Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[elysepopplewell]

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?

There are a bunch of things you could do and none of them fit as seamlessly as the current themes. You could implement a letter, a flashback, or a dystopian element, like the government plans this national service not for defence, but to create a progressive state where everyone goes through this realisation with a coming of age. It will take some manipulation in all points of the story. I definitely don't mean to panic you at all, but your story is so sophisticated at this point so you have the opportunity to look ahead and see where you might be trapped, so that you don't fall trapped!

[conic curve]

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

.

Fantastic. I'll just say next time I want my essay marked really harshly 

[Nicki]

Hi Elyse! 

if it's not too much trouble, could you please read over my creative and see if its any good? i just wanna say thank you to you and the rest of the team at atar notes, you've been a massive help this year with your amazing articles, assistance and resources, sometimes i take for granted how much support we really have as the workload seems to make me forget haha

The very peculiar city of Mumbai suffocated me. Why you ask? Dust. Visible to the naked eye like a foggy morning left me oblivious to what lied ahead. The roads, the people, the smoky sky, immersed in this infinite, amber dust. Luckily, I was cocooned in a car where I could stare in disbelief at India from the outside. The sun sparkling and biting at my skin like hot sand at the beach, beaming onto the street dogs who pranced along the paths as if they were people. Their ribs protruded out of their stomachs, their fur speckled in burnt orange dust. How do people breathe in this country? Constantly crammed by rickshaws and brown buildings? The driver harshly swerved left, on a red light may I add, only to arrive at a crowd of merged cars that masked any lane markings. Resting on the sun kissed window, a thousand beeps infiltrated the air, bursting through my eardrums. In the distance, Dancers swayed their hands in the air and jumped to the jingling bells. The beats of the drum gradually gained speed simultaneous with my heartbeat and next thing a slam on the window struck like lightning. To my utter shock, my eyes grew wide to see children in despair begging to me. Their jet black eyes just met the windows rim as they raised their hands and tapped their ashen nails at the glass.
 ‘‘Can you bear this chaos?’’ I bluntly confronted the driver.
 ‘’Madam, there is a saying my father has always told me, Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference’’.
 ‘’Okay? So you can bear this?’’
He just smiled but the sarcasm couldn’t have been any clearer. When pulling into my grandma’s driveway, sounds of laughter and joy which used to reside here unfortunately moved house and silence became the tenant. Before getting off, I sat there and wondered how I used to find India so special.

The door was open but pots and pans clanging together led me to confirmed this was the right house. The narrow hallway welcomed me to cemented floors and cracked walls. But suddenly like a blooming flower in a dry desert, my grandma appeared with the happiest face in the world.

‘’Beta! how are you! please sit, sit down, oh look at you! so grown up!”. She squeezed me with a hug that I dearly missed but she was quick to get back to her cooking. Her frail voice permeated through the house, and she continued to ask me how Australia was.
“Australia’s good” I quaveringly shouted as my body submerged itself onto the couch. Then a soft clutter of steel plates vibrated through the air, my head quickly pivoted to see grandma, like skilled waitress placing three large silver trays of food on the table. 
 “Eat’’ she warmly commanded. The smell of exotic spices thrived and blanketed the room.  As they diffused in my throat, the flavours sent a warm sensation throughout my skin. But as I was enjoying my lunch, my grandfather’s picture captured my eyes. It stood static, directly in front of me, framed in a bed of tulsi and lotus flowers. My lips turned straight as I realised why I was here in the first place, the funeral.

Along the grey sea, a flock of people, all dressed in white hovered over towards my grandfather’s body. The purity of our white dresses dispersed the sunlight across his body, almost in celebration of the shining light that he was.  I squeezed my grandma’s hand and we dawdled closer, fingers entangled when our glossy eyes became fixed on the body with a silhouette of precious fuchsias, honeys and violets. But with the ring of the bell, the prayers called for the burning and the crimson flames of fire tore through the flowers and my beloved grandfather, leaving nothing but ash.  It’s sad to think it took a death in the family to bring me back to the place I was born. Where we live and where we are brought up somehow form who we think we are but it dawned on me how much I’ve missed my family and my home.

An orange and purple stained sky captivated a new light upon the city. I was in the car but this time with the window down as dust filled breeze softly flowed through my hair. I used to see boring shades of brown, but at dusk the streets filled with twinkling lights made the city brighter. Illuminating colours painted on the roads, the people and the sky. Bejewelled dresses swayed along the pathways mimicking the beauty of the people wearing them. The melodic racket of festive drums and beeping car horns soothed me. Young children ran through the streets as the playful street dogs chased them. I found myself giggling at the sight and the driver widely smiled at me, but this time there was no sarcasm, ‘’see madam, attitude does make a big difference’’. It was at this exact moment I remembered why this place was special, not because I came from here, but because it was apart of who I was.

Word Count: 847

[elysepopplewell]

Hi Elyse! 

if it's not too much trouble, could you please read over my creative and see if its any good? i just wanna say thank you to you and the rest of the team at atar notes, you've been a massive help this year with your amazing articles, assistance and resources, sometimes i take for granted how much support we really have as the workload seems to make me forget haha

Hey Nicki! You're kind words really are so wonderful to read! I've sent you a private message about the creative/essay marking policy

[elysepopplewell]

Hi Elyse! 

if it's not too much trouble, could you please read over my creative and see if its any good? i just wanna say thank you to you and the rest of the team at atar notes, you've been a massive help this year with your amazing articles, assistance and resources, sometimes i take for granted how much support we really have as the workload seems to make me forget haha

Hey Nicki! Good work on the five posts! I'll have a look at your creative now It is in the spoiler below, with my own comments written in bold font throughout

Spoiler

The very peculiar city of Mumbai suffocated me. Why you ask? Dust. Visible to the naked eye like a foggy morning, it left me oblivious to what lied ahead. The roads, the people, the smoky sky, immersed in this infinite, amber dust. Luckily, I was cocooned in a car where I could stare in disbelief at India from the outside. The sun sparkling and biting at my skin like hot sand at the beach, beaming onto the street dogs who pranced along the paths as if they were people. You've changed tense here accidentally, moving into the present tense when you were in the past tense. Decide which one you want to use and be consistent. I think the past tense works best Their ribs protruded out of their stomachs, their fur speckled in burnt orange dust. How do people breathe in this country? Constantly crammed by rickshaws and brown buildings? The driver harshly swerved left, on a red light may I add, only to arrive at a crowd of merged cars that masked any lane markings. Resting on the sun kissed window, to me this sounds descriptive for the sake of it, it doesn't actually add a lot to my visual understanding of the scene. Sun kissed? If you are going for warm, perhaps sun roasted, or simply, warm. Sun kissed is a cliche, which are best to avoid, but it also doesn't add positively to the image. So reconsider it a thousand beeps infiltrated the air, bursting through my eardrums. In the distance, Dancers swayed their hands in the air and jumped to the jingling bells. The beats of the drum gradually gained speed simultaneous with my heartbeat and next thing a slam on the window struck like lightning. To my utter shock, my eyes grew wide to see children in despair begging to me. Their jet black eyes just met the windows rim as they raised their hands and tapped their ashen nails at the glass. This is great! The jet black eyes, the window rims, really great!
 ‘‘Can you bear this chaos?’’ I bluntly confronted the driver.
 ‘’Madam, there is a saying my father has always told me, Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference’’.
 ‘’Okay? So you can bear this?’’ I have been getting a really strong voice from your character, through really subtle things. The first moment I got an understanding of the character was when it read "why, you ask?" at the beginning. You're very consistent with the voice. Great job!
He just smiled but the sarcasm couldn’t have been any clearer. When pulling into my grandma’s driveway, sounds of laughter and joy which used to reside here unfortunately moved house and silence became the tenant. Before getting off, I sat there and wondered how I used to find India so special.

The door was open but pots and pans clanging together led me to confirmed this was the right house. The narrow hallway welcomed me to cemented floors and cracked walls. But suddenly like a blooming flower in a dry desert, my grandma appeared with the happiest face in the world. Is it possible that you could identify a flower? I think if you identified a vibrant, sprouting flower like a lily, for example, but perhaps one that can be found in India, then you would be taken this analogy to the next level, just by ever so slightly enhancing the specificity, to provide the reader with an exact image.

‘’Beta! how are you! pPlease sit, sit down, oh look at you! s So grown up!”. She squeezed me with a hug that I dearly missed but she was quick to get back to her cooking. Her frail voice permeated through the house, and she continued to ask me how Australia was.
“Australia’s good” I quaveringly shouted as my body submerged itself onto the couch. Then a soft clutter of steel plates vibrated through the air, my head quickly pivoted to see grandma, like skilled waitress placing three large silver trays of food on the table. 
 “Eat’’ she warmly commanded. "Warmly commanded" how wonderful!The smell of exotic spices thrived and blanketed the room.  As they diffused in my throat, the flavours sent a warm sensation throughout my skin. But as I was enjoying my lunch, my grandfather’s picture captured my eyes. Perhaps you could make a more clear link between the spices and your grandfather? Maybe they are the trigger for his image?It stood static, directly in front of me, framed in a bed of tulsi and lotus flowers. My lips turned straight as I realised why I was here in the first place, the funeral.

Is this a time lapse? Potentially do the *** (three stars) thing to separate here. Or, if you are writing this in an exam, leave a considerable amount of lines to indicate that time has escaped.
Along the grey sea, a flock of people, all dressed in white hovered over towards my grandfather’s body. The purity of our white dresses dispersed the sunlight across his body, almost in celebration of the shining light that he was.  I squeezed my grandma’s hand and we dawdled closer, fingers entangled when our glossy eyes became fixed on the body with a silhouette of precious fuchsias, honeys and violets. But with the ring of the bell, the prayers called for the burning and the crimson flames of fire tore through the flowers and my beloved grandfather, leaving nothing but ash.  I think this next sentence is a bit of a jump, so it deserves its own new line to give it prominence.It’s sad to think it took a death in the family to bring me back to the place I was born. Where we live and where we are brought up somehow form who we think we are but it dawned on me how much I’ve missed my family and my home.

An orange and purple stained sky captivated a new light upon the city. I was in the car but this time with the window down as dust filled breeze softly flowed through my hair. I used to see boring shades of brown, but at dusk the streets filled with twinkling lights made the city brighter. Illuminating colours painted on the roads, the people and the sky. Bejewelled dresses swayed along the pathways mimicking the beauty of the people wearing them. The melodic racket of festive drums and beeping car horns soothed me. Young children ran through the streets as the playful street dogs chased them. I found myself giggling at the sight and the driver widely smiled at me, but this time there was no sarcasm, ‘’see madam, attitude does make a big difference’’. It was at this exact moment I remembered why this place was special, not because I came from here, but because it was apart of who I was. I'm not clearly understanding why the last part is in the past tense. I think it would be more meaningful if it were in the present tense. "Who I am." Is there a reason you've chosen to do it this way? There very well may be a great reason and I'm just failing to see it right now! The discovery comes together really well at the end in both an emotional, spiritual and physical sense!

You've used some wonderful imagery throughout this piece, especially in the last paragraph. Your discovery element is strong and the voice that you have created for your character is strong. You've put a lot of effort into the finer details here, it really pays off! I was completely taken on a journey to India here. I felt like I understood the grandmother/grandchild relationship without actually having a similar relationship myself, so that's impressive! I've filled out some areas of improvement throughout, and it is totally up to you if you want to take them on board or not, I don't want to cramp your style!

All the best, what a great piece! Let me know if you have any questions or anything you'd like to add!

[tasiakuz]

Hi Elyse!
Would love your feedback on my creative for discovery - I wrote for the theme of renewed perceptions and the stimulus was a waterfall, just wondering how I can adapt it for trials, should I write a new one or should I change it into third person? Is it strong enough for discovery.
Thank-you so much, you're amazing for taking the time and effort to do this

[Nicki]

thank you so much for the feedback!! will definitely take it on board 

Hey Nicki! Good work on the five posts! I'll have a look at your creative now It is in the spoiler below, with my own comments written in bold font throughout

Spoiler

The very peculiar city of Mumbai suffocated me. Why you ask? Dust. Visible to the naked eye like a foggy morning, it left me oblivious to what lied ahead. The roads, the people, the smoky sky, immersed in this infinite, amber dust. Luckily, I was cocooned in a car where I could stare in disbelief at India from the outside. The sun sparkling and biting at my skin like hot sand at the beach, beaming onto the street dogs who pranced along the paths as if they were people. You've changed tense here accidentally, moving into the present tense when you were in the past tense. Decide which one you want to use and be consistent. I think the past tense works best Their ribs protruded out of their stomachs, their fur speckled in burnt orange dust. How do people breathe in this country? Constantly crammed by rickshaws and brown buildings? The driver harshly swerved left, on a red light may I add, only to arrive at a crowd of merged cars that masked any lane markings. Resting on the sun kissed window, to me this sounds descriptive for the sake of it, it doesn't actually add a lot to my visual understanding of the scene. Sun kissed? If you are going for warm, perhaps sun roasted, or simply, warm. Sun kissed is a cliche, which are best to avoid, but it also doesn't add positively to the image. So reconsider it a thousand beeps infiltrated the air, bursting through my eardrums. In the distance, Dancers swayed their hands in the air and jumped to the jingling bells. The beats of the drum gradually gained speed simultaneous with my heartbeat and next thing a slam on the window struck like lightning. To my utter shock, my eyes grew wide to see children in despair begging to me. Their jet black eyes just met the windows rim as they raised their hands and tapped their ashen nails at the glass. This is great! The jet black eyes, the window rims, really great!
 ‘‘Can you bear this chaos?’’ I bluntly confronted the driver.
 ‘’Madam, there is a saying my father has always told me, Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference’’.
 ‘’Okay? So you can bear this?’’ I have been getting a really strong voice from your character, through really subtle things. The first moment I got an understanding of the character was when it read "why, you ask?" at the beginning. You're very consistent with the voice. Great job!
He just smiled but the sarcasm couldn’t have been any clearer. When pulling into my grandma’s driveway, sounds of laughter and joy which used to reside here unfortunately moved house and silence became the tenant. Before getting off, I sat there and wondered how I used to find India so special.

The door was open but pots and pans clanging together led me to confirmed this was the right house. The narrow hallway welcomed me to cemented floors and cracked walls. But suddenly like a blooming flower in a dry desert, my grandma appeared with the happiest face in the world. Is it possible that you could identify a flower? I think if you identified a vibrant, sprouting flower like a lily, for example, but perhaps one that can be found in India, then you would be taken this analogy to the next level, just by ever so slightly enhancing the specificity, to provide the reader with an exact image.

‘’Beta! how are you! pPlease sit, sit down, oh look at you! s So grown up!”. She squeezed me with a hug that I dearly missed but she was quick to get back to her cooking. Her frail voice permeated through the house, and she continued to ask me how Australia was.
“Australia’s good” I quaveringly shouted as my body submerged itself onto the couch. Then a soft clutter of steel plates vibrated through the air, my head quickly pivoted to see grandma, like skilled waitress placing three large silver trays of food on the table. 
 “Eat’’ she warmly commanded. "Warmly commanded" how wonderful!The smell of exotic spices thrived and blanketed the room.  As they diffused in my throat, the flavours sent a warm sensation throughout my skin. But as I was enjoying my lunch, my grandfather’s picture captured my eyes. Perhaps you could make a more clear link between the spices and your grandfather? Maybe they are the trigger for his image?It stood static, directly in front of me, framed in a bed of tulsi and lotus flowers. My lips turned straight as I realised why I was here in the first place, the funeral.

Is this a time lapse? Potentially do the *** (three stars) thing to separate here. Or, if you are writing this in an exam, leave a considerable amount of lines to indicate that time has escaped.
Along the grey sea, a flock of people, all dressed in white hovered over towards my grandfather’s body. The purity of our white dresses dispersed the sunlight across his body, almost in celebration of the shining light that he was.  I squeezed my grandma’s hand and we dawdled closer, fingers entangled when our glossy eyes became fixed on the body with a silhouette of precious fuchsias, honeys and violets. But with the ring of the bell, the prayers called for the burning and the crimson flames of fire tore through the flowers and my beloved grandfather, leaving nothing but ash.  I think this next sentence is a bit of a jump, so it deserves its own new line to give it prominence.It’s sad to think it took a death in the family to bring me back to the place I was born. Where we live and where we are brought up somehow form who we think we are but it dawned on me how much I’ve missed my family and my home.

An orange and purple stained sky captivated a new light upon the city. I was in the car but this time with the window down as dust filled breeze softly flowed through my hair. I used to see boring shades of brown, but at dusk the streets filled with twinkling lights made the city brighter. Illuminating colours painted on the roads, the people and the sky. Bejewelled dresses swayed along the pathways mimicking the beauty of the people wearing them. The melodic racket of festive drums and beeping car horns soothed me. Young children ran through the streets as the playful street dogs chased them. I found myself giggling at the sight and the driver widely smiled at me, but this time there was no sarcasm, ‘’see madam, attitude does make a big difference’’. It was at this exact moment I remembered why this place was special, not because I came from here, but because it was apart of who I was. I'm not clearly understanding why the last part is in the past tense. I think it would be more meaningful if it were in the present tense. "Who I am." Is there a reason you've chosen to do it this way? There very well may be a great reason and I'm just failing to see it right now! The discovery comes together really well at the end in both an emotional, spiritual and physical sense!

You've used some wonderful imagery throughout this piece, especially in the last paragraph. Your discovery element is strong and the voice that you have created for your character is strong. You've put a lot of effort into the finer details here, it really pays off! I was completely taken on a journey to India here. I felt like I understood the grandmother/grandchild relationship without actually having a similar relationship myself, so that's impressive! I've filled out some areas of improvement throughout, and it is totally up to you if you want to take them on board or not, I don't want to cramp your style!

All the best, what a great piece! Let me know if you have any questions or anything you'd like to add!

[hannahboardman98]

Hi, this is my creative writing story, I would just like to know if it is confusing or not?- in regards to tense.

[kiara_mag]

Hi, i was at he advanced lecture today and spoke to Elyse about Richard III and Looking For Richard. This is my practice essay, im not sure if its very good as this topic is quite difficult for me so any feed back would be greatly appreciated Its quite long to be written in an exam but im not sure what should be cut out. Also, my teacher told me to incorporate the textual, contextual and composer levels of meaning in the essay so the first paragraph is textual, the second contextual and the third composer.
Thankyou!!


(2012) Our interests in the parallels between King Richard III and Looking for Richard is further enhanced by consideration of their marked differences in textual form

Throughout a multitude of texts, the composer aims to escalate their meaning to their relevant audience, using appropriate textual form in order to make their intentions understandable. Both Shakespeare’s play King Richard III and Al Pacino’s docu-drama Looking for Richard demonstrate this as they embrace completely different forms as a means to effectively provide a critique on the human condition. Pacino aims to connect his 20th century audience to Shakespeare’s work through the exploration of timeless themes, as he employs more cinematic features opposed to the plays theatrical composition. This is evident as both composers’ depict the theme of deceit and the impacts it has within the characters of a text; the contextual influences on the portrayal of Richard, especially the Elizabethan chain of being and modern sympathies; as well as the composers intentions of their piece to pose questions to his audience. Hence, the differences in Shakespeare and Pacino’s textual form assist the audience to draw parallels between text, context and composer, to enhance the text’s meaning and interest for the fitting audience.

Shakespeare uses his textual form, through the use of language techniques and stage directions, to express Richard’s deceit in a way that his Elizabethan audience can relate to and hence send forth his underlying message of the complex human condition. This is evident through the depiction of Richard’s deceitful nature and the supreme authority he has over other characters in the play, presented in Act 1 Scene 2: “Exeunt [all but Richard] corpse “I’ll have her but I will not keep her long”. Here, the stage direction with Richard communicating directly to the audience reveals his inner thoughts and deceitful nature. Through this, the audience is aware of Richard’s plans to manipulate other characters in the play, and consequently begin to look forward to the plays upcoming events. Furthermore, the possessive connotations of the verb ‘have’ regarding Lady Anne, reflects Richard’s desire to exert extreme authority, and his deceptive nature as he is planning to ‘not keep her long’. With these literary techniques, Shakespeare presents his audience with a critique on human nature, causing them to appreciate his characterisation of Richard’s deceitful nature.
    Al Pacino also attempts to connect his contemporary audience to the play’s complexities, and embodies the theme of deceit throughout his documentary with various cinematic techniques. His use of cross cuts and interviews to inform the audience of his intentions highlights this, exemplified through his portrayal of the above mentioned lines. Instead of simply using literary techniques to express Richard’s plans to essentially use Lady Anne, Pacino combines the dialogue with interviews of Scholars who explain Richard’s objective. Through this, Pacino is suggesting that modern audiences require explanation from Scholars and actors in order to understand Richard’s communications. The cut to Frederick’s anger of Pacino’s decision to provide professional explanations portrays the controversy that this created and Pacino’s struggle to reappropriate Shakespeare’s play in a way that 20th century viewers can appreciate. Therefore, it is evident that Shakespeare and Pacino’s textual form is essential in conveying the theme of deceit so that parallels can be drawn and can be appreciated by the audience.

A texts form and the events that occur within it are highly influenced by the composer’s context, enhancing the texts multiple levels of meaning and the audience’s appreciation of the piece. Shakespeare demonstrates this in King Richard III as his choices are largely directed by his Elizabethan audience, seen through its foundational concept of the Elizabethan chain of being. This is highlighted through Richard’s villainy as a result of his deformity, a reflection of the Elizabethan providentialism and justice. It was often believed by an Elizabethan audience that one who has a deformity, in this case Richard’s hunchback, is automatically villainous. The double entendre “Therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, I am determined to prove a villain” demonstrates this as it suggests that Richard’s actions are not only caused by his self determination, but by God’s providential power over all. Further, the contrast of ‘lover’ and ‘villain’ display how Richard is confined by Elizabethan society as his deformity is the sole reason that he cannot engage in the same activities as others, and hence resorts to be a villain. Kimball supports this notion as he proposes that “Shakespeare has exaggerated Richard’s deformity in order to body forth dramatically, visually, metaphorically, the corruption of his mind”. By depicting the Elizabethan ideals, Shakespeare’s audience were able to understand the text and therefore appreciate its critique on human nature.
    Pacino’s context required him to reconstruct Richard III’s form and presentation as a means to exert the same meaning but in a way that is suitable for a contemporary audience. He uses film techniques opposed to Shakespeare’s exploitation of physical deformity to portray Richard’s villainy. This is because a contemporary audience is more inclined to sympathise with the physically disabled, and would not process this as paralleling with villainy. However, they do generally comprehend that dark colouring and lighting correspond with trouble. As a result, Pacino utilises dark costuming for Richard to accentuate his evil intentions and sharp lighting, revealing only half of his face to highlight his light and dark personality. In doing this, a 20th century audience is presented with Richard’s cunning personality and therefore the underlying message of human’s complex nature. Thus, Pacino uses the form of his documentary to depict Richard’s villainy in a way that his audience can understand so that their interests in Shakespeare’s work is enhanced.

Furthermore, Shakespeare and Pacino possess great authority in the creation of their texts and its form to express their beliefs and get their point across to the audience. Shakespeare achieves this through his play where he depicts the notion of good and evil to in turn provide a commentary on the human condition and pose questions to his audience. This is demonstrated as Shakespeare characterises Richard as the ‘vice’, as seen in Act III scene 1 “thus like the formal vice iniquity, I moralise two meanings with one word”. The connotations of iniquity emphasise Richard’s immoral nature, and therefore present the inhumanity that he possesses, a way in which Shakespeare explores the concept of what it means to be human. As Shakespeare continually depicts the vice throughout his play, and presents the lack of success that Richard achieves in his rise of power, he uses it as a means to reveal the foundational message of the consequences of evil. It is clear that Shakespeare uses his form to project his intended message.
    Pacino on he other hand, attempts to create a documentary in a way to publicise his message of what makes Shakespeare relevant to contemporary audiences. This is evident as he clearly states at the beginning of the documentary “its always been a dream of mine to communicate how I feel about Shakespeare to other people”. The use of interviews with New Yorkers, regarding their opinions on Shakespeare frames the purpose of the project, and their predominantly negative responses sets up for the difficulties that Pacino endures in reappropriating Shakespeare’s work. In addition, the structure of the documentary, with numerous cross cuts of discussions, interviews, rehearsals and performances allows viewers to experience these struggles. Evidently, the form of the text is vital in understanding the composers aims, enhancing the audiences interest in the parallels between Looking for Richard and Shakespeare’s Richard III.

Therefore, composers use the form of their text to convey its underlying message in a way that is understandable for the intended audience. Al Pacino emphasises this as he reappropriates Shakespeare’s play King Richard III, but in a way that can be understood and appreciated by a 20th century audience. This is demonstrated as both composers depict the same ideas including deceit, the contexts influence on Richard’s characterisation as well as the notion of good and evil; however Pacino employs more dramatic techniques opposed to Shakespeare’s literary style. Through this, the audience is able to draw parallels between the two texts, and have an enhanced understanding of them as a product of context.

[Ty510]

Heyy could you please check my AOS creative? I'm not sure if the recollection structure is a good structure choice, and I have been told that I tell rather than show and I'm not too sure how to fix it.
Thank you! 

---
Family Portrait

I came home from a long day of work at the hospital and am greeted by my excited children at the door. They run towards me in a giant flurry and my husband smiles at me from across the room. I smile back at him with the same amount of love I have had for him since we were first married. As I place my bags on the ground and kick my shoes off I continue to walk into the living room. It is there I notice my old family portrait up on the mantlepiece above the fireplace. I pick it up slowly as all the memories flood back to me.

The world was filled with a shimmery light that bathed everything in a soft glow. The world was a wondrous place. As we played in the park, the sound of other children’s laughter filled my ears and the colours of the playground were so vibrant, like nothing I have ever seen since. My young self swung from the monkey bars and slid down the slide, giggling with my older sister. Then fighting. Then giggling again. She wasn’t a teenager yet so she still had time to play silly games with me.

Our house was not extravagant but it was homely. Pink rooms decorated with posters of ponies and teddy bears strewn across all of our floors. Games of make-believe left in time; dolls mid-makeovers. My mother stayed home with me everyday. The whole house was available for long games of hide and seek and the table free for arts and crafts. She built my interest for words and numbers and the world around us. She was my superhero and she could save us girls from anything. No problem too big for he. Nothing in the world could take her away from our loving family.

But then it did.

She said she would be back soon. She promised to bring lollies back from the grocery store. An hour passed. Then another. My father was so worried he had already called ten times. He called us all into the room, gathered us into the car and we left to find her.

The road was closed.

A gruesome scene had played out across the road. A head-on accident caused by a drunken driver, the police told us. They came over onto the wrong side of the road going unbelievably over the speed limit. A teenager it was. A young person mixed together with terrible decisions.

They lived though. My mother did not.

They pronounced her dead at the scene. Although the ambulance came fast there was nothing they could do. She had her seatbelt on but the force of the accident threw her around too much. A series of unfortunate events that led to the final beat of her heart. Her final breath. With no final words for us. Our loving family was left with no closure. We had lost our bright light.

The funeral came and went. I was so young all I could do was miss her. My sister was distraught and my father kept a dark expression for the entire proceedings. He, most of all, was angry. This shouldn’t have happened and could have been so easily avoided.

Nobody prepares you for what loss feels like. How long-lasting it truly is.

As I continue to stare into the portrait it brings back all of the memories that have plagued me. My family never did recover. My father was angry for many years, and eventually found solace in the emptiness that alcohol brings. He left us in the care of our grandparents when we were still young and we never saw much of him. When he did he was too drunken to even notice us and was only visiting to try to get some money off of his parents. Eventually he just never came back. It wasn’t until we were much older that we were able to seek him out, but we probably shouldn’t have. Drugs and alcohol turns you into a completely different person. Attempts at rehab were fruitless and eventually we gave up on him him. He never tried to bring us back into his life. I think we were too much of a reminder to him of what he was trying to forget so hard. We were constant reminders of the woman that he had lost so cruelly.

My sister though was left scarred; pictures of her unsmiling face adorn my mantelpiece. She tore through school and life with and angry and battered soul and allowed everybody to feel it. Hospital visits and suicide attempts paint her past. But she continued to always be there for me. She was incomplete when our mother died and was torn was our father abandoned us, but we loved each other. We continued on through each other and we would not let each other go. I could not count on both hands how hard it was to try to keep her in this world, but eventually she was able to move on, if only slightly. She found a meaning for life somewhere inside of herself and that was what she needed to find the strength to get some help, some education, a job and a purpose.

For myself, the world has been bleak and grey ever since. The world lost it’s lustre and it’s beauty and it’s purity. I was left with a loss of innocence and a forced maturity. I am hurt. I feel such immense pain everyday but I haved found people who help. The doctors label me with depression and anxiety but it’s not permanent. Although I have lived this way for many years, I have found someone to love and have since created a family to cherish. I have realised that we humans cannot change the direction of time. I cannot bring back what I have lost but I can make a change now. I can look forward into the new wonders I can find in life. I have found now that little bits of colour have started to come back now. As I look up above the mantelpiece I see our perfect wedding photo hung neatly on the wall. The sky has begun to shine once more every now and again. My children drag on my legs to play and I am pulled back into reality.

It is not that bad anymore.

[sarah.murphy]

Hi, can you please read over my creative writing peace and let me know on areas to improve on?
Thanks


Peace rings all around the house, its 10pm and finally I can head to my room without being asked to do anything. The floorboards screech as I move to my room. Finally shutting the door and I am done for the day. Looking down, all that can be seen is evidence from the adventures I had today with my little brothers. Little bit of mashed potato, some apple pure and some all nutritious baby formula.
Don’t be mistaken, I love them to bits but at times they can be quite a handful, especially during the absence of mum. Mum has been doing her own thing since the divorce, meeting Trevor was a highlight. 

Trevor and mum have shared 2 valentine’s days together, and looking at it, there is many more to come. Trevor wears a suit and tie everyday to work, and he is always home at 5:02pm for dinner.  This was hard to comprehend at first, Dad was never like this, but overtime I liked the idea that we could all sit and enjoy each other’s company every day.

Last time I saw Dad, was the last time mum saw Dad; saying goodbye and leaving him. He didn’t want to be a family man, he only wanted to sleep and eat all day. He left us alone too many times to count on our hands and toes, that’s when mum cut it, that was enough for her.

An interruption of a smash takes me away from my thoughts; it has come from Mum and Trevor’s room. With an increasing heartbeat, I put a shirt on and run down the hallway. Mum’s head is bleeding; Trevor is standing on the other side of the bed, unaware of anything. I slam open the bathroom door, Trevor jumps, I grab some towels and lift mum up clearing up the mess. Mum starts to react, positioning her to lay down comfortably, she says, “call your father”. Trevor hasn’t moved, I leave the room to lock the room of the boys. By the time I get back to Mum’s room, Dad has already left.

Waiting for Dad felt like a lifetime, mum was more aware now, the complete opposite of Trevor, who did not move. Dad finally came in, had happened, he made sure mum was alright and then left the room. I changed the towels mum was using when Dad walked back him, he informed us the police were on their way. That is when Trevor went wide eyed.

He started pacing around the room, never around anyone, just in his own bubble. No one asked, they just let him do whatever. Dad was helping mum, a sight that was new to me. He changed her towels made her comfortable even got her some water. It was nice to see. Snapped back into reality, I realised I haven’t check on my bros, there still was silence coming from that part of the house, and thank god that they are still asleep. Making sure I don’t wake them up I go back to the other room.

Trevor returns to his statute state when the police walk in, they look around. Then they lay eyes on Trevor. The all look intently at each other for a moment, mum Dad and I are the only ones in the room that have no idea what is happening. The officers inspect the glass, small talk goes around of an “aggravated assault” and “second offence”. Lost in everything else around me, I sit by my mum and hold her hand. Dad leaves for a few minutes, returning to say that an ambulance is on its way, and that we should leave for the night.
Walking away from mum hurts the most, as I am now hopeless, she has to lay there and wait for better help. Shoving my clothes into a bag has never felt better. Walking into the boys room, they are both still asleep, so I tip toe around grabbing their necessities. Putting them in the stroller was the hardest part,  failing at trying not to wake them up. Thank God there was no screaming or tantrums.

Strolling back to mum’s room, Trevor has his hands locked behind his back. I can faintly hear the officer’s talking to Dad, “she should consider herself lucky this time”.  My head is spinning over and over, “this time”, are they saying that Trevor has done this before. It just isn’t like him, we all thought he was better than Dad ever was, obviously not.

Dad taps my arm, we start walking out of the place I once called home. Questioning if we would ever come back.

[Sahar8642]

Hey,
can you please read through my creative and advise me one what i should add or subtract?
Thank You so much for your time!

Noise and commotion. Relatives constantly talking over the top of each other. The perpetual smell of cinnamon wafting through the air.

They were the only memories I had of Pakistan. My parents always tried to cast my mind back to my childhood in Karachi – Sundays at the market, guests always at the house and overnight train rides to see my grandparents in Quetta. When I saw my father’s eyes welling up in nostalgia or my mother sighing at old photos I tried so hard to remember for them. But I never could. It always gnawed away at me. Why couldn’t they just accept that we weren’t there anymore?

Now, gazing out the car window at the green pastures dotted with bright-coloured farmhouses, I couldn’t picture a place any different. I had no desire to either. The teenage years of my life defined me, and they were spent here, the first six years seemed like just a broken dream.
When we arrived at school I climbed out and watched as the car pulled away, gradually becoming smaller until it was no more than a speck.
***
The other students treated me like a novelty. Wherever I walked in the school I had at least ten pairs of uniform blue or green eyes following me, watching with interest. The unimaginable horror when forced to speak out was only surpassed by the teasing that would ensue. Suffice to say, my efforts to conceal my accent failed. Miserably. My best friend, Lucy, caught the bus to school and played sport on the weekends; I was taken to school by both parents and spent Sundays driving to our closest Mosque over an hour away.

At lunchtime, I swapped my hot chickpea stew for Lucy’s perfectly dressed Caesar salad – it was our daily ritual.

“You always have the best food, Sabine.” I didn’t respond. “What’s up? You haven’t been yourself all day.”

“It’s just – my parents,” I hesitated. “They live in such an enclosed bubble, and they’re trying so hard to hold me there too. My father thinks I’m ashamed of being ethnic. God, I hate that word so much. Ethnic.”

“That’s not entirely untrue though, is it? Your being ashamed, I mean?” Lucy asked gently. Her amber eyes had a softness to them. She tried to understand, but without ever visiting the land of too many spices and too few clean toilets, that was an impossibility.

I looked out at the school courts, where most of our class was playing football.

“I guess not.”
***
When I came into the kitchen that night, my father was sitting at the head of the table staring into an ancient laptop; face wrinkled in concentration- A rare occurrence. As I helped my mother set the table for lentil lamb soup, he suddenly exclaimed, “That’s it! Sanah, it is perfect. This flight goes directly to Karachi. Then she can take the train to Quetta like we always used to...” he trailed off when he saw my expression.

“We are not moving back to Pakistan. You don’t have to worry,” he said bitterly.

The next hour was spent with both parents interchangeably explaining their profound plans for me to spend summer with my grandparents.
After their deliberation, my parents looked at me expectedly while I just sat there… dumbfounded. “You can’t...you can’t do that. I...I don’t want to go,” I managed to croak out. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my home for that long. I didn’t understand their twisted reasoning. I knew my grandparents would take one look at me and shake their heads at how “Westernised” I’d become. I didn’t want to be “shipped off,” as the kids from school would undoubtedly describe it.

My mother interrupted my thoughts. “Sabine, please. Just do one thing for this family; that is all we ask. You haven’t the slightest idea how much your grandparents miss you and want to see you,” her voice wavered as she spoke.

My heart and mind resisted with all their might, but I found myself nodding in defeat.
***
It was my first time on a plane since we had moved to Australia ten years before. It was strange to see what I call home to shrink into an insignificant speck. I imagined my parents standing below in our backyard pointing up at the sky. I wished one of them could be in my place right now.

After a grueling flight and train journey, I came to face my grandparents at the Quetta railway station. The gnawing in my stomach wouldn’t halt – not knowing what to say, and wondering whether they would even recognise me. But I needn’t have worried, as they spotted me immediately and I was in their embrace within a matter of seconds. “Finally.” My grandmother whispered through tears. “Finally you’re here.” As we held each other, I was struck by an overwhelming sense of familiarity, almost like arriving home at night after a difficult day. They both looked exactly like their photo on the mantelpiece in our living room.

On my first day in Pakistan, the three of us spent half the night talking, and this continued almost every day afterwards.  My grandparents wanted to hear every detail about my life, and after about a week I began to ask them questions too.

On my last night we went to an Eid Festival. As I put on my jeans, my grandmother looked at me in horror.

“Sabine, we are going to celebrate Eid. You must wear this,” she handed me a deep blue sari. “Haven’t your parents told you about Eid?”

I looked at the ground sheepishly. “They probably have, so many times. I mustn’t have been listening.”   

Walking through the night-lit streets of Eid Festival, I realised that I had never seen so much colour in my life. Billowing yellow paper lanterns hung across gnarled oak branches, lighting up the deepest alcoves of the trees. The women wore flowing brightly coloured, beaded saris, their arms covered in intricate henna patterns; the men wore lose linen blouses and embellished drawstring pants.

My grandfather walked beside me.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. I never thought I’d admit it, but I wanted more than anything to stay for longer. The six weeks had passed in a blur and I had only just begun to reach some level of understanding.
***
Fruit and vegetable bazaars pulsating with the rhythms of everyday life. Endless hues of blue, green, red and gold. My grandparents’ modest but beautiful house nestled between others of its kind. Home.

They were only a fraction of the images I had of Pakistan. My mind overflowed with knowledge, memories and self-recognition. Next time my parents reminisced about our life in Pakistan, I wouldn’t turn my head away in discomfort. Instead, I would add to their recollections of the exuberant place. I would add photos to our albums, stories to the dinner table conversations and regard my parents with admiration; never shame.

[jamonwindeyer]

Hi everyone!! Elyse and I will be resuming marking soon after the current HSC Trial Lecture series is complete, expect a bit of a backlog for a few days while we catch up, thanks heaps for your patience!!

Also remember that to get a Creative marked, you must have 5 posts on ATAR Notes minimum!! Read the essay marking guidelines/rules in my description for more details, some of you will need a few more posts to qualify!! 

[WLalex]

Heyy could you please check my AOS creative? I'm not sure if the recollection structure is a good structure choice, and I have been told that I tell rather than show and I'm not too sure how to fix it.
Thank you! 

---
Family Portrait

I came home from a long day of work at the hospital and am greeted by my excited children at the door. They run towards me in a giant flurry and my husband smiles at me from across the room. I smile back at him with the same amount of love I have had for him since we were first married. As I place my bags on the ground and kick my shoes off I continue to walk into the living room. It is there I notice my old family portrait up on the mantlepiece above the fireplace. I pick it up slowly as all the memories flood back to me.

The world was filled with a shimmery light that bathed everything in a soft glow. The world was a wondrous place. As we played in the park, the sound of other children’s laughter filled my ears and the colours of the playground were so vibrant, like nothing I have ever seen since. My young self swung from the monkey bars and slid down the slide, giggling with my older sister. Then fighting. Then giggling again. She wasn’t a teenager yet so she still had time to play silly games with me.

Our house was not extravagant but it was homely. Pink rooms decorated with posters of ponies and teddy bears strewn across all of our floors. Games of make-believe left in time; dolls mid-makeovers. My mother stayed home with me everyday. The whole house was available for long games of hide and seek and the table free for arts and crafts. She built my interest for words and numbers and the world around us. She was my superhero and she could save us girls from anything. No problem too big for he. Nothing in the world could take her away from our loving family.

But then it did.

She said she would be back soon. She promised to bring lollies back from the grocery store. An hour passed. Then another. My father was so worried he had already called ten times. He called us all into the room, gathered us into the car and we left to find her.

The road was closed.

A gruesome scene had played out across the road. A head-on accident caused by a drunken driver, the police told us. They came over onto the wrong side of the road going unbelievably over the speed limit. A teenager it was. A young person mixed together with terrible decisions.

They lived though. My mother did not.

They pronounced her dead at the scene. Although the ambulance came fast there was nothing they could do. She had her seatbelt on but the force of the accident threw her around too much. A series of unfortunate events that led to the final beat of her heart. Her final breath. With no final words for us. Our loving family was left with no closure. We had lost our bright light.

The funeral came and went. I was so young all I could do was miss her. My sister was distraught and my father kept a dark expression for the entire proceedings. He, most of all, was angry. This shouldn’t have happened and could have been so easily avoided.

Nobody prepares you for what loss feels like. How long-lasting it truly is.

As I continue to stare into the portrait it brings back all of the memories that have plagued me. My family never did recover. My father was angry for many years, and eventually found solace in the emptiness that alcohol brings. He left us in the care of our grandparents when we were still young and we never saw much of him. When he did he was too drunken to even notice us and was only visiting to try to get some money off of his parents. Eventually he just never came back. It wasn’t until we were much older that we were able to seek him out, but we probably shouldn’t have. Drugs and alcohol turns you into a completely different person. Attempts at rehab were fruitless and eventually we gave up on him him. He never tried to bring us back into his life. I think we were too much of a reminder to him of what he was trying to forget so hard. We were constant reminders of the woman that he had lost so cruelly.

My sister though was left scarred; pictures of her unsmiling face adorn my mantelpiece. She tore through school and life with and angry and battered soul and allowed everybody to feel it. Hospital visits and suicide attempts paint her past. But she continued to always be there for me. She was incomplete when our mother died and was torn was our father abandoned us, but we loved each other. We continued on through each other and we would not let each other go. I could not count on both hands how hard it was to try to keep her in this world, but eventually she was able to move on, if only slightly. She found a meaning for life somewhere inside of herself and that was what she needed to find the strength to get some help, some education, a job and a purpose.

For myself, the world has been bleak and grey ever since. The world lost it’s lustre and it’s beauty and it’s purity. I was left with a loss of innocence and a forced maturity. I am hurt. I feel such immense pain everyday but I haved found people who help. The doctors label me with depression and anxiety but it’s not permanent. Although I have lived this way for many years, I have found someone to love and have since created a family to cherish. I have realised that we humans cannot change the direction of time. I cannot bring back what I have lost but I can make a change now. I can look forward into the new wonders I can find in life. I have found now that little bits of colour have started to come back now. As I look up above the mantelpiece I see our perfect wedding photo hung neatly on the wall. The sky has begun to shine once more every now and again. My children drag on my legs to play and I am pulled back into reality.

It is not that bad anymore.

Hey Ty, thought i could help you out a bit here regards to showing not telling...ill do a small snippet to hopefully illustrate, my writing is in bold...

I came home from a long day of work at the hospital try alluding to a hospital without actually saying a hospital, maybe describe a patient or the sterilising walls?? - show where you have been rather than explicitly telling the reader and am to improve sophistication?syntax of your writing you should avoid using 'and am'...read it out loud, sounds bit funny right? greeted by my excited children at the door. how could you show this? maybe you felt the vibrations under your feet from them stampeding down the hallway? They run towards me in a giant flurry and my husband smiles at me from across the room. I smile back at him with the same amount of love I have had for him since we were first married. I reciprocate, the feeling of butterflies has never failed to cease...show that their love is still alive rather than telling

Hope this is helpful! Let me know

Alex

[ssarahj]

Heyy could you please check my AOS creative? I'm not sure if the recollection structure is a good structure choice, and I have been told that I tell rather than show and I'm not too sure how to fix it.
Thank you! 

Just to add onto WLAlex's idea of showing instead of telling:

Try to separate the flashback (the memories) from the 'present moment' of your story, this might mean adding **** between the 1st and 2nd paragraphs to show there's a change in time and/or place.
Also when you're writing the flashback, you could possibly try to bring the reader into the story more by using dialogue and give more sensory imagery about whats going on in (at the car accident, the funeral etc.) instead of just recounting the facts of what happened. For example, instead of "My father was angry for many years", really delve deeper into describing the alcoholism and the fact that he left his children, the anger should be implied so the reader can deduce that themselves.
Right now your story has strong bones it just needs some fleshing out to make the reader feel invested in your character's life and actually care about the trauma they've been through.
Understand (or at least pretend  ) that your marker/teacher is quite smart and can figure out your story without you having to spell everything out for them. The beauty of creative writing is giving your reader just enough information to understand the story but letting them fill in the gaps with their own feelings and experiences.
I'm sure Elyse or Jamon will get onto marking your piece soon once the lectures are over so sit tight if we haven't given you enough feedback yet....

Sarah