Opening 2
I think that Opening 2 has to be the most effective because it made me interested in the character and his family, it also made me want to read on! The technique used was to give less description but to keep it short, sophisticated and funny. The author also kept it to the point which didn’t make the story drag on. The writer didn’t keep suspense but it did keep me interested in a way that I wanted to know more about all the characters especially the mum. The mum had a cheek to make trouble and you can see how this is going to lead towards something else. I truly liked the part where it states some of her truly cheeky deeds like when it said: 'She hung out the largest sheets on the windiest days. She wanted the Mormons to knock on the door. At election time in a Labour mill town she put a picture of the Conservative candidate in the window.' This opening was truly humorous and was a joy to read!!
Lost
I woke up feeling as if the whole world seemed to tip beneath me. I opened my eyes to be blinded by the sudden brightness; I squinted hurdling the light. Eventually I opened my eyes, fully, but was taken back by the fact I could see an ocean rushing past at a birds eye view. To my realisation I was only looking through a side window, of an aircraft!!! Worst of all I was handcuffed to my armrest. Great!!I was shocked, scared and worried. I was only twelve at the time, my life had barely begun, but here I was in an aircraft handcuffed to my seat, yet I had no bloody idea why!!
I started to look around paying more attention to my new surroundings. A clear plastic screen separated us from the unknown black-clad pilots in the cock pits. One of the men peeped his small head through the rear compartment, seeing that I was now awake, made an inaudible comment to his co-pilot.
I was not familiarized to feeling nervous but I could not suppress the stinging sense of unease that was crawling through me. Stupidly, I started to try and release the handcuff. No use. I wasn’t going to escape, that was for sure! Anyway if I was to free my self where would I have gone, all that I could see through the window was an endless, furious ocean. It seemed all I could do was sit tight and wait to see where this mysterious journey will take me.
While the long flight continued there was still one thing in particular that was wedged in my thoughts. Who ever is behind this why did they want me, what is special so about me (except from the fact I’m in word voodoo) WHY ME!!
I carried on scrutinizing out of the window, hunting for a sign of where my destination was to be. At first I saw nothing but the ocean stretching interminably ahead of me, nevertheless something on the horizon appeared. It was a volcano and it looked as it we were going in there, at an awfully rapid pace...
Friday, 30 January 2009
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
task 34
Part 1:
The opening which stood out to me the most was opening 8 because it used the technique show and not tell a lot, which gives the story tension and builds up a climax. Also the fact that there are many references to the color red in someway gives it a good thread. I liked the way the author used full stops in the second paragraph in ‘The fucking knife broke too. My knife. Virgin blade and everything.’ I found it very powerful; and the use of the full stops made you come to relies what was actually happening. The author also uses other techniques such as personification and metaphors.
The fact the opening brought up a mystery made it engaging, and I really want to read the rest of the book (when you finish it sir). Also the conclusion stays as a bit of a bet, because even though you think you can guess what is going to happen next, you read something new and they way you view the story changes.
On the other hand I really liked how in the second opening the author used lists, I believe they make the book almost seem easy and fun to read; it also is an original touch.
Part 2:
It was the middle of the night I could hear someone calling me name “Sara Sara” I was confused I thought I was dreaming; but I found out I wasn’t I got scared but there was nothing 2 be scared about as when I looked around me I didn’t find anything suspicious so I went back 2 my bed. But den I heard me name again so I thought no this is not a dream someone is really calling my name, so I decided to look out of the window and guess who I saw. Yes, it was him the one and only Mehdi oh my god he was actually there I wasn’t dreaming but I got scared because of ma dad. So I asked Mehdi to go, but inside me I really wanted him to stay, he understood though and made his way back.
That day I was waiting the whole night for him to come back but there was no sign of him, and I fell asleep waiting and that I night I experienced every romantic dream you can think of, us two even got married in my dream. That morning I went to the bathroom, but obviously before that I had to look out of the window and oh my god he was there (I literally started pinching myself to make sure I had woken up), he told me 2 get ready so he can take me to school. Then my mum came in the room and that was it my heart had melted and I started to shiver. I knew there was something wrong as soon as I saw her since today is a Wednesday, and she works on Wednesdays; my first thoughts were that she had seen him. And I was right – but not totally, because I thought she was going to lecture me- but instead she told me to hurry up and get dressed, she knew about everything apparently. She came and closed the door which made me terrified, she only closes the door when something is really important, then she came out with it ‘HOW DARE YOU’ I could feel my face go red and spears scratching down my face - it was the first thing I had felt in weeks now I came to relies it. My mother relaxed her face and smiled ‘I know …… I was just as excited as you are when I was your age’ she said calmly. I had no clue what she was on about but I knew it was no good …… or so I thought.
Mum told me that to for your fiancé to drop you off to school was something normal, but the first times are always special. I was baffled, so many questions were going through my mind; HOW and WHEN did this happen, but the main one was WHY can’t I feel anything that I am touching.
The opening which stood out to me the most was opening 8 because it used the technique show and not tell a lot, which gives the story tension and builds up a climax. Also the fact that there are many references to the color red in someway gives it a good thread. I liked the way the author used full stops in the second paragraph in ‘The fucking knife broke too. My knife. Virgin blade and everything.’ I found it very powerful; and the use of the full stops made you come to relies what was actually happening. The author also uses other techniques such as personification and metaphors.
The fact the opening brought up a mystery made it engaging, and I really want to read the rest of the book (when you finish it sir). Also the conclusion stays as a bit of a bet, because even though you think you can guess what is going to happen next, you read something new and they way you view the story changes.
On the other hand I really liked how in the second opening the author used lists, I believe they make the book almost seem easy and fun to read; it also is an original touch.
Part 2:
It was the middle of the night I could hear someone calling me name “Sara Sara” I was confused I thought I was dreaming; but I found out I wasn’t I got scared but there was nothing 2 be scared about as when I looked around me I didn’t find anything suspicious so I went back 2 my bed. But den I heard me name again so I thought no this is not a dream someone is really calling my name, so I decided to look out of the window and guess who I saw. Yes, it was him the one and only Mehdi oh my god he was actually there I wasn’t dreaming but I got scared because of ma dad. So I asked Mehdi to go, but inside me I really wanted him to stay, he understood though and made his way back.
That day I was waiting the whole night for him to come back but there was no sign of him, and I fell asleep waiting and that I night I experienced every romantic dream you can think of, us two even got married in my dream. That morning I went to the bathroom, but obviously before that I had to look out of the window and oh my god he was there (I literally started pinching myself to make sure I had woken up), he told me 2 get ready so he can take me to school. Then my mum came in the room and that was it my heart had melted and I started to shiver. I knew there was something wrong as soon as I saw her since today is a Wednesday, and she works on Wednesdays; my first thoughts were that she had seen him. And I was right – but not totally, because I thought she was going to lecture me- but instead she told me to hurry up and get dressed, she knew about everything apparently. She came and closed the door which made me terrified, she only closes the door when something is really important, then she came out with it ‘HOW DARE YOU’ I could feel my face go red and spears scratching down my face - it was the first thing I had felt in weeks now I came to relies it. My mother relaxed her face and smiled ‘I know …… I was just as excited as you are when I was your age’ she said calmly. I had no clue what she was on about but I knew it was no good …… or so I thought.
Mum told me that to for your fiancé to drop you off to school was something normal, but the first times are always special. I was baffled, so many questions were going through my mind; HOW and WHEN did this happen, but the main one was WHY can’t I feel anything that I am touching.
Task 34 - Opening 2
Part 1
To me the first line of a piece of writing is the line that asks you ‘Do you care to go on?’ In this opening the first line was so blunt that I had to read the next 2 to see if it even got close to intriguing me. This technique in it’s self was amazing and that was a big part of what got me really intrigued. As I continued to read the opening extract it also showed me a structure that I had never seen before in a book (certainly not one that sir has showed us) so that intrigued me even more. I also found it very interesting that the mother was the second main character and she was not exactly the stay at home, cook, clean mother that I have seen previously. This is some of the things that drew me to this opening.
Part 2
It’s not really a big deal, after a while you pretty much get used to it, that’s what I would try to tell people when she turned up at the school gates with a multi coloured top, florescent jeans and moon boots on.
“Your mum is a right Character” People would say
What did they expect me to say, I’ve lived with her for 14 years I would have thought they had realised I had noticed by now. She hadn’t changed at all to be honest; looking back at the old pictures of her with my dad from the hippy days showed me that my mum was still the same nut job she was back then.
To be honest I didn’t mind that my mum was a hippy, an oddball, an absolute cracker because I new that deep inside; somewhere real deep inside she was doing it all for me, because I meant the world and more to her, well who else was there since my dad was taken. Surprisingly enough though I have always known that my mum was a bit weird, she didn’t cry once she didn’t even really seem to grieve. She just picked me back up and put the rest of her life into making me happy and fulfilling my needs.
But that was my mum, and everyone knows that that wasn’t really going to change anytime soon; not with her still being able to fit into her favourite orange cat suit anyway.
Sorry mine is so late, I had problems with my computer at home.
To me the first line of a piece of writing is the line that asks you ‘Do you care to go on?’ In this opening the first line was so blunt that I had to read the next 2 to see if it even got close to intriguing me. This technique in it’s self was amazing and that was a big part of what got me really intrigued. As I continued to read the opening extract it also showed me a structure that I had never seen before in a book (certainly not one that sir has showed us) so that intrigued me even more. I also found it very interesting that the mother was the second main character and she was not exactly the stay at home, cook, clean mother that I have seen previously. This is some of the things that drew me to this opening.
Part 2
It’s not really a big deal, after a while you pretty much get used to it, that’s what I would try to tell people when she turned up at the school gates with a multi coloured top, florescent jeans and moon boots on.
“Your mum is a right Character” People would say
What did they expect me to say, I’ve lived with her for 14 years I would have thought they had realised I had noticed by now. She hadn’t changed at all to be honest; looking back at the old pictures of her with my dad from the hippy days showed me that my mum was still the same nut job she was back then.
To be honest I didn’t mind that my mum was a hippy, an oddball, an absolute cracker because I new that deep inside; somewhere real deep inside she was doing it all for me, because I meant the world and more to her, well who else was there since my dad was taken. Surprisingly enough though I have always known that my mum was a bit weird, she didn’t cry once she didn’t even really seem to grieve. She just picked me back up and put the rest of her life into making me happy and fulfilling my needs.
But that was my mum, and everyone knows that that wasn’t really going to change anytime soon; not with her still being able to fit into her favourite orange cat suit anyway.
Sorry mine is so late, I had problems with my computer at home.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Task 34
My favourite opening in this selection has to be J.D Sallingers 'Catcher In The Rye'. I like this not only because I have a substantial emotional investment in the book, but because you get to know Holden within the first few words, his graceful neurosis shines off the page and his more than apparent self involvement allows the audience to realise his depth and his quite blatant flaws.
The opening also starts off the one sided conversation with the reader that ultimately the book is. It creates a lovable, annoying and sympathetic character that is one of the most real in any book I have ever read.
A montage of my fall swirled in and out, focusing and blurring simaltaneously. Even things I had only imagined started to become the most vivid nightmares, tearing through my consciousness. A peaceful trickle of life had turned into a stream and then into gushing rapid, my bones ached for movement, my teeth yearned to chatter and my mouth moaned to mutter and yet, it simply didn't happen, it couldn't happen. I remained stationary until June the fifth two thousand and nine.
"Quick, it's Ben!"
I pushed out of my bed, and grasped the window sill as I collapsed. The woman beside me giggled with a mixture of delight and shock as she helped me back onto my bed. A stream of urine fell and splashed the woman.
"Roberts! Get a Foley now! And tell Aziz while your at it"
It was then when i realised that there were about fifteen people peeking round the door, awestruck, some grinning, some just observing. The woman then turned to me.
"Sir, do you know who you are"
"Am i Aziz"
"Try again sir"
"Ben"
"Thats right, Ben. Do you remember your last name"
"Aziz?"
"No, not quite. How about i come back after you've had something to eat?"
It was then when, i felt it, the hunger. I doubled over and dry wretched for about ten minutes, by which time there was a pale gangly asian man standing in the corner of the room. "I'm Ben Aziz" i muttered.
He smiled at me, and conjured up a clipboard.
"Come on Ben, Let's walk"
"the lady says i am not allowed to leave"
"come on, you'll be fine with me"
"I'm pretty hungry"
"well at the moment you're on baby food but i'm sure you might be able to lay your hands on a kebab in the next few weeks, as long as we liquidise it first"
"Thanks".
We circled 'James Wing' for half an hour talking about nothing , he seemed clever and interesting. I found out that his name was Aziz Akram. He also told me that it was good that i knew my name was Ben but that he wasn't allowed to tell me my last name and that i had to work it out for myself. That was when i passed out.
The opening also starts off the one sided conversation with the reader that ultimately the book is. It creates a lovable, annoying and sympathetic character that is one of the most real in any book I have ever read.
A montage of my fall swirled in and out, focusing and blurring simaltaneously. Even things I had only imagined started to become the most vivid nightmares, tearing through my consciousness. A peaceful trickle of life had turned into a stream and then into gushing rapid, my bones ached for movement, my teeth yearned to chatter and my mouth moaned to mutter and yet, it simply didn't happen, it couldn't happen. I remained stationary until June the fifth two thousand and nine.
"Quick, it's Ben!"
I pushed out of my bed, and grasped the window sill as I collapsed. The woman beside me giggled with a mixture of delight and shock as she helped me back onto my bed. A stream of urine fell and splashed the woman.
"Roberts! Get a Foley now! And tell Aziz while your at it"
It was then when i realised that there were about fifteen people peeking round the door, awestruck, some grinning, some just observing. The woman then turned to me.
"Sir, do you know who you are"
"Am i Aziz"
"Try again sir"
"Ben"
"Thats right, Ben. Do you remember your last name"
"Aziz?"
"No, not quite. How about i come back after you've had something to eat?"
It was then when, i felt it, the hunger. I doubled over and dry wretched for about ten minutes, by which time there was a pale gangly asian man standing in the corner of the room. "I'm Ben Aziz" i muttered.
He smiled at me, and conjured up a clipboard.
"Come on Ben, Let's walk"
"the lady says i am not allowed to leave"
"come on, you'll be fine with me"
"I'm pretty hungry"
"well at the moment you're on baby food but i'm sure you might be able to lay your hands on a kebab in the next few weeks, as long as we liquidise it first"
"Thanks".
We circled 'James Wing' for half an hour talking about nothing , he seemed clever and interesting. I found out that his name was Aziz Akram. He also told me that it was good that i knew my name was Ben but that he wasn't allowed to tell me my last name and that i had to work it out for myself. That was when i passed out.
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Task 34 - She Came She Divided She Conquered
Opening 10
I chose the tenth opening because I thought it was original and gripping. This opening had a different mood and tone to other openings and that's what I thought gave it its originality. Nothing was too rushed or too slow and much of what was said seemed rather relevant in setting the scene; I prefer text which is pithy, concise and a lot more straight to the point however not so much so that it becomes rushed.
She Came She Divided She Conquered:
It was so not my fault, not one bit. Seriously though, why blame me out of all the people? I'm an innocent child for god sakes. Trying to help has obviously become a crime over night hasn't it, or a more likely thing: I've been trapped in a grown up trap where they can't blame each other because it's everybody's fault, so hey let's blame the innocent one.
Not much was as it seemed that day; looks were certainly proving to be deceiving. Quite unexpected I guess. I didn't know what to say, she came through the door in a skirt and a, well a top I suppose; looked more like an inaccurately cut piece of fabric if you ask me. Her hair was tied up in a bun at the back of her head, perhaps her attempt to look elegant? I could tell immediately, without her having to say a word, it was safe for me to call her a "freshy". The amount of make up was incredible; it was as if she'd just got booted out from a fucking circus. She didn't seem like the woman/girl (I didn't know how old she was yet) that he'd bring home. Maybe I was just too young to understand eh? Ha nar, that's just a common excuse grown-ups pick with when they know they're wrong.
Mary: from Hong-Kong apparently? I doubt any of that was true, I know for a fact her name was definitely not Mary, I mean come on cut the bullshit; she couldn't even speak English how the fuck could her name be Mary?
Dad put on one his famous pretend to be jolly moods and smiled away like a wind up toy. Once he’d got to introducing me he simply gave a few orders, not surprising I suppose, have to admit though I was a little optimistic.
“Faizan! Get the luggage, boil the kettle, lock up the car and close the door when you’re inside. She wants 2 and a half sugars with extra milk.”
He only ever said anything once, never repeated himself. He would of course wait a few seconds but if there was no reply then he’d use plan B; actions speak louder than words.
“… Ok” I done what I was instructed to do and he continued to perform his jolly tour guide role.
Once I’d got the luggage I noticed Mum looking on rather slyly and I decided to make a dangerous move and try and hold a conversation with her.
“Where dya want the bags?”
“… In the bin, go use your brain put them somewhere where they won’t get in the way”
And that was it, the failed attempt of a conversation with my mother. She always possessed a rather unique ability to take my mood right out of me punch it in the face, turn it upside down, inside out and put it back in me and all in a matter of seconds. Apparently it’s an ability all women have, lucky me? My mother had mastered it better than the rest.
I chose the tenth opening because I thought it was original and gripping. This opening had a different mood and tone to other openings and that's what I thought gave it its originality. Nothing was too rushed or too slow and much of what was said seemed rather relevant in setting the scene; I prefer text which is pithy, concise and a lot more straight to the point however not so much so that it becomes rushed.
She Came She Divided She Conquered:
It was so not my fault, not one bit. Seriously though, why blame me out of all the people? I'm an innocent child for god sakes. Trying to help has obviously become a crime over night hasn't it, or a more likely thing: I've been trapped in a grown up trap where they can't blame each other because it's everybody's fault, so hey let's blame the innocent one.
Not much was as it seemed that day; looks were certainly proving to be deceiving. Quite unexpected I guess. I didn't know what to say, she came through the door in a skirt and a, well a top I suppose; looked more like an inaccurately cut piece of fabric if you ask me. Her hair was tied up in a bun at the back of her head, perhaps her attempt to look elegant? I could tell immediately, without her having to say a word, it was safe for me to call her a "freshy". The amount of make up was incredible; it was as if she'd just got booted out from a fucking circus. She didn't seem like the woman/girl (I didn't know how old she was yet) that he'd bring home. Maybe I was just too young to understand eh? Ha nar, that's just a common excuse grown-ups pick with when they know they're wrong.
Mary: from Hong-Kong apparently? I doubt any of that was true, I know for a fact her name was definitely not Mary, I mean come on cut the bullshit; she couldn't even speak English how the fuck could her name be Mary?
Dad put on one his famous pretend to be jolly moods and smiled away like a wind up toy. Once he’d got to introducing me he simply gave a few orders, not surprising I suppose, have to admit though I was a little optimistic.
“Faizan! Get the luggage, boil the kettle, lock up the car and close the door when you’re inside. She wants 2 and a half sugars with extra milk.”
He only ever said anything once, never repeated himself. He would of course wait a few seconds but if there was no reply then he’d use plan B; actions speak louder than words.
“… Ok” I done what I was instructed to do and he continued to perform his jolly tour guide role.
Once I’d got the luggage I noticed Mum looking on rather slyly and I decided to make a dangerous move and try and hold a conversation with her.
“Where dya want the bags?”
“… In the bin, go use your brain put them somewhere where they won’t get in the way”
And that was it, the failed attempt of a conversation with my mother. She always possessed a rather unique ability to take my mood right out of me punch it in the face, turn it upside down, inside out and put it back in me and all in a matter of seconds. Apparently it’s an ability all women have, lucky me? My mother had mastered it better than the rest.
Task 34 - BS
Opening 6
I love the opening to JD Salinger’s novel. It is the strong, but at times rambling, voice of the narrator that I have tried to recreate in my opening. The sense of someone trying to get to the point and giving too much information. More information than the reader needs.
BS
I knew it would end like this. Don’t read me wrong, I’m no quack. I don’t believe in conspiring stars or pissing off the residents of heaven. I’m talking about foresight, not of the supernatural kind, just the logical rational human kind.
Do you remember that first time you wanted to stay over? I said it wasn’t a good idea and you pushed and pushed for an answer until I told you it would end badly. You came in anyway, push your way into everything you do. Everything. I think about that moment often now. I should have shut the door on your face; we would have saved them all the hassle. The tears, the screams, the violence, I mean Jag would still be here wouldn’t he? So much has happened since then, but you know, that moment there, that was the birthplace. The beginning. And neither of us realised it.
See. I’ve done it again. Bullshit, verbal diarrhea, gibberish crap. Bloody weeks of mental and physical prep it took me to get the courage to write to you. Physical, because I scoured the shops for the perfect instrument, this might well be the last time you ever hear from me. In the future, you might want to sell all this stuff and a cheap biro just won’t do, it’s hardly the stuff of Christie’s. Mental, well because that’s what I’ve become in the quest to get your attention. You’re hard to get hold of, I suspect you know that, or perhaps that’s even what you want. Never thought I’d be the one trying to find you. You weren’t ever a hider. Something else I’m probably responsible for. A liar, manipulator, lover, friend. Murderer. Anyway, I’ll get the point shall I?
I’m dying.
I love the opening to JD Salinger’s novel. It is the strong, but at times rambling, voice of the narrator that I have tried to recreate in my opening. The sense of someone trying to get to the point and giving too much information. More information than the reader needs.
BS
I knew it would end like this. Don’t read me wrong, I’m no quack. I don’t believe in conspiring stars or pissing off the residents of heaven. I’m talking about foresight, not of the supernatural kind, just the logical rational human kind.
Do you remember that first time you wanted to stay over? I said it wasn’t a good idea and you pushed and pushed for an answer until I told you it would end badly. You came in anyway, push your way into everything you do. Everything. I think about that moment often now. I should have shut the door on your face; we would have saved them all the hassle. The tears, the screams, the violence, I mean Jag would still be here wouldn’t he? So much has happened since then, but you know, that moment there, that was the birthplace. The beginning. And neither of us realised it.
See. I’ve done it again. Bullshit, verbal diarrhea, gibberish crap. Bloody weeks of mental and physical prep it took me to get the courage to write to you. Physical, because I scoured the shops for the perfect instrument, this might well be the last time you ever hear from me. In the future, you might want to sell all this stuff and a cheap biro just won’t do, it’s hardly the stuff of Christie’s. Mental, well because that’s what I’ve become in the quest to get your attention. You’re hard to get hold of, I suspect you know that, or perhaps that’s even what you want. Never thought I’d be the one trying to find you. You weren’t ever a hider. Something else I’m probably responsible for. A liar, manipulator, lover, friend. Murderer. Anyway, I’ll get the point shall I?
I’m dying.
Saturday, 24 January 2009
Shhh…There’s Someone Here
Opening 7
I liked opening 7 because it was very interesting and it got me gripped to it. This was the only opening that created a lot of suspense. It didn’t go into full detail. It was kind of like a mystery. It seemed like a horror/mystery story. I like this genre so this opening kept me entertained. ‘My front four teeth are gone, I have a hole in my cheek, my nose is broken and my eyes are swollen nearly.’ The description of the persons face is completely fantastic. It is very creatively presented. The way the conversation is set is also very good.
Shhh…There’s Someone Here
Sarah sat up urgently, but then gently smiled. She could remember when John had last given her the rose. It was blood red. He had told her how it matched with her dress. But she didn’t care back then, because she just loved him. Only him. He was her life, her happiness, her joy. Sarah wiped the tear from her face. She was looking out the window now. She wasn't sure what the time was. She looked towards the clock but the room was dark. She could hear the clock tick gently, and then her heartbeat. It was in a pattern. She had heard this tune before. Tick...Thump...Tick...Thump. Her heart and the clock were like an orchestra composing a piece, which didn’t sound very entertaining. She looked at the clock again. It was 1:30am. The wind hurled across her face and now she was cold. Ice cold. The window swept at her face and crashed against the rusty window frame. The glass shattered. She grabbed her stomach, her eyes felt like swollen eggs. She tried to breathe, she couldn’t. She collapsed and lay there silently.
The pain had gone now. She could see her bed. Her vision was blurred and she couldn’t think. Confused. She lay there motionless. Suddenly, she moved her arm as though she had been bitten, and grabbed her stomach again. The pain got worse, she screamed, it was hell. Something inside her was eating her apart, it twisted and turned, all tangled up. All her insides were being burned. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. Both her hands had clenched her stomach now. She couldn’t let go. The pain would get worse. She breathed. A beast was eating her insides. She was being cut up and distributed, she breathed. She looked at the clock.
I liked opening 7 because it was very interesting and it got me gripped to it. This was the only opening that created a lot of suspense. It didn’t go into full detail. It was kind of like a mystery. It seemed like a horror/mystery story. I like this genre so this opening kept me entertained. ‘My front four teeth are gone, I have a hole in my cheek, my nose is broken and my eyes are swollen nearly.’ The description of the persons face is completely fantastic. It is very creatively presented. The way the conversation is set is also very good.
Shhh…There’s Someone Here
Sarah sat up urgently, but then gently smiled. She could remember when John had last given her the rose. It was blood red. He had told her how it matched with her dress. But she didn’t care back then, because she just loved him. Only him. He was her life, her happiness, her joy. Sarah wiped the tear from her face. She was looking out the window now. She wasn't sure what the time was. She looked towards the clock but the room was dark. She could hear the clock tick gently, and then her heartbeat. It was in a pattern. She had heard this tune before. Tick...Thump...Tick...Thump. Her heart and the clock were like an orchestra composing a piece, which didn’t sound very entertaining. She looked at the clock again. It was 1:30am. The wind hurled across her face and now she was cold. Ice cold. The window swept at her face and crashed against the rusty window frame. The glass shattered. She grabbed her stomach, her eyes felt like swollen eggs. She tried to breathe, she couldn’t. She collapsed and lay there silently.
The pain had gone now. She could see her bed. Her vision was blurred and she couldn’t think. Confused. She lay there motionless. Suddenly, she moved her arm as though she had been bitten, and grabbed her stomach again. The pain got worse, she screamed, it was hell. Something inside her was eating her apart, it twisted and turned, all tangled up. All her insides were being burned. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. Both her hands had clenched her stomach now. She couldn’t let go. The pain would get worse. She breathed. A beast was eating her insides. She was being cut up and distributed, she breathed. She looked at the clock.
Isolation is sweet
Opening 8
I found opening 8 the most effective out of all them because it made me want to read on. The technique of using show not tell was intriguing since you were never certain what was going on but you had a good idea even though the narrator wasn’t spelling it out for you. The metaphors and fragments added to the uneasiness which got across the dark tone of the opening. The second part gave an insight to the life of the character leaving us to infer that they are quite disturbed since it doesn’t bother them that they’ve just murdered someone. I found that this reminded me of the story of Jack the Ripper and I wanted to read on.
My opening
They were going to get her. I knew it. She knew. Everyone knew. No one said anything. No one dared. There was not point running away, they’d seen her. She began to walk, trying not to show her fear put her legs gave too much away; they were shaking with terror, looking like they were going to give in any second now.
The playground was full of people with the incredibly contagious disease of selective blindness; I was one of them. I was the one who stood in the corner of the playground observing everything and everyone who happened to cross my radar. I observed and didn’t so anything; didn’t say anything; didn’t move.
I thought about helping her but then that would mean that they would notice me; in a negative way and then I would next for the vultures to feed on. I thought about speaking to her but then she would think I was her friend and I couldn’t have that. I don’t believe in friends; that’s how she got in this mess in the first place; her ‘best mate’ betrayed her. She stabbed her in the back and then joined the vultures, making them bigger and stronger. If she’d been like me then lets just say she wouldn’t be a canvas for the vultures to do their artwork on. At least I can sit on a chair without wincing in pain.
I found opening 8 the most effective out of all them because it made me want to read on. The technique of using show not tell was intriguing since you were never certain what was going on but you had a good idea even though the narrator wasn’t spelling it out for you. The metaphors and fragments added to the uneasiness which got across the dark tone of the opening. The second part gave an insight to the life of the character leaving us to infer that they are quite disturbed since it doesn’t bother them that they’ve just murdered someone. I found that this reminded me of the story of Jack the Ripper and I wanted to read on.
My opening
They were going to get her. I knew it. She knew. Everyone knew. No one said anything. No one dared. There was not point running away, they’d seen her. She began to walk, trying not to show her fear put her legs gave too much away; they were shaking with terror, looking like they were going to give in any second now.
The playground was full of people with the incredibly contagious disease of selective blindness; I was one of them. I was the one who stood in the corner of the playground observing everything and everyone who happened to cross my radar. I observed and didn’t so anything; didn’t say anything; didn’t move.
I thought about helping her but then that would mean that they would notice me; in a negative way and then I would next for the vultures to feed on. I thought about speaking to her but then she would think I was her friend and I couldn’t have that. I don’t believe in friends; that’s how she got in this mess in the first place; her ‘best mate’ betrayed her. She stabbed her in the back and then joined the vultures, making them bigger and stronger. If she’d been like me then lets just say she wouldn’t be a canvas for the vultures to do their artwork on. At least I can sit on a chair without wincing in pain.
Confused
Opening 7:
This opening stuck out to me mostly because of how the writer uses very little descriptive language which then evolves into meaningless talk. I like this effect because in everyday life, you do not really notice these conversations, but for the main character the conversation is vital. The description does not tell us much on where the character is, which leaves us to search and use our imagination to make a guess. I think these skills are good because it keeps the reader entertained and it makes them want to read on. I have tried to follow these points in my own opening.
Confused
Where am I? Why am I here? I look down to see my beautiful white silk dress, stained by what seems to be my very own blood. That is not what shocks me...I see It torn and I see the bruises. My brain stressed and unable to figure anything out...I do not guess the obvious. Pain struck my body in sudden surprise that I yell in agony. I yell and scream still nobody helps. Passing strangers stare In resentful accusations but what exactly had I done? I see something, which seemed to look like a gem on the wet surface I lay on. I reach and then stop In utter surprise. Green bits of paper lay In a gleaming bag, money, I had found money....I got up and ran till I saw somebody. It was a man who looked very rich and obnoxious. I spoke hesitantly....
“E-e-excuse m-m-me”
“What do u want? You...You thing,” he bellowed not even looking at me. Then he looked. “Oh hello there miss, I’m sorry for being rude.”
“Oh no It’s ok...” I paused. “Do you know where we are?”
“Yes where In old Cromway street...you ok? you look awful?”
“Yes just a bit flushed thank you. Bye”
I stood still frozen. I did not recognize the name of the street but then a stranger-I think-came up to me. He called me Samantha but I had no clue that he was.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, where have you been?” he said politely.
“Sorry I must have wondered of.” I answered in politeness even though I had no clue who he was.
Part of me felt safe and secure with him so I followed into his black Mercedes.
This opening stuck out to me mostly because of how the writer uses very little descriptive language which then evolves into meaningless talk. I like this effect because in everyday life, you do not really notice these conversations, but for the main character the conversation is vital. The description does not tell us much on where the character is, which leaves us to search and use our imagination to make a guess. I think these skills are good because it keeps the reader entertained and it makes them want to read on. I have tried to follow these points in my own opening.
Confused
Where am I? Why am I here? I look down to see my beautiful white silk dress, stained by what seems to be my very own blood. That is not what shocks me...I see It torn and I see the bruises. My brain stressed and unable to figure anything out...I do not guess the obvious. Pain struck my body in sudden surprise that I yell in agony. I yell and scream still nobody helps. Passing strangers stare In resentful accusations but what exactly had I done? I see something, which seemed to look like a gem on the wet surface I lay on. I reach and then stop In utter surprise. Green bits of paper lay In a gleaming bag, money, I had found money....I got up and ran till I saw somebody. It was a man who looked very rich and obnoxious. I spoke hesitantly....
“E-e-excuse m-m-me”
“What do u want? You...You thing,” he bellowed not even looking at me. Then he looked. “Oh hello there miss, I’m sorry for being rude.”
“Oh no It’s ok...” I paused. “Do you know where we are?”
“Yes where In old Cromway street...you ok? you look awful?”
“Yes just a bit flushed thank you. Bye”
I stood still frozen. I did not recognize the name of the street but then a stranger-I think-came up to me. He called me Samantha but I had no clue that he was.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, where have you been?” he said politely.
“Sorry I must have wondered of.” I answered in politeness even though I had no clue who he was.
Part of me felt safe and secure with him so I followed into his black Mercedes.
Task 34 , Unlucky Day.
Opening 10
In my opinion, I thought that Opening 10 was very appealing to me. How it starts of with “I'm not being funny, but you can't blame me for what happened,” makes the reader want to read on to find out what exactly happened. The conversation that goes on in the story is effective and helps to move the story on and the story has an informal tone to it. It draws the reader into the story, “do you know what I'm saying…” and that has an effect on the reader. Also I like the use of similes, “like a lighter running low on fluid.”
You can’t put the blame on me: it happened. I mean I was just being, trying, to be helpful. I’m no one special, just me and that’s really it. It weren’t my fault, you know what I’m saying and maybe you would have understood if you were standing there.
Nothing was clear, not at that moment, nothing at all. I saw her come in through them doors and her face seemed hidden away in some mysterious fog that clouded over her. If you didn’t see it, you couldn’t tell how it happened, if you know what I’m saying. Even the light could not brighten up her eyes and the rest of our lives were like a litter bin.
Lila, Lila Smart that was her name. She had short curly hair but the colour of her hair seemed to be fading away unlike her fear. ‘Smart?’ I said when Billy told me. "Oh God, I’m quite glad I don’t have that name."
Billy just laughed, not a joyful one but one that helplessly found its way, like an object with no meaningful purpose.
‘So, what do I do now?’ I said. ‘I can’t really do much, can I?’
‘Well, just don't look at her,’ He said. It weren’t as easy as that, the feeling inside of me were bubbling like one of them chemical reaction we learn about in science. I could kind of see her from the corner of my eye.
In my opinion, I thought that Opening 10 was very appealing to me. How it starts of with “I'm not being funny, but you can't blame me for what happened,” makes the reader want to read on to find out what exactly happened. The conversation that goes on in the story is effective and helps to move the story on and the story has an informal tone to it. It draws the reader into the story, “do you know what I'm saying…” and that has an effect on the reader. Also I like the use of similes, “like a lighter running low on fluid.”
You can’t put the blame on me: it happened. I mean I was just being, trying, to be helpful. I’m no one special, just me and that’s really it. It weren’t my fault, you know what I’m saying and maybe you would have understood if you were standing there.
Nothing was clear, not at that moment, nothing at all. I saw her come in through them doors and her face seemed hidden away in some mysterious fog that clouded over her. If you didn’t see it, you couldn’t tell how it happened, if you know what I’m saying. Even the light could not brighten up her eyes and the rest of our lives were like a litter bin.
Lila, Lila Smart that was her name. She had short curly hair but the colour of her hair seemed to be fading away unlike her fear. ‘Smart?’ I said when Billy told me. "Oh God, I’m quite glad I don’t have that name."
Billy just laughed, not a joyful one but one that helplessly found its way, like an object with no meaningful purpose.
‘So, what do I do now?’ I said. ‘I can’t really do much, can I?’
‘Well, just don't look at her,’ He said. It weren’t as easy as that, the feeling inside of me were bubbling like one of them chemical reaction we learn about in science. I could kind of see her from the corner of my eye.
Solitary
Opening 1.
For my analysis section of this task, I've decided to go with opening 1. The piece seemed unique in it's writing genre, the only way this author seems to be able to write. As the moderators probably know already, I never shy away from a bit of creativity. When I was researching this excerpts bigger brother, I found it had been compared to '100 years of solitude' by Gabriel Garcia Márquez (Love In The Time Of Cholera) due to its 'magic realism', as in when illogical scenarios appear in an otherwise realistic or even "normal" setting. The sort of contradictory 'simplicity' in this piece encapsulates me, and, to some extent, inspires me to create something flawless.
My opening.
I like to think the last thing that went through his head, except for that bullet, was the realisation of just of bloody insignificant he had become. The tyrannical beast that bullet had destroyed had no god-given place on this earth, I try to justify his existence sometimes, no, actually, The truth? I'm glad he died. I sometimes recite his final moments and have the odd giggle. It's all right, I justify it soon after with a full stop. I'm not mad, honestly, such hate comes at a price, my conscious deserted me a long time ago, my dignity was wiped clean and my empathy had been near enough destroyed. However I maintain what I did that night was right, the judge mightn't of, but I do. That should do, yes, that will do nicely. Right that's the who, now I'll tell you the what, listen carefully, I choose my words precisely and I do not repeat them. It ultimately came down to a contraction in my right index finger, the gun did the rest. He was my only rival, the choice was clear, black and white, night or day, get rid of him and I would become more powerful than I'd ever dared to dream of, I'm actually quite the pacifist, no-one suspected it was me, oh no!, only blasphemy would ridicule them worse. So then here I am, freedom doesn't matter no more. Fate decided to throw the key away long ago.
For my analysis section of this task, I've decided to go with opening 1. The piece seemed unique in it's writing genre, the only way this author seems to be able to write. As the moderators probably know already, I never shy away from a bit of creativity. When I was researching this excerpts bigger brother, I found it had been compared to '100 years of solitude' by Gabriel Garcia Márquez (Love In The Time Of Cholera) due to its 'magic realism', as in when illogical scenarios appear in an otherwise realistic or even "normal" setting. The sort of contradictory 'simplicity' in this piece encapsulates me, and, to some extent, inspires me to create something flawless.
My opening.
I like to think the last thing that went through his head, except for that bullet, was the realisation of just of bloody insignificant he had become. The tyrannical beast that bullet had destroyed had no god-given place on this earth, I try to justify his existence sometimes, no, actually, The truth? I'm glad he died. I sometimes recite his final moments and have the odd giggle. It's all right, I justify it soon after with a full stop. I'm not mad, honestly, such hate comes at a price, my conscious deserted me a long time ago, my dignity was wiped clean and my empathy had been near enough destroyed. However I maintain what I did that night was right, the judge mightn't of, but I do. That should do, yes, that will do nicely. Right that's the who, now I'll tell you the what, listen carefully, I choose my words precisely and I do not repeat them. It ultimately came down to a contraction in my right index finger, the gun did the rest. He was my only rival, the choice was clear, black and white, night or day, get rid of him and I would become more powerful than I'd ever dared to dream of, I'm actually quite the pacifist, no-one suspected it was me, oh no!, only blasphemy would ridicule them worse. So then here I am, freedom doesn't matter no more. Fate decided to throw the key away long ago.
Task 34...A Strange Catch
OPENING 8
I feel opening 8 was the most effective as it always kept the reader at arms length and never directly informed them what was happening, leaving it to how they interpreted it. I like this technique of showing and not telling, which I tried to incorporate into my story as well as the gruesome aspect. Also, the way in which something so simple such as a butchers and shopping are changed into a complete opposite of how we usually think of them and this is done by using ominous pathetic fallacy. Finally I like the way nothing seems rushed and the story just flows quite slowly, which symbolizes how relaxed the character is.
A Strange Catch
Fishing at night is a lottery: you either scoop the jackpot, or go home empty handed. I religiously put my money in each week, reassuring myself that this is my week, only to watch some fat, inexperienced geezer haul out a 15kg carp and claim “he just got lucky”. My advice to you is: printout your own ticket, weighing all the odds in your favor and ensuring you win.
There are numerous ways of doing this, such as: making sure you are the only one fishing or even stealing someone else’s line. However my way is surely the best. I mean when you are 5 or 6 the thrill of not knowing what you have caught is almost uncontainable but as you grow older the characteristic tug of a carp and dead weight of an old shoe are easily distinguishable and a physical sedative. By putting your own ‘fish’ in there it makes it easier as you know what your up against; no point stepping in the ring ready to battle an old lady when Ricky Hatton’s standing in front of you.
Setting up my line and attaching my bait, the currents of the river slowly begin to change and I feel the hairs on my neck abruptly salute the chill as I move towards the bank. Staring at his lifeless lonely body, I kiss my brother goodbye then toss him into the river, before hurrying back to my seat to make sure I don’t miss the opportunity. As my numbers are drawn I feel a gentle tug on my line and while a cruel smile floats across my face, I know it’s my game, my set, my catch…
I feel opening 8 was the most effective as it always kept the reader at arms length and never directly informed them what was happening, leaving it to how they interpreted it. I like this technique of showing and not telling, which I tried to incorporate into my story as well as the gruesome aspect. Also, the way in which something so simple such as a butchers and shopping are changed into a complete opposite of how we usually think of them and this is done by using ominous pathetic fallacy. Finally I like the way nothing seems rushed and the story just flows quite slowly, which symbolizes how relaxed the character is.
A Strange Catch
Fishing at night is a lottery: you either scoop the jackpot, or go home empty handed. I religiously put my money in each week, reassuring myself that this is my week, only to watch some fat, inexperienced geezer haul out a 15kg carp and claim “he just got lucky”. My advice to you is: printout your own ticket, weighing all the odds in your favor and ensuring you win.
There are numerous ways of doing this, such as: making sure you are the only one fishing or even stealing someone else’s line. However my way is surely the best. I mean when you are 5 or 6 the thrill of not knowing what you have caught is almost uncontainable but as you grow older the characteristic tug of a carp and dead weight of an old shoe are easily distinguishable and a physical sedative. By putting your own ‘fish’ in there it makes it easier as you know what your up against; no point stepping in the ring ready to battle an old lady when Ricky Hatton’s standing in front of you.
Setting up my line and attaching my bait, the currents of the river slowly begin to change and I feel the hairs on my neck abruptly salute the chill as I move towards the bank. Staring at his lifeless lonely body, I kiss my brother goodbye then toss him into the river, before hurrying back to my seat to make sure I don’t miss the opportunity. As my numbers are drawn I feel a gentle tug on my line and while a cruel smile floats across my face, I know it’s my game, my set, my catch…
Task 34; Sirens
Opening 7
In Frey’s opening, everything is being revealed, rolled out and unravelled with the character and reader side by side through his actions– this is what I found to be extremely effective. The lack in description of surroundings allows the reader to visualise for themselves the situation, the confusion and the whereabouts of the character, heightening our curiosity also.
But the main juice, the seeded centre of the fruit, is Frey’s use of speech. Useless banter and boring chit-chat, but in this case it drags the story forward, whilst answering questions through the character’s questions, not to mention the effect it has alongside the short and snappy “Nothingness” that comes to the main character.
Sirens
My right hand smashes palm down into the top of my alarm clock, whilst my head continues to be sledge hammered into my thin pillow. I rest my left hand on my burning forehead, and blink a few times to regain the eyesight that I had lost the previous night. The unclean air of the room runs laps around my bare legs; whilst the mosquito bites begin to take on their parasite aftereffects of, well, being itchy. My arms feel clammy and unwashed. My hair probably resembles something close to a mop, or maybe a bowl of spaghetti. The mop is probably closest.
Then he walks into the room.
“You awake yet?”
The question is so stupid I almost want to laugh.
“No, I’m dreaming with my eyes open.”
“You want something to drink?”
“With ice.”
“You going to brush your teeth first?”
“No.”
Despite his IQ of 140, he’s still as stupid as an ass.
I role over onto my side and fall straight into the floorboards, face down. Gun shots continue to pelt into targets somewhere far away. I stroll into the only necessity that we have out here; the buckets of water that we have to call a shower.
My hair is drenched and my eyes are once again, blurry. He strolls back into the room behind my closed wet door and walks over to lean against it, back facing me.
“You ever thought it would be like this?”
“Like what?”
“This.”
“Being what I am, doing what I do?”
“Yes.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Then there was the usual pause.
“Do you want your towel?”
“Please.”
I open the door and outstretch my left hand. Then the sirens begin to scream.
In Frey’s opening, everything is being revealed, rolled out and unravelled with the character and reader side by side through his actions– this is what I found to be extremely effective. The lack in description of surroundings allows the reader to visualise for themselves the situation, the confusion and the whereabouts of the character, heightening our curiosity also.
But the main juice, the seeded centre of the fruit, is Frey’s use of speech. Useless banter and boring chit-chat, but in this case it drags the story forward, whilst answering questions through the character’s questions, not to mention the effect it has alongside the short and snappy “Nothingness” that comes to the main character.
Sirens
My right hand smashes palm down into the top of my alarm clock, whilst my head continues to be sledge hammered into my thin pillow. I rest my left hand on my burning forehead, and blink a few times to regain the eyesight that I had lost the previous night. The unclean air of the room runs laps around my bare legs; whilst the mosquito bites begin to take on their parasite aftereffects of, well, being itchy. My arms feel clammy and unwashed. My hair probably resembles something close to a mop, or maybe a bowl of spaghetti. The mop is probably closest.
Then he walks into the room.
“You awake yet?”
The question is so stupid I almost want to laugh.
“No, I’m dreaming with my eyes open.”
“You want something to drink?”
“With ice.”
“You going to brush your teeth first?”
“No.”
Despite his IQ of 140, he’s still as stupid as an ass.
I role over onto my side and fall straight into the floorboards, face down. Gun shots continue to pelt into targets somewhere far away. I stroll into the only necessity that we have out here; the buckets of water that we have to call a shower.
My hair is drenched and my eyes are once again, blurry. He strolls back into the room behind my closed wet door and walks over to lean against it, back facing me.
“You ever thought it would be like this?”
“Like what?”
“This.”
“Being what I am, doing what I do?”
“Yes.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Then there was the usual pause.
“Do you want your towel?”
“Please.”
I open the door and outstretch my left hand. Then the sirens begin to scream.
Task 34
Opening 3
In my opinion, the 3rd opening stood prominently in the back of my mind whilst I read the other openings. The full, very detailed descriptions of the area being “hot and brooding”, portraying to the reader how deeply the heat has penetrated into Ayemenem and how insufferable it is, and the high intensity of the heat is made present when the author mentions that the “rivers shrinks” which paints an immovable image of dry, dehydrated parched lands. The author then lifts this insufferable heaviness by saying that night is “clear” , and contrasts a few of the earlier comments of Fruits bursting and ripening (which seems very fast paced) to the slow, calm somber atmosphere, where the author isn’t expecting much to happen.
Betrayal by Contradiction
Bitter, Violent, Miserable. That’s how I would describe The cruelty of the lords. The constant need to stay en pointe and cautious whilst the harsh, rough unforgiving lords of nature stand boldly above the earth with the alveoli of their chest bearing down on (what must seems to be) us insignificant humans. Their thunderous, cruel, overpowering cackles isolate us from them, and soon their endless months of pathological entertainment begin.
The seemingly dominant spears of lightning indiscreetly smashing into one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and striking a nerve within our souls. The shrieking clatter of window panes giving up in vain to the superior weapons of destruction, weapons that we as man thought our most useful companion. The ocean waves crash into the reefs and sea-beds with no remorse, whilst the once brave, bold and daring lions lay in a self-dug burrows cowering at the undeniable abilities of the almighty lords. The bruising of the clouds consolidates the inevitable near future.
Yet now, piercing through the heavy, thick impenetrable smog of gloom and fear, comes a bright light, a light of hope and success. The light stood clear and pure amidst the unsightly destruction to which the cruel lords turn their backs on ,what is regarded as, success. The light said nothing, did nothing, it gave nothing away as to the reason behind it’s presence. To the lords it was a mere nuisance, but to man and nature, it stood for one striking message that would see them through what may come. “The lords are ignorant and have no aspirations, they seek to destroy what is good and cocoon what is bad. I cannot stop him alone, and so need your trust and hope that I will get you through this difficult time. Make no mistake, as it has only just begun”.
In my opinion, the 3rd opening stood prominently in the back of my mind whilst I read the other openings. The full, very detailed descriptions of the area being “hot and brooding”, portraying to the reader how deeply the heat has penetrated into Ayemenem and how insufferable it is, and the high intensity of the heat is made present when the author mentions that the “rivers shrinks” which paints an immovable image of dry, dehydrated parched lands. The author then lifts this insufferable heaviness by saying that night is “clear” , and contrasts a few of the earlier comments of Fruits bursting and ripening (which seems very fast paced) to the slow, calm somber atmosphere, where the author isn’t expecting much to happen.
Betrayal by Contradiction
Bitter, Violent, Miserable. That’s how I would describe The cruelty of the lords. The constant need to stay en pointe and cautious whilst the harsh, rough unforgiving lords of nature stand boldly above the earth with the alveoli of their chest bearing down on (what must seems to be) us insignificant humans. Their thunderous, cruel, overpowering cackles isolate us from them, and soon their endless months of pathological entertainment begin.
The seemingly dominant spears of lightning indiscreetly smashing into one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and striking a nerve within our souls. The shrieking clatter of window panes giving up in vain to the superior weapons of destruction, weapons that we as man thought our most useful companion. The ocean waves crash into the reefs and sea-beds with no remorse, whilst the once brave, bold and daring lions lay in a self-dug burrows cowering at the undeniable abilities of the almighty lords. The bruising of the clouds consolidates the inevitable near future.
Yet now, piercing through the heavy, thick impenetrable smog of gloom and fear, comes a bright light, a light of hope and success. The light stood clear and pure amidst the unsightly destruction to which the cruel lords turn their backs on ,what is regarded as, success. The light said nothing, did nothing, it gave nothing away as to the reason behind it’s presence. To the lords it was a mere nuisance, but to man and nature, it stood for one striking message that would see them through what may come. “The lords are ignorant and have no aspirations, they seek to destroy what is good and cocoon what is bad. I cannot stop him alone, and so need your trust and hope that I will get you through this difficult time. Make no mistake, as it has only just begun”.
Task 34
Opening 1
In my opinion, Opening 1 was explicitly very appealing to me. It opened the novel with enough honesty and frankness to keep me, the reader hanging onto every word that was written, which I find to be a brilliant literal technique. Witty, humorous and its pain – staking ability to beautifully describe such simple things in life, Saleem’s opening oozes originality and uniqueness. I also adore the way he is almost conversing with the reader; everything that is written appears to be improvised and it all flows naturally. Moreover, his ending makes you think rhetorically without him actually announcing a question; what does Saleem long to achieve in the brief amount of time he has left on earth?
Utopia Of The Sinner
Dear Lavinia,
My silence has been strangled; almost suffocated. Yet, this “literal drowning” I have suffered from over the years has transformed into a keen ability to tell you the truth. It’s what you deserve. My disappearance has caused you distress, pain, agony, anguish – all the feelings I have felt over the past few years .All the distressing words you will find in Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth; my heart has convulsed and sang Shakespeare’s entire etymology. Being alone, away from the crowds that manipulate your thoughts, I have discovered that there is more to life that the eye can usually predict. I have learnt that our pasts can ultimately write out our future. I have learnt that I was destined to discover the real truth about our parents. All the facts fit beautifully like a puzzle. I feel that you have to know the puzzle’s answers to your beseeching questions. However, nobody likes the truth – some people are even scared of it. Betrayal, hate, even murder: the whole story is interlaced with these violations. Violations they took with them to their graves. I hope we will also inherit their decisions not to tell a soul. This secret will be buried within the hearts of the family. Unless, you feel the need to live not knowing about our parents tumultuous lifestyles – the infallible reason why we were abandoned at such a young age. But, they did it for us. You must understand that they were people who shared the same aspirations in life. They were people who were also torn apart by the indulgence of wealth. Greed and jealousy were the real murderers of their relationship, nonetheless.
If you desire to find out more, please contact me. My address is written on the other side of this letter. I might not have been there when you most needed me, but I’m here for you now. I promise. I promise my awakened love for you will immortally embrace you through the difficult times life has to offer. It is the least I can do . . .
Lucinda.
xx
In my opinion, Opening 1 was explicitly very appealing to me. It opened the novel with enough honesty and frankness to keep me, the reader hanging onto every word that was written, which I find to be a brilliant literal technique. Witty, humorous and its pain – staking ability to beautifully describe such simple things in life, Saleem’s opening oozes originality and uniqueness. I also adore the way he is almost conversing with the reader; everything that is written appears to be improvised and it all flows naturally. Moreover, his ending makes you think rhetorically without him actually announcing a question; what does Saleem long to achieve in the brief amount of time he has left on earth?
Utopia Of The Sinner
Dear Lavinia,
My silence has been strangled; almost suffocated. Yet, this “literal drowning” I have suffered from over the years has transformed into a keen ability to tell you the truth. It’s what you deserve. My disappearance has caused you distress, pain, agony, anguish – all the feelings I have felt over the past few years .All the distressing words you will find in Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth; my heart has convulsed and sang Shakespeare’s entire etymology. Being alone, away from the crowds that manipulate your thoughts, I have discovered that there is more to life that the eye can usually predict. I have learnt that our pasts can ultimately write out our future. I have learnt that I was destined to discover the real truth about our parents. All the facts fit beautifully like a puzzle. I feel that you have to know the puzzle’s answers to your beseeching questions. However, nobody likes the truth – some people are even scared of it. Betrayal, hate, even murder: the whole story is interlaced with these violations. Violations they took with them to their graves. I hope we will also inherit their decisions not to tell a soul. This secret will be buried within the hearts of the family. Unless, you feel the need to live not knowing about our parents tumultuous lifestyles – the infallible reason why we were abandoned at such a young age. But, they did it for us. You must understand that they were people who shared the same aspirations in life. They were people who were also torn apart by the indulgence of wealth. Greed and jealousy were the real murderers of their relationship, nonetheless.
If you desire to find out more, please contact me. My address is written on the other side of this letter. I might not have been there when you most needed me, but I’m here for you now. I promise. I promise my awakened love for you will immortally embrace you through the difficult times life has to offer. It is the least I can do . . .
Lucinda.
xx
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
Task 34
Opening 6
I liked this opening because I thought it was very detailed about the person’s life, ‘What my lousy childhood was like...that stuff bores me’, the way this gives some details of the narrators life is because she is saying that her childhood was lousy and that she can get bored easily. Also what I like is that the narrator is writing about their family. I think the writer has moved on about talking about their family in such a way it all links together. The story is very informal, ‘goddamn autobiography...He’s got a lot of dough...and all that David Copperfield crap’.
My Opening
I know you can’t wait no longer so I might as well tell you before you explode. You’ll probably want to know about me before I carry on. My life so far is totally boring, I went to school for 3 years and dropped out, weren’t bothered to go, I mean can you wake up at 6’oclock in the morning and get ready, go school and come back at 4’oclock? That is like 10 hours a day wasted in school. My mum and dad never bothered to go either, they thought school was a load of crap, and so did my brother. Let me tell you about my brother he is one of those people who sell drugs for a living, you know drug dealers. He does make a lot of dough, like my parents. My dad’s a garbage man and my mum’s a supermarket cleaner, in big stores like Tesco. I want to be an actress when I’m all grown up, my parents thing I won’t because I don’t go to school, what do they know you don’t need geography or history to learn how to act, it’s easy just don’t be yourself, how hard is that? I don’t have many friends around her, my brother says it’s because of my attitude, but who cares who needs friends when they are going to be famous.
I liked this opening because I thought it was very detailed about the person’s life, ‘What my lousy childhood was like...that stuff bores me’, the way this gives some details of the narrators life is because she is saying that her childhood was lousy and that she can get bored easily. Also what I like is that the narrator is writing about their family. I think the writer has moved on about talking about their family in such a way it all links together. The story is very informal, ‘goddamn autobiography...He’s got a lot of dough...and all that David Copperfield crap’.
My Opening
I know you can’t wait no longer so I might as well tell you before you explode. You’ll probably want to know about me before I carry on. My life so far is totally boring, I went to school for 3 years and dropped out, weren’t bothered to go, I mean can you wake up at 6’oclock in the morning and get ready, go school and come back at 4’oclock? That is like 10 hours a day wasted in school. My mum and dad never bothered to go either, they thought school was a load of crap, and so did my brother. Let me tell you about my brother he is one of those people who sell drugs for a living, you know drug dealers. He does make a lot of dough, like my parents. My dad’s a garbage man and my mum’s a supermarket cleaner, in big stores like Tesco. I want to be an actress when I’m all grown up, my parents thing I won’t because I don’t go to school, what do they know you don’t need geography or history to learn how to act, it’s easy just don’t be yourself, how hard is that? I don’t have many friends around her, my brother says it’s because of my attitude, but who cares who needs friends when they are going to be famous.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
New Year: Fresh Start (and £10 up for grabs)
Firstly, apologies for the late start to the WORDVOODOO New Year. Most workshoppers will know something of my poor health of late; moderators might just be pleased to be eased in gently; and all of you, I expect, will be relieved that with a new term comes a new focus: out with the poetry and in with the prose!
However, before I go any further, I need to state an important fact: much of the best prose is, in itself, poetic, and it would be a sad mistake for you to ditch all you learnt last term in writing fiction this term, as many of the techniques (even rhyme and meter) can sometimes be applied to prose too.
After the introductory task, this term will work through a number of different genres, with each task challenging you to embrace another genre but to do so with panache, flair and originality. Every submission should be between 200-300 words (any shorter and you will not be able to develop your skills to the full; any longer and not only will it become harder to moderate, but you will also be in danger of waffling).
But first the introductory task...
I shall email you all a .zip file which contains 10 OPENINGS to different novels. Unzip the file (let me know if you need guidance on how to do this) and read the openings carefully several times. Then your Task 34 consists of two parts:
- Decide which opening you like the most and regard to be the most effective. Once you have done so, in one paragraph (approx 100 words) explain/justify precisely why you have made that choice. This part of the task is VERY important, as it sets the perameters for the second part.
- Now you must write your own OPENING to a novel. This should consist of 200-300 words which could begin your own piece of fiction. Your moderators, as well as discussing with you your choice for Part (1), will assess your own opening according to a) how well it meets your own criteria identified in Part (1); and b) how effective an opening it is according to their own opinion. As usual, they will comment on the main strengths and areas for development in your piece of writing.
Lastly, with the predictably chaotic and busy end to the Winter Term, if any of you feel you would like more moderation of your Task 33 attempt, please just drop me an email and I will endeavour to give you more feedback as soon as I can.
In the meantime, good luck! I am really looking forward to reading your submissions, as I know the moderators will be too.
________________________________________
N.B. ADDITIONAL, 'OPTIONAL' TASK:
If you want the chance to win a £10 book token, you may also email me the following list (do NOT post it on the blog):
- Identify each of the novels from which each of the 10 openings is taken, together with their respective authors, in order of how effective you think the opening is (from the best down to the worst).
Sunday, 4 January 2009
Warmth
It is clear by the look on her face that my life
And its pain, have caused more than the scars
That lay rest on her arm. it is true, as my wife
The gifts she recieves should be more than a car.
And the faith in my heart tells me more than a song
When it heals and controlls all those things that i cant.
As the waves slowly rush i can feel i belong
Like the leaves of the forest and the green of a plant
With the might of a lion, and suave of a dove
I saw light from beyond and felt cold on my back.
Has the ice in my heart been melted by a love;
By a love that was lost in a time that was black.
With the dew on her nose and the snow in her hair
I breathed a warmth, this moment meant so much.
Then a tear dribbled down and i felt my head rise.
So the wind is now chilled and my heart can now touch.
And its pain, have caused more than the scars
That lay rest on her arm. it is true, as my wife
The gifts she recieves should be more than a car.
And the faith in my heart tells me more than a song
When it heals and controlls all those things that i cant.
As the waves slowly rush i can feel i belong
Like the leaves of the forest and the green of a plant
With the might of a lion, and suave of a dove
I saw light from beyond and felt cold on my back.
Has the ice in my heart been melted by a love;
By a love that was lost in a time that was black.
With the dew on her nose and the snow in her hair
I breathed a warmth, this moment meant so much.
Then a tear dribbled down and i felt my head rise.
So the wind is now chilled and my heart can now touch.
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