How many people wrote about their grandfather dying or something similar? lol the quote made that happen for many people i know. Guess it was inevitable. Just wondering how many grandfathers died from today. (not literally ofcourse)
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Creative Writing (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter cjkim88
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I really like creative writing, probably because what goes on in my head is fucked up and should be illegal somehow. Nonetheless, I wrote about youth being wasted on the young, and all that crap, but reversed it so that it was from a youths perspective, dismissing the advice he recieves from his grandfather.
For example, the opening quote, I referred to the grandfather cracking his knuckles and smoking etc --> old hands and dry, old throat.
Either way I feel I did better than the majority of the state. So yeah. I think that the first 10 ideas that pop into my head are too often done by students and lack originaility.
For example, the opening quote, I referred to the grandfather cracking his knuckles and smoking etc --> old hands and dry, old throat.
Either way I feel I did better than the majority of the state. So yeah. I think that the first 10 ideas that pop into my head are too often done by students and lack originaility.
orange_blob
Caveman
"My" my grandfather died of cancer, and I missed the way he told me war stories when I was six.
haha. i wonder if its possible to lose marks for so many people writing about a grandfather's death..
anyways, mine was about grandfather dying, and telling me about some treasure before he died.. influenced by my friends book =_= damn. anyways then i climb some damn mountain and realise the treasure is the realisation of what i had achieved etc etc. then finished off with a quote of what i was thinking in my mind "how am i going to get back down the mountain" since it was a very hard climb... anyways yeh.. screwed up everything. hopefully do better on modules lol
anyways, mine was about grandfather dying, and telling me about some treasure before he died.. influenced by my friends book =_= damn. anyways then i climb some damn mountain and realise the treasure is the realisation of what i had achieved etc etc. then finished off with a quote of what i was thinking in my mind "how am i going to get back down the mountain" since it was a very hard climb... anyways yeh.. screwed up everything. hopefully do better on modules lol
My creative was of the grandfather telling the story where he has to euthenise his wife...Did it in the trials n got 14.
Something like this, only with first person and the quote added in front. Not sure if it shows a "discovery" though. Bit cheesed up, but hey. When in Rome...
Derrick sat upon the dirt, huddled as if trapped inside a cage. He looked at the patch of grass in front him, pale and withered from year after year of human traffic. He stared for what could have been a minute, an hour or a day. The grass stared back at him, cold and expressionless. This seemed to soothe Derrick. Give him reprieve. It took his mind off the hospital room where his wife lay broken and paralysed. It took his mind of the words that had been uttered so uncharacteristically, monotonously from her lips. “End my misery.” Was this not the impassioned woman he knew to fight tooth and nail for what seemed like the most insignificant things? The flame inside her was gone. Derrick envisioned the cold, beige hospital walls twist and contort so as to smother the flame, the oxygen dissipating until the flame flickered out of existence.
Derrick’s hand moved towards his face that still stared blankly at the same patch of grass, oblivious to his surroundings. The lush green trees and the playful banter of children seemed so utterly foreign to him. As his hand approached he caught a glimpse of a small white scar on his left thumb, that had been dealt so compassionately yet cruelly to him. That was all it took. The memories that he had been trying so hard to suppress came flooding back to him. The screech of the tyres pierced his very being like a banshees howl. The headlights blinded Derrick, followed by a sickening crunch, and then silence.
Derrick’s head sprang up, gasping for air. He was unable to handle the sensory barrage that had been just dealt to him. Derrick snapped to his feet, driven by some unknown force. As Derrick approached his car with robotic efficiency, the sound of his breath quickened as his heartbeat grew louder and louder. The car was a useless piece of faded white steel that had been bought reluctantly out of necessity. As Derrick entered the car and went through the motions of car travel, each minute beep, click and grunt brought a new pain.
The headlights returned to Derrick, this time sprouting spindly white limbs that moved to choke the oxygen from Derrick’s lungs. Derrick was now unaware of the tears that were now soaking his shirt and even the cackled abuse of the other drivers as Derrick’s driving became erratic. Something else, not of this world was driving Derrick’s actions. It was taking him to a place that he had been dreading for so long.
Derrick awoke from his trance to find that the car was motionless outside the local hospital. As his senses gradually returned, he became aware of the low rumble of the engine. He quickly snapped to turn the key. An ominous silence returned. Slowly, cautiously, Derrick stepped from the car. The cold white figure of the hospital towered above him. His mind played tricks on him as he thought he could see the doors transform into a hideous black mouth, yearning for him to enter. He moved forward reluctantly. As he passed through the doors, it seemed as if they towered 10 metres above him. Derrick looked forward to see a single, massive, white corridor staring back. Derrick could see nothing else. As Derrick pushed forward, each footstep echoed and reverberated around the corridor with amazing clarity. The smell of disinfectant turned his mind back to his wife.
As her face came into view, each of her features was illuminated in full vibrant colour. He could hear her laugh of pure transcendent joy. A dark then became to enter the image. It crept upon her. As the shadows touched her vibrant skin, the colour began to drain away, as she melted into the hospital walls. Those same beige walls.
Derrick tried to put himself in his wife’s mind as her sorrow consumed her. Her melancholy fed by the prospect of a desolate desert of a future confined to a hospital bed.
As Derrick’s mind returned to reality, he found himself at the end of the corridor, in the room where his wife lay, engaged in a peaceful slumber. The vast majesty of the sunset let a dim purple light seep through the cloudy windowpane. A calm serenity was created by the rhythmical beat of the life-support machine. Derrick brought himself to gaze upon his wife’s tiny, fragile frame. “End my misery.” The word came back to Derrick, this time with greater force and clarity. Derrick then knew what he had to do. What his mind was driving him to do. Derrick slowly reached for the life-support machine and gradually turned the knob until the rhythmic beat dissipated to a low hum. Derrick bent down to kiss his wife’s lips one last time. As he did so, a single teardrop fell upon her delicate cheek. He wiped it off with great care and precision. He then ever so gently laid the flawless white sheet over her face.
As darkness began to envelop the room, Derrick slowly began to drift out of the silence. He envisioned the flame ascending the clutches of the hospital.
Something like this, only with first person and the quote added in front. Not sure if it shows a "discovery" though. Bit cheesed up, but hey. When in Rome...
Derrick sat upon the dirt, huddled as if trapped inside a cage. He looked at the patch of grass in front him, pale and withered from year after year of human traffic. He stared for what could have been a minute, an hour or a day. The grass stared back at him, cold and expressionless. This seemed to soothe Derrick. Give him reprieve. It took his mind off the hospital room where his wife lay broken and paralysed. It took his mind of the words that had been uttered so uncharacteristically, monotonously from her lips. “End my misery.” Was this not the impassioned woman he knew to fight tooth and nail for what seemed like the most insignificant things? The flame inside her was gone. Derrick envisioned the cold, beige hospital walls twist and contort so as to smother the flame, the oxygen dissipating until the flame flickered out of existence.
Derrick’s hand moved towards his face that still stared blankly at the same patch of grass, oblivious to his surroundings. The lush green trees and the playful banter of children seemed so utterly foreign to him. As his hand approached he caught a glimpse of a small white scar on his left thumb, that had been dealt so compassionately yet cruelly to him. That was all it took. The memories that he had been trying so hard to suppress came flooding back to him. The screech of the tyres pierced his very being like a banshees howl. The headlights blinded Derrick, followed by a sickening crunch, and then silence.
Derrick’s head sprang up, gasping for air. He was unable to handle the sensory barrage that had been just dealt to him. Derrick snapped to his feet, driven by some unknown force. As Derrick approached his car with robotic efficiency, the sound of his breath quickened as his heartbeat grew louder and louder. The car was a useless piece of faded white steel that had been bought reluctantly out of necessity. As Derrick entered the car and went through the motions of car travel, each minute beep, click and grunt brought a new pain.
The headlights returned to Derrick, this time sprouting spindly white limbs that moved to choke the oxygen from Derrick’s lungs. Derrick was now unaware of the tears that were now soaking his shirt and even the cackled abuse of the other drivers as Derrick’s driving became erratic. Something else, not of this world was driving Derrick’s actions. It was taking him to a place that he had been dreading for so long.
Derrick awoke from his trance to find that the car was motionless outside the local hospital. As his senses gradually returned, he became aware of the low rumble of the engine. He quickly snapped to turn the key. An ominous silence returned. Slowly, cautiously, Derrick stepped from the car. The cold white figure of the hospital towered above him. His mind played tricks on him as he thought he could see the doors transform into a hideous black mouth, yearning for him to enter. He moved forward reluctantly. As he passed through the doors, it seemed as if they towered 10 metres above him. Derrick looked forward to see a single, massive, white corridor staring back. Derrick could see nothing else. As Derrick pushed forward, each footstep echoed and reverberated around the corridor with amazing clarity. The smell of disinfectant turned his mind back to his wife.
As her face came into view, each of her features was illuminated in full vibrant colour. He could hear her laugh of pure transcendent joy. A dark then became to enter the image. It crept upon her. As the shadows touched her vibrant skin, the colour began to drain away, as she melted into the hospital walls. Those same beige walls.
Derrick tried to put himself in his wife’s mind as her sorrow consumed her. Her melancholy fed by the prospect of a desolate desert of a future confined to a hospital bed.
As Derrick’s mind returned to reality, he found himself at the end of the corridor, in the room where his wife lay, engaged in a peaceful slumber. The vast majesty of the sunset let a dim purple light seep through the cloudy windowpane. A calm serenity was created by the rhythmical beat of the life-support machine. Derrick brought himself to gaze upon his wife’s tiny, fragile frame. “End my misery.” The word came back to Derrick, this time with greater force and clarity. Derrick then knew what he had to do. What his mind was driving him to do. Derrick slowly reached for the life-support machine and gradually turned the knob until the rhythmic beat dissipated to a low hum. Derrick bent down to kiss his wife’s lips one last time. As he did so, a single teardrop fell upon her delicate cheek. He wiped it off with great care and precision. He then ever so gently laid the flawless white sheet over her face.
As darkness began to envelop the room, Derrick slowly began to drift out of the silence. He envisioned the flame ascending the clutches of the hospital.
bboyelement
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nah my grandpa was an assassin ... hmm very interesting i bet the marker will love it hahahah
nah i thought my creative writing was alright i wrote an inner journey within an imaginative journey ... if you know what i mean
nah i thought my creative writing was alright i wrote an inner journey within an imaginative journey ... if you know what i mean
hopeles5ly
Take Me Higher.
I wrote about a Jew who was sent to a concentration camp.
tarsus
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Not matter how cliched your idea is, as long you have well-structured sentences (aspects such as grammar, appropriate adjectives and so on...), imagery and some sort of relevant development, then you should be okay. I don't believe you'll lose marks if approximately 65% of the state featured the death of some weakened person; not neccessarily dead old men... (anyone wrote about dead young people around?)cjkim88 said:
Its just going to be a pain in the ass for the markers although they'll probably expect the huge floods of dead grandpas after reading that question anyway. Its the first thing that came into my mind as well... (got scraped though)
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LMAOhopeles5ly said:
How Modern History of you Dennis.
I wrote about this child going to see her grandfather in prison for one last time, and he tells her to never come back again, after he tells her of one last story about how he ended up there.
He's obsession with blood and how it looked so 'striking' on paper was the catalyst for his sentence. He ends up throttling his maid because she forgot to do something and he doesn't know what to do with the body, so he decides to collect the blood from her to use it in his music compositions.
Man. It sounded/was much better in my prepared version.
luscious-llama
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Something to the effect
Except he just moved to back to China,
He wasn't my grandfather, he was my protagonist "Corrie's" half asian mechanic grandfather who revealed a secret "love story" he was caught up in during the war... something he refused to admit to th every end. The romance ended with the lady he romanced, being sent back home to the farm (farm girl apprentice mechnic, women's auxilary)... said that he could always find her by the stars and he says the same thing to his granddaughter....
Wrote it off the top of my head, thats the only thing i'm vaguely okay at.. though it owes a little to my short story. Didn't spend enough time on it
Except he just moved to back to China,
He wasn't my grandfather, he was my protagonist "Corrie's" half asian mechanic grandfather who revealed a secret "love story" he was caught up in during the war... something he refused to admit to th every end. The romance ended with the lady he romanced, being sent back home to the farm (farm girl apprentice mechnic, women's auxilary)... said that he could always find her by the stars and he says the same thing to his granddaughter....
Wrote it off the top of my head, thats the only thing i'm vaguely okay at.. though it owes a little to my short story. Didn't spend enough time on it
syper
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
holy shit dude you're crazy.hopeles5ly said:
i wrote the story i prepared, as if my grandfather was telling it to me. it fit the question because it was about discovering a female companion on a journey.
Cat_Orange
Member
Ha, my story was lame, but my grandfather didn't die.
Instead he told a story about when he was nine and he and his best friend found a map, went on a treasure hunt and found some 'treasure'. The fought over it, and they didn't talk to each other again.
Then it was 10 years later and my grandfather revisited the place where they found the treasure and buried it again, 'discovering' that he lost something far more important than treasure that day - his best friends friendship.
OMG.
I hate journey.
Praise Allah it's over!
Instead he told a story about when he was nine and he and his best friend found a map, went on a treasure hunt and found some 'treasure'. The fought over it, and they didn't talk to each other again.
Then it was 10 years later and my grandfather revisited the place where they found the treasure and buried it again, 'discovering' that he lost something far more important than treasure that day - his best friends friendship.
OMG.
I hate journey.
Praise Allah it's over!
passion89
Member
'My' grandfather didn't die, he was an old man who used to be THE Santa and he was telling this random kid how he achieved happiness by shedding the Santa title.
Lol meh it might work.
Lol meh it might work.
tiramisu25489
New Member
I had 20 minutes to do my creative due to my inefficient allocation of time.. I managed to chuck in SOME prepared metaphors and stuff.. I had a reoccuring compass.. finding my 'true north' and stuff.. it was pretty.. bad.
For once in my life, I didn't prepare something about a grandfather, in the past, every single one of my stories were about a grandfather.. fate. I made the old man go to Hong Kong and get robbed though - highlight of my story. *sigh*.. now, modules.
For once in my life, I didn't prepare something about a grandfather, in the past, every single one of my stories were about a grandfather.. fate. I made the old man go to Hong Kong and get robbed though - highlight of my story. *sigh*.. now, modules.
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