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Creative Writing... any ideas (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter liam_1234
- Start date
yeh a little bit late...
people are gonna write about drugs, rape, car-crashes, teenage angst...
the usual stuff you think of when you're put on the spot
text-type could be anything, but by making it a feature article i think
people with imaginative and inner journeys are screwed
since feature articles should be factual you cant really do anything trippy
people are gonna write about drugs, rape, car-crashes, teenage angst...
the usual stuff you think of when you're put on the spot
text-type could be anything, but by making it a feature article i think
people with imaginative and inner journeys are screwed
since feature articles should be factual you cant really do anything trippy
joel_x10
VicaRiouS
Try and add some sort of twist if its narrative, and unless your a natural comic, don't try and add comedy cause it will probably suck!!!
Good luck everyone
Good luck everyone
Tulipa
Loose lips sink ships
- Joined
- Nov 15, 2004
- Messages
- 1,922
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- Female
- HSC
- 2005
from first glance it does need to be longer, more descriptive but overall is quite a good premise.
HotShot
-_-
for the creative writing you just have to write something related to journey does matter what kind! if you are imaginative you can write physical doesnt matter.serge said:
im dead
that story is incredible.. i think that you'll do really well... im freaking out because my hsc english exam is TOMOROW and im dying for something fresh, something original... please! anyone got any ideas they can spare, i would really appreciate it.
that story is incredible.. i think that you'll do really well... im freaking out because my hsc english exam is TOMOROW and im dying for something fresh, something original... please! anyone got any ideas they can spare, i would really appreciate it.
Hey Sarsoor, read this story and see if you like it. You can use it if you want to. It's my first story but I'm probably not going to use it anymore coz I don't like it. Good luck.
THE INESCAPABLE JOURNEY
I stared up in horror as she endlessly slashed her wrists with sharp metal scissors. I could see the silver gleam of the blood-stained scissors from all the way down here. Held by a woman who looked like a robotic doll gone wrong; trapped in the midst of a deadly spasm. The very same woman who gave birth to me, clothed me, and took care of me all my life. As I continually asked myself what on earth was going on, I realized I couldn't mimic the curious onlookers who surrounded me. I had to do something, fast. I ran into the building forcefully operating my inert legs. Running up the stairs, it was all I could do not to burst into tears. The scene of my mother slashing her wrists with those deadly scissors kept replaying itself in my mind; the broken look on her face as she mechanically tortured herself. Her beautiful hair which was always so neat and tidy was now disheveled in front of her face. The scene made me sick.
Panting and winded, I finally managed to get to the top level and on to the roof. I spotted my mother, now calmly holding the scissors in her left hand. She just stared down. I called out to her in desperation but she didn't look up. ''It's me Charlie'', I shouted to her exasperated. She continued to look down below at the busy streets, the cars passing by, the confused people staring up at her, the hard grey cement of road that was about to engulf her. Her face was impassive, unaffected by all the chaos below her. I pleaded with her to do something to show some sign that she was alive. I didn't understand why she would want to end her life like this. That's when I realised none of this could be real. It was a dream - a very nasty one. I beseeched my brain to relieve me from this horrible nightmare, to let me wake up to my warm bed. It wouldn't listen; it persisted, forcing me to watch my mother's cold blank face slowly walking towards the threatening straight edge of the building.
I watched myself in my dream, hopelessly begging my mother to come home with me where all would be well. I started to walk towards her but she looked up. She didn't have to say anything. That look was all it took to tell me that if I kept walking towards her she would jump. A sneer so sinister it would seem impossible to any stranger that I was her son. I backed away – frightened, hurt.
I was compelled to continue watching the terrible scene unfold before me. I watched myself panicking, sweating, pleading. My temple throbbed at an intensity so baleful that it was a wonder why my head didn't burst open. I felt sick watching my mother take small petty steps towards the edge. Taking her time, she was slowly torturing me. I didn't know what to say to her. I told her how we would take care of her and make sure she was happy if she just didn't jump. I took her through the journey of her life. I reminisced the time when she took me and my sister Cassie to see the circus. But it was as though she was in a trance; taking small gradual steps towards her destiny.
Again, I tried to wake up. This dream was taking a lifetime. A journey so long and horrible that it didn't matter whether it was real or not. A journey I didn't want to be on, one that I couldn't control. Frustrated, I begged my brain to allow my body to rouse. It responded by persisting with the dream. My mother continued forward; I kept pleading. She finally reached the edge. One more step and she will be flying through the cruel air, leading her to the hard, unflinching ground. My panic rose to unprecedented degrees. My throat was so dry I could barely speak. Slowly, I managed to move my mouth to initiate a shaky whisper. ''Don't you love me?'' I asked - my heart shattering at the thought of losing my mother. She winced. It was a miracle she even heard me. A slight glance up, but otherwise no response. A slight glimmer of hope ignited within me. I pressed on with my selfish comments, ironically blaming her for being selfish. ''You’re my role model ma. If you can't handle life's problems, how do you expect us to? How do you know Cassie won't follow your example when things get tough? '' I continued to daunt her, trying to keep it together.
She turned and stared at me long and hard. Although her face was ghastly and hollow, her eyes displayed some sentiment. For the first time up there, she seemed human. She seemed to actually consider what I was saying. Her stare came to an end with her legs collapsing beneath her. My relief was indescribable as I watched her whimpering in a mounted heap on the floor, clearly surrendering. Stunned by her selflessness and love for her family, I ran over to her with immense joy. I had discovered how to get to her. There was no use in telling her how wonderful her life would be if she lived. For all she cares about is the well being of her family. I plunked myself beside her and enveloped her in the tightest of hugs……
I woke up, startled. What a horrible experience, I thought to myself. I replayed the dream over in my mind until I realised that it is impossible to control a journey of the imagination. It was almost as though the dream was being haughty; telling me I was nothing but a natural element of this world ruled by the supernatural. I realised I was taken on that journey by a supernatural force to realise that we can't control dreams, dreams control us........
*One year later*
I stare up in horror as she endlessly slashes her wrists with sharp metal scissors. I can see the silver gleam of the blood-stained scissors from all the way down here. I can't believe this is happening. I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. Who am I kidding? This is no dream, this is reality. Strangely enough, I don't delve into a frenzy of hysteria. So the supernatural can be kind after all, I think to myself whilst running to the stairs of the building. Thanks to my dream, I am now well equipped to handle this real-life situation - and since this isn't a dream, I can control what will happen. My mother's destiny is now in my hands.
THE INESCAPABLE JOURNEY
I stared up in horror as she endlessly slashed her wrists with sharp metal scissors. I could see the silver gleam of the blood-stained scissors from all the way down here. Held by a woman who looked like a robotic doll gone wrong; trapped in the midst of a deadly spasm. The very same woman who gave birth to me, clothed me, and took care of me all my life. As I continually asked myself what on earth was going on, I realized I couldn't mimic the curious onlookers who surrounded me. I had to do something, fast. I ran into the building forcefully operating my inert legs. Running up the stairs, it was all I could do not to burst into tears. The scene of my mother slashing her wrists with those deadly scissors kept replaying itself in my mind; the broken look on her face as she mechanically tortured herself. Her beautiful hair which was always so neat and tidy was now disheveled in front of her face. The scene made me sick.
Panting and winded, I finally managed to get to the top level and on to the roof. I spotted my mother, now calmly holding the scissors in her left hand. She just stared down. I called out to her in desperation but she didn't look up. ''It's me Charlie'', I shouted to her exasperated. She continued to look down below at the busy streets, the cars passing by, the confused people staring up at her, the hard grey cement of road that was about to engulf her. Her face was impassive, unaffected by all the chaos below her. I pleaded with her to do something to show some sign that she was alive. I didn't understand why she would want to end her life like this. That's when I realised none of this could be real. It was a dream - a very nasty one. I beseeched my brain to relieve me from this horrible nightmare, to let me wake up to my warm bed. It wouldn't listen; it persisted, forcing me to watch my mother's cold blank face slowly walking towards the threatening straight edge of the building.
I watched myself in my dream, hopelessly begging my mother to come home with me where all would be well. I started to walk towards her but she looked up. She didn't have to say anything. That look was all it took to tell me that if I kept walking towards her she would jump. A sneer so sinister it would seem impossible to any stranger that I was her son. I backed away – frightened, hurt.
I was compelled to continue watching the terrible scene unfold before me. I watched myself panicking, sweating, pleading. My temple throbbed at an intensity so baleful that it was a wonder why my head didn't burst open. I felt sick watching my mother take small petty steps towards the edge. Taking her time, she was slowly torturing me. I didn't know what to say to her. I told her how we would take care of her and make sure she was happy if she just didn't jump. I took her through the journey of her life. I reminisced the time when she took me and my sister Cassie to see the circus. But it was as though she was in a trance; taking small gradual steps towards her destiny.
Again, I tried to wake up. This dream was taking a lifetime. A journey so long and horrible that it didn't matter whether it was real or not. A journey I didn't want to be on, one that I couldn't control. Frustrated, I begged my brain to allow my body to rouse. It responded by persisting with the dream. My mother continued forward; I kept pleading. She finally reached the edge. One more step and she will be flying through the cruel air, leading her to the hard, unflinching ground. My panic rose to unprecedented degrees. My throat was so dry I could barely speak. Slowly, I managed to move my mouth to initiate a shaky whisper. ''Don't you love me?'' I asked - my heart shattering at the thought of losing my mother. She winced. It was a miracle she even heard me. A slight glance up, but otherwise no response. A slight glimmer of hope ignited within me. I pressed on with my selfish comments, ironically blaming her for being selfish. ''You’re my role model ma. If you can't handle life's problems, how do you expect us to? How do you know Cassie won't follow your example when things get tough? '' I continued to daunt her, trying to keep it together.
She turned and stared at me long and hard. Although her face was ghastly and hollow, her eyes displayed some sentiment. For the first time up there, she seemed human. She seemed to actually consider what I was saying. Her stare came to an end with her legs collapsing beneath her. My relief was indescribable as I watched her whimpering in a mounted heap on the floor, clearly surrendering. Stunned by her selflessness and love for her family, I ran over to her with immense joy. I had discovered how to get to her. There was no use in telling her how wonderful her life would be if she lived. For all she cares about is the well being of her family. I plunked myself beside her and enveloped her in the tightest of hugs……
I woke up, startled. What a horrible experience, I thought to myself. I replayed the dream over in my mind until I realised that it is impossible to control a journey of the imagination. It was almost as though the dream was being haughty; telling me I was nothing but a natural element of this world ruled by the supernatural. I realised I was taken on that journey by a supernatural force to realise that we can't control dreams, dreams control us........
*One year later*
I stare up in horror as she endlessly slashes her wrists with sharp metal scissors. I can see the silver gleam of the blood-stained scissors from all the way down here. I can't believe this is happening. I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. Who am I kidding? This is no dream, this is reality. Strangely enough, I don't delve into a frenzy of hysteria. So the supernatural can be kind after all, I think to myself whilst running to the stairs of the building. Thanks to my dream, I am now well equipped to handle this real-life situation - and since this isn't a dream, I can control what will happen. My mother's destiny is now in my hands.
froggy_chik87
Member
lol...i quite i liked that story...
they're not looking for a fantastic story anyway, it's more about the langguage you use. focus more on how descriptive you're being, but don't just ramble on with shit forever. they could ask anything for creative writing.
and about the only thing i got told is to not, under any circumstances write about your journey through the HSC, aparently so many ppl have done that, and it just gets boring for the examiner.
goodluck
and about the only thing i got told is to not, under any circumstances write about your journey through the HSC, aparently so many ppl have done that, and it just gets boring for the examiner.
goodluck