Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[anotherworld2b]

that's okay
I showed my teacher what I did and she didn't like it... again. I am trying to write it again... XO
Can I request feedback on the newest version? I don't want to waste your time on reading the narrative I posted a few days ago with the knowledge that is not what my teacher wants.

She wants me to delve more into the thoughts of the character. She wants me write as if ' its a telephone conversation' letting the reader guess what is happening by implying what is happening? I am not sure how to do this without recounting or simply describing the settings/surroundings. Is there a technique?

I would like to explore the idea of domestic violence but I'm not sure how to advance further. This is all I have right now.

Strips of airy cotton candy float slowly above. Slow and steady like an old turtle. Like that fable. What is called again? The tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race. The ball of light held high in the sky shined blindly bright. On the left there is no car. On the right there is no car. No danger. It’s safe to cross when the little man turns green. Or was it red? Red like Jack’s dad face when he is angry. Pale white like Jack’s mum face when she is scared.

A tall person stands in the distance. Light reflects off his shiny, tan head. Maybe if I put a egg on it’ll sizzle and cook. A sunnyside up egg. Mum said eggs must be cooked or you’ll get samon... ella? His face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. Numerous wrinkles littered his face like a scrunched up ball of paper. If it rained at this moment the indents from the wrinkles can store water in all the little trenches in his face. He wouldn’t have to pay for water then.

Who am I to judge the way the white, hairy caterpillar on his lip quivers in tune to the movement of his mouth? Or the way thin trails of saliva streams down like little rivers dripping down onto the ground as if he is a feral dog. The feeling of disgust brews greater in intensity. Why am I so wicked? Why does he seem so revolting to me?

Hey anotherworld - I haven't forgotten you! I'll give you feedback on this in the next 24 hours. Sorry for the delay!

[elysepopplewell]

that's okay
I showed my teacher what I did and she didn't like it... again. I am trying to write it again... XO
Can I request feedback on the newest version? I don't want to waste your time on reading the narrative I posted a few days ago with the knowledge that is not what my teacher wants.

She wants me to delve more into the thoughts of the character. She wants me write as if ' its a telephone conversation' letting the reader guess what is happening by implying what is happening? I am not sure how to do this without recounting or simply describing the settings/surroundings. Is there a technique?

I would like to explore the idea of domestic violence but I'm not sure how to advance further. This is all I have right now.

Strips of airy cotton candy float slowly above. Slow and steady like an old turtle. Like that fable. What is called again? The tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race. The ball of light held high in the sky shined blindly bright. On the left there is no car. On the right there is no car. No danger. It’s safe to cross when the little man turns green. Or was it red? Red like Jack’s dad face when he is angry. Pale white like Jack’s mum face when she is scared.

A tall person stands in the distance. Light reflects off his shiny, tan head. Maybe if I put a egg on it’ll sizzle and cook. A sunnyside up egg. Mum said eggs must be cooked or you’ll get samon... ella? His face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. Numerous wrinkles littered his face like a scrunched up ball of paper. If it rained at this moment the indents from the wrinkles can store water in all the little trenches in his face. He wouldn’t have to pay for water then.

Who am I to judge the way the white, hairy caterpillar on his lip quivers in tune to the movement of his mouth? Or the way thin trails of saliva streams down like little rivers dripping down onto the ground as if he is a feral dog. The feeling of disgust brews greater in intensity. Why am I so wicked? Why does he seem so revolting to me?

Hey there! I don't really know what your teacher means by the telephone call idea? Does she mean that you only hear half of the story?

What you've written there is just excellent...your best work yet. You've paired the childish thoughts with the serious scenario in a way that is believable for the voice of the child. Absolutely we can do feedback on the newest version, just post it up and I'll respond

[bdgonz]

Hi there! If possible could you have a read of my creative piece. It is based on a Nigerian short story called 'Cell One' from the collection of short stories 'The Thing Around Your Neck'. My story is based on an old man who has been locked away in a horrific prison as a result of his sons crimes (the police could not find his son, so they locked him up instead). Ultimately, my piece aims to capture how a corrupt society can push people to there limits and cause disloyalty and desperation to be immensely prevalent. Any general feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Here is the piece! (Note: Any words in itallics are the language 'Igbo, a Nigerian language)

Yekenni

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

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

You stink. You have not enough money for an adequate meal, for any form of cleanliness, and you are desperate. Your own aroma makes you want to gag more than the smell of the sickly prison. You know that you are ill, and if you remain in prison much longer, you will die. Your shaking in your sleep only makes you feel weak, vulnerable, like chaos has personally chosen you to victimise. All the inmates are escorted out of the cell whilst it is being cleaned, and you can’t help to desire for them to splash that toxic, detergent over your body. Anything to be somewhat clean. When they finish cleaning you scurry into the cell, rip of your tattered shirt and rub your gentle back on the sickly smelling floors. It is bliss to have something other than grime over your body. The guards do not attempt to hide their laughter.
‘Take off the rest of your clothes oluku’
You obey. Another guard drags you by the arm and forces you to parade the corridor. They laugh at your wrinkly skin, your subtle hunch, your delicate whimper, and your sagging penis. This time, you let the tears fall. The only one not laughing is the pretty boy. He looks at you, and his gentle, compassionate stare makes you cry even more. He is someone that wants to help you, the only one that wants to help you. As this flutters through your mind, you hear the laughter grow louder.
‘Did your criminal of a son know papa’s penis was so shriveled? Ay?’
You stop your tears, carefully cover your private region and walk back into the cell. Guards stifle giggles.

The pretty boy was gone. He was gone before you arose from your uncomfortable position on the floor this morning. You did not know the boy, but he made you feel like somebody cared, like there was somebody watching over you. Now you are more alone, more vulnerable, closer to the end. You further touch your gentle skin, peeling of the dried blood. Subsequently, you wince as you gaze at the welts along your arm. The longer you look, the more painful they become.
‘Hey you, ghọgbuoI’ a guard barks.
You know he is talking to you.
‘Your thiefing son has been found, you’re out’.
You do not speak. You try not to react but a small smile dances across your face. As you walk through the dirty corridor you are unsure about how to feel. Your son is captured, it is very probable that he will die in prison. But now you will live. You will be clean, you will be in your own room, you will be with your wife, you will be safe. You love Yekenni, but you also love yourself.

[anotherworld2b]

Yes I believe she means explaining half of the story without stating what is happening leaving the reader to make their own conclusion
thank you for your help I really appreciate it 

Hey there! I don't really know what your teacher means by the telephone call idea? Does she mean that you only hear half of the story?

What you've written there is just excellent...your best work yet. You've paired the childish thoughts with the serious scenario in a way that is believable for the voice of the child. Absolutely we can do feedback on the newest version, just post it up and I'll respond

[anotherworld2b]

My teacher changed this section of the criteria: Quality of ideas explored (issues raised, themes developed, meanings made possible)-the response: Explores thought-provoking, complex and challenging ideas                                                                     
 
To be worth 12 marks. I was hoping to get help in how to explore more complex ideas.I was hoping to also get feedback on my Expression, Use of narrative point of view and Use of literal and metaphorical language points for the allocation of marks in the criteria table I have included below.


[/quote]

[elysepopplewell]

Hi there! If possible could you have a read of my creative piece. It is based on a Nigerian short story called 'Cell One' from the collection of short stories 'The Thing Around Your Neck'. My story is based on an old man who has been locked away in a horrific prison as a result of his sons crimes (the police could not find his son, so they locked him up instead). Ultimately, my piece aims to capture how a corrupt society can push people to there limits and cause disloyalty and desperation to be immensely prevalent. Any general feedback would be greatly appreciated!

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

Spoiler

Yekenni

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[elysepopplewell]

My teacher changed this section of the criteria: Quality of ideas explored (issues raised, themes developed, meanings made possible)-the response: Explores thought-provoking, complex and challenging ideas                                                                     
 
To be worth 12 marks. I was hoping to get help in how to explore more complex ideas.I was hoping to also get feedback on my Expression, Use of narrative point of view and Use of literal and metaphorical language points for the allocation of marks in the criteria table I have included below.

Hey Anotherworld! What I'll do is comment on the story and the writing specifically in bold font in the spoiler, then I'll address the criteria at the end outside the spoiler

Spoiler

Strips of airy cotton candy float slowly above. Slow and steady like an old turtle. Like that fable. What is called again? The tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race. But now coming first is all that matters. If you are first you are the best. Second means nothing in the survival of the fittest.The ball of light held high in the sky shined blindingly bright. On the left there is no car. On the right there is no car. No danger. It’s safe to cross when the little man turns green. Or was it red? Red like Jack’s dad face when he is angry. Pale white like Jack’s mum face when she is scared.

A tall person stands in the distance. Light reflects off his shiny, tan head. Maybe if I put a egg on it’ll sizzle and cook. A sunnyside up egg. Mum said eggs must be cooked or you’ll get samon... ella? His face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. Numerous wrinkles littered his face like a scrunched up ball of paper. If it rained at this moment the indents from the wrinkles can store water in all the little trenches in his face. He wouldn’t have to pay for water then !

Who am I to judge the way the white, hairy caterpillar on his lip quivers in tune to the violent movement of his mouth? Or the way thin trails of saliva streams down like little rivers dripping down onto the ground as if he is a feral dog. The feeling of disgust brews greater in intensity. Why am I so wicked? Why does he seem so revolting to me? Maybe it's the way black doodles wraps around his arms and neck like a python; maybe it's the way he trudges along the path so hard it leaves black oily imprints; maybe it's the way he lost his mind.

A flash of blue flies onto a scrawny branch of a large tree. A vibrant shade of blue so beautiful you could drown in it endlessly; a never ending sea of blue in pictures and magazines brought to life. I inhale. Smells like a... eucalyptus tree?. Rumours travel fast once it gets in the wind. A little birdie once told me, through the incoherent incessant twittering in the eaves. As long as there is suspicion there will be rumours.

Pitiful. Vulnerable. Abused. A big, purple and green bruise on her cheek contrasts against pale skin. Feeble attempts at hiding it accentuates its prominence. She is bad at this game of hide and seek. All expressions are shown on her face. The good. The bad. The fear.
****
Why am I so wicked? Why I do I continue to watch something I despise? Like a car accident attention is garnered even though we are taught not to stare. Useless bystanders watch a lengthy battle of bickering, arguments and fights. In times of crisis, in times of danger importance is placed on the safety of one person; yourself. Why am I a coward?

Dandelions grows everywhere in the grass. Dandelion I like that word. I don't know this adds much to the work.Growing through the cracks in the path there are even bigger than before. Oh! There is blue bird. Maybe its looking for worms. Poor worm. It will get eaten and turned into poop. The worm’s family won’t be able to see him because he will be a poop. No one likes poop. It smells. An eternal cycle.

Love is eternal. Or is it?

Love can be fleeting. There are moments in the story where I think "Is this consistent with the voice of the child?" but I think this bit here is really, inconsistent. Fleeting isn't a word children would know, but also, "love can be fleeting" is unlikely a concept they'd understand. Brief like a cool breeze on a summer’s day. Is it worth the pain, betrayal and loss? Like the tv reality show ‘Married at first sight’ love is portrayed as a simple matter.Divorce is just as simple you just sign a paper with a fancy swirl and it’s done. Falling in love is just as easy as falling out of love; just like changing clothes you can change who you love.

But now only tiny spot lights from the sun could peer through the dense heavy clouds onto the cold, uneven pavement. A bustle of sounds and clammer echo. Turning over, children run for cover. Safety? Only for now. Water droplets began to drizzle down from the sky. Before long, the drizzle of droplets started to fall in heavy drops. I inhale. The smell of the earthy soil permeates in the air. Looking up at the sky, several drops of rain fell on my face. I hope it keeps raining.

I think we've moved away from your original plan about Jack's parents a bit too much towards the end. There are times when the vocabulary suggests more than what I think is reasonable for a child, in both language and concepts. Where I put **** marks the place in the story where I think we stop uncovering deep issues and we get side tracked. I want to hear more about Jack's parents. And why does this child see Jack's parents so much? Perhaps the protagonist should be hanging out with Jack some more, maybe put it in there that it's what the two of them do each day after school because they're neighbours, perhaps mark the 5pm time when your mum calls you to come home, and it happens to coincide with Jack's dad coming home. This adds the complexity of your mum knowing about it, but not actively doing anything (often a reality with DV). Perhaps you could notice little moments in Jack where his temper would emulate his father's, perhaps he takes it out on an action figure you're playing with. To me, the end of the story from **** onwards loses it's direction, which is so strong at the start.

In fact, the writing at the start is really wonderful, I enjoyed reading it a lot. But, I think to address that criteria of exploring complex ideas, we need to address some smaller ideas that put the dots together, like I've suggested above.

In terms of narrative point of view, there are inconsistencies which I think need to be addressed to obtain full marks in this section. I think that adjusting the plot will cause the character to ponder in a less sophisticated way, but rather just respond to the realities they face (Eg, saying less things about fleeting love, saying more things about noticing Jack's temper, or the way Jack's mum runs around cleaning at 4:30pm).

The use of literal and metaphorical language is difficult to judge, it's not something I'm using to qualifying for a HSC response. But, it does make me think that we could extend the piece more with a metaphor. So, perhaps, we could put this in the time frame of the last week at school before Summer holidays, and as the school week ends, so does Jack's happiness as he knows he's going away on an unhappy family trip. Or, it could take a more sinister turn, by being the school holidays, and as the holidays end, so does the appearance of Jack's mum. Kind of adding a childish time frame to symbolise a serious turn in the story might be a way of adding a metaphor. ORRRR, we could be a lot more simple but still effective, by saying that cotton candy filled the sky at the beginning, but at the end, something dark fills the sky, whatever you'd like. This will create that mirrored effect. In fact, I'd ignore the timezone thing above and go for this idea (but I'll leave it there in case it prompts something for you). Something simple like this reflects the events of the story in a metaphorical way so that you definitely tick that box.

[Kirri Rule]

Hi i was wondering if you could look at my story please and explain what my teacher meant by "The setting is vivid but less exaggerated with adjectives. The dual narration is interesting and works really well. There is even more you could do with this too, particularly towards the end of the story. For example, speed up the shifts between characters. I'm really keen to work on tightening the ending and sharpening the sentence length." Thank you so much !

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

[jamonwindeyer]

Hi i was wondering if you could look at my story please and explain what my teacher meant by "The setting is vivid but less exaggerated with adjectives. The dual narration is interesting and works really well. There is even more you could do with this too, particularly towards the end of the story. For example, speed up the shifts between characters. I'm really keen to work on tightening the ending and sharpening the sentence length." Thank you so much !

Hey Kirri! Thanks for posting your Creative - You need 15 posts on ATAR Notes per piece to get detailed feedback from one of our markers - Just to make sure the service doesn't get too clogged. However, I've had a skim, let me quickly try and explain what I view those comments to mean (that said, you should just ask them to make sure you take the right things from the feedback! Always best to clarify with your teachers if you are ever unsure)

"The setting is vivid but less exaggerated with adjectives." - Hmm, I THINK this is suggesting that you've over-used your adjectives in the first paragraph a little? In my opinion, it's always better to pick a few, powerful adjectives than use a lot of inconsequential ones.

"The dual narration is interesting and works really well."[/b] - Swapping between the two points of view is a great feature (I agree!) and something you should keep!

"There is even more you could do with this too, particularly towards the end of the story. For example, speed up the shifts between characters." - Basically, just keep trying new ideas! That last bit is suggesting that you start to make the character sections smaller towards the end, perhaps moving towards even just a single sentence per character with rapid switches between the two. This sets a pace and builds up a sense of climax.

"I'm really keen to work on tightening the ending and sharpening the sentence length." - Just means that the ending could be a little bit better - Perhaps conceptually, perhaps in how it is written, just wrapping the story up in a more complete and powerful way. Sentence length refers to using the size of your sentences as a tool to emphasise certain points (you've got lots of long ones).

If I write a really long winded sentence, extrapolate on every possible outcome, investigate every possible turning point in this conundrum that we face, then naturally you start to flow with the sentence and everything becomes nice and rhythmic. Boom. Now there's impact.

See that contrast? I mean this isn't actually DOING anything so it's a bad example, but the sentence length being altered adds some emphasis and power to the shorter sentences, and some eloquence to the longer ones. It is a powerful tool

Let us know when you reach the 15 post threshold and we'll be happy to give you some more complete feedback!

[anotherworld2b]

Thank you for your help
I have a quick question if I post my newest version of my narrative would it be possible to get some quick feedback on the overall flow before tomorrow?

Hey Anotherworld! What I'll do is comment on the story and the writing specifically in bold font in the spoiler, then I'll address the criteria at the end outside the spoiler

Spoiler

Strips of airy cotton candy float slowly above. Slow and steady like an old turtle. Like that fable. What is called again? The tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race. But now coming first is all that matters. If you are first you are the best. Second means nothing in the survival of the fittest.The ball of light held high in the sky shined blindingly bright. On the left there is no car. On the right there is no car. No danger. It’s safe to cross when the little man turns green. Or was it red? Red like Jack’s dad face when he is angry. Pale white like Jack’s mum face when she is scared.

A tall person stands in the distance. Light reflects off his shiny, tan head. Maybe if I put a egg on it’ll sizzle and cook. A sunnyside up egg. Mum said eggs must be cooked or you’ll get samon... ella? His face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. Numerous wrinkles littered his face like a scrunched up ball of paper. If it rained at this moment the indents from the wrinkles can store water in all the little trenches in his face. He wouldn’t have to pay for water then !

Who am I to judge the way the white, hairy caterpillar on his lip quivers in tune to the violent movement of his mouth? Or the way thin trails of saliva streams down like little rivers dripping down onto the ground as if he is a feral dog. The feeling of disgust brews greater in intensity. Why am I so wicked? Why does he seem so revolting to me? Maybe it's the way black doodles wraps around his arms and neck like a python; maybe it's the way he trudges along the path so hard it leaves black oily imprints; maybe it's the way he lost his mind.

A flash of blue flies onto a scrawny branch of a large tree. A vibrant shade of blue so beautiful you could drown in it endlessly; a never ending sea of blue in pictures and magazines brought to life. I inhale. Smells like a... eucalyptus tree?. Rumours travel fast once it gets in the wind. A little birdie once told me, through the incoherent incessant twittering in the eaves. As long as there is suspicion there will be rumours.

Pitiful. Vulnerable. Abused. A big, purple and green bruise on her cheek contrasts against pale skin. Feeble attempts at hiding it accentuates its prominence. She is bad at this game of hide and seek. All expressions are shown on her face. The good. The bad. The fear.
****
Why am I so wicked? Why I do I continue to watch something I despise? Like a car accident attention is garnered even though we are taught not to stare. Useless bystanders watch a lengthy battle of bickering, arguments and fights. In times of crisis, in times of danger importance is placed on the safety of one person; yourself. Why am I a coward?

Dandelions grows everywhere in the grass. Dandelion I like that word. I don't know this adds much to the work.Growing through the cracks in the path there are even bigger than before. Oh! There is blue bird. Maybe its looking for worms. Poor worm. It will get eaten and turned into poop. The worm’s family won’t be able to see him because he will be a poop. No one likes poop. It smells. An eternal cycle.

Love is eternal. Or is it?

Love can be fleeting. There are moments in the story where I think "Is this consistent with the voice of the child?" but I think this bit here is really, inconsistent. Fleeting isn't a word children would know, but also, "love can be fleeting" is unlikely a concept they'd understand. Brief like a cool breeze on a summer’s day. Is it worth the pain, betrayal and loss? Like the tv reality show ‘Married at first sight’ love is portrayed as a simple matter.Divorce is just as simple you just sign a paper with a fancy swirl and it’s done. Falling in love is just as easy as falling out of love; just like changing clothes you can change who you love.

But now only tiny spot lights from the sun could peer through the dense heavy clouds onto the cold, uneven pavement. A bustle of sounds and clammer echo. Turning over, children run for cover. Safety? Only for now. Water droplets began to drizzle down from the sky. Before long, the drizzle of droplets started to fall in heavy drops. I inhale. The smell of the earthy soil permeates in the air. Looking up at the sky, several drops of rain fell on my face. I hope it keeps raining.

I think we've moved away from your original plan about Jack's parents a bit too much towards the end. There are times when the vocabulary suggests more than what I think is reasonable for a child, in both language and concepts. Where I put **** marks the place in the story where I think we stop uncovering deep issues and we get side tracked. I want to hear more about Jack's parents. And why does this child see Jack's parents so much? Perhaps the protagonist should be hanging out with Jack some more, maybe put it in there that it's what the two of them do each day after school because they're neighbours, perhaps mark the 5pm time when your mum calls you to come home, and it happens to coincide with Jack's dad coming home. This adds the complexity of your mum knowing about it, but not actively doing anything (often a reality with DV). Perhaps you could notice little moments in Jack where his temper would emulate his father's, perhaps he takes it out on an action figure you're playing with. To me, the end of the story from **** onwards loses it's direction, which is so strong at the start.

In fact, the writing at the start is really wonderful, I enjoyed reading it a lot. But, I think to address that criteria of exploring complex ideas, we need to address some smaller ideas that put the dots together, like I've suggested above.

In terms of narrative point of view, there are inconsistencies which I think need to be addressed to obtain full marks in this section. I think that adjusting the plot will cause the character to ponder in a less sophisticated way, but rather just respond to the realities they face (Eg, saying less things about fleeting love, saying more things about noticing Jack's temper, or the way Jack's mum runs around cleaning at 4:30pm).

The use of literal and metaphorical language is difficult to judge, it's not something I'm using to qualifying for a HSC response. But, it does make me think that we could extend the piece more with a metaphor. So, perhaps, we could put this in the time frame of the last week at school before Summer holidays, and as the school week ends, so does Jack's happiness as he knows he's going away on an unhappy family trip. Or, it could take a more sinister turn, by being the school holidays, and as the holidays end, so does the appearance of Jack's mum. Kind of adding a childish time frame to symbolise a serious turn in the story might be a way of adding a metaphor. ORRRR, we could be a lot more simple but still effective, by saying that cotton candy filled the sky at the beginning, but at the end, something dark fills the sky, whatever you'd like. This will create that mirrored effect. In fact, I'd ignore the timezone thing above and go for this idea (but I'll leave it there in case it prompts something for you). Something simple like this reflects the events of the story in a metaphorical way so that you definitely tick that box.

[jamonwindeyer]

Thank you for your help
I have a quick question if I post my newest version of my narrative would it be possible to get some quick feedback on the overall flow before tomorrow?

I can do a quick read - Might be good to see how a fresh set of eyes goes with understanding the plot line

[anotherworld2b]

I would really appreciate it I am still in the process of incorporating elyse's feedback so it may take a bit before I can post it up.
Would it be okay if i post in an hour from now?

I can do a quick read - Might be good to see how a fresh set of eyes goes with understanding the plot line

[jamonwindeyer]

I would really appreciate it I am still in the process of incorporating elyse's feedback so it may take a bit before I can post it up.
Would it be okay if i post in an hour from now?

Should be sweet, I'm a night owl - I'll give it a read and let you know whether I think it makes sense!

[elysepopplewell]

I would really appreciate it I am still in the process of incorporating elyse's feedback so it may take a bit before I can post it up.
Would it be okay if i post in an hour from now?

I'm loving your dedication - I hope you get the marks you have worked for!

[anotherworld2b]

thank you for your help elyse Here is the new version of my narrative Jamon. I have tried to expand more on complex ideas and fix the child's narrative point of view.

I was also wondering could my narrative be considered to be written In a coherent and sophisticated style and makes creative use literal and metaphorical language to produce a meaningful text with strong aesthetic qualities?

Spoiler

Strips of airy cotton candy float slowly above. Slow and steady like an old turtle. Like that fable. What is called again? The tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race. But now coming first is all that matters. If you are first. You are the best. What is it like to be the best? How do you become the best… On the left there is no car. On the right there is no car. No danger. It’s safe to cross when the little man turns green. Or was it red? Red like Jack’s dad face when he is angry. Pale white like Jack’s mum face when she is scared.

A tall person stands in the distance. Light reflects off his shiny, tan head as he walks. Maybe if I put a egg on it’ll sizzle and cook. A sunnyside up egg. Mum said eggs must be cooked or you’ll get samon... ella? Or was it rubella? Something with a ella at the end... His face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. Numerous wrinkles littered his face like a scrunched up ball of paper. If it rained at this moment the indents from the wrinkles can store water in all the little trenches in his face. He wouldn’t have to pay for water then !

The white, hairy caterpillar on his lip quivers in tune to the violent movements of his mouth. Saliva streams down like little rivers. Drip drop just like rain. Onto the concrete ground. Just like a crazy dog. He is disgusting. What if he has a disease? Rabies. Diabetes? There is so many disease in the world and he is promoting them! He should be contained. Isolated. Quaran...tined. Like the disease that he is…Why am I so mean to Jack’s dad? He is only walking home. The way he is a living red canvas with frayed strips of skin beginning to peel of his burnt back just like snakeskin sends shivers down my spine. It must hurt. Why didn’t he put sunscreen on for goodness sake! Slather it on. Even though it’s expensive. Why would he hurt his body like that? Skin cancer mr! Australia has the highest rate of skin cancer!

The sun is so harsh now. It is really hot in Sydney. While in Perth you are either being burned alive by the scorching heat of a desert or it’s raining cats and dogs. Stupid weather. Stupid costs of sunscreen. Why is sunscreen so important anyway? Back in Malaysia it was hot every day but no one cared about sunscreen that much. No fuss. No nagging. No need to remember ‘slip, slop, slop, slap and slide’ that is taught all the time in primary school… Why do I that remember anyway? Probably because mum makes me wear sunscreen all the time now so my skin doesn’t get dark. Mum said boys won’t like you if you have dark skin. You have to have milky white and soft skin like a baby so we can a...sim...ilate?I wonder if I can live in a cold country when I grow up. No need to put sunscreen when I go out and spend lots of money. I can use it to buy toys instead. Switzerland even has snow! Hopefully its as soft as it looks. Where is Switzerland? Do they speak swiss? Swiss...cheese? They speak cheese! Is it hard to speak cheese? I hope not.

Uh oh...Jack’s face turned red and he started to scream at his mum again through the window next door. She covers her head as he hits her. Why does Jack hit his mum? If I did that I would get no tv.

A flash of blue flies onto a scrawny branch of a large tree. A vibrant shade of blue so beautiful you could drown in it endlessly; a never ending sea of blue in pictures and magazines brought to life. Smells like a... eucalyptus tree?. Maybe its home to a koala family. All sitting on a big branch eating a eucalyptus feast. Eucalyptus tastes nice. Tastes like grass apparently. What does grass taste like? Straw?

A BIG bruise. A really big bruise. Purple? No… a violetish, bluish green? It must hurt. It must be really embarrassing. The left? No? The right cheek? Which side is left again? It kind of looks like a galaxy. Especially the blue and purple. Was there a bruise there yesterday on her cheek?

‘It’s time to close the window and curtains’ Mum says. It must be 4:30 already. It’s nearly time for Jack’s dad to come home. There is a lot of screaming at 5:00 when he comes home. Jack’s family likes to watch scary movies when he is angry. Why don’t we watch movies all the time? Like Cinderella? When I grow up I will find my own prince charming just like that the tv show mum watches ‘Married at first sight’. Getting married is easy you have to just sign a paper with a fancy swirl and it’s done. What I should I do when I get married? Get a big fluffy white dress with sparkly diamonds. Will he whisk me away to travel the world? We can fly everywhere like birds in the sky. Where should we start? Paris? The city of love?

Should be sweet, I'm a night owl - I'll give it a read and let you know whether I think it makes sense!