Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey guys, here's my creative writing piece. Any constructive criticism would be appreciated 
Thanks

Hey friend! My spreadsheet says you'll need to reach 65 posts to qualify for this creative to be marked, the requirement is currently 50 posts and you had something marked for 15 posts at the start of the year

[Iminschool]

Hey friend! My spreadsheet says you'll need to reach 65 posts to qualify for this creative to be marked, the requirement is currently 50 posts and you had something marked for 15 posts at the start of the year

Ok mb. Thanks

[theofficialsabrina]

I was wondering if you could read my Creative piece and give me some pointers on how to improve it as well as whether it is adaptable to a any HSC stimulus. Thank you!!

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What would you do if you had a blank slate, a fresh start, and no-one expecting anything in particular of you? If you knew your friends, family and those who you admire were guaranteed to be impressed and encouraging?

First off, it sounds like there’s a catch...and of course there is, what did you expect? And secondly, are you disappointed?

But fret not! The domineering influence of expectation has always been widespread. Our actions are often swayed by what others think we should and should not do. Expectations will continue to be - because, by human nature, we all naturally and instinctively carry judgement and hence, live in a complex society in which WE are being constantly judged by others. When we reach expectations already set out for us, we are rewarded and when we do not, we are punished - we may not know it, but others sure are thinking it.

Expectation initially presents itself as an external force that drives meaning, order and prosperity - especially for those who favour the thoughts of others, which would rightfully include you, dear reader, otherwise, what would be the mystery that lies behind your ever-presence?

Hardly groundbreaking for you, but expectation is a demanding god. Speak ill of the god of expectation and others will speak ill of you. This is often best justified in many studies that there is a strong correlation with the development of self-efficacy and the attitudes and beliefs of others. In schools, excellence in achievement tends to be influenced by high parental and cultural expectations. At the workplace, performance is influenced by the presence of a manager. In sporting teams, the expectations of a coach in, perhaps the intensity and frequency of training, can influence success at the big game.

It is therefore, not unworldly to say that expectations are often associated with positive outcomes, success and excellence. However, outcomes such as these are treated as limited resource. One where competition is central, one where only the fittest will reign supreme and one where survival within society is key this way. There is general acceptance within society that not everybody can excel yet still, these expectations are apparent. Not everybody can become an athlete, just as not everybody can be tall - otherwise, there would be no distinction of being so. Indeed, if to excel means to ‘stand out’ from the crowd, then by definition, only some can excel.

So it seems that the god of expectation should be our ally as it provides countless benefits of fame, success and most of all, the respect of others - but only after achieving what a small proportion of our society is able to. Talk about unrealistic standards!

Often, expectations and reality are ridiculed for the sake of comedy - but, what they truly showcase is that expectations are warped ideas of a reality. After all, they are abstract, vague concepts that we choose to put faith in. No? Too rich and embarrassing an image? Would you prefer me to define expectation by what it does, rather than by what it is?

However, often many cross the line between living up to expectations and a loss of oneself.

Let’s try another way. Consider this - with a sense of prosperity gained, is a true sense of happiness achieved? You may (and probably have) followed expectations all your life and achieved what the world approves of - climbing the corporate ladder, going to university and getting a degree, not wearing that mini skirt you’ve always wanted to wear, starving yourself to become the ‘perfect’ body shape perceived in the media, giving the press what they want to hear and not what you want to say - roll up, roll up, witness the almighty power of the god of expectation.

So with these expectations come the pressures, the anxiety and ultimately, the fear of not being able to fulfil them. Sometimes, in an effort to impress those who have burdened us, we often try to exceed their conjectures and do more than we are promised. We get tied up in knots about how best to rise up to the challenge set before us, that we often forget about what’s truly important - ourselves.

You see, when you spend most of your time running around obsessed with the idea of being loved and approved by others, wearing all kinds of masks and costumes based on the role you are expected to be playing, not only should you be recognised as an accredited actor...but you begin to lose yourself. You get lost in the crowd, becoming one of the millions, if not billions, of people who have no idea who they are and what they stand for - just a side effect to the addictive drug of expectation.

In the end, who are we to blame? The baby boomers for enforcing their teachings? God himself, for crafting judgement into the essence of human nature? No. We are only to blame ourselves.

After all, we all know that kid who would always sit at the back of the class, doodling till no end. He did not care the slightest about the world around him, and frankly, nor the world to him after some time.

But now you do. Being disappointed, you admire him. I mean, what did you expect?

[fantasticbeasts3]

I was wondering if you could read my Creative piece and give me some pointers on how to improve it as well as whether it is adaptable to a any HSC stimulus. Thank you!!

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Spoiler

What would you do if you had a blank slate, a fresh start, and no-one expecting anything in particular of you? If you knew your friends, family and those who you admire were guaranteed to be impressed and encouraging?

First off, it sounds like there’s a catch...and of course there is, what did you expect? And secondly, are you disappointed?

But fret not! The domineering influence of expectation has always been widespread. Our actions are often swayed by what others think we should and should not do. Expectations will continue to be - because, by human nature, we all naturally and instinctively carry judgement and hence, live in a complex society in which WE are being constantly judged by others. When we reach expectations already set out for us, we are rewarded and when we do not, we are punished - we may not know it, but others sure are thinking it.

Expectation initially presents itself as an external force that drives meaning, order and prosperity - especially for those who favour the thoughts of others, which would rightfully include you, dear reader, otherwise, what would be the mystery that lies behind your ever-presence?

Hardly groundbreaking for you, but expectation is a demanding god. Speak ill of the god of expectation and others will speak ill of you. This is often best justified in many studies that there is a strong correlation with the development of self-efficacy and the attitudes and beliefs of others. In schools, excellence in achievement tends to be influenced by high parental and cultural expectations. At the workplace, performance is influenced by the presence of a manager. In sporting teams, the expectations of a coach in, perhaps the intensity and frequency of training, can influence success at the big game.

It is therefore, not unworldly to say that expectations are often associated with positive outcomes, success and excellence. However, outcomes such as these are treated as limited resource. One where competition is central, one where only the fittest will reign supreme and one where survival within society is key this way. There is general acceptance within society that not everybody can excel yet still, these expectations are apparent. Not everybody can become an athlete, just as not everybody can be tall - otherwise, there would be no distinction of being so. Indeed, if to excel means to ‘stand out’ from the crowd, then by definition, only some can excel.

So it seems that the god of expectation should be our ally as it provides countless benefits of fame, success and most of all, the respect of others - but only after achieving what a small proportion of our society is able to. Talk about unrealistic standards!

Often, expectations and reality are ridiculed for the sake of comedy - but, what they truly showcase is that expectations are warped ideas of a reality. After all, they are abstract, vague concepts that we choose to put faith in. No? Too rich and embarrassing an image? Would you prefer me to define expectation by what it does, rather than by what it is?

However, often many cross the line between living up to expectations and a loss of oneself.

Let’s try another way. Consider this - with a sense of prosperity gained, is a true sense of happiness achieved? You may (and probably have) followed expectations all your life and achieved what the world approves of - climbing the corporate ladder, going to university and getting a degree, not wearing that mini skirt you’ve always wanted to wear, starving yourself to become the ‘perfect’ body shape perceived in the media, giving the press what they want to hear and not what you want to say - roll up, roll up, witness the almighty power of the god of expectation.

So with these expectations come the pressures, the anxiety and ultimately, the fear of not being able to fulfil them. Sometimes, in an effort to impress those who have burdened us, we often try to exceed their conjectures and do more than we are promised. We get tied up in knots about how best to rise up to the challenge set before us, that we often forget about what’s truly important - ourselves.

You see, when you spend most of your time running around obsessed with the idea of being loved and approved by others, wearing all kinds of masks and costumes based on the role you are expected to be playing, not only should you be recognised as an accredited actor...but you begin to lose yourself. You get lost in the crowd, becoming one of the millions, if not billions, of people who have no idea who they are and what they stand for - just a side effect to the addictive drug of expectation.

In the end, who are we to blame? The baby boomers for enforcing their teachings? God himself, for crafting judgement into the essence of human nature? No. We are only to blame ourselves.

After all, we all know that kid who would always sit at the back of the class, doodling till no end. He did not care the slightest about the world around him, and frankly, nor the world to him after some time.

But now you do. Being disappointed, you admire him. I mean, what did you expect?

hi, welcome to the forums! sorry to burst your bubble but you need 50 posts to get an essay or creative marked! sounds like a lot, but if you stick around here for a bit, you'll find your posts accumulate quickly. best of luck with your hsc! :-)

[justwannawish]

Hey there!! Happy to sit down and read this

Spoiler

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be you, the hero of the Manhattan Project, the star on their spangled banner. Absorbed in your scattered sketches and sheets of calculations, you’re consumed by your attempts to defeat the enemy, to build a weapon deadlier than the atomic bomb. And what better way than destroying commies, hey?


Sometimes I think of you and wonder what it’s like to be a murderer.


Once upon a time, not so long ago, a desperate nation dropped two bombs on another. We all know how this story ends.


Cracking your neck, you recalculate the ionisation power required to ignite the fusion fuel, carefully plotting deaths like the madman we all know you are. I’ve seen a lot of them in my time, but you, rational, intelligent you, sipping your Tang frightened or frightens* me more than a psychopath.

 (It was war, they excuse it as a one-off. It’s humanity, I reply. You can’t trust them)

Extension: I hope you make a mistake and give up. I hope that you change your mind and give up. I hope the world ends before you end it's because you don’t want to be death, the destroyer of the world. Trust me. I pray and pray, but God doesn’t exist much nowadays. People have better reasons to die than religion.

Whistling Ain’t I Right, you scribble the last lines and let your shaking hands drop the pen. The numbers don’t make sense to me, but I can tell by your wide-eyed grin that you did it.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a hydrogen bomb, one more powerful than the atomic bomb, one without fissione that’s just going to make more work for me. I’ve already overworked and understaffed.

(One death, two deaths, what more is another million? Tell me, have you ever seen a corpse?)

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I can’t! You’re going to end the world and I’m the only one who cares.

And they say Death is heartless. I'll add at this point that I've read everything out loud so far to make sure that your grammar is stopping and starting the story in the flow that you want. So far, VERY good!

***
As you cradle the papers to your chest, your smile slowly combusts into a cheer. Months of testing. Mocking smiles from the other scientists. Failure after failure. It all paid off! You have to tell Eva.

Throwing open the door, you skid to a halt behind her silhouette, illuminated by a candle stub. Eva’s reading glasses slip from her exasperated sigh, as she reads the papers. You pity her- small print is the bane of your life as well.

You scan the article she’s reading, grinning at the photo of the mushroom cloud. You’ll make that look like a peace pipe. “Darling, I didn’t know…” you read, you like to do things besides your hair. “You like politics.” This sentence here, I just don't think I'm reading it the way you intended. It's almost like that middle bit there, the part outside of the quotation marks, is part of the quote? and I'm not sure if it's being read from the paper of it these are the words the person is saying? I think the thing that makes me think it's on the paper is, "you read," but then the "you like politics" is mixing the voice of the person and the narration and it's just not quite clear for me.

Eva starts, covering the paper with her body.  Extension: After kind John Smith next door got taken away by the Committee, you’ve both been more jumpy, more frown lines decorating your foreheads. But you have nothing to fear, making bombs is not un-American at all. *shudders* YES. THIS.

Taking her hand, you laugh “We can have conversations again.”

She loosens her shoulders, smile flickering like a candle in the wind. It’s nothing like the steady glow of the girl you married and you wonder where she went. “I don’t think we share the same views.”

You kneel in front of her, “Try me, Eva.” You miss her wince- you’ve been forgetting since your new job that she’s your ‘Evie’. You’ve been ignoring a lot about her- her new bouffant, her pretty dress, her calls for dinner.

And maybe thinking about all of this, she spits out, “I think the Americans are murderers for the Japanese bombings.”

Murderer- you a murderer? She’s gone mad. This italicised bit can be stronger, I think. I'm not sure about the exact way you're intending for me to read this.

Extension: Eva continues, her words more blazing than the flames. “I don’t think communists are bad. For god’s sake, I’m a communist! I don’t want to end American society. I think the only bad people out there are our government.”

“Those murderers went to Hiroshima under the guise of freeing Western democracy. Was our democracy worth the deaths of innocent kids? What did they ever do to us? What did the civilians do?” Eva’s eyes flash and her bitter curses start echoing in your mind.  Murderer.

“And you know what’s really tragic? They’re planning another set of bombings. Bigger and better! Do they know what they’re doing?” Extinguished, she stops, bringing her hand to her mouth. “I think a lot of terrible things.”

“They didn’t kill anyone directly,” you whisper, fixating your eyes on her wedding ring.  What if she knew that your high-earning fancy job in the city, the one that paid for her pretty dresses and ring, was earned by the blood of innocents?

Eva scoffs, and you wonder when the sweet housewife you married left. Did she ever exist? I love this bit. I like that it's not WHERE is she, but just recognises she has left by wondering WHEN - it shows a preoccupation of the husband for a long time.

“The bombs didn’t magically transport themselves. People dropped it. People created it. Nothing is made evil. People- I don’t know if you can call those scum humans really-make things evil.”

She quietens, quivering in the vulnerable way fire does when it’s burnt out.  “Are you going to call the Committee on me?” You shake your head, knees giving out, and collapse into the seat next to her. She flinches, perhaps disgusted by the blood surrounding you. “I’ll bring your dinner.”

Staring in silence at the food, you tremblingly hold your gravy filled spoon above the peas.
Over Japan, an aircraft had held the bombs above the people.
Somewhere, someday, someone’s going to do the same with your hydrogen bomb. OMLLLL YESSS. Love this imagery - so domestic, yet so global.

You drop it. They drop the bomb. They’re going to drop the bomb.
The peas are covered. The people are buried. They’re going to die.
By your hands. By your hands. By your hands.

Is that tomato or blood on your hands? Just a small thing which I'll leave up to you, I'd put a comma after "blood" so the "on your hands" rings with greater salience to tie into the repetition of "by your hands" above.

***
At night, you glower at the ceiling, uncomfortable in your soft bed. Thoughts of the bomb, your bomb, run through your nightmares. You don’t know what it felt like, of course, you’re not dead. But it comes alive whenever you close your eyes. Hot and blinding, red as blood. Black and cold, a silent killer. Explosive. Screams. Corpses. Dead by your hands.
 
Is this what it feels to be a murderer?

No. NO! You scream into your duvet and struggle to free yourself from the blankets, nearly tripping over the bedside table.
 
Eva furrows her brows, “What’s wrong?” Killer.
 
You bite your lip, “Just have to do something.” Slaughterer.

Walking into your study, you run a hand through your hair and find the blueprints again, examining it under the candlelight. Hours and hours of dedication, you’ve spent so long on it. It’s such a pity. You clutch the sheets, the words wrapping themselves around your fingers, tethering you. Murderer.

The flames burn and you wonder if all those people you killed burned as well. Closing your eyes, you let the candle digest your recipe for death and watch the ashes fall for the last time.


***

On the other side of the world, I let out a sob as the familiar twinges of pain, the suffering of souls you were going to create, finally leave. The girl I was waiting for straightens her crying mother’s kimono and kisses her goodbye, attempting to memorise every touch, every glance. As she takes my hand, I thank you for not making more people die like she did.


Extension: (Once the country asked you to do something and you did the right thing brilliantly. Thank you for not letting it break you.)

Sometimes, I think of you and wonder what’s it like to be a hero.

Wonderful. Brilliant. Incredible.

How do I articulate how much I enjoy this piece? It's clean AF. I read it verbally to make sure it lulled and sung the way it should, and it did. The wording is JUST enough every time - crisp, and clean, and never too much. You've thought so carefully about the techniques, I can see it especially in the gravy/bomb scenario. Who would've thought??

In terms of plot, I love love love the ending. The two people, so significantly connected, but never meet. The only thing that I think we could probably do away with in order to give the reader a little more work to do, a little more respect for their ability to put the pieces together, is the holiday thing.

You go back to bed and kiss your wife for the first time in months. “You looked beautiful today, Evie.” She gapes at you, because you finally remembered. Wrapping an arm around her, you smile, “Let’s go on a holiday.”

Evie laughs but her eyes sparkle in agreement.
 
Tomorrow you’ll tell your employers it’s impossible and ignore your colleagues’ taunts at the fact the wonder-boy couldn’t do it. You’ll finally use up that vacation on your paycheck and take Evie away for a weekend.
 
A break will do you both good.

This here, could in fact just be, "You went to sleep that night in debt to Evie. You nodded off thinking about the taunts of your employers when you tell them it's impossible, and yes, even the wonder-boy himself couldn't do it. So nobody could."

Sometttthing like this, brings all of the above into just two sentences and it leaves stuff to the imagination. So because we look at Evie with debt and gratitude, the reader can assume that Evie has swayed his opinion. This is then confirmed in a very short manner in the next sentence, rather than leaving the "oh my god he changed his mind" experience of the reader as an experience of a few sentences, distracted by a holiday. I think it's more cutting this way. Then, moving on to the person in Japan - BRILLIANT. The You + I of the story is wonderful. A very clever technique. The discovery is strong, and it works on multiple layers at multiple points.

In terms of Extension - you've also ticked all the boxes. Ways of thinking, yes. The religion at the beginning is subtle but strong, the war, the gender roles, the science, the world order - it all works together so seamlessly. Are you extending on this version for extension or just presenting it like this?

For discovery - this is strong, cutting, very clean, and I would surely give this a band 6, hinging on the fact that it is developed to the stimulus of course!

It's me again! Sorry, but I was wondering if you could work out a few issues I have with adapting the piece? I've tried fitting it to each of the syllabus dot points and this is what I've come up with:



First time discovery: finding the bomb, changing his perception
Rediscovering something lost, concealed or forgotten: not really sure if it counts, but indirectly, a reconnection with his wife?
Sudden or unexpected: didn't expect Evie to come up with such a confronting argument that shook the foundations of his assumptions
Deliberate planning: the bomb was one created out of his personal wonder and necessity from the government
Emotional, spiritual: his realisation of the damage the bomb caused
Creative and intellectual: not sure about these ones either
Confronting and provocative: hope that's apparent
New understandings and renewed perceptions of ourselves and others: not sure of this is communicated very well either
Personal, cultural, historical, social contexts: historical and social, I would say yes? Not sure about personal and cultural
Far reaching and transformative for the individual and broader society: the ending scene with the Japanese girl, and I think it was implicitly threaded throughout the piece
Ramifications: was the discovery and his own feelings about it enough to suit this dotpoint
Different perspectives/worth can be reassessed over time: Evie vs Protagonist at the start, protagonist throughout the piece
Challenge/affirm widely held assumptions and beliefs about aspects of human experience and the world: I feel like I'm being biased towards this but I find myself agreeing haha
New discoveries about: place-not at all, people-vaguely yes, relationships- wife and husband??, societies-American society in the 1950s was a bad place for one's conscience, events-not sure about this either
Generate new ideas: morals vs societal aims,

Do you think that these themes fit the story? Or alternatively, have any idea how to change the story to fit to another stimulus? Thank you so much!

[kemi]

Hey

If we have the required number of posts can we PM  our creatives? Assuming the thread hasn't locked of course.

Thank you!

[sals101]

Not sure if im "showing instead of telling".

Butterflies slide down the knots in my stomach as I gazed across the lofty pastel apartments, jerking back and forth until my gaze would catch yet another pastel home for a millisecond more than the others. My paper thin heels glide down the car floor mats as the brakes and accelerator were impulsively shifting, like switching channels on TV, instead navigating through the rugged, slender roads in between skyscrapers. They reminded me of European roads, lined with bright coloured scooters, hanging ivy, the oceanic aroma. Oh how I missed greece, this was the closest thing to home, the same summer vibes which passed out rays of energy and sunshine occupied by the sun, besides today.
The clouds merged together, blocking any glistening sun, but my eyes remained fixated on the slippery concrete roads which let water droplets caress them.           
     
“So Niles.. How are you ?”   
“Harper , breathe it's okay, you deserve this.”
He knew me too well, I attempted to distract myself from my pounding heart.
“ what if they don't li -”
“If anyone doesn't like you that's their own loss”.
“But, you know me I'm used to being disappointed ”
“Harper, you deserve the peace not them.”

Delight flooded the heaviness upon my heart, Niles always knew the right thing to say, indeed I was the one who deserved peace, not only to  wash over my pain but to completely erase it.   

My childhood lay like a stone upon my heart, years of constant sorrow i wish i could take back from my 5 year old self and look at it the way i do now, adoption just meant you deserved to be loved more than you were. But what child is to know that at 5? .Waking up every morning in a row of beds amongst other abandoned children, eager to walk the sand, puddles, the fresh lawn and everything inbetween.
“ Hey Harper, look it’s your lanky uncle HAHHA”
Them swarm of empty hearted children, craving love would laugh hysterically when uncle Ray would wander through the scanty hallways.

Despite the jealous chuckles, uncle ray drowned me in warmth as if the sun huddled me,
the only blood relationship engraved in my mind,

 I never knew if he was sent there or came willingly, but he radiated light amongst the dull, imprisoned property. The cuddles imprinted on my skin, spiked of his black and grey beard which would rind my cheeks, carving a smile, as he ruffled his face into my stomach, tickling me to the point where my body would curl up and roll to the imperfect floor. Disappearing, without a chance to see me become Harper Sandra Niles, Niles never failed to provide for me as a daughter.


Snapping out of bottled thoughts,pulling my exhausted face closer to the window as we travelled in line with the golden gate bridge, the breeze  curling my soft blonde waves behind my ear, sorrow lingered at the tip of my tongue but the view took any words from my grip. Sliding back into the stiff Francisco streets, I Glanced at the cute cafe corners with displays filled of warm glazed donuts, peering at the engraved gold title laying upon the black marble cafe.

“OMG Niles is that wayfare!!!, Pull in to the right!”
“Is this the organic cafe you always talk about Harper?”
“YES! they have vegan donuts,cookies-”
“Got it! Let's get you something to steer the nerves, let me guess strawberry glazed?”   
“DUHH” 


Thrr rthrrrr, The engine urged, attempting to jolt, making little BRUPPP’s to offer motion. Too engaged at the sight of food my mind lost consciousness.

“Harper?”
“ yes Niles ”
“The car wont start”
Being muddled himself, Niles walked aggressively, tie swinging freely in the wind. A blonde man jolted, swerving around the corner in a navy suit, his dreamy eyes fixed on mine.
“Do you need help?”
“Our car wont start”
“It’s the battery” niles butted.
“My chauffeur can jumpstart it, but can I offer you a coffee lovely lady”
My eyes fixated on his handsomely toned body, sheer through his tux, but destiny awaited.
“ sorry we-”
“I understand” he replied
“Barry get the cables” He ordered
Barry and Niles were in deep worry about the car starting as it suddenly roared on.
“Thankyou so much -”
“It’s my pleasure”.

The pair bolted around the corner , brushing against the mini tree pots. Settling inside the car, mt mind boggled, my love for the warmth and joy in San Francisco shone  through this gentleman.

I always craved affection which came with birthday candles, families huddled around dining tables, christmas trees, but would it really be the same knowing it wasn't a desire to love? My mind snapped out of inevitably deep thoughts.What were my parents doing in San Francisco?, they didn't belong in such as lively city, too harsh to rome these gentle streets. My heart was in sudden confusion. I became perplexed, not knowing what I wanted from this, I wasn't ready to settle for the guilty, ‘we had no choice’ bullshit.

“Niles do they even deserve to see me?”   
“They need to see what they left behind, don’t fall for their sappy guilt”
“Pull over niles, I never want them to ghost over the person I have created for myself”
“You just need to show them what they've missed and what they will never be apart of”
“I don't want them to live with disclosure”
“Just do it, so you can live knowing you never really needed them”
“Ok”
Ok was never enough, but I knew seeing them was the only path to tranquility.
Arriving at a flat street, a speckle of sun dusting  upon the roof. Deep breathing , gripping tight as my heels settled into the cracked road, jerking my leg. A hasty spark shifted into me, trembling, across the broken road in my heart.My hands leaped into the polished brass door knocker, knocking silently against my aggressiveness. My ears met with the door lock twisting, turning to niles, gazing at the door, every tick of the door dug deeper with a sharp knife right through my emotional wounds.         

[prickles]

Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you need 50 posts to get something marked. Keep posting around, answering or asking  questions and you'll get there in no time 

[fantasticbeasts3]

I was wondering if you could read my Creative piece and give me some pointers on how to improve it. Thank you!

Spoiler

Dinner was the best. My family and I could just laugh, talk and enjoy ourselves. We could forget about the stresses of life and focus on the good thing, the little things. Once upon a time, life was great, with no worries and no troubles. Since Marcus, we could not be the same family. Everything is blurred and obscure. We had no direction or sense of where life is taking us. There was once a time, I looked up to Rob, I idolised him, I wanted to be him  but it was his act of foolishness that now he is nothing to me and there is no way i could forgive him. I had a deep anger and indignation towards Rob, my uncle only by name, nothing more. I knew what he’d done wasn’t intentional, it was a mistake. One mistake, now one less person at home.

One month has passed since the accident, Marcus, only 7 years old, didn’t deserve to go out this way. Jake and I were in the car with Marcus and Rob, and I could only wish it was me not him. He spent his time with laughter and joy and nothing but a smile, one that could light up nations. My parents would visit him every weekend, showering his grave with flowers and messages, but Jake and I would never go. It was too hard to witness. I would sit in my dark, black room, reminiscing on moments in Marcus’ life. I go back to the days, when we would spend every summer on the soft, sparkling, white sand that dance upon my feet. The rays of the sun radiating our bodies as packets of energy, while we’d kick up the surface of the icy surf so that droplets would glimmer like diamonds in the sunlight. On our lips the crystalline salt sat on our tongues, with the freshness of life filtering through our lungs. It was one moment in time, that was an eternity of joy and exuberance. But eternity like happiness has an end, for Marcus his end came too early.

I believed the time was right to visit Marcus. Jake and I moved to the cemetery, with mixed with emotions of anxiety and anger. Jake walked next to me silent, in the windy, drained streets, with all the emotion sucked from his body. Through his red eye’s, I could see the anger inside him, his despair and retreat from the world in his pale face. As we arrived at Marcus, Jake was stiff, suffocating in his own body, like words and pictures would collide in his head. Trees covered the cemetery, the brown leaves were curling and stiff. The branches drooped. It seemed so forlorn in the colourless arena they surrounded. Next to us was a table, of sandstone blocks, covered with mold. Rob was seated on the table. The disgust and anger moved up my body, A swelling of the veins waiting to explode, with the urge to say things, you would rather left unsaid.

I walked up to him, with Jake rather staying with Marcus, resisting myself from saying something that I would regret. I was expecting Rob to bombard me with apologies and ‘please forgive me’ speeches. It wasn’t like that at all though. He had accepted what he had done and knew it was wrong. Not much was said, but the feeling of shame and guilt radiated from his body. The atmosphere was tense but quiet, until Jake walked up to us, Rob stated with remorse “I know sorry isn’t going to do much, but I really am sorry ”. Jake retaliated and with all the anger throttling him he blasted “you apologies to someone if you spill a drink on them. You killed my brother and ruined everything in my life”. I grabbed Jake and moved him away from Rob, calming him down, I went back and sat with Rob, tears falling down his face, the guilt tearing at his heart, ripping at his insides. I could see his pain and sorrow. The anger I was feeling was not for Rob but for not having Marcus in my life, I could now say “You are forgiven.” and move that darkness out of my life. He replied “ How could you forgive, after all I have done, the pain I have caused”, I replied with a quote from a book I read,  “Because darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

Back where it all started, the sands beneath my feet it’s white, it’s soft, it’s calm, what more could you ask for really. Everything feels warm, soft and still, like the whiteness is holding me up. All of the death and horror has been left behind and I have been cleansed by the light. It’s a beautiful irony that it has taken death to transport me to this beautiful place, I can see the pure white

hi! the post requirement is currently 50 posts to get an essay or creative marked! sounds like a lot, but they do build up quickly - keep asking questions, answering people's questions, participate in discussions and you'll get there :-)

best of luck with your hsc,
fantasticbeasts

[sophiegmaher]

Hey! I was wondering if anyone had any advice on how to integrate a stimulus into your creative: how central should the stimulus be, and how much does the integration of the stimulus count towards the mark?

[seventeenboi]

HELLO
i've finally accumulated to 50 posts PLSPLS mark my creative + in my opinion it's lacking on the discovery aspect, but I'm not sure how to approach it - could you perhaps suggest somekind of plot points or like things that could occur to further portray the impact of discovery ?? thanks so much!!!!! PLS SAVE MY ATAR LMFAO

Spoiler

Leonard woke up to another crumpled emptiness on the other side of their bed. He had tried to fill the void of space himself everyday, by painting the empty canvases they promised to fill together with the art they had devoted their lives to. Papers and threadbare socks were scattered across the stone-cold timber floors around the fortress. He could almost see the look of disappointment on Maria’s face if she had known what he’d become.

The bedridden sun was still buried in its cloak of anxiety and cast a lone shadow on the floor, barely warming the bareness that permeated the walls of his room. Sprawled across them, decades-old paintings attempted to compensate for the blankness. He closed his eyes to reimagine the trials of his youth in these illustrations which had now to him, become lifeless bodies of muted grey and insipidity.

The fireplace which was once ample and alive, and had facilitated late night conspiratorial whispers and dozes wrapped in blankets, was now black and charred with dead secrets buried in the ashes. Now, even the layers of brick seemed to want to disintegrate and crumble under the weight of the yellowing photographs of frozen smiles entrapped in time. He tried to avoid the gaze of the happy faces.

Their happy faces.

Heaving himself off the bed, he stumbled towards his easel - a place both of refuge and despair.
Its flaking wood and peeling skin was almost repulsive, as it looked like it was about to succumb to ruin and collapse from the heavy burden of unsatisfactory canvas after canvas, day after day.

He began to etch tendrils for branches, but the pencil disobeyed his mind and as his fingers clutched its weak wooden frame anxiously, it quivered in his grasp. The curvature of wise beaks would only become the squabble of pigeons. Mighty wings would only become feeble scribbles crumbling in the violent wind.


*********************************

So he decided to stop these fantasies and desires. He only knew they were never be got at again. Not without Maria.

It had taken him weeks to approach their cupboard - he had to learn how to resist the fluttering of her ribbons in the books she didn’t want to crease, or the whiff of her rustic perfume in their room. Packing away his brushes palettes, placing them delicately into a wooden box. He began categorising things into the chapters they shared in their lives, sorting the colossal stack of paintings in the corner which were billowing with dust. Flicking and flicking he tried to avoid the gaze of each canvas to avoid feeling nauseous. He was eventually interrupted an unfamiliar convolution of pigments and hues which seduced his eyes - its contents unrecognisable.

He was baffled by the complexity of it all.
 
Amongst stern boulder-like clouds which threatened to swallow the sky, dainty wisps of periwinkle greeted through rifts that the fog could not reach. Above the clouds, stars were delicately plotted to sprawl across an expanse of infinite black and navy. Back on the earth, fields and fields of herbage and vegetation quivered from the cool remnants of a shower extending their green limbs. A forest of silvery poplars rose spangled with the dewy glittering of gold and green in welcome. A flock of crimson birds crowded and nestled amongst its boughs relinquishing the open air in shrill, energetic conversation. Each bird flitted about and tended to each other. Their reddened headdresses defied the ashen ambience of the scenery as they rode the unreachable thermals above as if in a graceful ballroom dance. In the midst of it all, a tiny figure stood awkwardly, gazing upwards and almost engulfed by the overwhelming entity, hypnotised by the crisp symphony of his world.

At the bottom, signed, in delicate curls and rolling letters: “For my Leonard - Maria”

It was one of those unfamiliar scenes, like a childhood hometown left unvisited to evaporate from memory, only to return surging. For so long, he realised how he had craved the hypnotism and soothe of her. Wonder devoured the monotony that had stifled him, pulsing through his arteries like water flooding into dry rivulets.
His eyes followed the winding river the figure stood in and traced it as it meandered into the horizon.
You are alone, but you are not alone! The figure seemed to piercingly voice.

His eyes welled up with the droplets of laughter they shared.

He set down her creation, returning to his own easel by the window and picked up his brush, gripping it. He had forgotten how comfortably it sat in his hands, like a natural extension of his body, like another limb. Caressing its mahogany build, he recalled the intense spectrum of hues that dominated their lives, visualising them on the frosted blank.

Even without Maria, his own story would continue - she seemed to be telling him that now.

Meticulously, he carved effortless strokes onto the awaiting linen.

A stroke of vibrant vermillion, a stroke of brilliant blue.
A stroke for each remnant of memory that they made together.

A stroke for each memory he will make himself from now on.

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey

If we have the required number of posts can we PM  our creatives? Assuming the thread hasn't locked of course.

Thank you!

Unfortunately we can only mark in these designated threads

Hey! I was wondering if anyone had any advice on how to integrate a stimulus into your creative: how central should the stimulus be, and how much does the integration of the stimulus count towards the mark?

The advice I always give is that the stimulus should be obvious enough that someone who has the stimulus can tell you've used it, but not so obvious that someone who doesn't have the stimulus notices anything out of place. It should be natural in your story, it shouldn't "stick out."

Incorporating the stimulus properly is a significant portion of your mark for the section - An amazing creative that ignores the stimulus won't score nearly as well as the same Creative that incorporates the stimulus

[elysepopplewell]

Honestly, words cannot describe how much your feedback means to me. I've been underperforming in all my creatives though I considered them to be my most developed skill in English and I've been rereading your comment because it made me feel a lot better about everything.

About your feedback:
"You scan the article she’s reading, grinning at the photo of the mushroom cloud. You’ll make that look like a peace pipe. “Darling, I didn’t know…” you read, you like to do things besides your hair. “You like politics.”
What I intended this to be was the words he was saying out loud juxtaposed with his thoughts. It was meant to be a reflection on how much they grew apart because there is so much he still doesn't know about her

"Murderer- you a murderer? She’s gone mad." This italicised bit can be stronger, I think. I'm not sure about the exact way you're intending for me to read this.
For this, I think I was trying to get like a shocked "lol what is she saying" feel about it. There's meant to be a tone of disbelief, which is later juxtaposed with his realisation at the end that she was right all along

I totally agree with your suggestion. Do you think this works better?
You go back to bed and, kissing your wife for the first time in months, you murmur a quiet "Thank you, Evie" into her hair. 
You nod off, thinking about the taunts of your colleagues when you tell them it's impossible, that the wonder-boy himself couldn't do it, that no one could.

You fall asleep with a smile.


I'm glad you found it flowing, I tried to make it as smooth as possible and make the words sing as much as I could.

For the whole extension/advanced difference, I think i marked out a couple of sections as "Extension" (I wasn't going to put them in the discovery story because I thought the themes were more relevant to Extension, but if you think otherwise (whether it be that those sections fit better in discovery/why other sections aren't as relevant for discovery), please let me know! I'll be glad to change it.

This is such a long comment, I apologise , but is there anything else you think I should add/remove?

Hello! I'm SO sorry this took so long - I got your PM over the weekend when the lectures were happening but knew I wouldn't have a quick chance to jump on the forums until today (and admittedly - I planned to give more time than I actually have). I didn't realise the Extension pieces were for the Extension creative - I just thought they were edits. So this makes more sense now! haha. I'd leave the first one in and take the second two out - especially the communism one. It's a nice touch for extension but for AOS it just gives another nugget of info that will possibly add to it all being too much.

I think your adjustment of the goodnight to Evie thing is much better. Very fluid!

I'm glad this gave you a confidence boost - I definitely think it's a great creative and is very deserving of high marks! The narrative structure through the narrational voice is most complex yet smooth and I definitely think that deserves applause!

[dancing phalanges]

Hey guys, quick question for the Paper 1 creative. It's been 2 visual stimulus' in a row for 2015 and 2016 on discovery so, logically should we be preparing more for a textual stimulus? Also, do you think NESA could completely screw everyone over by making us base the creative off one of the unseen texts or images? Thanks

[fantasticbeasts3]

Hey guys, quick question for the Paper 1 creative. It's been 2 visual stimulus' in a row for 2015 and 2016 on discovery so, logically should we be preparing more for a textual stimulus? Also, do you think NESA could completely screw everyone over by making us base the creative off one of the unseen texts or images? Thanks

okay i'd probably be cry if they made us base the creative off one of the unseen texts... it's going to be like writing a fanfic 😂 i wouldn't rule out the possibility of a textual stimulus - it would probably be a starting/ending sentence (i can't think of any more at the moment). or maybe specifying the form of the creative (definitely not out of the realm of possibility, it was like that in trials!) prepare for both, just in case :-)

best of luck with your hsc,
fantasticbeasts