Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[abradley]

Thank you so much Elyse. Your feedback is so valuable and very much appreciated!!
The sea as an 'indiscriminate force' is such a unique concept and I will definitely try and work this into my creative piece.
I totally understand what you mean about 'FF', it does read a bit strange.  Anyway thank you again for taking the time to read this, it really helps and takes the stress off just a little bit
xx
Alex   

[elysepopplewell]

Thank you so much Elyse. Your feedback is so valuable and very much appreciated!!
The sea as an 'indiscriminate force' is such a unique concept and I will definitely try and work this into my creative piece.
I totally understand what you mean about 'FF', it does read a bit strange.  Anyway thank you again for taking the time to read this, it really helps and takes the stress off just a little bit
xx
Alex

Not a problem at all! I'm super excited to see where you go with this. I'm very excited to know about the sea metaphor, if you choose to pursue that. It has a lot of potential. Be sure to check back in!

All the best

Elyse

[jamonwindeyer]

Attention! The essay marking rules have now changed  Due to increasing popularity, and to make sure essay marking services remain accessible for active members of the ATAR Notes community, a new post exchange policy is in effect for all essays below this line. Every 5 ATAR Notes posts qualifies you for one essay to be marked. 50 posts qualifies you for 10 essays, etc. Details can be found at this link! Thanks! 

[isabellabucceri1]

Compose a piece of imaginative writing which explores how an unexpected discovery can transform an individual.





I put the kettle on to boil and walked over to the balcony, grasping onto the rusty umber railing as I began to study the city’s luminosity. I felt a giddy sensation running through my body as the wind stirred those few fine filaments of cloud against a completely unblemished background, almost hypnotic. A moment of absolute stillness…
A car’s incessant beeping disturbs my deep trance; the balcony began to feel smaller and smaller, almost claustrophobic.
I look over to the terraces and balconies of the top floors I once so adored, always filled with men wearing perfectly pressed blazers and women in elaborate and voluminous gowns, all draped in luxury while waiters would glide by with trays of attractively presented hors d'oeuvres.
Now, all that stood out was the pompous man who swirled his glass of claret in his capacious palm bragging about his new yacht, how the guest’s fake laughs would muffle the distasteful music, how the wine flowed and so too did their pretentious anecdotes, and how the phony small talk slowly became utterly unendurable.
I looked above to the authentically elegant Japanese restaurant I once admired, with its distinctive yet subtle aroma of miso soup that lingered in the air, its ambience of dim lighting, classical interior and quite lounge music, kimono garbed waitresses placing warm disposable towels in a sealed plastic container and bamboo chopsticks to each table.
Now, all that stood out was the nauseating pretentious customers who all arched their backs, locked their eyes and swiped their fingers mindlessly absorbed in their phones, as their moments of laughter were instantly whipped away as soon as the shutter of the lens was heard.
I looked further up, to the once laudable sight of hopeful hardworking men and women, keenly typing away at their computers, full of energy as they eagerly answer customer calls with pleasant and attentive expressions.
Now all that stood out was the dull scene of a spacious office occupied by employees all wearing the same basic black or blue shirts sitting at desks in long rows. All weary of the long night, some on jittery highs while sipping their coffees, others struggling to keep both eyes open. Their lofty boss, with a certain austerity to him, walked through the aisles, expeditiously they would begin adjusting their jackets, brushing away their in-n-out burger wrappings, and straightening their hunched backs.
The whistle of the kettle broke into my thoughts ….
A sudden hesitation shook my body, stepping back, and walking inside to be seated again at my barren desk to view the stark solid, inert, strips of white paper that still sits before me. The only movement I can make now is a circular motion at my temples to ease this oncoming headache, the absence of creativity is forming an aura of bleakness around me. my mind suddenly panics as I look at the clock, only to realize It’s been 8 hours… 8 long hours…. even the greatest amount of coffee can’t keep me awake for much longer
My mind slowly drifts into the unconsciousness, uncontrollably sinking into a lucid dream.
I find myself crossing the Eighth Avenue up at 81st street and walking into central park, such a place to leave the pulse of the city so decisively, and step away abruptly from one of the big avenues and be among these trees. My mind switched scenes, placing me on a red bench facing a small pond with a picturesque arching bridge, there to my right five or six ducks swam languidly in the foreground, their delicate forward glide appeared to take nothing from them, concealing completely what I knew to be the arduous paddling going on in the water, a father and his son firmly manoeuvring their rowboats, while the shadow of dragonflies reflected in the water… a timeless shot of a midsummer afternoon
I was awakening to the subtle dimensions of reality, an authentic feeling of moving beyond limited thinking, beyond lethal censorship…. completely liberated me, it felt as if the rains had finally come, stirring up life in the dry land.  It wasn’t a voice saying you are ready to write nor was it an idea or a full-blown image, it was very nearly nothing, the tick of creativity held hidden in what I suddenly discovered was a mere cleanse of my mind.
I was touched in the core of my reverie by one of those unaccountable inner shifts……
Waking up in a sweat, I frantically began searching for my coveted mustard coloured pen, as a yearning tingle ran through my mind, like a certain magic was twitching my hands with an urgency to write. A euphoric sensation infused every part of my body, as words began flowing through my pen.
Like a guiding light, my writing moves me through the path, the way back is made of reflection

[jamonwindeyer]

Hello! I am doing Esl English and struggling to write a good creative writing. Can you please read over my creative and tell me how to improve? Any feedback would be excellent. Thanks! 

Hey Kimmie! Sorry for the delay in getting some feedback for you, the markers have had university exams the last few days, busy times!! Your creative is attached with some comments throughout:

Spoiler

Imagine an event where a person makes an unexpected discovery. Write a diary entry which explores his or her response to this discovery.

It was the day the chipping of her usual melodic voice begin to change to melancholia, I forced myself not to believe it, but as the day walks by, it was heaving closer. Darkness closed upon me like the shutting of an eye, wrapped about me in a stifling embrace. I like the tone you are creating here, and great use of simile! I never expected that a time would come that she would leave. She was the only one I had here. I feel like a paragraph break would serve you well here, since you shift into a new idea! I would never forget the day at the Airport. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, but my throat was as empty and dry like the African desert. I tried so hard to hide the pains but it was so obvious. My life and my world totally changed. The hardest part was when she walked away through the door. I heard a voice saying, ‘this is it’. ‘This is the end’. My eyes were drowning with tears; she was trying to make me believe it would be fine but she couldn’t help her emotions either. Excellent mood created in this opening paragraph, very effective imagery. A few little syntax errors though, be careful!
I had no other choice but to move states, I had to move so I could be supported. A totally different place. I had to conform to the new lifestyle and a different educational system.  I'd like to see a little more show, a little less tell. Show me how the lifestyle has changed with some real experiences and examples! Show, don't tell! Any time I go home I felt some part of me was missing. I had to live with him and his wife. Living with her was like being in the forest with a wild lion. I was drowned in anxiety and depression each day. The acceptance of the reality was impossible. First day of school was agonizing; the building was huge as a castle. I really like the figurative language, but be careful not to overdo it with the similes; there has been quite a few in a short period of time. Maybe vary it up a little! It felt like being surrounded by totally different creatures. I felt isolated from the world. It was the largest school I’d ever attended. Within the first year, I struggled academically as the level of learning was different. In the second year, that is when I started seeing the potential in me, and I started using the pain as a motivation to study. Anytime that woman would condemn me, I felt stronger, I began to realised that I am the only one to redeem myself from this slavery. I believed that education was the only key to success and the only way to redeem myself and bring her back. That is when I discovered that in life everything happens for a purpose. If I was still there, I wouldn’t have gotten the education she and I wanted, I would have depended on her and I would have never have gotten stronger. Those experiences made me stronger and make me realised that those big dreams were possible to achieve. 
In life we should be grateful for the challenges we face as you don’t know what it will bring tomorrow. ‘The pain you feel today could be your strength tomorrow’ Nice way to bring it home.

I really like the idea of this creative! It's short, but it packs a punch and works quite well! A very nice, aggressive-ish tone created and this complements quite nicely.

My big piece of feedback would be to adapt your writing style to the diary entry style a little bit more. Add a "Dear Diary," at the start, make the language a little bit more personal, a little bit more free flow (longer sentences, less figurative language and more description) to really suit that text type. Addressing the question in that way would be a great improvement, and might also make the plot a little clearer 

My other piece of feedback would be, show don't tell. Instead of telling me, "I was drowned in anxiety and depression each day," give me some experiences that show this ("I would lock myself in my room and let the ringing of the radio drown out my disgusting sobs and choking cries.") See how there I SHOWED you depression, I didn't have to tell you the character was depressed, you just know. Work on doing this a little more throughout your response.

That said, this creative is cool! It sets a really great tone and has a great premise, a little work on meeting the question style, and perhaps being a little more descriptive, would make it even better  great work Kimmie!! 

[jamonwindeyer]

Compose a piece of imaginative writing which explores how an unexpected discovery can transform an individual.
...

Hey there Isabella! Welcome to the forums and thanks for posting!! 

Unfortunately, we can only give you one piece of feedback for every 5 ATAR Notes posts you make (full rules for essay marking available here)! This is to ensure that we can keep the service accessible for the active members of the ATAR Notes community. So, you just need to hang around a bit to get a few more posts! You might want to start by introducing yourself in our Discussion Thread! Besides that, hang around, ask some questions, give some ideas of ways you study, and then send me a PM or post again in this thread to let me know when you hit the threshold!

[isabel_lorenz1]

Shallow Living.

She gazed at her two girls whilst they occupied themselves in the backyard. One was ever so Sunkist and blessed with lengthy limbs whilst the other secretly fumed in envy. Applying her routine makeup was accompanied by ocean views that matched her Tahitian blue eyes – her life seemed perfect.

As their father’s matte black Jeep rolled in the driveway, the siblings flocked inside to say hello to their daddy.
‘New hair darling, I like it’, the businessman whispered as he struck her glossy lips and grabbed her size 0 waist.
She radiated rays of joy; surprised her $450 new locks even caught his paltry attention span.  He went on to bombard his children with smooches before slipping into his VB singlet and thongs as he impatiently waited for his wife’s Beef Stroganoff.

Once dinner had been served and the father crashed next to his empty beer bottle, the children flocked to their mother’s lap on the leather sofa.
‘Mummy, what’s that thing on your chest’, Penelope wondered.
‘oh darling, it was your father’s first gift to me when we met at the Debutante Ball’, tussling her diamond encrusted chest.
She went on to stress that if her pretty daughter continued to uphold a sweet image and learnt how to be a devoted housewife, she’d find someone,
‘Just as gorgeous and affectionate as your dad’, plaiting her daughter’s thick golden mane.

‘Where’s Candice’, Penny asked as her mother continued to style her hair.
She finally looked around to see where her chubby and less aesthetically appealing daughter was, unsurprised to catch her glaring at gleaming white lights.
‘Candice, we just ate’, her voice elevated, before whispering under her breath,
‘Gosh that girl can eat’.
Penny and her mother laughed as their stumpy family member retreated from the fridge to her room.
Penny continued to jump around the living room and her mothers back until a loud screech ruptured.
‘MUMMYYY, what’s that all over your back’
She jumped in shock assuming some freakish 8-legged creature was strangling her backside.
‘What is it darling?’ she exclaimed in fear
‘All that fat on your back mummy I’ve never seen it before’, Penny naively replied.

Suffocated by shame, she became resentful by her daughter’s acknowledgement of her weight gain. She was in awe that her once toned and trimmed body had become the victim of blossoming love handles. Waves of confusion penetrated her mind, as she could not fathom why her low-carb diet in conjunction with her vigorous paving of the pavement had not assisted her. As she store at the mirror, tears were shed for her deterring self-confidence.   

She needed answers.
‘Miss Bianca Wheeler’, the tall, luscious blonde nurse inquired.
Bianca, wearing what felt like maternity gear compared to the bodice dresses she typically donned followed the nurse.
‘Your test results came through, we know the reason for your rapid weight gain’
Bianca’s eyes fell like tree during a super storm, her heels began to click quicker than her pounding heart, she rubbed my silver texture in panic.
The nurse persevered with the heart wrenching news,
‘Unfortunately, you have been diagnosed with ‘Cashmere disease’,
Bianca’s neck felt like a convulsing tremor line.
‘The unpreventable weight gain can be attributed to this rare autoimmune condition which currently, has no cure’
Her heart broke. Looking at her growing legs, she waved goodbye to her favourite miniskirt. Once an embodiment of self-confident and beauty, she couldn’t brave the harsh lighting of her bathroom or a glimpse of her reflection. How could she tell her husband?

As time grew, so did her waistline. Lacking energy to get out of bed and play sandcastles on the beach with her girls, and attend fancy dinner dates with her husband, tore the family sideways. She had to quit her job as an accomplished secretary as she couldn’t bear the frequent acknowledgements of her rapid weight gain and inflammation. The only place she felt warmth and tenderness
was at the local cinemas on a Tuesday afternoon. She felt unjudged here, watching the sheer beauty of the actresses who captured the hearts of their male counterparts. She was constantly reminded of the romance her thyroid condition robbed her off, forcing her to sleep in another bed. She didn’t receive hourly messages of affection like before. She didn’t know her purpose anymore.

Returning home to find her husband’s early arrival, his anger was apparent.
‘I told you to have the house cleaned for tonight, what the f*** have you been doing for the last 3 hours’
Flustered in awkwardness, she quickly tried to lick the buttery smear off her mouth. She reeked of popcorn. He scanned his former beauty queen from top to bottom and struggled to come to terms with her physicality.
‘Bianca, I think it’ll be better if you go to the holiday house over the weekend’
Her temperature rising, cheekbones throttling, she wrestled with her impending tears.
‘Take the kids as well’
She took a lengthy, focused look at these surroundings for the last time.

Bianca raffled with me, stormed out of the house with her kids and reversed out of her Peugeot, which was becoming a squeeze.
Candice sprinted to her mum, with her big brown eyes sparkling as she squealed
‘Mummy, I still love you forever’
A cold shiver rushed through her spine, her veins engulfed in shallowness and vanity began to shrivel as she lengthened her swollen arms for a family hug.
‘and, mummy will ALWAYS love you, no matter what Candy’, she warmly grappled her second daughter that she had neglected for so long. Her seemingly regretful eyes began to whimper as she realised. Entrenched in layers of thick clothing to hide her apparent flaws, her sweaty and heated body was breathless. She took her jet-black sweater off and resurged in confidence.

‘I may have put on a few pounds, but I have raised two beautiful girls, have a 6 year university degree and a well-paying job and I can run a house’, she whispered to herself, afraid her children would hear.
‘Mummy, we don’t need daddy’, Penny exulted, adding
‘All he does is come home from work and go to sleep anyways’
Bianca cackled, mesmerised that her vanity and infatuation with a socially superior man had not rubbed off on her children.
She looked down at me once more, rolled her eyes repeatedly before speeding towards the highway to go to her parent’s house. As she paused at a red light, she tore my fragile self off her neck as I caught a glimpse of cold air. Bianca roared in excitement as she removed all connections to the man who robbed her of her individuality. She played the country station louder as she turned left onto the Castlereagh Highway. Shock appeared on her face as my body sat on the bed of her window. She tapped me repeatedly and suddenly I felt the cold of the highway ground.

‘Mummy, where we going’, Penelope asked as the sound of the Peugeot become increasingly distal.

[jamonwindeyer]

Shallow Living.
...

Hey there Isabel! Welcome to the forums and thanks for posting!! 

Unfortunately, we can only give you one piece of feedback for every 5 ATAR Notes posts you make (full rules for essay marking available here)! This is to ensure that we can keep the service accessible for the active members of the ATAR Notes community. You are only two posts off! So, you just need to hang around a bit to get a few more posts! You might want to start by introducing yourself in our Discussion Thread! Besides that, hang around, ask some questions, give some ideas of ways you study, and then send me a PM or post again in this thread to let me know when you hit the threshold!

[brontem]

Hey!!  I handed in my creative which we collaborated on (thank you btw) and I gave it in to my teacher and I've got it back.. The only problem is I am really stuck now!!  There's a few words/sentences which have been changed around to match up with what my teacher said but in terms of plot/structure/discovery/etc I don't have a clue  . I've attached it again with teachers comments at the bottom in red, and I don't exactly need it marked this time around, but I just need some direction. Thank you so much!! 

(btw let me know if I don't have enough posts or something?? I'm not too sure what's going on haha)

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey!!  I handed in my creative which we collaborated on (thank you btw) and I gave it in to my teacher and I've got it back.. The only problem is I am really stuck now!!  There's a few words/sentences which have been changed around to match up with what my teacher said but in terms of plot/structure/discovery/etc I don't have a clue  . I've attached it again with teachers comments at the bottom in red, and I don't exactly need it marked this time around, but I just need some direction. Thank you so much!! 

(btw let me know if I don't have enough posts or something?? I'm not too sure what's going on haha)

Hey Brontem! You are all sweet. The new rules are a tad different aha, but basically, if you post 5 times you get an essay marked. If you want an easy guideline, post once a day throughout the week, then get an essay marked every weekend. Something like that 

So, some direction for your creative! Let me chat about each piece of feedback in turn:

1. At times you push too hard with excessive descriptions – try to have more variation with some sections quite bare or listing/stream of consciousness, short 1 or 2 word sentences or paragraphs etc.

I mentioned this in some of my feedback and so I agree with this. Basically, descriptions are fabulous, but when it is constant description it becomes laborious for the reader. Same for over-use of techniques like pathetic fallacy.

Have you ever written in a diary/blog? You don't describe a whole lot, you just let thoughts spill onto the page. This is what your story would benefit from to break things up!

I was given a cool piece of advice about this once, because I used to (and probably still do) often have the same issue. Go through each paragraph and, unless you think it REALLY needs to be there, take out an adjective. It just de-fluffs your writing a bit. By no means a hard and fast rule, but it might be worth a go for you! Other than this, try not to include descriptive sentences unless you, as the author, can justify why you are bothering to describe it. If you can't come up with an idea about Discovery that you are developing through that description, then you can consider removing it!

Surprise the reader with something unexpected

Hmm, perhaps we can look at a bit of a plot twist somewhere. I don't personally think this is absolutely necessary, but doing something different will definitely help you stand out amongst the sea of responses that little bit more! Are there any ideas you have been playing with that might add a bit of zing to the story? Unexpected twists?

The other option here is an unconventional structural feature. Two suggestions:

• Flashbacks: These can be cool way to show development of relationships over time (and thus, for you, discoveries). Perhaps flashback to before the revelation? Take a near identical situation (like the dinner table), one before the revelation, one after? Write using very similar sentence structures, but just different words (kind of like the same song but different lyrics)
• Alternate Narrator/Subjects: You could also look at swapping to the son's point of view. Perhaps the unexpected thing for a reader is that the son knew all along, and goes to live with his biological father after trying so hard to show is paternal father that he still loved him? Or something, but this could be something to explore 

Reasonable discovery concept but what does he discover about himself?

Basically it seems that your teacher feels the discovery of self could be accentuated a little more, or be a little more concrete. I think this would just involve playing with the ending sequence somewhat, accentuating some specific aspect of the Father's personality that has been altered or changed. I think handling this should come after handling the prior two points, because adjusting the story could adjust this too 

I hope this little rant gave you a few ideas!! Once you've had a bit more of a play with it definitely post it again for another mark!! I will definitely get Elyse to look at the next one, I think this is due for a fresh set of eyes and some new ideas and perspectives.

In saying that, you are in the upper range now (mid B range is 11 or 12 out of 15), and it won't take much more work to get it even higher!! You should be so happy with the work you've put in, getting marks in the 12+ range for creatives is bloody hard, and this is a fantastic piece. Great work! 

[shazzzzzz]

Hey there! So this is my discovery creative writing, it was originally written as a hand in so I went a little overboard with the word amount, I got full marks on it however I knew I couldn't write the original story in 40 minutes so I have another version which I've cut down to a word amount which I can write in 40 minutes so could you mark the second version and tell me if I've cut out too much and I've made it worse or if it's still a good story, where I could improve etc.

You just have to mark the second creative writing but I've attached the original, just for reference.

Thank you so much!!

[elysepopplewell]

Hey there! So this is my discovery creative writing, it was originally written as a hand in so I went a little overboard with the word amount, I got full marks on it however I knew I couldn't write the original story in 40 minutes so I have another version which I've cut down to a word amount which I can write in 40 minutes so could you mark the second version and tell me if I've cut out too much and I've made it worse or if it's still a good story, where I could improve etc.

You just have to mark the second creative writing but I've attached the original, just for reference.

Thank you so much!!

Hey there! Totally cool - can do this for you!

Here is your creative without any of my own comments:

Spoiler

SOLDIER, SOLDIER
The declaration of war had been abrupt, a small land locked country no one had noticed, was named the enemy. There were no previous hostilities, no past wrongs, nothing that warned of an oncoming conflict. She remembered seeing images of the nation’s landscape in a picture book she read as a child, mountain peaks lined the horizon while wild flowers painted the ground yellow. The land was home to three hundred farmers, five hundred chickens and eighty horses. A fact she could not ignore when she enlisted was before the war the enemy had listed foxes as the biggest threat. 
 
The announcement of the war was a day etched into the minds of all that heard it. Each report of the conflict was accompanied by the same image; a bulb headed creature bound in bleached skin whose eyes held nothing. There was no one who hadn’t seen the image, no one who wasn’t disturbed to their very core. The President of her country was the first to make the crisis public; he was a lanky man, whose most defining feature was that he didn’t have one. He revealed that foreign representatives had investigated the neighbouring country and discovered an infestation of aliens. The creature’s violent behaviour endangered them all. They would not respond to diplomacy, hope of peaceful negotiations were non-existent.

The war consumed them all. Every citizen of her country was forced to know who the enemy was. Or rather what they were. Children could even recite the physiological weakness of the enemy and if asked could describe how to kill one, a six inch stab to the gut without mercy .A nursery rhyme had been introduced describing the process to kill, she sang it at school. Cartoons glorified the war; the desire to enlist began with the children, with her. Animosity towards the enemy seeped out of every corner, eventually the whole country overflowed with hatred. Rumours floated that the war was a government creation to distract the country from debt; others believed it was a front to disguise a failing Presidents grab at power.

When the initial attack was made, it was her side that launched the first rockets. Justification of the act was never disclosed. What was given was a well worded speech by the President, made to spur the patriotism of the citizens. The words of the most powerful man of her country had weaved around her heart; she was convinced the enemy was beyond hope. She was twelve years old when she decided the military was her future. She wanted to fight, she wanted to protect. Later she realised the speech was simply propaganda, a response crafted to fool the masses, to fool her.

The enlistment forms had come to her home on her twentieth birthday. Her father congratulated her, her mother had cried tears of joy; she had brought honour to the family, it was a privilege to enlist. The training consisted solely of offence manoeuvres, defence was not an option. The belief of killed or be killed was hammered home. Her theory lessons taught her the deceptive nature of the enemy and how if need be they could disguise themselves as humans. She had excelled in all areas of the training with the prospect of a very distinguished future ahead of her.

Her deployment to the front lines of the war had not only reinforced but strengthened her resolution to guard her country. The first day on the enemy’s land had been filled with introductions; the highest authority at the base was General Rogers, a broad shouldered man whose facial hair resembled the end of a broom. He was an intimidating man with a presence that demanded respect whose loyalty to the sovereign was as infamous as his hatred for the enemy. The first task she was assigned was patrol of the field and if she were to locate an enemy target she was to, in the words of the General, ‘gut them like a fish’.

The enemy’s land was in one word, disfigured. The familiar images of the place she recalled from her childhood books were not gone but rather they weren’t the same. The jagged points of the mountains looked more like broken noses while the wild flowers grew erratically across the bombed earth. As she lurked through the field, inspecting every detail she breathed in the air that was sulphurous, heavy with the remains of the war. The trees stood tall but leafless with the rusted cars and abandoned homes stark against the horizon.

The stillness of the land was unsettling but it was the slight shake of a bush in the corner of her eye that caught her attention. She moved closer to the shrubbery with each step the grip on her combat knife tightened. A part of her wanted to believe it was just another soldier but she knew she was the only one there. With reluctance, in one swift movement she had positioned herself facing whatever was behind the bush in combat stance, she was ready to kill.   

Below her a feeble man trembled by her feet, he was small with his skin forced to stretch over his protruding bones. His hands were covered in scars while his eyes sagged; they held a pain she could not understand. As he shook from fear, her eyebrows furrowed and she stepped back, the man was not what she expected. Her training had never covered encountering a human who wasn’t a soldier on the field. When the man realised he had not been attacked yet he looked up, meeting her eyes and he spoke, albeit in a language she could not decipher. His voice was coarse and sounded to her like rocks being ground up.

With every noise he made, she felt her chest get tighter and her legs becoming weaker, she was scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen; this wasn’t what she was supposed to do. She was to destroy the enemy, to come back home and be a hero. She couldn’t destroy a man whose only belonging was the emotional baggage he carried, she couldn’t kill him. And that’s when it clicked. Of course the enemy wouldn’t attack in their true forms; it’d be too easy for her to kill them. They slither into the field disguised as humans and like grubs burrow into one’s mind, convincing other’s to pity them, to let their guard down and then they strike.

She watched the man with knife in hand, the longer she waited the clearer his voice became and as he rose to his feet so did his confidence. Each step he took was one thought out carefully. The hold on her weapon was as steady as the oak tree behind her but her heart waivered like the single leaf that adorned it. Her breaths hitched with every movement he made and as he got closer she was deafened by the thumping of her own heart. A loud cry from the man ripped her away from her thoughts; in the few moments she had looked away from him, he had become hysterical. 

The man cried out incomprehensible words, stumbling forward with desperation draping over him like an ill fitted coat. He reached into his pocket and the lone thought that remained in her mind was ‘weapon’. She stabbed the man in his abdomen, disgust had overcome her not because she had stolen a life but rather she had enjoyed the act. The sensation of pulling the knife out of the man’s stomach left a gratifying feeling in her chest. She let the man’s body hit the floor and waited for it to gradually deflate. The enemy, as she had learnt from her training, were beings made of intricate systems of gas encased in a thin skin that if punctured would result in the unavoidable consequence of death.

The man lay still on the floor; she stood over him and waited for the gas to escape but a red liquid slowly poured out of him instead, it was blood. This didn`t make sense, the enemy had no such thing in their bodies, when the enemy is stabbed they deflate; this was what she was taught, this was what she learnt. The calm that had come over her had quickly receded and she saw one thing only, the blood on her hands.  Her mind scrambled for some explanation, her thoughts wandered to dark places; was the man human? Was the enemy human? Were the rumours true? No, they couldn’t be, she couldn’t let them be.

A murmuring sound drifted in her ears and her eyes darted towards the man, he was alive, barely. She moved closer to him, his hand moved out of his pocket and he held a picture towards his face, it was of him and a child. She heard a single word being repeated, Saira and as tears fall down his face he draws his last breath. A black hole appears in her chest, where her heart used to be and she feels all the joy she had once felt drain out of her. In big, bold, bright letters, the word ‘regret’ stands alone in her mind.

She looked towards the sky and screamed, as if she were questioning the powers of the universe, asking them what she had done to provoke such pain, asking what he had done to deserve such a fate. Her questions went unanswered.  She wasn’t the same girl she was in the morning, in just an hour she felt she had aged. She stood up and walked deeper into the woods, she could longer fight in the war; she could no longer fight the enemy if they were as human as she was.

It’s easy if they're faceless, to hate the other side.

And here is your  creative with my comments in bold throughout:

Spoiler

SOLDIER, SOLDIER
The declaration of war had been abrupt, a small land locked country not sure what you mean by this part? no one had noticed, was named the enemy. There were no previous hostilities, no past wrongs, nothing that warned of an oncoming conflict. She remembered seeing images of the nation’s landscape in a picture book she read as a child, mountain peaks lined the horizon while wild flowers painted the ground yellow. Great imagery!The land was home to three hundred farmers, five hundred chickens and eighty horses. A fact she could not ignore when she enlisted was before the war the enemy had listed foxes as the biggest threat.  I also love this part. It's a bit humorous, but really chilling. Good combo!
 
The announcement of the war was a day etched into the minds of all that heard it. Each report of the conflict was accompanied by the same image; a bulb headed creature bound in bleached skin whose eyes held nothing. There was no one who hadn’t seen the image, no one who wasn’t disturbed to their very core. The President of her country was the first to make the crisis public; he was a lanky man, whose most defining feature was that he didn’t have one. LOVEEEEE THIS!!! He revealed that foreign representatives had investigated the neighbouring country and discovered an infestation of aliens. The creature’s violent behaviour endangered them all. They would not respond to diplomacy, hope of peaceful negotiations were non-existent.

The war consumed them all. Every citizen of her country was forced to know who the enemy was. Or rather what they were. Children could even recite the physiological weakness of the enemy and if asked could describe how to kill one, a six inch stab to the gut without mercy .A nursery rhyme had been introduced describing the process to kill, she sang it at school. Cartoons glorified the war; the desire to enlist began with the children, with her. Animosity towards the enemy seeped out of every corner, eventually the whole country overflowed with hatred. Rumours floated that the war was a government creation to distract the country from debt; others believed it was a front to disguise a failing Presidents grab at power.

When the initial attack was made, it was her side that launched the first rockets. Justification of the act was never disclosed. What was given was a well worded speech by the President, made to spur the patriotism of the citizens. The words of the most powerful man of her country had weaved around her heart; she was convinced the enemy was beyond hope. She was twelve years old when she decided the military was her future. She wanted to fight, she wanted to protect. Later she realised the speech was simply propaganda, a response crafted to fool the masses, to fool her.

The enlistment forms had come to her home on her twentieth birthday. Her father congratulated her, her mother had cried tears of joy; she had brought honour to the family, it was a privilege to enlist. The training consisted solely of offence manoeuvres, defence was not an option. The belief of killed or be killed was hammered home. Potentially consider using quotation marks or italics fo the "kill or be killed" idea just to make it clearer. And note that the first "killed" should be "kill." Her theory lessons taught her the deceptive nature of the enemy and how if need be they could disguise themselves as humans. She had excelled in all areas of the training with the prospect of a very distinguished future ahead of her.

Her deployment to the front lines of the war had not only reinforced, but strengthened, her resolution to guard her country. The first day on the enemy’s land had been filled with introductions; the highest authority at the base was General Rogers, a broad shouldered man whose facial hair resembled the end of a broom. I can imagine a man exactly like this...He was an intimidating man with a presence that demanded respect whose Make these two separate sentences. The truncated nature will be a reflection of his sternness. Change whose for his. loyalty to the sovereign was as infamous as his hatred for the enemy. The first task she was assigned was patrol of the field and if she were to locate an enemy target she was to, in the words of the General, ‘gut them like a fish’.

The enemy’s land was in one word, disfigured. The familiar images of the place she recalled from her childhood books were not gone but rather they weren’t the same. The jagged points of the mountains looked more like broken noses while the wild flowers grew erratically across the bombed earth. As she lurked through the field, inspecting every detail she breathed in the air that was sulphurous, heavy with the remains of the war. The trees stood tall but leafless with the rusted cars and abandoned homes stark against the horizon.

The stillness of the land was unsettling but it was the slight shake of a bush in the corner of her eye that caught her attention. She moved closer to the shrubbery with each step the grip on her combat knife tightened. A part of her wanted to believe it was just another soldier but she knew she was the only one there. With reluctance, in one swift movement she had positioned herself facing whatever was behind the bush in combat stance, she was ready to kill.   

Below her a feeble man trembled by her feet, he was small with his skin forced to stretch over his protruding bones. His hands were covered in scars while his eyes sagged; they held a pain she could not understand. As he shook from fear, her eyebrows furrowed and she stepped back, the man was not what she expected. Her training had never covered encountering a human who wasn’t a soldier on the field. When the man realised he had not been attacked yet he looked up, meeting her eyes and he spoke, albeit in a language she could not decipher. His voice was coarse and sounded to her like rocks being ground up.
I'm just going to take this moment to say that what I really enjoy about this work is that the paragraphs are never too long. It makes the work easy to follow, and breaks it up really well into different little pockets of story progression. People fall into the habit of really long paragraphs in creative writing because they aren't sure when to make the break when they are reading a narrative. So you've done a really good job (whether you even realised it or not!) to make this accessible for a marker.

With every noise he made, she felt her chest get tighter and her legs becoming weaker, she was scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen; this wasn’t what she was supposed to do. She was to destroy the enemy, to come back home and be a hero. She couldn’t destroy a man whose only belonging was the emotional baggage he carried, she couldn’t kill him. You are doing awesome things with this imagery. "only belonging was the emotional baggage." YESSSS YESSS YESSSAnd that’s when it clicked. Of course the enemy wouldn’t attack in their true forms; it’d be too easy for her to kill them. They slither into the field disguised as humans and like grubs burrow into one’s mind, convincing other’s to pity them, to let their guard down and then they strike.

She watched the man with knife in hand, the longer she waited the clearer his voice became and as he rose to his feet so did his confidence. Each step he took was one thought out carefully. The hold on her weapon was as steady as the oak tree behind her but her heart waivered like the single leaf that adorned it. Her breaths hitched with every movement he made and as he got closer she was deafened by the thumping of her own heart. A loud cry from the man ripped her away from her thoughts; in the few moments she had looked away from him, he had become hysterical. 

The man cried out incomprehensible words, stumbling forward with desperation draping over him like an ill fitted coat. He reached into his pocket and the lone thought that remained in her mind was ‘weapon’. She stabbed the man in his abdomen, disgust had overcome her not because she had stolen a life but rather she had enjoyed the act. I think the stabbing should be in its own sentence, potentially even in its own line. By this stage, you've slowly built us up to think there's a possibility that the man wouldn't be killed. Suddenly, he's dead. I read over it without even noticing for a second and then I was like "hold up go back!!!!?" This isn't your fault as a writer, but a marker will be reading this at a pretty decent speed. So you want to use your organisation of words on the page to highlight the most important parts.The sensation of pulling the knife out of the man’s stomach left a gratifying feeling in her chest. She let the man’s body hit the floor and waited for it to gradually deflate. The enemy, as she had learnt from her training, were beings made of intricate systems of gas encased in a thin skin that if punctured would result in the unavoidable consequence of death.

The man lay still on the floor; she stood over him and waited for the gas to escape but a red liquid slowly poured out of him instead, it was blood. I knew this was blood without you saying so. I'd take out the "it was blood" to ensure that you are showing you respect the reader enough to make the connection, thus engaging their own minds more because they feel like they have the responsibility but also the smarts to connect the dots. John Le Carre (novelist) does this well.This didn`t make sense, the enemy had no such thing in their bodies, when the enemy is stabbed they deflate; this was what she was taught, this was what she learnt. The calm that had come over her had quickly receded and she saw one thing only, the blood on her hands.  Her mind scrambled for some explanation, her thoughts wandered to dark places; was the man human? Was the enemy human? Were the rumours true? No, they couldn’t be, she couldn’t let them be.

A murmuring sound drifted in her ears and her eyes darted towards the man, he was alive, barely. She moved closer to him, his hand moved out of his pocket and he held a picture towards his face, it was of him and a child. She heard a single word being repeated, Saira and as tears fall down his face he draws his last breath. A black hole appears in her chest, where her heart used to be and she feels all the joy she had once felt drain out of her. In big, bold, bright letters, the word ‘regret’ stands alone in her mind. I like that you use the word "stands" because it reminds me of the way a soldier stands at attention. Could you possibly allude to this further? I don't want to put words in your mouth, but perhaps something about the idea of saluting, standing at attention, marching, etc. Standing works as is, but I think it's something I'm perceptive to because I'm looking to improve your work. A marker will not be doing that, instead they will be looking for the techniques already existing.

She looked towards the sky and screamed, as if she were questioning the powers of the universe, asking them what she had done to provoke such pain, asking what he had done to deserve such a fate. Her questions went unanswered.  She wasn’t the same girl she was in the morning, in just an hour she felt she had aged. She stood up and walked deeper into the woods, she could longer fight in the war; she could no longer fight the enemy if they were as human as she was.

It’s easy if they're faceless, to hate the other side.

What I love about this is how you tell the story in a way that isn't at all difficult to read, but at the same time, you show respect for the intelligence of your audience. I've suggested a few small literary things because right now your plot is seamless. You've made a physical discovery, an emotional discovery, a spiritual discovery even. The discovery was unplanned, the discovery was progressive rather than sudden. It's really nice. You didn't wait until the last sentence to drop a bomb, but instead planted it early so it unfolded wonderfully. Something else I like about this work is that there is a female protagonist, in a genre that is generally dominated by male protagonists. This gave a really fresh insight.

Only because I'm being picky and want you to think about this before getting caught: What will you do if the stimulus speaks of discoveries being planned? To me, I interpret this as a discovery that was not at all planned. But the rubric suggests discoveries can emerge from a careful planning process. What do you think? I just don't want you to panic in an exam, so I'll bring it up now!

You've done an AWESOME job here! You should be super chuffed. I don't think you've cut too much out, I think it sits with a really stark message in just the right amount of words.

[conic curve]

How harshly are the creatives (and essays) marked? (i.e. are they marked just as hard as the HSC or harder than the HSC)

[elysepopplewell]

How harshly are the creatives (and essays) marked? (i.e. are they marked just as hard as the HSC or harder than the HSC)

Hey there! Do you mean, how harshly we mark them? I wouldn't really determine our feedback as being harsh. We focus on areas to improve on to achieve the most marks possible rather than only providing a potential mark out of 25 (or whatever the essay requires). Sometimes students ask us to be really picky, and sometimes students just want to know if their thesis makes sense. Everything is tailored

[shazzzzzz]

Thank you so much, elysepopplewell!! I appreciate the comments and totally agree with them, I'll include them in when I get the time

Regarding the issue of if the question asks for something planned (or a discovery my story doesn't cover) I'm not really sure what I actually could do, in all honesty I would just write the story and hope for the best. Do you have any suggestions on how I could adapt it to fit other stimulus?