Task One:
I particularly enjoyed extract 1 from the great gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald because it was very descriptive. The setting was described precisely which made the extract more interesting. The mention of moonlight and stars made the extract romantic and calm. The description in the extract was very powerful. It made want to read on. I would definitely want to read the full story.
Task Two:
The night was dark and there wasn't a single star to be seen in the sky. Jeremy had been waiting for an hour in the hope that the girl of her dreams would turn up but he eventually gave up. He started to walk with gentle steps. After every few steps he halted looking left and right.
The howling wind became stronger. Jeremey's hair swept over his blue beaming eyes and his arms crossed to give himself warmth. Suddenly he felt a nice fur coat jacket being put over him. It was Angela, the girl of his dreams. She was covering his shivering body with an extra jacket she had. She then gave him a hug and made him feel special. He smelt her orange and lavender perfume as she hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and they both looked at each other as though they had been waiting their entire life for this moment.
Angela put her cold hands on Jeremy's cheeks and slowly closed her eyes. She pulled her face towards him. They connected their cold lips, the feeling of the kiss was very cold and wet but when they relaxed the coldness and wetness had faded away.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Saturday, 21 February 2009
Part 1 and Part 2
Task 1
Extract 3
from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix- i felt this extract worked particularly well as it delt with all the emotions of love such as awkwardness, uncertaintly, happyness and sadness yet all in the presence of mistletoe which rather complicates the situation for both characters, harry who is unsure wether to stay or go and cho who is unsure wether to be happy or sad. this is something most teenagers may experience, so it is a cliche but told in a different and fresh way which is really effective and interesting to read.Also the use of "show not tell" at the end is very effective and works well to keep the steady pace built up beforehand, as it is like a train that is becoming closer to its destination and gradually slows down rather than abruptly stopping.
Task 2
Women claim to be special, a special breed, and argue they are the superior sex. I, however fail to see it. I mean, sure they may be more attractive to the eye, but all the moaning and fussing is just too boring. And speaking from experience, women suffering P.M.T should be locked up for the duration, or go into hibernation. It disgusts me they are still allowed to roam free and infect everyone else with bad moods and short tempers, I mean if you want to be all stroppy and angry, that’s fine, but leave everyone else out of it. The selfish breed more like.
The club is full of perfect examples, all closely concealed in little herds. In the far right corner, there’s a hen party; starving, man hungry little women all gathered to celebrate the conviction of one women. To the left we have 3 hookers, or escorts as they prefer to be known as now, either way there’s no mistaking; toddler size skirts, glow in the dark lipstick and heels which were designed to restrict the wearers ability to run away. Bearing further left, we can see a drunk, conscious yet still alive so be careful. Moving on. In the distance we can spot a lady who at distance appears to look presentable yet don’t be fooled, I am sure as she draws nearer the fur on her face shall appear, her nails shall become claws and a distinctive howling will begin.
I…But…How? Surely my eyes are mistaken, this beauty is the work of a devious cupid, he attempts to infect me with love by presenting the most perfect beast I have ever seen. I have never trusted my eyes, and consequently never felt to love yet now they seem to have gained some tyrannical control of my heart, as though it were the control room of my body.
Her eyes bulged out of there sockets, green and blue in colour, almost resembling twin globes. Yet the effects of two world wars and global warming seemed non-existent as they still shimmered in the light, untarnished by human hands. There were no signs of tears or tiredness, just the freshness of light bursting out from within. Her smell revives me before she is in reaching distance, as if it were some antidote to cure my hatred of love. Yet now I am infected, not with a hatred but a craving.
She brushes past me and apologises with a grin, I instinctively follow unsure of my intentions yet as we get closer, they become clear and as I gaze into her eyes, our lips combine in an embrace…This kiss, this moment, this women were nothing less than special.
Extract 3
from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix- i felt this extract worked particularly well as it delt with all the emotions of love such as awkwardness, uncertaintly, happyness and sadness yet all in the presence of mistletoe which rather complicates the situation for both characters, harry who is unsure wether to stay or go and cho who is unsure wether to be happy or sad. this is something most teenagers may experience, so it is a cliche but told in a different and fresh way which is really effective and interesting to read.Also the use of "show not tell" at the end is very effective and works well to keep the steady pace built up beforehand, as it is like a train that is becoming closer to its destination and gradually slows down rather than abruptly stopping.
Task 2
Women claim to be special, a special breed, and argue they are the superior sex. I, however fail to see it. I mean, sure they may be more attractive to the eye, but all the moaning and fussing is just too boring. And speaking from experience, women suffering P.M.T should be locked up for the duration, or go into hibernation. It disgusts me they are still allowed to roam free and infect everyone else with bad moods and short tempers, I mean if you want to be all stroppy and angry, that’s fine, but leave everyone else out of it. The selfish breed more like.
The club is full of perfect examples, all closely concealed in little herds. In the far right corner, there’s a hen party; starving, man hungry little women all gathered to celebrate the conviction of one women. To the left we have 3 hookers, or escorts as they prefer to be known as now, either way there’s no mistaking; toddler size skirts, glow in the dark lipstick and heels which were designed to restrict the wearers ability to run away. Bearing further left, we can see a drunk, conscious yet still alive so be careful. Moving on. In the distance we can spot a lady who at distance appears to look presentable yet don’t be fooled, I am sure as she draws nearer the fur on her face shall appear, her nails shall become claws and a distinctive howling will begin.
I…But…How? Surely my eyes are mistaken, this beauty is the work of a devious cupid, he attempts to infect me with love by presenting the most perfect beast I have ever seen. I have never trusted my eyes, and consequently never felt to love yet now they seem to have gained some tyrannical control of my heart, as though it were the control room of my body.
Her eyes bulged out of there sockets, green and blue in colour, almost resembling twin globes. Yet the effects of two world wars and global warming seemed non-existent as they still shimmered in the light, untarnished by human hands. There were no signs of tears or tiredness, just the freshness of light bursting out from within. Her smell revives me before she is in reaching distance, as if it were some antidote to cure my hatred of love. Yet now I am infected, not with a hatred but a craving.
She brushes past me and apologises with a grin, I instinctively follow unsure of my intentions yet as we get closer, they become clear and as I gaze into her eyes, our lips combine in an embrace…This kiss, this moment, this women were nothing less than special.
Nearly Perfect
Part 1 -
I chose the 4th extract from the 5. Although it's a book from 1915, I found the text engaging and also found the description of the scene interesting. I especially enjoyed the metaphors used and the meaningful atmosphere they created. The text drew me in and I found it very good at producing images in my mind about what the characters felt and were doing. I also thought that he described the feelings of the characters, in particular the man, very well and bought life and realism to it all.
Nearly Perfect -
It was all so perfect, so exact, the optimum temperature and the optimum atmosphere. He knew it as did I, it was the right time and the right place. The creature that thumped within my chest knocked on my rib cage as if to signal “yes”. I looked at him and saw a change; he looked so different all of a sudden. It was as if he’d suddenly been imported from within a utopia. His movements were so subtle that I hardly noticed yet mine moved in sequence, although I had not much control over them, his movements requested and mine accepted.
I had had enough signals for me to take down my defense and I plunged deeper in to explore the thick, zeal filled, ambiance. I could now feel more than ever his lips touched mine and the reaction let loose a steroid which instantly boosted my sense of touch in every cell. Silence was now the only music that played. I sank into his arms and rested as a bird in her nest. My head felt the comfort of his chest and my arms the warmth of his. Every hair on his body dug into me, gripped my skin and ensured each tip of every hair paid its undivided attention into giving every particle it touched a sense of satisfaction, a seemingly everlasting connection of caressing delight.
His face lit up and brightened the room. He stared into my eyes and I dived into his. We were floating, suddenly transfixed in midair; I was transported to a different world and gradually back to actuality where he laid me down tenderly, onto a bed with a duvet made of perfumed red silk. I’d glided from the skies of paradise down to the grounds of earth; like a petal with an angel as a parachute to guard me safely onto a meadow of infinite passion.
Fizzy
I chose the 4th extract from the 5. Although it's a book from 1915, I found the text engaging and also found the description of the scene interesting. I especially enjoyed the metaphors used and the meaningful atmosphere they created. The text drew me in and I found it very good at producing images in my mind about what the characters felt and were doing. I also thought that he described the feelings of the characters, in particular the man, very well and bought life and realism to it all.
Nearly Perfect -
It was all so perfect, so exact, the optimum temperature and the optimum atmosphere. He knew it as did I, it was the right time and the right place. The creature that thumped within my chest knocked on my rib cage as if to signal “yes”. I looked at him and saw a change; he looked so different all of a sudden. It was as if he’d suddenly been imported from within a utopia. His movements were so subtle that I hardly noticed yet mine moved in sequence, although I had not much control over them, his movements requested and mine accepted.
I had had enough signals for me to take down my defense and I plunged deeper in to explore the thick, zeal filled, ambiance. I could now feel more than ever his lips touched mine and the reaction let loose a steroid which instantly boosted my sense of touch in every cell. Silence was now the only music that played. I sank into his arms and rested as a bird in her nest. My head felt the comfort of his chest and my arms the warmth of his. Every hair on his body dug into me, gripped my skin and ensured each tip of every hair paid its undivided attention into giving every particle it touched a sense of satisfaction, a seemingly everlasting connection of caressing delight.
His face lit up and brightened the room. He stared into my eyes and I dived into his. We were floating, suddenly transfixed in midair; I was transported to a different world and gradually back to actuality where he laid me down tenderly, onto a bed with a duvet made of perfumed red silk. I’d glided from the skies of paradise down to the grounds of earth; like a petal with an angel as a parachute to guard me safely onto a meadow of infinite passion.
Fizzy
Part 1: Exerpt 1 Part 2: The Kiss
Excerpt 1- The Great Gatsby (1925) by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Fitzgerald manages to show a different side to the ending kiss he showed the side on what some men may feel and for girls like me and other ladies, this is a different sense to what we may feel. Fitzgerald describes every little part in detail; he uses some strong descriptions and a lot of imagination. He didn’t use any dialogue, which created room for the reader to imagine what the character was thinking. Every line gave a new meaning to romance. I thoroughly enjoyed this story opening, It was great, not too soppy but soppy enough!! F. Scott Fitzgerald produced an exceptional piece. I loved it!
The Kiss
My night out with my date was about to come to an end, he was kind enough, to walk me home. The wind was blowing calmly, but I still felt a slight chill, I shivered, but was suddenly warmed as he wrapped his coat around me.
It was a beautiful night, the moon was shining down at us and the stars were brightly twinkling in the sky, the trees where swaying softly to the music that the wind was performing. As we were walking, I could feel his hand link with mine, he swayed closer to me; I couldn’t help but smile, I like him a lot, actually I’ve liked him for ages and now I have him in the grasp of my hand. This had to be the best night of my life, I’m sure of it.
As we walked down the lonely road, he suddenly said ‘the moonlight is beautiful, soft and bright, as it touches my skin, like a spirit, so strong I feel within, thank God for this amazing night’
I blushed. His voice was just so captivating, I felt as if I was in one of those Hollywood movies.
‘You’re not so bad you’re self’ I stupidly answered back.
Oh God what on earth was I saying. Quick THINK of a comeback, quick!!
‘Actually, I have had the time of my life, it’s been amazing, and thank you’.
We reached my house and stopped.
We turned to face each other. My eyes meet with his gorgeous green, waiting for him to make the next move, eventually he moves closer, so close that I can hear his every breath and smell his after shave. He puts his hands near the small of my back. I feel an overwhelming sensation of excitement take clutch of my entire body, finally our lips meet…
Fitzgerald manages to show a different side to the ending kiss he showed the side on what some men may feel and for girls like me and other ladies, this is a different sense to what we may feel. Fitzgerald describes every little part in detail; he uses some strong descriptions and a lot of imagination. He didn’t use any dialogue, which created room for the reader to imagine what the character was thinking. Every line gave a new meaning to romance. I thoroughly enjoyed this story opening, It was great, not too soppy but soppy enough!! F. Scott Fitzgerald produced an exceptional piece. I loved it!
The Kiss
My night out with my date was about to come to an end, he was kind enough, to walk me home. The wind was blowing calmly, but I still felt a slight chill, I shivered, but was suddenly warmed as he wrapped his coat around me.
It was a beautiful night, the moon was shining down at us and the stars were brightly twinkling in the sky, the trees where swaying softly to the music that the wind was performing. As we were walking, I could feel his hand link with mine, he swayed closer to me; I couldn’t help but smile, I like him a lot, actually I’ve liked him for ages and now I have him in the grasp of my hand. This had to be the best night of my life, I’m sure of it.
As we walked down the lonely road, he suddenly said ‘the moonlight is beautiful, soft and bright, as it touches my skin, like a spirit, so strong I feel within, thank God for this amazing night’
I blushed. His voice was just so captivating, I felt as if I was in one of those Hollywood movies.
‘You’re not so bad you’re self’ I stupidly answered back.
Oh God what on earth was I saying. Quick THINK of a comeback, quick!!
‘Actually, I have had the time of my life, it’s been amazing, and thank you’.
We reached my house and stopped.
We turned to face each other. My eyes meet with his gorgeous green, waiting for him to make the next move, eventually he moves closer, so close that I can hear his every breath and smell his after shave. He puts his hands near the small of my back. I feel an overwhelming sensation of excitement take clutch of my entire body, finally our lips meet…
New Girl
Extract 3:
This extract caught my attention as soon as i started reading it. I liked the fact that the romance is something people can actually relate to, instead of a perfect, storybook fantasy. It captures some of the struggles teenagers have expressing their feelings to one another, how always one struggles with the concept that the other actually likes them. For instance, the writer wrote, “He could not think. A tingling sensation was spreading throughout him, paralyzing his arms, legs, and brain.” This shows that the character is confused and stunned, which then leads him to a paralyzed state.
New Girl
He sat at his desk in Biology concentrating on something...on someone. The new girl. Her face was a gorgeous pale white and her eyes were a golden butterscotch colour. Jason had never seen someone’s eyes this colour before. She was perfect.
“What is so special about her? Why am i so interested in her? Why is she the most beautiful person that I have ever seen? Why am i such an idiot?” Jason kept asking these questions to himself.
The bell had not yet rung but he prayed and prayed for it to ring soon. A distraction was exactly what he needed from her. At that moment, she came walking through the door. Her walk had a certain unknown rhythmic pattern to it. Jason’s luck looked like it was turning around. The only available seat was the one beside him. She walked gracefully to the seat not noticing Jason staring with adoring eyes.
“Hey I’m Bella,” she said in a musical voice.
He froze, arms and legs locked into place. He was stunned and slightly confused on why such a beautiful person noticed him. At least now, he knew her name.
“H-h-hello. M-my name is J-Jason,” he stuttered. This made her laugh which then lead to a sigh.
“I hate Biology don’t you?” she asked.
“No actually i like Biology very much.” Jason surprised himself at how easily he was able to talk to her now.
Class was almost finished now. Jason laughed at all his past worries now. Bella and Jason were becoming good friends now; they had Biology and English together.
“Jason” Bella called.
“Yes” Jason replied; his blood was racing under his veins.
Bella stepped towards him hesitantly...then again...until finally she was so close that he could see every aspect of her face clearly. Her breath was in his face as was his in hers. She leaned in closer. Then slowly Jason leaned in and kissed her, unaware of her cold, lips moving in perfect synchronization to his. He had no idea what he was doing but he knew he liked it. This was their first real kiss...
This extract caught my attention as soon as i started reading it. I liked the fact that the romance is something people can actually relate to, instead of a perfect, storybook fantasy. It captures some of the struggles teenagers have expressing their feelings to one another, how always one struggles with the concept that the other actually likes them. For instance, the writer wrote, “He could not think. A tingling sensation was spreading throughout him, paralyzing his arms, legs, and brain.” This shows that the character is confused and stunned, which then leads him to a paralyzed state.
New Girl
He sat at his desk in Biology concentrating on something...on someone. The new girl. Her face was a gorgeous pale white and her eyes were a golden butterscotch colour. Jason had never seen someone’s eyes this colour before. She was perfect.
“What is so special about her? Why am i so interested in her? Why is she the most beautiful person that I have ever seen? Why am i such an idiot?” Jason kept asking these questions to himself.
The bell had not yet rung but he prayed and prayed for it to ring soon. A distraction was exactly what he needed from her. At that moment, she came walking through the door. Her walk had a certain unknown rhythmic pattern to it. Jason’s luck looked like it was turning around. The only available seat was the one beside him. She walked gracefully to the seat not noticing Jason staring with adoring eyes.
“Hey I’m Bella,” she said in a musical voice.
He froze, arms and legs locked into place. He was stunned and slightly confused on why such a beautiful person noticed him. At least now, he knew her name.
“H-h-hello. M-my name is J-Jason,” he stuttered. This made her laugh which then lead to a sigh.
“I hate Biology don’t you?” she asked.
“No actually i like Biology very much.” Jason surprised himself at how easily he was able to talk to her now.
Class was almost finished now. Jason laughed at all his past worries now. Bella and Jason were becoming good friends now; they had Biology and English together.
“Jason” Bella called.
“Yes” Jason replied; his blood was racing under his veins.
Bella stepped towards him hesitantly...then again...until finally she was so close that he could see every aspect of her face clearly. Her breath was in his face as was his in hers. She leaned in closer. Then slowly Jason leaned in and kissed her, unaware of her cold, lips moving in perfect synchronization to his. He had no idea what he was doing but he knew he liked it. This was their first real kiss...
Evervescent Passion.
Preferred opening.
The most appealing, emphatic, and skilfully written extract for me came from 'The Great Gatsby', by Fitzgerald. There are many a reason why this piece caught me attention and diminished its rival opponent. The main factor leading to my choosing of this opening however was a simple, yet crucial one, the way Fitzgerald manages to completely burst free from the more 'cliché' elements of romance, with phrases such as 'The milk of wonder' (referring to the moon). However, Fitzgerald does not get carried away (as it is far too easy to and shows the signs of a weak writer) in the freedom of originality, no, he still keeps the thought provoking elements of romance in that cause a stir in the readers brain.
My Romance Extract.
People rarely posses the right to call a certain point in their life 'perfect'. I always thought 'perfect' was a concept thought up by the tyrannical aristocrats behind modern industrialisation, to make us all feel 'secure' on the inside.
Well at least that's what I thought until she held my hand for the first time, until her fingers unlocked a dimension within me, which, I never knew I had. Her soft touch was enough to rid of even the oldest, hardest most stubborn scars I had gained from previous attempts at the thing we, as humans, call 'Love'. We hadn't even been together long enough to see the next full moon together, yet we didn't need to, as Eros provided all the support I needed.
No longer would I bear the burden of a shattered heart! Neither would I have to, for, as we sat there in each others arms, illuminated only by moonlight reflected of of our irises. We embraced. Oh such a sweet, soft yet subtle embrace! Guided by Fate, and Fate only, we allowed ourself to indulge into the seven (seemingly innocent) deadly sins. Lust had overcome my previous hesitations, my Brain instinctively pumped torrents of raging adrenaline round my being. She responded, oh how very dreadfully nervous I was!, yet my eagerness had been welcomed with both arms, it would seem as she was far more passionately honed than me. Before I had a chance to accept, her lips pervaded my previous security measures, and, with only the Moonlight providing a spotlight for the main event, we lay, careless as can be, as one.
Task36
Extract 2
Forster’s piece is packed full of descriptive and personifying paragraphs, where the “beauty gushed out to water the earth” and the grass is spotted with “azure foam”.
It contains rare inclusions of dialogue which helps to move the scene along, keeping it interesting and hooking us as the reader. The description of “golden plains” conveys a sense of lightness and “beauty” which makes the piece much easier to read.
An Old Flame
He trembled at the mere sight of her sharply dressed physique: the dress a pale blue with dark pinstripes streaming down it, the belt glimmering in her eye as though in recognition of achievement, the zip hanging loosely upon each thread as though inviting someone to rip them off, finally the stiff yet elongated strap tracking his eyes towards the immaculately organised features of her face. It seemed as though an angel had been chiselling at it to get the right angle, complexion and texture. Her eye’s a flawless green with a hint of hazel, her hair full of volume, thickness and bounce, and her skin a smooth, gentle and subtle bronze blending well with the summer sunset.
Yes, it was truly the sight that captured Mike’s attention, he could resist not his lusting temptations to fantasise about her, who seemed to outclass even the love god Aphrodite herself. Her welcoming aroma of rich, humble perfume pervading the whole room, and her unique aura glowing around her petit frame.
She suddenly noticed Mike at the corner of the room, cowering and hunched in shyness. Pasting a wide, thin, generous smile upon her face. She strolled towards him hoping to catch up on the week’s gossip as they used to so many years ago.
“Heeeeey, how have you-”
“Fine! Fine!, feeling real smooth today”, Mike spluttered with hesitation.
“That’s good to know, are you-”
“No no still single, but I’m happy to be”
“Oh”, sighing disappointingly.
She continued to walk away, each step she took felt like an anchor digging and hauling at Mike’s heart, each step weakened that welcoming aroma that Mike so craved, making him feel even more dependant on her presence. Mike ran his fingers through his hair and breathed heavily feeling more and more anxious as she took another step away from him.
“WAIT! I’ve got something to tell you…”
Forster’s piece is packed full of descriptive and personifying paragraphs, where the “beauty gushed out to water the earth” and the grass is spotted with “azure foam”.
It contains rare inclusions of dialogue which helps to move the scene along, keeping it interesting and hooking us as the reader. The description of “golden plains” conveys a sense of lightness and “beauty” which makes the piece much easier to read.
An Old Flame
He trembled at the mere sight of her sharply dressed physique: the dress a pale blue with dark pinstripes streaming down it, the belt glimmering in her eye as though in recognition of achievement, the zip hanging loosely upon each thread as though inviting someone to rip them off, finally the stiff yet elongated strap tracking his eyes towards the immaculately organised features of her face. It seemed as though an angel had been chiselling at it to get the right angle, complexion and texture. Her eye’s a flawless green with a hint of hazel, her hair full of volume, thickness and bounce, and her skin a smooth, gentle and subtle bronze blending well with the summer sunset.
Yes, it was truly the sight that captured Mike’s attention, he could resist not his lusting temptations to fantasise about her, who seemed to outclass even the love god Aphrodite herself. Her welcoming aroma of rich, humble perfume pervading the whole room, and her unique aura glowing around her petit frame.
She suddenly noticed Mike at the corner of the room, cowering and hunched in shyness. Pasting a wide, thin, generous smile upon her face. She strolled towards him hoping to catch up on the week’s gossip as they used to so many years ago.
“Heeeeey, how have you-”
“Fine! Fine!, feeling real smooth today”, Mike spluttered with hesitation.
“That’s good to know, are you-”
“No no still single, but I’m happy to be”
“Oh”, sighing disappointingly.
She continued to walk away, each step she took felt like an anchor digging and hauling at Mike’s heart, each step weakened that welcoming aroma that Mike so craved, making him feel even more dependant on her presence. Mike ran his fingers through his hair and breathed heavily feeling more and more anxious as she took another step away from him.
“WAIT! I’ve got something to tell you…”
Task 36, Red Rose.
In my opinion, I think that extract one was most appealing to me. It grabs the reader’s attention because of the way the atmosphere is described, “a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it.” This makes the reader want to read on and find out the ‘mysterious’ ending, “she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.” In this excerpt there is a great deal of imagery, which brings the whole scene to life, “the houses were humming out into the darkness,” “a secret place above the trees.”
The red rose sat still on the bench, the same one where she met him last summer. Her tears were warm though frozen like ice on her cheeks; she had trouble in seeing the truth, a kind of truth which was hidden in the mist of lies. The space around her suffered from silence, while beyond her people walking past were full of laughter and nothing else. The sound of the cars behind her, the dogs barking, none of that could interfere with her stunning silence.
She wanted to leave but the beauty of confusion had control of her and there was no sign of it vanishing soon. It started raining and people were running to find shelter, the place became lonely, its only friend was her silence. She saw his face in the raindrops; she held her hands out and looked at the water that dripped down her hands. The feeling she felt when she met him for the first time, it suddenly crawled inside her for a second time, she thought it might have been a mistake but it wasn’t. He stood not far from her but there were a distance between them, a distance that neither of them could avoid.
He walked towards her and sat down beside the rose. Nothing occurred, nothing moved, the silence was still sharing the space where they sat. She felt his tender warm flesh on her hand but didn’t react to it, he moved closer to her. Then it happened, it was meant to. The view of them together broke the silence and filled it with the sound of the stars.
The red rose sat still on the bench, the same one where she met him last summer. Her tears were warm though frozen like ice on her cheeks; she had trouble in seeing the truth, a kind of truth which was hidden in the mist of lies. The space around her suffered from silence, while beyond her people walking past were full of laughter and nothing else. The sound of the cars behind her, the dogs barking, none of that could interfere with her stunning silence.
She wanted to leave but the beauty of confusion had control of her and there was no sign of it vanishing soon. It started raining and people were running to find shelter, the place became lonely, its only friend was her silence. She saw his face in the raindrops; she held her hands out and looked at the water that dripped down her hands. The feeling she felt when she met him for the first time, it suddenly crawled inside her for a second time, she thought it might have been a mistake but it wasn’t. He stood not far from her but there were a distance between them, a distance that neither of them could avoid.
He walked towards her and sat down beside the rose. Nothing occurred, nothing moved, the silence was still sharing the space where they sat. She felt his tender warm flesh on her hand but didn’t react to it, he moved closer to her. Then it happened, it was meant to. The view of them together broke the silence and filled it with the sound of the stars.
Task 36; Fire on Fire
The Great Gatsby (1925) by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Cliché and romance tend to walk hand in hand to dinner on Valentines Day, but Fitzgerald manages to escape the mistletoes and roses to hand-deliver an equally sweet and romantic excerpt. Of the five extracts, it is Fitzgerald’s focus on the atmosphere or in fact, remembering it, that helps to conjure the ‘quiet’ and ‘mysterious’ ‘visions’ of ‘five years before’. Fitzgerald describes every little shard in detail, the imagery he uses lights up the setting and sets the perfect ‘cool night’ ‘among the stars’ for the perfect kiss. Although I am a big fan of dialogue, by avoiding it, Fitzgerald shifts the imagination of the reader onto what is left to focus on; the ‘wonder’ of his ‘sidewalks’ and what takes place upon them.
Fire on Fire
They could see everything out of the floor to ceiling window, fifteen floors above London. No lights were on, allowing the room to be showered in the neon glow of the surrounding city apartment blocks. As the music continued to drift around the room, she slowly closed her eyes, and imagined the thread of sweet harmony illuminating the remaining dark corners of her apartment. The night was cold, but he was warm – he radiated the kind of warmth that her electric heater could not. This is why she loved him. He sat on the sandy cream floor by her feet, among his messy Music sheets and her organised Biology books, and gently played away on his guitar.
She kept her eyes closed, even after he’d laid his beautiful melody to rest. He got up slowly, and sat by her side on the sofa. She leaned into his chest, and listened to his breathing. She opened her eyes to meet his dripping gaze, chocolate and hazy and drowning in warmth. Only a few lights remained, but she was sure that the pair of them glowed brighter than anything Edison could ever invent. He brought his right hand from her waist and placed it on her left cheek, and smiled. She wanted her sofa to swallow her up, hide her in it’s feathery filling – anything to save her from the embarrassment. But before she could wish any further, he kissed her. Very quickly, one kiss turned into many, as they went from two halves to one whole. Skin on skin, fire on fire, K on H20.
The sofa screamed in agony, knowing that the sensational fire on its skin would not stop burning, for many hours to come.
Cliché and romance tend to walk hand in hand to dinner on Valentines Day, but Fitzgerald manages to escape the mistletoes and roses to hand-deliver an equally sweet and romantic excerpt. Of the five extracts, it is Fitzgerald’s focus on the atmosphere or in fact, remembering it, that helps to conjure the ‘quiet’ and ‘mysterious’ ‘visions’ of ‘five years before’. Fitzgerald describes every little shard in detail, the imagery he uses lights up the setting and sets the perfect ‘cool night’ ‘among the stars’ for the perfect kiss. Although I am a big fan of dialogue, by avoiding it, Fitzgerald shifts the imagination of the reader onto what is left to focus on; the ‘wonder’ of his ‘sidewalks’ and what takes place upon them.
Fire on Fire
They could see everything out of the floor to ceiling window, fifteen floors above London. No lights were on, allowing the room to be showered in the neon glow of the surrounding city apartment blocks. As the music continued to drift around the room, she slowly closed her eyes, and imagined the thread of sweet harmony illuminating the remaining dark corners of her apartment. The night was cold, but he was warm – he radiated the kind of warmth that her electric heater could not. This is why she loved him. He sat on the sandy cream floor by her feet, among his messy Music sheets and her organised Biology books, and gently played away on his guitar.
She kept her eyes closed, even after he’d laid his beautiful melody to rest. He got up slowly, and sat by her side on the sofa. She leaned into his chest, and listened to his breathing. She opened her eyes to meet his dripping gaze, chocolate and hazy and drowning in warmth. Only a few lights remained, but she was sure that the pair of them glowed brighter than anything Edison could ever invent. He brought his right hand from her waist and placed it on her left cheek, and smiled. She wanted her sofa to swallow her up, hide her in it’s feathery filling – anything to save her from the embarrassment. But before she could wish any further, he kissed her. Very quickly, one kiss turned into many, as they went from two halves to one whole. Skin on skin, fire on fire, K on H20.
The sofa screamed in agony, knowing that the sensational fire on its skin would not stop burning, for many hours to come.
Will you be my valentine and more?
Part 1
I liked extract 3 the most because I felt that it brought to life a romantic moment in a very original and effective way. This is because it isn’t a typical romantic scene where both parties are absolutely in love with each other but it’s kind of comical because one of them is feeling quite awkward and doesn’t quite know how to react to the other person. For example, while Cho is staring at him and spilling out the contents of her heart to him he is feeling quite miserable and edges towards the door yet in two minds whether to leave or to stay in the room. The writer uses humour to lighten up the mood and not to make it so clichéd yet still manages to create atmosphere and tension and suspense making us wonder where the story is going to go. The use of dialogue and the thoughts of Harry add to this since we are actually in the scene and not just reading about it. The attention to detail such as being able to count the freckles on her face and the tears on her eyelashes uses a bit of show not tell making it obvious that Cho is getting closer and closer to Harry yet the writer doesn’t just blurt it out. The description of how Harry is feeling such as his mouth going dry lets us into how he is feeling without telling us he feels nervous and awkward.
Part 2
Eleven o clock and still no answer. He wonders if it was all a mistake; they were fine as friends why couldn’t he be content with that? But then why should he? As the saying goes ‘there’s no harm in asking’; what if it has done harm? What if she never comes back-?
“Hello,” he says done the phone, voice quivering; hand uncontrollably shaking.
“Hello, I’m from British Gas, I am phoning to inform you about our new service-”
“Not interested!” Shit! What if she tried to call but it was engaged and-
Was that a knock on the door or was it next door. No definitely a knock. It must be her.
“Hi Baz”. She looked absolutely gorgeous. Her hair kissing her shoulders, a red figure hugging top and jeans framing her long legs.
“Come in, umm, yeah come in”
She walked in and stopped.
“To the right”
“I’ve been round here so many times…”
“It’s okay, come through”
“Have you changed the arrangement?”
“No, everything’s the same. Umm do you want a drink…? Jenn...a drink?”
“Huh? No. No, I don’t want a bloody drink”
“What oh I’m-”
“Shut up will you! You know what I want? I want you... I want you…”
She was coming closer, unzipping her jacket flinging it on the floor. Unbuttoning her shirt and pressing herself closer and closer to him that he could count her every breath. His own had gone the moment she turned down a drink.
I liked extract 3 the most because I felt that it brought to life a romantic moment in a very original and effective way. This is because it isn’t a typical romantic scene where both parties are absolutely in love with each other but it’s kind of comical because one of them is feeling quite awkward and doesn’t quite know how to react to the other person. For example, while Cho is staring at him and spilling out the contents of her heart to him he is feeling quite miserable and edges towards the door yet in two minds whether to leave or to stay in the room. The writer uses humour to lighten up the mood and not to make it so clichéd yet still manages to create atmosphere and tension and suspense making us wonder where the story is going to go. The use of dialogue and the thoughts of Harry add to this since we are actually in the scene and not just reading about it. The attention to detail such as being able to count the freckles on her face and the tears on her eyelashes uses a bit of show not tell making it obvious that Cho is getting closer and closer to Harry yet the writer doesn’t just blurt it out. The description of how Harry is feeling such as his mouth going dry lets us into how he is feeling without telling us he feels nervous and awkward.
Part 2
Eleven o clock and still no answer. He wonders if it was all a mistake; they were fine as friends why couldn’t he be content with that? But then why should he? As the saying goes ‘there’s no harm in asking’; what if it has done harm? What if she never comes back-?
“Hello,” he says done the phone, voice quivering; hand uncontrollably shaking.
“Hello, I’m from British Gas, I am phoning to inform you about our new service-”
“Not interested!” Shit! What if she tried to call but it was engaged and-
Was that a knock on the door or was it next door. No definitely a knock. It must be her.
“Hi Baz”. She looked absolutely gorgeous. Her hair kissing her shoulders, a red figure hugging top and jeans framing her long legs.
“Come in, umm, yeah come in”
She walked in and stopped.
“To the right”
“I’ve been round here so many times…”
“It’s okay, come through”
“Have you changed the arrangement?”
“No, everything’s the same. Umm do you want a drink…? Jenn...a drink?”
“Huh? No. No, I don’t want a bloody drink”
“What oh I’m-”
“Shut up will you! You know what I want? I want you... I want you…”
She was coming closer, unzipping her jacket flinging it on the floor. Unbuttoning her shirt and pressing herself closer and closer to him that he could count her every breath. His own had gone the moment she turned down a drink.
Romance
Part 1
I never thought I would say this but my favourite extract is the extract from ‘The Order Of The Phoenix’. It must be after page 512(where I gave up). I like this passage the most because it is the one where the tingling sensations are the most tangible. It also goes out of its way to escape a certain mistletoe related cliché. I think that this passage is the one I can believe most, because it is not easy or smooth, it’s uncomfortable and clumsy, which I think are the two most befitting adjectives to describe love.
Part 2.
She put House Anthems- Live From Wigan Pier on. I sighed, mentally. I wish she didn’t feel comfortable enough to dance like an idiot in front of me. I wish she felt uneasy and nervous around me, at least nervous enough to consider something other then House Anthems-Live From Wigan Pier. To be honest I would prefer silence. She wouldn’t be able to pretend not to hear me.
‘Dance, dickhead’ she wailed.
‘Nah, I’m cool, thanks’.
I slumped onto the futon and mused, what a fantastic idiot. She turned back to the CD player and bent over to change to track ten. She danced through ten minutes of monotonous floorboard thumping. ‘ Cover your eyes, I need to change. I’m sweating like mad’. She obviously didn’t want me to cover my eyes, so why did I? It wasn’t like she would use it to justify turning me down. I peeped just as she was slipping into a hoodie. ‘Drink?’ ‘Yeah, Go on.’ She pulled a can of absurdly named cider from some sort of portal behind her closet, and threw it violently. I opened the can and foam went literally everywhere. Her lips curled and she laughed and tutted provocatively. She then without indication sat on my foamy lap
‘ I love you’ i gulped.
She jumped off my lap and paced, giggling, shuddering and thinking. She then turned and said:
‘I’m not and easy person to be with’
‘Ok, neither am I’
‘Yes you are, you’re perfect’.
With the realisation of what she’d just said she tore out of the house, leaving me in a puddle of Cider Oblivion foam.
I never thought I would say this but my favourite extract is the extract from ‘The Order Of The Phoenix’. It must be after page 512(where I gave up). I like this passage the most because it is the one where the tingling sensations are the most tangible. It also goes out of its way to escape a certain mistletoe related cliché. I think that this passage is the one I can believe most, because it is not easy or smooth, it’s uncomfortable and clumsy, which I think are the two most befitting adjectives to describe love.
Part 2.
She put House Anthems- Live From Wigan Pier on. I sighed, mentally. I wish she didn’t feel comfortable enough to dance like an idiot in front of me. I wish she felt uneasy and nervous around me, at least nervous enough to consider something other then House Anthems-Live From Wigan Pier. To be honest I would prefer silence. She wouldn’t be able to pretend not to hear me.
‘Dance, dickhead’ she wailed.
‘Nah, I’m cool, thanks’.
I slumped onto the futon and mused, what a fantastic idiot. She turned back to the CD player and bent over to change to track ten. She danced through ten minutes of monotonous floorboard thumping. ‘ Cover your eyes, I need to change. I’m sweating like mad’. She obviously didn’t want me to cover my eyes, so why did I? It wasn’t like she would use it to justify turning me down. I peeped just as she was slipping into a hoodie. ‘Drink?’ ‘Yeah, Go on.’ She pulled a can of absurdly named cider from some sort of portal behind her closet, and threw it violently. I opened the can and foam went literally everywhere. Her lips curled and she laughed and tutted provocatively. She then without indication sat on my foamy lap
‘ I love you’ i gulped.
She jumped off my lap and paced, giggling, shuddering and thinking. She then turned and said:
‘I’m not and easy person to be with’
‘Ok, neither am I’
‘Yes you are, you’re perfect’.
With the realisation of what she’d just said she tore out of the house, leaving me in a puddle of Cider Oblivion foam.
Friday, 20 February 2009
Task 36
Excerpt 3 - "Harry Potter & the Order of The Phoenix" by J.K. Rowling
Personally, I find originality an essential part of literature and without it a novel would lack any means of interesting me as a reader. However, excerpt 3 did not only have the scarce and appreciated ability to grab my attention as I began reading, it also achieved something far more important that other romantic tales fail to interpret; the act of presenting love as a believable and natural emotion, instead of exerting it as a perfect, unbelievable scenario. I resent it when romance has a “fairy – tale” structure because as readers we are all lost in a world of saintliness, while we all mutter exasperatedly under our breaths that life isn’t always a happy fantasy. On the other hand, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” isn’t a romantic narrative, yet J.K. Rowling could have written the chapter as a clichéd epitome of “teenage love", but she used her imagination (not others!) to make this excerpt an enjoyable and pleasurable taster of what is to come next in the novel! Spellbindingly brilliant!
Flying With A Broken Wing
Francesca grasped the warm mug of cocoa in her hands, feeling the undulating water vapour embrace her tanned Italian skin. She placed the glass down onto the oak coffee table and picked up her best friend – her pocket mirror. She gazed at herself and saw a woman with an unblemished complexion: gracefully altering into her early forties. Sinuous lines of ageing spun their irreversible webs around her delicate under – eyes; a change not even her faithful Nivea Q10 Plus could amend. She rummaged into her Louis Vuitton handbag, thinking: So, this is what being an anatomical pathologist gives you; the finest handbags, the finest food - but not the one thing my life unconsciously skims over, not the one thing that gives a person a sense of living. Love. It’s being too close to the dead. It has murdered my primal instinct.
The thought reverberated in her mind, like the soul of a loved one echoing inside its bed for eternity. Its coffin.
A loved one. Death can be a lonely world, but a lonely existence can be far worse. A bit like walking a dead man’s road. No crossroads, no dead ends, just a tiring hike on the journey to a destination the living can’t answer. Heaven, hell – or just an unknown entity. Who knows?
Francesca looked up as Russell walked into the living room, precariously holding two plates of tortellini. He sported a grim expression whilst he carefully laid the dishes on the table.
“Thanks”.
Francesca smiled. She knew that there was nothing else that needed to be said. No idle chit – chat, no false laughter. Just silence. Nothing could be more honest than that. Francesca appreciatively allowed its reminiscent scent to float up her nostrils.
Is this the closest I am going to get to love? A famous Italian dish? It brings back so many childhood memories from Vercelli: Grandmother cordially smiling at me as I finished all my supper, me and Mia picking apricots and peaches in the blazing August heat; blood splattered over our kitchen wall, Mia’s lifeless body laying supine on the linoleum, her heartbeats losing their rhythmic pulse, while mine raced, beating a melody of disgust, anger and remorse –
“Francesca, are you eating that? Francesca?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m not really with it. I don’t feel too well.”
“I understand. Anybody would feel the same after what you have just gone through. Actually, I think you have coped with it pretty well.”
“You think so? I can’t help but feel pessimistic about her condition. I’ve lost too many people in my life. My sister, my mother, my father. Sandra is really close to me. If I lost her, I don’t think I could cope.
A disconsolate pause infused the atmosphere with an unbearable tension. She will survive, won’t she?” Russell looked straight into Francesca’s coffee coloured eyes and put his arm around her shoulder. She could feel his warmth radiating off him: his embrace was honest; comforting. It had felt like an eternity since someone had made her feel this way. She allowed his warm breath to brush against her skin – like a summer breeze gently swaying tulips in a deserted field. His skin was smooth, apart from the small shoots of stubble that had recently erupted from his skin.
“Of course she will. Sandra is in a stable condition. The medics said her survival chances are very high.”
“Thanks. I mean, everything you’ve done tonight. I am grateful.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.”
Ah, friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.
Francesca tilted her head and moved closer. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. Her heart and stomach were fluttering simultaneously; nerves and excitement letting her inhibitions drip away. To Francesca’s surprise, Russell didn’t resist her first move. His pallid lips were so close, every second encapsulated an intensity Francesca had never felt before.
And the clock’s pendulum was the only thing that sang the truth . . .
Personally, I find originality an essential part of literature and without it a novel would lack any means of interesting me as a reader. However, excerpt 3 did not only have the scarce and appreciated ability to grab my attention as I began reading, it also achieved something far more important that other romantic tales fail to interpret; the act of presenting love as a believable and natural emotion, instead of exerting it as a perfect, unbelievable scenario. I resent it when romance has a “fairy – tale” structure because as readers we are all lost in a world of saintliness, while we all mutter exasperatedly under our breaths that life isn’t always a happy fantasy. On the other hand, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” isn’t a romantic narrative, yet J.K. Rowling could have written the chapter as a clichéd epitome of “teenage love", but she used her imagination (not others!) to make this excerpt an enjoyable and pleasurable taster of what is to come next in the novel! Spellbindingly brilliant!
Flying With A Broken Wing
Francesca grasped the warm mug of cocoa in her hands, feeling the undulating water vapour embrace her tanned Italian skin. She placed the glass down onto the oak coffee table and picked up her best friend – her pocket mirror. She gazed at herself and saw a woman with an unblemished complexion: gracefully altering into her early forties. Sinuous lines of ageing spun their irreversible webs around her delicate under – eyes; a change not even her faithful Nivea Q10 Plus could amend. She rummaged into her Louis Vuitton handbag, thinking: So, this is what being an anatomical pathologist gives you; the finest handbags, the finest food - but not the one thing my life unconsciously skims over, not the one thing that gives a person a sense of living. Love. It’s being too close to the dead. It has murdered my primal instinct.
The thought reverberated in her mind, like the soul of a loved one echoing inside its bed for eternity. Its coffin.
A loved one. Death can be a lonely world, but a lonely existence can be far worse. A bit like walking a dead man’s road. No crossroads, no dead ends, just a tiring hike on the journey to a destination the living can’t answer. Heaven, hell – or just an unknown entity. Who knows?
Francesca looked up as Russell walked into the living room, precariously holding two plates of tortellini. He sported a grim expression whilst he carefully laid the dishes on the table.
“Thanks”.
Francesca smiled. She knew that there was nothing else that needed to be said. No idle chit – chat, no false laughter. Just silence. Nothing could be more honest than that. Francesca appreciatively allowed its reminiscent scent to float up her nostrils.
Is this the closest I am going to get to love? A famous Italian dish? It brings back so many childhood memories from Vercelli: Grandmother cordially smiling at me as I finished all my supper, me and Mia picking apricots and peaches in the blazing August heat; blood splattered over our kitchen wall, Mia’s lifeless body laying supine on the linoleum, her heartbeats losing their rhythmic pulse, while mine raced, beating a melody of disgust, anger and remorse –
“Francesca, are you eating that? Francesca?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m not really with it. I don’t feel too well.”
“I understand. Anybody would feel the same after what you have just gone through. Actually, I think you have coped with it pretty well.”
“You think so? I can’t help but feel pessimistic about her condition. I’ve lost too many people in my life. My sister, my mother, my father. Sandra is really close to me. If I lost her, I don’t think I could cope.
A disconsolate pause infused the atmosphere with an unbearable tension. She will survive, won’t she?” Russell looked straight into Francesca’s coffee coloured eyes and put his arm around her shoulder. She could feel his warmth radiating off him: his embrace was honest; comforting. It had felt like an eternity since someone had made her feel this way. She allowed his warm breath to brush against her skin – like a summer breeze gently swaying tulips in a deserted field. His skin was smooth, apart from the small shoots of stubble that had recently erupted from his skin.
“Of course she will. Sandra is in a stable condition. The medics said her survival chances are very high.”
“Thanks. I mean, everything you’ve done tonight. I am grateful.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.”
Ah, friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.
Francesca tilted her head and moved closer. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. Her heart and stomach were fluttering simultaneously; nerves and excitement letting her inhibitions drip away. To Francesca’s surprise, Russell didn’t resist her first move. His pallid lips were so close, every second encapsulated an intensity Francesca had never felt before.
And the clock’s pendulum was the only thing that sang the truth . . .
Sunday, 15 February 2009
Task 36: A Valentine's Day Challenge
There can be few genres as badly done as ROMANCE. Bookshop shelves are strewn with dire, cloying, unoriginal attempts at expressing on the page that most mysterious and inexpressible of emotions: love.
I defy you to find many examples of romantic fiction which aren't overladen with cliches. Furthermore, in all my years of teaching, there is no genre I have seen attempted as badly in reams and reams of KS3 and GCSE coursework as the good old love story.
But Valentine's Day has come and gone, and I thought it churlish not to give you all a stab at proving all my cynicism wrong. Perhaps it is still possible to write convincing, believable and original romantic prose. Perhaps romantic fiction does not need to be so weighed down with sickly-saccharine sentiment that the reader is more likely to choke. Perhaps your attempts at ROMANCE will possess all the qualities a good wordvoodoo submission should have: originality; freshness; and an addictive hold over your reader's attention from start to finish.
Part 1
First of all, please read through the five excerpts I have emailed to you all. These are not all from novels which would be classed as romantic fiction in themselves; however, the excerpts I have chosen all depict a romantic scenario, and, in order to incorporate some 'action', they all culminate in a kiss.
Which of the five excerpts do you like the most? Which do you feel best brings to life a romantic moment in an original and effective way? Can you identify why it is effective? What ingredients does the writer use to achieve this? What do you notice about how their use of language contributes to the overall romantic effect?
Using these questions, write a brief analysis of your chosen excerpt, explaining why you think it is particularly successful.
Part 2
Now write your own narrative around a romantic moment or event.
Remember that we do not need to know the whole backstory, any more than we need to know what happens afterwards; you can afford to leave such details out, unless they directly impact on the moment you are describing.
You do not have to culminate in a kiss; however, it might help you if you do, as this will give your piece a clearly defined narrative thrust and provide you with something to work towards.
Same length as usual: 200-350 words. And PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make sure that what you post is a FINAL draft: don't embarrass yourself by allowing any careless errors (spelling, punctuation, grammar etc.) to slip through the net.
The deadline for this task is midnight on Saturday 21st February. If there is some critical and unprecedented reason why you cannot meet this (and it had better be mindblowingly impressive!), you MUST seek permission from me by the end of Friday, in order that I can negotiate with your moderators on your behalf.
Good luck!
(Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day!)
Here is my attempt:
I defy you to find many examples of romantic fiction which aren't overladen with cliches. Furthermore, in all my years of teaching, there is no genre I have seen attempted as badly in reams and reams of KS3 and GCSE coursework as the good old love story.
But Valentine's Day has come and gone, and I thought it churlish not to give you all a stab at proving all my cynicism wrong. Perhaps it is still possible to write convincing, believable and original romantic prose. Perhaps romantic fiction does not need to be so weighed down with sickly-saccharine sentiment that the reader is more likely to choke. Perhaps your attempts at ROMANCE will possess all the qualities a good wordvoodoo submission should have: originality; freshness; and an addictive hold over your reader's attention from start to finish.
Part 1
First of all, please read through the five excerpts I have emailed to you all. These are not all from novels which would be classed as romantic fiction in themselves; however, the excerpts I have chosen all depict a romantic scenario, and, in order to incorporate some 'action', they all culminate in a kiss.
Which of the five excerpts do you like the most? Which do you feel best brings to life a romantic moment in an original and effective way? Can you identify why it is effective? What ingredients does the writer use to achieve this? What do you notice about how their use of language contributes to the overall romantic effect?
Using these questions, write a brief analysis of your chosen excerpt, explaining why you think it is particularly successful.
Part 2
Now write your own narrative around a romantic moment or event.
Remember that we do not need to know the whole backstory, any more than we need to know what happens afterwards; you can afford to leave such details out, unless they directly impact on the moment you are describing.
You do not have to culminate in a kiss; however, it might help you if you do, as this will give your piece a clearly defined narrative thrust and provide you with something to work towards.
- What person will your narrative occupy - 1st (i.e. I/me); 3rd (i.e he/she/they)?
- What about your tense - past; present; or even future?
- Will it be a positive depiction of love, or a more cynical portrayal?
- How will you avoid the temptation to regurgitate romantic cliches?
- Will you concentrate on atmosphere, action or dialogue - or a mixture?
Same length as usual: 200-350 words. And PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make sure that what you post is a FINAL draft: don't embarrass yourself by allowing any careless errors (spelling, punctuation, grammar etc.) to slip through the net.
The deadline for this task is midnight on Saturday 21st February. If there is some critical and unprecedented reason why you cannot meet this (and it had better be mindblowingly impressive!), you MUST seek permission from me by the end of Friday, in order that I can negotiate with your moderators on your behalf.
Good luck!
(Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day!)
Here is my attempt:
The backdrop to the meal is apt: a reproduction of Klimt's "Der Kuss", glossy and new inside the narrow, clean birch of its IKEA frame. They bought it at the same time as the table - also birch. Theirs is the copied generation: their songs are covers; even their movies are remakes - and here they sit, dissecting song lyrics like love were a mathematical conundrum, whilst love itself sits, quietly, by their side.
I have counted the lines on your face, long roads we have travelled together. I have washed in the resplendent green of your eyes, cloudy now, but not to me. That body, frail as you reach for the wine, I have crushed beneath mine; still do, when we lie, alone, together.
I remember the Galerie Belvedere; we were young and we marvelled at the flowers and vines in their hair. We kissed. And I lean across the briefly empty chair - seize the moment and take you by surprise. For a moment, my lips are wet amid the gentle folds of your cheek.
And then the children come running back, drawn by the smell of hot dessert, and the seat is occupied again. But the feather of our kiss floats in the air between us, and a coy breeze carries it towards the wall, where it does not need a frame.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Task 35
My chosen opening.
Out of the four options I chose the third opening, Dracula by Bram Stoker. I liked how Bram Stoker built a contrast between how much information he gave out about the scenes setting and atmosphere and how much information he let out on the actual scene and what was happening. I also liked how tension was built up; not much was told but at one point I could quite easily picture my self in the narrators position and see what was happening.
Do Lights Have Shadows?
It wasn’t too long before we found ourselves on a clearly deserted road; quite easy to tell it was deserted anyone could tell simply by looking for a source of light, there wasn’t any. Other than the full moon’s somewhat surprisingly bright light and my Golf GTI’s headlights (which now seemed to be either rapidly dimming or less effective for some reason) there weren’t any other luminous sources. To my left I had the person I had decided to travel with; my wife to be. Not very lively of course, she hadn’t made much of an attempt either, simply took the opportunity to fall fast asleep and snore repetitively at perfectly timed intervals (around 6 seconds). My only hope of any entertainment was the stereo, unfortunately I hadn’t quite mastered it yet, this meant I had to listen to whatever I got; a couple of tedious men who conversed about nothing significant.
My biggest fear at that moment was falling asleep, to such an extent that though blinking was inevitable it seemed nothing less than an ambition not to. What happened next can only be remembered as a vague memory. Fatigue overwhelmed me, yet I fought with all my might against it; a fight not worth fighting; as my efforts resulted in mere failure. I opened my eyes in a somewhat flustered motion. Still in panic; I struggled to pull the car back on track. Unaware at the time as to how long I had dozed off, I tried hard to make sense of whatever I could. I believe that perhaps it wasn’t by sheer indolence, but rather by accident, that I had committed this act which of whose outcomes I would scarcely remember. At first, once I’d relaxed slightly, I realized that the incident seemed to have gone without any consequence, yet something did still feel awkward, I concluded it was the silence. Why was there silence?
Fizzy
(Apologies for the lateness)
Out of the four options I chose the third opening, Dracula by Bram Stoker. I liked how Bram Stoker built a contrast between how much information he gave out about the scenes setting and atmosphere and how much information he let out on the actual scene and what was happening. I also liked how tension was built up; not much was told but at one point I could quite easily picture my self in the narrators position and see what was happening.
Do Lights Have Shadows?
It wasn’t too long before we found ourselves on a clearly deserted road; quite easy to tell it was deserted anyone could tell simply by looking for a source of light, there wasn’t any. Other than the full moon’s somewhat surprisingly bright light and my Golf GTI’s headlights (which now seemed to be either rapidly dimming or less effective for some reason) there weren’t any other luminous sources. To my left I had the person I had decided to travel with; my wife to be. Not very lively of course, she hadn’t made much of an attempt either, simply took the opportunity to fall fast asleep and snore repetitively at perfectly timed intervals (around 6 seconds). My only hope of any entertainment was the stereo, unfortunately I hadn’t quite mastered it yet, this meant I had to listen to whatever I got; a couple of tedious men who conversed about nothing significant.
My biggest fear at that moment was falling asleep, to such an extent that though blinking was inevitable it seemed nothing less than an ambition not to. What happened next can only be remembered as a vague memory. Fatigue overwhelmed me, yet I fought with all my might against it; a fight not worth fighting; as my efforts resulted in mere failure. I opened my eyes in a somewhat flustered motion. Still in panic; I struggled to pull the car back on track. Unaware at the time as to how long I had dozed off, I tried hard to make sense of whatever I could. I believe that perhaps it wasn’t by sheer indolence, but rather by accident, that I had committed this act which of whose outcomes I would scarcely remember. At first, once I’d relaxed slightly, I realized that the incident seemed to have gone without any consequence, yet something did still feel awkward, I concluded it was the silence. Why was there silence?
Fizzy
(Apologies for the lateness)
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Task 35 - Opening of The Rats by James Herbert
Part 1
I know this may seem absolutely terrible but I read this opening without reading the title, so when I started I had no idea what was going on or any idea what was going to happen. The first line grabbed me again because this man was saving to buy something that could not be brought, so because I was confused I decided to read on; because I’m not a fan of horror I wish I didn’t now. As I continued to read it just seemed to be a story about a drunkard which sent me into a bigger whirlwind of confusion (what horror would be about that), but then we were thrown into vermin eating a man! I didn’t know what to think and I was sitting at the edge of my seat but I HAD to keep reading because I was… Horrified. I can really not described what drew me in; all I can say is it made something that I am not scared of or even find disgusting something that will probably give me nightmares and that has to be a skill in itself.
Part 2
She was sitting there with all her friends asking for their face painted and balloons blown up in animal shapes for them. No matter what any of them said she was not going to talk to him, he was not meant to be there, he was out of place and she did not like him.
She had looked forward to this day for three and a half months and it was nowhere what she thought it would be cracked up to be and she was not about to hide her disappointment, for this was Anna’s 10th birthday and it had to be perfect, at any cost. After he had made 80 ‘Tiggers’, and attempted to make a few ‘Winnie the Pooh’s’ he started his ‘show’ this is when Anna exploded and decided she no longer had to take this.
Outside she sat there by herself and plotted of how she was going to get her unwanted guest out, she knew he didn’t mean any harm but he was causing her ‘unwanted’ distress and he had to go.
A few hours later Anna was awoke by prodding; after opening her eyes and getting up the questions started, but she was confused because it was not those of ‘Where have you been?’ or ‘Are you ok?’ it was those of ‘How many where inside?’ and ‘Did you witness the attack?’. A horrified Anna looked both confused and dumfounded as she was lead to the police car.
***
To this day no one actually knows what happened to thirteen of Anna’s friends, parents and of course the clown. One thing people do know however is that Anna never seemed to cry or look for comfort and not once did she plea for someone to come forward even in her later years. Anna has only ever been near one clown since, her husband.
I know this may seem absolutely terrible but I read this opening without reading the title, so when I started I had no idea what was going on or any idea what was going to happen. The first line grabbed me again because this man was saving to buy something that could not be brought, so because I was confused I decided to read on; because I’m not a fan of horror I wish I didn’t now. As I continued to read it just seemed to be a story about a drunkard which sent me into a bigger whirlwind of confusion (what horror would be about that), but then we were thrown into vermin eating a man! I didn’t know what to think and I was sitting at the edge of my seat but I HAD to keep reading because I was… Horrified. I can really not described what drew me in; all I can say is it made something that I am not scared of or even find disgusting something that will probably give me nightmares and that has to be a skill in itself.
Part 2
She was sitting there with all her friends asking for their face painted and balloons blown up in animal shapes for them. No matter what any of them said she was not going to talk to him, he was not meant to be there, he was out of place and she did not like him.
She had looked forward to this day for three and a half months and it was nowhere what she thought it would be cracked up to be and she was not about to hide her disappointment, for this was Anna’s 10th birthday and it had to be perfect, at any cost. After he had made 80 ‘Tiggers’, and attempted to make a few ‘Winnie the Pooh’s’ he started his ‘show’ this is when Anna exploded and decided she no longer had to take this.
Outside she sat there by herself and plotted of how she was going to get her unwanted guest out, she knew he didn’t mean any harm but he was causing her ‘unwanted’ distress and he had to go.
A few hours later Anna was awoke by prodding; after opening her eyes and getting up the questions started, but she was confused because it was not those of ‘Where have you been?’ or ‘Are you ok?’ it was those of ‘How many where inside?’ and ‘Did you witness the attack?’. A horrified Anna looked both confused and dumfounded as she was lead to the police car.
***
To this day no one actually knows what happened to thirteen of Anna’s friends, parents and of course the clown. One thing people do know however is that Anna never seemed to cry or look for comfort and not once did she plea for someone to come forward even in her later years. Anna has only ever been near one clown since, her husband.
Task 35
Task 1
I choose "The Rats" by James herbert as it was a fairly ominous begining. We sympathzie with the character to some extent as we are told he worked really hard for the complete bottle of cheap gin and we understand to what extent he craves alchol. this shocks the reader later although we did expect something to happen. this is a good technique which is why i liked it. also the violence is simple and not oversaturated in blood and gore which works well.
Task 2
It's the strangest thing; watching the whole world from down here. Staring up, I gaze into to the eyes of passers by, there shallow faces drained of emotion yet flowing with tears...except one. Mother was never one to show her emotions, she prefered to present herself as an egg; a hard yet thin shell that surpressed a wobbly mess within which, under the right amount of pressure, would surely crack. And who better to penetrate the shell than the chicken whom it hatched?
As she was comforted and consoled by countless friends and family, others spectators slowly retreated back to thier own grief, and it was then I realised she was crying. Yes, my mother was crying. I giggle, a small snigger at first but as my eye lids slowly begin to lift, the realisation no one else is watching releases a uncontrolable chuckle.
However, someone is watching...just as my mouth repositions itself, I hear mother. Her smell reaches me before the large shadow consumes what little light my eyelids allowed to pass its filters. Staring over at me, I feel her breath examining my face and when she is convinced that I am lifeless, Uncle Myers drapes his arm over her shoulder only for her to shrug it off and heads for the toilets. At last, she is alone.
Checking the coast is clear once more, I get out of my box and enter the darkness which momentarily conceals my presence from my unsuspecting mother. Washing her hands in the sink she stares at the hideous thing reflected in the mirror.she bows her head and sobs. I aint surprised, if i looked like her, i'd be comtenplating suicide or plastic surgery at least. But don't sympathise with her, imagine being born into this world and her face being the first thing you see. Truely traumatic!
Now is my chance, exploding from the cubicle, my hand becomes fused with her hair as it presses her head into the basin. My faces is suddenly covered with a scarlet liquid and a loud crack echos rhythmically through the room to which the severd head in my hand slowly begins to sway in time too as though it were a pendulum. Job done!
* * * *
Re-arranging her body in the box, I adjust the lid and kiss my mum one last time. The ushers approach me as though I am the brother of the deceased, asking wether "he" is ready to be taken. A simple nod and a gentle smile both reach the usher and in understanding he lifts my mother into the ground. A wave goodbye and shes gone. it really is the strangest thing to watch your mother be buried in your coffin at your funeral.
Involuntary Angst.
For my choice out of the four openings, I have decided to choose 'The Pit & The Pendulum' by E.A. Poe. The reason being is that in my opinion, there are two types of horror, the type that slowly cranks up the tension and is more about mental imagery than physical. On the other hand however, there is the type of horror that builds up tension, then kicks in with the afterburners and carries on going. For my choice I've gone with the second, since I think there is a fine balance in the horror genre between becoming pretentious, and being flat out lazy, I think this extract finds the balance inbetween these two perfectly.
To any exterior soul, the room would have seemed pristine. He made sure all the sheets were pressed to perfection, all mounted objects were inconspicuously angled and, most of all, there was not a single chance of a whimper escaping from his latest subject.
The crime? Nobody really knew, he couldn't bring himself to tarnish her name with such poison. He thought protection was the only thing applicable to such a fair being such as herself. He took her under his wing, and for the first few months, she liked it, she said she hadn't felt so comforted in all her life. Yet all this didn't guarantee anything, for it was only a matter of time before his obsessive past came spilling out all over again.
It was 6:49AM, 17Th September 1985. She had just started night shifts, and would be due home in around thirty minutes. You could tell she had little experience in working whilst others slept, since she had forgot to take her phone with her the night before. Coincidence it was not, fate, well, I'll let you decide that. There was a harsh vibration that shook his stirrup, the sharp pain forced him back into consciousness, It was the phone. For a second he closed his eyes again, trying to indulge in the safe world of sleep, yet his past demonic traits were too overpowering, he gave up to his temptation, Flipped open the phone and frantically scanned for a message.
By this time, his heart was racing, fuelled by the unknown, his eyes were like two apocalyptic balls of fire raging over the screen of her phone. His suspicions had been confirmed, she had lied, she was none better than the rest! How could she? Why would she? Who was he? All these thoughts, and many more, were suddenly interrupted by the fumbling of keys at the door. All his effort to maintain normality had now been discarded. His past wrath had now returned, he donned the red mist, and as she entered the once pristine house, she was greeted by the wrath of a man she once called love.
To any exterior soul, the room would have seemed pristine. He made sure all the sheets were pressed to perfection, all mounted objects were inconspicuously angled and, most of all, there was not a single chance of a whimper escaping from his latest subject.
The crime? Nobody really knew, he couldn't bring himself to tarnish her name with such poison. He thought protection was the only thing applicable to such a fair being such as herself. He took her under his wing, and for the first few months, she liked it, she said she hadn't felt so comforted in all her life. Yet all this didn't guarantee anything, for it was only a matter of time before his obsessive past came spilling out all over again.
It was 6:49AM, 17Th September 1985. She had just started night shifts, and would be due home in around thirty minutes. You could tell she had little experience in working whilst others slept, since she had forgot to take her phone with her the night before. Coincidence it was not, fate, well, I'll let you decide that. There was a harsh vibration that shook his stirrup, the sharp pain forced him back into consciousness, It was the phone. For a second he closed his eyes again, trying to indulge in the safe world of sleep, yet his past demonic traits were too overpowering, he gave up to his temptation, Flipped open the phone and frantically scanned for a message.
By this time, his heart was racing, fuelled by the unknown, his eyes were like two apocalyptic balls of fire raging over the screen of her phone. His suspicions had been confirmed, she had lied, she was none better than the rest! How could she? Why would she? Who was he? All these thoughts, and many more, were suddenly interrupted by the fumbling of keys at the door. All his effort to maintain normality had now been discarded. His past wrath had now returned, he donned the red mist, and as she entered the once pristine house, she was greeted by the wrath of a man she once called love.
Task 35, Red Street.
In my opinion, I think that “The Rats” by James Herbert was effective. The first line grabs the reader’s attention, “all he cared for now was saving up his meagre…” and the reader immediately finds out that the character doesn’t really care for anything else but to save up “his meagre to buy more oblivion.” There is tension in the story and then the reader gets an image of what is happening to Guilfoyle, “the taste of his own sticky blood made him retch.” “Huge teeth that were meant for his throat,” the reader can see the painful experience that Guilfoyle is going through. I especially like the last line, “he felt nothing, just a spreading sweetness over his body.”
Staring at the night sky that surrounded him, he wondered what was left to him. He had nothing, not much on his body but he had his thoughts running freely up in his mind.
His feet laying there on the filthy ground and very little source of light could be found there. He was never certain on what path he wanted to lead his life but he ended up here on this street, Red Street. He stood up with great difficulty; a stream of pain ran down his back. He was in search of something though he wasn’t sure of what. The wind blew hard on his face as though giving him a sign to turn back, to stay away from where he was trying to go.
He saw an old ruin building up the street that seemed to be dripping in poison and decided it will be his shelter for that night. He slowly went up to the gates and opened it, the grass was over grown and the whole place made the surrounding shiver in fear expect for him.
Something gave him a tickling feeling on his back; he didn’t take notice of it at first. He carried on walking and sometimes he would nearly fall over some bits and pieces that was on the ground but that didn’t bother him much. Now he felt a sharp cut on his right leg and he felt blood dripping out, he stopped. Look on his right but he couldn’t tell what was there and carried on walking to the door. It was locked. He sat on the step and again another sharp cut on his left leg this time. He bend down to see if the blood was still coming out, his hands never saw that much redness and his leg never felt the pain he was feeling then.
They looked like tiny spiders with dark red eyes. Sharper cuts, he screamed and shouted. His voice reached to no one. Few minutes later, the pain disappeared and redness controlled his body.
Staring at the night sky that surrounded him, he wondered what was left to him. He had nothing, not much on his body but he had his thoughts running freely up in his mind.
His feet laying there on the filthy ground and very little source of light could be found there. He was never certain on what path he wanted to lead his life but he ended up here on this street, Red Street. He stood up with great difficulty; a stream of pain ran down his back. He was in search of something though he wasn’t sure of what. The wind blew hard on his face as though giving him a sign to turn back, to stay away from where he was trying to go.
He saw an old ruin building up the street that seemed to be dripping in poison and decided it will be his shelter for that night. He slowly went up to the gates and opened it, the grass was over grown and the whole place made the surrounding shiver in fear expect for him.
Something gave him a tickling feeling on his back; he didn’t take notice of it at first. He carried on walking and sometimes he would nearly fall over some bits and pieces that was on the ground but that didn’t bother him much. Now he felt a sharp cut on his right leg and he felt blood dripping out, he stopped. Look on his right but he couldn’t tell what was there and carried on walking to the door. It was locked. He sat on the step and again another sharp cut on his left leg this time. He bend down to see if the blood was still coming out, his hands never saw that much redness and his leg never felt the pain he was feeling then.
They looked like tiny spiders with dark red eyes. Sharper cuts, he screamed and shouted. His voice reached to no one. Few minutes later, the pain disappeared and redness controlled his body.
HoRRoR
I like the rats by James Herbert. Firstly it was jam-packed with graphic horror and chilling suspense. It started off very calm. It was very good and gripping. I liked the way the writer used the 'show, not tell' technique. the way the writer uses description was very good because it built up an image in my head and made me want to read on. The opening was very effective and was exactly the way a horror story should be.
My Story Opening
At first I thought it was my imagination. With it being such a cold bitter evening with howling winds it was probably just the rustling leaves. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and thrust my hands deeper into my pockets.
It had been a long day at the office. Jeremy had called in sick and with Patricia on maternity leave; the paperwork had just mounted up. It had been so busy that I hadn’t interviewed anyone to cover for Patricia and the extra work was taking its toll on my health.
There it was again. I stopped, glancing left and right, stopping every few steps for another listen. But again, all I could hear was the whistling of the wind.
I was tired and I looked forward to a nice hot soak in the bath. Lisa had already reprimanded me for staying so late at the office. When I got home every evening, Joe my four year old son would be waiting at the door for me. Today, Joe would be tucked up in bed and I would be welcomed home by a disgruntled Lisa.
The dirt track veered to the left and from there I could see my house. I stumbled over a pothole and cursed loudly as I felt the strain on my ankle. I bent down, took off my glove and rubbed my ankle. Already I could feel it swelling up.
As I stood up, sharp pain from my ankle momentarily stunned me. It took a few moments for me to regain my sense of direction. It was at this point, that the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Someone was watching me. I turned a full circle but still couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But fear was gripping me now as I hobbled down the driveway…
My Story Opening
At first I thought it was my imagination. With it being such a cold bitter evening with howling winds it was probably just the rustling leaves. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and thrust my hands deeper into my pockets.
It had been a long day at the office. Jeremy had called in sick and with Patricia on maternity leave; the paperwork had just mounted up. It had been so busy that I hadn’t interviewed anyone to cover for Patricia and the extra work was taking its toll on my health.
There it was again. I stopped, glancing left and right, stopping every few steps for another listen. But again, all I could hear was the whistling of the wind.
I was tired and I looked forward to a nice hot soak in the bath. Lisa had already reprimanded me for staying so late at the office. When I got home every evening, Joe my four year old son would be waiting at the door for me. Today, Joe would be tucked up in bed and I would be welcomed home by a disgruntled Lisa.
The dirt track veered to the left and from there I could see my house. I stumbled over a pothole and cursed loudly as I felt the strain on my ankle. I bent down, took off my glove and rubbed my ankle. Already I could feel it swelling up.
As I stood up, sharp pain from my ankle momentarily stunned me. It took a few moments for me to regain my sense of direction. It was at this point, that the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Someone was watching me. I turned a full circle but still couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But fear was gripping me now as I hobbled down the driveway…
Paint the town red
Dracula by Bram Stoker
I found the third opening most effective. This is because I liked the way in which the writer drops in little hints such as the howling of the dogs that portray as sense of foreboding. The tone is very dark and ominous and leaves suspense in the air. I liked the way in which it made reference to the blue flame suggesting that something was going to go wrong and leaving us to guess what was going to happen. Since it was very sudden it grabs our attention and makes us feel quite chilled and scared and share the same feelings as the narrator. By describing the wolves in the way that they were described in the excerpt it immediately paints a picture in our mind, it also makes us wonder about the significance of the driver-especially when the wolves disappear as he returns.
Painting the town red
“Finally out of bed are we? I’ve made you toast with jam and there’s cranberry juice if you want it. A red-themed breakfast for Scarlet”
I leave her to laugh at her stupid joke while I tuck into my breakfast. Too much jam, way too much. Too sticky, too sweet. Sickly sweet. Cranberry juice. Horrid, I think I’ll pass.
“Umm, blood.”
“Shut up Joe, it is way too early in the morning to listen to your crap”
“Language!” Mum shrieks.
“I don’t have time for this, I’m off to school”
“Oh don’t go off in a strop, love. Finish your breakfast at least.”
“I’ll have it” Joe pipes in “I need as much blood in my system as I can if you’re sending me out in the light Mum.”
“Oh. Joey” Mum says in her sickly mumsy voice. I leave them both to carry on bonding.
“Glad to be out of that hell-hole,” I mutter.
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby”- I could recognise that voice miles off. It was Nigel, head to toe in red, if his dad wasn’t so uptight I think he would have dyed his hair red instead of wearing that hideous red bandana. He looked ridiculous.
“Bugger off Nigel” I shout and decide to go down the side street to get away from him. God, he’s so creepy. Does he think that by dressing in red he can win my heart? What an idiot. And he calls me Ruby, can’t find a song with Scarlet in it he says.
Mum would do her nut if she found out I took the ‘dangerous’ route to school. I don’t see what the problem is. It’s quiet that’s all. A bit dumpy too. Litter, clothes all dumped. Not a person in sight. Silence so loud that covering your ears wouldn’t drown it out.
How do I get to school via this route? I should have just walked to school using the normal route and just ignore Nigel like I normally do. It’ll take way too much time to go back. Why is it so deserted? Oh, no there is someone, a woman I think, yeah a woman sitting outside, what looks like, a café. I’ll ask her.
I approach her, noticing that a sudden chill was in the air now. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. No come one Scarlet, you’ve come this far just ask this lady for directions.
“Excuse me, hi I’m Scarlet. I was wondering if you knew how to get to…”
She lifts her head; drapes of black hair framed her pale face. She looks at me and opens her mouth as if to speak. She begins screaming. I can feel my ears ringing. Blood spitting out of her mouth, out of her eyes dripping onto her ice white clothes. She carries on screaming. I try to say something but her screams drown out my words. She was out of control getting louder by the second. Blood coming out of her nostrils now, her dress had turned red. Scarlet red. I try to cover my ears to drown out the sound. I try to run away but I fall on the solid concrete. I look at my hands. They are covered with blood; blood from my ears, my tights have ripped, my leg bleeding, my body burning as if being attacked by the vicious flames of hell. All I hear is screaming. All I smell is blood. All I see is red. Scarlet. Ruby. Blood red. My blood dripping and painting the street Scarlet. Is this hell?
I found the third opening most effective. This is because I liked the way in which the writer drops in little hints such as the howling of the dogs that portray as sense of foreboding. The tone is very dark and ominous and leaves suspense in the air. I liked the way in which it made reference to the blue flame suggesting that something was going to go wrong and leaving us to guess what was going to happen. Since it was very sudden it grabs our attention and makes us feel quite chilled and scared and share the same feelings as the narrator. By describing the wolves in the way that they were described in the excerpt it immediately paints a picture in our mind, it also makes us wonder about the significance of the driver-especially when the wolves disappear as he returns.
Painting the town red
“Finally out of bed are we? I’ve made you toast with jam and there’s cranberry juice if you want it. A red-themed breakfast for Scarlet”
I leave her to laugh at her stupid joke while I tuck into my breakfast. Too much jam, way too much. Too sticky, too sweet. Sickly sweet. Cranberry juice. Horrid, I think I’ll pass.
“Umm, blood.”
“Shut up Joe, it is way too early in the morning to listen to your crap”
“Language!” Mum shrieks.
“I don’t have time for this, I’m off to school”
“Oh don’t go off in a strop, love. Finish your breakfast at least.”
“I’ll have it” Joe pipes in “I need as much blood in my system as I can if you’re sending me out in the light Mum.”
“Oh. Joey” Mum says in her sickly mumsy voice. I leave them both to carry on bonding.
“Glad to be out of that hell-hole,” I mutter.
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby”- I could recognise that voice miles off. It was Nigel, head to toe in red, if his dad wasn’t so uptight I think he would have dyed his hair red instead of wearing that hideous red bandana. He looked ridiculous.
“Bugger off Nigel” I shout and decide to go down the side street to get away from him. God, he’s so creepy. Does he think that by dressing in red he can win my heart? What an idiot. And he calls me Ruby, can’t find a song with Scarlet in it he says.
Mum would do her nut if she found out I took the ‘dangerous’ route to school. I don’t see what the problem is. It’s quiet that’s all. A bit dumpy too. Litter, clothes all dumped. Not a person in sight. Silence so loud that covering your ears wouldn’t drown it out.
How do I get to school via this route? I should have just walked to school using the normal route and just ignore Nigel like I normally do. It’ll take way too much time to go back. Why is it so deserted? Oh, no there is someone, a woman I think, yeah a woman sitting outside, what looks like, a café. I’ll ask her.
I approach her, noticing that a sudden chill was in the air now. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. No come one Scarlet, you’ve come this far just ask this lady for directions.
“Excuse me, hi I’m Scarlet. I was wondering if you knew how to get to…”
She lifts her head; drapes of black hair framed her pale face. She looks at me and opens her mouth as if to speak. She begins screaming. I can feel my ears ringing. Blood spitting out of her mouth, out of her eyes dripping onto her ice white clothes. She carries on screaming. I try to say something but her screams drown out my words. She was out of control getting louder by the second. Blood coming out of her nostrils now, her dress had turned red. Scarlet red. I try to cover my ears to drown out the sound. I try to run away but I fall on the solid concrete. I look at my hands. They are covered with blood; blood from my ears, my tights have ripped, my leg bleeding, my body burning as if being attacked by the vicious flames of hell. All I hear is screaming. All I smell is blood. All I see is red. Scarlet. Ruby. Blood red. My blood dripping and painting the street Scarlet. Is this hell?
PART 1: Just After Sunset PART 2: Run
Just After Sunset by Stephen King
In my opinion, Stephen King avoided the blood and guts typical horror story which reeled me in immediately. Keeping it human meant there was more room for description and suspense. I especially like the line where he says ‘It was simple curiosity’ it instantly sums up the character – meddlesome and inquisitive. He also used the show, don’t tell technique which keeps the reader baffled and makes them want to read more. Every line gave the story a twist and added a great deal of suspense. I hung off Kings’ every word. I really enjoyed this story opening, it was exceedingly gripping. I want to read more!
Run
Running and stumbling across this deserted field, frantic with fright, I constantly look behind me. Although my senses tell me that something is wrong, I can see nor hear nothing in this murky, dark evening except the singing of crickets. Perhaps I should have stayed on the road inside my car and waited for someone to help me fix my flat tire, instead of taking a short cut across this field towards the dimly lit house I see in the distance.
Earlier, I must have taken a wrong turn onto an unused road because after an hour, there had been not a single vehicle seen. Yet, something had bumped against my car several times. Something that I couldn’t see or hear, but felt. My repeated calls of, "Who's there?" were not answered. My sense of fear escalated as the sky darkened, welcoming the approaching night.
I could no longer just sit there waiting for the coming dilemma. With all the courage that I could gather, I opened the car door and started running as fast as I could towards the house. Thinking, perhaps I'd be safer there, safe from whoever or whatever was there. Now, I feel something watching. "Leave me alone" I scream aloud, gasping for breath as I run. The more I run the farther the house becomes, what was happening? I was too busy running through the thick grass to realise the uneven ground. I did not see the sink hole; I only feel the sharp pain as I shift my ankle. Howling in agony, I fall face down, biting my lip. I can taste the gritty earth ... and the warm blood dripping from the cavernous cut that my teeth have made.
A most unspeakable sense of fright has now taken seize of me, squeezing my heart in its unyielding icy grip. My throat is spit-less and dry, my body, damp and limp, sprawled upon this freezing ground. Tears merge with mucus from my nostrils and run down onto my bloody lips and chin…
In my opinion, Stephen King avoided the blood and guts typical horror story which reeled me in immediately. Keeping it human meant there was more room for description and suspense. I especially like the line where he says ‘It was simple curiosity’ it instantly sums up the character – meddlesome and inquisitive. He also used the show, don’t tell technique which keeps the reader baffled and makes them want to read more. Every line gave the story a twist and added a great deal of suspense. I hung off Kings’ every word. I really enjoyed this story opening, it was exceedingly gripping. I want to read more!
Run
Running and stumbling across this deserted field, frantic with fright, I constantly look behind me. Although my senses tell me that something is wrong, I can see nor hear nothing in this murky, dark evening except the singing of crickets. Perhaps I should have stayed on the road inside my car and waited for someone to help me fix my flat tire, instead of taking a short cut across this field towards the dimly lit house I see in the distance.
Earlier, I must have taken a wrong turn onto an unused road because after an hour, there had been not a single vehicle seen. Yet, something had bumped against my car several times. Something that I couldn’t see or hear, but felt. My repeated calls of, "Who's there?" were not answered. My sense of fear escalated as the sky darkened, welcoming the approaching night.
I could no longer just sit there waiting for the coming dilemma. With all the courage that I could gather, I opened the car door and started running as fast as I could towards the house. Thinking, perhaps I'd be safer there, safe from whoever or whatever was there. Now, I feel something watching. "Leave me alone" I scream aloud, gasping for breath as I run. The more I run the farther the house becomes, what was happening? I was too busy running through the thick grass to realise the uneven ground. I did not see the sink hole; I only feel the sharp pain as I shift my ankle. Howling in agony, I fall face down, biting my lip. I can taste the gritty earth ... and the warm blood dripping from the cavernous cut that my teeth have made.
A most unspeakable sense of fright has now taken seize of me, squeezing my heart in its unyielding icy grip. My throat is spit-less and dry, my body, damp and limp, sprawled upon this freezing ground. Tears merge with mucus from my nostrils and run down onto my bloody lips and chin…
Friday, 6 February 2009
Task 35; Tick
Just After Sunset by Stephen King
Just After Sunset reminded me of the BBC3 programme Being Human, a plot so predictable that you really don’t expect what actually happens to be so good. In my opinion, King avoided the traditional approach to a horror story which made it even more effective.
King reeled me in instantly because his character is so human. He layers his text with “simple curiosity”, feeding not only his main character with broken pieces of a mystery but the reader as well. He casually drops breadcrumbs for the readers to follow whilst concealing what really lies ahead with the humorous tone that hovers on the surface of his writing. Every time King drops a clue, another piece of the puzzle, he rewinds the story with the rhetorical questions and sarcastic “eye rolls”.
Tick
Dracula fell face down onto the floor – and then she woke up. The library was empty, her hands were freezing, and her book was drenched in thick saliva. What time was it? Late, the library was deserted. The chair legs peeled of a thin slice of wood as she pushed it backwards. Had she fallen asleep? The shiny table lamp flickered in agreement and readjusted its glow.
Droplets of rain continued to have fun sliding down the panes of glass whilst she picked up her bag and books. Was it too late to take them out? Probably not. Her black pumps looked worn down and tired and her feet protested as she made her way towards the front desk. The old caretaker had dimmed the lights completely even though it wasn’t late, and he’d started to switch off some of the overheads that lighted the way out and illuminated the more interesting sections of the library. What the heck, everything was interesting; it was a library. She was falling asleep already. The evening moonlight draped itself like a tablecloth on top of bookshelf after bookshelf, its hypnotic effect made her eyelids rise and fall.
She didn’t even notice the remaining lights turn off one, by one, by one.
There was an empty patch of moonlight behind the reception desk, maybe Mabel had left to get a cup of tea? She placed her books on the desk and reached for her student ID card in her back pocket.
Something fell. Dracula had made a thump but this was something heavier. She steadied her pile of books and listened to the beating coming from the inside of her eardrums. Nothing stirred. But the Espresso coffee machine downstairs did. She sighed.
She hears the scraping of wood coming from somewhere in the library. She freezes.
The one remaining light switches off. She doesn’t breathe.
Tick. Tock. She leans over the desk to call the caretaker.
Tick.
She finds Mabel.
Just After Sunset reminded me of the BBC3 programme Being Human, a plot so predictable that you really don’t expect what actually happens to be so good. In my opinion, King avoided the traditional approach to a horror story which made it even more effective.
King reeled me in instantly because his character is so human. He layers his text with “simple curiosity”, feeding not only his main character with broken pieces of a mystery but the reader as well. He casually drops breadcrumbs for the readers to follow whilst concealing what really lies ahead with the humorous tone that hovers on the surface of his writing. Every time King drops a clue, another piece of the puzzle, he rewinds the story with the rhetorical questions and sarcastic “eye rolls”.
Tick
Dracula fell face down onto the floor – and then she woke up. The library was empty, her hands were freezing, and her book was drenched in thick saliva. What time was it? Late, the library was deserted. The chair legs peeled of a thin slice of wood as she pushed it backwards. Had she fallen asleep? The shiny table lamp flickered in agreement and readjusted its glow.
Droplets of rain continued to have fun sliding down the panes of glass whilst she picked up her bag and books. Was it too late to take them out? Probably not. Her black pumps looked worn down and tired and her feet protested as she made her way towards the front desk. The old caretaker had dimmed the lights completely even though it wasn’t late, and he’d started to switch off some of the overheads that lighted the way out and illuminated the more interesting sections of the library. What the heck, everything was interesting; it was a library. She was falling asleep already. The evening moonlight draped itself like a tablecloth on top of bookshelf after bookshelf, its hypnotic effect made her eyelids rise and fall.
She didn’t even notice the remaining lights turn off one, by one, by one.
There was an empty patch of moonlight behind the reception desk, maybe Mabel had left to get a cup of tea? She placed her books on the desk and reached for her student ID card in her back pocket.
Something fell. Dracula had made a thump but this was something heavier. She steadied her pile of books and listened to the beating coming from the inside of her eardrums. Nothing stirred. But the Espresso coffee machine downstairs did. She sighed.
She hears the scraping of wood coming from somewhere in the library. She freezes.
The one remaining light switches off. She doesn’t breathe.
Tick. Tock. She leans over the desk to call the caretaker.
Tick.
She finds Mabel.
task 35
The Rats
In my opinion, the second opening of “The Rats” by James Herbert was a classic example of a protagonist gaining something of value to them, yet losing something else in its place. The very description of Gulifoyle “saving up his meagre earnings to buy more oblivion” portrays how reliant and controlled Gulifoyle is by Intoxication, and shows the author’s feelings towards Alcohol and its effects. Since we are informed that Gulifoyle has a drinking problem yet cured his very thirst for alcohol for a week to “buy a complete bottle of cheap gin”, it amazes even the reader how determined he was to get a drink. Furthermore, Herbert’s graphic and vivid descriptions of “huge teeth” sinking into “his cheeks” and tearing away “huge flaps” exposes us as a reader to a more gory image of suffering and torture that can do more than force us as a ready to sympathise for him.
Curiosity Killed The Cat
“DING DING DING DING DING”
The familiar sound of my alarm clock showed no signs of gifting me the much needed, invaluable prize of remorse. It never failed to hold me by it’s clutches and jolt me into a state of conscientiousness. It never failed to make me alert and aware that I must rise at 6 o’clock, warning me of the time period I had left before my departure. Yet, what was this? Today it had rung at 3:30…Peculiar, especially for a now questionably reliable clock. Despite this, I felt it my duty to allow my collapsing, drained and dangerously lethargic brain to have it’s required time of slumber. With that perfectly assorted in my mind, I thought it nothing to disable my eyes of it’s vision for the period of slumber that I required.
Yet, before I could achieve this I realised there was a strangely pungent aroma of sweat and skin emulsifying in each others presence. I sat up, shivering, glimpsing at blinding darkness and deafening silence that lay beyond me. There was a sudden creak of the floor boards, as though something of substantial weight had been deployed upon it. Next, a sudden tip-tap of the basement door, and an unexpected Click! Of the light switch which pierced through the unbearable silence.
My mind switched from reality to fantasy, quicker than a BMW engine could switch from On and Off. Then soon, without hesitation of the mind, my body seemed to slowly, surely creep into action. My mind now played no role in the matter, my body had made it’s decision. Each Step it took felt like a step closer to my possible oblivion, despite this my body carried on to traverse into what seemed like that darkest, deepest and mysterious abyss that had not even been ventured to by expert explorers. I was now in clear view of the basement, I could see a silhouette resembling an unfamiliar figure some sort of long, thick s-shaped tool of some sort. The bright orange glow of the basement illumination could even blind a man with sunglasses. I peered in. I had no idea what was to be there, I sniffed only the now familiar smell of sweat and skin. The figure glared at me, his face camouflaged by the white, air-holed mask that hung from ear to ear.
I wasted no time in bolting the door tightly shut, sealing off any means of access from them to me. The furious vibrations of the door forced me into a state of shock. I Hung my head with my arms tightly locking and securing my head in place, whilst my body slithered down to the smooth, cool comforting floor. Alas! The door could take those violent vibrations no more! It flung open. I shrieked back. The figure appeared from beneath the blinding glow of luminance. I now knew my fate was to be settled…
In my opinion, the second opening of “The Rats” by James Herbert was a classic example of a protagonist gaining something of value to them, yet losing something else in its place. The very description of Gulifoyle “saving up his meagre earnings to buy more oblivion” portrays how reliant and controlled Gulifoyle is by Intoxication, and shows the author’s feelings towards Alcohol and its effects. Since we are informed that Gulifoyle has a drinking problem yet cured his very thirst for alcohol for a week to “buy a complete bottle of cheap gin”, it amazes even the reader how determined he was to get a drink. Furthermore, Herbert’s graphic and vivid descriptions of “huge teeth” sinking into “his cheeks” and tearing away “huge flaps” exposes us as a reader to a more gory image of suffering and torture that can do more than force us as a ready to sympathise for him.
Curiosity Killed The Cat
“DING DING DING DING DING”
The familiar sound of my alarm clock showed no signs of gifting me the much needed, invaluable prize of remorse. It never failed to hold me by it’s clutches and jolt me into a state of conscientiousness. It never failed to make me alert and aware that I must rise at 6 o’clock, warning me of the time period I had left before my departure. Yet, what was this? Today it had rung at 3:30…Peculiar, especially for a now questionably reliable clock. Despite this, I felt it my duty to allow my collapsing, drained and dangerously lethargic brain to have it’s required time of slumber. With that perfectly assorted in my mind, I thought it nothing to disable my eyes of it’s vision for the period of slumber that I required.
Yet, before I could achieve this I realised there was a strangely pungent aroma of sweat and skin emulsifying in each others presence. I sat up, shivering, glimpsing at blinding darkness and deafening silence that lay beyond me. There was a sudden creak of the floor boards, as though something of substantial weight had been deployed upon it. Next, a sudden tip-tap of the basement door, and an unexpected Click! Of the light switch which pierced through the unbearable silence.
My mind switched from reality to fantasy, quicker than a BMW engine could switch from On and Off. Then soon, without hesitation of the mind, my body seemed to slowly, surely creep into action. My mind now played no role in the matter, my body had made it’s decision. Each Step it took felt like a step closer to my possible oblivion, despite this my body carried on to traverse into what seemed like that darkest, deepest and mysterious abyss that had not even been ventured to by expert explorers. I was now in clear view of the basement, I could see a silhouette resembling an unfamiliar figure some sort of long, thick s-shaped tool of some sort. The bright orange glow of the basement illumination could even blind a man with sunglasses. I peered in. I had no idea what was to be there, I sniffed only the now familiar smell of sweat and skin. The figure glared at me, his face camouflaged by the white, air-holed mask that hung from ear to ear.
I wasted no time in bolting the door tightly shut, sealing off any means of access from them to me. The furious vibrations of the door forced me into a state of shock. I Hung my head with my arms tightly locking and securing my head in place, whilst my body slithered down to the smooth, cool comforting floor. Alas! The door could take those violent vibrations no more! It flung open. I shrieked back. The figure appeared from beneath the blinding glow of luminance. I now knew my fate was to be settled…
Task 35
Excerpt 2 - "The Rats" by James Herbert
A novel that begins with a superfluous amount of self – exposure is purely what I look for in a book. “The Rats” by James Herbert accentuated the problem of vagrancy in the London suburbs and justified how lives were wasted from excessive alcohol consumption and unemployment; none of the details of this problem were obscured by the hindrance of upsetting or shocking the reader. The opening was insecurely remorseless – in my opinion, exactly what a horror genre book should be like. However, not too much was revealed and you had to work your way round the information you had been given to decipher the message the author was trying to give out to his audience. It appears to me that James Herbert was historically discussing the neglect of the lower – class in presumably the Victorian or Edwardian times, whilst mixing this with the horror genre, which is very popular at present. Moreover, I find having a book that you have to read a few times to absorb the real picture is the most intellectually effective.
Death's Cobweb
Reassurance knitted a safe place to tread in the depths of Alice’s heart. For a night without the shadow of terror violating her peace, she was overwhelmed with the fact that these next twelve hours were a respite from the dark world that quietly closed in on the brick and mortar she lay so near to.
All that matters now is you and me, thought Alice, as she placed her hand protectively on the erupting mount that bulged out of her dilapidating chestnut robes. Alice’s body shivered in the dim light that sympathetically emitted a useless amount of decent visibility. She had suddenly realised that she hadn’t eaten all day after spending the entire evening searching for a hospitable place to rest.
Not exactly a luxury, but I suppose it will do for the night, Alice thought, as tears pierced her florid cheeks. She felt a sudden jolt within the depths of her stomach.
Ah, the baby. My baby. Don’t worry. We’ll get through this. We both will. Life may seem horrible now, but it will get better. Things always do. When you feel the world is against you, hold your head high and - Alice broke down in tears, unable to hold back what was eating her up inside.
Pull yourself together, Alice. It's time I realised that nobody cares for me anymore. No - one. Fending for yourself is the only way to survive now.
Alice reached over and grasped an egg that lay on the thin blanket of straw. She cracked its shell on the icy ground, tilted her head back and uneasily allowed the gelatinous contents to slip down her throat. The raw egg immediately invaded her sensitive stomach, causing her to heave and yelp with disgust and revulsion. She stood up, feeling even more nauseous and peered out of the window. Night was drawing its vicious curtains around her and the spell of midnight was making Alice’s eyes flutter in a tiring manner. Slowly, the day’s labour began to take its toll on poor Alice and she fell into a uncontrollably deep sleep; liberated from the pain she would wake up to the next morning. . .
Alice awakened startled – oblivious of the time, yet aware of the scorching heat that stifled her quickening breaths. Something wasn’t right. The farmhouse was very hot, yet her breaths emitted opaque clouds of cold air. Alice glanced down at her limbs. Her ghostly white skin was peeling; burning; eaten by the invisible inferno she was trapped in amongst. Alice screamed, expecting to hear the echo of her terror. Nothing. Nothing. But then - Alice’s hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. Whispering. Cold, penetrating whispers inaudibly congested the farmhouse. Alice grabbled the straw underneath her, endeavouring to heave herself upwards and flee from the abnormalities of the farm. But the pain was weakening the remaining strength she had left. The whispering now deathly screams that stabbed her insides. The cadaverous spirit looming towards her; sucking the sad life out of her dead soul. She was gone. So was the only thing that had truly loved her. Alice Shelton: no longer a woman in full bloom, but a lifeless corpse dead for all the wrong reasons . . .
Task 35
Task 35
Excerpt 2 – ‘The Rats’ by James Herbert
I liked this excerpt, because the way it creates horror is it has lots of suspense, like ‘Guilfoyle had worked hard that week’, how this creates suspense is it tells us that Guilfoyle has worked hard, but it don’t tell us why he worked hard, so that the reader carries on reading to find out why he has worked hard. Also the story builds lots tension like where it says, ‘Shivers ran along his spine, to his shocked brain’, how this creates tension is it makes the reader feel what the character is going through, because it says that, ‘shivers ran along his spine to his shocked brain’. What else I like about this excerpt is that it tells us about the characters feelings and the pain the character is going through, ‘he felt the pain again in his outstretched left hand...he tried to gain his feet again as he felt more pain in his leg...flesh was ripped away from the back of his neck’.
My Opening
My arm throbbed, my leg bled, my head ache, but all he could care was about himself and his safety so he fled. All he could ever care is about himself, not even his closest, most loyal friend, no more than a friend...a brother! I would have helped him if he was in my shoes, but no he left me to die! I know, I should try praying to the lord, even though I haven’t been the holiest person in the world, but I might just be forgiven and helped. My neck is probably fractured, my ankle is most definitely broken, my fingers squashed, by the nasty youth run over my hand, like a herd of angry bulls, catching their prey. I’ve tried calling for help, but my voice seems hoarse, unable to shout. What should I do? Wait there’s somebody there...they can’t see me...wait they are looking at me, they can see me! My prayers have been answered, oh lord I will worship you more than ever if I survive this trauma! They’ve called help; my prayers have most defiantly been answered. My ears have been pulled by my stalker, but I still can hear the sound of distant sirens. All I want right now is to be alive, please, please, please lord I pray for my humanity, which you have snatched from me!
Excerpt 2 – ‘The Rats’ by James Herbert
I liked this excerpt, because the way it creates horror is it has lots of suspense, like ‘Guilfoyle had worked hard that week’, how this creates suspense is it tells us that Guilfoyle has worked hard, but it don’t tell us why he worked hard, so that the reader carries on reading to find out why he has worked hard. Also the story builds lots tension like where it says, ‘Shivers ran along his spine, to his shocked brain’, how this creates tension is it makes the reader feel what the character is going through, because it says that, ‘shivers ran along his spine to his shocked brain’. What else I like about this excerpt is that it tells us about the characters feelings and the pain the character is going through, ‘he felt the pain again in his outstretched left hand...he tried to gain his feet again as he felt more pain in his leg...flesh was ripped away from the back of his neck’.
My Opening
My arm throbbed, my leg bled, my head ache, but all he could care was about himself and his safety so he fled. All he could ever care is about himself, not even his closest, most loyal friend, no more than a friend...a brother! I would have helped him if he was in my shoes, but no he left me to die! I know, I should try praying to the lord, even though I haven’t been the holiest person in the world, but I might just be forgiven and helped. My neck is probably fractured, my ankle is most definitely broken, my fingers squashed, by the nasty youth run over my hand, like a herd of angry bulls, catching their prey. I’ve tried calling for help, but my voice seems hoarse, unable to shout. What should I do? Wait there’s somebody there...they can’t see me...wait they are looking at me, they can see me! My prayers have been answered, oh lord I will worship you more than ever if I survive this trauma! They’ve called help; my prayers have most defiantly been answered. My ears have been pulled by my stalker, but I still can hear the sound of distant sirens. All I want right now is to be alive, please, please, please lord I pray for my humanity, which you have snatched from me!
Thursday, 5 February 2009
What do they want from me?
Dracula-Opening:
I found this opening very interesting because of how it leaves the reader to figure out what certain things might actually be, for instance the blue flame. The way the writer has many mysteries tied into one caught my eye. By this i mean how we do not know why the wolves are there, where the main character is being taken and what happens next. Like questions purposely left in your head. I have tried to use these key points in my extract.
What do they want from me?
The sudden ring of my phone broke my concentration. I wondered casually towards it not wanting to hint myself out, while also trying to calm my nerves (though i was the most obvious creature here). Through what i had heard, my scent was a delicious mix of subtle yet mind-blowing scents. If not my noisy footsteps then this would surely point me out. I answered the phone anxious but at the same time nervous. Was it the beast or the angel? Such differences in their classifications while both being of the same species. I answered but got nothing i wished to hear; 2 minutes later and i hung up. I left in a hurry and did as the beast said.
My journey was short through the vast, mysterious forest. Everywhere was covered by moss and tree’s, if not mud and sharp, jagged rocks. My eyes wandered through the trees as i drove past...until i saw it, a huge red-brown figure. This was not the first time i had seen it, but this time i was not dreaming. I could not stop i had no time. I drove faster with nerves creeping up on me, until finally i reached the gates. They were a pair of old, rusty gates...the kind you would see in horror movies. I took a deep breath and got out of the car.
A sudden burst of howls broke loose startling me. I knew it was the figure i had seen earlier, it had to be. I strode across the footpath not daring to look back when the howls started again. This time the howls sounded much, much angrier like i had done something to hurt them. What did they want from me?
I found this opening very interesting because of how it leaves the reader to figure out what certain things might actually be, for instance the blue flame. The way the writer has many mysteries tied into one caught my eye. By this i mean how we do not know why the wolves are there, where the main character is being taken and what happens next. Like questions purposely left in your head. I have tried to use these key points in my extract.
What do they want from me?
The sudden ring of my phone broke my concentration. I wondered casually towards it not wanting to hint myself out, while also trying to calm my nerves (though i was the most obvious creature here). Through what i had heard, my scent was a delicious mix of subtle yet mind-blowing scents. If not my noisy footsteps then this would surely point me out. I answered the phone anxious but at the same time nervous. Was it the beast or the angel? Such differences in their classifications while both being of the same species. I answered but got nothing i wished to hear; 2 minutes later and i hung up. I left in a hurry and did as the beast said.
My journey was short through the vast, mysterious forest. Everywhere was covered by moss and tree’s, if not mud and sharp, jagged rocks. My eyes wandered through the trees as i drove past...until i saw it, a huge red-brown figure. This was not the first time i had seen it, but this time i was not dreaming. I could not stop i had no time. I drove faster with nerves creeping up on me, until finally i reached the gates. They were a pair of old, rusty gates...the kind you would see in horror movies. I took a deep breath and got out of the car.
A sudden burst of howls broke loose startling me. I knew it was the figure i had seen earlier, it had to be. I strode across the footpath not daring to look back when the howls started again. This time the howls sounded much, much angrier like i had done something to hurt them. What did they want from me?
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Horror
Part 1.
My favorite horror extract is 'just after sunset' by Stephen King. The main reason i like this text is because you get a real psychological insight into Ems character without it being in the first person. The part of the text, which, for me, makes it scary, is the to-ing and fro-ing of her mind. She goes from acceptance to denial and back in quick succession. The fact that we think, as an audience that the body is a movie prop lulls us into a nightmarish universe, which makes it more frightening. The most effective part for me is the way King snaps from trivial to action without any indication. This is the most suprising part.
Part 2.
Eleven.
He always knew that pain was subjective. He loved the fact that even if someone else hit him it was his mind that was inflcting the pain. He relished every sting and every bruise. Every taste, aroma and echo became dull, every action became more extreme and every wound went numb.
If the wind wasn't cutting her face, she wasn't alive. If her gums didn't gush after every meal her teeth weren't clean. Every minute she lived, she yearned for more. Every step she took she longed for an earthquake.
It was never a good idea to intoduce them. At the time it seemed like they would balance each other out, neutralising the destruction if you like. That, of course, was not the case. They both took eachother further. They started to turn on people, their freinds, their parents and finally, me.
I remeber the music quite distinctly, it was that 'fill me up buttercup' song. They were playing it from three different speakers around the room. I woke up to it when it looped for the third time. I lurched forward to see a wall completely papered with the same picture of me. I darted from corner to corner checking for them. I then noticed the two pars of feet poking out from under the bed, they started to chuckle. I then saw his face pressed against the window and heard her familiar knock at my door.
My favorite horror extract is 'just after sunset' by Stephen King. The main reason i like this text is because you get a real psychological insight into Ems character without it being in the first person. The part of the text, which, for me, makes it scary, is the to-ing and fro-ing of her mind. She goes from acceptance to denial and back in quick succession. The fact that we think, as an audience that the body is a movie prop lulls us into a nightmarish universe, which makes it more frightening. The most effective part for me is the way King snaps from trivial to action without any indication. This is the most suprising part.
Part 2.
Eleven.
He always knew that pain was subjective. He loved the fact that even if someone else hit him it was his mind that was inflcting the pain. He relished every sting and every bruise. Every taste, aroma and echo became dull, every action became more extreme and every wound went numb.
If the wind wasn't cutting her face, she wasn't alive. If her gums didn't gush after every meal her teeth weren't clean. Every minute she lived, she yearned for more. Every step she took she longed for an earthquake.
It was never a good idea to intoduce them. At the time it seemed like they would balance each other out, neutralising the destruction if you like. That, of course, was not the case. They both took eachother further. They started to turn on people, their freinds, their parents and finally, me.
I remeber the music quite distinctly, it was that 'fill me up buttercup' song. They were playing it from three different speakers around the room. I woke up to it when it looped for the third time. I lurched forward to see a wall completely papered with the same picture of me. I darted from corner to corner checking for them. I then noticed the two pars of feet poking out from under the bed, they started to chuckle. I then saw his face pressed against the window and heard her familiar knock at my door.
Monday, 2 February 2009
Task 35: HORROR
Firstly, WELL DONE on your fantastic submissions for Task 34. Your moderators were treated to some very impressive writing, and some equally strong commentaries on your chosen opening.
I was a little disappointed with the number of typos and other careless spelling/punctuation errors, but I am confident you will be able to iron them out BEFORE posting for Task 35.
I shall be using a similar format for each of your prose tasks this term: a) a commentary on an excerpt of prose; and b) your own piece of original writing.
This week, we shall focus on writing in the HORROR genre.
TASK 35
A Warning: It is often too easy to indulge in graphic, gory detail - but remember that sometimes the scariest writing leaves as much as possible to the imagination of the reader. The best HORROR writing is a masterclass in the 'Show, don't Tell' technique; so don't drown us in blood and gore and anything too obvious or melodramatic.
Your submissions should be posted by MIDNIGHT on SATURDAY 7TH FEBRUARY.
Good luck!
I was a little disappointed with the number of typos and other careless spelling/punctuation errors, but I am confident you will be able to iron them out BEFORE posting for Task 35.
I shall be using a similar format for each of your prose tasks this term: a) a commentary on an excerpt of prose; and b) your own piece of original writing.
This week, we shall focus on writing in the HORROR genre.
TASK 35
- Choose ONE of the FOUR excerpts and explain why you think it is an effective piece of HORROR fiction.
- Write your own piece of HORROR fiction: it could be the 'opening' of a horror novel, or an 'abstract' from the middle of your imagined story. Whichever you choose, it should be between 200-300 words, and should achieve some of the objectives of horror writing (see below). As always, you should also give considerable thought to the beginning and ending of your piece.
A Warning: It is often too easy to indulge in graphic, gory detail - but remember that sometimes the scariest writing leaves as much as possible to the imagination of the reader. The best HORROR writing is a masterclass in the 'Show, don't Tell' technique; so don't drown us in blood and gore and anything too obvious or melodramatic.
Your submissions should be posted by MIDNIGHT on SATURDAY 7TH FEBRUARY.
Good luck!
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