Today in class we had to start our essay, this is what I have so far.
That day dad had taken us to school-me and my sister. It wasn't such a rare occurrence, just on the odd occasion when my mum was at a meeting or seminar. We always hated those days purely as it meant less time in bed-it seems so petty to complain about a measly loss of 15 more minutes. My mum had left early to go to Oban or somewhere, I don’t really remember where she was going that day or what for. All I know is that she was travelling in that direction, along the rest and be thankful, when it happened.
It was an odd day, one of those in between sort of days. It was freezing and frosty but the sun was shining, the ice shimmering. At the ring of the school bell signalling the end of lunch, my friends and I began to hurry towards the school, glad for an excuse to get back indoors. I remember seeing my dad standing at the front of the school. We greeted him and he replied. But he seemed elsewhere. Distant.
It’s hard to recall him telling me, but I do remember great confusion. Mum had crashed. The car. Rolled three times. Ended in a ditch. But she was ok. She was fine. Shaken, but not hurt. It was “a miracle”; she’d walked out herself, with barely a scratch and a rip in her tights. I didn’t know what to say, oblivious to the sheer scale of this event. I had no idea what I was expected to say. My dad walked away as I followed the rest of the latecomers up to class.
SS
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Personal/reflective essays
Hi! Today I got my first higher essay back (which was on Trio) and I got 16 out of 25! I'm quite pleased with that actually-is that a pretty good mark for a first attempt at higher level? Also, today we had to choose what type of essay to write (either argumentative, persuasive, short story etc.) and I thought I would probably be best off going for personal/reflective. Would you mind telling me what makes a good personal/reflective essay and what should be avoided? I felt slightly intimidated by some of the things that were being said in class, ie-implicit and explicit, as most people knew exactly what was being said and understood everything. However, a lot of what was being described was completely new to me. Judging by my past attempts at personal experience are there any pointers you can give me for writing this essay?
Thank you
SS
PS-I was talking to LP today and it would seem that she may be considering blogging again too!
Thank you
SS
PS-I was talking to LP today and it would seem that she may be considering blogging again too!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Redraft of redraft
The poet uses a harsh tone when he tells us that “the bulldozer breaks raw bricks to powder”. The resurrection of the city during the building programme was not achieved without pain, which comes out in the use of the word "raw". Glasgow’s previous state is clearly significant as it will always be missed by the inhabitants of the city. Towards the end of the poem Iain Crichton Smith finally accepts that “buildings sail into the future”, and the tone becomes more upbeat showing he has finally accepted that things change. The use of the word “sail” shows confidence and therefore also establishes the optimistic tone. The poet remembers the “old songs you sang”, a symbol of Gaelic culture, which shows that although trends change, the past will always be remembered. In the last line of the poem, the poet reflects on the changes music has experienced over the years, “scale on dizzying scale”. This line is a pun as it reflects on both the pop music that is around at the moment due to the changes music has been through during the years, and also the sheer scale of changes that have occurred. The poet is accepting the changes Glasgow has experienced over the years, and how significant this has been.
SS
SS
Friday, October 27, 2006
Redraft.
Thanks for your help, I've made a few changes.
The poet still feels guilty about rejecting his mother’s faith years later; therefore it must be significant to him. He sees Calvinism as a “black figure” which was devoid of pleasure. The imagery of “the gaslit blue” is that of the dim light of the past, which contrasts with the “fiercer voltage” of today now that we have electricity. This shows the significance of the past as this image of the “gaslit blue” has remained with the poet throughout the years. The poet feels that “The past’s an experience that we cannot share”, an important theme of the poem, perhaps because he feels the past is so important that full recognition cannot possibly be given to it.
The poet uses a harsh tone when he tells us that “the bulldozer breaks raw bricks to powder”. The resurrection of the city during the building programme was not achieved without pain, which comes out in the use of the word "raw". Glasgow’s previous state is clearly significant as it will always be missed by the inhabitants of the city. Towards the end of the poem Iain Crichton Smith finally accepts that “buildings sail into the future”, and the tone becomes more upbeat showing he has finally accepted that things change. The use of the word “sail” shows confidence and therefore also establishes the upbeat tone. The poet remembers the “old songs you sang”, a symbol of Gaelic culture, which shows that although trends change, the past will always be remembered. In the last line of the poem, the poet reflects on the changes music has experienced over the years, “scale on dizzying scale”. As this line is a pun, he also accepts the sheer scale of change Glasgow has experienced over the years, and how significant this has been.
PS - I am unsure of how to include a description of the pun. Also, I have just finished reading "Grace Notes" by Bernard MacLaverty for my personal study and I have to come up with a question for me to answer on the book but am struugling to do so. I was thinking of maybe something to do with how music is integrated into the story. Do you have any thoughts?
PPS - You should tell your Standard grade blogger of the miracles of the blog! Perhaps that will get him/her working.
SS
The poet still feels guilty about rejecting his mother’s faith years later; therefore it must be significant to him. He sees Calvinism as a “black figure” which was devoid of pleasure. The imagery of “the gaslit blue” is that of the dim light of the past, which contrasts with the “fiercer voltage” of today now that we have electricity. This shows the significance of the past as this image of the “gaslit blue” has remained with the poet throughout the years. The poet feels that “The past’s an experience that we cannot share”, an important theme of the poem, perhaps because he feels the past is so important that full recognition cannot possibly be given to it.
The poet uses a harsh tone when he tells us that “the bulldozer breaks raw bricks to powder”. The resurrection of the city during the building programme was not achieved without pain, which comes out in the use of the word "raw". Glasgow’s previous state is clearly significant as it will always be missed by the inhabitants of the city. Towards the end of the poem Iain Crichton Smith finally accepts that “buildings sail into the future”, and the tone becomes more upbeat showing he has finally accepted that things change. The use of the word “sail” shows confidence and therefore also establishes the upbeat tone. The poet remembers the “old songs you sang”, a symbol of Gaelic culture, which shows that although trends change, the past will always be remembered. In the last line of the poem, the poet reflects on the changes music has experienced over the years, “scale on dizzying scale”. As this line is a pun, he also accepts the sheer scale of change Glasgow has experienced over the years, and how significant this has been.
PS - I am unsure of how to include a description of the pun. Also, I have just finished reading "Grace Notes" by Bernard MacLaverty for my personal study and I have to come up with a question for me to answer on the book but am struugling to do so. I was thinking of maybe something to do with how music is integrated into the story. Do you have any thoughts?
PPS - You should tell your Standard grade blogger of the miracles of the blog! Perhaps that will get him/her working.
SS
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Part of a critical essay I've been working on.
This is part of an essay I had to write for homework over the holidays. It is on "You lived in Glasgow" by Iain Crichton Smith.
The poet still feels guilty about rejecting his mother’s faith years later; therefore it must be significant to him. He sees Calvinism as a “black figure” which was devoid of pleasure. Through “the gaslit blue” it can be seen that a visual element from the past has remained with the poet. Also there is a contrast with the “fiercer voltage” described by the poet, which through imagery also shows the significance of the past as the image of the “gaslit blue” has not been forgotten by the poet. The poet feels that “The past’s an experience that we cannot share”, an important theme of the poem, perhaps because he feels the past is so important that full recognition cannot possibly be given to it.
(Also I struggled with this paragraph)
A harsh tone is used when the poet states that: “the bulldozer breaks raw bricks to powder” to present how harsh he found the resurrection of the city during the building programme and how Glasgow’s previous state will always be missed by the inhabitants of the city. Towards the end of the poem Iain Crichton Smith finally accepts that “buildings sail into the future”, and the tone becomes more upbeat showing he has finally accepted that things change. The poet, as a symbol of Gaelic culture, remembers the “old songs you sang” which shows that although trends change, the past will always be remembered. In the last line of the poem, the poet reflects on the changes music has experienced over the years, “scale on dizzying scale”. As this line is a pun, he also accepts the sheer scale of change Glasgow has experienced over the years, and how significant this has been.
SS
PS-Thanks for all your help, it's great to be back in the world of blogging!
The poet still feels guilty about rejecting his mother’s faith years later; therefore it must be significant to him. He sees Calvinism as a “black figure” which was devoid of pleasure. Through “the gaslit blue” it can be seen that a visual element from the past has remained with the poet. Also there is a contrast with the “fiercer voltage” described by the poet, which through imagery also shows the significance of the past as the image of the “gaslit blue” has not been forgotten by the poet. The poet feels that “The past’s an experience that we cannot share”, an important theme of the poem, perhaps because he feels the past is so important that full recognition cannot possibly be given to it.
(Also I struggled with this paragraph)
A harsh tone is used when the poet states that: “the bulldozer breaks raw bricks to powder” to present how harsh he found the resurrection of the city during the building programme and how Glasgow’s previous state will always be missed by the inhabitants of the city. Towards the end of the poem Iain Crichton Smith finally accepts that “buildings sail into the future”, and the tone becomes more upbeat showing he has finally accepted that things change. The poet, as a symbol of Gaelic culture, remembers the “old songs you sang” which shows that although trends change, the past will always be remembered. In the last line of the poem, the poet reflects on the changes music has experienced over the years, “scale on dizzying scale”. As this line is a pun, he also accepts the sheer scale of change Glasgow has experienced over the years, and how significant this has been.
SS
PS-Thanks for all your help, it's great to be back in the world of blogging!
Friday, October 20, 2006
Back again!
Hi! I've decided that it would be a really good idea if I continued blogging this year as I am currently taking higher. However, I am unsure of what to write because the course seems to mainly involve writing critical essays. Any advice?
SS
SS
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
My progress report
In my prelim earlier this year I got a grade 3 for my writing and a grade 2 for my reading. I'd never struggled in english before so had been expecting more than this. I was quickly running out of time as the final exam drew nearer and nearer. My grades still weren't improving and I was losing faith in myself, so my parents decided to arrange tutoring for me. Once a week, for just a couple of months, a friend and I went to tutuoring with my previous english teacher Mrs McIntosh. She decided that since an hour session every week would probably make very little difference to our grades, we should make a blog and post just a paragraph of a story every night if possible. The plan was that we would build up our story night upon night with Mrs McIntosh giving us guidance and pointers on where we were going wrong and how to improve. My writing began to improve and I started to gain confidence again.
In my standard grade english exam this year I achieved not only an overall 1, but straight 1s in every element of english and it's all thanks to Mrs McIntosh and her fantastic blog idea.
SS
In my standard grade english exam this year I achieved not only an overall 1, but straight 1s in every element of english and it's all thanks to Mrs McIntosh and her fantastic blog idea.
SS
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Thank you!
Hi!
Well that's the dreaded English exam over now and both LP and myself feel that it went pretty well - although we're trying really hard not to jinx it! We just wanted to say thank you to everyone who spent time reading our entries and leaving comments. Also most importantly we want to thank you Chris for all your help and guidance. Hopefully when our certificates arrive in August we will have grades that we can really be proud of!
SS
Well that's the dreaded English exam over now and both LP and myself feel that it went pretty well - although we're trying really hard not to jinx it! We just wanted to say thank you to everyone who spent time reading our entries and leaving comments. Also most importantly we want to thank you Chris for all your help and guidance. Hopefully when our certificates arrive in August we will have grades that we can really be proud of!
SS
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Question - Write about an incident in your life when you felt that there was no escape.
Remember to include your thoughts and feelings.
The moment I heard that there had been a severe boat crash in Tarbert, involving three couples and killing three vital members of our close community, the sheer scale of the accident didn’t hit me. It wasn’t until the following day when I saw details of the event in the tabloids that I finally realised that Issie, once a dear family friend, was really gone forever …
It was a typical day in the school holidays and I was spending the day with my friends shopping in Greenock – we all needed a busy day to take our minds off things. We all tried hard not to mention the previous day’s events: but even remotely related topics brought vivid images of Issie back.
Once we arrived at the shopping centre we headed for a newsagents; we all felt rather hungry. I was wandering carefree around the shop when all of a sudden something caught my eye from the opposite wall.
It was her.
Shaking, I made my way towards the newspaper and grasped it firmly with both of my hands. Issie’s radiant smile was spread across the front page. I sorrowfully wandered over to the till and paid for the paper, before speedily sprinting towards the door.
I collapsed on a bench outside before struggling to open to paper. Trembling, I tore through the pages before reaching the centrefold. The sharp headline hit me; the vivid images of the demolished boat scarred my eyes. It was true. My eyes felt heavy as they scanned the story. Issie was really dead. Tears started to develop in my eyes as slowly they brimmed over my eyelids. My chest was closing in. I felt faint. How could this happen? Why? Issues was not only my music teacher but she had once been a close friend. We had gone on holiday together; I distinctly remember her fear of the water. Why had she been on a speedboat so late? How could she be gone?
I began gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t escape. I had to leave: I had to just get away and leave this horrific nightmare behind. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t just a bad dream – it was completely real. There was nothing that I, or anyone else, could do. The lump in my throat and hammering pain in my chest felt real though. And the warm salty tears which were streaming down my cheeks mixing with the cold sweat on my face were horribly realistic. Still shaking, my hands crumpled the paper, as I broke down into tears. I had to get away. I glanced up and desperately looked for an exit. I wanted to run away to a simpler time when Issie would still be there – but I couldn’t.
Suddenly, through my tears, I caught sight of my friends’ concerned faces. I opened my mouth struggling to find the words but they escaped me. I shook my head and buried my head into my sweaty hands. There truly was no escape. Issie was gone.
“Sarah?” someone asked.
I gazed up at the blurry faces in front of me and croaked through my tears “Issie …”
They all stared blankly at me, unaware of what would be the right thing to say. Unaware of how I felt. Unaware that I just wanted to wake up from this traumatic nightmare.
I realise that this is a couple of sentences too short but there were a lot of distractions in the house that would obviously not happen in an exam. Could you possibly tell me what grade I would achieve for this if it was just a bit longer?
SS
Remember to include your thoughts and feelings.
The moment I heard that there had been a severe boat crash in Tarbert, involving three couples and killing three vital members of our close community, the sheer scale of the accident didn’t hit me. It wasn’t until the following day when I saw details of the event in the tabloids that I finally realised that Issie, once a dear family friend, was really gone forever …
It was a typical day in the school holidays and I was spending the day with my friends shopping in Greenock – we all needed a busy day to take our minds off things. We all tried hard not to mention the previous day’s events: but even remotely related topics brought vivid images of Issie back.
Once we arrived at the shopping centre we headed for a newsagents; we all felt rather hungry. I was wandering carefree around the shop when all of a sudden something caught my eye from the opposite wall.
It was her.
Shaking, I made my way towards the newspaper and grasped it firmly with both of my hands. Issie’s radiant smile was spread across the front page. I sorrowfully wandered over to the till and paid for the paper, before speedily sprinting towards the door.
I collapsed on a bench outside before struggling to open to paper. Trembling, I tore through the pages before reaching the centrefold. The sharp headline hit me; the vivid images of the demolished boat scarred my eyes. It was true. My eyes felt heavy as they scanned the story. Issie was really dead. Tears started to develop in my eyes as slowly they brimmed over my eyelids. My chest was closing in. I felt faint. How could this happen? Why? Issues was not only my music teacher but she had once been a close friend. We had gone on holiday together; I distinctly remember her fear of the water. Why had she been on a speedboat so late? How could she be gone?
I began gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t escape. I had to leave: I had to just get away and leave this horrific nightmare behind. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t just a bad dream – it was completely real. There was nothing that I, or anyone else, could do. The lump in my throat and hammering pain in my chest felt real though. And the warm salty tears which were streaming down my cheeks mixing with the cold sweat on my face were horribly realistic. Still shaking, my hands crumpled the paper, as I broke down into tears. I had to get away. I glanced up and desperately looked for an exit. I wanted to run away to a simpler time when Issie would still be there – but I couldn’t.
Suddenly, through my tears, I caught sight of my friends’ concerned faces. I opened my mouth struggling to find the words but they escaped me. I shook my head and buried my head into my sweaty hands. There truly was no escape. Issie was gone.
“Sarah?” someone asked.
I gazed up at the blurry faces in front of me and croaked through my tears “Issie …”
They all stared blankly at me, unaware of what would be the right thing to say. Unaware of how I felt. Unaware that I just wanted to wake up from this traumatic nightmare.
I realise that this is a couple of sentences too short but there were a lot of distractions in the house that would obviously not happen in an exam. Could you possibly tell me what grade I would achieve for this if it was just a bit longer?
SS
past paper
I have done a past paper question it is 999 words, I am quite a fast writer, although it did take me almost all of the time limit. I will need to manage my time a bit beter.
Question: Write in any way you wish using the following title; Curiosity Killed
”Why?!” she yelled at her mother, marching back and forth as she became increasingly frustrated. “Why won’t you give me a proper answer?” Her mother did not answer her but instead continued scrubbing at the dirty dishes. Alison knew her mother like the back of her hand, she could tell what each and every one of her facial expressions meant. Even if mother had the biggest smile on her face, Alison could look at her and know if there was something not quite right. This time she knew that her mother was hiding something from her, although it was unclear why.
For years Alison had established that she was different from her family. She knew that although she shared certain characteristics with her mother, very few were also shared with her siblings. The only characteristics Alison had in common with her younger brother and sister were small things such as, eye colour and freckles but these were also shared with her mother and her father. Although she had always wondered why there were bigger features in her face and body that the others in her family did not have. Why did she have blonde hair whilst her family all had a dark auburn colour? Why was she almost the same height as her cousins and aunts, even though she was much younger? Why was her shape of face of completely different to everyone else?
With all of these thoughts and her emotions bubbling up inside her waiting to burst, Alison stomped her feet off the floor and let out an exasperated scream as she stormed out of the kitchen marching towards her bedroom. She quickly got to her room, slammed the door shut and paced her bedroom floor as her impatience grew with every second. Alison then began thinking of new ways to expand her knowledge of her family history, knowing that she was not going to get any information from her mother she decided that she would pursue her search with a different approach. What could she possibly do, she wasn’t even sure who or what to look for!
Alison then realised that her mother and her father kept heaps of old boxes, full of impractical keepsakes and old photographs, in the attic. Alison pulled on her slippers and a warm jumper and climbed up the ladders into the cold, dusty, old room. As her breath appeared in front of her, she looked at the piles of boxes and wondered what answers she would come across. She dug deep behind the boxes at the front marked “toys“, “books” and “junk” as she new that they had just been placed there quite recently after a large clear out of their bedrooms. After a few minutes of searching and rumbling around with her torch, she discovered a box marked, “rubbish” in her mother’s handwriting. Brushing away the cobwebs, Alison wondered why her mother would keep “rubbish” hidden away. Alison carefully carried the box to under the skylight window where she would be able to view the contents better, pulled over an old beanbag and sat down with the box on her lap. If she opened it, would this be an invasion of her mother’s privacy or would this be the answer she was looking for? It didn’t take her long to decide, she had to know. She carefully opened the box and looked inside. She rummaged around and found several letters and a photograph of a strange man. The man was wearing a uniform, as though he was in the navy. Alison felt intrigued as she began to notice he had similar features to her, the kind her family did not. Her stomach lurched. Shiny blonde hair, he stood very straight which made Alison think that he might be tall and they both had the same rounded jaw line. She placed the photo to one side, heart racing, she carefully opened one of the letters with her trembling fingers. All of the letters had the same handwriting and were all addressed to her mother. The postage stamps were marked the Falkland Islands. She read through one of the letters and her eyes started streaming with tears as she read, “I am so sorry I wasn’t there to see the birth of our baby girl. I am hoping that the war will end soon and you and Alison and I can be together.” Her eyes felt heavy and were heating up. Trying to hold back the tears she could not bear to read on. With this evidence and the fact she was older than her siblings by approximately 6 years she knew that this must be her answer.
On wobbly legs she walked into the living room where her mother was sitting, she thrust the photograph and the letter into her mother’s hand unable to talk through her uncontrollable flow of tears. Her mother looked at her daughter in disbelief, her eyes filling up. “Where did you find this?!” she yelled not knowing whether to be angry or upset. Alison sobbed, “Will you give me some answers now? He is my real father isn’t he?” and collapsed in a heap beside her mother. Her mother nodded. “Why didn’t you just tell me, why did you wait so long that I had find out myself?” Alison slurred.
“I am so sorry, I thought it would have been better this way for the both of us. I didn‘t want it affecting your relationship with your dad.” her mother explained as her tears flowed more rapidly.
“Will you tell me about him?” Alison asked as her head began to pound. She could not be angry as she could tell by his letter that he loved her mother very much.
“Of course,” she replied, took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. Alison knew that whatever her mother was about to say would finally answer her questions but wondered how it would change her life and if she would ever regret asking.
L.P.
Question: Write in any way you wish using the following title; Curiosity Killed
”Why?!” she yelled at her mother, marching back and forth as she became increasingly frustrated. “Why won’t you give me a proper answer?” Her mother did not answer her but instead continued scrubbing at the dirty dishes. Alison knew her mother like the back of her hand, she could tell what each and every one of her facial expressions meant. Even if mother had the biggest smile on her face, Alison could look at her and know if there was something not quite right. This time she knew that her mother was hiding something from her, although it was unclear why.
For years Alison had established that she was different from her family. She knew that although she shared certain characteristics with her mother, very few were also shared with her siblings. The only characteristics Alison had in common with her younger brother and sister were small things such as, eye colour and freckles but these were also shared with her mother and her father. Although she had always wondered why there were bigger features in her face and body that the others in her family did not have. Why did she have blonde hair whilst her family all had a dark auburn colour? Why was she almost the same height as her cousins and aunts, even though she was much younger? Why was her shape of face of completely different to everyone else?
With all of these thoughts and her emotions bubbling up inside her waiting to burst, Alison stomped her feet off the floor and let out an exasperated scream as she stormed out of the kitchen marching towards her bedroom. She quickly got to her room, slammed the door shut and paced her bedroom floor as her impatience grew with every second. Alison then began thinking of new ways to expand her knowledge of her family history, knowing that she was not going to get any information from her mother she decided that she would pursue her search with a different approach. What could she possibly do, she wasn’t even sure who or what to look for!
Alison then realised that her mother and her father kept heaps of old boxes, full of impractical keepsakes and old photographs, in the attic. Alison pulled on her slippers and a warm jumper and climbed up the ladders into the cold, dusty, old room. As her breath appeared in front of her, she looked at the piles of boxes and wondered what answers she would come across. She dug deep behind the boxes at the front marked “toys“, “books” and “junk” as she new that they had just been placed there quite recently after a large clear out of their bedrooms. After a few minutes of searching and rumbling around with her torch, she discovered a box marked, “rubbish” in her mother’s handwriting. Brushing away the cobwebs, Alison wondered why her mother would keep “rubbish” hidden away. Alison carefully carried the box to under the skylight window where she would be able to view the contents better, pulled over an old beanbag and sat down with the box on her lap. If she opened it, would this be an invasion of her mother’s privacy or would this be the answer she was looking for? It didn’t take her long to decide, she had to know. She carefully opened the box and looked inside. She rummaged around and found several letters and a photograph of a strange man. The man was wearing a uniform, as though he was in the navy. Alison felt intrigued as she began to notice he had similar features to her, the kind her family did not. Her stomach lurched. Shiny blonde hair, he stood very straight which made Alison think that he might be tall and they both had the same rounded jaw line. She placed the photo to one side, heart racing, she carefully opened one of the letters with her trembling fingers. All of the letters had the same handwriting and were all addressed to her mother. The postage stamps were marked the Falkland Islands. She read through one of the letters and her eyes started streaming with tears as she read, “I am so sorry I wasn’t there to see the birth of our baby girl. I am hoping that the war will end soon and you and Alison and I can be together.” Her eyes felt heavy and were heating up. Trying to hold back the tears she could not bear to read on. With this evidence and the fact she was older than her siblings by approximately 6 years she knew that this must be her answer.
On wobbly legs she walked into the living room where her mother was sitting, she thrust the photograph and the letter into her mother’s hand unable to talk through her uncontrollable flow of tears. Her mother looked at her daughter in disbelief, her eyes filling up. “Where did you find this?!” she yelled not knowing whether to be angry or upset. Alison sobbed, “Will you give me some answers now? He is my real father isn’t he?” and collapsed in a heap beside her mother. Her mother nodded. “Why didn’t you just tell me, why did you wait so long that I had find out myself?” Alison slurred.
“I am so sorry, I thought it would have been better this way for the both of us. I didn‘t want it affecting your relationship with your dad.” her mother explained as her tears flowed more rapidly.
“Will you tell me about him?” Alison asked as her head began to pound. She could not be angry as she could tell by his letter that he loved her mother very much.
“Of course,” she replied, took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. Alison knew that whatever her mother was about to say would finally answer her questions but wondered how it would change her life and if she would ever regret asking.
L.P.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Past Paper
Today I did both a reading past paper (I got 77%) and a writing past paper, here it is. It is 778 words long and has been left exactly the way it was written during the time limit.
Question – Write about an occasion when you either took part in a live performance or helped behind the scenes. Remember to include your thoughts and feelings.
Leaving the school concert that night I remember walking out with my head held high. I had done it. Not only had I made my teacher proud, and my family, but most importantly I was proud of myself and achieving this above everything else, had been the biggest struggle of all …
In the last few hours leading up to the concert I had not been able to stop quivering: even the most measly minuscule tasks had seemed impossible. When my relatives had arrived to support me their usual bubbly reception had deteriorated and instead all I could do was mutter a simple hello.
After having to bin the majority of my dinner – my stomach was in knots – I grasped my clarinets and my music folder. I remember rummaging through my folder or numerous occasions, never fully convinced that I had all of my music.
As I stepped out the door towards my doom a strong gust of wind pushed me from behind, almost nudging me onwards.
As time passed by my self-belief left with it. I watched as the bright red door swung back and forth time and time again as the audience poured into the school. With every swing, my stomach lurched even more.
The clock ticked tantalisingly as my moment of truth grew nearer and nearer. Before I knew it the band were standing in the wings waiting to go on.
“You ready?” my teacher had asked before presenting me with a sympathetic smile – fat lot of good that would do!
There was a lump in my throat, I couldn’t let Mr Derrett down, what would he think of me?
“Yes” I whimpered whilst my eyes began to feel heaving and my chest started closing in.
The band had walked on to rapturous applause that night. Louder than usual surely? The heat was immense. At one point I had felt like I was gong to faint but luck did not seem to be on my side. The band’s performance flew by – I was completely unaware of how I had played – and soon it was time for that piece. The piece I had been practising for months on end. The piece that had transformed me into a nervous wreck. The piece that had that Mount Everest of a clarinet Cadenza slap bang in the middle of it. …
As Mr Derrett had turned to announce the piece to the unsuspecting audience I told myself that it would be all over soon and that I could play this piece. They were just people after all, and this was my chance to shine. I had been chosen to play this because Mr Derrett thought I could, and if he believed I could, then I definitely could.
I sucked my specially selected reed and placed it carefully in a regimented fashion. I glanced up at Mr Derrett as he raised the baton, took a deep breath and the piece began.
My fingers moved rapidly as that third page of music got nearer. I was trembling and my fingers seemed out of control as sweat collected on my palms. Before I knew it the brass section were playing and I started collecting my thoughts.
I looked at the audience and picked out my parents, I was so eager to make them proud. I wiped my hand on my legs and lifted my clarinet from its stand. I glanced at the music covered in black dots and markings, I knew that music, I could play it. The brass played the penultimate bar of that section as I placed the mouthpiece in my mouth and took a deep breath.
The audience were silent as I played my robust first note with a bit more vibrato than I had intended! I continued through the first line until I reached those mountainous runs, which I managed with ease. I took another deep breath and before I knew it I had reached the all-important high G which surprisingly came out in perfect pitch. I started to enjoy the experience, everyone was watching me and I was playing better than I had ever imagined. The pause note was in sight as I soared through the music with flair and eventually my solo was over and all that was left to do was to sit back enjoy the rest of the piece.
As I stood up to face the audience for my bow I caught my sister’s eye, she looked proud, I had performed my solo, and I was still alive to tell the tale. As a smile spread across my face I pondered over this experience, perhaps one day I would write about it? Perhaps not.
SS
Question – Write about an occasion when you either took part in a live performance or helped behind the scenes. Remember to include your thoughts and feelings.
Leaving the school concert that night I remember walking out with my head held high. I had done it. Not only had I made my teacher proud, and my family, but most importantly I was proud of myself and achieving this above everything else, had been the biggest struggle of all …
In the last few hours leading up to the concert I had not been able to stop quivering: even the most measly minuscule tasks had seemed impossible. When my relatives had arrived to support me their usual bubbly reception had deteriorated and instead all I could do was mutter a simple hello.
After having to bin the majority of my dinner – my stomach was in knots – I grasped my clarinets and my music folder. I remember rummaging through my folder or numerous occasions, never fully convinced that I had all of my music.
As I stepped out the door towards my doom a strong gust of wind pushed me from behind, almost nudging me onwards.
As time passed by my self-belief left with it. I watched as the bright red door swung back and forth time and time again as the audience poured into the school. With every swing, my stomach lurched even more.
The clock ticked tantalisingly as my moment of truth grew nearer and nearer. Before I knew it the band were standing in the wings waiting to go on.
“You ready?” my teacher had asked before presenting me with a sympathetic smile – fat lot of good that would do!
There was a lump in my throat, I couldn’t let Mr Derrett down, what would he think of me?
“Yes” I whimpered whilst my eyes began to feel heaving and my chest started closing in.
The band had walked on to rapturous applause that night. Louder than usual surely? The heat was immense. At one point I had felt like I was gong to faint but luck did not seem to be on my side. The band’s performance flew by – I was completely unaware of how I had played – and soon it was time for that piece. The piece I had been practising for months on end. The piece that had transformed me into a nervous wreck. The piece that had that Mount Everest of a clarinet Cadenza slap bang in the middle of it. …
As Mr Derrett had turned to announce the piece to the unsuspecting audience I told myself that it would be all over soon and that I could play this piece. They were just people after all, and this was my chance to shine. I had been chosen to play this because Mr Derrett thought I could, and if he believed I could, then I definitely could.
I sucked my specially selected reed and placed it carefully in a regimented fashion. I glanced up at Mr Derrett as he raised the baton, took a deep breath and the piece began.
My fingers moved rapidly as that third page of music got nearer. I was trembling and my fingers seemed out of control as sweat collected on my palms. Before I knew it the brass section were playing and I started collecting my thoughts.
I looked at the audience and picked out my parents, I was so eager to make them proud. I wiped my hand on my legs and lifted my clarinet from its stand. I glanced at the music covered in black dots and markings, I knew that music, I could play it. The brass played the penultimate bar of that section as I placed the mouthpiece in my mouth and took a deep breath.
The audience were silent as I played my robust first note with a bit more vibrato than I had intended! I continued through the first line until I reached those mountainous runs, which I managed with ease. I took another deep breath and before I knew it I had reached the all-important high G which surprisingly came out in perfect pitch. I started to enjoy the experience, everyone was watching me and I was playing better than I had ever imagined. The pause note was in sight as I soared through the music with flair and eventually my solo was over and all that was left to do was to sit back enjoy the rest of the piece.
As I stood up to face the audience for my bow I caught my sister’s eye, she looked proud, I had performed my solo, and I was still alive to tell the tale. As a smile spread across my face I pondered over this experience, perhaps one day I would write about it? Perhaps not.
SS
Thursday, April 27, 2006
dialogue
Hi! I thought i would try dialogue now using different accents.
As I stepped out of the airport and onto the dusty, brown, foreign land, I was welcomed with open arms, "Awlrayt mayt ow was yowr floite?" It took me a second or two to realise what she was asking me. "Aye it wiz really good, dead relaxin'!" I replied as i noticed the look on her face it seemed as though she did not quite understand me either.
"Roite then 'op in the ca' and ai'l show you where you'll be stayin'!" she said as she gestured towards the car door. As i climbed inside, i wondered how long it would take to finally understand her without having to think about it.
L.P
As I stepped out of the airport and onto the dusty, brown, foreign land, I was welcomed with open arms, "Awlrayt mayt ow was yowr floite?" It took me a second or two to realise what she was asking me. "Aye it wiz really good, dead relaxin'!" I replied as i noticed the look on her face it seemed as though she did not quite understand me either.
"Roite then 'op in the ca' and ai'l show you where you'll be stayin'!" she said as she gestured towards the car door. As i climbed inside, i wondered how long it would take to finally understand her without having to think about it.
L.P
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Rejig
I am still not entirely sure what a split infinitive is, do you mean "to ever gain"? I'm not sure how to go about writing some stream of consciousness in past tense?
"You ready?" the stewardess asked politely.
I gulped and took a deep breath. "Yes," I whispered, struggling to sound confident.
It was my only chance to gain a place in this orchestra: next year I would be too old. I constantly told myself that there was nothing to worry about as I climbed the stairs, although I didn't really believe it. I realised that if I didn't give it my all, all those months of practising would have gone to waste. The door was finally in sight, I could't turn back now. I muttered some last minute words of encouragement under my breath, before reaching out and grasping the handle.
SS
"You ready?" the stewardess asked politely.
I gulped and took a deep breath. "Yes," I whispered, struggling to sound confident.
It was my only chance to gain a place in this orchestra: next year I would be too old. I constantly told myself that there was nothing to worry about as I climbed the stairs, although I didn't really believe it. I realised that if I didn't give it my all, all those months of practising would have gone to waste. The door was finally in sight, I could't turn back now. I muttered some last minute words of encouragement under my breath, before reaching out and grasping the handle.
SS
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Rejig of descriptive paragraph with a bit extra
I used Picasso as the comparison as I thought his work was thought of as being different and obscure? Perhaps I am wrong though. The paragraph is about me going in for an important audition.
Trembling, I opened the door to face the scorching sun leering through the glass sliding door onto the clinical white staircase. I glanced up the spiralling stairs into the gloom that lay ahead. The hallway was covered in paintings that - unless some kind of abstract art - were the pride and joy of a young class of wannabe Picassos. As I climbed up the staircase, the view of the regimented car park suddenly seemed very appealing indeed...
"You ready?" the stewardess asked politely.
I gulped and took a deep breath "Yes," I whispered, struggling to sound confident.
It was my only chance to ever gain a place in this orchestra: next year I would be too old. As I climbed the stairs constantly telling myself that there was nothing to worry about, although not truly believing it, I realised that if I didn't give it my all, all those months of practising would have gone to waste. Once the door was finally in sight, I uttered some last minute words of encouragement under my breath before reaching out and grabbing the handle.
SS
Trembling, I opened the door to face the scorching sun leering through the glass sliding door onto the clinical white staircase. I glanced up the spiralling stairs into the gloom that lay ahead. The hallway was covered in paintings that - unless some kind of abstract art - were the pride and joy of a young class of wannabe Picassos. As I climbed up the staircase, the view of the regimented car park suddenly seemed very appealing indeed...
"You ready?" the stewardess asked politely.
I gulped and took a deep breath "Yes," I whispered, struggling to sound confident.
It was my only chance to ever gain a place in this orchestra: next year I would be too old. As I climbed the stairs constantly telling myself that there was nothing to worry about, although not truly believing it, I realised that if I didn't give it my all, all those months of practising would have gone to waste. Once the door was finally in sight, I uttered some last minute words of encouragement under my breath before reaching out and grabbing the handle.
SS
Monday, April 24, 2006
I'm trying to write something descripitive for a personal experience now.
Trembling, I had opened the door to face the scorching sun leering through the glass sliding door onto the clinical white steps. I glanced up the spiralling stairs into the gloom that lay ahead. The hallway was covered in paintings that - unless some kind of abstract art - were the pride and joy of a young class of wannabe Piccassos. As I had climbed up the staircase, the view of the regimented car park suddenly seemed very appealing indeed...
SS
Trembling, I had opened the door to face the scorching sun leering through the glass sliding door onto the clinical white steps. I glanced up the spiralling stairs into the gloom that lay ahead. The hallway was covered in paintings that - unless some kind of abstract art - were the pride and joy of a young class of wannabe Piccassos. As I had climbed up the staircase, the view of the regimented car park suddenly seemed very appealing indeed...
SS
Rejig Of Opening Paragraph
Thanks for your help. Yes, I feel like I am finally beginning to understand the pluperfect tense.
Groaning, I had woken up reluctantly to my wailing alarm clock. The sickening tune it emitted seemed somehow worse than a simple beeping. As the sun peered through my window, I had suddenly realised what day it was. I remember pulling the covers over my head as if to shield out the day's events, to prevent them from happening. But I had to face the music at some point.
SS
Groaning, I had woken up reluctantly to my wailing alarm clock. The sickening tune it emitted seemed somehow worse than a simple beeping. As the sun peered through my window, I had suddenly realised what day it was. I remember pulling the covers over my head as if to shield out the day's events, to prevent them from happening. But I had to face the music at some point.
SS
descriptive paragraph
I have decided to leave my story for now and attempt the descriptive element of writing.
Standing on the shore, he gazed into the vast open air. Stretching into the horizon lay a clear blue lake, so motionless, it resembled a huge sheet of glass, mirroring the sky’s every movement. The tiny golden grains tickled his bare feet as he stood taking in the view. Nothing could be heard except the joyous singing of the occasional bird or the gentle lapping of the water
L.P
Standing on the shore, he gazed into the vast open air. Stretching into the horizon lay a clear blue lake, so motionless, it resembled a huge sheet of glass, mirroring the sky’s every movement. The tiny golden grains tickled his bare feet as he stood taking in the view. Nothing could be heard except the joyous singing of the occasional bird or the gentle lapping of the water
L.P
Monday, April 03, 2006
The Story so far with a few changes
Sorry, but I don't understand what is meant by the pluperfect tense.
Myrtle didn't know where she was running to, or when she would stop, but she knew why. The pouring rain clouded her vision through her newly broken glasses. Her nose tickled; there was a pungent smell of the outdoors in the air. Laughter echoed all around her, taunting her, closing in on her.
She soon became breathless, wheezing, trapped. Her surroundings seemed to be spiralling out of control. Suddenly, Myrtle's legs buckled. She could no longer stand, she felt unable to do anything. Nothing was worth this. Surely nothing was worth all this effort and pain. But why? Why did she deserve to be treated this way? Her head throbbed and her throat prickled as tears warmed the rain on her cheeks.
Ever since Myrtle could remember, life had been this way: full of never ending bitterness and grief, taunting comments and lurking laughter around every corner. There had been the occassional bust-up before, but never anything like this. This time things had really gone too far. Myrtle felt overcome with desperation, she desperately needed help. But was there anyone she could turn to? Would anyone listen? No one could possibly understand how she felt and surely whoever she turned to would be shocked at what was revealed. Myrtle shivered in the blowing breeze, her jacket must be lying somewhere in the school, abandoned, forgotten. Just like her.
No matter how hard she tried, Myrtle couldn't erase that vivid night from her mind. Foolishly, she had felt that now he had finally got what he wanted, she could just forget that it had ever happened. But that was impossible now that she had a constant reminder growing inside her...
"Slag!"
Myrtle kept remembering that beast of a girl screaming at her. What felt like years ago, she had burst into the vulnerable toilet cubicle to find Myrtle cowering over a positive pregnancy test. Obviously she'd presumed that Myrtle had just been foolish - that what had happened had been her own fault. If only that was the case...
SS
Myrtle didn't know where she was running to, or when she would stop, but she knew why. The pouring rain clouded her vision through her newly broken glasses. Her nose tickled; there was a pungent smell of the outdoors in the air. Laughter echoed all around her, taunting her, closing in on her.
She soon became breathless, wheezing, trapped. Her surroundings seemed to be spiralling out of control. Suddenly, Myrtle's legs buckled. She could no longer stand, she felt unable to do anything. Nothing was worth this. Surely nothing was worth all this effort and pain. But why? Why did she deserve to be treated this way? Her head throbbed and her throat prickled as tears warmed the rain on her cheeks.
Ever since Myrtle could remember, life had been this way: full of never ending bitterness and grief, taunting comments and lurking laughter around every corner. There had been the occassional bust-up before, but never anything like this. This time things had really gone too far. Myrtle felt overcome with desperation, she desperately needed help. But was there anyone she could turn to? Would anyone listen? No one could possibly understand how she felt and surely whoever she turned to would be shocked at what was revealed. Myrtle shivered in the blowing breeze, her jacket must be lying somewhere in the school, abandoned, forgotten. Just like her.
No matter how hard she tried, Myrtle couldn't erase that vivid night from her mind. Foolishly, she had felt that now he had finally got what he wanted, she could just forget that it had ever happened. But that was impossible now that she had a constant reminder growing inside her...
"Slag!"
Myrtle kept remembering that beast of a girl screaming at her. What felt like years ago, she had burst into the vulnerable toilet cubicle to find Myrtle cowering over a positive pregnancy test. Obviously she'd presumed that Myrtle had just been foolish - that what had happened had been her own fault. If only that was the case...
SS
Sunday, April 02, 2006
The Story So Far...
Myrtle didn't know where she was running to, or when she would stop, but she knew why. The pouring rain clouded her vision through her newly broken glasses. Her nose tickled; there was a pungent smell of the outdoors in the air. Laughter echoed all around her, taunting her, closing in on her.
She soon became breathless, wheezing, trapped. Her surroundings seemed to be spiralling out of control. Suddenly, Myrtle's legs buckled. She could no longer stand, she felt unable to do anything. Nothing was worth this. Surely nothing was worth all this effort and pain. But why? Why did she deserve to be treated this way? Her head throbbed and her throat prickled as tears warmed the rain on her cheeks.
Ever since Myrtle could remember, life had been this way: full of never ending bitterness and grief, taunting comments and lurking laughter around every corner. There had been the occassional bust-up before, but never anything like this. This time things had really gone too far. Myrtle felt overcome with desperation, she desperately needed help. But was there anyone she could turn to? Would anyone listen? No one could possibly understand how she felt and surely whoever she turned to would be shocked at what was revealed. Myrtle shivered in the blowing breeze, her jacket must be lying somewhere in the school, abandoned, forgotten. Just like her.
No matter how hard she tried, Myrtle couldn't erase that vivid night from her mind. Foolishly, she had felt that now he had finally gotten what he wanted, she could just forget that it had ever happened. But that was impossible now that she had a constant reminder growing inside her...
"Slag!"
Myrtle kept remembering that beast of a girl screaming at her. What felt like years ago, she had burst into the vulnerable toilet cubicle to find Myrtle cowering over a positive pregnancy test. Obviously she had presumed that Myrtle had just been foolish and had gotten herself into this terrifying mess. If only that was the case...
SS
She soon became breathless, wheezing, trapped. Her surroundings seemed to be spiralling out of control. Suddenly, Myrtle's legs buckled. She could no longer stand, she felt unable to do anything. Nothing was worth this. Surely nothing was worth all this effort and pain. But why? Why did she deserve to be treated this way? Her head throbbed and her throat prickled as tears warmed the rain on her cheeks.
Ever since Myrtle could remember, life had been this way: full of never ending bitterness and grief, taunting comments and lurking laughter around every corner. There had been the occassional bust-up before, but never anything like this. This time things had really gone too far. Myrtle felt overcome with desperation, she desperately needed help. But was there anyone she could turn to? Would anyone listen? No one could possibly understand how she felt and surely whoever she turned to would be shocked at what was revealed. Myrtle shivered in the blowing breeze, her jacket must be lying somewhere in the school, abandoned, forgotten. Just like her.
No matter how hard she tried, Myrtle couldn't erase that vivid night from her mind. Foolishly, she had felt that now he had finally gotten what he wanted, she could just forget that it had ever happened. But that was impossible now that she had a constant reminder growing inside her...
"Slag!"
Myrtle kept remembering that beast of a girl screaming at her. What felt like years ago, she had burst into the vulnerable toilet cubicle to find Myrtle cowering over a positive pregnancy test. Obviously she had presumed that Myrtle had just been foolish and had gotten herself into this terrifying mess. If only that was the case...
SS
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