been trying to replicate this fantasy world in my own life. I had tried so hard to repress the pain for all of these years; to create a world where there was no loss. But now, looking at this perfect painting, I realised that these emotions were simply waiting to consume me.

As the painting fell out of my shaking hands, I broke down and cried.

Now, I'll put another spoiler here, this is your creative with my own comments in bold.

Spoiler
“Please? With a cherry on top?” I chuckled at her new favourite phrase; it was the fourth time I had heard her say it since she had arrived. I attempted to stand my ground, but she gazed at me with those wide eyes, those beautiful, blue eyes…

They were so much like her grandfather’s, how could I argue with her? I'd prefer this sentence broken. Replace the comma with a full stop and capitalise the H. This isn't because it is incorrect, but the two separate sentences make each more distinct.

“Fine, go ahead Nessie.” I sighed dramatically (Many famous writers suggest that to improve work, they avoid using an adverb after the verb of expression (said, sighed, laughed, etc). So what you're saying isn't incorrect, but can be improved. Try finding a verb that encapsulates exactly what you are trying to achieve from the verb and adverb combined. Perhaps, relinquished, surrender...) as she giggled and ran to the ladder. After all, I had made this promise: on her 6th birthday, I would allow her to enter the “mystery room in the roof”. I heaved my frail body (Suddenly, the grandfather's eyes reference doesn't seem too distant. I suspect that this person is elderly too) up the ladder behind her, beginning to mentally prepare myself.

Before I even reached the attic, I could hear her coughing and spluttering. I arrived to see a cloud of dust arising from the box she was already opening- it must’ve been at least 15 years since anyone had been up here. I stood frozen at the entrance, inhaling the musty smell of the past; taking in the cardboard boxes filled with old memories. The room, which was dimly lit by a single, flickering light bulb in the middle of the ceiling, had been left untouched since he left. I silently took a seat in the rickety rocking chair in the corner, my sweating hands resting in my lap.

I have italicised three things from the above paragraph. Why? They are cliches. I recommend that you avoid cliches as much as possible in creative writing, because you want to leave the impression on the marker that you are a creative, innovative writer, rather than one who relies on common expressions. Of course, cliches are well known because they are so accurate in describing something! So just start by trying to exchange one word in the expression for synonym. Your work isn't bad because of it, please note!! I'm just suggesting a way to elevate it :) Also - at this stage I have a really good image in my head of what is going on. So that's awesome!

I was shortly approached by a laughing figure clothed in a red, oversized coat, a fancy floral hat and glistening high-heeled shoes. I recognised the clothes immediately- Nessie was dressed in my favourite winter coat; the one I always wore to Estelle’s for dinner. My, it had been such a long time since I had seen Estelle…

As Nessie danced among the boxes, twirling around in the coat, I began to relax. I could see her cheeky grin underneath the floppy hat as she continued to explore, occasionally squealing with delight. As my eyelids grew heavy, I drifted off to sleep.

“Grandma! Look!”

Awoken by Nessie’s excitement, I turned my head to the far corner of the room.

“I can draw like you!”

Her blue eyes glowed as she gestured towards the picture she had drawn on the side of a cardboard box. She sat in the middle of her mess: a combination of paint brushes, pencils and artists’ charcoal covering the floor. A beautiful painting rested in her lap, but this painting wasn’t mine.

I felt my body begin to shake as, for the first time in many years, I studied its once-vibrant colours. Although faded, the painting still held its elegance- he had perfectly captured the beauty of the simple landscape. I recalled him sitting in his rocking chair on the balcony that delightful spring afternoon, (This is a bit of cliche. You've shown some awesome imagery here, you can find a more unique word choice that "delightful spring.." Again, you won't lose marks for this. This is a really good creative so I'm actually digging deep here to find things to improve! painting that lone tree- the one that we had planted many years beforehand. He was so engrossed in his work; I had frightened him when I walked over. But when he raised his head, he looked at me with those shining blue eyes, the same ones that were staring at me from the floor.

Our time together had been amazing. As a young couple, we shared every night: going out to fancy restaurants, or simply laying on the sofa, eating pizza and watching television. I'm curious about how old this couple is. If he has already died, I'm assuming they are reasonably old. Many grandparents of our generation didn't have televisions or pizza culture readily available. So just for textual detailing, I suggest that you change this to something linked to the era. As our family grew, he was always by my side. Nessie’s father was a little rascal- he’d chase the young boy all the time, out into the backyard, where they’d wrestle and play.

It wasn’t always easy. As we grew older, he began to stress about our financial position- he wanted so desperately to give us everything he could. I often wouldn’t see him for days at a time as he continued to work long hours, but while we sometimes grew distant, we never disconnected. I remembered the sweet softness of his lips as he gently kissed my forehead while I fell asleep; he’d always kiss me when he came home late from work.

He never finished that painting.

I remembered the loss, the numbness, the cold skin as I held his hand, the piercing sound that penetrated my ears when the monitor flat lined. The tears that dripped down my cheeks, the flurry of doctors and nurses that entered the room, the tangle of wires and tubes covering his body. It was all too much.

“Nessie, pass me the painting. Go downstairs and show Daddy your fancy hat.”

After she had silently climbed down the ladder, clearly sensing something was wrong, I carefully assessed the image. He had created an ideal scene; a perfect world. A world without loss and pain. But is life ever that perfect? Even when he was here, we faced hardship and suffering.

Looking at this perfect painting made me realise that since his death, I had been trying to replicate this fantasy world in my own life. I had tried so hard to repress the pain for all of these years; to create a world where there was no loss. But now, looking at this perfect painting, I realised that these emotions were simply waiting to consume me.

As the painting fell out of my shaking hands, I broke down and cried.

This is a really cool story. I mean, grammatically there is hardly anything to correct so that's great. The discovery is really clear as well. I'm going to propose something to you though, for the occasion that the stimulus in a future exam means that you need to tweak the ending. You can also absolutely end the story with a kind of discovery about loss. You end on the note of personal emotions - totally fine! That's an emotional discovery. But you could also resolve the story in a way that you realise the loss of a life actually a gain - because you gain wisdom, independence, personal growth, etc. If that makes sense? I'm only mentioning this because your story is really spot on, so this is just a potential extension that you should consider in case you do need it in a future exam! Otherwise, my main advice is working on the word choice of the areas I pointed out, just so that you don't fall into a cliche and instead, your work looks really unique!
Good luck!
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elysepopplewell

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #32 on: March 16, 2016, 05:12:43 pm »
Hi, hoping you could take a look at my AOS creative writing, my teacher seems to really like it with not much criticism so was hoping to get a second opinion and see where i am roughly sitting in terms of marks.

Thanks, i have attached it below

Hey there!
I have had a go at marking this. However, I would like to know if you could post this as a word document or just copy and paste the text into a comment here. The reason being, when I've copied and pasted it from the PDF to make comments on, the lines move and I can't actually see where you've used paragraphs. It became to difficult to mark this way, so if you can post it back through word or by copy and pasting, I'll be able to access it easier and give you better feedback (structure included). Thank you!
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Casey98

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #33 on: March 16, 2016, 07:55:45 pm »
This is a really cool story. I mean, grammatically there is hardly anything to correct so that's great. The discovery is really clear as well. I'm going to propose something to you though, for the occasion that the stimulus in a future exam means that you need to tweak the ending. You can also absolutely end the story with a kind of discovery about loss. You end on the note of personal emotions - totally fine! That's an emotional discovery. But you could also resolve the story in a way that you realise the loss of a life actually a gain - because you gain wisdom, independence, personal growth, etc. If that makes sense? I'm only mentioning this because your story is really spot on, so this is just a potential extension that you should consider in case you do need it in a future exam! Otherwise, my main advice is working on the word choice of the areas I pointed out, just so that you don't fall into a cliche and instead, your work looks really unique!
Good luck![/b]

Thanks so much for your feedback Elyse, it's been really helpful! (I sent the same story to my teacher and got the "hmm.... it's nice" response, which is always good to hear, but not exactly constructive!) Stay awesome :)

elysepopplewell

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #34 on: March 17, 2016, 09:38:21 am »
No problem, here it is! Thanks

Thanks for that. Already I'm seeing this is going to be so much easier! When I pasted it in from the PDF there were no paragraphs, so this is great!

Your original:
Spoiler
Once the news had broke, Mrs. Maddox wept.

She wept around the presence of her brother who patted her back and her husband’s friend, Arthur, who stood near. “If you need anything, anything at all,” Arthur spoke with unease, or maybe he just spoke in an attempt that his words would fill the limitless space between them. Abby simply wept, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her own arms. Her brother hadn’t spoke since he broke the news in jumbled sentences; half revealing, half concealing. It was Arthur who had been there, pulled the emergency alarm, panicked, sent the rescue team who did no rescuing. It was Arthur who received the three names, pictured the families, the wives, the children. Pictured Mrs. Maddox after the name Travis Maddox appeared before his eyes.

Unlike most, Abby did not question the inevitability of her husband’s death, did not throw her arms or fall to the floor on her knees praying to God that it wasn’t true. Did not argue in denial. She simply wept until the storm had spent itself.

***

Travis eyed Abby with an aura of confidence that obliterated the space between them. Abby, drink in hand, felt compelled to the tall, dark handsome man as she let her eyes dance between him and her group of friends.

“Ooo, he’s cute, go talk to him,” Meg paraded as she nudged Abby enough to cause her to stumble back onto her right foot, feeling lucky that the inch of shoe that actually hit hit the ground were enough to save her.
“Mmm, yeah he is, you’ve got to make your move at least one of the times we go out, that’s what makes it fun,” Katie obliviously pointed in his direction, holding two empty drinks in her hand.
Abby could feel the redness swell in her cheeks, “I can’t guys, I'm not like you.”
“Sure you are,” Meg replied as she pushed an unknown drink into Katie’s belly with such a force that it rode up the sides like a slippery dip, only millimetres away from crashing into Abby’s sheer, white top.

Abby leant against the bar as she observed how Travis beamed as if he were the centre show, with all four of his friends captivated by his performance. As he threw his hands up in a dramatic representation, they all laughed and Abby caught herself smiling.
Travis turned and the two were seemingly caught face to face, as if they had bumped into each other on the street. Abby spun, causing a sudden rush of vertigo, as she ordered another drink in an attempt to look busy.

Drinking, you’d think Abby had just finished a marathon as she depleted the contents in front of her. Turning her eyes, not her body, her image was filled with the close up of a white buttoned down t-shirt, the top button undone, exposing the slightest array of chest hair.
“Hi, I’m Travis,” he smiled, as his confidence now radiated into Abby.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Abby,” she said, causing a school-yard grin to consume her face.
“Want to get out of here, grab a bite to eat or something?” Travis has already started to move towards the exit, clearly a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
Abby nodded and innocently began to follow.
Travis placed the tips of his fingers on Abby’s lower back in a way that made her heat up inside.

***
Abby was young, with a fair, pure face which shone underneath the downpour of light which surrounded the room. Her husband had since flown from her in the presence of tears.

As Abby sat, unmoving, on the orange suede sofa she had once shared with Travis, her brother brought her a glass of water in an attempt to stir the stale air that the three of them existed in. Accepting the water, she did not drink it.
It was Arthur who made the first move, “You know,” he began saying as he reached for his back pocket, “I have this picture of Travis and I, when we first began working together, around the time the two of you met,” his fingers held a small picture he had retracted from his wallet as he leaned over to give it to Abby.
“I want you to have it.”

She stared at the piece of paper for a long time before announcing, “He looks happy.”
Abby counted backwards in time and concluded that this photo must have been taken 6 years ago, or 1 year before they had met. It was evident as she saw the man she fell for smiling back at her, she saw the same burning copper eyes as she had at the bar, the eyes that spoke of confidence, dedication, commitment. She thought of herself at this time, 6 years ago, she would have just finished her business degree. She placed the photo facedown and slid the photo back towards Arthur, thanking him for his kind gesture.

***

Mr and Mrs Maddox laughed as they manoeuvred their brand new orange sofa through the door of their two bedroom home.
“How good is this!” Travis exclaimed as he looked around their newly-renovated living room.
“You know..” Travis began as he creeped close to Mrs. Maddox, “you don't have to find a new job now..I’ve got it covered,” he boasted as he wrapped his arm around her waist.
Abby stepped away from his grip, “I thought we spoke about this, I want to work,” she spoke silently as she looked to the ground below her.
“But you don't have to!” Travis threw his arms as does when he is passionate about something.
“I know I don't have to, but I want to”
Now that Travis paced around the room, Mrs. Maddox hoped he would not break anything.
“Why would you want to, you can stay here and do anything you want, I'm allowing you to.”

Travis’ face seemed to absorb the redness which had seeped out of his wife’s as he opened and closed pantry doors, in such a rush that he could not even see what was inside.
“Where is all the food in this house! You cant even manage to look after the house when you aren't working.”
Mrs Maddox swallowed back the tears that seemed to be pushing her eyeballs out of her head.
She approached him slowly, “You’re right, you’re right, I don’t need to work,” she assured him as she convinced herself, he was right. It would all work out.

“I’m going to go and do some shopping now, okay?” Mrs. Maddox cautiously asked her husband.
“Okay, thank you” he replied as his breathing came back down to a normal pace and the tips off his fingers lingered on her arm for just long enough to make her hair stand up.

Before leaving, Mrs. Maddox stared into the hollow barrel of her own eyes as they appeared in front of her, convincing herself that the person she saw before her was smiling.

***
Abby’s heart smiled despite the sympathetic looks that never left the faces of Arthur and her brother. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and despite her eyelids covering her vision, she could see pictures of happiness, of freedom.
And yet she had loved him.
Often she had not.
Though no one knew, Mr. Maddox replaced Abby with Mrs. Maddox.

“So, I know there are a lot of way people deal with loss…I know when my Uncle died, my Aunty took up knitting as a way to…” Abby cut Arthur off before he could continue any more.
“I think I'm going to start looking for work, I can’t stay in this house all day.”
Arthur and her brother shared a surprised look.
“That sounds like a great idea, sis,” her brother rose and embraced her in a tight, reassuring hug.

“If you guys don’t mind, I would like to be alone for a bit.”
“Of course, don't mind us” Arthur said as both the men took a couple of steps to the door.
One final tear relinquished itself from her right eye as she closed the door on Arthur, closed the door on her husband. She was a widow. She smiled.

Your story now, with my edited in bold writing:
Spoiler

Once the news had broke, Mrs. Maddox wept. The italicised part here isn't technically incorrect, to my understanding, but if I'm being really fussy, you either use "broke" or "had broken" and not "had broke." Such a small fussy thing I know, but seeing as your teacher didn't have much criticism, I'll try dig to find you stuff :)

She wept around the presence of her brother who patted her back and her husband’s friend, Arthur, who stood near. “If you need anything, anything at all,” Arthur spoke with unease, or maybe he just spoke in an attempt that his words would fill the limitless space between them. Abby simply wept, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her own arms. Her brother hadn’t spoke since he broke the news in jumbled sentences; half revealing, half concealing. It was Arthur who had been there, pulled the emergency alarm, panicked and sent the rescue team who did no rescuing. It was Arthur who received the three names, pictured the families, the wives, the children. Pictured Mrs. Maddox after the name Travis Maddox appeared before his eyes. This last sentence isn't correct in form. You need a noun to specify who or what "pictured."

Unlike most, Abby did not question the inevitability of her husband’s death, did not throw her arms or fall to the floor on her knees praying to God that it wasn’t true. Did not argue in denial. She simply wept until the storm had spent itself.

***

Travis eyed Abby with an aura of confidence that obliterated the space between them. Abby, drink in hand, felt compelled to the tall, dark handsome man as she let her eyes dance between him and her group of friends. What I LOVE about this sentence is the last part. The dancing eyes, that's wonderful. What dampens the sentence for me personally is the description of "tall, dark handsome." It is because it is such a common ideal that many women have for men, in that exact description. Instead, even describing that he had long hair or short hair or something to that effect - or even something way way unique - that would make the sentence really stand out.

“Ooo, he’s cute, go talk to him,” Meg paraded as she nudged Abby enough to cause her to stumble back onto her right foot, feeling lucky that the inch of shoe that actually hit hit (accidentally typed twice  :)) the ground were enough to save her.
“Mmm, yeah he is, you’ve got to make your move at least one of the times we go out, that’s what makes it fun,” Katie obliviously pointed in his direction, holding two empty drinks in her hand.
Abby could feel the redness swell in her cheeks, “I can’t guys, I'm not like you.”
“Sure you are,” Meg replied as she pushed an unknown drink into Katie’s belly with such a force that it rode up the sides like a slippery dip, only millimetres away from crashing into Abby’s sheer, white top.

Abby leant There is a debate amongst grammar lovers regarding the use of leant or leaned. Leaned is used 10x more than leant, but it is American English technically. However, it is used far more than leant outside of America as well. It is up to you, of course, seeing as both are correct. But I just thought I'd pop that in here :) against the bar as she observed how Travis beamed as if he were the centre show, with all four of his friends captivated by his performance. As he threw his hands up in a dramatic representation, they all laughed and Abby caught herself smiling.
Travis turned and the two were seemingly caught face to face, as if they had bumped into each other on the street. Abby spun, causing a sudden rush of vertigo, as she ordered another drink in an attempt to look busy.

Drinking, you’d think Abby had just finished a marathon as she depleted the contents in front of her. Turning her eyes, not her body, her image was filled with the close up of a white buttoned down t-shirt, the top button undone, exposing the slightest array of chest hair.
“Hi, I’m Travis,” he smiled, as his confidence now radiated into Abby.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Abby,” she said, causing a school-yard grin to consume her face. Consume...it is difficult. I see what you are saying here, but because I'm being picky because everything so far is so good, I wouldn't use this word. Just because, when I imagine an enormous smile, I imagine sparkling eyes. But, if the smile consumes the face, my imagery of the eyes is disrupted. Perhaps try another verb. Again, I stress, there isn't anything wrong with what you've written. This is a great piece so I'm being fussy to find little things to improve on.
“Want to get out of here, grab a bite to eat or something?” Travis has already started to move towards the exit, clearly a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
Abby nodded and innocently began to follow.
Travis placed the tips of his fingers on Abby’s lower back in a way that made her heat up inside.  This reminds me so much of a book, Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin. Your imagery is excellent.

***
Abby was young, with a fair, pure face which shone underneath the downpour of light which surrounded the room. Her husband had since flown from her in the presence of tears.

As Abby sat, unmoving, on the orange suede sofa she had once shared with Travis, her brother brought her a glass of water in an attempt to stir the stale air that the three of them existed in. Accepting the water, she did not drink it.
It was Arthur who made the first move, “You know,” he began saying as he reached for his back pocket, “I have this picture of Travis and I, when we first began working together, around the time the two of you met,” his fingers held a small picture he had retracted from his wallet as he leaned over to give it to Abby.
“I want you to have it.”

She stared at the piece of paper for a long time before announcing, “He looks happy.”
Abby counted backwards in time and concluded that this photo must have been taken 6 years ago, or 1 year before they had met. It was evident as she saw the man she fell for smiling back at her, she saw the same burning copper eyes as she had at the bar, the eyes that spoke of confidence, dedication, commitment. She thought of herself at this time, 6 years ago, she would have just finished her business degree. She placed the photo facedown and slid the photo back towards Arthur, thanking him for his kind gesture.

***

Mr and Mrs Maddox laughed as they manoeuvred their brand new orange sofa through the door of their two bedroom home.
“How good is this!” Travis exclaimed as he looked around their newly-renovated living room.
“You know..” Travis began as he creeped close to Mrs. Maddox, “you don't have to find a new job now..I’ve got it covered,” he boasted as he wrapped his arm around her waist.
Abby stepped away from his grip, “I thought we spoke about this, I want to work,” she spoke silently as she looked to the ground below her.
“But you don't have to!” Travis threw his arms as does when he is passionate about something. "arms as he does?"
“I know I don't have to, but I want to”
Now that Travis paced around the room, Mrs. Maddox hoped he would not break anything.
“Why would you want to, you can stay here and do anything you want, I'm allowing you to.”

Travis’ face seemed to absorb the redness which had seeped out of his wife’s as he opened and closed pantry doors, in such a rush that he could not even see what was inside.
“Where is all the food in this house! You cant even manage to look after the house when you aren't working.”
Mrs Maddox swallowed back the tears that seemed to be pushing her eyeballs out of her head.
She approached him slowly, “You’re right, you’re right, I don’t need to work,” she assured him as she convinced herself, he was right. It would all work out.

“I’m going to go and do some shopping now, okay?” Mrs. Maddox cautiously asked her husband.
“Okay, thank you” he replied as his breathing came back down to a normal pace and the tips off his fingers lingered on her arm for just long enough to make her hair stand up.

Before leaving, Mrs. Maddox stared into the hollow barrel of her own eyes as they appeared in front of her, convincing herself that the person she saw before her was smiling.

***
Abby’s heart smiled despite the sympathetic looks that never left the faces of Arthur and her brother. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and despite her eyelids covering her vision, she could see pictures of happiness, of freedom.
And yet she had loved him.
Often she had not.
Though no one knew, Mr. Maddox replaced Abby with Mrs. Maddox.

“So, I know there are a lot of ways people deal with loss…I know when my Uncle died, my Aunty took up knitting as a way to…” Abby cut Arthur off before he could continue any more.
“I think I'm going to start looking for work, I can’t stay in this house all day.”
Arthur and her brother shared a surprised look.
“That sounds like a great idea, sis,” her brother rose and embraced her in a tight, reassuring hug.

“If you guys don’t mind, I would like to be alone for a bit.”
“Of course, don't mind us” Arthur said as both the men took a couple of steps to the door.
One final tear relinquished itself from her right eye as she closed the door on Arthur, closed the door on her husband. She was a widow. She smiled.

What I love about this story:
-You never explicitly say how he died. It works stronger like this.
-The circular structure of the story works well, coming back to the start at the end. This is very satisfying for a reader.
-Your imagery is definitely there, in a way that is strong without being showy.

What there is to improve:
The main thing is that grammatically, some things are not correct. I sense that you have done this in the aim of manipulating conventions for a purpose, this is why I left some untouched. However, the ones I commented on are the ones that stuck out to me especially as the kinds of things that markers would probably double read to make sure they read it correctly.

Some things to think about:
In a situation of a written stimulus, I'm going to present to you a few ideas just so you can think about how you would engage them in your story:
Write an imaginative piece of writing:
-Where discovery features as being transformative of opinions
-where rediscovery is a thematic highlight.
-that features discovering something for the first time.

Otherwise, you've done a really excellent job and you should be very proud!
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hannahboardman98

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #35 on: March 18, 2016, 09:18:43 am »
Hi this is my creative writing draft for discovery area of study. I have included comments within the document in regards to where I'm struggling. Thank you! :)

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #36 on: March 18, 2016, 11:04:45 pm »
Hi this is my creative writing draft for discovery area of study. I have included comments within the document in regards to where I'm struggling. Thank you! :)

Hey Hannah! I've attached your Creative below with some feedback  :D

Spoiler
‘Discovery consists not in seeking new lands but in seeing with new eyes’

Lightning strikes through dark clouds and thunder shakes the neighbourhood. Climbing onto my motorbike, I thrust myself into the murky night. On the freeway, heading towards Rammington Bridge, I only have one intention. The wet road reflects my hideous appearance in rapid strokes on the black tar beneath my bike. Accelerating, I pass a tree whose branches crumble to the ground. Lightning strikes again. The tree, a symbol of my life falling apart. Skidding to the side kerb and launching myself off the vehicle, I stride purposely towards the bridge’s edge. In response to your comment, I would say just saying 'kerb' works here! Sweat drips down my face and an excitable anxiety runs through my body. Overlooking the channel, a thousand memories flood my mind, however one overpowers them all. Pain. This wrenching torment needs to be over. The cold night air brushes against the misfortune on my face. I am resolute. Silence. Moments from plunging into the depths of my painful release, a jolt like no other sends streams through my body. Yep, this makes sense! Every artery, muscle, nerve, ligament and tendon screams. Lightning.  Extreme heat courses throughout me, bringing forth excruciation and exhilaration simultaneously. Within a fleeting moment, my surroundings transform. Really nice imagery in this paragraph. Be careful not to over do it though, otherwise it becomes imagery for imagery's sake.

I am in my room. The familiar items that I remember are somehow unfamiliar. Same smells, but altered shadows. Confusion fills my head as my feet lead me along the well-worn pathway to my living room. Tracing my finger along the dusty wall, I create a wonky line all the way from my room to here. My body ceases. I see her. Her golden hair radiates the room as she sits comfortably on the lounge. I hear a murmur of the voice I have replayed over and over in my head for the last two years. Hearing it again, it gets louder, and louder. My spine tingles with anticipation as the slow, mellow sounds of her voice echo in my ears, where it finds itself grasping onto my emotions, leaving me in a nostalgic state.  My body becomes numb as my thoughts focus on just the soothing sound of her voice, the voice that I have been dying to hear for 2 years. My eyes begin to well and I can no longer feel anything as my emotions take control of my body. ‘Mum!’ Remember, dialogue lines must take a line of their own. I also actually think this paragraph would be better without this last dialogue line, lets the reader figure out for themselves the role this woman plays. Reader drawn conclusions are always more powerful than your own: Show not tell.
The woman who I have not been able to touch for two years is now stroking my face with her soft, delicate hands. The warmth of her presence overwhelms me as I begin to feel myself fall back into the old life I once lived. The easy life. The life where I had a loving mother and father and no pain filled my body. But after that one day, the day my mother was ripped out of my arms, I was no longer pain free. I think the paragraph that follows could benefit from a slightly more euphemistic tone. This is a traumatic experience for the protagonist, so it makes sense that (especially given you are writing in first person) he could not directly re-live the event. Hint to what happened, rather than directly recount it. The recount style could be contributing to the 'cliched' tendency you are noticing.
It was a windy night, mum and I wanted to go for a drive so that I could get driving experience. We cautiously cruised along Rammington road whilst discussing how quickly time flies. Gushes of wind took control of the car and lead us over the bridge. The car sank rapidly. I acted quickly and knew that I had to force the doors open before any more water filled up the car. I managed to escape and take a grasp of air from the surface, just before I went back under to save mum. I swam back to the car door, where I see her eyes gazing into the distance as if she’s seen a ghost. Screaming ‘Mum!!!!!!!!’, but nothing escaped her gaze. It was too late. Her body was as blue as a blue-bottle. She was dead. Mother Nature insensibly took my mother from me. I never believed in heartbreak, until that very moment. To see my mother not being able to draw a breath of air killed me internally. My chest filled with no air, it was like suffocating, and however I was surrounded with so much oxygen. This was my life from here onwards. The pain never went away. Until this moment, right here, as my mother begins to speak to me again.
‘You have to stop blaming yourself Rick. I was the one who couldn’t get myself out of the car that night, not you. You saved yourself and I am so proud that you did. You have so much ahead of you and I will not let you throw your dreams away just because I’m not there in plain sight. I am always by your side, I never left. Remember that, okay?’ Be careful with your use of dialogue, it is very hard to keep dialogue realistic at this length. Further, it loses its impact: Dialogue is powerful when used right.
My dad interrupts the conversation that I have needed to have in two years, ‘It’s time to go now son’.
I feel the same confusion and blurriness that I experienced when I arrived here. ‘Wait, mum where did dad just disappear to?’ I turn to claim reassurance from mum, however she’s gone as well. ‘No!!’ I scream and run through the house looking for mum like a child who’s lost their favourite teddy bear. This can’t be happening again. Yes, I think cutting this dialogue would benefit the story at large. The scene begins to fade before my eyes and a much darker image appears before me. At this point my face is soaked with tears and I feel my body begin to overheat. I’m drowning, with no one around. Memories flush back into my head and I comprehend the strange events that have just occurred... I hear a voice in my head. ‘Don’t throw away your dreams’. Water pushes me down further and further, taking me under its power. However, the next thing I know my body is swimming to the surface. I try to make sense of everything that is happening, but there just isn’t enough time at this particular moment. I must save my life; I must make my mother proud. I paddle to the side bank, slumping my body at the first chance I get. I lay, in a state of bewilderment, looking up at the stars as I notice an enormous scar on my chest. It was formed like a tree with hundreds of branches expanding from the roots, like several hands trying to reach out to me. The lightning has provided me with this life altering experience. The scar and all its power, symbolises the strength my mother had just provided me with. The strength to turn over a new leaf, the strength to see my life through a new set of eyes. A fresh start. I find the juxtaposition between the realism of the theme of loss, and the supernaturalism of this ending, a little unusual. I'm not saying I don't like it, but it is definitely a contrast, and you may want to consider if this is intentional.

Your use of imagery and emotive language is extremely impressive! I really love what you've done in some parts, some very clever pathetic fallacy and figurative language, re-enforced with effective word choice.

I would say that your story is suffering a little bit from "over description." Try to be a bit more vague/euphemistic in some areas. This is especially true given the fact that you are writing in first person.

When you assume a character, you need to do one of two things. Adjust the character to suit your writing style, or adjust the style to suit the character. I like the character development, we start with the view of them as a tough, insensitive "biker" character, but then we are immediately shown the opposite. Perhaps tease this transition out a little bit more. Now, what isn't coming across is the hurt in this scenario. Describing the whole event in such detail does not suggest any personal grief, it suggests the opposite actually. If you cut and trim your imagery and dialogue to the essentials you will create something more powerful, in my opinion.

I don't think you have a cliche story here either, even though you suggested so in the document. However, if you are concerned, perhaps the first thing to address would be the ending. It is here where I am expecting some large crescendo. The character has gone through this reflective process, which is beautifully constructed, and then the "discovery" is done very quickly and with much less technicality. And part of this is the catalyst being somewhat supernatural in nature. If you want to do this, awesome, I really like the difference in it, but maybe explore the idea a little more and make the ending a little more significant. So, I don't think the issue is cliche, I think the issue is not properly fulfilling a climax, and using something supernatural as an easier escape from an internal emotional climax, which would be more suited to the story.

Keep in mind these are major nitpicks, this is a fantastic story! Really powerful use of language and some excellent themes throughout, with nice character development to boot! I think the ending is what you are concerned about, you may want to re-think the 'supernatural' nature of it, if the cliche concerns you. I think this idea is great, just the execution could be improved slightly. Fix this up and I think you are on the start of a real winner here  ;D

znaser

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #37 on: March 21, 2016, 06:47:48 pm »
Hi. This is my creative writing. Thank you for your time :)

elysepopplewell

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #38 on: March 22, 2016, 09:56:43 am »
Hi. This is my creative writing. Thank you for your time :)

Hey there! Usually I asked people who post PDFs to repost in a word doc, just because the line spacing goes a bit awkward. You'll realise this below. However, I've kept yours as a PDF because you've made good use of scattered line spacing. So I'll give it a go!

Spoiler
All tangible memories are but an illusion…
The lens captures the earth but drains the life.
The ink enshrouds the evidence, blurring what is real and what is not.
The powers of retention is one to be guarded… tended. For without memories, we are
devoid of identity, deeming us living but lifeless. For without the power to venture in time,
we are devoid of the faculty to discern how our past moulded our present… to reminisce
the branching off of our incessant labyrinth. My fingers clutch the mellow fringes of my
journal… its tenderness enlivening my despondent core. Imprinted within the interior in
pronounced, ebony ink: (At this point, what I like is that you have a really impressive vocabulary yet it seems to suit very well without being showy. I imagine that the persona is a very intelligent person, so this makes a lot of sense.)
“Life without memory is no life at all.”
I riffle the pages… pondering between the print,
and I rekindle with treacly sentiments.
November 11 2014
I was seven.
I was entranced by the puffs of white that roamed the sky, the myriads of ants that capered the
verdure, the pearls of white that perished to survive and the sun that died for the moon to be alive.
I was seven. Wide-eyed. Seduced by the beauty of life. (Imagery wise, I'd like to clarify. I don't know what the pearls of white are? I thought clouds, but you'd already discussed them as being puffs of white. Just something to think about :) )
Your garden embodied the pigments of life… It was YOUR garden that gravitated your soul to my
mind,
and I enquired with my entreating eyes, “How is it that a single rose petal can enfold so much
beauty, so much life?” At this point, I'd like to tell you how I imagine this piece. This piece, to me, based on vocabulary, is either written from the perspective of a historical and intelligent persona, or a persona who lives in a different culture to our Western culture, because a far greater emphasis is placed on expression of language and ideas.
and you replied with your benevolent psyche, “The rose is a token of amity.
‘Friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.’ ”
I was seven when you bestowed a burgeoning rose into my avid palms… when you whispered,
“Nurture this rose and it will blossom with you.”
and it did.
 But
 you
 lied. This is really powerful. Really, really powerful.
I was fifteen when I espied the illusion:
The rose’s redolence is a pretence that veils its haughty scent… and as
your orange door became tinged with grey… your garden untended,
the rose wilted.
A trail of crimson stains the parchment, brushing the tattooed crystals in dolour. My tainted
fingertips clench onto the glass remnant, enwreathed with impressions fountained from my
soul… and I inhale mist of yore.
***
The quivers of the earth resonate the monitor and echo through my bones. Their city
crumbles, yet they tower above the rubble abreast, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand,
restoring soul to the withered ambience. Amidst the destruction,
blooming life.
I avert my gaze and observe through the transparency — oblivion… an illusion: fabricated
life veneering the lingering stench of death. My pen slides harshly over the smooth page,
marking in anarchic script —
Structure: A pretence for our disunity.
Her garden becomes defined within the compass of my vision… its once zealous character
drowns in apathy and I mutter under my breath, “Why did you leave me?”
A Nepalese child, ‘Mahavir’, casts my hearing in a trance, re-focusing my sight to the
display. He sounds in a stout, quivering airing, “We are blessed because we are alive and
together. We are blessed… we have each other, our ancestors.”
He proceeds, resting his calloused palm on his heart, “Their spirits are here. They are with
us, nurturing us… gravitating our souls to each other.”
Mahavir gestures to a budding rose anchored to his shirt, “The kind Australian gifted us
with this treasure, ‘A token to remind you that they are here, with you. Even though you are
unable to see them, they are with you…’ ”
I murmur with him, “…and they will always be with you.”
***
My fingertips strum the frail rose petals, tuning soothing melodies within me…—
conducting me to the glass remnant on the page. Piece by piece, I weld the segments of
the photograph, unchaining Xantara’s spirit within me… The scarlet tint in her cheeks, my
entreating eyes and the vibrancy of her garden become more pronounced… and the
memory ceases to bear a mirage. My pen tattoos the parchment in orderly print,
“When life throws thorns; hunt for the roses.”
I pry the iron chest and rest my journal within its interiors, hauling a quivering whisper,
“Goodbye.”
My grasp steers to Xantara’s film and quill, reigniting the glister in my eyes. I peruse a
notebook void of impressions and observe the roaming puffs of white through the
transparency. The mellow feather soars over the interiors of the binding, printing in large,
neat script,
"The real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."
My fingertips rekindle with the rose and I turn a new page.

Ok so I didn't edit the last bit, because I couldn't fault it. That's great for you! I mean, this is wonderful. Your writing shows a sophistication with being a show-off. I think it comes from the fact that the persona's voice is so vulnerable and humble. Like I mentioned before, I either imagine this being set in another culture or in a past time, still potentially in a different culture. The language expressed here, the parchment, the calligraphy, none of it screams Aussie. Which I really think is great. It is so unique and wonderful. I honestly imagined an Aladdin type scenery, and I imagined the humility of sacred virtues. This really transported me to another place, I'm so impressed, moved even. It takes a skilled writer to use impressive vocabulary consistently and still show humility in their ideas.

What I am also interested in, is how you will craft your word-art in the exam? Will you write bloom in increasing size? Will you still write things from the right hand margin? You've created a wonderful art work with words, I'm curious about how you will emulate this in an exam.


Further, you explicitly say the word discovery in your piece. A lot of people recommend not doing that. I mean, it didn't stick out to me in a way that made me think "uhh...." or anything. However, perhaps you can find a synonym suitable. I suggest this because you don't know for sure that from another perspective, that it may look like "hello! here is my discovery aspect! Notice it!" Like I said, to me, it doesn't appear like that. But it wouldn't surprise me if another person perceived it that way. This is just food for thought.

You should be very proud of you work :)
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znaser

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #39 on: March 22, 2016, 11:00:15 am »
Thank u sooooo much. Im glad u liked it. With the layout, I'll try my best to replicate it the way it is but I have really bad handwriting so I guess I just have to practice getting it right. Yeah I was a bit iffy about the last quote as well but I thought it really tied everything together so maybe I'll just think of something else. oh and the pears of white are baby teeth :) Thanks again for taking your time to mark it. I really appreciate it  :)

hannahboardman98

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #40 on: March 22, 2016, 02:19:48 pm »
Is my 'discovery' clear in the story? Is it good enough? I tend to tell instead of show, how did I go in this story?

elysepopplewell

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #41 on: March 22, 2016, 07:40:14 pm »
Is my 'discovery' clear in the story? Is it good enough? I tend to tell instead of show, how did I go in this story?

Hey there! I will go into this specifically thinking about the conveyance of discovery, but overall as well :)
Original story found in this spoiler:
Spoiler
‘Discovery consists not in seeking new lands but in seeing with new eyes’

Lightning strikes through dark clouds and thunder shakes the neighbourhood. Climbing onto my motorbike, I thrust myself into the murky night. On the freeway, heading towards Rammington Bridge, I only have one intention. The wet road on the black tar skirts beneath my bike reflecting the hideous composure of my face. Accelerating, I pass a tree whose branches crumble to the ground, symbolising my life falling apart. The sky flashes white again. Skidding to the side kerb and launching myself off the vehicle, I stride purposely towards the bridge’s edge. Sweat drips down my face and an overwhelming sense of anxiety courses through my body. Overlooking the channel, a thousand memories flood into my mind. One, however, overpowers them all. The indistinguishable cold grip of pain that clutches at my very being. This wrenching torment needs to be over. The cold night air brushes against the misfortune on my face. I am resolute. Silence. Moments from plunging into the water, a jolt like no other sends streams through my body. Every artery and nerve screams. Lightning.  Extreme heat courses throughout me. Within a fleeting moment, my surroundings transform.

I am in my room. The familiar items that I remember are somehow unfamiliar. The same smells, but altered shadows. Tracing my finger along the dusty wall, my feet lead me along the well-worn pathway to my living room. My body ceases. I see her and my vision starts to haze as her soft silhouette emerges from the light. Her golden hair radiates the room as she sits cosily on the lounge. She purrs in her sleep, however and my presence wakes her. My spine tingles with anticipation as the slow, mellow sounds of her voice echo in my ears, where it finds itself grasping onto my emotions, leaving me in a nostalgic state.  My body becomes numb as my thoughts focus on just the soothing sound of her voice, the voice that I have been dying to hear for 2 years. My eyes begin to well and I can no longer feel anything as my emotions take control of my body. ‘Mum!’
The woman who I have not been able to touch for two years is now stroking my face with her soft, delicate hands. The warmth of her presence overwhelms me as I begin to feel myself fall back into the old life I once lived. The easy life. The life where I had a loving mother and father and no pain filled my body. But after that one day, the day my mother was ripped out of my arms, I was no longer pain free.
It was a windy night, mum and I wanted to go for a drive so that I could get driving experience. We cautiously cruised along Rammington road whilst discussing how quickly time flies. Gushes of wind lifted the car and it felt like a roller-coaster as we were tossed into the water. The icy water filled my car and began to take me under its power. I acted quickly and knew that I had to force the doors open before any more water rushed in. I managed to escape and take a grasp of air from the surface, just before I went back under to save mum. I swam back to the car door, where I see her eyes gazing into the distance as if she’s seen a ghost. Screaming ‘Mum!!!!!!!!’, but nothing escaped her gaze. It was too late. Her body was as cold as ice and whiter than I have ever seen her. Her jaw is open as if she was trying to grasp just one tiny bit of oxygen. But none ever did. Because of me. Tears fill my eyes as they disappear into the water that now withholds my mother’s spirit. My chest physically hurts, my heart feels as though somebody is trying to rip it apart. From that moment onwards, that heartache never went away, until now. Right here, my mother begins to speak to me again, snapping me out of my reminiscent state.
‘You have to stop blaming yourself Em. I was the one who couldn’t get myself out of the car that night, not you. You saved yourself and I am so proud that you did. You have so much ahead of you and I will not let you throw your dreams away just because I’m not there in plain sight. I am always by your side, I never left. Remember that, okay?’.
I snuggle into my mother’s arms as I feel comfort from the rise and fall of her chest. Cuddling up as though she the puzzle to my heart that needs filling, her warmth makes me feel forever safe. Happiness roams through my body and it is all that I will ever need, just as the world decides to be cruel to me yet again. The blurriness is back. The same sensation that I experienced when I first arrived in this momentary lapse. My revelation begins to fade in front of my eyes, and my senses become numb as I find myself less connected to the warmth mum emits.
I turn to claim reassurance from mum. ‘NO!!!!!’ my vocal chords shatter as I scream at the disappearance of my mum. This can’t be happening again, how can she be ripped out of my arms all over again!? A much darker image appears before me. At this point my face is soaked with tears and I feel my body begin to overheat. I am drowning, with no one around. Memories flush back into my head and I comprehend the strange events that have just occurred... I hear a voice in my head. ‘Don’t throw away your dreams’. Water pushes me down further and further, taking me under its power. However, the next thing I know my body is swimming to the surface. My mind encumbers with so many thoughts, but one particular voice seems to stand out the most. I must save my life; I must make my mother proud. Pushing the water behind me, I seek refuge upon the side bank. I lay, in a state of bewilderment, arms and legs stretched out like an angel. Looking up at the stars my eyes catch a glimpse of an enormous scar on my chest. It was formed like a tree with hundreds of branches expanding from the roots, like several hands trying to reach out to me. I no longer feel the ache in my chest. Through being struck, I was able to receive everything that I have needed for a long time. Closure.

Edited story, my comments in bold, found in this spoiler:
Spoiler
‘Discovery consists not in seeking new lands but in seeing with new eyes’

Lightning strikes through dark clouds and thunder shakes the neighbourhood. Climbing onto my motorbike, I thrust myself into the murky night. On the freeway, heading towards Rammington Bridge, I only have one intention. Would you like the strength of this sentence to be the one intention? to me, that should be salient. For this reason, I would put that as the first part of the sentence rather than in the second. But, if you prefer for it to remain less significant, keep it where it is! The wet road on the black tar skirts beneath my bike, reflecting the hideous composure of my face. Accelerating, I pass a tree whose branches crumble to the ground, symbolising my life falling apart. You shouldn't have to explain the symbolism, it should be a connection that the reader makes for themselves. The sky flashes white again. Skidding to the side kerb and launching myself off the vehicle, I stride purposely towards the bridge’s edge. When you put skid and launch together - it sounds like you've had an accident and you've been ejected from your seat, hurdling into the air. I would switch launching for another, less impacting word. Sweat drips down my face and an overwhelming sense of anxiety courses through my body. Overlooking the channel, a thousand memories flood into my mind. One, however, overpowers them all. The indistinguishable cold grip of pain that clutches at my very being. This wrenching torment needs to be over. The cold night air brushes against the misfortune on my face. Just interjecting here to let you know that this is the second noticeable mention of an ugly face - at this stage I'm hoping that the face is completely distorted or burnt or something, and the person doesn't just have low self esteem with an average face. I'm just letting you know because I think it is important for an author to know what a reader is thinking at each point. I am resolute. Silence. Moments from plunging into the water, a jolt like no other sends streams through my body. Every artery and nerve screams. Lightning.  Extreme heat courses throughout me. Within a fleeting moment, my surroundings transform.

I am in my room. The familiar items that I remember are somehow unfamiliar. The same smells, but altered shadows. Tracing my finger along the dusty wall, my feet lead me along the well-worn pathway to my living room. My body ceases. I see her and my vision starts to haze as her soft silhouette emerges from the light. Her golden hair radiates the room as she sits cosily on the lounge. She purrs in her sleep, however and my presence wakes her. My spine tingles with anticipation as the slow, mellow sounds of her voice echo in my ears, where it finds itself grasping onto my emotions, leaving me in a nostalgic state.  My body becomes numb as my thoughts focus on just the soothing sound of her voice, the voice that I have been dying to hear for 2 years. My eyes begin to well and I can no longer feel anything as my emotions take control of my body. ‘Mum!’ I was really certain that you were talking about a cat here. The golden hair, the cosily on the lounge, the purrs, definitely thought this was a cat lol. I suggest you change the description up a bit, because its a crude shock for a marker (or any human, if this was in real life) to realise a cat is actually a person haha.
The woman who I have not been able to touch for two years is now stroking my face with her soft, delicate hands. The warmth of her presence overwhelms me as I begin to feel myself fall back into the old life I once lived. The easy life. The life where I had a loving mother and father and no pain filled my body. But after that one day, the day my mother was ripped out of my arms, I was no longer pain free.
It was a windy night, mum and I wanted to go for a drive so that I could get driving experience. We cautiously cruised along Rammington road whilst discussing how quickly time flies. Gushes of wind lifted the car and it felt like a roller-coaster as we were tossed into the water. The icy water filled my car and began to take me under its power. I acted quickly and knew that I had to force the doors open before any more water rushed in. I managed to escape and take a grasp of air from the surface, just before I went back under to save mum. I swam back to the car door, where I see her eyes gazing into the distance as if she’s seen a ghost. Screaming ‘Mum!!!!!!!!’, (I wouldn't do this many !!! in an exam, just because it technically is grammatically incorrect and you can compensate for this in language.) but nothing escaped her gaze. It was too late. Her body was as cold as ice and whiter than I have ever seen her. Her jaw is open as if she was trying to grasp just one tiny bit of oxygen. But none ever did. What is the none? This sentence doesn't quite make sense. Because of me. Tears fill my eyes as they disappear into the water that now withholds my mother’s spirit. My chest physically hurts, my heart feels as though somebody is trying to rip it apart. From that moment onwards, that heartache never went away, until now. Right here, my mother begins to speak to me again, snapping me out of my reminiscent state.
‘You have to stop blaming yourself Em. I was the one who couldn’t get myself out of the car that night, not you. You saved yourself and I am so proud that you did. You have so much ahead of you and I will not let you throw your dreams away just because I’m not there in plain sight. I am always by your side, I never left. Remember that, okay?’.
I snuggle into my mother’s arms as I feel comfort from the rise and fall of her chest. Cuddling up as though she was? is? the puzzle to my heart that needs filling, her warmth makes me feel forever safe. Happiness roams through my body and it is all that I will ever need, just as the world decides to be cruel to me yet again. The blurriness is back. The same sensation that I experienced when I first arrived in this momentary lapse. My revelation begins to fade in front of my eyes, and my senses become numb as I find myself less connected to the warmth mum emits.
I turn to claim reassurance from mum. ‘NO!!!!!’ (refer to previous comment on !!!)my vocal chords shatter as I scream at the disappearance of my mum. This can’t be happening again, how can she be ripped out of my arms all over again!? A much darker image appears before me. At this point my face is soaked with tears and I feel my body begin to overheat. I am drowning, with no one around. Memories flush back into my head and I comprehend the strange events that have just occurred... I hear a voice in my head. ‘Don’t throw away your dreams’. Water pushes me down further and further, taking me under its power. However, This isn't the strongest connective here possible. It just sounds a tad too essay and not enough like what the persona would say. the next thing I know my body is swimming to the surface. My mind encumbers with so many thoughts, but one particular voice seems to stand out the most. I must save my life; I must make my mother proud. Pushing the water behind me, I seek refuge upon the side bank. I lay, in a state of bewilderment, arms and legs stretched out like an angel. Looking up at the stars my eyes catch a glimpse of an enormous scar on my chest. It was formed like a tree with hundreds of branches expanding from the roots, like several hands trying to reach out to me. I no longer feel the ache in my chest. Through being struck, I was able to receive everything that I have needed for a long time. Closure.

I really really like this ending - the lightning. I wish that there was some facial deformity from the accident or something that is made clearer - because the imagery for that is strong at the start and weakens later. This would give an idea of the physical hardship he or she bears on a daily basis as a reminder of the devastation.

Fortunately, I haven't experienced anything like this in real life. But, I think it is important you know that it really touched me anyway, it made me a little tight in the chest. So you have a great story.

Discovery wise: we need it to tick the boxes: physical and emotional, spiritual, transformative, the unplanned or planned nature. I don't think your story necessarily ticks all of these boxes. Physical, emotional, yes. Spiritual and transformative can be developed at the end to be super clear. But the planned or unplanned nature of discovery? All discoveries are one or the other. Do you think there is a definitive moment of discovery here? Can you accentuate it further?

Otherwise, you should be very proud :)
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znaser

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #42 on: March 22, 2016, 08:08:29 pm »
Hi Elyse. I have a massive problem with my creative. My teacher did not understand it and said that I'm showing too much and should include some tell. When she gave me suggestions on how to do that, she butchered my story. I'm not sure what to do because my exam is this thursday. I asked her what she would give it if I left it unchanged and she said 9 or 10/15 which is yh obviously not what I'm hoping for. Can you please help me solve this problem. I'm really sorry for taking your time.

jamonwindeyer

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #43 on: March 23, 2016, 12:28:34 am »
Hi Elyse. I have a massive problem with my creative. My teacher did not understand it and said that I'm showing too much and should include some tell. When she gave me suggestions on how to do that, she butchered my story. I'm not sure what to do because my exam is this thursday. I asked her what she would give it if I left it unchanged and she said 9 or 10/15 which is yh obviously not what I'm hoping for. Can you please help me solve this problem. I'm really sorry for taking your time.

Hey znaser! I spied your comment and had a read of your creative, perhaps just to give a second opinion. This is the issue with Creative I suppose, it is extremely interpretive.

The thing is, I loved your Creative just as much as Elyse. It shows almost masterful control of language and is extremely powerful  ;D

Now, your teacher is suggesting "Less show, more tell." This in itself is new to me, I've never heard of feedback wanting someone to be less descriptive in their writing. I re-read your creative and tried to put myself in her shoes.

I think her view on the text could be that is it overly verbose (a testament I don't necessarily agree with, but I see where she is coming from). It is VERY stream of conscience-style, and I love that style, and I think you create a masterful tone with it. Perhaps though, your sophisticated vocabulary and the free-form structure, flow of thought style piece is distancing the reader from the concepts.

So, you could think about trying some concise, more reflective paragraphs in your piece. These can absolutely carry a similarly fragmented voice from the rest of the short story, but sentence structure could be a little simpler. Less phrases, more direct, less verbose, just direct reflections on the current happenings and trains of thought. Half orientation for the reader, half a chance to mix it up a little bit with your style and create moments of harsh, blunt tone within your more eloquent creation.

Essentially, your teacher 'not understanding' means that the concepts are out of reach for the reader (again, I disagree). To simplify, get the story clearer to the reader with some more direct vocabulary in parts, and that could help clarify your Discovery concepts.

As for "less show, more tell," the reflective paragraphs accomplish this as well. Rely less on description and symbolism, more on emotional reflection by the character. Long, simple, non-interrupted thoughts on characters and situations.

Please note, this is totally me just fishing for things to improve. I LOVED YOUR CREATIVE! It is absolutely wonderful, don't let this situation discourage you. It is just a part of the subject that some Creative pieces will be, shall we say, polarising. Often it is the polarising pieces which are the most wonderful to read, with the unique features proving attractive to some, and not so attractive for others. This is why Creative pieces, like essays, are doubled marked, and then triple marked if necessary  ;D

Out of curiosity, what sort of things did your teacher suggest to improve? Why did you feel, as the author, that they "butchered" your creation? It might give us an insight to help you work through the feedback!

znaser

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Re: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!
« Reply #44 on: March 23, 2016, 09:38:07 am »
Thank you for the help :) yh my teacher suggested to scrap the accounts from Mahavir which didnt make sense because he is the catalyst for her discovery and to include the perspective of her neighbour which is what I initially planned to do but decided to emit it because I wanted to amplify the message that she didn't need to be physically with her in order to maintain the 'spiritual' relationship. So yh I think she didn't attempt to read my story properly but just skimmed through it which is what the markers do anyways so yh I'm in a bit of a dilemma.
« Last Edit: March 23, 2016, 09:49:08 am by znaser »