Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[f_tan]

Hey there! I'm excited to read this, I'll put it in the spoiler below and write my comments in bold font throughout, and then leave some comments at the end to answer your questions

Thank you so much for your feedback!! Really helpful in giving me ideas to improve the story

[bdgonz]

Hey there! This sounds genuinely really interesting, I'm keen to read this! I'll put my comments in bold font below in the spoiler

Spoiler

Yekenni

The sticky aroma from the metallic walls fills your nostrils. You want to gag. The bruises on your delicate skin continue to send a constant, dull ache across your face. You analyse the bodies in the confined room. Each stare is menacingly aggressive, and you find it hard to not be intimidated. You witness an individual coming back from Cell One. Simple, but "Cell One" is the perfect introduction to us being in a prison.The dried blood, like concrete over their delicate dark skin; the purple bruises, and the mgbu welts along the criminals innocent arms. You notice that even those who attempt to emasculate their fellows inmates shudder and look away, still trying to look proud. They are pathetic. You can feel your white hair slowly turning the colour of murky water - your tears refuse to fall. Whilst everybody continues to stare at you, begging you to challenge them, there is one young nwata nwoke who avoids your gaze. When he meets your eyes, they are filled with sympathy and pity, something seldom in this cell. He is beautiful, but prison makes him ugly. The bites from the bugs on his gentle, light brown skin, pussing at the surface. You think that this makes him more endearing. He reminds you of Yekenni.

While you were sitting in your house, you remember the phone call from the police demanding that you turn in your son; you remember telling them you had not seen him for four months; you remember your wife’s sorrowful, distraught face as she vigorously cried 'chi nyere m aka'; you remember wondering at what point in time that you let your son become this shell of a man, an individual that was victim to the corrupt and calamity filled society; you remember them barge into your quiet home; and you remember them grab your frail body, squeezing you so hard that you thought you might break in half. I'm really enjoying the story so far, it's all flowing well. But, I think you can improve on this last bit here. Instead of "breaking in half" let's move from the cliche and into a really raw description. When I think of being squeezed really hard, I think of people's fingertips pressing into my flesh. Perhaps you could work with some dark imagery there? You try to remember less. When did Yekenni become like this? He use to be such a happy child, laughter consuming his body frequently, and not a trace of deceit or dishonesty was present. He changed, and it was your fault. You let him stay back at school when you knew he wasn’t ‘doing homework’, you let him go out to parties on weekdays and come home drunk after one in the morning, you let him keep his room private, where he could hide anything and everything. Both you and society corrupted your son, and you can’t help but feel disappointed in yourself - and him.

You stink. This works wonderfully as a double meaning - you stink, literally, but it also plays on "you stink as a father" after the last paragraph. You have not enough money for an adequate meal, for any form of cleanliness, and you are desperate. Your own aroma makes you want to gag more than the smell of the sickly prison. You know that you are ill, and if you remain in prison much longer, you will die. Your shaking in your sleep only makes you feel weak, vulnerable, like chaos has personally chosen you to victimise. All the inmates are escorted out of the cell whilst it is being cleaned, and you can’t help to desire for them to splash that toxic, detergent over your body. Anything to be somewhat clean. When they finish cleaning you scurry into the cell, rip of your tattered shirt and rub your gentle back on the sickly smelling floors. It is bliss to have something other than grime over your body. The guards do not attempt to hide their laughter.
‘Take off the rest of your clothes oluku’
You obey. Another guard drags you by the arm and forces you to parade the corridor. They laugh at your wrinkly skin, your subtle hunch, your delicate whimper, and your sagging penis. This time, you let the tears fall. The only one not laughing is the pretty boy. He looks at you, and his gentle, compassionate stare makes you cry even more. He is someone that wants to help you, the only one that wants to help you. As this flutters through your mind, you hear the laughter grow louder.
‘Did your criminal of a son know papa’s penis was so shriveled? Ay?’
You stop your tears, carefully cover your private region and walk back into the cell. Guards stifle giggles.
I really like this part, it's raw and insulting and it's a real blow to the character, very meaningful.
The pretty boy was gone. He was gone before you arose from your uncomfortable position on the floor this morning. You did not know the boy, but he made you feel like somebody cared, like there was somebody watching over you. Now you are more alone, more vulnerable, closer to the end. You further touch your gentle skin, peeling of the dried blood. Subsequently, you wince as you gaze at the welts along your arm. The longer you look, the more painful they become.
‘Hey you, ghọgbuoI’ a guard barks.
You know he is talking to you.
‘Your thiefing son has been found, you’re out’.
You do not speak. You try not to react but a small smile dances across your face. As you walk through the dirty corridor you are unsure about how to feel. Your son is captured, it is very probable that he will die in prison. But now you will live. You will be clean, you will be in your own room, you will be with your wife, you will be safe. You love Yekenni, but you also love yourself.

Wow, wonderful piece! When I read that the father was in here in lieu of his son I wasn't sure how you'd play it out in a creative way but you completely have. There are a few suggestions I have that might enhance your story, although I really think it's headed to a band 6. The writing is never over the top, I just really enjoyed following it! It was easy to follow, but the writing was never bland.

In terms of discovery, we have the paragraph of realisation that he, and society, failed his son. I'd like to know a little more about this, I think it's powerful and the effect of the ending depends on this part here. Perhaps you could make it more out as the duty of the father to protect his son from the crime and chaos of the area. Perhaps you could make it as though it is the personal mission of the father to protect his son from being a victim of crime, always protecting him from theft, violence, etc. And it never occurred to him that he'd need to protect him from committing crime, and that's where his confliction comes in. "I failed him because I didn't stop him from committing crime, but society failed him because crime seems too appealling, and being an honest person gets the raw end of the deal. There's no fain there." A thought process like this makes him look like a more loving and proactive father, because right now his hands aren't clean, he's talked about letting him have his room for himself and whatever. So, perhaps if you take the route of his father being completely at a loss, then he could have another discovery of "decisions" and how everyone makes decisions for themselves, and for every action there is an equal response. So another small revelation, and this could lead to the ending being more powerful. Right now, I don't love the ending because I think the "also love yourself" thing is a little unjustified at this stage. But if we have that earlier revelation about the way that decisions are autonomous and cause responses, then we can look internally and see "I am a good man, I deserve this release. I love my son, but he knew how his actions would cause effect, and I knew how mine would. That is why I am walking free."

Now, there's a lot of ideas here and they definitely don't need to all be implemented. I'm trying to just richen your discovery a little bit without actually adjusting the plot. Because I think you have a short and sweet little piece here that works really well, but I think that you can broaden and intensify your discovery more to your advantage. To me, this is the only thing stopping me from thinking "this is definitely the work of a band 6" - the ending has the potential to be even more powerful than it currently is, and I think that sits in sewing the seeds for that intensified discovery earlier.

Let me know what you think, this is all just words and ideas from an outsider, how does it all fit with your vision?

Wow!! Thank you so much for the amazing feedback :-) I will be sure to take it on board when editing my piece for final drafting. Again, thanks so much, it is much appreciated.

[SSSS]

Hey. I just wanted to ask if its acceptable to say 'ring. ring.' in a creative? also is it fine to have a line after you finish one part of your creative in an exam  and have a new setting in the future after it? Thanks

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey. I just wanted to ask if its acceptable to say 'ring. ring.' in a creative? also is it fine to have a line after you finish one part of your creative in an exam  and have a new setting in the future after it? Thanks

Hey! On the "ring ring" (do you mean in the form of onomatopoeia?) - I personally think it seems a little cheesy/forced in this case, but it could work! If you've got a playful/innocent voice being developed, perhaps a young child, I could picture it coming naturally from that? but that's just me! I'm not the biggest fan of onomatopoeia except in very specific circumstances

And yep, a new line and new paragraph would definitely suit that transition!

[CaitlinSavins]

I'm not sure this is the correct place to ask this, but it seemed like the most appropriate thread.
By imaginative writing, it's not necessarily a story, is it? Could an imaginative writing piece be a letter?

[jamonwindeyer]

I'm not sure this is the correct place to ask this, but it seemed like the most appropriate thread.
By imaginative writing, it's not necessarily a story, is it? Could an imaginative writing piece be a letter?

Definitely! Or a speech, or a series of diary entries - If they don't specify a narrative then you can take your pick 

[Kirri Rule]

Hi i was wondering if you could look at my story please thank you so much im really struggling on how to further improve this !

It was early morning when I woke and stepped outside, backlit by the orange glow of the rising sun, the herd of elephants paraded through the deserted savannah. The low sun almost tried to push its way through the rare tree across the arid plain, leaving thick black silhouettes of the baobabs on the skyline. The herd of elephants were accompanied by a family of rhino, who almost blended in with the elephants. My eyes wandered upon the little beauties one would miss upon glance with this land. The ground was almost glowing shades of oranges and reds across the arid land, and the sunlight illuminated the cracks in the dry ground. It was not hard to tell there had been an absence of rainfall for quite some time, there was dust everywhere, on the ground, trees, leaves, even my teeth and lips. The strong scent of pollution that normally coats the towns of Africa is lost out here, instead the sweeter smell of cloves and smoke filled my nose. I looked out into the distance, and noticed some water that was trickling down what once would have been a raging stream, when rainfall was consistent in the wetter months. The rays of sunlight in the early sunrise got captured in the water and let off a blinding sparkle. A russell is the bush into front of me echoed my ears as a ball came flying from within, landing at my feet. The edges rough and worn against my foot making contact as I trapped the ball. I crouched down and placed the ball in my hands and allowed my fingers to slide over the ball. I fiddled with the ball until my finger fell upon the hidden engraving (Allow for stimuli to be used here).
~
Lining up the perfect shot was difficult this morning, as my eyes squinted against this rising sun. Turnis bounced from foot to foot, conjuring up a cloud of smoke around him, blocking my line of view of the two sticks marking as the goal posts. I looked at my engraving of (Allow for stimuli to be used here) I swung my leg, making perfect contact with the ball. Too perfect. It torpedoed right past Turnis, right through the goals and right through the bushes we used as our goals net. “Off you go Taine you know the rules, go get it”, Turnis shouted as I starting running in retrieval of my ball, which was now out of sight. As I bashed through the bushes I skidded to a stop at the sight of this person holding my ball. I stayed out of sight and watched this thing, maybe he was an alien that Pappa has told me in his stories. His skin was clear, translucent, a bright reflecting white it almost burned my eyes. I had never seen someone or something like this before, his hair was a thin, tawny mop of a very light colour that seemed to even wrap all the way down his face, round his sharp chin and back again. He flipped my ball around in his hands, his eyes widening like Turnis on the return from a successful hunt with Pappa. Like the ball was his own, he caressed my engraving with a smile crossing his face. Anger boiled inside of me, that is my ball, my engraving, who does he think he is taking it like it's his own. Turnis would of told Pappa if I didn’t get it back, so I snapped a stick off the branch and slowly stepped out into the spotlight of morning light with the stick raised ready for a fight.
~
I couldn’t help but smile at this engraving of (Allow for stimuli to be used here) it was so intricately drawn but with the wobbly hand of a child. The snap in the bushes broke my concentration as my eyes snapped up, in time to witness a boy no taller than the bushes come charging out with stick in hand. My hands flew up in surrender, dropping the ball to my feet in pure fear. He halted, swaying from side to side, as if in preparation to run at any sign of threat. Crystal blue eyes stone cold swept up and down my body, searching for the point of weakness, like I was his prey. I smiled in hope it would ease his fear that I wasn’t going to harm him, yet no expression passed through any muscle in his face. Only his eyes flicked. Up from my eyes down to the ball and back again. As if in panic that losing sight of my eyes would cause me to attack. The boys chocolate coloured skin glistened with the early morning heat, as sweat tumbled, pooling and picking up pace as it fell, shaping his persistently frozen face.  I slowly reached down motioning towards the frayed ball, causing his freak reaction to hurl the stick with force. It flew perfectly, not wavering, not even in the early morning breeze, and landed straight in front of my feet. In search of whether this was an intentional miss of my body or not I made eye contact, only to be met with eyes of pure rage staring back at me.
~
He dropped the ball like it had thorns, I smelt the fear radiating from every inch of his body as I raised my stick higher ready to attack. His murky eyes darted everywhere in hope of some protection, as he tried to hide the shaking of his fingertips by clenching them into fists. I scanned this unfamiliar human for some familiarity, something that would show me he was another one of us. Cloth covered every part of his body, as if covering some secret, which proved difficult to make a judgement of his danger to me. The corners of his mouth slowly edged up into a half hearted smile causing the caterpillar of hair above his lips to wiggle in sync. I stayed perfectly still with no movement, besides the occasional check at my ball that was now being held hostage at his feet. He edged down, his hand clasped out ready to grab hold of my precious ball. In a flash of rage and a moment of panic, it was to late. The stick that had been safely held in my hand had flown across the distance between us and landed inches from his feet. We held contact. His eyes interlocked with mine, as pure confusion and terror plastered across his face. A pang of guilty erupted in my chest as I saw this grown man in his most venerable position. Like a baby buck, innocent and no threat to us, yet always in Papas first choice of kill. I stepped back suddenly aware of what I had done and raised my own hands up in surrender, a smile sneaking across my face as a hope for forgiveness. The man slowly rose from his crouched position with uncertainty in fear I would strike again. Only until his eyes scanned my face noticing my repentant smile, did ease cross his face as his too, broke into a wild grin. He bent over once more to draw something into the now baking, dirt ground, then to quickly stand up and kick my ball back to me. I looked at what he had drawn to catch a glimpse of the engraving on my ball of the (Allow for stimuli to be used here) drawn perfectly.  “Shh it can be our secret” he whispered as he raised his now stable finger to his lips and turned to enter back into his tent, leaving only the engraving as a remembrance of this encounter.

[elysepopplewell]

Hi i was wondering if you could look at my story please thank you so much im really struggling on how to further improve this !

Hi Kirri, happy to help!

I'll write my comments in bold fonts in the spoiler below, and then I'll comment at the end

Spoiler

It was early morning when I woke and stepped outside, backlit by the orange glow of the rising sun, the herd of elephants paraded through the deserted savannah. The low sun almost tried to push its way through the rare tree across the arid plain, leaving thick black silhouettes of the baobabs on the skyline. The herd of elephants were accompanied by a family of rhino, who almost blended in with the elephants. I have such clear imagery here! My eyes wandered upon the little beauties one would miss upon glance with this land. But this sentence, I'm not sure what it's saying? What would the eyes miss? is it the rhinos? It's not entirely clear because elephants are the last group of nouns mentioned, but it's evidently hard to miss elephants. Perhaps just reword this a little for clarity. The ground was almost glowing shades of oranges and reds across the arid land, and the sunlight illuminated the cracks in the dry ground. It was not hard to tell there had been an absence of rainfall for quite some time, there was dust everywhere, on the ground, trees, leaves, even my teeth and lips. The strong scent of pollution that normally coats the towns of Africa is lost out here, instead the sweeter smell of cloves and smoke filled my nose. I looked out into the distance, and noticed some water that was trickling down what once would have been a raging stream, when rainfall was consistent in the wetter months. The rays of sunlight in the early sunrise got captured in the water and let off a blinding sparkle. A russell is the bush into front of me echoed my ears as a ball came flying from within, landing at my feet. The edges rough and worn against my foot making contact as I trapped the ball. I crouched down and placed the ball in my hands and allowed my fingers to slide over the ball. I fiddled with the ball until my finger fell upon the hidden engraving (Allow for stimuli to be used here). Oooh, excellent use of stimulus. Really good to have a space here like this, I can't imagine a stimulus that wouldn't fit.
~
Lining up the perfect shot was difficult this morning, as my eyes squinted against this rising sun. Turnis bounced from foot to foot, conjuring up a cloud of smoke around him, blocking my line of view of the two sticks marking as the goal posts. I looked at my engraving of (Allow for stimuli to be used here) I swung my leg, making perfect contact with the ball. Too perfect. It torpedoed right past Turnis, right through the goals and right through the bushes we used as our goals net. “Off you go Taine you know the rules, go get it”, Turnis shouted as I starting running in retrieval of my ball, which was now out of sight. As I bashed through the bushes I skidded to a stop at the sight of this person holding my ball. I stayed out of sight and watched this thing, maybe he was an alien that Pappa has told me in his stories. His skin was clear, translucent, a bright reflecting white it almost burned my eyes. Grammatically, this part here could be better. "white, so bright it almost burned my eyes." Or perhaps a semicolon in your existing sentence. I had never seen someone or something like this before, his hair was a thin, tawny mop of a very light colour that seemed to even wrap all the way down his face, round his sharp chin and back again. He flipped my ball around in his hands, his eyes widening like Turnis on the return from a successful hunt with Pappa. Like the ball was his own, he caressed my engraving with a smile crossing his face. Anger boiled inside of me, that is my ball, my engraving, who does he think he is taking it like it's his own. Rhetorical question but no question mark. I'd be breaking this sentence up into three or four little sentences. The truncated sentences would work well here I think. Turnis would of told Pappa if I didn’t get it back, so I snapped a stick off the branch and slowly stepped out into the spotlight of morning light with the stick raised ready for a fight.
~
I couldn’t help but smile at this engraving of (Allow for stimuli to be used here) it was so intricately drawn but with the wobbly hand of a child. The snap in the bushes broke my concentration as my eyes snapped up, in time to witness a boy no taller than the bushes come charging out with stick in hand. My hands flew up in surrender, dropping the ball to my feet in pure fear. He halted, swaying from side to side, as if in preparation to run at any sign of threat. Crystal blue eyes stone cold swept up and down my body, searching for the point of weakness, like I was his prey. I smiled in hope it would ease his fear that I wasn’t going to harm him, yet no expression passed through any muscle in his face. Only his eyes flicked. Up from my eyes down to the ball and back again. As if in panic that losing sight of my eyes would cause me to attack. The boys possessive apostrophe needed in boy's* chocolate coloured skin glistened with the early morning heat, as sweat tumbled, pooling and picking up pace as it fell, shaping his persistently frozen face.  I slowly reached down motioning towards the frayed ball, causing his freak reaction to hurl the stick with force. It flew perfectly, not wavering, not even in the early morning breeze, and landed straight in front of my feet. In search of whether this was an intentional miss of my body or not I made eye contact, only to be met with eyes of pure rage staring back at me.
~
He dropped the ball like it had thorns, I smelt the fear radiating from every inch of his body as I raised my stick higher ready to attack. His murky eyes darted everywhere in hope of some protection, as he tried to hide the shaking of his fingertips by clenching them into fists. I scanned this unfamiliar human for some familiarity, something that would show me he was another one of us. Cloth covered every part of his body, as if covering some secret, which proved difficult to make a judgement of his danger to me. The corners of his mouth slowly edged up into a half hearted smile causing the caterpillar of hair above his lips to wiggle in sync. I stayed perfectly still with no movement, besides the occasional check at my ball that was now being held hostage at his feet. He edged down, his hand clasped out ready to grab hold of my precious ball. In a flash of rage and a moment of panic, it was too - too* late. Around this point, I'd consider starting a new paragraph. The suspense is there, bringing it into a new para kind of jolts the suspense rather than letting it all flow out - the reader appreciates it more. The stick that had been safely held in my hand had flown across the distance between us and landed inches from his feet. We held contact. His eyes interlocked with mine, no need for a common if you're using "as" as pure confusion and terror plastered across his face. A pang of guilty guilt* erupted in my chest as I saw this grown man in his most venerable position. Like a baby buck, innocent and no threat to us, yet always in Papas first choice of kill. I stepped back suddenly aware of what I had done and raised my own hands up in surrender, a smile sneaking across my face as a hope for forgiveness. The man slowly rose from his crouched position with uncertainty in fear I would strike again. Only until his eyes scanned my face noticing my repentant smile, did ease cross his face as his too, broke into a wild grin. He bent over once more to draw something into the now baking, dirt ground, then to quickly stand up and kick my ball back to me. I looked at what he had drawn to catch a glimpse of the engraving on my ball of the (Allow for stimuli to be used here) drawn perfectly.  “Shh it can be our secret” he whispered as he raised his now stable finger to his lips and turned to enter back into his tent, leaving only the engraving as a remembrance of this encounter.

I have been absolutely enthralled by this piece...you write so beautifully. I was lulled yet intrigued in some sections, and chasing the next word in other sections. What a fun piece to read! I can see why you're struggling to improve, because I'm struggling to fault it. I think that perhaps improving this isn't about finding a fault, but just looking for ways to elevate it more. I think something that could add to your work is using the setting to be symbolic. I'd love to visualise the display of the animals in the hot land at the end. In the beginning, I was transported to this completely serene experience. I'd love to go back there at the end, even if only briefly, to bring back the drama and intensity to a calm place of nature. You could slightly alter the first scene in the ending to show a particular shift in atmosphere, or you could simply reuse that initial scene to re-establish the natural order, and the "circle of life" kind of events that have occurred. What do you think about this idea?

Currently, I think the ending is wonderful and leaves you thinking 'ahh'...but I think that by adding that metaphorical/symbolic layer with the beautiful imagery, you remove all doubt from this piece and you demand that people feel satisfied upon ending the story.

Again, there's nothing wrong with this story at all, it was a real pleasure to read. It's like you're at the top and it's finding a way to keep pushing through to guarantee the highest mark possible. It's a lot harder to go from a 14 to a 15 than it is to go from a 9 to a 10, in my opinion. Let me know what you think...we can chat about it if you have any ideas or questions

[Kirri Rule]

Hi Kirri, happy to help!

I'll write my comments in bold fonts in the spoiler below, and then I'll comment at the end

Spoiler

It was early morning when I woke and stepped outside, backlit by the orange glow of the rising sun, the herd of elephants paraded through the deserted savannah. The low sun almost tried to push its way through the rare tree across the arid plain, leaving thick black silhouettes of the baobabs on the skyline. The herd of elephants were accompanied by a family of rhino, who almost blended in with the elephants. I have such clear imagery here! My eyes wandered upon the little beauties one would miss upon glance with this land. But this sentence, I'm not sure what it's saying? What would the eyes miss? is it the rhinos? It's not entirely clear because elephants are the last group of nouns mentioned, but it's evidently hard to miss elephants. Perhaps just reword this a little for clarity. The ground was almost glowing shades of oranges and reds across the arid land, and the sunlight illuminated the cracks in the dry ground. It was not hard to tell there had been an absence of rainfall for quite some time, there was dust everywhere, on the ground, trees, leaves, even my teeth and lips. The strong scent of pollution that normally coats the towns of Africa is lost out here, instead the sweeter smell of cloves and smoke filled my nose. I looked out into the distance, and noticed some water that was trickling down what once would have been a raging stream, when rainfall was consistent in the wetter months. The rays of sunlight in the early sunrise got captured in the water and let off a blinding sparkle. A russell is the bush into front of me echoed my ears as a ball came flying from within, landing at my feet. The edges rough and worn against my foot making contact as I trapped the ball. I crouched down and placed the ball in my hands and allowed my fingers to slide over the ball. I fiddled with the ball until my finger fell upon the hidden engraving (Allow for stimuli to be used here). Oooh, excellent use of stimulus. Really good to have a space here like this, I can't imagine a stimulus that wouldn't fit.
~
Lining up the perfect shot was difficult this morning, as my eyes squinted against this rising sun. Turnis bounced from foot to foot, conjuring up a cloud of smoke around him, blocking my line of view of the two sticks marking as the goal posts. I looked at my engraving of (Allow for stimuli to be used here) I swung my leg, making perfect contact with the ball. Too perfect. It torpedoed right past Turnis, right through the goals and right through the bushes we used as our goals net. “Off you go Taine you know the rules, go get it”, Turnis shouted as I starting running in retrieval of my ball, which was now out of sight. As I bashed through the bushes I skidded to a stop at the sight of this person holding my ball. I stayed out of sight and watched this thing, maybe he was an alien that Pappa has told me in his stories. His skin was clear, translucent, a bright reflecting white it almost burned my eyes. Grammatically, this part here could be better. "white, so bright it almost burned my eyes." Or perhaps a semicolon in your existing sentence. I had never seen someone or something like this before, his hair was a thin, tawny mop of a very light colour that seemed to even wrap all the way down his face, round his sharp chin and back again. He flipped my ball around in his hands, his eyes widening like Turnis on the return from a successful hunt with Pappa. Like the ball was his own, he caressed my engraving with a smile crossing his face. Anger boiled inside of me, that is my ball, my engraving, who does he think he is taking it like it's his own. Rhetorical question but no question mark. I'd be breaking this sentence up into three or four little sentences. The truncated sentences would work well here I think. Turnis would of told Pappa if I didn’t get it back, so I snapped a stick off the branch and slowly stepped out into the spotlight of morning light with the stick raised ready for a fight.
~
I couldn’t help but smile at this engraving of (Allow for stimuli to be used here) it was so intricately drawn but with the wobbly hand of a child. The snap in the bushes broke my concentration as my eyes snapped up, in time to witness a boy no taller than the bushes come charging out with stick in hand. My hands flew up in surrender, dropping the ball to my feet in pure fear. He halted, swaying from side to side, as if in preparation to run at any sign of threat. Crystal blue eyes stone cold swept up and down my body, searching for the point of weakness, like I was his prey. I smiled in hope it would ease his fear that I wasn’t going to harm him, yet no expression passed through any muscle in his face. Only his eyes flicked. Up from my eyes down to the ball and back again. As if in panic that losing sight of my eyes would cause me to attack. The boys possessive apostrophe needed in boy's* chocolate coloured skin glistened with the early morning heat, as sweat tumbled, pooling and picking up pace as it fell, shaping his persistently frozen face.  I slowly reached down motioning towards the frayed ball, causing his freak reaction to hurl the stick with force. It flew perfectly, not wavering, not even in the early morning breeze, and landed straight in front of my feet. In search of whether this was an intentional miss of my body or not I made eye contact, only to be met with eyes of pure rage staring back at me.
~
He dropped the ball like it had thorns, I smelt the fear radiating from every inch of his body as I raised my stick higher ready to attack. His murky eyes darted everywhere in hope of some protection, as he tried to hide the shaking of his fingertips by clenching them into fists. I scanned this unfamiliar human for some familiarity, something that would show me he was another one of us. Cloth covered every part of his body, as if covering some secret, which proved difficult to make a judgement of his danger to me. The corners of his mouth slowly edged up into a half hearted smile causing the caterpillar of hair above his lips to wiggle in sync. I stayed perfectly still with no movement, besides the occasional check at my ball that was now being held hostage at his feet. He edged down, his hand clasped out ready to grab hold of my precious ball. In a flash of rage and a moment of panic, it was too - too* late. Around this point, I'd consider starting a new paragraph. The suspense is there, bringing it into a new para kind of jolts the suspense rather than letting it all flow out - the reader appreciates it more. The stick that had been safely held in my hand had flown across the distance between us and landed inches from his feet. We held contact. His eyes interlocked with mine, no need for a common if you're using "as" as pure confusion and terror plastered across his face. A pang of guilty guilt* erupted in my chest as I saw this grown man in his most venerable position. Like a baby buck, innocent and no threat to us, yet always in Papas first choice of kill. I stepped back suddenly aware of what I had done and raised my own hands up in surrender, a smile sneaking across my face as a hope for forgiveness. The man slowly rose from his crouched position with uncertainty in fear I would strike again. Only until his eyes scanned my face noticing my repentant smile, did ease cross his face as his too, broke into a wild grin. He bent over once more to draw something into the now baking, dirt ground, then to quickly stand up and kick my ball back to me. I looked at what he had drawn to catch a glimpse of the engraving on my ball of the (Allow for stimuli to be used here) drawn perfectly.  “Shh it can be our secret” he whispered as he raised his now stable finger to his lips and turned to enter back into his tent, leaving only the engraving as a remembrance of this encounter.

I have been absolutely enthralled by this piece...you write so beautifully. I was lulled yet intrigued in some sections, and chasing the next word in other sections. What a fun piece to read! I can see why you're struggling to improve, because I'm struggling to fault it. I think that perhaps improving this isn't about finding a fault, but just looking for ways to elevate it more. I think something that could add to your work is using the setting to be symbolic. I'd love to visualise the display of the animals in the hot land at the end. In the beginning, I was transported to this completely serene experience. I'd love to go back there at the end, even if only briefly, to bring back the drama and intensity to a calm place of nature. You could slightly alter the first scene in the ending to show a particular shift in atmosphere, or you could simply reuse that initial scene to re-establish the natural order, and the "circle of life" kind of events that have occurred. What do you think about this idea?

Currently, I think the ending is wonderful and leaves you thinking 'ahh'...but I think that by adding that metaphorical/symbolic layer with the beautiful imagery, you remove all doubt from this piece and you demand that people feel satisfied upon ending the story.

Again, there's nothing wrong with this story at all, it was a real pleasure to read. It's like you're at the top and it's finding a way to keep pushing through to guarantee the highest mark possible. It's a lot harder to go from a 14 to a 15 than it is to go from a 9 to a 10, in my opinion. Let me know what you think...we can chat about it if you have any ideas or questions

Hi Elyse thank you so much for this it makes me feel so much more confident in this piece. I was just wondering i like the idea of adding the metaphorial/symbolic layer with the beautiful imagery and the slightly altering the first scene in the ending to show a particular shift in atmosphere! But im very stuck on how to do that do you have any ideas?
Thanks in advanced )

[elysepopplewell]

Hi Elyse thank you so much for this it makes me feel so much more confident in this piece. I was just wondering i like the idea of adding the metaphorial/symbolic layer with the beautiful imagery and the slightly altering the first scene in the ending to show a particular shift in atmosphere! But im very stuck on how to do that do you have any ideas?
Thanks in advanced )

Yay I'm glad!

This depends on what you would like to be the biggest discovery in the story. The perceived threat turning into a situation to smile over could just set again with the exact scenery as before, as if the world hadn't changed, but it meant a lot to the character. Y'know? Kind of just bringing it back to a small scenario in a huge scheme of things.

I've used a circular structure before for texts, and the way that I did it was...:
My story started at the kitchen table, having a really basic meal that wife cooked for husband. Wife hates her relationship, her situation, and she's trying to learn how to get out of it. After much turmoil, she realises that all she needs to do is simply exist, so she may as well make the most of her simply existing. So, the ending scene is back at the kitchen table, except this time she cooked a lobster for her husband.
This was for my E2 so this is obviously a ridiculously watered down version, but the importance of the beginning and ending scene being similar bar one change, is that it prompts the reader to think of the beginning again, where it all started, and then they reflect on exactly how far the protagonists and plot have come after the discovery.

What do you think?

[Kirri Rule]

Yay I'm glad!

This depends on what you would like to be the biggest discovery in the story. The perceived threat turning into a situation to smile over could just set again with the exact scenery as before, as if the world hadn't changed, but it meant a lot to the character. Y'know? Kind of just bringing it back to a small scenario in a huge scheme of things.

I've used a circular structure before for texts, and the way that I did it was...:
My story started at the kitchen table, having a really basic meal that wife cooked for husband. Wife hates her relationship, her situation, and she's trying to learn how to get out of it. After much turmoil, she realises that all she needs to do is simply exist, so she may as well make the most of her simply existing. So, the ending scene is back at the kitchen table, except this time she cooked a lobster for her husband.
This was for my E2 so this is obviously a ridiculously watered down version, but the importance of the beginning and ending scene being similar bar one change, is that it prompts the reader to think of the beginning again, where it all started, and then they reflect on exactly how far the protagonists and plot have come after the discovery.

What do you think?

Would it be bad if i said i didn't know what i wanted the discovery to be ?? AHAH Would you say i should just re-describe the scenery or is that not enough?

[bananna]

Hi!
can you please mark this?
I added another aspect of discovery
pls tell me what you think

Spoiler

Anniversary

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.

*

She set the porcelain plates down on each end of the dining table. She smiled at the warm reaction she felt from her husband. She hated cooking, but loved making his favourite meal—beef stroganoff and steamed vegetables. She sat in her chair, the peppery aroma inviting her to pick up her fork. As she stuck her fork into a pasta spiral, she smiled and asked “How’s the food, sweetie?” No response. She imagined him shoveling the food into his mouth like a savage, looking down; she shook her head and chuckled.

She was a woman in her golden years. With deep wrinkle lines that carved a map on her face and thin lips that cracked whenever she smiled. Her thin, pale skin speckled with age spots stretched when she spoke. She used to wear make-up for her husband, but gave in to the passage of time—baring her timeworn face to the world. Not really—she didn’t go out as much. She went out with her husband. A lot. Travelling, walking, folk dancing, wine-tasting. She loved it. She loved him.

He was a poet, a man of words. He left his mark all over the home—writing on the walls in magnificent calligraphy, brainstorming sonnets on the kitchen table. He often looked toward quotes for inspiration, his favourite being “(insert stimulus)”. She never understood it, despite his numerous explanations.

A gentle, lilting voice filled the room. “Thanks for calling, sweetie, I’ll see if I can find that pearl necklace for you”. She smiled as if her daughter was next to her. She picked up her walking stick, and hobbled to her room, a thud accompanying her every step. She stood at the entrance, pencil markings up the doorway, accounting for the growth of her children over the years. She shuffled to her closet and pulled open a drawer, revealing a beautiful, antique jewellery box, embroidered with small metallic flowers and a silver filigree on the crown of the chest. She unlatched it, revealing the fine, scarlet velvet upon which her best jewellery lay. She smiled when she saw it- a thin silver necklace, with white pearls adorning it. She carefully picked it up and laid it on a stool next to her. Beside the small box, her blush and red lipstick stood. She smiled, reminiscing of her date-nights: when despite copious amounts of make-up, her wrinkles stood strong but her husband still complimented her.

 She turned to leave when a glimmer caught her eye. Her eyes wondered to a heap of clothes from the back of her closet. Rummaging through articles of clothing, she finally found the source of that which sparked her curiosity. 

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.

A ring. HIS ring. She carefully picked up the irreplaceable metal. Moving her wrist slightly, she looked at the golden band on the finger that connected to her heart. She looked up, and a handsome, familiar face gazed back at her. She looked at her hand once again: the blemishes and freckles and wrinkles were gone: she was looking at a youthful, more radiant hand. She looked up once again.

He was gone.

Once again, she looked at her ring finger. The golden band reminded her of her purpose. The day she trained for. The day she lived out what she was born to do. She slowly lowered herself to sit on her bed and studied the ring. Looking up, she whispered, “you were gone 367 days”, and closed her creased eyelids.

She slid the symbol of marriage off her finger, placing both rings in her slightly shaky palm. The two circles formed an infinity—and immediately she was reminded of their interminable journeys, interminable promises—their interminable love. She looked up, as her eyes scanned the room. A photo frame with the 2 of them, laughing, their eyes creased with joy, a child’s drawing of 3 figures holding hands, and finally, the quote “(insert stimulus)” in his handwriting. She looked at what began as an expectation, a fulfillment of a role, to a partnership that exceeded all expectations, because it was filled with love.

As she sighed lightly, a short, red ribbon caught her eye. She reached over and held the thin, silk cloth. Taking a deep breath, she laced both rings through the ribbon—“clink” and tied a small bow. “Till death do us part”, she whispered. Seeing the two hoops together made her feel weightless, and filled her soul with swelling symphonies. They were finally side by side—where they belonged. Closing her palm, she held tightly onto the rings, hobbling over to the cabinet without her walking stick. She placed a small kiss on her hand, hovered her fingers over the jewelry box—and released the rings. She sighed—a sigh of relief rather than resignation.

She picked up the tube of red lipstick next to the box. She removed the lid, placing it next to the jewelry box. Hobbling over to the small oval mirror, she grimaced. Meticulously, she made up her face. For the first time in a year, she smiled at her reflection. She glanced at the calendar, which was hung next to the mirror. Today’s date was circled and a big red heart drawn next to the small ‘02/02’. “Well, we almost made it to 50”; she smiled and looked up. For the first time in forever, she strode out of her home alone with her walking aid and smelled the fresh, earthy scent left after the harsh rain. She looked up to see colours hovering in the sky—and felt a warm embrace.

thanks

[elysepopplewell]

Would it be bad if i said i didn't know what i wanted the discovery to be ?? AHAH Would you say i should just re-describe the scenery or is that not enough?

I've just read the piece again, and I think that ending the piece with that beginning imagery, except far less words than what you have at the beginning, is a great idea. It'll just round the piece nicely.

I think it is problematic that you don't feel passionate about a particular discovery in your story, only because there isn't a particularly strong one. So, I think the next step is working out how to bring the discovery to the forefront more. What is gained or lost in the exchange between the two main characters? Answering this should give you a clearer idea about what your story has to offer in terms of discovery It's all a process, I'd add the new ending in first so that it's all nice and wholistic, and then look more closely at how to weave the discovery in the middle.

[elysepopplewell]

Hi!
can you please mark this?
I added another aspect of discovery
pls tell me what you think
thanks

I love reading your work bananna!

Spoiler

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.

*

She set the porcelain plates down on each end of the dining table. She smiled at the warm reaction she felt from her husband. She hated cooking, but loved making his favourite meal—beef stroganoff and steamed vegetables. She sat in her chair, the peppery aroma inviting her to pick up her fork. As she stuck her fork into a pasta spiral, she smiled and asked “How’s the food, sweetie?” No response. She imagined him shoveling the food into his mouth like a savage, looking down; she shook her head and chuckled.

She was a woman in her golden years. With deep wrinkle lines that carved a map on her face and thin lips that cracked whenever she smiled. Her thin, pale skin speckled with age spots that? stretched when she spoke. She used to wear make-up for her husband, but gave in to the passage of time—baring her timeworn face to the world. Not really—she didn’t go out as much. She went out with her husband. A lot. Travelling, walking, folk dancing, wine-tasting. She loved it. She loved him.

He was a poet, a man of words. He left his mark all over the home—writing on the walls in magnificent calligraphy, brainstorming sonnets on the kitchen table. He often looked toward quotes for inspiration, his favourite being “(insert stimulus)”. She never understood it, despite his numerous explanations. Ohhh I love this. I'm enjoying this so so much so far!!!

A gentle, lilting voice filled the room. “Thanks for calling, sweetie, I’ll see if I can find that pearl necklace for you”. She smiled as if her daughter was next to her. She picked up her walking stick, and hobbled to her room, a thud accompanying her every step. She stood at the entrance, pencil markings up the doorway, accounting for the growth of her children over the years. She shuffled to her closet and pulled open a drawer, revealing a beautiful, antique jewellery box, embroidered with small metallic flowers and a silver filigree on the crown of the chest. She unlatched it, revealing the fine, scarlet velvet upon which her best jewellery lay. She smiled when she saw it- a thin silver necklace, with white pearls adorning it. She carefully picked it up and laid it on a stool next to her. Beside the small box, her blush and red lipstick stood. She smiled, reminiscing of her date-nights: when despite copious amounts of make-up, her wrinkles stood strong but her husband still complimented her.

 She turned to leave when a glimmer caught her eye. Her eyes wondered to a heap of clothes from the back of her closet. Rummaging through articles of clothing, she finally found the source of that which sparked her curiosity.  I'm just not sure that "rummaging" is the right word - if something is sparkling it must be close to the surface, and rummaging just seems a bit too rough? it makes it seem as though she's digging too deep, when I think it's more likely that she's just shifting back the collar of a shirt or something small like that. It's a small detail of course, but it's worth looking into.

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.  I still really like this link back to the first sentence.

A ring. HIS ring. She carefully picked up the irreplaceable metal. Moving her wrist slightly, she looked at the golden band on the finger that connected to her heart. She looked up, and a handsome, familiar face gazed back at her. She looked at her hand once again: the blemishes and freckles and wrinkles were gone: she was looking at a youthful, more radiant hand. She looked up once again.

He was gone.

Once again, she looked at her ring finger. The golden band reminded her of her purpose. The day she trained for. The day she lived out what she was born to do. She slowly lowered herself to sit on her bed and studied the ring. Looking up, she whispered, “you were gone 367 days”, and closed her creased eyelids.

She slid the symbol of marriage off her finger, placing both rings in her slightly shaky palm. The two circles formed an infinity—and immediately she was reminded of their interminable journeys, interminable promises—their interminable love. She looked up, as her eyes scanned the room. A photo frame with the 2 of them, laughing, their eyes creased with joy, a child’s drawing of 3 figures holding hands, and finally, the quote “(insert stimulus)” in his handwriting. She looked at what began as an expectation, a fulfillment of a role, to a partnership that exceeded all expectations, because it was filled with love. YESSS, "Fulfillment role, filled with love." YESSSS.

As she sighed lightly, a short, red ribbon caught her eye. She reached over and held the thin, silk cloth. Taking a deep breath, she laced both rings through the ribbon—“clink” and tied a small bow. “Till death do us part”, she whispered. Seeing the two hoops together made her feel weightless, and filled her soul with swelling symphonies. They were finally side by side—where they belonged. Closing her palm, she held tightly onto the rings, hobbling over to the cabinet without her walking stick. She placed a small kiss on her hand, hovered her fingers over the jewelry box—and released the rings. She sighed—a sigh of relief rather than resignation.

She picked up the tube of red lipstick next to the box. She removed the lid, placing it next to the jewelry jewellery* box. Hobbling over to the small oval mirror, she grimaced. Meticulously, she made up her face. For the first time in a year, she smiled at her reflection. She glanced at the calendar, which was hung next to the mirror. Today’s date was circled and a big red heart drawn next to the small ‘02/02’. “Well, we almost made it to 50”; New line for this dialogue she smiled and looked up. For the first time in forever, she strode out of her home alone with her walking aid and smelled the fresh, earthy scent left after the harsh rain. She looked up to see colours hovering in the sky—and felt a warm embrace.

Yess....Oh Anna this is so beautiful! Congratulations, you've taken a great piece and turned it into a marvellous piece. I'd give you a band 6 for this. The strongest point in your writing is your careful control and manipulation of language. The writing is so delicate but at times so packed with power. If there's anything that I'm left wanting more from, it's the idea of what marriage meant to her originally compared to what it means to her now. I think there's a little more of that to be explored instead of the lighter symbolism of the rings. I'd like to know a slightly deeper relevance of the rings. My favourite part is the role of fulfillment which exceeded expectations because it was filled with love. But I want more - no boring context, but perhaps a little more setting of the scenario so I can appreciate the way that it truly did exceed expectations. Now, it is assumed marriages are full of love. We talk about her duty, but I want a little more of that. Not too much, of course, the story is so delicate. Perhaps it's about how through fulfilling her expected role, she found the ability to grasp love as so much more than a transaction. She never thought that such a rigid structure could produce such a spontaneous emotion...I'm not sure. You're a brilliant writer so I know you'll take this where it is meant to be taken, these are just some of my thoughts! It's improved a lot since last time, even with such small changes!

[bananna]

I love reading your work bananna!

Spoiler

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.

*

She set the porcelain plates down on each end of the dining table. She smiled at the warm reaction she felt from her husband. She hated cooking, but loved making his favourite meal—beef stroganoff and steamed vegetables. She sat in her chair, the peppery aroma inviting her to pick up her fork. As she stuck her fork into a pasta spiral, she smiled and asked “How’s the food, sweetie?” No response. She imagined him shoveling the food into his mouth like a savage, looking down; she shook her head and chuckled.

She was a woman in her golden years. With deep wrinkle lines that carved a map on her face and thin lips that cracked whenever she smiled. Her thin, pale skin speckled with age spots that? stretched when she spoke. She used to wear make-up for her husband, but gave in to the passage of time—baring her timeworn face to the world. Not really—she didn’t go out as much. She went out with her husband. A lot. Travelling, walking, folk dancing, wine-tasting. She loved it. She loved him.

He was a poet, a man of words. He left his mark all over the home—writing on the walls in magnificent calligraphy, brainstorming sonnets on the kitchen table. He often looked toward quotes for inspiration, his favourite being “(insert stimulus)”. She never understood it, despite his numerous explanations. Ohhh I love this. I'm enjoying this so so much so far!!!

A gentle, lilting voice filled the room. “Thanks for calling, sweetie, I’ll see if I can find that pearl necklace for you”. She smiled as if her daughter was next to her. She picked up her walking stick, and hobbled to her room, a thud accompanying her every step. She stood at the entrance, pencil markings up the doorway, accounting for the growth of her children over the years. She shuffled to her closet and pulled open a drawer, revealing a beautiful, antique jewellery box, embroidered with small metallic flowers and a silver filigree on the crown of the chest. She unlatched it, revealing the fine, scarlet velvet upon which her best jewellery lay. She smiled when she saw it- a thin silver necklace, with white pearls adorning it. She carefully picked it up and laid it on a stool next to her. Beside the small box, her blush and red lipstick stood. She smiled, reminiscing of her date-nights: when despite copious amounts of make-up, her wrinkles stood strong but her husband still complimented her.

 She turned to leave when a glimmer caught her eye. Her eyes wondered to a heap of clothes from the back of her closet. Rummaging through articles of clothing, she finally found the source of that which sparked her curiosity.  I'm just not sure that "rummaging" is the right word - if something is sparkling it must be close to the surface, and rummaging just seems a bit too rough? it makes it seem as though she's digging too deep, when I think it's more likely that she's just shifting back the collar of a shirt or something small like that. It's a small detail of course, but it's worth looking into.

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.  I still really like this link back to the first sentence.

A ring. HIS ring. She carefully picked up the irreplaceable metal. Moving her wrist slightly, she looked at the golden band on the finger that connected to her heart. She looked up, and a handsome, familiar face gazed back at her. She looked at her hand once again: the blemishes and freckles and wrinkles were gone: she was looking at a youthful, more radiant hand. She looked up once again.

He was gone.

Once again, she looked at her ring finger. The golden band reminded her of her purpose. The day she trained for. The day she lived out what she was born to do. She slowly lowered herself to sit on her bed and studied the ring. Looking up, she whispered, “you were gone 367 days”, and closed her creased eyelids.

She slid the symbol of marriage off her finger, placing both rings in her slightly shaky palm. The two circles formed an infinity—and immediately she was reminded of their interminable journeys, interminable promises—their interminable love. She looked up, as her eyes scanned the room. A photo frame with the 2 of them, laughing, their eyes creased with joy, a child’s drawing of 3 figures holding hands, and finally, the quote “(insert stimulus)” in his handwriting. She looked at what began as an expectation, a fulfillment of a role, to a partnership that exceeded all expectations, because it was filled with love. YESSS, "Fulfillment role, filled with love." YESSSS.

As she sighed lightly, a short, red ribbon caught her eye. She reached over and held the thin, silk cloth. Taking a deep breath, she laced both rings through the ribbon—“clink” and tied a small bow. “Till death do us part”, she whispered. Seeing the two hoops together made her feel weightless, and filled her soul with swelling symphonies. They were finally side by side—where they belonged. Closing her palm, she held tightly onto the rings, hobbling over to the cabinet without her walking stick. She placed a small kiss on her hand, hovered her fingers over the jewelry box—and released the rings. She sighed—a sigh of relief rather than resignation.

She picked up the tube of red lipstick next to the box. She removed the lid, placing it next to the jewelry jewellery* box. Hobbling over to the small oval mirror, she grimaced. Meticulously, she made up her face. For the first time in a year, she smiled at her reflection. She glanced at the calendar, which was hung next to the mirror. Today’s date was circled and a big red heart drawn next to the small ‘02/02’. “Well, we almost made it to 50”; New line for this dialogue she smiled and looked up. For the first time in forever, she strode out of her home alone with her walking aid and smelled the fresh, earthy scent left after the harsh rain. She looked up to see colours hovering in the sky—and felt a warm embrace.

Yess....Oh Anna this is so beautiful! Congratulations, you've taken a great piece and turned it into a marvellous piece. I'd give you a band 6 for this. The strongest point in your writing is your careful control and manipulation of language. The writing is so delicate but at times so packed with power. If there's anything that I'm left wanting more from, it's the idea of what marriage meant to her originally compared to what it means to her now. I think there's a little more of that to be explored instead of the lighter symbolism of the rings. I'd like to know a slightly deeper relevance of the rings. My favourite part is the role of fulfillment which exceeded expectations because it was filled with love. But I want more - no boring context, but perhaps a little more setting of the scenario so I can appreciate the way that it truly did exceed expectations. Now, it is assumed marriages are full of love. We talk about her duty, but I want a little more of that. Not too much, of course, the story is so delicate. Perhaps it's about how through fulfilling her expected role, she found the ability to grasp love as so much more than a transaction. She never thought that such a rigid structure could produce such a spontaneous emotion...I'm not sure. You're a brilliant writer so I know you'll take this where it is meant to be taken, these are just some of my thoughts! It's improved a lot since last time, even with such small changes!

yay!! thank you so much, it means a lot

also, I feel a bit weird about this sentence: "She sat in her chair, the peppery aroma inviting her to pick up her fork. As she stuck her fork into a pasta spiral, she smiled and asked “How’s the food, sweetie?” "

 I use "fork" in two consecutive sentences. How can I modify this? I've tried but I don't think "utensil" really fits haha.
thanks again