Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[Annie657]

Hey again Okay, I really see why you put Jordan in...but I do agree that I prefer your story without her as well. Not because she's not a good idea, but simply because you don't have the word count to develop her into the story enough, and I also think that it serves as a distraction rather than as a catalyst. Sooo, I think we need to edit Jordan out and write something else in. I'm trying to think of minor changes to make for big result so as to not frighten you and make this easier, but I genuinely think we need to make some adjustments to the plot that won't be so minor. Of course, only take on what you want to take on, but I'll suggest some things anyway and you can take or leave whatever you fancy.

So, she loves the water, it's always been a constant for her. The opening scene is people fleeing into the water, and I kind of have this little nippers vibe happening, the youth is really promising and symbolic, and also a reflection of her younger experience at the beach. So that's really nice. Maybe we could explore the relationships she's had with the water a little more - how she was there every weekend and a few times after school for training, for races, as her family always helped her to do. Over time, maybe she spent some days there with the water as her muse for personal writings/paintings/songs, or maybe she shared intimate moments in her teen years, or other kind of experiences that are very personal and not all competitive. Then maybe, in the lead  up to the race she could be talking with her dad, her coach, whoever, and they'll be talking about the way the rips are swelling and the way the wind is blowing, and it'll make it sound so mechanical and not at all the natural muse she sees it as now. Then she'll start the race, it'll be a intense scene, lots flowing through her mind, and then she'll enter the water, sprinting in, paddling out, enough to be out of easy sight from the shore, and then she might just float. Surrender to the ocean, adore it's vast capacity, because to her, this was the real prize, and it wasn't a shiny trophy, but she was sure that no one needed to have it justified to them, because as she floats amongst the chaos, the swimmers move further and further away, and she then discovers that all along, this kind of solitude with the sea is the prize she needs.

Obviously this is MY vision of the story which I'm totally happy for you to take up in totality or partially, but what do you think? I think we still need person-interaction to avoid it becoming similar to a monologue, which is why I've put it with the before-race discussion, but keen to know what you think?

Wow Elyse, I absolutely agree something needs to be changed with the plot in order to remove Jordan, and I really love your suggestions! Maybe her transition to  to painting in front of the water, could be because she can no longer find creative inspiration in a house where her parents are fighting(?); the ocean a calm place where she can find solace and peace. I really like the whole race talk thing, and the build up of action for the race then the relaxing scene at the end. Thankyou so much for all your help, I'm excited to start writing this again

[Daniyahasan]

Wonderful! Very impressive. It just makes everything flow with a little more believability, so this is great

thanks Elyse, i feel much more confident with my creative now:)

[_____]

Elyse I am so sorry to pester you again - I just wanted to make sure you hadn't missed this post - it might have got buried in all that feedback from yesterday: https://atarnotes.com/forum/index.php?topic=164657.msg966150#msg966150

If it's on your to do list I'm really sorry for bothering you - I just wanted to make sure the post was bumped considering the probable influx of creatives before Friday.

Thanks so much once again for all the help 

[beau77bro]

Great timing Beau! Thank you

Spoiler

Creative Practice - Stimuli 1 (HSC 2016)

Compose a piece of imaginative writing that explores the relationship between place and individual discovery.


 Spouts of fog perforated the empty sky and air of silence, we all looked up at the beauty that hung above and around us. I had organised and paid for a trip for my family to the alps. Capitalisation required - The Alps. We stood outside the entrance to our door for just a moment to stare up at the sky. I had demanded it from the kids, a moment of admiration and appreciation of what was around us. But the chill of the air and the ice on my back from falling over it made me feel alone there in the night, even amongst the stars. It reminded me of what I am and how I got there, how frivolously we value such insignificant things and don’t appreciate what’s around us makes us up. Just a bit of clumsy expression, try: "and don't appreciate the way our surroundings are our makeup," or, "don't appreciate the way our surroundings create who we are."Stars always reminded me. My wife hugged me and went inside, leaving me outside to contemplate my thoughts and questions. I stood and remembered the cold hospital bed my childhood comprised of and the stick-on-stars that covered the ceiling. I thought of how I learnt to live and value living, on that icy floor with death in the air.

…

I do not remember much of the time I spent in hospital. A lot of it was an a bit of a blur. I don’t remember all the surgeries (thank god). I don’t remember the nurses, the paper cards from friends and relatives, the absence of my brother, and the long nights my mother spent next to me. I don’t remember the sickly faces that evaporated from the beds around me, but I know that they are no longer with us. I remember the light yellow stars stuck to the ceiling and I know the feeling of rage and bewilderment that plagued me. It always came back to the same question, however i chose to phrase it. WHY? Why me? What was the reason for any of this suffering? What had I done to deserve this? In 2 years I couldn’t work it out, but in one night that cold hard floor knocked the answer within my reach… i just needed to grasp it.

My endless tossing and turning had strangled me in my sheets, and my arm in the cords that maintained my existence. Any dream or measure of sleep was broken by that barrelling feeling of falling. That feeling of inertia as your organs resist the motion of falling and the rest of your body accelerates towards the ground. It’s a terrible, sickening feeling I’ve always found jerked you awake even if you weren’t truly falling. I really like this paragraph so far, but this last bit here is telling what the reader already accepts: that you don't actually fall. So I think it's best to take it out as to avoid limiting your creativity. Like stumbling in a dream. But the fall felt pretty real and so did the ground I met. The cold stung at me through the sheets, like a bed of needles. Meanwhile the actual needles pulled at my weak limbs and my body was covered in warm streaks of red. The cords had become entangled around me and with each other. The thumb clamp had come off and without it my star ceased to blip, a barely glowing screen. The warmth was gone. I had been devoured by a chill that shot down my body, like falling through the ice. With it came a sea of questions. More unknowns. More whys? A where and a was.

I cried. Not because of the pain, I had no more tears left for pain. I cried out of fear and out of anger, I had used no tears for them. I never did complain, not out loud. I didn’t want to face the answers to my questions, but as I lay there, alone, I asked my first… I could not ask the second.

“Where was my star? Was I…?”

The screen had gone dark. My star had gone out. Seeing as though I was only six years old I didn’t know it had simply gone out. That’s where the overwhelming issue of my sickness stuck, I DIDN’T KNOW. There was nothing in my life I understood anymore and nothing I had control of. It was like one day all the air was knocked out of my lungs and I was just hobbling about for months since, I had to be pushed around in a PRAM! In a moment I was no more - eaten up by sickness, and anger and confusion. But really I was scared I looked up to the ceiling for the warmth of the stars, but they were a blurr. A series of fluorescent streaks. I did not struggle when the darkness seeped across my view.

Why? Why was I different? What was wrong with me? Why did every moment have to be hard; talking to mum and my siblings, breathing, walking?... Where was my glimmering star? Was I…? Was this…?

When I opened my eyes, i met the cold again. It was all through me. It was like my bones and blood burnt. It was worse than the chemo. I winced at every movement, every breath. Agony. I wanted the darkness again, any reprieve from this existence… I hated anyone who didn’t have to live like this. It still stung at me, Why? Why didn’t they have to endure this? No. I would not sleep. I would not lea… I would not leave them unanswered. I stared at the glowing specs above me. Resolute. But as the world knocked at me and shook, the energy sapped from my eyes… I couldn’t fight as the ceiling turned to blackness. No matter how hard I clung to the blurry specs. And as they receded I knew. I knew I didn’t have controlled control* over what was happening, or what had happened. I didn’t cause any of this - but I had consumed myself in it.

Things JUST happened. That was just it. I hadn’t cause this. Lying there i had no control over anything. I was helpless. Now and before, and really, it was liberating. The questions that pulled me towards the black ice inside of me were gone… they didn’t need answers, I had done nothing wrong. I saw the lights, the specs were clear. Warmed, I faced the cold and the darkness outside of me, and I embraced them.

“I can control myself. I can choose how I want to deal with what life throws at me…. that’s enough, maybe just enough to change what’s ahead of me. But I can’t change this, so I’m not going to fight it.”
…

My wife grabbed me, squeezed me in her arms and told me to come inside. I remembered the familiar sudden jerk that had woken me, opening my eyes to see my dad balling. He squeezed me, which was honestly agony with all the tubes. Then I giggled because I was alive and because I had answered another why. The question of “why are you such an ugly crier dad?” He hugged me again and I looked at the stream of yellow patches that decorated the sky inside. I no longer needed the star by my bed. I would live in spite of it, as well as in thanks. I waved goodbye to the night sky, thanked glowing stickers there and went inside.

Oh Beau...I looove the way you've edited this story. The beginning and ending have such a nice framework for the story now, I really see it in new light. There is something more than I want of the ending, though. I want to go back to that sentence I edited in the introduction, about our surroundings being our makeup. I'd love to come back to this in the ending there, and maybe even draw an analogy between the way all of the stars are the composition of the night sky, and every experience for us adjusts the way we are too. This just adds another layer to your work, but you've already got the motif of the stars in there already so it's just adding onto them. Or, at least something to this effect, I think.

There are times were grammar needs to be adjusted - sometimes it's too many commas. I suggest just reading this out loud in the way you've written it and I'm sure you'll iron out a few things here and there so that you can use the grammar to ensure the way it is received by the reader.

Excellent work on your adjustments. Are you happier with the story now? Do you have any concerns about it?

Oh yea i agree, that sentence needs to be fixed in order to make it clear how I'm addressing the stimulus. I just want to know if the story is good? frankly i feel like i can't have an unbiased opinion and I feel quite neutral about my creative. My grammar is actually terrible, ironically related to this creative - I missed most of year 1, 2 and have subsequently or independently(not sure yet) developed a reading disability where I can't sound and work out words or sounds when I'm writing and reading. Makes it really hard to distinguish when I'm doing things well and having a good flow - but i will try and come back. I am going to fix that sentence and add to the ending.

I just want to know whether it was impactful? Like I feel the motif was strong, or at least there but did i necessarily use it well -  as well as did I incorporate the stimulus well, I wanna take as much away in terms of using the stimulus because that will help me come exams. And i feel like the experience was really impactful for me - and if i can work on improving that and how i convey it.

the essential idea/realisation being, which I'm more than certain you picked up on, that existence is both short as well as often beyond reason and control - and that, that in itself doesn't diminish who you are and what you've done. To reiterate; Life is what you make of it, but is still subject to tragic circumstances and those circumstances don't reflect your value. shit just happens.

But yea i really wanna convey that as well as possible - possibly emphasising more the helpless feeling and the feeling of inadequacy. I guess that is something to add on later, right now is my discovery significant enough? and would this creative merit even close to 13-15/15?

I'm so sorry this is late. I was extremely caught up in school. I super appreciate your feedback and I'm gonna use all of it as well as i can thankyou

[kristengrant]

Hi, I'm not too sure if my creative makes sense or if the concept of discovery is strong enough??

Spoiler

The rusty hinges on the wire gates screeched as I pushed them open. The sound had become accustomed to my ears, after five years of the same routine, day in and day out, it was somewhat melodic in a sense that it had meaning, and I had a purpose. Some people couldn’t say the same.

The walls of Pompeii’s amphitheatre stood looming overhead, shadows casting in different directions in which I still cowered in fear seeing. Five years ago, stepping into this exact abyss of a world, seemed surreal. At this very moment, standing, being danced around by shadows, I remembered the words of Nero.

***
“You are exotic markers of exceptionally lavish spectacles.” He stated, referring to the limited females that stood among the bulky and cumbersome men, including me. At age 18, unmarried and young, I was a rarity. But standing there, in the shadows of the night, in what seemed to be a farfetched attempt at encouragement. I was undoubtedly scared.

***

Every time I walked out into the arena, I felt at home. With the roars of the crowd and even the wealthy up on their feet at the mere sight of a female gladiator, it was unheard of. Most men saw women imprisoned under their own hand, yet my hand held a sword. The look on their faces fuelled my determination and grit to succeed. I had conquered men and women alike in the arena. The scars on my body were not only physical, but psychological, an imbalance. They were a reminder of my life, my achievements, my purpose, my pain. I didn’t hide in the shadows, I myself had the light to push forward; in order to become the best and fulfil my purpose, I needed to stand on the shoulders of giants, as these giants fell, it only reminded me of the past, the pain, the loss and yet I held the sword of triumph, not triumph, but hope, both in my hand and in my mind.

As I stepped one foot in front of the other at a steady pace, my heartbeat accelerated to inhuman speeds at the sound of clashing swords and agonising groans. He lashed out in a frenzy, dodging merely every move; it was child’s play. The thrill of death so near made my blood rush, never had I experienced so much excitement in my life. To take a man down felt so rewarding. He leant in to thrust his sword toward my stomach; I countered with a deflection and quick blow. The familiar face of my father stared back at me with rage in his eyes. Fear crippled me through this one look. Never had I ceased up in combat, but at this moment, my blood had run cold, and time had frozen. I lapsed back into reality meeting my opponent's fist square in my jaw, the intensity of the pain growing as I tried to mouth a word. My eyes opening only to see death awaiting me, his sword inches away from my neck, his cold gaze so full of hate, exactly like my father. A fire ignited within me. Grabbing his arm I sent my blade into him, staring at his eyes losing their colour, gasping for air, I watched with content as his body slowly crumpled to the ground, a smile forming on my face. I knew everyone was watching. I not only wanted to prove to myself but to every man, that a woman could be among these proclaimed ‘gods’. Not only was this a statement to men … it was to the gods as well.

***

The screams, the applause, the reactions, the victory; it didn’t come without the pain, the blood, the sweat and the tears. My tireless training and strained muscles, had been for this. My purpose. The gladiatorial games were the last stand and easily became the highest deterrent of gladiators in combat out of pure unnerve and lethality. Yet, I, the most disciplined and ruthless fighter in the games, falls in defeat, but still rises to victory, all because I fell from the shoulders of the giant in the face of my father, but in the end, cut down the giant to a size of a dwarf so I could stand taller.

As I stand in the arena surrounded by stands, with the beasts of burden running rampant in my head, the one thing that mattered the most was survival. At the brink of defeat with my breath running low, my thoughts wanted to fuel action that I was no longer capable of completing. I thought I had a purpose here in the arena, but the realisation dawned on me, that this was not my purpose.

I wish I had known from the beginning that this wasn’t my purpose, but that this was soon to be my end. No longer would I face the fears of my past and cower in fear, but I would rise to the challenge and plant the seeds of wisdom in my hand.

[elysepopplewell]

Wow Elyse, I absolutely agree something needs to be changed with the plot in order to remove Jordan, and I really love your suggestions! Maybe her transition to  to painting in front of the water, could be because she can no longer find creative inspiration in a house where her parents are fighting(?); the ocean a calm place where she can find solace and peace. I really like the whole race talk thing, and the build up of action for the race then the relaxing scene at the end. Thankyou so much for all your help, I'm excited to start writing this again

So glad to hear this! Best of luck for your trial!!

thanks Elyse, i feel much more confident with my creative now:)

Hooray! Happy to hear

Elyse I am so sorry to pester you again - I just wanted to make sure you hadn't missed this post - it might have got buried in all that feedback from yesterday: https://atarnotes.com/forum/index.php?topic=164657.msg966150#msg966150

If it's on your to do list I'm really sorry for bothering you - I just wanted to make sure the post was bumped considering the probable influx of creatives before Friday.

Thanks so much once again for all the help 

Sorry - definitely overlooked it. But will get to it shortly!

[tloos1999]

Hi Elyse, just confirming that you got my creative writing story a few days ago. I posted and attached a pdf of my creative writing, although hopefully it hasn't been read yet, because in the meantime I have edited my first draft. Hoping that my comment hadn't been overlooked and I am soon to be marked as I recall posting a while back and my trials are this Monday. Once again I understand that you have been inundated with messages and stories, but it would be great to have some feedback as soon as possible. Below is my creative (edited second attempt)

[winstondarmawan]

Spoiler

Indonesia. What a beautiful country.
The rims of the Chevrolet Bolt EV quickly became engulfed in mud as the vehicle maneuvered across the rural terrain, over jagged rocks and shallow puddles of deep-brown water. It was irritating, to say the least, knowing that such a car would be driven in a place like this. Shifting his focus from the once gleaming rims to the horizon, Johan could make out a towering mound of rubbish set alight, the billowing smoke shrouding the deep crimson sunset. Everything was exactly what he thought it would be; dirty. His nose was not accustomed to the overriding scent of fetid air. Or his body to the sweltering heat.

One day in Bogor.
He just had to pull it together for one day. That wasn’t too bad … right?
His parents had said something about paying a quick visit, to an old church was it? He couldn’t quite remember, but frankly, he didn’t really care.
The dirt road appeared to stretch before his eyes. Johan’s eyelids flickered as he tried falling asleep, only to be kept awake by the muggy atmosphere.
The moisture of the air clung onto him, weighing his entire body down.
His head began to throb, the sharp pangs pulsating behind his temple.
“Johan - “

***

“ - Darmawan”. Mr. Ives face contorted into one of disbelief.
Chuckles resonated throughout the class of kindergarteners, the small faces looking intently around the room.
“Is Johan Darmawan here?”
Johan’s face began to glow tomato red, as he sat in silence.
“His name sounds like ‘dumber one’!” a voice chimed.
The class bursted into laughter.
Dumber one.

***
“- you okay?”. His mother shot him a concerned look. “We are almost there.” Great formatting of quotations - a lot of students don't do this correctly but you've got it sorted.
Silence.
He told himself it wouldn't get to him. I mean, they were just kids… right?
But it did.
The fiends of shame and humiliation seemed to always be right around the corner, ready to latch onto his thoughts.
And sometimes, he thought about how much easier it would all be if he wasn’t Indonesian.

It was worrying, at the least, for Johan’s parents.
It was a quickly diminishing hope that he would ever be able to appreciate who he was.
And perhaps they were crazy, bringing him all the way out to Indonesia. Truth be told, they had no idea what they were doing, or what to do at all.
But they had faith, and believed that faith was all you need.

***
“You don’t have to play basketball every Sunday. Uncle and aunty haven’t seen you in so long. Please stay.”
Glancing momentarily at his mother, Johan grunted.
That was the point.
He didn’t want to see them, talk to them, or even hear their heavily accented laugh booming through the house when someone cracked a joke in Indonesian. And it didn’t particularly help that he never knew what they were saying.
But he did know that he was tired of it.
“Please… it’s not the same without you…”
He didn't want to hear it. Clutching the basketball under his arm, Johan bolted out the front door.

***
The skyline remained shrouded in a veil of smoke.
Stepping out of the car, Johan could feel the heated mud clawing at his ankles as his foot sunk into the sodden earth.
Disgusting.
Etched into the marshland were little tree stumps, stretching deep into the mist.
Johan could only imagine the forest that once existed here. The magnificent array of bold trunks and sun-kissed leaves sprung into his thoughts.
It was so far removed from that now, and he wondered what it would be like if things would go back to the way they once were.

Before him was a humble shack that succumbed to the forces of nature and time, deteriorated and abandoned;  the wood’s integrity diminished in beauty and strength. A crucifix dangled from the haphazard frame of the entrance, and it appeared any moment from now it would fall.
But it didn’t.
A bittersweet grin swept across his mother’s face as she glanced at the disintegrating structure.
“Ini Hari Minggu.” (“It’s Sunday.”)
Her eyelids closed as she joined her hands together.
“Bapa kami….” (“Our Father…”)

***
… yang ada di surga”. (“... who art in Heaven”)
Little Johan clambered up his mother’s leg into her lap. He could see everybody!
There was Om Agi and II Yuni,
His cousins KoKo Raditya, CiCi Irene,
And of course, mum and dad.
A tingle raced down his spine as they recited each word of the Lord’s prayer in unison, hands linked in a ring around their Sunday feast.
Ah, the feast! How could he forget?
An unmistakable smoky aroma emanated from the ayam satay skewers, indicative of his father’s prowess on the grill. Not to mention his mother’s gado-gado, the perfect combination of sweet, sour and savoury.
He loved Sunday, or Hari Minggu, as his parents would say.
But most importantly, he loved being Indonesian. **See comment below
***
“... bebaskan la kami dari yang jahat, Amin.” (“But deliver us from evil, Amen”).
A mellow breeze sliced through the muggy air, and as Johan opened his eyes, the fingers of the wind soothing his taut muscles.
Mum, dad, himself. Arms linked in a ring.
Johan thought about that little boy, and he wondered what it would be like if things would go back to the way they once were.
Maybe that’s just the sort of thing being bullied as a kid does.
Being told that you are lesser, weaker, the dumber one.
At least, now he knew who he really was. An Indonesian Catholic. Not many could say that, huh?
And on this Hari Minggu, he promised that he would never forget.

The smog had lifted, and revealed a spectacular crimson sunset. Turning towards it, Johan’s eyes glowed with an intense flare.
Indonesia. What a beautiful country.

I want to talk about two aspects of the story: the plot and the writing style.

Firstly, the writing style. So often you've used a declarative writing style, done more telling than showing. I think this is a missed opportunity because it seems as though you have an experience of or connection to Indonesia, so I'm keen to smell everything with you, taste it too, and so on. I get this a little with the satay skewers! But I think there could be more of it than there is. Instead we are told, he doesn't like to feel the way he does, he doesn't like hearing the words he doesn't understand, he doesn't like this, he feels like that. Don't get me wrong, they are all valid emotions for the telling of the story, but they are declared instead of shown, and I think this is a missed opportunity to show your prowess as a writer.

Secondly, this is where I want to refer to the ** I put above. The plot jumps a bit. It spends time resenting identity and experience, and then within one scene everything changes, and the protagonist loves being an Indonesian Catholic. I think it's just not enough development. Perhaps if the scene of change were more rich and evocative, I could be on board with it more. But at the moment it's a little rough in the way one scene changes everything. I think if you were to write out a story board of what happens at each moment, I think you'd find that there is slow progression, then a big leap, and then we have the outcome of the discovery. I think it needs to be embedded more gently.

About the discovery, it definitely exists in a strong way, and it's only upwards from here. The reason I say upwards from here is because when we adjust the language, or slightly tweak the plot, no doubt the discovery will sit on new layers as empathy is evoked in the reader. I really like the way the source of sadness turned into a source of inspiration - I think it's a really nice turn around and certainly reflects a discovery.

As a suggestion for the plot, perhaps you could look at the ways that the protagonist tried to engage with the culture, despite it being the reason the protagonist was bullied, but just couldn't break in because they were caught between identities. And then the defining scene could be a combination of both Australian and Indonesian cultures combined, and the discovery could be geared towards the two existing together to create a unique hybrid experience, and this can be viewed as the source of inspiration! Just a thought! Hopefully this helps

Hey! Thank you for the feedback!
I'm really stressed because there are only 3 and a bit more days until my trials, and I am a very poor writer.
English is by far my worst performing subject, and I don't think I have the time to drastically improve upon my creative, which definitely needs it. So right now I'm conflicted on what I should do. I have an old creative which scored a 10/15, which is why I decided to write an entirely new one.
If I do decide to go with this one, I'm going to cut out the Catholic aspect of the story. Would this be a good idea?
Any advice or guidance would be appreciated, thank you so much.

[jamonwindeyer]

Hi, I'm not too sure if my creative makes sense or if the concept of discovery is strong enough??

Hey Kristen! Welcome to the forums!! Our essay marking rules, which you can read here, require 25 posts on ATAR Notes for you to get feedback for this piece. The marking threads are swamped for Trials and this is our way of prioritising hope to see you posting around more!

[jamonwindeyer]

Hi Elyse, just confirming that you got my creative writing story a few days ago. I posted and attached a pdf of my creative writing, although hopefully it hasn't been read yet, because in the meantime I have edited my first draft. Hoping that my comment hadn't been overlooked and I am soon to be marked as I recall posting a while back and my trials are this Monday. Once again I understand that you have been inundated with messages and stories, but it would be great to have some feedback as soon as possible. Below is my creative (edited second attempt)

Just confirming you are on the list (pretty much next I think) and that we'll use this new version

[tloos1999]

Just confirming you are on the list (pretty much next I think) and that we'll use this new version

sweet, thankyou Jamon.

[abachmid]

hey this is my first draft attempt for creative writing, which i suck at, can you pls tell me how to add value and integrity to the story? thanks

[jamonwindeyer]

hey this is my first draft attempt for creative writing, which i suck at, can you pls tell me how to add value and integrity to the story? thanks

Hey abachmid! Thanks for posting your response! Our essay marking rules, which you can read here, require 25 posts on ATAR Notes for you to get feedback for this piece. The marking threads are swamped for Trials and this is our way of prioritising hope to see you posting around more!

[Wales]

hey this is my first draft attempt for creative writing, which i suck at, can you pls tell me how to add value and integrity to the story? thanks

I had a quick read and I'll see if I can be of any help!

As a whole, I don't see many aspects of discovery. You need to emphasise on the effect the loss of the protagonists mother. You don't show me the specific areas where you miss her. I can see that you've tried to implement a flashback but all it shows me is what the protagonist experienced at the time. I think it would be more effective if you set it in the present and vividly described how she felt in the moment and possibly contrast it to the past. You have to show the marker HOW the death impacted her. You can possibly write about how she misses the smell of the risotto and how it was unique. Describe each sense.

The ending imo is a bit weird. I see what you did there but it doesn't come across as a transformation in any sense. You need to focus more on the discovery and it's ramifications.

Hope this little bit of feedback helped! I'll try answer any questions if you have any.

Regards, Wales

[meiing]

Im really struggling with my creative story and how to link it to the discovery rubric. Please help me out!