Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[dancing phalanges]

Hey there! I'll have a look at this for you

Spoiler

The streets surrounding Darlinghurst Road, Kings Cross, comma were encapsulated by the scent of thyme-filled turkey sizzling on aluminium foil and dazzling hues of green and red. Moderately sheltered, a mother laid motionless, in a silent embrace with her only daughter, Grace. A windswept sleeping bag, their only security from the sodden concrete beneath. This sentence isn't formed properly - you can put a "was" in place of the comma for it to make sense, but otherwise it's two dependent clauses pushed together so it doesn't make perfect grammatical sense, although I understand your intentions with the sentence In spite of the fear and squalor of her new life, Grace’s innocent exuberance shone brighter than any of the surrounding estates, splendidly adorned with ornamental lights. Samantha, however, was the image of a mother weathered by shame. Skin hidden behind layers of grime, and hair hung as a tangled mop over sunken eyes. Faded polaroid photos clutched between calloused fingers, her only remaining memory of Grace’s lost childhood, and of her father that Grace barely knew. Yet, Samantha had made a promise to her daughter – a promise to deliver her Christmas wish.  I like the imagery here so far - it's positive yet sad. It's vibrant, but with a tone of sadness.
Samantha attempted not to dwell upon the past memories of a fulfilled Christmas. The precious nostalgias which to her, only seemed fair that all children would be able to experience. And now, Grace’s father was gone. Samantha used to love him. Maybe, "Samantha loved him" without the "used to" to create the sense that she loved him when he was alive, but also now. She used to cherished his company and speak of his name in softness. Yet, most nights she would fall asleep, clothed, on an unopened bed. Beaten and broken, she left.  Grace still remained too young, too naïve to understand the piercing terror in her mother’s eyes. Her father still loved her, but, he had to let her go.
“Where’s daddy?” she would inquisitively probe, with an infectious glow.
Samantha hesitated.
He was once treasured. Now a memory. A shadow lingering in the depths of Samantha’s mind. It was not as if she could simply say that he was an alcoholic. His life was one of more significance than the fateful addiction that it was suffocated by. Her mother did used to love him. She did used to cherish his company and speak of his name in softness. For the first time in her short life, Grace would celebrate Christmas away from the now distant comfort of being home. For the first time, she would wake up on Christmas Day and her father - would not be there.
“Mummy, my toes hurt” a stricken Grace would complain.
Seeing your own daughter in pain, the kind of pain no six-year-old should have to endure at such a young age eroded at Samantha’s raw heart. I think there should be another part to this sentence, it's like you went to create a comma splice but didn't put anything after the "raw heart." At the moment, "seeing your own daughter in pain" doesn't make sense on its own, and then pairing it with the type of pain doesn't make sense either. "Seeing your own daughter in pain is excruciating, for example. Also think carefully about using the "your" because this is the first time you've addressed the reader, and if you don't do it again, then it shows an inconsistency. Perhaps, "Samantha's heavy breath carried the weight of seeing her six year old daughter in pain no child should endure." Grace and Samantha shared their vulnerabilities, interlocking their hearts as much as their fingers.
“I know…” she would quite simply respond.
“It will be better soon.”
Yet as Samantha gazed into Grace’s pale blue eyes, she sensed a more profound desire. For this, she could not simply say those same five words she usually would. Grace needed more.   

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Samantha peered out to Keltie Bay, flickering with scattered lights as faint laughter echoed in the distance. Where she had come from - the place that Grace called ‘home’ was consumed by an unnerving silence. Cold sweat glistened down Samantha’s furrowed brow. With hands clasped tightly, only alert to the sound of her throbbing heart - she was waiting. She shadowed her target. One of Potts Point’s finest Victorian Italianate estates, a harmony of classical grandeur and contemporary finesse, nestled in the quiet, tree-lined Rockwall Crescent. Standing in the centre of the ornate porcelain courtyard – a freshly potted magnolia little gem. From her sleeping bag emerged a rusted axe. She knew what she had to do.
………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Samantha lumbered up the footpath. The sleeping bag was no longer empty. Under the procession of yellow street lights her blood stained hands appeared almost a sickly blackish-gold. The sirens of police cars wailed in the distance. Yet, they were not for her. Still beaten, still broken, she fell. Without him, her strength had faded, slowly swept away by the wind. Grace was all she had.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Grace woke to an unfamiliar welcome. Blinking, blurriness faded to a distorted mirage of green. It wasn’t perfect, edges frayed, insignificantly sized in stature. To Grace, none of this mattered. To put it simply, it fulfilled a Christmas wish. Grace stood in awe, she could not divert her eyes from the tree. A magnolia little gem, fashioned with hanging photographs. In the corner, stood her mother. A blood-soaked tourniquet slapped to her wrist, her worn hands no longer a constant reminder of what she once perceived as weakness. She had conquered her fears.
“I love you, mum!” Grace chirped.
“Your father…” she paused –
“He loves you too.”
The two stood together, mesmerised, not by the tree but by memories of Grace’s father. As they would most nights, they took refuge in their still windswept sleeping bag, pale polaroid photographs now grasped between Grace’s hardened hands, the only remaining memory of her childhood, of her father that she misses so dearly. So, every Christmas, Grace would decorate her little gem of hope. A sign that her father had also found his way home.   

Spoiler

The bulk of my comments are about the end part there. The reason being, I want to know more about her cutting the tree. It seemed menacing at first, she pulled out the axe, her hands were covered in blood... but then suddenly there's a tree fully erected and Christmassy. So, I'm thinking you have two options here: you could continue to play off the sinister thing, making us think "oh god did she cut someone's head offf???" Or, we can do it the way I personally would prefer to write it, which is to describe her hacking at it with a blunt axe, and quietly dragging it down the street, leaving branches to the side of the street. Then we can flash forward a few hours to the daughter waking up, and go from there. I'd also like an imagine of how the tree stood - leaning against the underside of a bridge? against an alley? and so on. Show the reader the imperfections of the situation, despite Grace seeing it as so perfect.

I also think there could be further development in the way the dad's alcoholism relates to the Christmas tree in the end. I think if you didn't have the alcoholism there, I'd be asking you to put something there to make it more interesting - so don't take it out. But I think it needs to be developed more. These beautiful houses are described, and then we have a sleeping bag with some kind of tree erected in front of it. Perhaps the link we need is a description of the tree being the dad's thing, that they used to have an artificial tree but it would be decorated with daddy and daughter each year. Something like this adds a connection between the significance of the absence of dad with the significance of the tree and the way the mother has bridged the gap.

As for the discovery, I think that this isn't as strong as other stories I've read in terms of discovery. It's not to say discovery doesn't exist, but I'm worried about the way you'll be able to relate it to the rubric in questions later. Spiritual discovery is the one that comes to mind most, but I don't really recognise another really prominent discovery. I'm happy to be proven wrong of course, seeing as I was focused on improving the structure towards the end I wasn't actively seeking discovery.

So in conclusion, there are a few grammatical things to fix up - usually about creating complete sentences. I'd love something more from the ending area of the story, and a greater connection between the dad, alcoholism, and the Christmas tree. At the moment, the dad's absence and alcoholism seems like a bit of context that doesn't really directly contribute to the storyline. Hopefully you can take some of this on board, and hopefully you won't think I'm being too harsh! Let me know if I can help more

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

[Daniyahasan]

GUYS
What symbolises discovery?
like an object that symbolises discovery
for example  : a heart symbolises love
any ideas???

[peachxmh]

GUYS
What symbolises discovery?
like an object that symbolises discovery
for example  : a heart symbolises love
any ideas???

maybe a light bulb?

[vanessa mbogo]

can you please check my creative writing to see if its good

As  a child , my late father and I would spend every second of the summer holidays on the sparkling white sand of the beach near our home . We would build sand castles beside the shore and watch as it get swept by the water after few hours during hide tide, we would dance knee-deep in the icy surf ,kicking up the surface so that droplets shimmered  as diamonds in the sunlight, We would lie back and watch as the sun sets  my father gazes into the blue sea   and seems to be in deep thoughts   it always had me wondering what was he  thinking  about , is it  what is  beyond the buoy because that always crossed my mind on what lies on that side of the ocean. Sometimes we will fantasize ourselves as pirates and grip imaginary weapons  and thrusting swords, these blissful days went on for as long as I can remember. My earliest memories are filled with images of my father in these moments ,laughing  as he kicked up the warm sand  with a cold coke in his hand which according to him is the only thing that quench his thirst during hot summer. Sixteen years later  I stand in the same beach feeling the same heat scattered under my feet   yet all I could think of was him, and all the pain he induced upon himself and everyone around him during the final years of life.   
Looking back, I knew now that the reality behind my father's  stories were never quite interesting . In each trip he made , he was always searching for the same thing ; remains which he believed was buried somewhere beneath the sea. His passion for wreckage grew into an obsession, He spent his life's work  attempting to find it . His dark gloomy study overflowed with dust ,cobwebs and hastily-bound books on the subject, Enormous maps  were spread across the wooden floor . Whenever he was home I would sit outside the bench right across his window  with my knees pulled up  to my chest and watch him. His heavy sighs as he struggles to sprawl the big maps across the floor and listen to the sound of crumbling  paper seeped through the window walls. He never allowed me inside the room regardless my mind flooded with ideas and images of my father's work .Once in a while he would shout joyfully out the door, and happily pick me up and spin me around with him in joy we would dance around the living room with his swinging golden compass hanging from his neck ,he would also take us for dinner at a sparkling beach house near our home and order mouth watering dishes  prawns and chips was my favourite ,he would always order octopus  and pretends to be the sea monster as he flings it at me I would get scared  and  mum and him  would laugh at me  that is one among many  reasons why I hate octopus.
Most of the people saw  my dad as historian  ,but to me he was an  explorer. he would venture to unknown lands for months   come back filled with great tales of treasures and lands  beyond the buoy each time I would listen attentively and built an imagination inside my mind to picture the situation .I remember never approving of my father's departures "why do you have to leave again?" I would always ask  I recall once I held on to his trouser with my tiny hands begging him not to go but he would always say "who would tell you wonderful stories if I don't go ?, son  the last  thing you want is your father to be boring . He smiled kissed  my forehead   I stood there still as I watched  head out to the unknown.
I remember the first time I truly realised what had occurred.  As I grew up I saw things better I found out about my father's sickness that he contracted during his voyages thus was unable to attend anymore .He spend his days locked in his study consumed by his work . His disease rooted itself deep within his mind and grew branching out and puncturing every memory with its thorns he was so determined to finish his work before it's too late .'Go away he would shout at me from the window as I watched him "he is just stressed everything will be fine once his work is done my mother assured but deep down I knew that he wasn't the father I once idolised.  As I watched his casket I pulled myself out of the past and cemented my conscience into reality and came to the realisation that life beyond the buoy is not interesting  after all  I should stick to the shores

[limtou]

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

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

Thank you

[jamonwindeyer]

can you please check my creative writing to see if its good

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

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

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

Thank you

We'll get you feedback asap limtou

[pikachu975]

Spoiler

Cataracts[/U]

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

Literally.

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

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

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

“Three.”

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

“Two.”

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

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

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

***

One week before the surgery

“Ah!”

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

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

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

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

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

Akins was curled into a ball on the couch, his face buried between his knees. She assumed he had fallen asleep, his neglected mop of hair hiding his face - but it was the dramatic rise and fall of his figure that exposed the tears staining his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

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

Every cloud has a silver lining, after all.

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

Thanks guys!

[aneitarebecca]

Hello! Thank you so much for this oppurtunity!
Please just read over it, and make sure it makes sense! Any other corrections you have, i'll be happy to take on board!
- Thanks so much! Aneita

Spoiler

As my mind drifts, a sudden tug at my foot triggers a heaviness on my chest and an inability to produce sound. It brought on a feeling as if I was chained down and my vocal cords were ripped out of my throat. Movements from my mouth mimic screams for help, but silence slams my need to be saved.

My eyes twitch. I feel it. I fear the control it has over me, as the sensation of pins and needles grows stronger and consumes my muscular ability to react.

“HELP! Mum? Dad?” I could think it and feel the sensation of my mouth moving… but no sound.

Temazepam. I relied on it to take away the darkness that cast a shadow over my head. But all it did, was cause trips to the hospital, and a slur in my words. The cold fingers that pressed on my wrist to check there was a pulse, would draw blood to understand my vital levels. Each time, I felt paralysed.

“HELP!”
                                                                           
 *******

Professor Ludwig Bormoss from the University of Colorado Thesis expo on Sleep Paralysis, featuring sleep paralysis sufferer Angie Sharp.

“Nights upon nights, I would stay, lying awake, cold, helpless and movement less. By blood would start to boil, as a sense of mix emotions washed over me. I would get angry at myself for not being able to move an inch, but yet, terrified for my own life.”

“Clients often describe the sensation of being held down, of having no ability to speak or control their own movements. It causes anxiety and produces toxins in the body which signal depressive thoughts. A lack of sleep would make anyone delusional”

*******

In the night time, when I’m about to doze off, I stare at the opening of my door. In my mind, I see a figure standing there. The figure has a shadow covering it, so I can’t see who it is, but I can see blood, the dark red tone, terrifies me. As it draws closer to me, I cry out for help. I call my mum and my dad. I call for anyone that can hear me. But no words come out.

*******

“This inclination is often referred to being a Nightmare, false dreams take over of something lying cumbersome upon the chest, the muscles fail, and brings the overwhelming sense of paralysis…. Because the muscles have failed, an immense sense to breathe takes over, the extraordinary trouble of moving, arises the want for respiration. Now she lays still, breathing heavy, believes to be overlaid by some Demon, Thief, or other cumbersome body being neither able to move or breathe normally…:

“I have a vision one night, that caused me to resort to hurting myself. A dark figure crashed onto my body and held their hands around my neck, pushing me further and further into my bed. I started gripping down onto my hands, and eventually drawn blood from my palms”
******



My breathing intensifies. It gets heavier and heavier. The more I struggle to breathe, the harder it is to breathe. I can feel my chest rise and fall at an abnormal rate. The heaviness, crashed into my chest, securing its place. It succeeded in making my fears come to life.

*****

“ Clients will often be graced with formidable amounts of terror, will often encourage them to become suicidal or even more desolation. When these clients come to us and talk about one’s terror, we often propose, that the fear does not exactly come from their nightmare, but their life”

******

Doctors, professionals, Nurses can’t stop this from happening. I have read everything. Read everything on every cure noted. No medications have stopped it, no amount of Temazepam can help it.
It's untreatable, unbeatable.

******
“Now, Angie, how has Sleep Paralysis affected  your life?”

“I was forced to move back into my parent's house, I dropped out of University because I wasn't able to attend class, I stopped eating which resulted in massive weight loss. I lost all my friends, refused to go out with them, or even talk to them. I have been diagnosed with depression, and they believe that it may exist before my sleep paralysis, so I've been battling that for some time now as well”

“How have your parents reacted to this situation?”

“ My mum has been my biggest supporter. Through helping my techniques before I go to sleep, to taking me to appointments and just being there to talk to me”

“Our Client here is experiencing hypnagogic sleep paralysis. This type of sleep paralysis occurs while an individual is falling asleep. sufferers of hypnagogia feel awake in the mind but paralysed in the body. These episodes can be quite frightening and hypnagogia is thought to be the origin of stories of demonic or extraterrestrial visits”

“ There hasn't been a cure found for Sleep paralysis, most probably will never be one”

**** 10 years after ****

“ I have never felt so much better! My life was completely turned upside down, but now, I am free! Professor Ludwig Bornoss, Has given me my life back and has enabled me to live again! I am forever grateful for the hard work that himself and his team, put in to be able to work around Sleep Paralysis!”

“ Now that you have beaten, I guess, sleep paralysis, is there anything you're doing to help?”

“ My mother and I started a support group for other females just like me. We have over 10,000 members and have had over 18,000 people attend our expos and meetings. We are continuing to spread hope for Sleep Paralysis, and immensely working towards a cure!”

[jamonwindeyer]

Hello! Thank you so much for this oppurtunity!
Please just read over it, and make sure it makes sense! Any other corrections you have, i'll be happy to take on board!
- Thanks so much! Aneita

Hey Aneita! Welcome to the forums!

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

[_____]

Taking Jamon's exquisite advice as seen here: https://atarnotes.com/forum/index.php?topic=164657.msg963430#msg963430 I've updated my piece and I thought I'd resubmit it to see if it's any better.

Issues that I can still see:

Final realisation is still too sudden/language is clunky.
Dialogue with the biker is too brief - I opted against having it two-way to save space and to ensure it remained interesting. Not sure if it works.
Not sure if the updated characterisation (second paragraph added) has worked
Might still be too long for me to write out in 40 minutes but I can work on that.

Spoiler

You wouldn’t have been able to tell Sydney was on the cusp of winter. A light breeze ruffled evergreen leaves, adding little chill to tepid air. The afternoon sun was smiling down, with little care for the fact that it was working unpaid overtime. Its breezy attitude was fabulous for the precise rows of flowerbeds, their occupants swimming drunkenly in sunlight. On the roads sat the houses, waiting patiently for their owners to return for Christmas.

Xavier paced along slowly, taking in his green and blue abode through stray locks of sandy hair. He’s the type of kid you’d look right past at the canteen queue, but he wouldn’t make the mistake of looking past you. Eternally inquisitive, he chuffed his teachers until they became fed up of his constant attempts to find discrepancies in the syllabus. Eventually the sleepy state school arranged to offload all five foot four of Xavier to a selective campus for year eleven.

He didn’t understand why but the world felt heavier when he walked, especially when the streets were barren. With just the perfect azure sky and the shells of houses – not homes, it was hard not to ponder questions pertaining to some greater meaning. Will there still be people on our little marble in five hundred years? What about a thousand?

While Xavier’s cogs whirred Stan trudged behind him. Like a prisoner’s ball and chain, he was the reason their journey was proceeding at a snail’s pace. Despite having walked this road for as long as his friend, Stan found it eternally compelling. With the knowledge that he had all the time in the world to savour the fragrances, Stan grinned and trailed his snout through a sun-soaked patch of grass that climbed up to tickle his furry underbelly.

Suddenly, Xavier put the grip end of the lead in his mouth. The fake leather smelled like ancient socks and the dog’s fur, so his teeth gripped it firmly, separating it from his tongue. Shielding his eyes with both hands, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the sky blue dome. Today was one of those lucky days where one could see the shadow of the moon hanging out like the shy friend at a party, dwarfed by the exuberance of the sun. Just in front of it stood the wispy moustache of a cloud, a sole survivor of the summery weather. Drifting steadily past the pair was a bird devoid of grace, a jumble of mass that really didn’t belong up there, stubbornly refusing to fall.

Xavier tracked the plane across the Tasman. Why don’t we fear being flung thirty-thousand feet in the air in a thin metal tube?

Hearing chomping, he looked down at Stan and saw the stub of a discarded lamb cutlet poking out of the dog’s mouth a millisecond before it was hastily gobbled up. Innocently, the brown marbles looked up at him, wondering what the holdup was.

Xavier tried to recall how many times he’d wrestled street scraps from Stan’s mouth as a puppy. He couldn’t. But he was sure that the dog knew he wasn’t supposed to eat that bone, as the end of his tail was raised ever so slightly as he trotted off. For Stan, Xavier realised, here and now is what matters.

The lead pulled taut, jerking Xavier out of his daze. The dog was trotting off for a reason – on the other side of the road, a bearded slab of a man emerged from a stained facade. Xavier tried hopelessly to resist – the stranger’s ink-drenched skin and shiny Harley Davidson gave him the impression that he wouldn’t be fond of Stan’s antics.

The biker turned around, alerted by the desperate wheezing Stan was making as he dragged his owner across the road.

Xavier did well to supress his wonder as biker’s menacing demeanour melted – his stubby fingers caressed the dog’s anvil-shaped head fondly. Embarrassingly, Stan decided to lie down, indicating it was time for a belly rub. His new friend obliged, having lowered himself slowly down onto his front step, so Xavier found himself having to start a conversation.

“He reminds me of my dog, Lucy,” the man confided. “I lost her a few months back.”

Stan lay dead still for a few minutes until his best friend got up. “Sorry pup, I’ve got stuff to do.” He looked up at Xavier: “See you ‘round bro.”

Order was restored as the pair continued walking, soon arriving back home.

Stan halted the procession of narrow legs and looked up the ridge of his snout into his owner’s eyes as the keys jangled on the way out of his pocket. The dog’s tongue continued to hang lazily out the side of black jowls, ready to be plunged eagerly into his familiar water bowl.

Maybe… maybe ignorance really is bliss? Stan takes life for what it is, and he’s happy as can be. He even made a new friend today, enabled by his carefree attitude. Maybe I have something to learn from my four-legged friend…

Thanks!

[NadineC]

may you please check over this discovery creative writing and make any changes if needed

[Annie657]

Hi!

So I finally racked up 15 posts and here is my creative writing! My teacher had no negative feedback but I still need to cut it down and feel like I can't with my storyline so far  Should I change Jordan to a catalyst in the natural environment? Any feedback would be appreciated 

Thankyou! Annabelle x

Spoiler

The crunching sand between my toes awakens my senses. Paving the way to the main event; my steps quicken in anticipation as I behold the great blue force of mother nature beyond. Icy water laps at my feet, but my toes embrace it’s cool touch, never shirking away in betrayal of my heart’s greatest love. All it takes is a single leap into it’s waiting aims as the waves press me forward, almost as if they are whispering, “come closer, closer”,  in response to my daily ritual.

“BANG!” the starter’s gun goes off, and while the young fledglings sprint into the ocean’s depths, wielding the waters as a tool to bring themselves personal glory, I hesitate; knowing it’s beauty is only revealed to those who look deeper, below the smooth surface. Slowly but surely I make my way out and around those obnoxious fluoro buoys, a seeming act of vandalism against the serene horizon.

You see the thing is, I was one of them not all that long ago. I craved the feeling of cool gold kissing my neck, and hungered for the next second off my personal best.

It was she who changed me. She who revealed the world to me in a way that I once ignored.

Eyes brimming with excitement she dove in next to me, the grin spreading across her face an unspoken promise to follow her father’s footsteps; this thought however sweet could not cloud my judgement; I had a job to do. Like always, I was there to win; my sole purpose to outswim my competitors and hurtle over that finish line in first position. Muscles tensed from the moment the cool water hit me; a shock to my system, Jordan next to me too over-rating in response to the numbing of all exposed limbs. Turning my eyes forward, a gap in the break soon opened up in our midst. An opportunity too advantageous to miss, “Jordan, follow me!”, I yelled over the pounding waves and splashing bodies; her response inaudible in the chaotic intensity of the race. I knew it was now or never, and rode the current foward to open ocean.

It was go time.

Powerfully I propelled myself forward, the waves pushing me on as I stroked to the head of the front pack. My mind was clearly focused on that end goal, reciting over and over, “I had put in the countless hours, turned my arms those thousands of times in preparation for this one moment”. Nothing was ever going to come between me and that pure glory. Nothing. And of course Jordan knew that too. Or so I thought.

As my breaths started coming fast and hard, I chucked a glance towards my right. Only a endless horizon extended into the midst; to my left only a row of swimmers jostling over those finish line honours.

Panic started to set in, my breaths coming harder and faster, no longer from exertion but parental fear pooling in the bottom of my stomach as I stopped to scull and take in the water around me. Absolutely nothing. The competition, only a few minutes ago so important to me, thrust out of my mind.

I began my frantic scramble back to the beach, head up while I scanned the blue peaks for her telltale purple cap. So many swimmers, so many turning arms and legs oblivious to my distress. I wanted to scream at them, “please help me! Can anyone….. Please!” but I was alone in my silent struggle; my anguish internal as possibilities of her whereabouts streamed like rapids through my mind.

Left and right I zig zaged, ducking under and over the water for my Jordan. Minutes, seemingly hours passed with no sign of her, but my search would not cease for even a second as I vowed to cover every centimetre of that ocean floor if it came to it. That reef in the distance? The only unsearched waters I hadn’t ventured seemed unlikely, but in my desperation I had to keep that sliver of hope alive, my swim towards the rocks began without hesitation. At first, nothing; only the sound of squabbling seagulls and splashing fish there to mask that almighty cry threatening to spill out of me; but then a flash of purple in the corner of my eye snagged my attention. Legs and arms now weary, almost trembling in exhaustion; every stroke a struggle as I sprinted in it’s direction. “Its her. it’s her.” I repeated over and over in my mind, convincing myself she was there. No other thought could I face; this phrase all that was keeping me whole.

All of a sudden, that purple cap became a face among the froth.

“Dad!”

Time stopped. My excruciating anguish subsided to relief at the sight of Jordan’s face, that innocent excitement so oblivious to my crippling worry only moments ago. It took every last ounce of energy for me to make it over to her, I soaked in every inch of her face I only minutes ago thought was lost forever. We embraced even as she wriggled to stay afloat, and in response to her confusion over my emotional state; “later Jordan. Later.” Those harsh words and realisations would have to come, but later. Adrenaline was still surging through my system, and for now, an explanation of her whereabouts would suffice.

“I was swimming with you dad, but then you disappeared. I just guessed you were trying win, and I couldn’t keep up, so I swam over here, to the reef” . Eyes turned down, in almost a whisper, “Unless I was with you, I didn’t want to compete…...I saw some dory and nemo fish, some pretty pink coral…………….”

I had zoned out; her words hitting me harder surely than intended. The thought of her racing just to be with me had never crossed my mind, and to see the ocean as more than just forward currents and obstructing waves? But instead appreciate it for it’s beauty and gentle hold. It was a foreign concept, but not one I could not grasp in one look below the surface. Gesturing towards all the vibrant corals extending the length of the ocean floor, fish swimming in schools instinctively following one another; I thought she might be onto something. We spent hours exploring it’s depths, beauty I never imagined existing only a few metres deeper than I cared to look. And seeing the joy on her face; I finally understood her desires not to be like me, but to be with me, her eyes seeing the ocean as something so much more than merely a tool for attaining glory.

It was only then I came to realise winning a meagre race was not a triumph over mankind, but instead an ignorance towards nature, lacking the ability to appreciate it’s power in bringing individuals together, through a shared understanding of it’s infinite beauty. Today however, with this knowledge in hand, it is father and daughter who stroke together; all the while keeping an eye on the ocean floor; the beauty of the briny deep revealed only to those who seek it.

Word Count: 1192

[jamonwindeyer]

may you please check over this discovery creative writing and make any changes if needed

Hi Nadine, welcome to the forums!

According to our essay marking rules (which you can read here) you'll need 25 posts on ATAR Notes to qualify for feedback in our marking threads. The markers are swamped right now and this is our way of prioritising

Keen to see you posting around the forums! Let us know if we can help you find stuff

Hi!
So I finally racked up 15 posts and here is my creative writing! My teacher had no negative feedback but I still need to cut it down and feel like I can't with my storyline so far  Should I change Jordan to a catalyst in the natural environment? Any feedback would be appreciated 
Thankyou! Annabelle x

Hey Annabelle! I feel so rotten, but our post requirement has increased to 25 posts to help us handle the rush of responses we are getting in the lead up to Trials please know I'm genuinely upset in having to say this because I know you've been helping people and working to get the posts up - I'll pop your Creative on the list so it gets into the queue, reckon you could make another 7 helpful posts or questions elsewhere over the next couple of days, then make your eighth by posting back here to let us know?

[Daniyahasan]

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

[Annie657]

Hey Annabelle! I feel so rotten, but our post requirement has increased to 25 posts to help us handle the rush of responses we are getting in the lead up to Trials please know I'm genuinely upset in having to say this because I know you've been helping people and working to get the posts up - I'll pop your Creative on the list so it gets into the queue, reckon you could make another 7 helpful posts or questions elsewhere over the next couple of days, then make your eighth by posting back here to let us know?

Hey Jamon, this is my 25th post! I totally I understand the rule change, maybe you should change the number to 25 on the introduction to this page? Anyways I would love if someone could look at my creative in the next couple of days