Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[beau77bro]

What is my post count - I need to ration them for all the essays omg.

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey Guys,
So here is my creative writing piece, PLEASE go crazy with the marking
id like as much creative criticism as possible
this forum is honestly a life saver, THANK YOU SO SO MUCH
iv attached my creative below:)
ps - how long does it typically take for us to get the feedback?

You are welcome! Right now, allow 5 days or so - Anything posted above this line will definitely have feedback before the weekend of the CSSA Paper 1 Exam (aka, by Friday or perhaps Saturday)

What is my post count - I need to ration them for all the essays omg.

Your next piece of feedback comes at 110, then 135, then 160, etc... So you've got a few! Just keep in mind if you are wanting feedback for Trials, we can't (in fairness to everyone else) mark a whole heap of your essays in a row though, so start with the one you want the most help with

[LillBrad5]

hi i am doing advanced english and am just wondering if my discovery aspect is prominent or obvious enough within my story and if the plot makes sense? Thanks!

[jamonwindeyer]

hi i am doing advanced english and am just wondering if my discovery aspect is prominent or obvious enough within my story and if the plot makes sense? Thanks!

Hey LillBrad5! Welcome to the forums!

Thanks for posting, as per our essay marking rules you'll need 25 posts on ATAR Notes to receive feedback on this piece. The marking threads are very busy at the moment and this is our way of prioritising hope to see you posting more around the site soon!

[elysepopplewell]

Thanks heaps Elyse, that's definitely a good idea re linking the tree to the dad more to make it more meaningful. I think in terms of the discoveries, I was trying to 1) The mother discovers her inner-strength without her husband, in terms of: "Still beaten, still broken, she fell. Without him, her strength had faded, slowly swept away by the wind. Grace was all she had" to then later in the story after seeing the happiness she brings grace - "In the corner, stood her mother. A blood-soaked tourniquet slapped to her wrist, her worn hands no longer a constant reminder of what she once perceived as weakness. She had conquered her fears." If you have any suggestions on how to make this more clear Secondly, the ending: "“I love you, mum!” Grace chirped.
“Your father…” she paused –
“He loves you too.”
The two stood together, mesmerised, not by the tree but by memories of Grace’s father. As they would most nights, they took refuge in their still windswept sleeping bag, pale polaroid photographs now grasped between Grace’s hardened hands, the only remaining memory of her childhood, of her father that she misses so dearly. So, every Christmas, Grace would decorate her little gem of hope. A sign that her father had also found his way home." that part of the story, particularly the last line, is supposed to represent the discovery Grace makes about her father, in terms of his death as throughout the story she never really understood what happened to him (for example when im talking about " It was not as if she could simply say that he was an alcoholic. His life was one of more significance than the fateful addiction that it was suffocated by. " refers to how grace's mother never truly knew how to explain to grace the story of her father. again i completely understand this might not be clear enough, if you have any suggestions again that would be great i was trying to make it not too obvious and make it more sophisticated if you get my drift but no i completely get it if i have to make these discoveries more clear to the reader but if you had ideas on how to do this without saying it almost directly i would appreciate it

Right - okay I do totally see this now. I think the spiritual discovery that kind of threads through (from the Christmas spirit, to the spirit of family, to the spirit of perseverance, etc) is really strong. Now you've pointed them out, I do see those other ones more than what I did on initial reading. It makes me wonder if you could use language to better enhance these discoveries in a light way. So, similes and metaphors established at the beginning but finished towards the end, or the same sentence repeated at the beginning and the end with a slightly different tone or twist. This, to me, seems like a great idea only because we obviously don't want to make things explicit and obvious, but I think it needs just a little more tending to in order to become the discovery that we both want to see!

[georgiia]

Hi, could I possibly have feedback for my creative? I know I just asked in the paper 1 thread for feedback on that but my creative is more urgent atm so please ignore that (i defeated the post anyway)

Thank You!!

btw it is only a first draft sort of, because originally I wrote it as a screenplay but sort of ran into complications with getting that down under a time limit so I've adapted it to a fiction story. I'm going to attach both but I only want the story marked but if you had a tiny chance to take a look at the screenplay version and let me know what is strong/what isn't or if theres anything that stood out in the original one which I havn't been successful in including into my new draft that'd be GREAT!!!!!!!!

Also, I know you are swamped with marking but just so that I have a vague understanding, how long-ish will it be approximately to expect a response by?
Thanks!

[winstondarmawan]

Hello! I have my creative in the spoiler below. I have my trials on Monday, so it would be nice if it's back (by Friday??) I know you guys have a lot to mark but it would be super nice if I can have feedback on this. Thank you so much! (Note: I also have a Mod B Essay up on the Module Thread, that would be very helpful to have done too. Sorry for the hassle!)

Spoiler

Indonesia. What a beautiful country.
The rims of the Chevrolet Bolt EV quickly became engulfed in mud as the vehicle maneuvered across the rural terrain, over jagged rocks and shallow puddles of deep-brown water. It was irritating, to say the least, knowing that such a car would be driven in a place like this. Shifting his focus from the once gleaming rims to the horizon, Johan could make out a towering mound of rubbish set alight, the billowing smoke shrouding the deep crimson sunset. Everything was exactly what he thought it would be; dirty. His nose was not accustomed to the overriding scent of fetid air. Or his body to the sweltering heat.

One day in Bogor.
He just had to pull it together for one day. That wasn’t too bad … right?
His parents had said something about paying a quick visit, to an old church was it? He couldn’t quite remember, but frankly, he didn’t really care.
The dirt road appeared to stretch before his eyes. Johan’s eyelids flickered as he tried falling asleep, only to be kept awake by the muggy atmosphere.
The moisture of the air clung onto him, weighing his entire body down.
His head began to throb, the sharp pangs pulsating behind his temple.
“Johan - “

***

“ - Darmawan”. Mr. Ives face contorted into one of disbelief.
Chuckles resonated throughout the class of kindergarteners, the small faces looking intently around the room.
“Is Johan Darmawan here?”
Johan’s face began to glow tomato red, as he sat in silence.
“His name sounds like ‘dumber one’!” a voice chimed.
The class bursted into laughter.
Dumber one.

***
“- you okay?”. His mother shot him a concerned look. “We are almost there.”
Silence.
He told himself it wouldn't get to him. I mean, they were just kids… right?
But it did.
The fiends of shame and humiliation seemed to always be right around the corner, ready to latch onto his thoughts.
And sometimes, he thought about how much easier it would all be if he wasn’t Indonesian.

It was worrying, at the least, for Johan’s parents.
It was a quickly diminishing hope that he would ever be able to appreciate who he was.
And perhaps they were crazy, bringing him all the way out to Indonesia. Truth be told, they had no idea what they were doing, or what to do at all.
But they had faith, and believed that faith was all you need.

***
“You don’t have to play basketball every Sunday. Uncle and aunty haven’t seen you in so long. Please stay.”
Glancing momentarily at his mother, Johan grunted.
That was the point.
He didn’t want to see them, talk to them, or even hear their heavily accented laugh booming through the house when someone cracked a joke in Indonesian. And it didn’t particularly help that he never knew what they were saying.
But he did know that he was tired of it.
“Please… it’s not the same without you…”
He didn't want to hear it. Clutching the basketball under his arm, Johan bolted out the front door.

***
The skyline remained shrouded in a veil of smoke.
Stepping out of the car, Johan could feel the heated mud clawing at his ankles as his foot sunk into the sodden earth.
Disgusting.
Etched into the marshland were little tree stumps, stretching deep into the mist.
Johan could only imagine the forest that once existed here. The magnificent array of bold trunks and sun-kissed leaves sprung into his thoughts.
It was so far removed from that now, and he wondered what it would be like if things would go back to the way they once were.

Before him was a humble shack that succumbed to the forces of nature and time, deteriorated and abandoned;  the wood’s integrity diminished in beauty and strength. A crucifix dangled from the haphazard frame of the entrance, and it appeared any moment from now it would fall.
But it didn’t.
A bittersweet grin swept across his mother’s face as she glanced at the disintegrating structure.
“Ini Hari Minggu.” (“It’s Sunday.”)
Her eyelids closed as she joined her hands together.
“Bapa kami….” (“Our Father…”)

***
… yang ada di surga”. (“... who art in Heaven”)
Little Johan clambered up his mother’s leg into her lap. He could see everybody!
There was Om Agi and II Yuni,
His cousins KoKo Raditya, CiCi Irene,
And of course, mum and dad.
A tingle raced down his spine as they recited each word of the Lord’s prayer in unison, hands linked in a ring around their Sunday feast.
Ah, the feast! How could he forget?
An unmistakable smoky aroma emanated from the ayam satay skewers, indicative of his father’s prowess on the grill. Not to mention his mother’s gado-gado, the perfect combination of sweet, sour and savoury.
He loved Sunday, or Hari Minggu, as his parents would say.
But most importantly, he loved being Indonesian.
***
“... bebaskan la kami dari yang jahat, Amin.” (“But deliver us from evil, Amen”).
A mellow breeze sliced through the muggy air, and as Johan opened his eyes, the fingers of the wind soothing his taut muscles.
Mum, dad, himself. Arms linked in a ring.
Johan thought about that little boy, and he wondered what it would be like if things would go back to the way they once were.
Maybe that’s just the sort of thing being bullied as a kid does.
Being told that you are lesser, weaker, the dumber one.
At least, now he knew who he really was. An Indonesian Catholic. Not many could say that, huh?
And on this Hari Minggu, he promised that he would never forget.

The smog had lifted, and revealed a spectacular crimson sunset. Turning towards it, Johan’s eyes glowed with an intense flare.
Indonesia. What a beautiful country.

[elysepopplewell]

Hey Elyse! I have my trials in a week Could you please take a look at my creative?

My concern is mainly the following (This makes more sense after reading the story)
I wrote this creative for an earlier assessment, and the discovery of the story at the time was the main character discovering the deteriorating relationship between her and her rural home/her sister. However the feedback I received states that this discovery occurs too late in the story, which I agree.
I fixed the story since then and focused more on her discovery of the urban city lifestyle, consequently making her degrading relationship the ramification of her transformative discovery. I'm just wondering if this is clear? I'm also wondering if her transformation is obvious enough?

Thank you

Hey limtou! I'll check this out

Spoiler

UNDER THE HEAT

The azure sky greeted me from beyond the train window as I stirred to the soft sounds of shuffling. The vast emerald plain emerged, its familiarity prompting a sudden delight. In my mind, I could clearly picture one particularly weathered wooden house amid the green, baked by the sun a deep, rich copper gold. A house that I once called home. Just to the side was a hill slope that overlooked the Gwydir River and everything else I knew. Throughout my childhood, I would race up the hill at every opportunity and pirouette against the refreshing, choreographed breeze. Alongside me would always be my sister Jade, her enviable, long, auburn hair forever dancing in the air.

When I received the acceptance letter, Jade was the first to hear my news. She embraced me tightly with pride and joy. I would be the first to attend university in my town, Bundarra, since the past decades. Just adjust the syntax here, it reads as the university in your town, rather than, the first person in your town to go to university, if that makes sense To celebrate, our father slaughtered a newborn lamb at midday and carried the bloody carcass into the kitchen in merriment. Over time, however, this jubilation transformed into an unspoken sorrow that lingered in the air and haunted us all. Jade still joked “you can finally escape this heat now” but behind the chuckle I could hear the melancholy in her words. To sooth myself, I pictured a luxurious city lifestyle that I would soon embrace, with music playing on every street and people chatting heartily while sipping on coffee. The wording here isn't particularly extreme, yet it just captures me enough that I can have a very clear view of everything I believe you're trying to express. I really like this - it's a very careful balance.

The morning of my departure was a strangely chilly one. A bitter wind blew across, intensifying the scent of freshly burnt grass and engraving it into my mind as I bid my farewell.


***

Sharp, neon lights flashed at me from every angle, blinding me, mocking me. I tried to ask for help, but around me were only heads that buried deep into smartphones and tablets, their hasty footsteps against the concrete pavement like blood cells that flowed unceasingly through the veins of the city.  I have a really nice birds-eye view of this pumping-city blood. love it. Anguished and frustrated, I tossed the Sydney map backwards.

The city, so unlike the colourful, majestic land in my imagination, was smudged grey by the smog filled sky. Lingered in the air were scents of smoke and petrol, occasionally mixed with sharp perfume fragrances that radiated off women passing by. Music, which was indeed everywhere, blasted from extravagant department stores into my right ear, while cars’ incessant honking pierced the left. The towering buildings that protruded from the ground had trapped me in their maze and I was the experimental rat desperate to find my way out.

At first, all I wanted was to call Jade and escape back to the restful emerald fields.

Yet as weeks turned into months and years, as the endless routines of university dragged me about like a lifeless puppet, I became sucked into the city’s perpetually pulsating rhythm. My visits back home grew less and less frequent as part time and full time jobs constrained my life. Calls between Jade and I also became scarce. Over time, unsurprisingly, the picturesque sceneries of the landscape no longer appeared behind my eyelids when they shut; instead, work and bus routes and countless brand names filled my head to the brim.


***

The colours of nature came to a halt as a platform emerged. When I stepped off the train, the familiar burning heat travelled rapidly across my skin and dried my throat, as if punishing me for disturbing the saintly land. Grimacing, I swiftly removed my lambswool cardigan, its scarlet colour distinct against the background.

Despite my promises to visit sooner, stressful schedules had kept me in the city and more than half a decade had passed since I had last set my eyes on the land before me. At a distance, a hint of copper gold flashed.

I struggled to maintain my balance as my stiletto heels pushed against the uneven, pebbled ground, but anticipation rushed through me as I moved closer towards the wooden farmhouse, its walls more withered than I remembered.

As I raised my arm to knock on the door, a soft cry sounded from inside. “Jade…” This needs to be on the next line Her name slipped out of my mouth as our eyes met. She grinned, but the expression seemed to have lost the touch of childhood. Her hair, still bright auburn, no longer flew wildly in the air and was tucked away tightly into a bun. Wrinkles extended from her eyes like marked vandalism threatening to steal away her youth. Nevertheless, it was my sister in living flesh before my eyes and scenes of two young girls leaping liberatingly in the air resurfaced. A sudden burst of warmth overwhelmed me and my body reached forward for an embrace.

“Ah wait, wait a second. Not now.” Jade scanned me, then sheepishly gestured downwards towards her grimy hands. “I’m working on the farm… don’t want to get you dirty now, do we.” I froze, ears flushing as I sensed my subconscious wince when eyeing Jade’s muddy shirt, its foul appearance a distinct contrast with my cream white dress. Once Jade spoke, I couldn’t overlook my growing reluctance to step nearer.

A moment of silence later, I meekly questioned about the state of the farm, only to find myself oblivious to Jade’s response on a matter that no longer concerns me. And when I refocused, Jade was apologetically lowering her head. “There’s a new lamb coming, I’ve got to go.” New line for dialogue.
 With that, she hurried out of sight, her shadow merging into the farm.

The heat seemed to have toasted the ground beneath without notice, suffocating me.

I stilled. For a static moment, I gazed blankly at the recognizable yet somehow unfamiliar field of green in front of me. As I watched the lamb tumble onto the bare earth, sticky with blood and fluid, I realised with a harsh bitterness that it would belong to the farm more than I ever would again.

Your writing is just enough, it's just enough creative, sophisticated, controlled, and inviting. It's really a pleasure to read. It's smooth! I like the discovery, I see it happening at all stages, it's embedded early but expands throughout the story and really compounds - I think the discovery is really strong. In fact, I want to let you know how happy you should be with this piece, I'm sure it will be received well in the HSC. However, I want to adjust the ending. To me, when she stepped out in stilettos it kind of said that she's forgotten, or she's kind of lost the sensibility she was raised with. So, for me, I think it would be more pertinent if instead she went to ask about the farm, but just didn't know what to ask, or what words to use. I think this warrants Jane walking off, suddenly needing to tend to something, more so than her sister just not understanding. I think this adds to the discovery that she's drifted further than she ever thought, she's lost more of her roots than she ever realised. But, this is just my personal opinion of course - only take on the advice that you think it would work. All the best!

[dancing phalanges]

Right - okay I do totally see this now. I think the spiritual discovery that kind of threads through (from the Christmas spirit, to the spirit of family, to the spirit of perseverance, etc) is really strong. Now you've pointed them out, I do see those other ones more than what I did on initial reading. It makes me wonder if you could use language to better enhance these discoveries in a light way. So, similes and metaphors established at the beginning but finished towards the end, or the same sentence repeated at the beginning and the end with a slightly different tone or twist. This, to me, seems like a great idea only because we obviously don't want to make things explicit and obvious, but I think it needs just a little more tending to in order to become the discovery that we both want to see!

Yep okay I catch your drift! I did try the idea of a repeated sentence but with a different tone here in my original story: At the start the mother has the photos - "Faded polaroid photos clutched between calloused fingers, her only remaining memory of Grace’s lost childhood, and of her father that Grace barely knew." Then at the end, to demonstrate Grace's new understanding of her father I put - ". As they would most nights, they took refuge in their still windswept sleeping bag, pale polaroid photographs now grasped between Grace’s hardened hands, the only remaining memory of her childhood, of her father that she misses so dearly" Is it clear enough? hardened hands was meant to symbolise Grace's more mature understanding as a result of finding out about the truth about her father, then i got rid of lost when referring to her memory of her childhood to show how she has now a more complete grasp of her childhood (ie. her father) and finally she misses so dearly instead of she barely knew, so the same thing about how she now acknowledges what happened to her father and has come to terms with it. obviously i can't explain my intentions this in depth to the marker so if as you said i just need to make it a bit more clear that is fine

and just on another note, do you think i need to add more context etc. to make it clearer why they are on the street just because i think the marker last time found it either too unrealistic or with the tree cutting bit and blood too over the top dramatic. if it is that same marker who gave me 11/15 (even though i think it deserved more) should i still go with this story or do another one - he is my modern teacher and loves women in the war so might do something like that just to play to his interests?

[beau77bro]

Hey elyse and atarnotes squad, could u guys check out this creative. I'm mostly worried about how i incorporated the stimulus. I know my story is solid and i feel like I have enough discoveries in me from the experiences to tackle any stimulus, BUT I NEED TO IMPLEMENT IT. so if you guys could give me any feedback on that and anything and everything else possible i would really appreciate it. Will attach a revised version before you guys see this/get up to this since i noticed a 3 day back log ahhaha. thank you. you guys do some great work.

I can't post the stimulus in there as well because too much space sorry guys.

could i get an estimate on time? my exam is on Wednesday and i will need to arrange around this on how i do things - like with the feedback and like bettering my overall creative skills

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey elyse and atarnotes squad, could u guys check out this creative. I'm mostly worried about how i incorporated the stimulus. I know my story is solid and i feel like I have enough discoveries in me from the experiences to tackle any stimulus, BUT I NEED TO IMPLEMENT IT. so if you guys could give me any feedback on that and anything and everything else possible i would really appreciate it. Will attach a revised version before you guys see this/get up to this since i noticed a 3 day back log ahhaha. thank you. you guys do some great work.

I can't post the stimulus in there as well because too much space sorry guys.

could i get an estimate on time? my exam is on Wednesday and i will need to arrange around this on how i do things - like with the feedback and like bettering my overall creative skills

You mean next Wednesday right? You should hopefully have feedback by Friday!

[elysepopplewell]

Hi! I got 11/15 for this creative and the feedback was: "This is a sustained and interesting narrative. Work on setting, as the emotional plot of the surgery sometimes overtakes the response. Further descriptive passages would help you to show your vocabulary and skill in writing."

Thanks guys!

Hey there! I'll have a look at your teacher's comments in relation to what I think as well!

Spoiler

Cataracts[/U]

The room was clenched in a grasp of quietness that was so firm, so stifling, that a drop of a pin would have been heard.

Literally.
Akins could feel his heart thudding violently in protest as a steady hand, encased in a sterilised glove, was poised ever so carefully over the operating table, casting a shadow on the left side of his chest.

“You’re being very brave, Akins. Now, this is going to sting a bit...shall we count down to one?”

All he could imagine was the daunting tip of the anaesthetic under the harsh glare of the surgical lighting. It was coming closer and closer by the second…   

“Three.”

A hand grasped his own as he curled his fingers involuntarily around them. Like his own, they were clammy, but they felt cold, almost foreign to his palm.

“Two.”

The needle jerked forward, too fast for him to react.

The surgeon hadn’t even reached one. He had been betrayed.

Now, he was left to the mercy of the surgeon.

***

One week before the surgery

“Ah!”

Even before the surgery, he was prone to the agony accompanying the hope stripped away from him.

Aimlessly, he reached for his foot, rubbing his fingers against his toes to soothe their silent screams of anguish. He was used to breaking everything. He was used to stumbling over stray objects, or the corners of furniture. He was used to it all - but yet, he still wished to see a world where the sun’s rays of hope would penetrate the clouded depths of obscured nothingness.

As the pain gradually ebbed away, his hands fumbled for the comforting haven of the sofa before the pulsating pain could flow back in again. Once the familiar grooves of the fabric greeted his fingertips, he collapsed into the comfort of its embrace.

He had worked so hard on assembling his confidence, only to feel it crumbling as it slipped through his fingers. He had been tormented by his peers, shunned by the public - yet here he was, almost defeated by a table he had walked into.

When the front door opened an hour later, his mother had bustled in, armed with the clashing sounds of flimsy overflowing plastic bags as she saw him.

Akins was curled into a ball on the couch, his face buried between his knees. She assumed he had fallen asleep, his neglected mop of hair hiding his face - but it was the dramatic rise and fall of his figure that exposed the tears staining his face. Maybe this is a good place to build the setting more - the temperature, the smell, the amount of light, the old arm chair, or the new chaise lounge? This gives a little more insight into the background, creating a greater empathy, but also shows your prowess as a writer more.

His mother was never home while he was awake, so why today?

“I wanted to come home before you went to sleep today.”

Why today, when he was in such a pitiful state?

“Why didn’t you tell me? You used to tell me everything...”

He didn’t want her to find out. No, that had all ended when he overheard her on the phone after coming home one night, whispering in between weak sobs about how much of a burden he became. How hard it was to watch him struggle, let alone be at home with him.

He shuffled instinctively towards the edge as the couch groaned from the foreign intrusion of his mother’s weight. Even with his cataracts, he could tell that she was biting her lip, filtering her thoughts before breaching the awkward silence he had created.

“Well… your doctor is letting you have your cataracts removed next week. I’m sure it’ll go well. Right? You’ll be able to see clearly. Don’t cry!”

It was almost as if she was trying to convince herself.

“Akins. Say something. You know I never get to see you much and-”

It almost seemed rehearsed when he stood up and fumbled to his room, ignoring the numbness of his legs that came after sitting for such a long time.

His closed door was a shield that protected him from the pitiful stares of his mother. At the same time, it shut him off from the rest of the world, leaving him to simmer with a strange vehemence as he stared out his bedroom window. Even the blurry cage of his eyes could not hold back his imagination as he dreamed.

He could see the trees outside waving their branches against the blue gradient of the skies, beckoning for him in the breeze. He could see the birds swooping down towards children, distracting them from their young with their raucous caws. He could see strangers passing by, all walking with purpose as they glued their eyes to their phones.

He could picture it all, carefully stored away in the darkened crevices of his mind, waiting to be unleashed behind the blurry lens of his eyes. If he hadn’t been deterred by his mother’s unexpected presence, he might have smiled at the hope of seeing, for real.

***

When the tip of the anaesthetic intruded past his eyelids, he wasn’t sure if he was feeling more disconcerted by the sudden sting, or the hand that had reached for his own. As the doctor probed his eyes, Akins began to focus on his mother’s hand as she held his for the first time in months. He almost pulled his hand away - why was she not here for him until now, when he was finally being thrust into the world, void of clouded lens.

But he didn’t.

Calluses on his mother’s hand scratched against his clammy palms as he brushed against wrinkles deeply engraved on her skin.

Now, he could see. Even though he was still being operated on, he could envision his mother, coming home late from long days of manual labour. She would have been exhausted, plagued by the dark circles under her eyes, but it was all so that she would be able to be next to him, supporting him like she was now with her firm grasp on his hands.

With his cataracts being removed, he had finally broken free from the cloudy filter and leapt towards the light.

Every cloud has a silver lining, after all.

I didn't comment much during the story and that's because the things I want to talk about run through the entire piece instead of just being noticeable in one or two sections. So, firstly, I think your writing style here is really well manipulated at times, especially when it comes to the truncated sentences in isolation, they can be very significant for the overall tone of the piece. But, it means that you don't get to show a prowess of creativity for a lot of it, and instead you're being quite clinical. In ways, this obviously matches the content so that's important. But, I think you should consider the parts that aren't surrounding surgery to be more warm, full of images and colours, just to make that contrast of setting really strong.

The other thing I want to comment on is the ending line. The use of the cliche idiom works best, in my opinion, when it's embedded earlier in the piece. So if you sew the seed earlier, than it becomes more than just an idiom at the end. So, if your protagonist were staring out the window and looking at the clouds so regularly, for example, and found them to be a muse of misery, then the idiom at the end would be the perfect resolution to the motif. I really think this is important not just for justifying the last sentence, but also for stringing the piece together in a far more creative manner - again, showing your prowess as a writer.

The discovery is strong, I don't have qualms about the way you're addressing the rubric or the plot, it's now just about adjusting the finer mechanics of the piece

[limtou]

Your writing is just enough, it's just enough creative, sophisticated, controlled, and inviting. It's really a pleasure to read. It's smooth! I like the discovery, I see it happening at all stages, it's embedded early but expands throughout the story and really compounds - I think the discovery is really strong. In fact, I want to let you know how happy you should be with this piece, I'm sure it will be received well in the HSC. However, I want to adjust the ending. To me, when she stepped out in stilettos it kind of said that she's forgotten, or she's kind of lost the sensibility she was raised with. So, for me, I think it would be more pertinent if instead she went to ask about the farm, but just didn't know what to ask, or what words to use. I think this warrants Jane walking off, suddenly needing to tend to something, more so than her sister just not understanding. I think this adds to the discovery that she's drifted further than she ever thought, she's lost more of her roots than she ever realised. But, this is just my personal opinion of course - only take on the advice that you think it would work. All the best!

Thank you so much for all the feedback Elyse!!! And your suggestion on the ending is great I think I tried too hard to emphasise on the drift between the persona and the land, that it appears a little inauthentic. Thanks for pointing that out!

[elysepopplewell]

Yep okay I catch your drift! I did try the idea of a repeated sentence but with a different tone here in my original story: At the start the mother has the photos - "Faded polaroid photos clutched between calloused fingers, her only remaining memory of Grace’s lost childhood, and of her father that Grace barely knew." Then at the end, to demonstrate Grace's new understanding of her father I put - ". As they would most nights, they took refuge in their still windswept sleeping bag, pale polaroid photographs now grasped between Grace’s hardened hands, the only remaining memory of her childhood, of her father that she misses so dearly" Is it clear enough? hardened hands was meant to symbolise Grace's more mature understanding as a result of finding out about the truth about her father, then i got rid of lost when referring to her memory of her childhood to show how she has now a more complete grasp of her childhood (ie. her father) and finally she misses so dearly instead of she barely knew, so the same thing about how she now acknowledges what happened to her father and has come to terms with it. obviously i can't explain my intentions this in depth to the marker so if as you said i just need to make it a bit more clear that is fine

and just on another note, do you think i need to add more context etc. to make it clearer why they are on the street just because i think the marker last time found it either too unrealistic or with the tree cutting bit and blood too over the top dramatic. if it is that same marker who gave me 11/15 (even though i think it deserved more) should i still go with this story or do another one - he is my modern teacher and loves women in the war so might do something like that just to play to his interests?

For the first paragraph: I agree to everything. I think that's all really nice and skilful, and I really see the benefits of that kind of paralleling. It does need to just be brought to the surface a little more, the discovery, but that's fine. You can definitely pull that off without taking it too far.

As for the other idea...I do agree to an extent that it does just seem a bit...I'm lost for the right word, (not melodramatic ), but I suppose, the story just expects the reader to run with it instead of giving the reader the pieces of the puzzle when it comes to them suddenly being on the street. I think the best way to do this is to not be cryptic, and be mostly direct in how they got to the street. The reason being, it's more just connecting the dots for the reader instead of expressing a chunk of the discovery. So I think if you can spend a little time on that in the story without it distracting from the discoveries at play, then I think it could work. As much as I admire playing into the interests of your teacher, I wonder if it is just too dramatic to engage the war effort, when you've already put the story in the wonderfully ordinary streets of Sydney, if that makes sense? That's one of the appeals I've had to your story - it's just set in the everyday circumstance.

Hope this helps! You're working so hard on this

Thank you so much for all the feedback Elyse!!! And your suggestion on the ending is great I think I tried too hard to emphasise on the drift between the persona and the land, that it appears a little inauthentic. Thanks for pointing that out!

I'm really chuffed, I'm glad we're on the same wavelength there. Best of luck with it, drop back any time

[dancing phalanges]

For the first paragraph: I agree to everything. I think that's all really nice and skilful, and I really see the benefits of that kind of paralleling. It does need to just be brought to the surface a little more, the discovery, but that's fine. You can definitely pull that off without taking it too far.

As for the other idea...I do agree to an extent that it does just seem a bit...I'm lost for the right word, (not melodramatic ), but I suppose, the story just expects the reader to run with it instead of giving the reader the pieces of the puzzle when it comes to them suddenly being on the street. I think the best way to do this is to not be cryptic, and be mostly direct in how they got to the street. The reason being, it's more just connecting the dots for the reader instead of expressing a chunk of the discovery. So I think if you can spend a little time on that in the story without it distracting from the discoveries at play, then I think it could work. As much as I admire playing into the interests of your teacher, I wonder if it is just too dramatic to engage the war effort, when you've already put the story in the wonderfully ordinary streets of Sydney, if that makes sense? That's one of the appeals I've had to your story - it's just set in the everyday circumstance.

Hope this helps! You're working so hard on this
I'm really chuffed, I'm glad we're on the same wavelength there. Best of luck with it, drop back any time

Thanks so much Elyse really appreciate it! Only issue i have is if the teacher realises its the same core of a story and thinks i have just been lazy and just done the same thing he must just give me 11 again. of course its not an issue if hes not marking 
in terms of the melodramatic part, he wrote "a bit extreme" for this part of the story when my actual english teacher loved it: The streets surrounding Darlinghurst Road, Kings Cross were encapsulated by the scent of thyme-filled turkey sizzling on aluminium foil and dazzling hues of green and red. Moderately sheltered, a mother laid motionless, in a silent embrace with her only daughter, Grace. A windswept sleeping bag, their only security from the sodden concrete beneath. In spite of the fear and squalor of her new life, Grace’s innocent exuberance shone brighter than any of the surrounding estates, splendidly adorned with ornamental lights. Samantha, however, was the image of a mother weathered by shame. Skin hidden behind layers of grime, and hair hung as a tangled mop over sunken eyes. Faded polaroid photos clutched between calloused fingers, her only remaining memory of Grace’s lost childhood, and of her father that Grace barely knew. Yet, Samantha had made a promise to her daughter – a promise to deliver her Christmas wish. - maybe it is too over the top? do you have any thoughts sorry to take up your time haha