Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[gilliesb18]

Wow thanks so much for that awesome feedback. I fully agree with you now that I have re-read it...
I will be changing a lot of it now that I know where exactly I went wrong.
Thanks again, incredible service you do on here and I'm very grateful for it

[elysepopplewell]

Hey!

Can I get my creative checked please!
Thanks.

Hi there I'll check it out for you

Spoiler

Another morning at church… praying to someone or something we don’t even know exists. This initial opening is the perfect stage to establish a very personal voice in the protagonist. I'd use grammar here to convey the way this sentence should be received. For example, "Another morning at Church.
 Why? Praying to someone, or something, we don't even know exists?" Play around with it - read your sentence and then read mine. Find some kind of half way point there. I don't know if your voice is placidly going along with it, or frustrated, or....

"Praying to someone, or even something, that we don't even know exists..."

My mother answers each response loudly, confidently. When she sings the hymns, her face virtually glows. She hits each note perfectly. They’re out of my range. Nice metaphor. In the sea of voices, I’m a piece of plastic, drifting aimlessly. Katy Perry? I wonder what beach I’ll be thrown up on.
In contrast to Mum, my father is sombre during the service. Afterwards, however, he’s overly gregarious, greeting everyone with an unyielding handshake and a “God bless you”. As a reader, I'm trying to visualise this. Is he big and smiley now? Or macho and sincere?

I stand, waiting by the car, watching their happiness from a distance. They’ve found something here, something solid and certain; something they can hold on to. But the whole experience makes me dizzy, as though my feet aren’t on firm ground.

In the car, on the way home, “Family dinner tonight?” says Dad. I grimace. He catches my expression in the rear vision mirror.

“You could ask Sally?” he continues. That’s a first. Mum gives Dad a sideways glance. She’s always telling me I don’t have to hurry. There’s plenty of time for that sort of thing later, she says. She never explains exactly what that sort of thing is.

Dad is waiting for a response. He’s looking at me in the mirror. The car jolts as it hits another pothole. I wish he’d look where he’s going. New line for this dialogue. “I can’t. I need to catch up with Mark tonight. We’ve already bought the tickets for the game.”

Silence…

Then:
Silence. And then,
“There’s no hurry. Do what you think is right,” Mum says. Her tone is gentle, but so certain; as though it was that easy.

*          *          *

Mark whispers something to me. The crowd is loud and raucous, a wild sea of people, and so I lean in closer. Mark whispers again. It’s almost intimate. I like him.
 
“Who do you think’s the hottest?” he says.
 
I know what he's talking about, I'd use a full stop here instead of a comma. Otherwise, I believe a semi colon is more correct than a commaI do not want to acknowledge what he is talking about. So, I focus on the game, eyes forward. Sport narrows the world, simplifies it down to rules and times. Predictable, safe.

"The blond, the one on the end, for me," he grins, pointing at the lucky cheerleader who has caught his eye. My cheeks burn, I feel the heat.

"I have a girlfriend," I reply, hoping it sounded confident rather than forced. I am looking straight at him, directly at him. I should be watching the game.

Mark laughs. “And where is Sally?” His laugh is glorious, carefree. Maybe I don’t like him, maybe I envy him. “Sally’s not here. Nothing wrong with looking...”

I turn away from him, feeling hot and nauseous, my mouth too dry to swallow. New line for this dialogue "Water," I mutter, making my way towards the kiosk and the lines of impatient patrons. I felt seasick as if I was tossed violently on frenzied waves, helpless as the sea dragged me along in directions I didn't want to go. Nice link back to the plastic earlier, connecting that ocean scenery.

When I reach the bar the woman before me says something to the guy she is with, it must be funny as he rewards it with a laugh. He reminds me of Mark. They're holding hands and look comfortable with each other. At this point I want to tell you how much I'm enjoying your writing. It's quite frank,
 and I empathise with the character. I'm still left wondering about their level of complacence with Church at the beginning, but otherwise it's developed really well.

*          *          *

Sally tries to take my hand. I’m uncomfortable. She is sitting next to me on the couch, she is too close. New line. "The game with Mark, how was it"
I wouldn't leave a gap here, I'd bring it all together so that we know the next quote is from the same speaker.
I edge slightly away. "Were you with another girl?" she asks, and I’m not sure if she is serious.

Her accusation is ridiculous. I’m here, aren’t I? I get up and begin to pace the room. "Of course I was with Mark. Ask him!"

I'm being honest, trying to keep my voice steady, and I all I feel is guilt. "Can we just have a night without fighting?"

I've hurt her, as her eyes glisten with tears. I’m confused. I never wanted to hurt her, I'm sure of that. I love her, I think I do. I sit down next to her again. That’s what lovers do, isn’t it? They sit close. I try to do what’s expected.

She takes this as a peace offering and slides closer. She embraces me and I let her.  We sit in silence. I want the silence to do the work, as I’m lost for words. Gradually, she relaxes, her weight settles into me, as though she’s increasingly at rest, secure.

I feel a sense of suspense, as though I've been dared to wade back into the unpredictable sea. The feeling of seasickness returns and I move away from the encroaching waves. She turns to face me, leaning in and attempts to kiss me. She’s playing at desire, I know; I’ve done it myself, many times, in this room.  What she wants is safety. So do I, but I realise I can’t give it to her.

Her safety is the sea crashing on the shore. Great continuation of this motif.

*          *          *

“Family dinner tonight?” probes Mum. She seems surprised at my assent. She shouldn’t be. I’ve been at home a lot recently. Four walls to contain the confusion.

“Ask Sally,” says Dad. He says it calmly, but it feels like a command. He’s grabbing at normalcy. He must sense my awkwardness because he adds, "She seems a nice girl."

When I don’t comment, I’m sure mum is about to say we shouldn’t hurry them. And suddenly I want to tell them I’ve always felt hurried, pushed, always felt as though the place they’ve found is not for me, that the ground has always felt insecure. And then I say it.
It’s as though an earthquake has occurred.

Dad wants to argue. Mum just cries, stinging tears, raw like Sally’s. It’s as though I’m looking at them from a distance. It’s like an enormous fault line has opened up between us. A plunging abyss and they’re so, so scared.

But I’m not. For the first time, I feel as though I’m standing with my two feet on the ground. Certain. Secure. So I say it again.

“Mum, Dad, I’m gay.”

I really, reallllly like this story. There are some technical confusions for me but overall it's great.

Starting with some positives - the writing style is very fluid for me to read, I can digest it all really well. I can sense the extreme confusion the protagonist is feeling, it's very well displayed as an experience that's turbulent with a few brief stages of stability. I also like the way you've approached the entire subject manner - by going from a friend, relationship, and family, point of view.

Some things that need to improvement, next. I will say though, even though I got to the end and realised I don't even know the protagonist's gender, it works for me. So I thought the protagonist was a female. I thought the protagonist is openly gay to her friends, and one of her friends is Mark. So this is why Mark is probing to talk about the hottest cheerleaders, because the protagonist and Mark both fancy girls. Then when she comes home to Sally, her girlfriend, Sally is jealous that the protagonist was hanging out with other girls, and given that she's a lesbian, this causes concern for Sally. But actually, Mark is just a friend. So the way I read the confusion about Mark and his moments of cuteness - is the protagonist exploring the waves of being bisexual and trying to find identity amongst it, trying to work it all out. And the parents were trying to bring Sally over for dinner as a way of showing they support her being gay.

Then I realised, I don't know the protagonist is a girl. Mark could be a mate that the male protagonist fancies, and the protagonist is in a heterosexual relationship despite being a homosexual. And then this means the parents are trying to force Sally over as a sense of bringing heteronormativity to the household when in fact the protagonist is feeling this pressure to reveal that they don't fit into this narrative.

So, I went through your entire story understanding an entirely different narrative to the one you meant (I think!).

It's up to you if you want to change this or leave it as a dual narrative. I'd get more people to read it and see how they interpret the protagonist.

Also, the Church at the beginning. I think we should either revisit it, exploring it more, or delete it from the story. I expect a more religious vein throughout, and it doesn't really come. It does a good job of grounding the parents in their respective roles, but maybe we could have more of this? Maybe they say grace before a meal later? Or maybe before he or she goes to the game the mums says "I'll pray they'll win!" or something...I don't know for sure, but I forget about the Christian thing at the beginning, and I think it's an opportunity to expand your story, even if just on a subtle level.

So, what do you think? Ultimately - great writing, interesting incidental dual narrative, it's just about adjusting the plot so slightly that your reader is engaged with the way you intend them to be

[mjorfian]

Hey! This was something I wrote and based off my year 11 creative that had to have the same setting as The Secret River (that was our prescribed, if anyone's read it..) Could I get it looked out? I'm not sure where to go with this or what to exactly fix and I'd really appreciate it

Ps. the line about the birds not "paying attention" was inspired off a creative I read here because I thought I could twist it in a cool way to turn nature / the world against him and it just fit. I hope that comes through and is okay!

Spoiler

Terra Nullius was the universe flipped on its axis.

Here, the late afternoon held a borderless flow of clarity with the vast sky stretched out for infinity. A smattering of low level milky cotton ball clouds obstructed potions of the endless sky that showed off its infinite beauty. And as the sky’s hue darkens, the sun settles slowly in a magnificent flourish of ribbon-like fire.

When the sun settles, it’s as if a paint brush dipped in white was flicked at the bristles, with the sky as its victimised canvas. The stars feared to be lone, clinging to one another in clusters. Wide eyed in wonder, Greyson held his gaze upon the silver disk that rested upon them, a mother of some sort, bleaching the atmosphere into a ghost-like replica of day time. It’s a protective blanket, one could say. It hugs. It loves. It nurtures.

The creatures though, were the most baffling to him. Them? They strode as adults in their natural state, free of prickling fabric dangling off their thin sticks for legs - but lean, nonetheless. Their skin was chocolate, and oddly enough, reflected the sun that soaked it; something he’d never witnessed before. It illuminated skin that was smeared with ivory strokes resembling the harsh pressing drag of five finger tips.

“Be off!’, They had mimicked the British men once, all the way across the river. “Be off!”

They were too dark to be human, and too human to be dark, which was something he struggled to understand.

********

Coast of Sydney, 1788, April 12th

“Men who preach war are ones who suffer least by it.” is the mantra that quite perfectly emulates the dilemma I’m entrapped within. I’ve been questioning if my father’s words were only applicable to war with men, or if they apply to men at war with non-men resembling men?

Jackson, and another 4 men or so, are planning to raid an area for land. I’m promised a share, so long as I partake. It’s most likely it’ll involve the creatures. I asked if we’d be frightening them so they’d abandon the vicinity, but they spoke of the beings like they were dark spirits risen from beneath our feet. Such an exchange took forth:
 
“My God, Grey. Have you lost your mind? They’ve no decency. No worth. Their feet are stuck in time, yet they run with spears as weapons.”

Which I responded to, “They haven’t harmed us.”

“They’re dark by nature and so by spirit. Cursed to be mutants. Have you not seen them? They’re far behind the rest of civilisation. You shan’t feel sorry for them. Sentiment that hinders profit is of little value. I don’t want to hear it.”

Thing is, I do want a life here. I know I am imprisoned on an island far from home, but the wind that sweeps the vast lands sure does reek of freedom.

I’ve yet to decide.

Greyson Clifford.

******

20th April 1788


Cruel though it sounds, once the light dimmed out in their eyes, they became yet another soul-less carcass to bury.

The task left at hand would conventionally be referred to as burial, though with the large numbers, it is more akin to disposal. Their limbs, long passed the stage of rigor mortis, lolled against one another beside the pits, ready to be pushed, ready to be tumbled inside. Their eyes stared blankly at the skies, certain that they’ll never see them again. The sky wasn’t protecting him, this time. Just cold. Dim. Even the sun was struggling to break through the huddled clouds that watched over them.

Now, with the company of a chilly morning, it was just Greyson, the bodies and a flock of birds that crowded the arms of a lone tree stood amongst the landscape. Captivated as the birds fluttered their feathers, he wondered why he’d ever caged them. They tended to one another, bickering and beating their wings like the whip of an angry belt.

Greyson’s mouth formed the shape of an O, blowing an off key whistle, attempting to join the absent minded crowd that seemed way too content amongst themselves. Amused, a weak force tugged up the corner of his thin lips. But his conscious was stronger.

And they paid him no attention.
 
Somehow, that sunk a pit in his stomach that resembled the one in front of him, actually. The similarities were daunting. Convincing himself that he was just hungry, the guilt that clawed at him said otherwise.

Crack.

Startled, beneath his feet was a stray fragile stick snapped in half, and as the birds flew, no longer able to tolerate his company, his eyes chased their movement. North, north-east, east, south-east, south.

At south-south-west was a bent dark figure that stared dully above the body covered in a fluid of some sort. Vomit.

“Hey!” Greyson called.

When the man lifted his head, the clouds parted to allow a sharp stream of sunlight shine on a track of wetness on his cheeks. The sky was like a mother who had dragged wrist of her child to the door of the cruel neighbour, confronting him about his wrong doings.

 ‘What have you done? Why have you done this?’ She was telling him.

They were human, too.


*****

21st April

Men who preach war are indeed the ones who suffer the least by it.

Greyson Clifford.
 
*****

[fantasticbeasts3]

i gave the creative i submitted here to the english marking box, and got a 7/15 because, and i quote, "you have described a setting, not a story." what should i do? put action into the story, or make up a new plot?

[left right gn]

Hi there I'll check it out for you

Spoiler

Another morning at church… praying to someone or something we don’t even know exists. This initial opening is the perfect stage to establish a very personal voice in the protagonist. I'd use grammar here to convey the way this sentence should be received. For example, "Another morning at Church.
 Why? Praying to someone, or something, we don't even know exists?" Play around with it - read your sentence and then read mine. Find some kind of half way point there. I don't know if your voice is placidly going along with it, or frustrated, or....

"Praying to someone, or even something, that we don't even know exists..."

My mother answers each response loudly, confidently. When she sings the hymns, her face virtually glows. She hits each note perfectly. They’re out of my range. Nice metaphor. In the sea of voices, I’m a piece of plastic, drifting aimlessly. Katy Perry? I wonder what beach I’ll be thrown up on.
In contrast to Mum, my father is sombre during the service. Afterwards, however, he’s overly gregarious, greeting everyone with an unyielding handshake and a “God bless you”. As a reader, I'm trying to visualise this. Is he big and smiley now? Or macho and sincere?

I stand, waiting by the car, watching their happiness from a distance. They’ve found something here, something solid and certain; something they can hold on to. But the whole experience makes me dizzy, as though my feet aren’t on firm ground.

In the car, on the way home, “Family dinner tonight?” says Dad. I grimace. He catches my expression in the rear vision mirror.

“You could ask Sally?” he continues. That’s a first. Mum gives Dad a sideways glance. She’s always telling me I don’t have to hurry. There’s plenty of time for that sort of thing later, she says. She never explains exactly what that sort of thing is.

Dad is waiting for a response. He’s looking at me in the mirror. The car jolts as it hits another pothole. I wish he’d look where he’s going. New line for this dialogue. “I can’t. I need to catch up with Mark tonight. We’ve already bought the tickets for the game.”

Silence…

Then:
Silence. And then,
“There’s no hurry. Do what you think is right,” Mum says. Her tone is gentle, but so certain; as though it was that easy.

*          *          *

Mark whispers something to me. The crowd is loud and raucous, a wild sea of people, and so I lean in closer. Mark whispers again. It’s almost intimate. I like him.
 
“Who do you think’s the hottest?” he says.
 
I know what he's talking about, I'd use a full stop here instead of a comma. Otherwise, I believe a semi colon is more correct than a commaI do not want to acknowledge what he is talking about. So, I focus on the game, eyes forward. Sport narrows the world, simplifies it down to rules and times. Predictable, safe.

"The blond, the one on the end, for me," he grins, pointing at the lucky cheerleader who has caught his eye. My cheeks burn, I feel the heat.

"I have a girlfriend," I reply, hoping it sounded confident rather than forced. I am looking straight at him, directly at him. I should be watching the game.

Mark laughs. “And where is Sally?” His laugh is glorious, carefree. Maybe I don’t like him, maybe I envy him. “Sally’s not here. Nothing wrong with looking...”

I turn away from him, feeling hot and nauseous, my mouth too dry to swallow. New line for this dialogue "Water," I mutter, making my way towards the kiosk and the lines of impatient patrons. I felt seasick as if I was tossed violently on frenzied waves, helpless as the sea dragged me along in directions I didn't want to go. Nice link back to the plastic earlier, connecting that ocean scenery.

When I reach the bar the woman before me says something to the guy she is with, it must be funny as he rewards it with a laugh. He reminds me of Mark. They're holding hands and look comfortable with each other. At this point I want to tell you how much I'm enjoying your writing. It's quite frank,
 and I empathise with the character. I'm still left wondering about their level of complacence with Church at the beginning, but otherwise it's developed really well.

*          *          *

Sally tries to take my hand. I’m uncomfortable. She is sitting next to me on the couch, she is too close. New line. "The game with Mark, how was it"
I wouldn't leave a gap here, I'd bring it all together so that we know the next quote is from the same speaker.
I edge slightly away. "Were you with another girl?" she asks, and I’m not sure if she is serious.

Her accusation is ridiculous. I’m here, aren’t I? I get up and begin to pace the room. "Of course I was with Mark. Ask him!"

I'm being honest, trying to keep my voice steady, and I all I feel is guilt. "Can we just have a night without fighting?"

I've hurt her, as her eyes glisten with tears. I’m confused. I never wanted to hurt her, I'm sure of that. I love her, I think I do. I sit down next to her again. That’s what lovers do, isn’t it? They sit close. I try to do what’s expected.

She takes this as a peace offering and slides closer. She embraces me and I let her.  We sit in silence. I want the silence to do the work, as I’m lost for words. Gradually, she relaxes, her weight settles into me, as though she’s increasingly at rest, secure.

I feel a sense of suspense, as though I've been dared to wade back into the unpredictable sea. The feeling of seasickness returns and I move away from the encroaching waves. She turns to face me, leaning in and attempts to kiss me. She’s playing at desire, I know; I’ve done it myself, many times, in this room.  What she wants is safety. So do I, but I realise I can’t give it to her.

Her safety is the sea crashing on the shore. Great continuation of this motif.

*          *          *

“Family dinner tonight?” probes Mum. She seems surprised at my assent. She shouldn’t be. I’ve been at home a lot recently. Four walls to contain the confusion.

“Ask Sally,” says Dad. He says it calmly, but it feels like a command. He’s grabbing at normalcy. He must sense my awkwardness because he adds, "She seems a nice girl."

When I don’t comment, I’m sure mum is about to say we shouldn’t hurry them. And suddenly I want to tell them I’ve always felt hurried, pushed, always felt as though the place they’ve found is not for me, that the ground has always felt insecure. And then I say it.
It’s as though an earthquake has occurred.

Dad wants to argue. Mum just cries, stinging tears, raw like Sally’s. It’s as though I’m looking at them from a distance. It’s like an enormous fault line has opened up between us. A plunging abyss and they’re so, so scared.

But I’m not. For the first time, I feel as though I’m standing with my two feet on the ground. Certain. Secure. So I say it again.

“Mum, Dad, I’m gay.”

I really, reallllly like this story. There are some technical confusions for me but overall it's great.

Starting with some positives - the writing style is very fluid for me to read, I can digest it all really well. I can sense the extreme confusion the protagonist is feeling, it's very well displayed as an experience that's turbulent with a few brief stages of stability. I also like the way you've approached the entire subject manner - by going from a friend, relationship, and family, point of view.

Some things that need to improvement, next. I will say though, even though I got to the end and realised I don't even know the protagonist's gender, it works for me. So I thought the protagonist was a female. I thought the protagonist is openly gay to her friends, and one of her friends is Mark. So this is why Mark is probing to talk about the hottest cheerleaders, because the protagonist and Mark both fancy girls. Then when she comes home to Sally, her girlfriend, Sally is jealous that the protagonist was hanging out with other girls, and given that she's a lesbian, this causes concern for Sally. But actually, Mark is just a friend. So the way I read the confusion about Mark and his moments of cuteness - is the protagonist exploring the waves of being bisexual and trying to find identity amongst it, trying to work it all out. And the parents were trying to bring Sally over for dinner as a way of showing they support her being gay.

Then I realised, I don't know the protagonist is a girl. Mark could be a mate that the male protagonist fancies, and the protagonist is in a heterosexual relationship despite being a homosexual. And then this means the parents are trying to force Sally over as a sense of bringing heteronormativity to the household when in fact the protagonist is feeling this pressure to reveal that they don't fit into this narrative.

So, I went through your entire story understanding an entirely different narrative to the one you meant (I think!).

It's up to you if you want to change this or leave it as a dual narrative. I'd get more people to read it and see how they interpret the protagonist.

Also, the Church at the beginning. I think we should either revisit it, exploring it more, or delete it from the story. I expect a more religious vein throughout, and it doesn't really come. It does a good job of grounding the parents in their respective roles, but maybe we could have more of this? Maybe they say grace before a meal later? Or maybe before he or she goes to the game the mums says "I'll pray they'll win!" or something...I don't know for sure, but I forget about the Christian thing at the beginning, and I think it's an opportunity to expand your story, even if just on a subtle level.

So, what do you think? Ultimately - great writing, interesting incidental dual narrative, it's just about adjusting the plot so slightly that your reader is engaged with the way you intend them to be

Thanks Elyse.
That's awkward, I intended the character to be a male but reading over it myself, I didn't really specify...

[Mounica]

Hey guys,
so if i send in my creative today, how long do you think itll take to get feedback
Thank youu

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey guys,
so if i send in my creative today, how long do you think itll take to get feedback
Thank youu

At the moment it's taking us 2-3 days, so probably similar to that

[Mounica]

At the moment it's taking us 2-3 days, so probably similar to that

okay, thanks Jamon!

[elysepopplewell]

Thanks Elyse.
That's awkward, I intended the character to be a male but reading over it myself, I didn't really specify...

That's ok - no stress! It works as a very interesting dual narrative. Which is something a lot of people would try to pull off and you've managed to do it without trying If you want to make the narrative clearer, I'd head back and approach it by editing it so we know it's a man, and then we can view the story in the light you intend it

[jamonwindeyer]

i gave the creative i submitted here to the english marking box, and got a 7/15 because, and i quote, "you have described a setting, not a story." what should i do? put action into the story, or make up a new plot?

Sorry this got missed fantastic!! I'm bummed that they've given you that feedback, I don't really agree with it. Buuut I do see its merit as well, and I think it primarily comes back to that lack of structure. As a reader, because it is difficult to understand where these situations sit chronologically, it is harder to empathise with the "story" you are telling through the reflection. I think implementing the changes I suggested last time, namely perhaps implementing a small story with flashbacks forming the bulk and pushing Discovery more clearly, should get you back into the teens pretty easily (fingers crossed)

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey! This was something I wrote and based off my year 11 creative that had to have the same setting as The Secret River (that was our prescribed, if anyone's read it..) Could I get it looked out? I'm not sure where to go with this or what to exactly fix and I'd really appreciate it

Ps. the line about the birds not "paying attention" was inspired off a creative I read here because I thought I could twist it in a cool way to turn nature / the world against him and it just fit. I hope that comes through and is okay!

Sure thing! Attached with feedback in bold

Spoiler

Terra Nullius was the universe flipped on its axis.

Here, the late afternoon held a borderless flow of clarity with the vast sky stretched out for infinity. A smattering of low level milky cotton ball clouds obstructed potions of the endless sky that showed off its infinite beauty. And as the sky’s hue darkens, the sun settles slowly in a magnificent flourish of ribbon-like fire. Great use of descriptive language here - Be careful it isn't overdone, you've told me the sky is endless in about three different ways!

When the sun settles, it’s as if a paint brush dipped in white was flicked at the bristles, with the sky as its victimised canvas. Cool use of figurative language. The stars feared to be lone, clinging to one another in clusters. Wide eyed in wonder, Greyson held his gaze upon the silver disk that rested upon them, a mother of some sort, bleaching the atmosphere into a ghost-like replica of day time. It’s a protective blanket, one could say. It hugs. It loves. It nurtures. This transition to the characters perspective is smooth and natural, nicely done.

The creatures though, were the most baffling to him. Them? They strode as adults in their natural state, free of prickling fabric dangling off their thin sticks for legs - but lean, nonetheless. Their skin was chocolate, and oddly enough, reflected the sun that soaked it; something he’d never witnessed before. It illuminated skin that was smeared with ivory strokes resembling the harsh pressing drag of five finger tips.

“Be off!’, They had mimicked the British men once, all the way across the river. “Be off!”

They were too dark to be human, and too human to be dark, which was something he struggled to understand. Like this finishing line. Excellent use of descriptive language to set the scene in this first section, I'm expecting you to shift away from this style and push the story forward in the next.

********

Coast of Sydney, 1788, April 12th

“Men who preach war are ones who suffer least by it.” is the mantra that quite perfectly emulates the dilemma I’m entrapped within. You are being quite verbose and dancing around the point you want to make - It worked above because it was painting a scene, here it might be just a tad laborious. "is the mantra that quite perfectly emulates the dilemma I'm entrapped within" could easily be reduced to four or five words. I’ve been questioning if my father’s words were only applicable to war with men, or if they apply to men at war with non-men resembling men?

Jackson, and another 4 men or so, are planning to raid an area for land. I’m promised a share, so long as I partake. It’s most likely it’ll involve the creatures. I asked if we’d be frightening them so they’d abandon the vicinity, but they spoke of the beings like they were dark spirits risen from beneath our feet. Such an exchange took forth:
 
“My God, Grey. Have you lost your mind? They’ve no decency. No worth. Their feet are stuck in time, yet they run with spears as weapons.”

Which I responded to, “They haven’t harmed us.”

“They’re dark by nature and so by spirit. Cursed to be mutants. Have you not seen them? They’re far behind the rest of civilisation. You shan’t feel sorry for them. Sentiment that hinders profit is of little value. I don’t want to hear it.”

Thing is, I do want a life here. I know I am imprisoned on an island far from home, but the wind that sweeps the vast lands sure does reek of freedom.

I’ve yet to decide.

Greyson Clifford.

****** As a comment on this whole section here, I like the premise. It's clever. However, the dialogue feels a bit too rigid and unnatural - I get that it is supposed to be articulate and matching the context, but I just don't believe, as a reader, that they would actually speak in that way. If you read it aloud, it sounds manufactured, ever so slightly. I'd try to adjust it to make it a bit more natural.

20th April 1788


Cruel though it sounds, once the light dimmed out in their eyes, they became yet another soul-less carcass to bury. Very powerful opening to this section.

The task left at hand would conventionally be referred to as burial, though with the large numbers, it is more akin to disposal. Their limbs, long passed the stage of rigor mortis, lolled against one another beside the pits, ready to be pushed, ready to be tumbled inside. Their eyes stared blankly at the skies, certain that they’ll never see them again. The sky wasn’t protecting him, this time. Just cold. Dim. Even the sun was struggling to break through the huddled clouds that watched over them. Again, very powerful use of language. This is a difficult scene to do justice to, and I feel you are doing it fantastically.

Now, with the company of a chilly morning, it was just Greyson, the bodies and a flock of birds that crowded the arms of a lone tree stood amongst the landscape. Captivated as the birds fluttered their feathers, he wondered why he’d ever caged them. They tended to one another, bickering and beating their wings like the whip of an angry belt. That simile feels slightly forced/out of place.

Greyson’s mouth formed the shape of an O, blowing an off key whistle, attempting to join the absent minded crowd that seemed way too content amongst themselves. Amused, a weak force tugged up the corner of his thin lips. But his conscious was stronger.

And they paid him no attention.
 
Somehow, that sunk a pit in his stomach that resembled the one in front of him, actually. I'd take out the 'actually' - I think it subtracts from the tone you are trying to create. The similarities were daunting. Convincing himself that he was just hungry, the guilt that clawed at him said otherwise.

Crack.

Startled, beneath his feet was a stray fragile stick snapped in half, and as the birds flew, no longer able to tolerate his company, his eyes chased their movement. North, north-east, east, south-east, south.

At south-south-west was a bent dark figure that stared dully above the body covered in a fluid of some sort. Vomit.

“Hey!” Greyson called.

When the man lifted his head, the clouds parted to allow a sharp stream of sunlight shine on a track of wetness on his cheeks. The sky was like a mother who had dragged wrist of her child to the door of the cruel neighbour, confronting him about his wrong doings.

 ‘What have you done? Why have you done this?’ She was telling him. Putting this into direct dialogue perhaps makes it a little unclear that you aren't directly referring to someone in the situation, but instead the figurative scenario of the cruel neighbour. Could be misinterpreted, I'd perhaps just say the same thing but paraphrased/referenced in some way? Up to you!

They were human, too.

*****

21st April

Men who preach war are indeed the ones who suffer the least by it.

Greyson Clifford.
 
*****

I've not got many comments throughout this piece, I think it is brilliantly written! Excellent use of figurative language and imagery to set the scene and the style works excellently to establish the mood. This is a really dangerous subject matter to use, it is very easy to do poorly, but I think you handle it well.

As a structural comment, I'm not necessarily a fan of swapping between the journal entries and narration - I feel you should pick one or the other, and I think narration is going to give you more freedom to write in that incredible descriptive style you've shown. I do like the journal entry at the end and how it encompasses that final realisation though, so I think you could go either way. I think having both forms in there is perhaps just not as seamless as it could be. Personal opinion and definitely won't impact things majorly!

In terms of the conceptual strength for Discovery, I think it is quite powerful, though you could perhaps do a tad more at the end to accentuate the impact of the realisation on the persona. I think different markers place different weightings on the importance of this a tad, you've covered the lead up to the Discovery nicely. The aftermath is brief, but powerful. It might be worth getting a second opinion from a teacher on how well it reflects the concept - I'd personally say it would do the job, provided it matches the question and the stimulus

Beyond this, it is mostly the few nitpicks I included in bold. You have a great piece here! Work on honing it and applying it to different stimuli/questions to tests its adaptability, I'm sure it is going to score really well

[mjorfian]

Sure thing! Attached with feedback in bold

Spoiler

Terra Nullius was the universe flipped on its axis.

Here, the late afternoon held a borderless flow of clarity with the vast sky stretched out for infinity. A smattering of low level milky cotton ball clouds obstructed potions of the endless sky that showed off its infinite beauty. And as the sky’s hue darkens, the sun settles slowly in a magnificent flourish of ribbon-like fire. Great use of descriptive language here - Be careful it isn't overdone, you've told me the sky is endless in about three different ways!

When the sun settles, it’s as if a paint brush dipped in white was flicked at the bristles, with the sky as its victimised canvas. Cool use of figurative language. The stars feared to be lone, clinging to one another in clusters. Wide eyed in wonder, Greyson held his gaze upon the silver disk that rested upon them, a mother of some sort, bleaching the atmosphere into a ghost-like replica of day time. It’s a protective blanket, one could say. It hugs. It loves. It nurtures. This transition to the characters perspective is smooth and natural, nicely done.

The creatures though, were the most baffling to him. Them? They strode as adults in their natural state, free of prickling fabric dangling off their thin sticks for legs - but lean, nonetheless. Their skin was chocolate, and oddly enough, reflected the sun that soaked it; something he’d never witnessed before. It illuminated skin that was smeared with ivory strokes resembling the harsh pressing drag of five finger tips.

“Be off!’, They had mimicked the British men once, all the way across the river. “Be off!”

They were too dark to be human, and too human to be dark, which was something he struggled to understand. Like this finishing line. Excellent use of descriptive language to set the scene in this first section, I'm expecting you to shift away from this style and push the story forward in the next.

********

Coast of Sydney, 1788, April 12th

“Men who preach war are ones who suffer least by it.” is the mantra that quite perfectly emulates the dilemma I’m entrapped within. You are being quite verbose and dancing around the point you want to make - It worked above because it was painting a scene, here it might be just a tad laborious. "is the mantra that quite perfectly emulates the dilemma I'm entrapped within" could easily be reduced to four or five words. I’ve been questioning if my father’s words were only applicable to war with men, or if they apply to men at war with non-men resembling men?

Jackson, and another 4 men or so, are planning to raid an area for land. I’m promised a share, so long as I partake. It’s most likely it’ll involve the creatures. I asked if we’d be frightening them so they’d abandon the vicinity, but they spoke of the beings like they were dark spirits risen from beneath our feet. Such an exchange took forth:
 
“My God, Grey. Have you lost your mind? They’ve no decency. No worth. Their feet are stuck in time, yet they run with spears as weapons.”

Which I responded to, “They haven’t harmed us.”

“They’re dark by nature and so by spirit. Cursed to be mutants. Have you not seen them? They’re far behind the rest of civilisation. You shan’t feel sorry for them. Sentiment that hinders profit is of little value. I don’t want to hear it.”

Thing is, I do want a life here. I know I am imprisoned on an island far from home, but the wind that sweeps the vast lands sure does reek of freedom.

I’ve yet to decide.

Greyson Clifford.

****** As a comment on this whole section here, I like the premise. It's clever. However, the dialogue feels a bit too rigid and unnatural - I get that it is supposed to be articulate and matching the context, but I just don't believe, as a reader, that they would actually speak in that way. If you read it aloud, it sounds manufactured, ever so slightly. I'd try to adjust it to make it a bit more natural.

20th April 1788


Cruel though it sounds, once the light dimmed out in their eyes, they became yet another soul-less carcass to bury. Very powerful opening to this section.

The task left at hand would conventionally be referred to as burial, though with the large numbers, it is more akin to disposal. Their limbs, long passed the stage of rigor mortis, lolled against one another beside the pits, ready to be pushed, ready to be tumbled inside. Their eyes stared blankly at the skies, certain that they’ll never see them again. The sky wasn’t protecting him, this time. Just cold. Dim. Even the sun was struggling to break through the huddled clouds that watched over them. Again, very powerful use of language. This is a difficult scene to do justice to, and I feel you are doing it fantastically.

Now, with the company of a chilly morning, it was just Greyson, the bodies and a flock of birds that crowded the arms of a lone tree stood amongst the landscape. Captivated as the birds fluttered their feathers, he wondered why he’d ever caged them. They tended to one another, bickering and beating their wings like the whip of an angry belt. That simile feels slightly forced/out of place.

Greyson’s mouth formed the shape of an O, blowing an off key whistle, attempting to join the absent minded crowd that seemed way too content amongst themselves. Amused, a weak force tugged up the corner of his thin lips. But his conscious was stronger.

And they paid him no attention.
 
Somehow, that sunk a pit in his stomach that resembled the one in front of him, actually. I'd take out the 'actually' - I think it subtracts from the tone you are trying to create. The similarities were daunting. Convincing himself that he was just hungry, the guilt that clawed at him said otherwise.

Crack.

Startled, beneath his feet was a stray fragile stick snapped in half, and as the birds flew, no longer able to tolerate his company, his eyes chased their movement. North, north-east, east, south-east, south.

At south-south-west was a bent dark figure that stared dully above the body covered in a fluid of some sort. Vomit.

“Hey!” Greyson called.

When the man lifted his head, the clouds parted to allow a sharp stream of sunlight shine on a track of wetness on his cheeks. The sky was like a mother who had dragged wrist of her child to the door of the cruel neighbour, confronting him about his wrong doings.

 ‘What have you done? Why have you done this?’ She was telling him. Putting this into direct dialogue perhaps makes it a little unclear that you aren't directly referring to someone in the situation, but instead the figurative scenario of the cruel neighbour. Could be misinterpreted, I'd perhaps just say the same thing but paraphrased/referenced in some way? Up to you!

They were human, too.

*****

21st April

Men who preach war are indeed the ones who suffer the least by it.

Greyson Clifford.
 
*****

I've not got many comments throughout this piece, I think it is brilliantly written! Excellent use of figurative language and imagery to set the scene and the style works excellently to establish the mood. This is a really dangerous subject matter to use, it is very easy to do poorly, but I think you handle it well.

As a structural comment, I'm not necessarily a fan of swapping between the journal entries and narration - I feel you should pick one or the other, and I think narration is going to give you more freedom to write in that incredible descriptive style you've shown. I do like the journal entry at the end and how it encompasses that final realisation though, so I think you could go either way. I think having both forms in there is perhaps just not as seamless as it could be. Personal opinion and definitely won't impact things majorly!

In terms of the conceptual strength for Discovery, I think it is quite powerful, though you could perhaps do a tad more at the end to accentuate the impact of the realisation on the persona. I think different markers place different weightings on the importance of this a tad, you've covered the lead up to the Discovery nicely. The aftermath is brief, but powerful. It might be worth getting a second opinion from a teacher on how well it reflects the concept - I'd personally say it would do the job, provided it matches the question and the stimulus

Beyond this, it is mostly the few nitpicks I included in bold. You have a great piece here! Work on honing it and applying it to different stimuli/questions to tests its adaptability, I'm sure it is going to score really well

Thanks Jamon!! Definitely see what you mean with the dialogue, it does sound fake it's weird hahahaha. I wrote it in a rush before trials so I suppose I didn't pay as much attention as I should have in terms of authenticity in terms of that . As for the 1st journal entry, I think I get what you mean. I'll give normal narration a go and probably repost it later. But, just out of curiosity, what would you score this piece if the stimulus was embedded in properly? I'd love to know.

And while we're on the topic of stimuli, how often do I have to incorporate it in for it to be sufficient? I'm worried they'll throw something completely different my way and I'll get lost and have to scrap the whole thing ahhhh. And another thing. If the stimulus is say, a starry sky, do I always have to refer to the stars as well or can I use the sky as a concept as well? (I'm asking because my trials stimulus was that haha). Thanks again!!

[jamonwindeyer]

Thanks Jamon!! Definitely see what you mean with the dialogue, it does sound fake it's weird hahahaha. I wrote it in a rush before trials so I suppose I didn't pay as much attention as I should have in terms of authenticity in terms of that . As for the 1st journal entry, I think I get what you mean. I'll give normal narration a go and probably repost it later. But, just out of curiosity, what would you score this piece if the stimulus was embedded in properly? I'd love to know.

I'd say, if you wrote something very similar to this that responded well to the question and stimuli, you'd definitely be in the Band 6 range

And while we're on the topic of stimuli, how often do I have to incorporate it in for it to be sufficient? I'm worried they'll throw something completely different my way and I'll get lost and have to scrap the whole thing ahhhh. And another thing. If the stimulus is say, a starry sky, do I always have to refer to the stars as well or can I use the sky as a concept as well? (I'm asking because my trials stimulus was that haha). Thanks again!!

The rule I go off is you need to reference it enough so that a marker who knows the stimulus can tell you've used it, but not so much that someone who doesn't know the stimulus can tell you've used it. So essentially, it should be natural. This of course depends on how they want you to include it as well - Central element, aspect, inspiration, etc

You can definitely just use the sky! There is a little wiggle with how your visual stimuli are interpreted

[HSCNewcastle2017]

Hey guys,

I really need some feedback so I can amend my creative writing. I have spoken with my teacher numerous times in which I have to explore discovery in greater depth. Having moved to Newcastle from a small remote school in western NSW half way through Yr 12 am really struggling, especially with this AOS. Hoping to be at least in Band 5 range but a lot of work to be done. Thanks in advance for your time.

Spoiler

Taming fear towards creative living

[/u][/b]

Happiness, envy, curiosity, eagerness, disappointment, rage, thirst, hunger, dehydration, stress, tire, bother, calm, regret, sweat, tears, pain and excitement. Cracked, dusty, arid, interior landscapes, mirages glistening and shimmering over the horizon on treeless plains where I experience a wild, vast variety of feelings and emotions.

Curious spirits blossom throughout my entire body as I wander across the productive black soil, mimosa dominated plains and broadacre cotton and wheat fields monitoring and admiring spectacular native fauna and flora. My heart beats rapidly as I observe the abundant birdlife especially the brightly coloured galahs, cockatiels and parrots feeding on the grains and seeding grassy woodland through my powerful zooming binoculars providing magical vision. Paddock by paddock filled with hundreds of hopping kangaroos and grazing livestock dominated by cattle and sheep. Proficient photography skills allow for the snapping and capturing creating sensational photographs of the flat landscape whilst thoroughly appreciating and regretting all our wildlife and exploring and learning about our natural environment.

Feelings of thirst and hunger smother through my body as joyful experiences flash before my eyes. Blistered feet, painful tiger pears attacking and spiking my legs and feet, creepy cobwebs groping my face, thick layers of dust storming spraying and absorbing in my eyes and blowing gale bitter winds create unpleasant atmospheres. My heart courageously screams when listening to abundant birdlife singing and calling their dawn, dusk and daily choruses as so the harvesting cotton pickers, rustling leaves, flowing waterways, bouncing kangaroos, spraying aero go flocks and gale blowing powerful gusty winds making noises in the bush.

Filthy dust enters my mouth making for a horrible taste unlike the crispy saltbush and fruiting fig tasting delicious when obtained from the surrounding scrubland. Lovely, magnificent natural scents of flowering and fruiting vegetation makes me burst with pleasure unlike the putrid, horrific smell of dead pigs, foxes and roos that litter the landscape in the hazy heatwave conditions.

I had a huge taste of fear when I transitioned into the city. Too many people. Bustling streets. Road infrastructure dominated by multi-laned thoroughfares with hundreds of major intersections and traffic lights.  Lively neighbourhoods. Public transport plentiful and dominating the region. Much different to the drought-stricken farmland and the red and black earth landscapes around my hometown where lifestyles are slow-paced and unemployment and crime is increasing and businesses shutting down. Fear is a barren landscape where our dreams wilt in the hot sun. Creative living is a path for the brave-hearted. I will not allow it to overtake my emotional and self-discovery to find a better quality of life. I have the shocking and sudden uncovering of my aspiration for education and the desire to attain a degree at university. I have re-discovered my passion for the environment and desire to contribute to the needs of our planet. These dreams of mine are original and unique, while my fear is not. But do I feel as though I have the experience and have I uncovered my true sense of place in the world? Where the roads and traffic is busy, the people are unfriendly and the landscape is too urbanised. I am overwhelmed with intimidation, alienation, exclusion and defiance. Newcastle such a dirty grimy place like a huge coal mine. Even the rural semi-arid landscapes are less dusty.

I notice that when someone tries to kill off their fear, they unwillingly murder the creativity. So I don’t try killing my fear and instead take it with me through life. I have the long-term realisation that I must return to my birth place. The country people are friendly, roads are single-laned, the wildlife is abundant and the flat fallow landscapes are peacefully inviting. I follow this path towards creative living and know in the future that I should directly look fear in the face when getting out of my comfort zone.

[fantasticbeasts3]

Hey guys,

I really need some feedback so I can amend my creative writing. I have spoken with my teacher numerous times in which I have to explore discovery in greater depth. Having moved to Newcastle from a small remote school in western NSW half way through Yr 12 am really struggling, especially with this AOS. Hoping to be at least in Band 5 range but a lot of work to be done. Thanks in advance for your time.

Spoiler

Taming fear towards creative living

[/u][/b]

Happiness, envy, curiosity, eagerness, disappointment, rage, thirst, hunger, dehydration, stress, tire, bother, calm, regret, sweat, tears, pain and excitement. Cracked, dusty, arid, interior landscapes, mirages glistening and shimmering over the horizon on treeless plains where I experience a wild, vast variety of feelings and emotions.

Curious spirits blossom throughout my entire body as I wander across the productive black soil, mimosa dominated plains and broadacre cotton and wheat fields monitoring and admiring spectacular native fauna and flora. My heart beats rapidly as I observe the abundant birdlife especially the brightly coloured galahs, cockatiels and parrots feeding on the grains and seeding grassy woodland through my powerful zooming binoculars providing magical vision. Paddock by paddock filled with hundreds of hopping kangaroos and grazing livestock dominated by cattle and sheep. Proficient photography skills allow for the snapping and capturing creating sensational photographs of the flat landscape whilst thoroughly appreciating and regretting all our wildlife and exploring and learning about our natural environment.

Feelings of thirst and hunger smother through my body as joyful experiences flash before my eyes. Blistered feet, painful tiger pears attacking and spiking my legs and feet, creepy cobwebs groping my face, thick layers of dust storming spraying and absorbing in my eyes and blowing gale bitter winds create unpleasant atmospheres. My heart courageously screams when listening to abundant birdlife singing and calling their dawn, dusk and daily choruses as so the harvesting cotton pickers, rustling leaves, flowing waterways, bouncing kangaroos, spraying aero go flocks and gale blowing powerful gusty winds making noises in the bush.

Filthy dust enters my mouth making for a horrible taste unlike the crispy saltbush and fruiting fig tasting delicious when obtained from the surrounding scrubland. Lovely, magnificent natural scents of flowering and fruiting vegetation makes me burst with pleasure unlike the putrid, horrific smell of dead pigs, foxes and roos that litter the landscape in the hazy heatwave conditions.

I had a huge taste of fear when I transitioned into the city. Too many people. Bustling streets. Road infrastructure dominated by multi-laned thoroughfares with hundreds of major intersections and traffic lights.  Lively neighbourhoods. Public transport plentiful and dominating the region. Much different to the drought-stricken farmland and the red and black earth landscapes around my hometown where lifestyles are slow-paced and unemployment and crime is increasing and businesses shutting down. Fear is a barren landscape where our dreams wilt in the hot sun. Creative living is a path for the brave-hearted. I will not allow it to overtake my emotional and self-discovery to find a better quality of life. I have the shocking and sudden uncovering of my aspiration for education and the desire to attain a degree at university. I have re-discovered my passion for the environment and desire to contribute to the needs of our planet. These dreams of mine are original and unique, while my fear is not. But do I feel as though I have the experience and have I uncovered my true sense of place in the world? Where the roads and traffic is busy, the people are unfriendly and the landscape is too urbanised. I am overwhelmed with intimidation, alienation, exclusion and defiance. Newcastle such a dirty grimy place like a huge coal mine. Even the rural semi-arid landscapes are less dusty.

I notice that when someone tries to kill off their fear, they unwillingly murder the creativity. So I don’t try killing my fear and instead take it with me through life. I have the long-term realisation that I must return to my birth place. The country people are friendly, roads are single-laned, the wildlife is abundant and the flat fallow landscapes are peacefully inviting. I follow this path towards creative living and know in the future that I should directly look fear in the face when getting out of my comfort zone.

hi! not to be the bringer (surprised this is an actual word hahahaha feels like saying 'brang') of bad news, but you need 25 posts to submit work to be marked by one of the markers! sounds like a lot, but your posts will accumulate in time - post questions, answer questions, and participate in heaps of the threads and you'll get there :-)

best of luck in your hsc!