Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[marynguyen18]

get well soon Elyse my biology teacher always tells me to take lots of Vitamin C to the point she made me buy Vitamin C tablets 1000mg.

[jayceevce]

Rest up Elyse!! Being sick is no fun at all
If you or anyone else has extra time I'd love if you could take a look at my work! I've just written it and would love a fresh pair of eyes to read it and see if it makes sense and speaks to them before I submit it to my teacher.

Child's Play

Another month, two weeks and three days, you think to yourself as you laboriously clean the whiteboard. 48 more days of arts ‘n’ crafts, heads-up-thumbs-down and storytime and then you can finally be on your way to cherries and pistachios on the couch and reruns of Grey’s Anatomy with your over-sized belly. 47 days after today, you think.
    ‘Good morning Miss Applebee,’ the children chime in perfect sing-a-long unison as the bell rings. You put on your biggest, widest smile but you feel that little swoop again, hear the echoing singularity of Miss like the hissing of a coiling snake, a very pregnant single snake. Even King cobras stay to help raise the young of the world’s most poisonous snake, you realise morosely as you catch sight of the National Geographic posters hanging around the classroom.
    ‘Is everyone ready for their show-and-tell?’ you ask, knowing full well that every child is too excited for show-and-tell Friday to forget to bring their objects. A mad scramble to their cubbies ensues as they reach for their photos and toys and picture books. You keep a wary eye on them, making sure they don’t bring in anything sharp or toxic. The other staff still gossip about how Karen was let go because a girl had brought in scissors and had cut hair off her classmates. Personally you don’t think it was Karen’s fault, but apparently the girl with the bald patch had lawyers for parents and besides, everyone knows the school is in debt because of the budget cuts. You tell yourself that as long as nothing goes wrong they can’t sack you and they have no power over your maternity leave and they can’t touch the $657 per week you’ll be owed.

Angelica is first to volunteer. She brings out a shoebox from which she takes out two Barbie dolls.  The girls in the class coo appreciatively over the plastic toy as she boasts about how they’re limited edition and real expensive. You shudder internally at the thought of raising such a brat and wait impatiently for four minutes before you assertively remind her that time’s up and its Jimmy’s turn now. She sulks at being interrupted and insists her object is far more interesting than Jimmy’s pet rock. Jimmy blushes deep crimson while the class laughs at him and he just stands there as still and as ashen as the rock he’s holding.
    You gently ask him where it’s from.
    “It’s…it’s from my parents’ garden,” he stammers, unconsciously rubbing the angry red splotches that cover his skinny arms.
    You should have known to be more sensitive. More careful. More alert. But the hormones get to you and you ask him why he keeps a rock from his parents’ garden.
    ‘Because they’re dead.”
    A hush falls over the classroom like the wave of a tsunami. The air is pregnant with a bloated silence, for in the void of sound the shallowness of their childish conversations lay bare. You unconsciously seek your abdomen for reassurance and you are just about to offer your condolences when Angelica breaks the blanket of sound.
    ‘Grimmy –Jimmy! Jim’s the Grim!’
    The class hesitantly giggles, unsure of what else to do.
    ‘That’s quite enough, Angelica,” you chide her. “No more arts ‘n’ crafts for you today.”
    Her angry eyes flash first in retaliation at you but then you see her glare at Jimmy, who sits cross-legged with all the blood drained from his face. She whispers to her friend, takes something out of her shoebox and nods in his direction.
    You relax, thinking this brief lapse of conflict is over, and send the children out to play.

When you supervise children, it’s like watching a younger, happier version of yourself roam free. No bills, no mortgage, no groceries. Just child’s play. You’ve often wondered why it is we have children in the first place. And you’ve come to the conclusion that at some point in our lives we realize we screwed up. Irreparably. So we want to start again. And have children. Little versions of ourselves we can scold and nurture and feed and tell them to achieve what we could not. Succeed where we could not. Someone to get it right this time around. Your hand protectively drifts to your middle and in the midst of the skipping and giggling and chasing of the noisy children you silently promise to do everything you can to give him a better life, even without his father.
    A tentative hand taps your elbow. Your eyes swivel down to find Jimmy, who is shorter and scrawnier than others his age.
    “I think they’re trying to poison me,” he says matter-of-factly, holding an empty packet of one of those silica gel packets you find in products to keep them dry.  The ‘DO NOT EAT’ glares warningly from the packaging, but in his other hand Jimmy holds a sandwich with tiny, almost invisible beads you can only see because he has picked the bread apart.
    Your heart thumps quickly as your mind skims through its memories of where these packets belong. Handbags, jewelry, heels…shoeboxes.  Jimmy stares up at you expectantly.

 You’ve always hated confrontation. You hated it back in sixth grade when Sophia didn’t pay back the money she borrowed from you, or when you asked Tom to be your formal date, or that day you asked the boss for a pay rise. It just isn’t in your nature. But when a young boy stands before you, asking for help, you just can’t say no. So your eyes search for Angelica. You catch the long, golden ponytail that shines even from here and you take a step closer to her, ready to berate her, put her in her place once and for all…but then you see the sun glint unmistakably on the covertly hidden patch of skin where hair used to be and you stop dead in your tracks and think about yourself. And what this means. And what it could mean.
    So you turn back to the boy who’s staring desperately at you and you tell him not to worry about it; it was only child’s play. A silly joke. No harm done. And you see what little light remains in his eyes go out like a light bulb bursting and you’ve disappointed him like everyone else in his life and you want to fix it for him, truly you do, but you also know you really need that money and can’t afford for anything to go wrong. So all you can do is offer him a hug which he dodges and you can only watch as he runs away from you like the plague.

   At lunchtime the Year 4 teacher offers to watch over your students so you can have a minute to yourself and eat for the two of you. The staff room is quiet except for the low drone of the microwave and the ticking of the clock so you have nothing to distract you from what happened earlier today. As you dig into your pumpkin soup with a hunger you didn’t realize you have, you ponder on how you’re going to make it right for Jimmy because you know what you did was wrong. But just as you reach the end of your soup you find these tiny, almost invisible beads in the dregs of pumpkin and you nearly heave up everything in you. Your hand shakes as badly as your grandmother’s arthritis as you find the number for the Poisons Information Centre.
    “Hello, how can we help you today?”
   “Are…are those silica gel packets toxic?”
    “No madam, the granular silicic acid is non-toxic-“
    “-what happens if you’re with child?” you interrupt.
    “With child? Oh dear…I’ll have to check with a doctor on that one, let me put you on hold.”
    And as you wait your panic rises and your vision blurs and you see Jimmy looking through the window and you know once and for all, this isn’t child’s play.

[elysepopplewell]

get well soon Elyse my biology teacher always tells me to take lots of Vitamin C to the point she made me buy Vitamin C tablets 1000mg.

What a legend! Thank you!

[elysepopplewell]

I posted my essay just now but i attached the document instead of copy and paste idk if it matters? haha
i said in my last post that i got 4/7 for my creative and was underwhelmed by not only my mark but the comments from my teacher, which was "the use of spiritual discovery is an interesting one however the lack of figurative language did not add depth" i would love it if you could give me some more constructive and useful comments! thank you xxx

thank you so much for your patience!

Okay, I'll try keep your teacher's comment in mind when I'm looking at this and see if I can try add to what she's said to make some more sense of it

Your work is in the spoiler here with some of my own thoughts in bold font throughout, then I'll write up a comment at the end:

Spoiler

Lost but not forgotten
                                                                                                              “Yet what we suffer now
                                                                                                              is nothing compared to the glory
                                                                                                             he will reveal to us later.”
                                                                                                             - Romans 8:18

 I felt as if there was a hole in my heart. I did not feel content nor complete nor truly happy. I think adding some commas before each "nor" will really break up the sentence so that the negation becomes more clear in each unique way. Yes, I laughed and smiled politely but the immense pain would not pass. Each day was like a throbbing headache. I slipped so easily into a mood that would chain me down, forcing me to remember the lingering pain. I found myself desperately trying to find a way to express how I was feeling and how I could possibly find peace in my situation. This speaks to me as an opportunity for some imagery, like a metaphor. Consider changing "situation" for something that be a metaphor, like peace in chaos, peace in crisis, peace in turmoil, etc. Maybe a metaphor isn't the right word, maybe you need an oxymoron in a way. This is just a super small suggestion, it won't impact on the way discovery is perceived. Little things like this add up to the integrity of the writing as a whole. It was hard to explain, again and again I filled the gap with temporary happiness longing to find a way out of the dark hole. It seemed like these years of life were all I had ever dreamed of as an innocent, unknowing child, being a teenager was supposed to be exhilarating and dangerous and memorable for all the right reasons, but I felt trapped and dejected, I was weak and unable to think for myself, this was not what I had expected. This last sentence is quite long, consider rephrasing. I felt as though every fibre of strength and willingness I once had had fled and taken refuge in a body that was thriving and healthy. I found myself turning to material possessions that I hoped could close the gap between my current state and where I wished I was. Every day I woke wondering what I could do to regain a happy spirit and rediscover myself once again. I felt lost and forgotten.
I turned the radio on to help me escape my unrelenting thoughts.
Channel 104.1: “Justin Bieber’s nude photos leaked on Instagram! Did you get a sneak peek?!”
Channel 96.9: “Ring us up and tell us your dirtiest secret to go in the draw to win one thousand dollars’ cash!!”
Channel 103.2: “…Amen, I would now like to leave you with my favourite verse out of the book of Romans, Romans 10:9-10: If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is LORD and believe in your heart the GOD raised him from the dead, you will be saved, anyone who trusts in him will never be disgraced.”
For some reason that was unknown to me in that moment, hearing that verse brought a tear to my eye Brought a tear to my eye - this is a cliche. Try to avoid talking about tears, and talk about shivering, or a heavy feeling pulling at the tendons behind the eye ball, or and an uneasy yet ever so reassuring feeling to the pit of my stomach that had been numb for so long. I did not know it then, but that very moment was the beginning of my rediscovery of self through GOD himself and the day I would discover Heaven for the very first time. I like where this is going!

That night as I was immersing myself in reality television to take my mind off my own unfortunate reality, the clock struck 11:00pm *tick tock*, my que to take myself off to bed and sleep my way into another day that would be just as numb and lifeless as the one before that. Sleep was bitter-sweet for me, my crisp sheets enclosed me and warmed my skin but the dead silence exposed my echoing thoughts and reminded me of the unrelenting pain, chilling me from deep within. However, that night was different. I fell to sleep peacefully, feeling warm and comfortable between my sheets. As I drifted into a deep sleep, the world of my sub-conscious began to unravel, I saw I bright light, no, a blinding light, a light that was pure and unearthly. As the light dimmed I stood before thundering, brass gates that opened in front of me beckoning me to enter. The gates were weaved with rich green vines that ended at each stalk with precious white flowers. I entered, passing through the gates, I felt immediately clean, as if I was shedding my misery and hopelessness and closing the gates behind me. As I ventured onwards, footsteps weightless, two angles appeared,

“The LORD has brought you here for reasons unknown to man, a great miracle is upon you”,
They harmonised. Then they disappeared.

“I must be in heaven”

 I wept. It was more beautiful than any place I had ever been capable to imagine, it was pure and incomparable by earthly measure… oh it was grand. The grass overflowed in vast abundance of lush and seem to have no end, just like the sky, it consumed me in all its power, I felt small in this great, immortal world. I stood there, unable to move, overwhelmed by the depths of its beauty. Whenever I had thought of what heaven would look like, I had imagined entering and being greeted by loved ones who had passed, having my clothes swapped for robes and being able to fly without fear and have unlimited supply of fine wine and exotic fruit, however I saw no one, this place was not what I expected. As I stood in a field of lush green grass I wondered how GOD would make his entrance, I imagined him hovering in a great light, or walking on water or greeting me as he broke bread and divided fish, all great and mighty appearances. However my thoughts were interrupted as a man appeared in the distance, he was washing his face by the river. It was Jesus, GOD had sent himself to me in the form of his son Jesus Christ. The all mighty, all powerful Jesus was bathing himself like a peasant, humble and gracious. He turned to me calmly,

“Come sit with me my child”

His voice beckoned.

I timidly sat beside the son of GOD, the man who performed miracles with his hands, the one who died and rose again, the saviour of the world, I was afraid to look at him, ashamed of my sins, ashamed of my pathetic, immortal appearance. With his voice echoing among the trees, he said to me,

 “My child look at me, do not be afraid, do not feel disheartened or discouraged for you are loved.”

 He paused,
 “You were fearfully and wonderfully made in the hands of God. Do not let worldly distractions inhabit your mind, do not be intrigued by strange, new things, separate yourself among the unbelievers and live your life according to the purpose I have for you”

 I fell to the feet of Jesus as I wept uncontrollably,
 “For I know the plans I have for you, they are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope... in those days when you pray I will listen, if you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me.”

I woke, breathless, unable to fathom what I had just experienced. I had discovered heaven, I had met Jesus. I sat up in my bed, my sheets felt unfamiliar and unclean, those of my past life, I hurried to remove them from my mattress, certain not to let anything taint this new found inner peace. I danced and sung for joy as I cried jubilant tears, for I had been saved. I stood as tall as the trees I had sat beneath in Heaven and my tears ran like the water Jesus used to wash his face.

I swept my curtains open, letting the light of day flood my room just as Jesus had once flooded the earth, and I was in the arc, I safe. I fell to my knees as did before Jesus in Heaven,

 “Thank you Lord! I am a new person; you have filled the hole in my heart, a new life has begun! Although I was lost, you never forgot me.”

I didn't comment much on the last section for a number of reasons. Basically, I want to talk about your story as a whole, looking at the plot overview specifically, rather than focusing on sentences individually.

Spiritual discovery is overlooked by most students. Or, if not overlooked, ignored. Which is really dangerous considering it is a definite feature of the rubric. Here, I think you've covered spiritual, physical and emotional discoveries.

It's sometimes scary to hear feedback on your plot because it means huge structural changes, but I think it is important to embrace proposed ideas, even if they are substantially suggesting moving away from the current direction. The magic in your piece happens when the radio is turned on. Starting your piece with the quote from Romans is a great idea. It is cryptic, but strong, and isolated, and very sophisticated. I want to see that kind of artful manipulation of form throughout. Moving from the sophisticated epilogue to a lot of reflection over a depressed life was a bit of a let down, because you've shown your capability as a writer to take on form, and then we've fallen into a basic way of describing life. I think you could enhance your work by shortening the start bit. I think we should cut out anything that is typical of this kind of reflection, like wishing teenage years were different, comparing innocence to reality, and the high modality words of desperation. Instead, we want to leave the bare bones of the argument, then flesh them out with some really succinct imagery. Try to describe this in a really raw way. So rather than being loaded with emotion, we want to be raw. The reason for this is, the character claims they can't put these feelings into words, but then the character spends a lot of words talking about how they feel. Whereas, I tend to think, a character feeling these incredibly intense emotions, would be able to summarise it in very few words. Not because the emotions aren't complicated, but because the energy to try and describe it is stripped of them. Maybe we could talk about driving blindly through the day, and getting to the end of the day and not being able to remember what happened between recess and lunch. Or, reading three chapters of the book and still not being able to recall the protagonist's name. This is the kind of thing I think responds to the character you are creating. You're creating a character that has no direction, and is essentially empty, waiting to be filled by the spirit. So you want to remove the character of all drive, including the drive to describe feelings. You want them to be vacuous. This will help with the word count too!

Then, I think we can keep the end part as is, but enhance the writing. The Bible is incredibly charged with imagery, connotations, links to other sections of the Bible, etc. There are so many symbols that you could use in your own work with a double meaning - a Christian meaning and a meaning for the individual's life. Imagery that relates to the Pentecostal flame, or the Baptismal font, or the green garments worn by a priest in ordinary time - all of that will weave integrity through your work. Those small allusions will link to the initial epigraph and will enhance your work a lot.

In terms of the Heaven meeting: You decide if you think this is the best option. It works, but I'm left curious. Did she or he momentarily die and see Heaven? Or was it a very powerful dream? Because the next day paragraph is awesome. Starting fresh, filled with Jesus, (good spot for an allusion), and the discovery is made clear. So you decide if you want the character to actually die and see Heaven, or if they had a divine intervention in a dream, or was it an apparition? Apparitions are incredibly interesting. My aunty claims she had an apparition once of the Virgin Mary. You should have a google around apparitions if you haven't already, and people will describe their apparitions, which may be useful for adding authenticity to your story. As a writer, I'd be more comfortable following the idea of an apparition, just because it is Earth-bound, and I'm more comfortable writing about this realm of life. If you're daring and confident, then sure, take it to the transcendent level. As a writer myself, I'm more comfortable writing about Earth with interventions of the transcendent, rather than describing a scene from the transcendent. Also to think about: How do you think Heaven is? Do you want to move away from the idea of it being pearly white, or do you want to stay with that notion to make sure it is clear that it is in fact, Heaven? I think that this section here, the potential of changing the visit to Heaven to an apparition, will fix that "figurative language lacking" section that your teacher commented on.

I've given you a lot to think about, I think! You're writing is there, it's just looking to be enhanced. The easiest things to fix are the boring things, like grammar. But you've got that down pat, right now you should be re-evaluating your plot, and making sure that the discovery is accessible for a marker from any walk of life to experience what is a very powerful spiritual discovery. When you re-assess the plot, it is a big task and seems interminable. But constantly adjust, then put it away, and look with fresh eyes, and get some opinions!

Let me know if you need any more help, or if you have any questions!

[elysepopplewell]

I posted my essay just now but i attached the document instead of copy and paste idk if it matters? haha
i said in my last post that i got 4/7 for my creative and was underwhelmed by not only my mark but the comments from my teacher, which was "the use of spiritual discovery is an interesting one however the lack of figurative language did not add depth" i would love it if you could give me some more constructive and useful comments! thank you xxx

I just wrote almost as much as you did for your creative in feedback! Sorry, I didn't realise that was going to be so intense! Feel free to flesh anything out if I rambled

[elysepopplewell]

Hi,
I would be eternally grateful if you would please take a look at my creative and give some feedback.
It has been an arduous task trying to write it and have been struggling for ages with it.
Could you check to see that the story makes sense and fulfils the rubric. Also I'm concerned with the length, but not sure what parts of it to cull. If you also had some ideas on how to adapt it to other questions or stimuli, I would greatly appreciate it.
Thank you so much!

Hello! Thank you for both your patience and you're beautiful manners! You're so kind. The struggle for a creative is real. Some days you'll only manage to write a sentence and other times you'll write two paragraphs and realise the entire thing is crap and you want to start all over. I totally empathise! I will have a look at all of the above points you've raised

In the spoiler here is your work, with my comments in bold:

Spoiler

The old door groans as I push against it; its ancient hinges barely surviving the mundane task of opening. Dark stains appear where I stand, the rain on my robes, dripping onto the wood beneath. My hand steadily holds the brass doorknob that burns me with its icy touch. Inside the church, my eyes struggle to see clearly but instantly focus when fluorescent shards of glass plummet towards the already shattered tabernacle, like a bird that is casually hunted and falls screaming to the floor. I think this sentence is PACKED with imagery. Here's my thought process: Ok inside a Church, can't see properly, can see stained glass window, the reflection is on the tabernacle, oh the tabernacle is broken, i don't know why that is, then enter a bird. I think each of these ideas is powerful on its own and deserves some breaking up. If the tabernacle is broken, perhaps it is because it is abandoned or old? In which case, I'd be more likely to suggest the smell of dust rather than not being able to see clearly, just because it is still showing and not telling, but it is a little bit more clear to a reader. Looking upwards, I sharply inhale the stale air, looking at the once illustrious stained glass window, that men and girls flocked to like moths. But is now fractured and cracked; ensuring no light of God shines through. In the centre of the window stands Archangel Michael, the soldier of heaven and leader of God’s angel army, who looks down shamefully, at the grotesque parade in front of him.

The church that I’ve called home for so long, now feels freakishly foreign. Familiar pews and familiar statues lay shattered and scattered; strewn across the floor in an unfamiliar fashion. Woven through the labyrinth and mountains of chairs, lie pieces of bodies; unmoving, as if they were toy soldiers waiting to be played with.  oh wow...toy soldiers waiting to be played with. amazing.
I try to move. I try to scream. But I am paralysed by the gory sight of corpses that compel my gaze like Medusa. Everywhere I look, the corpses scream pain; their volume grows with the sight of fragments of flesh that are splattered all over the pews.I finally scream at the sight of a single, detached arm; its fingers outstretched towards the heavens like a sunflower bending towards the sun. Blood drips from the gruesome joint, flowing over the exposed flesh and bone, onto the unrecognisable face of its owner three metres beneath him, who is impaled by a cross that drips with blood. Flailing like a bird with a broken wing, I claw at my neck which has closed itself as if the rosary beads on my neck was a serpent coiling itself tighter and tighter.
What I love about the work at this point is the way that worlds are colliding. There is so much devastation in a building supposed to be a safe house. There's so much death in an Institution that endorses peace.

My thoughts loud and unnerving, yell at me, reverberating in my ears, “This war for ‘independence’ is just a foolish pursuit that will end in death.” If you want to keep this in quotation marks, I think you should enhance its isolation by making this sentence its own line. The broken icons of my faith become blurrier, “How horrific is this scene around me, caused by the war that I once thought would save us. How stupid of me. War is merciless in the torture it inflicts, trapping those who fight for freedom in a prison of death.” I think you're telling too much here and not so much showing. Basically, I am getting the feeling from the imagery and your writing that this was a cause that your narrator believed in, and now they realise the devastation. When you used that internal dialogue, it was confirmed in a very blatant way. I think you could instead not use dialogue, and instead keep it internalised in the narrator's voice, rather than putting it in quotation marks, it's too obvious like that, and you're writing is beautifully delicate. I scorn myself for commending those fighting for Italia’s unification; when Napoleon is just a ring leader, delivering us to evil, intentionally leading his army to the slaughter. This is what I mean, you've just done it! Saying the thoughts of the narrator, but not making them "dialogue."“Unlike the war in Heaven, this second war for independence will only cause death and destroy our nation. Why should we sacrifice our soldiers, our nurses, our children; to the gruesome grasp of war?” ** I'm doing this here so I will comment on it at the end

Falling to my knees, I stare at the broken stained glass window above. Archangel Michael’s forlorn expression compels my gaze. The rain outside attacks the window, falling through the cracks and holes as if the angel is crying. Incredibly powerful!!!
***
       “Congratulations Sister Maria! We are proud to welcome you as a nun” Father Antonio exclaimed, his jubilance shone inextricably across his face. Luminous beams shined through the stained glass window, and projected a kaleidoscope of colours on the insides of the church. The angel Michael stands within the window, he seemed to comfortingly smile down on me.
***
Looking at this same window, no comfort comes. Only dread. The memory of my perpetual profession of vows, when I first became a nun, comes flooding back to me, denying any other thoughts. “As a vowed nun, I will continue my growth and development of ministerial, personal and communal life of a sister” the words I once profoundly professed are muttered with disgust, “I will embark on a life of chastity, poverty and benevolence; endeavouring to address all injustices of the world.”

My eyes drift to the once pristine altar, which is now tarnished with streaks of crimson that stain its ornate design. An Austrian soldier lies on top, limbs dangling over the sides of his crucifix. His crown of thorns, marked with an Austrian military symbol is barely held together by the single strap that is fraying at the edges. Staring into his pained eyes, the undeniable look of suffering is branded upon his face as if he was now a possession of death. This same familiar expression is sewn on every toy soldier’s face inside the church.

Scrupulously staring at each soldier’s face, I am overwhelmed by this same expression of suffering. How hadn’t I noticed this before? Darkness appears when I close my eyes, screaming out even though nobody will hear. Constant thoughts permeateto much of a calculated word for this organic thought process, in my opinion. Try finding a synonym that's less sophisticated/calculated, etc my mind, “How could God allow this to happen? If he is our protector, why has he brought this fate upon us?” I stand, trembling in confusion. “I don’t understand; we preach God’s will and those who follow it are all rewarded with death.” Praying for help, safety or guidance seems naïve like a child’s ignorant and optimistic dream. Another shard crashes onto the scorched statue of the crucifix, knocking it off its podium and shattering on the floor, billowing through the hallowed halls. “A God of any religion would not inflict this kind of fate onto his people” I firmly speak out loud, to myself as I stare into the eyes of the Austrian soldier.

Defiantly walking towards the door, I eagerly rip off my habit and toss it liberatingly over the Austrian soldier. My robes fall off easily and fall in a crumpled heap, slowly sagging next to the disfigured face of a man. Statues and corpses all in random piles attempt to block my path, but are easily overcome, falling to rubble when stepped on. I turn and stare at the horrific sight in front of me, looking at my beloved stained glass window. Michael’s figure is barely recognisable from the holes and cracks; but he seems to solemnly smile with his arms in the same outstretched pose. A faint breeze carries with it the delicate scent of daffodils that lure me outside into the reassuring sun.

** What I want to talk about specifically is your use of quotation marks. It is like your narrator is making a distinction between themselves and their feelings, and the voice in their head. The quotation marks seem awkward to me in most circumstances, because the first person carries over between the quotation marks and the normal narration, so it is hard to distinguish the need for the quotation marks. If you think it is important to keep it in the quotes, then just drop a line and leave it in isolation, just so it is known to the reader that this is a different voice than the usual narration.

I think the work here is wonderful It definitely makes sense. I think, what can be improved, is the start. And the start is not bad, by any means, but if you go back and adjust the start, with the end in mind, you'll be able to create more of a circular structure. So, some more hinting towards the role of the woman as a nun is important. I'm also wanting to know if every dead person is a soldier or a citizen? or a combination? Could you maybe bring in some imagery about statues and people lying in the rubble together? I think you could create a wonderful metaphor by doing this. So if you bring up that statues of saints and what not are laying on the ground in the rubble amongst the dead people at the start, and then at the end, you bring up some kind of notion rejecting Christianity, like, that Saints or idols in the faith are admired for their transcendence, but an act of war means that all their mightiness can be cancelled in seconds, and the things we look to for guidance in a time of need, are what comes tumbling down with us and ends up in a rubbled heap when things get really tough. If you want to go down the path of complete rejection of the false hope that Christianity provides, then you can do this. This realisation at the end will mean that the scenery becomes a metaphor, the discovery will be enhanced, and the rejection of the nun's garments will be enhanced in symbolism. Does this make any sense at all? I kind of think this is the most brilliant way to add an extra level to your work, for not a lot of effort.

Spiritually, emotionally, and to some extent, physically, this ex-nun discovered. So you're ticking a lot of the rubric. I want to know what brought the nun to the church, and how fresh the chaos was? Could she perhaps smell the gun powder? Or is some blood still moist? Or is this very retrospective? That kind of detail has the potential to make a discovery very fresh or very pensive.
In terms of length, I think you could actually cut out the part where the nun takes the vows, or that flashback to being a nun. The reason being, when you talk about her taking off her garments at the end, as long as you do it in a very distinguished way, the reader will have a "ohhh!" moment in the climax of the story, which works in your favour in terms of engagement. So that will cut out about 150-200 words I think!

The only thing I'm thinking of that may be suggested in the rubric that you don't cover - is that discovery may be planned. I think you'd need to add something at the very beginning to discuss the planned nature of her returning to the Church. What do you think you'd do in that situation?

All the best! Let me know if you want to question something or flesh out an idea more You should be proud of this work!

[elysepopplewell]

Hi i was wondering if you could look at my creative (hopefully i can qualify) i wasn't sure about whether or not you can tell that there's a discovery and if it logically makes sense. It is Alice in Wonderland inspired I'm just a bit worried it sounds too much like the original. Thank you in advance

No problemo! Will take a look at this now My comments are in bold font, followed by a comment at the end

Spoiler

Time moves ever so slowly now that you’re gone. Why do bad things happen to good people? It’s just not fair! You were gone within a blink of an eye, At this point I want to raise two issues: You're using a cliche by talking about time moving slowly, particularly when its coupled with a questioning of why bad things happen to good people, and then being gone in a blink of an eye. Markers are looking from fresh, intensely meaningful, and unique descriptions - especially in the opening! Also, the "you're" brings the second person into play, which doesn't make a lot of sense when you bounce into the third person for the rest of the paragraph. Be consistent in your narrator's voice, except when you are artfully manipulating it. all Lauren could think about were those last words, “Take care of Cassie, I’m sorry I couldn’t be the mother she wanted me to be. I’m so proud of the young women that you and your sister have become.” This should be on its own line - because it is dialogue but also because it is so significant.As the casket slowly lowered into the ground, wet patches appeared on the ground where Lauren and Cassie had been standing. This was it, the last farewell. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. How could this happen? Lauren had always been there for her mother and spent her free time caring for her mother. Whilst Cassie struggled to understand what her mother had gone through both mentally and physically. As the clouds started to cover the rising moon Lauren and Cassie slowly started to categorise their mother’s possessions into three separate boxes: keep, donate and throw away.

Whilst cleaning Cassie tripped over a pile of books that were left scattered around a vintage bookshelf. “What does this mean?” Cassie said, as all the words and diagrams that her mother had drawn didn’t seem to correlate with each other. There was an image of a small flute, next to an ever a never*ending rabbit hole. Did this show her mother’s love for interesting instruments? As Cassie carefully flicked through the pages of the journals she had found her mother’s adventures in Wonderland. The way Wonderland was described made it like a real place.

“I need to follow the white rabbit down the rabbit hole, he promised to take me to Wonderland”. Lauren was very concerned about her mother’s mentality as Wonderland doesn’t exist and is only a figment of Alice, her mother’s imagination. The sun in Wonderland would smile and radiate upon Alice creating an atmosphere of joy and happiness, it created a safe haven for Alice. She could no longer tell the differences between reality and imagination, it had engulfed her perception. She was lost in reality. Alice would always be writing or drawing in her journal, even if she was unable to do anything else.

Lauren knew her mother couldn’t be left alone so she enrolled to study her classes online to take care of her mother. At night her mother would be muttering words in her sleep, no doubt that Alice was dreaming about Wonderland. Every night during dinner Alice would be paranoid about whether or not the food she was about to eat would make her grow or make her shrink.

Red, the colour red can symbolise emotions as well as memories of constant hysteria.  Alice would occasionally cry out “Oh no! She’s coming for me, off with my head, off with my head, oh! I’ve grown quite fond of my head, don’t let her get me Lauren!”. The constant paranoia was slowly eating her mother alive and Lauren had no way to help her mother’s antagonising pain.

As Cassie slowly continued to flick through the pages of her mother’s journal, she slowly understood her mother’s life and regretted not spending time with her. Alice drew a picture her cat, Dinah in the house she grew up in. Alice cared for Dinah as if Dinah was her child, Cassie had no idea that her mother loved animals and felt at ease when she was around them. There was a photograph of Lauren, Cassie and Alice huddled by a camp fire, and roasting marshmallows.
All the memories had been stored in this simple, worn out journal, memories could have been lost if Alice never wrote them down. The gradual ticking of the clock created a pathway for Cassie to understand what her mother has been through. The adventures of meeting a talking caterpillar that was inhaling hookah smoke and offered the worst advice with such a rude, concise tone.

“Hey Lauren, what does it mean when mum says: the white rabbit was a symbol of hope as he gave her a sense of adventure?”

“Well, Cassie think about how siblings talk to one another. Do they usually address one another by first name when they are responding?I remember mum telling me that she wanted to follow the white rabbit and how unusual it was to see a white rabbit with a golden pocket watch that glistened in the sunlight. All the adventure that she mentions is her time she had in Wonderland and all the wonderful things that she had encountered; I know it may seem like a ridiculous concept but mum really did believe that Wonderland existed. The only thing we can do is accept it. As for the symbol of hope part maybe Wonderland was her safe haven where she felt happy.”

Every entry from the journal were expressed in explicit details and one of the few phrases Alice would constantly repeat were “Follow the White Rabbit”.  Cassie kept reading every journal entry and all she could see was an extended message of hope, live life like it was an adventure and dreaming big. Slowly, elements of Lauren’s and Cassie’s childhood was incorporating within the journal. Memories were all captured and became a part of her history, from the moments of laughter and joy. There was even a letter that Cassie wrote for her mother telling her that she had made her first friend, how they would play in the garden pretending to be fairies. 

Cassie’s heart starting to beat in time with the ongoing metronome in the background, she was almost at the end of the journal. Just one more page and it would be over. There was a small yet complicated picture in the bottom left hand corner of a small key hidden underneath a box, the same box that Cassie had in her room. As if it was second nature, Cassie bolted into to her room to find the key that her mother had drawn hoping that it would answer her questions. There it was, the key it was right where her mother had drawn it. She slowly placed the key into the box and kept turning the key until she heard a tiny click. There lying on the bottom of the box was a perfectly engraved golden pocket watch with a note attached reading “I’m late”.

I haven't commented a lot throughout, because I want to respond to the plot as a whole rather than by focusing on specific sentences in the later part of the story. I think the parallels between Alice and Wonderland and your own are very strong, and I don't know that it works in your favour. It's not as though you're alluding to the text, it's as though you've hybridised your own story with the classic story. Together, some parts of the story seem unnecessary because I'm not understanding the connections between aspects of the plot. Is your mother the writer of the original Alice in Wonderland? Or was she a big fan of the story? The part at the beginning about mother saying things about how proud she is, as her last words, doesn't tie in at all to the rest of the story later on. It's just adding emotion to the start of the story for the purpose of emotion.

So, my suggestion is:
Perhaps the two sisters start going through the mother's stuff after death, and realise her obsession with Alice in Wonderland. Not so much in the form of a diary entry, although that still works, but perhaps finding out she has movie stubbs, merchandise, the original book, the DVDs, the cassettes, etc, all collected. And maybe it could be revealed that the mother actually suffered a depression that could only be released through Alice in Wonderland. Or perhaps the mother was in an unhappy marriage, or just a rut in life, and her escape was Alice in Wonderland. This was, the girls make a physical discovery about her mother's obsession, but also a more emotional discovery about their own mother's existence.

Your writing is great. The ideas are there and you don't repeat yourself or anything mundane like that. It's not just about getting the plot on track and then going from there! I hope you don't mind my suggestions! If you want to ask any questions, please do!

[elysepopplewell]

Hi,

Could you please have a look at my creative the main thing I am struggling with is making my discovery concept clear but not too obvious some suggestions would be awesome!

Cheers heaps

Heya!
Will take a look at this now My comments are in bold throughout, although I've been tending to not write much throughout and instead a big comment at the end, so we'll see what I do this time

Spoiler

You raised your head a little, and observed the opaque and timeworn sky, painted by Nyx herself. Interesting use of the second person! I'm engaged.

The tiny sparkly specks beckoned you. For you were curious; curious about the wisdom they embodied, the reality they concealed, and the mystery they evoked. But in a way, they were like beacons of hope for all the lost souls of the world, including you.

Gentle breezes swished across the treetops and burned your face. The soil was damp from yesterday’s rain; a ladder penetrated into its flesh and explored depths never reached before. Its rusty rungs were marked by moist and muddy footprints, left behind by your Converses.

Stars, I have seen them fall,
   But when they drop and die
      No star is lost at all
         From all the star-sown sky…
― A.E. Housman
“Mum! Hurry up!” You grasped the rungs of the brand new ladder and banged them impatiently against the brick wall. Fall’s sweet breath embraced the sleepy land. Beams of moonlight kissed outstretched wings, bound for warmer shores, whilst fruits harkened to those that stayed. In the darkness of the autumn night, summer petals curled delicately into the earth and the crisp metallic clank echoed. Your writing is beautiful.

“Sh, sweet heart, you will disturb the neighbours.” Her brows creased, and she pursed her lips together. Her thick jet-black hair danced freely in the evening breeze, cascading down her delicate cheeks like midnight waves on a sandy beach. She casually tucked away a strand behind her ears, while the lingering rays from the lamp shone upon the profile of her face.

“Nice weather for star-viewing, isn’t it?” She stroked the baby hair from your forehead and corrected the parting of your fringe. “Be careful, off you go.” She patted your back.

The ladder squeaked under your weight; you bit your lips hard, after all, you were just a little girl. A moth was circling around your head, flapping its wings, and its antennas were twitching like miniature feathers. Its perky brown colour merged perfectly with the night, but you could still hear quiet fluttering, seeking, and searching. Mum supported the rails and you felt more secure and at ease. Step by step, you moved up, your childish heart pounded with eager and excitement. The higher you went, the more you could see. You were getting closer to the end.

However, the ladder seemed to go on forever, pointing towards emptiness. Your heart beat slower under the glare of the moon. Your fingers trembled and your nails made clinking sounds on the metal. The metal was warm from your touch and droplets of sweat appeared on your palm. You held onto the rung tighter than ever, until your arms tensed up and your elbows and knuckles popped out. The moth had returned and landed softly on your shoulder, tickling your ear as it gave its papery wings a shake. You could smell the fresh earth from its feet. It wiggled, curling up its skinny abdomen, and panted in exhaustion. But it had a mission, and that meant hard work. Taking off, again, into unknown space; it left behind a few specks of pollen on your t-shirt from some place faraway.

You followed its lead. It soared upwards with a reddish hue and on its rear wing was a dark circle, like an eye, watching tentatively. At last, your palm touched the dusty planks. You hoisted yourself up, wiped your hands on your jeans and relaxed your muscles. The fragrance of dust and air had never been so apparent. “Mum, your turn!” Dialogue needs a new line The ladder wobbled in your grip, as it creaked and groaned under Mum’s weight.

You lay yourselves flat on the rooftop, head to head, and hip to hip. The stars were like a surreal blanket above your heads. You could feel mum’s pulse against your temple and her soft breaths against your cheek.

“Don’t you think we are like stars?” Mum pinched your nose, “We fall to make someone’s wish come true.” The maroon tiles rattled in the dark as she turned over…

The toil of all that be
   Helps not the primal fault…

You felt the moist maroon tiles next to you; mould was crawling up the clay. You studied the empty seat, in its place, was your own swaying shadow.

Some people never come back.

You felt a raindrop against your skin, followed by several others, but you didn’t have the heart to go back inside. The deep gray clouds were gradually drawing a curtain over the silvery-blue stars. You moved over and sat on the edge of the roof, crossing one leg over the other. You leaned back on your palms to examine the remaining constellations uncovered from the clouds. The tiles didn’t feel the same, nor did the ladder and the stars. The moon hung full and hazy beneath an eclipse of blazing stars, allowing you to see the rooftops of your neighbours, identically bleak buildings surrounding your own. Your body was a fountain for the incoming rain. The water made your eyelids heavy. You closed your dull dark-brown eyes and a sigh passed through your parted lips as you did so, causing your breath to fog up before you. It obscured your vision, as you took in the feeling of wet, bruised skin.
I just want to let you know that at this point I am completely enthralled by your writing. You haven't used cliches, you have always found unique imagery, and every word is adequately chosen.
You thought about your mum…

And the star you shared burnt a little brighter.

It rains into the sea,
   And still the sea is salt…

I think your writing is beautiful. You write so eloquently. You discuss the parts of life considered so small, and bring it to literary life. The use of the second person is very interesting and I think it works really well. I have a suggestion, and it's not something I'm 100% saying is the best thing for you, just because I want to let you decide. Do you think that you should change tense when I think about my mum? Like, when you prompt me, to think about my mum haha. My story mum. I think that can be the volta, the moment where it shifts in both tense and emotion. Just a suggestion

In terms of discovery, this is what I pick up:
-The reader makes a discovery about the relationship between the two characters.
-There is the spiritual/emotional and physical discovery that the mum has never left, and she lingers in the sky.

What confuses me is the fragmented quote that connects the first and second part, and also introduces and concludes the poem. Maybe it is a really famous quote and I'm just totally missing the point? I don't know. But right now it's just not speaking to me. Which is a shame, because I love when people get creative with their form.

Ok back to discovery: I think you can be more obvious. It is a fine line, I know! but truly, it is left very much so open to interpretation right now, which can be hit or miss.
Perhaps you can make a greater distinction of time elapsing between the first and second half of the story? I imagined the protagonist to be the same age in both parts, but I think that having a little son or daughter spending time with mum, compared to a teenager without a mum, is a very powerful comparison to consider.

When you wrote this, what is the discovery you targeted? I might be able to give you some suggestions on how to channel that specifically.

You should be very pleased with your writing ability!

[Aliceyyy98]

Heya!
Will take a look at this now My comments are in bold throughout, although I've been tending to not write much throughout and instead a big comment at the end, so we'll see what I do this time

Spoiler

You raised your head a little, and observed the opaque and timeworn sky, painted by Nyx herself. Interesting use of the second person! I'm engaged.

The tiny sparkly specks beckoned you. For you were curious; curious about the wisdom they embodied, the reality they concealed, and the mystery they evoked. But in a way, they were like beacons of hope for all the lost souls of the world, including you.

Gentle breezes swished across the treetops and burned your face. The soil was damp from yesterday’s rain; a ladder penetrated into its flesh and explored depths never reached before. Its rusty rungs were marked by moist and muddy footprints, left behind by your Converses.

Stars, I have seen them fall,
   But when they drop and die
      No star is lost at all
         From all the star-sown sky…
― A.E. Housman
“Mum! Hurry up!” You grasped the rungs of the brand new ladder and banged them impatiently against the brick wall. Fall’s sweet breath embraced the sleepy land. Beams of moonlight kissed outstretched wings, bound for warmer shores, whilst fruits harkened to those that stayed. In the darkness of the autumn night, summer petals curled delicately into the earth and the crisp metallic clank echoed. Your writing is beautiful.

“Sh, sweet heart, you will disturb the neighbours.” Her brows creased, and she pursed her lips together. Her thick jet-black hair danced freely in the evening breeze, cascading down her delicate cheeks like midnight waves on a sandy beach. She casually tucked away a strand behind her ears, while the lingering rays from the lamp shone upon the profile of her face.

“Nice weather for star-viewing, isn’t it?” She stroked the baby hair from your forehead and corrected the parting of your fringe. “Be careful, off you go.” She patted your back.

The ladder squeaked under your weight; you bit your lips hard, after all, you were just a little girl. A moth was circling around your head, flapping its wings, and its antennas were twitching like miniature feathers. Its perky brown colour merged perfectly with the night, but you could still hear quiet fluttering, seeking, and searching. Mum supported the rails and you felt more secure and at ease. Step by step, you moved up, your childish heart pounded with eager and excitement. The higher you went, the more you could see. You were getting closer to the end.

However, the ladder seemed to go on forever, pointing towards emptiness. Your heart beat slower under the glare of the moon. Your fingers trembled and your nails made clinking sounds on the metal. The metal was warm from your touch and droplets of sweat appeared on your palm. You held onto the rung tighter than ever, until your arms tensed up and your elbows and knuckles popped out. The moth had returned and landed softly on your shoulder, tickling your ear as it gave its papery wings a shake. You could smell the fresh earth from its feet. It wiggled, curling up its skinny abdomen, and panted in exhaustion. But it had a mission, and that meant hard work. Taking off, again, into unknown space; it left behind a few specks of pollen on your t-shirt from some place faraway.

You followed its lead. It soared upwards with a reddish hue and on its rear wing was a dark circle, like an eye, watching tentatively. At last, your palm touched the dusty planks. You hoisted yourself up, wiped your hands on your jeans and relaxed your muscles. The fragrance of dust and air had never been so apparent. “Mum, your turn!” Dialogue needs a new line The ladder wobbled in your grip, as it creaked and groaned under Mum’s weight.

You lay yourselves flat on the rooftop, head to head, and hip to hip. The stars were like a surreal blanket above your heads. You could feel mum’s pulse against your temple and her soft breaths against your cheek.

“Don’t you think we are like stars?” Mum pinched your nose, “We fall to make someone’s wish come true.” The maroon tiles rattled in the dark as she turned over…

The toil of all that be
   Helps not the primal fault…

You felt the moist maroon tiles next to you; mould was crawling up the clay. You studied the empty seat, in its place, was your own swaying shadow.

Some people never come back.

You felt a raindrop against your skin, followed by several others, but you didn’t have the heart to go back inside. The deep gray clouds were gradually drawing a curtain over the silvery-blue stars. You moved over and sat on the edge of the roof, crossing one leg over the other. You leaned back on your palms to examine the remaining constellations uncovered from the clouds. The tiles didn’t feel the same, nor did the ladder and the stars. The moon hung full and hazy beneath an eclipse of blazing stars, allowing you to see the rooftops of your neighbours, identically bleak buildings surrounding your own. Your body was a fountain for the incoming rain. The water made your eyelids heavy. You closed your dull dark-brown eyes and a sigh passed through your parted lips as you did so, causing your breath to fog up before you. It obscured your vision, as you took in the feeling of wet, bruised skin.
I just want to let you know that at this point I am completely enthralled by your writing. You haven't used cliches, you have always found unique imagery, and every word is adequately chosen.
You thought about your mum…

And the star you shared burnt a little brighter.

It rains into the sea,
   And still the sea is salt…

I think your writing is beautiful. You write so eloquently. You discuss the parts of life considered so small, and bring it to literary life. The use of the second person is very interesting and I think it works really well. I have a suggestion, and it's not something I'm 100% saying is the best thing for you, just because I want to let you decide. Do you think that you should change tense when I think about my mum? Like, when you prompt me, to think about my mum haha. My story mum. I think that can be the volta, the moment where it shifts in both tense and emotion. Just a suggestion

In terms of discovery, this is what I pick up:
-The reader makes a discovery about the relationship between the two characters.
-There is the spiritual/emotional and physical discovery that the mum has never left, and she lingers in the sky.

What confuses me is the fragmented quote that connects the first and second part, and also introduces and concludes the poem. Maybe it is a really famous quote and I'm just totally missing the point? I don't know. But right now it's just not speaking to me. Which is a shame, because I love when people get creative with their form.

Ok back to discovery: I think you can be more obvious. It is a fine line, I know! but truly, it is left very much so open to interpretation right now, which can be hit or miss.
Perhaps you can make a greater distinction of time elapsing between the first and second half of the story? I imagined the protagonist to be the same age in both parts, but I think that having a little son or daughter spending time with mum, compared to a teenager without a mum, is a very powerful comparison to consider.

When you wrote this, what is the discovery you targeted? I might be able to give you some suggestions on how to channel that specifically.

You should be very pleased with your writing ability!

Thanks Elyse! Yes i planned to have the memory to be when the character was young and a kid and the transition to teenager, but i guess it didnt come across clearly, how would i achieve that exactly? My discovery concept is that memory of loved ones stay with you and also slight discovery of the transience and impermanence of things, do you think i communicated that well? Thank you again so much!! This will help me heaps

[elysepopplewell]

Thanks Elyse! Yes i planned to have the memory to be when the character was young and a kid and the transition to teenager, but i guess it didnt come across clearly, how would i achieve that exactly? My discovery concept is that memory of loved ones stay with you and also slight discovery of the transience and impermanence of things, do you think i communicated that well? Thank you again so much!! This will help me heaps

I think one of the things you could look at is something like hair length. Having hair in pigtails at the start, and then in the second half, maybe dyed blue, or very long, or something like that. Another indicator of time would be actually noticing how much bigger you felt sitting on the roof the second time. Or, making a bigger contrast when you talk about the tiles. Perhaps claiming that they are now very frail, and actually identifying blatantly that they had aged. I know you're trying to credit the reader enough so that you don't explain every little detail, but you can take it a little more obvious in your description of things!

I think your discoveries come across well. Be prepared to use that end part of the story to relate to a stimulus. I think the discovery hangs on the end heavily, which is completely fine, but that is likely to mean that when you integrate a stimulus, it will probably be in that section there. So consider if you are comfortable enough to do that. if the stimulus asks for your piece to describe the intensely meaningful or transformative nature of discovery, how will you go about that? or if the stimulus talks about a planned discovery, do you have a plan for that? I bring up these things not to scare you, but just because they appear to me to be three places that might throw you because your story doesn't lend itself to those particular sections of the rubric easily. Which is, of course, fine! Because a story can't respond beautifully to every aspect of the stimulus. it's just about preparing how you will respond if you need to!

[Aliceyyy98]

I think one of the things you could look at is something like hair length. Having hair in pigtails at the start, and then in the second half, maybe dyed blue, or very long, or something like that. Another indicator of time would be actually noticing how much bigger you felt sitting on the roof the second time. Or, making a bigger contrast when you talk about the tiles. Perhaps claiming that they are now very frail, and actually identifying blatantly that they had aged. I know you're trying to credit the reader enough so that you don't explain every little detail, but you can take it a little more obvious in your description of things!

I think your discoveries come across well. Be prepared to use that end part of the story to relate to a stimulus. I think the discovery hangs on the end heavily, which is completely fine, but that is likely to mean that when you integrate a stimulus, it will probably be in that section there. So consider if you are comfortable enough to do that. if the stimulus asks for your piece to describe the intensely meaningful or transformative nature of discovery, how will you go about that? or if the stimulus talks about a planned discovery, do you have a plan for that? I bring up these things not to scare you, but just because they appear to me to be three places that might throw you because your story doesn't lend itself to those particular sections of the rubric easily. Which is, of course, fine! Because a story can't respond beautifully to every aspect of the stimulus. it's just about preparing how you will respond if you need to!

Ohh yes i see! Just a few more questions, sorry. The one you mentioned earler about changing the tense at the end i think is a cool idea! But did you by changing the second person to first person or? And i was thinking of making the memory part also a sort of discovery for the younger protagonist just about something different, like maybe the support and security others offer you?

About the transformative part of the rubric, i could maybe establish the protagonist thinking something different at the start... But i feel the planned would throw me

[shailerpennell]

thank you so much for your patience!

Okay, I'll try keep your teacher's comment in mind when I'm looking at this and see if I can try add to what she's said to make some more sense of it

Your work is in the spoiler here with some of my own thoughts in bold font throughout, then I'll write up a comment at the end:

Spoiler

Lost but not forgotten
                                                                                                              “Yet what we suffer now
                                                                                                              is nothing compared to the glory
                                                                                                             he will reveal to us later.”
                                                                                                             - Romans 8:18

 I felt as if there was a hole in my heart. I did not feel content nor complete nor truly happy. I think adding some commas before each "nor" will really break up the sentence so that the negation becomes more clear in each unique way. Yes, I laughed and smiled politely but the immense pain would not pass. Each day was like a throbbing headache. I slipped so easily into a mood that would chain me down, forcing me to remember the lingering pain. I found myself desperately trying to find a way to express how I was feeling and how I could possibly find peace in my situation. This speaks to me as an opportunity for some imagery, like a metaphor. Consider changing "situation" for something that be a metaphor, like peace in chaos, peace in crisis, peace in turmoil, etc. Maybe a metaphor isn't the right word, maybe you need an oxymoron in a way. This is just a super small suggestion, it won't impact on the way discovery is perceived. Little things like this add up to the integrity of the writing as a whole. It was hard to explain, again and again I filled the gap with temporary happiness longing to find a way out of the dark hole. It seemed like these years of life were all I had ever dreamed of as an innocent, unknowing child, being a teenager was supposed to be exhilarating and dangerous and memorable for all the right reasons, but I felt trapped and dejected, I was weak and unable to think for myself, this was not what I had expected. This last sentence is quite long, consider rephrasing. I felt as though every fibre of strength and willingness I once had had fled and taken refuge in a body that was thriving and healthy. I found myself turning to material possessions that I hoped could close the gap between my current state and where I wished I was. Every day I woke wondering what I could do to regain a happy spirit and rediscover myself once again. I felt lost and forgotten.
I turned the radio on to help me escape my unrelenting thoughts.
Channel 104.1: “Justin Bieber’s nude photos leaked on Instagram! Did you get a sneak peek?!”
Channel 96.9: “Ring us up and tell us your dirtiest secret to go in the draw to win one thousand dollars’ cash!!”
Channel 103.2: “…Amen, I would now like to leave you with my favourite verse out of the book of Romans, Romans 10:9-10: If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is LORD and believe in your heart the GOD raised him from the dead, you will be saved, anyone who trusts in him will never be disgraced.”
For some reason that was unknown to me in that moment, hearing that verse brought a tear to my eye Brought a tear to my eye - this is a cliche. Try to avoid talking about tears, and talk about shivering, or a heavy feeling pulling at the tendons behind the eye ball, or and an uneasy yet ever so reassuring feeling to the pit of my stomach that had been numb for so long. I did not know it then, but that very moment was the beginning of my rediscovery of self through GOD himself and the day I would discover Heaven for the very first time. I like where this is going!

That night as I was immersing myself in reality television to take my mind off my own unfortunate reality, the clock struck 11:00pm *tick tock*, my que to take myself off to bed and sleep my way into another day that would be just as numb and lifeless as the one before that. Sleep was bitter-sweet for me, my crisp sheets enclosed me and warmed my skin but the dead silence exposed my echoing thoughts and reminded me of the unrelenting pain, chilling me from deep within. However, that night was different. I fell to sleep peacefully, feeling warm and comfortable between my sheets. As I drifted into a deep sleep, the world of my sub-conscious began to unravel, I saw I bright light, no, a blinding light, a light that was pure and unearthly. As the light dimmed I stood before thundering, brass gates that opened in front of me beckoning me to enter. The gates were weaved with rich green vines that ended at each stalk with precious white flowers. I entered, passing through the gates, I felt immediately clean, as if I was shedding my misery and hopelessness and closing the gates behind me. As I ventured onwards, footsteps weightless, two angles appeared,

“The LORD has brought you here for reasons unknown to man, a great miracle is upon you”,
They harmonised. Then they disappeared.

“I must be in heaven”

 I wept. It was more beautiful than any place I had ever been capable to imagine, it was pure and incomparable by earthly measure… oh it was grand. The grass overflowed in vast abundance of lush and seem to have no end, just like the sky, it consumed me in all its power, I felt small in this great, immortal world. I stood there, unable to move, overwhelmed by the depths of its beauty. Whenever I had thought of what heaven would look like, I had imagined entering and being greeted by loved ones who had passed, having my clothes swapped for robes and being able to fly without fear and have unlimited supply of fine wine and exotic fruit, however I saw no one, this place was not what I expected. As I stood in a field of lush green grass I wondered how GOD would make his entrance, I imagined him hovering in a great light, or walking on water or greeting me as he broke bread and divided fish, all great and mighty appearances. However my thoughts were interrupted as a man appeared in the distance, he was washing his face by the river. It was Jesus, GOD had sent himself to me in the form of his son Jesus Christ. The all mighty, all powerful Jesus was bathing himself like a peasant, humble and gracious. He turned to me calmly,

“Come sit with me my child”

His voice beckoned.

I timidly sat beside the son of GOD, the man who performed miracles with his hands, the one who died and rose again, the saviour of the world, I was afraid to look at him, ashamed of my sins, ashamed of my pathetic, immortal appearance. With his voice echoing among the trees, he said to me,

 “My child look at me, do not be afraid, do not feel disheartened or discouraged for you are loved.”

 He paused,
 “You were fearfully and wonderfully made in the hands of God. Do not let worldly distractions inhabit your mind, do not be intrigued by strange, new things, separate yourself among the unbelievers and live your life according to the purpose I have for you”

 I fell to the feet of Jesus as I wept uncontrollably,
 “For I know the plans I have for you, they are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope... in those days when you pray I will listen, if you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me.”

I woke, breathless, unable to fathom what I had just experienced. I had discovered heaven, I had met Jesus. I sat up in my bed, my sheets felt unfamiliar and unclean, those of my past life, I hurried to remove them from my mattress, certain not to let anything taint this new found inner peace. I danced and sung for joy as I cried jubilant tears, for I had been saved. I stood as tall as the trees I had sat beneath in Heaven and my tears ran like the water Jesus used to wash his face.

I swept my curtains open, letting the light of day flood my room just as Jesus had once flooded the earth, and I was in the arc, I safe. I fell to my knees as did before Jesus in Heaven,

 “Thank you Lord! I am a new person; you have filled the hole in my heart, a new life has begun! Although I was lost, you never forgot me.”

I didn't comment much on the last section for a number of reasons. Basically, I want to talk about your story as a whole, looking at the plot overview specifically, rather than focusing on sentences individually.

Spiritual discovery is overlooked by most students. Or, if not overlooked, ignored. Which is really dangerous considering it is a definite feature of the rubric. Here, I think you've covered spiritual, physical and emotional discoveries.

It's sometimes scary to hear feedback on your plot because it means huge structural changes, but I think it is important to embrace proposed ideas, even if they are substantially suggesting moving away from the current direction. The magic in your piece happens when the radio is turned on. Starting your piece with the quote from Romans is a great idea. It is cryptic, but strong, and isolated, and very sophisticated. I want to see that kind of artful manipulation of form throughout. Moving from the sophisticated epilogue to a lot of reflection over a depressed life was a bit of a let down, because you've shown your capability as a writer to take on form, and then we've fallen into a basic way of describing life. I think you could enhance your work by shortening the start bit. I think we should cut out anything that is typical of this kind of reflection, like wishing teenage years were different, comparing innocence to reality, and the high modality words of desperation. Instead, we want to leave the bare bones of the argument, then flesh them out with some really succinct imagery. Try to describe this in a really raw way. So rather than being loaded with emotion, we want to be raw. The reason for this is, the character claims they can't put these feelings into words, but then the character spends a lot of words talking about how they feel. Whereas, I tend to think, a character feeling these incredibly intense emotions, would be able to summarise it in very few words. Not because the emotions aren't complicated, but because the energy to try and describe it is stripped of them. Maybe we could talk about driving blindly through the day, and getting to the end of the day and not being able to remember what happened between recess and lunch. Or, reading three chapters of the book and still not being able to recall the protagonist's name. This is the kind of thing I think responds to the character you are creating. You're creating a character that has no direction, and is essentially empty, waiting to be filled by the spirit. So you want to remove the character of all drive, including the drive to describe feelings. You want them to be vacuous. This will help with the word count too!

Then, I think we can keep the end part as is, but enhance the writing. The Bible is incredibly charged with imagery, connotations, links to other sections of the Bible, etc. There are so many symbols that you could use in your own work with a double meaning - a Christian meaning and a meaning for the individual's life. Imagery that relates to the Pentecostal flame, or the Baptismal font, or the green garments worn by a priest in ordinary time - all of that will weave integrity through your work. Those small allusions will link to the initial epigraph and will enhance your work a lot.

In terms of the Heaven meeting: You decide if you think this is the best option. It works, but I'm left curious. Did she or he momentarily die and see Heaven? Or was it a very powerful dream? Because the next day paragraph is awesome. Starting fresh, filled with Jesus, (good spot for an allusion), and the discovery is made clear. So you decide if you want the character to actually die and see Heaven, or if they had a divine intervention in a dream, or was it an apparition? Apparitions are incredibly interesting. My aunty claims she had an apparition once of the Virgin Mary. You should have a google around apparitions if you haven't already, and people will describe their apparitions, which may be useful for adding authenticity to your story. As a writer, I'd be more comfortable following the idea of an apparition, just because it is Earth-bound, and I'm more comfortable writing about this realm of life. If you're daring and confident, then sure, take it to the transcendent level. As a writer myself, I'm more comfortable writing about Earth with interventions of the transcendent, rather than describing a scene from the transcendent. Also to think about: How do you think Heaven is? Do you want to move away from the idea of it being pearly white, or do you want to stay with that notion to make sure it is clear that it is in fact, Heaven? I think that this section here, the potential of changing the visit to Heaven to an apparition, will fix that "figurative language lacking" section that your teacher commented on.

I've given you a lot to think about, I think! You're writing is there, it's just looking to be enhanced. The easiest things to fix are the boring things, like grammar. But you've got that down pat, right now you should be re-evaluating your plot, and making sure that the discovery is accessible for a marker from any walk of life to experience what is a very powerful spiritual discovery. When you re-assess the plot, it is a big task and seems interminable. But constantly adjust, then put it away, and look with fresh eyes, and get some opinions!

Let me know if you need any more help, or if you have any questions!

Wow! Thank you so much, you have helped me heaps! X

[victoriad98]

Hi, so i wrote a new creative as my old one was so bad, and i was wondering if you could take a look and tell me what you think? I was wanting a rough estimate of what it'd be worth. thank you so much!
--
“Bye”
That look. That very last look before he turned around and walked through the corridor to customs. I had never seen my dad cry, only when we went to his cousins viewing, that’s when I really saw him cry. But today was another rare occasion where I’d see him tear up. Mum and I were crying too, typically, but my brother? Oh, he’s tough, he never cries. But I could tell he was devastated as well, I mean who wouldn’t be, living with your dad for your whole life, in the same damn house, and then that just changing within seconds.
All three of us spin around and slowly pace back to the car park, in dead silence. I could tell what we were all thinking… “How is this going to work?” I mean really, how was it going to work? You tell me, how would you feel if your dad moved overseas to work for a few years? My parents aren’t even divorced, it’s a very confusing situation, but I guess what has to happen, has to happen. I look to my mum, whose face is steaming red and her eyes are as wet as the road from the downpour outside, and I think, how will she cope? You have your husband by your side for your whole life and you suddenly have to act like a single mother for as long as this lasts. I then shift my head to see my brother, blank faced. And I wonder, how would it feel, to have your dad around your whole life, and in the most important years you need him, he goes? Then I look straight ahead. What about me? How would it feel, having the man you look up to your whole life, who motivates you, works hard everyday, who shows you to never give up, just leave? What about him? Leaving every piece of family he has behind, just to right the wrongs he made in his working life. He’ll come every few months to visit for a few weeks, but I mean does that time even equate to the time he’s not here? Thank god for technology these days, imagine having no Skype, no texting, no Facebook? At least I’m grateful to have so many ways at communicating at the tips of my fingers.
This is a new chapter in life, a chapter without having the man of the house be there for the majority of the time, a chapter where we have to experience how millions of families around the world live; with just one parent. I’m a firm believer in “everything happens for a reason” it’s my life motto, I live by it, because it just makes so much sense. Everything in this world has a reason for being here, a reason for happening, even if we don’t know why.

As the days go past, it gets harder and harder. The plan was 2 years, but that turned into 4 years. It’s weird what was normal to me when I was 13, is not the normal I experience at 17. Life without my dad, I didn’t think it would be this hard. My brother became a little distant from my mum and I around the time by dad departed. He was in his last years of school, he always went out with his mates, he got a girlfriend, he just hated being at home. I get it, I understand why he acted the way he did, but my mum didn’t. She blamed herself for his behaviour, she probably felt as if she wasn’t good enough that he became very distant. I wish she could just see it how I saw it, he was just confused, with no manly figure. But thank god that didn’t remain that way; he eventually came back around, closer to the time my dad was coming back around.
These 4 years, I realised a lot. I saw how hard being a single-parent is, and it makes me really admire all the single-parents out there, how strong they are to keep on going even when the times get tough. I realised how to get through the hardest times in life when you could just count on yourself, and make it work. I realised that whatever you want in life, you just have to go for it, even if it’s difficult to let go of some things, you have to try, persevere, and push for it, because if you never go for what you want, you’ll never get it.
And again, the times are changing, he’s finally moving back. No one understands how long I waited for this, how many times I cried for him to come back, how many times I hoped it would be soon, and the time finally came, because patience is the key. Now my normal will soon have to adapt to having a father around, but I don’t care, because these 4 years made me realise how important family is, and how hard it is to not have them around. I would not change them for anything in the world.

[jamonwindeyer]

Hi, so i wrote a new creative as my old one was so bad, and i was wondering if you could take a look and tell me what you think? I was wanting a rough estimate of what it'd be worth. thank you so much!

Hey there Victoria! Welcome to the forums!! 

Thanks for posting your creative. Unfortunately, we require that every user has 5 ATAR Notes posts for every essay/creative they'd like marked. So 1 creative needs 5 posts, 5 creatives need 25 posts, etc. This is to ensure that the service remains accessible and attainable for active members of the ATAR Notes community. Feel free to hang around the forums, ask some questions, say hey in our chit chat thread, and build up your post count! Then just pop back in and let us know when you meet the threshold. Thanks in advance!! 

[elysepopplewell]

Ohh yes i see! Just a few more questions, sorry. The one you mentioned earler about changing the tense at the end i think is a cool idea! But did you by changing the second person to first person or? And i was thinking of making the memory part also a sort of discovery for the younger protagonist just about something different, like maybe the support and security others offer you?

About the transformative part of the rubric, i could maybe establish the protagonist thinking something different at the start... But i feel the planned would throw me

I think you should keep it in the first person! But you're in the past tense. What about bringing it into the present tense? As though the narrator is forcing you to look back on your younger life, and then suddenly, the second person narrator paired with present tense will increase the climatic nature of that part of your script!

Perhaps with the planned part of the rubric, if you were tested on it, you could bring up the idea that your mother planned for you to always be taken care of? So even though you have only just made the discovery, your mother always planned that you would be taken care of. And you will only realise it later.

What do you think? Its something to consider even before the stimulus throws you. I think it is worth looking into just as a simple way of adding an extra layer of discovery to enhance your discovery.