Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[jamonwindeyer]

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

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

Hey! So as a fresh set of eyes (don't think I've worked with this narrative in any form/draft actually) I really like this. The child's voice still has a few small issues in my opinion, but it seems like it has come a long way and I think it plays nicely into the characters innocence.

It definitely makes sense. I think the point of view of the child makes it subtle, which is nice. I think you MIGHT still need to deal with the thoughts/feelings of the characters a little more, just to give the story more purpose. It doesn't feel like there is a story arc proper, I feel the conclusion could be a little stronger. But it definitely makes sense to the reader

I think the style is fairly consistent (so coherent) and definitely works well to achieve the purpose (sophistication) in most sections. I think the use of language is effective; if only a little forced in some places (but I get it is hard to give sophisticated techniques to a Childs voice).

On the whole I think the narrative has come a long way and you should feel confident handing it in tomorrow

Creative

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[anotherworld2b]

thank you for your feedback jamon
I was wondering what do you mean by this?
' think you MIGHT still need to deal with the thoughts/feelings of the characters a little more, just to give the story more purpose. It doesn't feel like there is a story arc proper, I feel the conclusion could be a little stronger. But it definitely makes sense to the reader '

I am not sure how to deal with the thoughts/feelings of the characters more also what could I do to make the conclusion stronger?

Hey! So as a fresh set of eyes (don't think I've worked with this narrative in any form/draft actually) I really like this. The child's voice still has a few small issues in my opinion, but it seems like it has come a long way and I think it plays nicely into the characters innocence.

It definitely makes sense. I think the point of view of the child makes it subtle, which is nice. I think you MIGHT still need to deal with the thoughts/feelings of the characters a little more, just to give the story more purpose. It doesn't feel like there is a story arc proper, I feel the conclusion could be a little stronger. But it definitely makes sense to the reader

I think the style is fairly consistent (so coherent) and definitely works well to achieve the purpose (sophistication) in most sections. I think the use of language is effective; if only a little forced in some places (but I get it is hard to give sophisticated techniques to a Childs voice).

On the whole I think the narrative has come a long way and you should feel confident handing it in tomorrow

Creative

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jamonwindeyer]

thank you for your feedback jamon
I was wondering what do you mean by this?
' think you MIGHT still need to deal with the thoughts/feelings of the characters a little more, just to give the story more purpose. It doesn't feel like there is a story arc proper, I feel the conclusion could be a little stronger. But it definitely makes sense to the reader '

I am not sure how to deal with the thoughts/feelings of the characters more also what could I do to make the conclusion stronger?

So what I mean by that is, it doesn't feel like you've fully culminated in a 'lesson' or realisation. At least, not as powerfully as you could. You've explored the theme of domestic violence a little but it doesn't feel like anything has been learned or any new understanding has been gained. The characters are all the same when you finish as when you started, so the story feels a little inconsequential. No one learns anything I suppose! This links to why I say the conclusion could be stronger because it feels a little lacklustre for the same reasons.

You could do more in the conclusion to have the main character realise something about relationships, or have some other change that makes the rest of the story mean something.

That said, that might not be the purpose of this story. It could just be an observation about the presence of domestic violence in society, and a contrast of that dark side of society agains the innocence of the child. That works too! I'm approaching this in a HSC mindset where there needs to be development and culmination - That might not be the same for you

[anotherworld2b]

ah I see
Thank you for the help

So what I mean by that is, it doesn't feel like you've fully culminated in a 'lesson' or realisation. At least, not as powerfully as you could. You've explored the theme of domestic violence a little but it doesn't feel like anything has been learned or any new understanding has been gained. The characters are all the same when you finish as when you started, so the story feels a little inconsequential. No one learns anything I suppose! This links to why I say the conclusion could be stronger because it feels a little lacklustre for the same reasons.

You could do more in the conclusion to have the main character realise something about relationships, or have some other change that makes the rest of the story mean something.

That said, that might not be the purpose of this story. It could just be an observation about the presence of domestic violence in society, and a contrast of that dark side of society agains the innocence of the child. That works too! I'm approaching this in a HSC mindset where there needs to be development and culmination - That might not be the same for you

[emilyjaajaa]

Hey! if i post my creative here for marking, could i still use it for my hsc exam?

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey! if i post my creative here for marking, could i still use it for my hsc exam?

Hey Emily! Yeah you definitely can, heaps of people were getting feedback on creatives for their HSC all through last year

Welcome to the forums! Remember you'll need 15 posts on ATAR Notes to qualify for feedback; really easy if you hang around the site a bit, have a chat and ask a few questions

[Kirri Rule]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you very much, Ill let you know when i reach 15 but i was also just wondering, what is the recommended number of creatives we should have prepared for the HSC?

[elysepopplewell]

Thank you very much, Ill let you know when i reach 15 but i was also just wondering, what is the recommended number of creatives we should have prepared for the HSC?

Hey Kirri, I just prepared one, and I would say the majority of the students only prepare one to take in! But if you're going in with one, you want to be certain that you can adjust it. So before the HSC, I tested mine out with variable endings, beginnings, alterations in plot, etc. All of this meant that although I only had one prepared text, it was super flexible and it was almost as though I had prepared more (because I did a speech, I could change my target audience, location, etc). So, I'd just be working on the one for now. If you hit a dead end, why not begin another and see if it takes you better places. Otherwise, just one is what I recommend!

[Kirri Rule]

Hey Kirri, I just prepared one, and I would say the majority of the students only prepare one to take in! But if you're going in with one, you want to be certain that you can adjust it. So before the HSC, I tested mine out with variable endings, beginnings, alterations in plot, etc. All of this meant that although I only had one prepared text, it was super flexible and it was almost as though I had prepared more (because I did a speech, I could change my target audience, location, etc). So, I'd just be working on the one for now. If you hit a dead end, why not begin another and see if it takes you better places. Otherwise, just one is what I recommend!

Perfect so would you recommend that we should use different past paper stimuli to test our creatives, to see if they are flexible enough?

[jamonwindeyer]

Perfect so would you recommend that we should use different past paper stimuli to test our creatives, to see if they are flexible enough?

Definitely - That's the absolute best way to test the versatility of your script, plus the more you write it the more ideas you may come up with and the more refined it will be

[bananna]

Hi!

my creative is in the spoiler below, just wondering if you could tell me what you think of it, if its too over-descriptive, what mark you think it deserves and if it makes sense (i had one teacher a little confused).
Also, is it enough in terms of word-limits (its about 850 words) should I write more?

thank you!!

Spoiler

Anniversary

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.

*

She set the porcelain plates down on each end of the dining table. She smiled at the warm reaction she felt from her husband. She hated cooking, but loved making his favourite meal—beef stroganoff and steamed vegetables. She sat in her chair, the peppery aroma inviting her to pick up her fork. As she stuck her fork into a pasta spiral, she smiled and asked “How’s the food, sweetie?” No response. She imagined him shoveling the food into his mouth like a savage, looking down; she shook her head and chuckled.

She was a woman in her golden years. With deep wrinkle lines that carved a map on her face and thin lips that cracked whenever she smiled. Her thin, pale skin speckled with age spots stretched when she spoke. She used to wear make-up for her husband, but gave in to the passage of time—baring her timeworn face to the world. Not really—she didn’t go out as much. She went out with her husband. A lot. Travelling, walking, folk dancing, wine-tasting. She loved it. She loved him.

A gentle, lilting voice filled the room. “Thanks for calling, sweetie, I’ll see if I can find that pearl necklace for you”. She smiled as if her daughter was next to her. She picked up her walking stick, and hobbled to her room, a thud accompanying her every step. She stood at the entrance, pencil markings up the doorway, accounting for the growth of her children over the years. She shuffled to her closet and pulled open a drawer, revealing a beautiful, antique jewelry box, embroidered with small metallic flowers and a silver filigree on the crown of the chest. She unlatched it, revealing the fine, scarlet velvet upon which her best jewelry lay. She smiled when she saw it- a thin silver necklace, with white pearls adorning it. She carefully picked it up and laid it on a stool next to her. Beside the small box, her blush and red lipstick stood. She smiled, reminiscing of her date-nights: when despite copious amounts of make-up, her wrinkles stood strong but her husband still complimented her.

 She turned to leave when a glimmer caught her eye. Her eyes wondered to a heap of clothes from the back of her closet. Rummaging through articles of clothing, she finally found the source of that which sparked her curiosity. 

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.

A ring. HIS ring. She carefully picked up the irreplaceable metal. Moving her wrist slightly, she looked at the golden band on the finger that connected to her heart.
She looked up, and a handsome, familiar face gazed back at her. She looked at her hand once again: the blemishes and freckles and wrinkles were gone: she was looking at a youthful, more radiant hand. She looked up once again.

He was gone.

Once again, she looked at her ring finger. The golden band reminded her of her purpose. The day she trained for. The day she lived out what she was born to do—place a ring on her finger. She slowly lowered herself to sit on her bed and studied the ring. Looking up, she whispered, “you were gone 367 days”, and closed her creased eyelids.

She slid the symbol of marriage off her finger, placing both rings in her slightly shaky palm. A short, red ribbon caught her eye. She reached over and held the thin, silk cloth. Taking a deep breath, she laced both rings through the ribbon—“clink” and tied a small bow. Seeing the two hoops together made her feel weightless, and filled her soul with swelling symphonies. They were finally side by side—where they belonged. Closing her palm, she held tightly onto the rings, hobbling over to the cabinet without her walking stick. She placed a small kiss on her hand, hovered her fingers over the jewelry box—and released the rings. She sighed—a sigh of relief rather than resignation.

She picked up the tube of red lipstick next to the box. She removed the lid, placing it next to the jewelry box. Hobbling over to the small oval mirror, she grimaced. Meticulously, she made up her face. For the first time in a year, she smiled at her reflection. She glanced at the calendar, which was hung next to the mirror. Today’s date was circled and a big red heart drawn next to the small ‘02/02’. “Well, we almost made it to 50”; she smiled and looked up. For the first time in forever, she strode out of her home with her walking aid and smelled the fresh, earthy scent left after the harsh rain. She looked up to see colours hovering in the sky—and felt a warm embrace.





 

[f_tan]

Hi! I'd like some help and feedback with my creative story, and these are a few things I need help with in my story:
1. My teacher said that the present day character needs more backstory/more depth - how can I achieve this without adding more words to the story? (word limit is 1000 and I'm already above)
2. Teacher also said that the discovery happens too quickly, and I realize that, but I'm not sure how I can make it develop through the story? (I'm trying show that the Australian character discovers to devalue materialism and to instead value human connectivity/enjoy the moments around him, while also conveying that the Vietnamese character has learned forgiveness for the destruction of his home)
3. We have to incorporate the stimulus into a significant moment of discovery, and I'm not sure which one would fit best (the two I'm deciding on is "I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight" or "All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement inhabits here")
4. I'm also not sure how to convey/show the character's background/culture/context without telling - Walter is Australian and the man who owns the restaurant is Vietnamese



15th September, 1976

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight.

A lifetime of seeing only death and destruction has left me with the lasting impression of a macabre world, deprived of any humanity; a constant fight for power between nations, driven by greed. Which is why, as the wave gently nudges our boat closer to the land, I just stare blankly ahead. I see the cluster of buildings first, which replace the dense, green jungles of Vietnam. The green rice paddy fields have been replaced by concrete roads.
 
The air is laced with a gentle breeze that is calming, but it is unfamiliar, different to the hot and humid days of my childhood. Even though we celebrate our safe arrival to Australia, I desperately clutch onto the familiarity of the only photograph I have of my family, as if it could dissipate into a smoky haze, just like our home did.

***

It was in the early hours of the morning when Walter stepped out onto the front porch steps of his home, the heat immediately hitting him. It didn’t help that the weather was humid last night, earning Walter yet another sleepless night. Not that that it mattered. Walter hardly slept at all anyways. He’s always typing away at his computer, his mother used to say, meeting deadline after deadline, he doesn’t want to spend time with his mother anymore, she used to joke. He took his pride in it after all; earning enough to buy whatever he wanted, by writing what people wanted to read. Even as Walter walked through the front yard of his house, he was subconsciously thinking of the next headlines for his article.

(Insert headline) <-- haven't decided what to put yet - I want to put in something that shows how Walter writes articles that doesn't really hold any meaning for him just to please the public by giving them things they like to read if that makes sense? Any suggestions?

Tomorrow would be another deadline, and today, Walter was out of ideas. 

Mrs Healey who lived next door, cheerfully exclaimed a “Good morning, Walter!” as he passed by  – her ageing body did not stop her from tending to her flowers – “Have you got time to help me –“

It reminded him of the times his mother used to ask him to fix the constant leaks in the roof of their broken-down home. They couldn’t afford a new place; his father gone before Walter was even born. He brushed off the memory. Those times were long gone now, and he would make sure it never happened again.

“Sorry Mrs Healey, I’ve someplace I gotta be,” Walter mumbled, hurrying past her. Mrs Healey was always asking him to help her with things.

Slinging his bag over his shoulders, he made his way to the shops. Being the early hours of the day, the streets were quiet except for the sound of the occasional car going by. He passed by the park; empty, with its rusting benches covered in a layer of dried, yellowing leaves. He racked his brain for ideas on his next article, but it was as if the heat had consumed with it his ability to think clearly. Desperately needing a quiet place to write, away from the mess at home, Walter turned the corner, to find that the only place open this early in the morning was a small café with neon lights that spelled Nhu’s Cafe.

The doorbell tinkled as Walter pushed the door open, eyes already scanning for the seat in the corner that would isolate him from any distractions. No one else had come in yet and the room was empty, but he could hear the faint sound of sizzling and clink of metals from behind a thin curtain, and the smell of fresh, hot food wafted into the room, a delightful mix of spices.

But his appetite was ruined.

He had a deadline tomorrow, and he had to come up with something today. He took his laptop out of his bag, opened the lid, hands on the keyboard.

Finally, in this peace and qui – “Anything from the menu sir? Drinks? The special for today –“

“Just coffee, please.” Walter replied dismissively, hardly looking at the man.

(Insert headline), Walter typed and deleted. He could not concentrate. He looked up from his laptop and stared ahead, his mind gradually wandering away from the blank document in front of him, subconsciously trying to avoid the thought of the deadline tomorrow. Staring blankly in front of him, he suddenly took notice of the painting in front of him; distorted shapes of green and blue, resembling the ocean or a field perhaps, and also saw what seemed to resemble the triangular shape of a small run-down house. He could not rub the strangeness from his eyes. Beside the straw coloured house, three figures stood. What was that –

“It’s my home. Back in Vietnam.”

Walter started. He had not seen the man come back through the curtains, who must’ve caught him staring at the painting. 

A moment of silence before Walter gave a slight nod. The man set his coffee down on the table.

“We used to run around those fields on hot days like these,” he continued, “the village children and I.” He turned back towards the kitchen, but Walter couldn’t help but notice the slight sadness in his voice, hidden beneath his amiable nature and polite smile.

“Who are the three figures in the painting?” Walter asked abruptly. The man turned back, slightly surprised to find that he had taken an interest. He stood there, fishing for something in his pocket, and took out a photograph, which Walter assumed to be of his family.

“My parents,” he said, pointing to the man and woman in the picture, both in simple clothing, sandals on their feet. In the middle, a child about 8 years, looking up at both parents with a wide grin plastered on his face. “A napalm bomb was dropped on our village. They mistook us for enemy soldiers.” the man explained.

“And your parents?”, Walter asked, though he was afraid he knew the answer.

The man shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t change what happened. I was angry at first, but it’s not anyone’s fault; it’s the nature of war. I arrived here to find that there is still kindness in humanity. The nuns who met us with clothes and food when we arrived taught me that.”

He excused himself to serve the customers that had just walked in. It amazed Walter that for an experience that horrible, a person could still see the goodness of others. It hit Walter that he had been too caught up with his own life that he did not know anything about the world around him. I realize this bit still needs some editing to convey a more meaningful discovery. This is also where I think the second quote/stimulus may fit in where he realizes about the history behind the man's life which has allowed him to appreciate life more?It was noon, and although the heat still lingered, a pleasant breeze flowed through the windows and gently settled in the room. He watched the leaves on the trees outside for a while, as the breeze rustled through, and he set his fingers on the keyboard.

Insert headline.

It would be his greatest article yet, but it would have to wait. Walking out of the café doors, he breathed in the fresh air, through the park, turned onto his street, walked up onto the steps of Mrs Healey’s door, and knocked.



THANK YOU!!

[elysepopplewell]

Hi!

my creative is in the spoiler below, just wondering if you could tell me what you think of it, if its too over-descriptive, what mark you think it deserves and if it makes sense (i had one teacher a little confused).
Also, is it enough in terms of word-limits (its about 850 words) should I write more?

thank you!!

Hey Bananna I'll have a look at this for you and respond to your queries. I'll put it in a spoiler below with my comments in bold font

Spoiler

Anniversary

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.  I like the sentence variation and the onomatopoeia here.

*

She set the porcelain plates down on each end of the dining table. She smiled at the warm reaction she felt from her husband. She hated cooking, but loved making his favourite meal—beef stroganoff and steamed vegetables. She sat in her chair, the peppery aroma inviting her to pick up her fork. As she stuck her fork into a pasta spiral, she smiled and asked “How’s the food, sweetie?” No response. She imagined him shoveling the food into his mouth like a savage, looking down; she shook her head and chuckled.

She was a woman in her golden years. With deep wrinkle lines that carved a map on her face and thin lips that cracked whenever she smiled. Her thin, pale skin speckled with age spots stretched when she spoke. She used to wear make-up for her husband, but gave in to the passage of time—baring her timeworn face to the world. Not really—she didn’t go out as much. She went out with her husband. A lot. Travelling, walking, folk dancing, wine-tasting. She loved it. She loved him. I'm really engaged with the storytelling here.

A gentle, lilting voice filled the room. “Thanks for calling, sweetie, I’ll see if I can find that pearl necklace for you”. Dialogue needs to have a new line. She smiled as if her daughter was next to her. She picked up her walking stick, and hobbled to her room, a thud accompanying her every step. She stood at the entrance, pencil markings up the doorway, accounting for the growth of her children over the years. She shuffled to her closet and pulled open a drawer, revealing a beautiful, antique jewelry jewellery* (Check if you have your Microsoft Word set to English US or Aus) box, embroidered with small metallic flowers and a silver filigree on the crown of the chest. She unlatched it, revealing the fine, scarlet velvet upon which her best jewelry jewellery* lay. She smiled when she saw it- a thin silver necklace, with white pearls adorning it. She carefully picked it up and laid it on a stool next to her. Beside the small box, her blush and red lipstick stood. She smiled, reminiscing of her date-nights: when despite copious amounts of make-up, her wrinkles stood strong but her husband still complimented her.

 She turned to leave when a glimmer caught her eye. Her eyes wondered to a heap of clothes from the back of her closet. Rummaging through articles of clothing, she finally found the source of that which sparked her curiosity. 

She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.

A ring. HIS ring. She carefully picked up the irreplaceable metal. Moving her wrist slightly, she looked at the golden band on the finger that connected to her heart.
She looked up, and a handsome, familiar face gazed back at her. She looked at her hand once again: the blemishes and freckles and wrinkles were gone: she was looking at a youthful, more radiant hand. She looked up once again.

He was gone.

Once again, she looked at her ring finger. The golden band reminded her of her purpose. The day she trained for. The day she lived out what she was born to do—place a ring on her finger. I'd get a second opinion on this because I don't want to tell you to omit something that is crucial to someone else's understanding, but I knew what she was born to do without stating "place a ring on her finger."She slowly lowered herself to sit on her bed and studied the ring. Looking up, she whispered, “you were gone 367 days”, and closed her creased eyelids.

She slid the symbol of marriage off her finger, Is this an opportunity to enhance the symbolism? Is it just a symbol of marriage? Or is this a chance where you could say contract, or success?placing both rings in her slightly shaky palm. A short, red ribbon caught her eye. She reached over and held the thin, silk cloth. Taking a deep breath, she laced both rings through the ribbon—“clink” and tied a small bow. Seeing the two hoops together made her feel weightless, and filled her soul with swelling symphonies. They were finally side by side—where they belonged. Closing her palm, she held tightly onto the rings, hobbling over to the cabinet without her walking stick. She placed a small kiss on her hand, hovered her fingers over the jewelry jewellery* box—and released the rings. She sighed—a sigh of relief rather than resignation.

She picked up the tube of red lipstick next to the box. She removed the lid, placing it next to the jewelry jewellery* box. Hobbling over to the small oval mirror, she grimaced. Meticulously, she made up her face. For the first time in a year, she smiled at her reflection. She glanced at the calendar, which was hung next to the mirror. Today’s date was circled and a big red heart drawn next to the small ‘02/02’. “Well, we almost made it to 50”; she smiled and looked up. For the first time in forever, she strode out of her home with her walking aid and smelled the fresh, earthy scent left after the harsh rain. She looked up to see colours hovering in the sky—and felt a warm embrace.

This is a beautiful piece to read. I'm astonished at how seamlessly you slid into the imagery of their two young hands together. I could truly visualise it. I wasn't lost at any part of the story, it always made sense to me and it was a joy to read. I do think it can improve in terms of the richness of discovery. I don't think this is at all too descriptive, and if it were purely marked on the careful control and manipulation of language I'd give it a band 6. I think we can make the story richer, slightly more complicated, and therefore expressive of more discovery types. She was born to get married, we see that. Was she born to also have children after that? Perhaps we could complicate the plot by revealing how her ring was a sign of a success, she had gotten married, woohoo. But, she couldn't have children. So although she saw the marriage as a bit of a transaction, a fulfilling of duties, she realised when she couldn't have children that her husband never felt like he got the raw end of the deal, because he loved her. Or, maybe she miscarried a few times, or maybe she could just never conceive. So her discovery is more aimed at the love her husband had for her and how she had misunderstood marriage for so long. Just an idea.

Alternatively, finding the ring could prompt her to analyse how it was once a sign of success, but now it's just a symbol of what she used to think marriage was. Maybe she didn't want to look at the ring until their anniversary, and as she picks it up, she doesn't feel what she expects to feel. Instead, she is prompted to remember how it all began. It began as her fulfilling her role. Now it's a lot more. As she sits in her house full of quilts and family photos and books, she realises that her marriage turned from an expectation to a partnership that exceeded all expectations, because it was filled with love. It took her until the 50th anniversary to recognise this change.

These are all just my ideas to prompt you to think about adding an extra layer to the story to diversify and intensify the discovery. Because as is, there's nothing deeply meaningful or transformative about her discovery to a reader, I'm not moved by her experience. It's more a focus on minutiae rather than discovery as a prominent theme. Because you're only on 850 words, you've got some room to add little bits and bobs here and there to add an extra veil to the work to intensify it. Again, your writing style is beautiful and a real joy to read. I found this very easy to follow. So an easy to follow text can handle a more intensified plot. I'm not suggesting we make it dense, because it is quite simple as is. It's just adding a thin layer of icing to change the flavour, rather than changing the entire recipe.

Let me know what you think...

[elysepopplewell]

Hi! I'd like some help and feedback with my creative story, and these are a few things I need help with in my story.
THANK YOU!!

Hey there! I'm excited to read this, I'll put it in the spoiler below and write my comments in bold font throughout, and then leave some comments at the end to answer your questions

Spoiler

15th September, 1976

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight.

A lifetime of seeing only death and destruction has left me with the lasting impression of a macabre world, deprived of any humanity; a constant fight for power between nations, driven by greed. Which is why, as the wave gently nudges our boat closer to the land, I just stare blankly ahead. I see the cluster of buildings first, which replace You use replace twice in two consecutive sentences. I think it fits better in the next sentence, so I'd opt for swapping this one. the dense, green jungles of Vietnam. The green rice paddy fields have been replaced by concrete roads.
 
The air is laced with a gentle breeze that is calming, but it is unfamiliar, different to the hot and humid days of my childhood. Even though we celebrate our safe arrival to Australia, I desperately clutch onto the familiarity of the only photograph I have of my family, as if it could dissipate into a smoky haze, just like our home did. Oooh nice

***

It was in the early hours of the morning when Walter stepped out onto the front porch steps of his home, the heat immediately hitting him. It didn’t help that the weather was humid last night, earning Walter yet another sleepless night. Not that that it mattered. Walter hardly slept at all anyways. He’s always typing away at his computer, his mother used to say, meeting deadline after deadline, he doesn’t want to spend time with his mother anymore, she used to joke. He took his pride in it after all; earning enough to buy whatever he wanted, by writing what people wanted to read. Even as Walter walked through the front yard of his house, he was subconsciously thinking of the next headlines for his article.

(Insert headline) <-- haven't decided what to put yet - I want to put in something that shows how Walter writes articles that doesn't really hold any meaning for him just to please the public by giving them things they like to read if that makes sense? Any suggestions? Maybe something about house prices? Or a C-lister celebrity spotting? "Vegetarian radio host, John McCabe, seen eating McChicken burger." "Australia named in top 5 countries for happiness"

Tomorrow would be another deadline, and today, Walter was out of ideas. 

Mrs Healey who lived next door, cheerfully exclaimed a “Good morning, Walter!” as he passed by  – her ageing body did not stop her from tending to her flowers – “Have you got time to help me –“

It reminded him of the times his mother used to ask him to fix the constant leaks in the roof of their broken-down home. They couldn’t afford a new place; his father gone before Walter was even born. He brushed off the memory. Those times were long gone now, and he would make sure it never happened again.

“Sorry Mrs Healey, I’ve someplace I gotta be,” Walter mumbled, hurrying past her. Mrs Healey was always asking him to help her with things.

Slinging his bag over his shoulders, he made his way to the shops. Being the early hours of the day, the streets were quiet except for the sound of the occasional car going by. He passed by the park; empty, with its rusting benches covered in a layer of dried, yellowing leaves. He racked his brain for ideas on his next article, but it was as if the heat had consumed with it his ability to think clearly. Desperately needing a quiet place to write, away from the mess at home, Walter turned the corner, to find that the only place open this early in the morning was a small café with neon lights that spelled Nhu’s Cafe.

The doorbell tinkled as Walter pushed the door open, eyes already scanning for the seat in the corner that would isolate him from any distractions. No one else had come in yet and the room was empty, but he could hear the faint sound of sizzling and clink of metals from behind a thin curtain, and the smell of fresh, hot food wafted into the room, a delightful mix of spices.

But his appetite was ruined.

He had a deadline tomorrow, and he had to come up with something today. He took his laptop out of his bag, opened the lid, hands on the keyboard.

Finally, in this peace and qui – “Anything from the menu sir? Drinks? The special for today –“

“Just coffee, please.” Walter replied dismissively, hardly looking at the man.

(Insert headline), Walter typed and deleted. He could not concentrate. He looked up from his laptop and stared ahead, his mind gradually wandering away from the blank document in front of him, subconsciously trying to avoid the thought of the deadline tomorrow. Staring blankly in front of him, he suddenly took notice of the painting in front of him; distorted shapes of green and blue, resembling the ocean or a field perhaps, and also saw what seemed to resemble the triangular shape of a small run-down house. He could not rub the strangeness from his eyes. Beside the straw coloured house, three figures stood. What was that –

“It’s my home. Back in Vietnam.”

Walter started. He had not seen the man come back through the curtains, who must’ve caught him staring at the painting. 

A moment of silence before Walter gave a slight nod. The man set his coffee down on the table.

“We used to run around those fields on hot days like these,” he continued, “the village children and I.” He turned back towards the kitchen, but Walter couldn’t help but notice the slight sadness in his voice, hidden beneath his amiable nature and polite smile.

“Who are the three figures in the painting?” Walter asked abruptly. The man turned back, slightly surprised to find that he had taken an interest. He stood there, fishing for something in his pocket, and took out a photograph out of his wallet? It seems a bit unrealistic to me that he carries photos in his pocket at a restaurant. Too unprotected. In a wallet perhaps?, which Walter assumed to be of his family.

“My parents,” he said, pointing to the man and woman in the picture, both in simple clothing, sandals on their feet. In the middle, a child about 8 years, looking up at both parents with a wide grin plastered on his face. “A napalm bomb was dropped on our village. They mistook us for enemy soldiers.” the man explained.

“And your parents?”, Walter asked, though he was afraid he knew the answer.

The man shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t change what happened. I was angry at first, but it’s not anyone’s fault; it’s the nature of war. I arrived here to find that there is still kindness in humanity. The nuns who met us with clothes and food when we arrived taught me that.”

He excused himself to serve the customers that had just walked in. It amazed Walter that for an experience that horrible, a person could still see the goodness of others. It hit Walter that he had been too caught up with his own life that he did not know anything about the world around him. I realize this bit still needs some editing to convey a more meaningful discovery. This is also where I think the second quote/stimulus may fit in where he realizes about the history behind the man's life which has allowed him to appreciate life more?It was noon, and although the heat still lingered, a pleasant breeze flowed through the windows and gently settled in the room. He watched the leaves on the trees outside for a while, as the breeze rustled through, and he set his fingers on the keyboard.
Instead of coming into the cafe, typing a title, then deleting it. I think it's more symbolic if that title gets backspaced now, and then the new headline comes in. If you want to deepen this discovery, I'd make the previous headlines very white-focused, about celebrities, middle income earners, etc. Then the next headline will be an even more significant change.
Insert headline.

It would be his greatest article yet, but it would have to wait. Walking out of the café doors, he breathed in the fresh air, through the park, turned onto his street, walked up onto the steps of Mrs Healey’s door, and knocked.

1. My teacher said that the present day character needs more backstory/more depth - how can I achieve this without adding more words to the story? (word limit is 1000 and I'm already above) I think that it could be simply done by focusing more on the headlines. So something like "Walter said to himself, active voice, noun drives the verb, one sensationalist adjective for the shock factor, and the readers will love it. That's what his professor taught him in his Journalism class in 197..." Something like this adds the point to his character that the standardised, taught and basic way of writing headlines is representative of his stock-standard self. Never questioning, challenging, etc. It's what he's always known, and what he writes is what everyone else has always known. He is the perfect symbol of white middle-income society.
2. Teacher also said that the discovery happens too quickly, and I realize that, but I'm not sure how I can make it develop through the story? (I'm trying show that the Australian character discovers to devalue materialism and to instead value human connectivity/enjoy the moments around him, while also conveying that the Vietnamese character has learned forgiveness for the destruction of his home) I personally don't think it happens too quickly, but I think the way around this is to have Walter questioning himself a bit more. So, he can't think of a headline, sure. But why? Maybe he should ask himself, is it because nothing worthwhile is happening? Are the readers as sick of reading basic bullshit as he is sick of writing it? He's starting to wonder if there is a desire for people to know more, but he doesn't know more. So it's all preliminary thoughts until life is breathed into it when he goes to the restaurant.
3. We have to incorporate the stimulus into a significant moment of discovery, and I'm not sure which one would fit best (the two I'm deciding on is "I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight" or "All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement inhabits here") It's tricky, but I'd likely go with the first. Perhaps when he walks into the restaurant and it's completely designed to look authentic Vietnamese. And he realises this tiny little world of pain and perseverance in this man, then he realises the strangeness of it all - the strangeness that is Walter's vague and meaningless career compared to the turmoil of this waiter.
4. I'm also not sure how to convey/show the character's background/culture/context without telling - Walter is Australian and the man who owns the restaurant is Vietnamese. I understood this. Admittedly I was confused for a second when Walter was introduced, I thought maybe the Vietnamese man adopted a Western name. That bit could be improved a little, perhaps by talking about the tie he wears, the white collar (symbolic) or even by naming him Walter Anderson, a very Western name. Because knowing the Vietnamese man is Mr Nhu, I have no questions about his nationality.

Overall, I think this piece is very impressive. By intensifying the discovery, which comes from sewing the seed earlier, and then filling out those headlines to be very meaningful, this piece will come together really beautifully. I don't think you need to add a whole lot more, but rather just tweak what you have. Although, by the time I get to the end, I do forget all about the segment at the beginning that introduces Nhu's ride to Australia. It is an important part of the story, and I enjoyed reading it as I did, but by the time I get to the end it's like I've forgotten? It could be shorter with more punch in order to still be effective - Mr Nhu explains the situation to Walter anyway, so the audience is filled in no matter what. You should be really proud of this piece, it's coming along really beautifully

[elysepopplewell]

Thank you so much! This is awesome advice, but quick question could you tell her husband passed away easily?
Should I make it more explicit?
I'm thinking of taking up your advice-- while my character is sitting down, holding the rings in her hand, she looks at some photographs and realises the depth of her husband's love. Not completely sure how I'm going to incorporate this idea in, but I love it..thanks!
We're getting our stimuli soon (before the exam), can I incorporate my stimulus in and then send it again?
Do I need 15 more posts?
Thank you! )))

I certainly could tell that her husband had died, I wasn't confused there I think that a discovery about the extent of her husband's love will richen the discovery. To send it back for feedback with the stimulus incorporated, you'll need 10 more posts to get to 30. Not far off at all I'm excited to see how you go about it!