Hey
I was wondering if i could get some feedback on this creative writing piece my friend wrote
the aim was to write to a similar style to 'Sky High' in the stimulus booklet.. u noe.... descriptive and stuff.. not plot driven..
so yeah
wat can be improved? wat are some good points?
In an instant, the deep dark and dry creak bed became embedded with the cool crystal clear water, like a tidal wave hitting a Mediterranean city as the hot and humid air hits the cool chill of winter from the South American Alps.
The sudden gleam of joy hitting my face as if there were strings, intricately attached to my facial muscles being pulled by a skilful puppeteer.
The sweltering warmth of the sparkling lemon-orange sun hit the racy river as the water formed a mixture with the bare brown earth.
I remember that the river ran between the town centre, trickling playfully past the worn down buildings and circling half of it like an eagle circling its prey. The town was filled with silence.
Almost immediately, the town was filled with little inhabitants, bustling through. As I picture it, they were much like micro ants, little black men bobbing boastfully to and fro. A wonky, weary and worn out leaf carried them from one end of the seemingly slow and smooth river.
Not far from there, I sat, overwhelmed with the wondrous, yet enchanting city, which I have been able to magnificently craft.
The sweltering sunlight stopped as the sudden movements of the dark and deceitful clouds quickly settled in. The once magnificent city was now dark and dangerous. All the townsfolk had already retreated resentfully into their homes, burrowing deep below the eccentric earth to shield itself from this destructive monster. The sound of the rain, pitter and pattering down hard on the soft sandy dirt rumbled the city like mega boom boxes playing music full notch in a Toyota Echo. As one drop after another came pounding down, the buildings began to crumble under the immense pressure of the buckets of water pouring down. The river began to over flood into the once magnificent and magical city, destroying all the hard artisanship that went into it.
I sat there in awe, furiously frustrated. As my grandma hurriedly hustled me back in the house, I took one last look at the damage to the city and reluctantly made my way back into our white, worn down weatherboard house.
As soon as the rain stopped, I ran outside to face to ruins of the ravaged wreck of the city. It had been reduced into a pile of mud. Much like the mud that I had begun with. The magnificent and magical city was made into a muddy mess.
As time passes, this muddy mess has become infested with weeds and worms. I wince at the thought of touching it. I shiver at the sheer sight. I cringe at the smell of it. Though I wonder... I wonder about the joy it had brought to me. The childhood penchant remains somewhere possibly the size of a pin inside a haystack, but it will never be found. The decade of morals, education, pressure, and movies has reduced the playful childs perspective and endorsed right from wrong. It has defined black from white, denoting greys and shades between and subconsciously inscribed propaganda, law regulations mixed in with a hint of humour for flavour and spice.
I was wondering if i could get some feedback on this creative writing piece my friend wrote
the aim was to write to a similar style to 'Sky High' in the stimulus booklet.. u noe.... descriptive and stuff.. not plot driven..
so yeah
wat can be improved? wat are some good points?
In an instant, the deep dark and dry creak bed became embedded with the cool crystal clear water, like a tidal wave hitting a Mediterranean city as the hot and humid air hits the cool chill of winter from the South American Alps.
The sudden gleam of joy hitting my face as if there were strings, intricately attached to my facial muscles being pulled by a skilful puppeteer.
The sweltering warmth of the sparkling lemon-orange sun hit the racy river as the water formed a mixture with the bare brown earth.
I remember that the river ran between the town centre, trickling playfully past the worn down buildings and circling half of it like an eagle circling its prey. The town was filled with silence.
Almost immediately, the town was filled with little inhabitants, bustling through. As I picture it, they were much like micro ants, little black men bobbing boastfully to and fro. A wonky, weary and worn out leaf carried them from one end of the seemingly slow and smooth river.
Not far from there, I sat, overwhelmed with the wondrous, yet enchanting city, which I have been able to magnificently craft.
The sweltering sunlight stopped as the sudden movements of the dark and deceitful clouds quickly settled in. The once magnificent city was now dark and dangerous. All the townsfolk had already retreated resentfully into their homes, burrowing deep below the eccentric earth to shield itself from this destructive monster. The sound of the rain, pitter and pattering down hard on the soft sandy dirt rumbled the city like mega boom boxes playing music full notch in a Toyota Echo. As one drop after another came pounding down, the buildings began to crumble under the immense pressure of the buckets of water pouring down. The river began to over flood into the once magnificent and magical city, destroying all the hard artisanship that went into it.
I sat there in awe, furiously frustrated. As my grandma hurriedly hustled me back in the house, I took one last look at the damage to the city and reluctantly made my way back into our white, worn down weatherboard house.
As soon as the rain stopped, I ran outside to face to ruins of the ravaged wreck of the city. It had been reduced into a pile of mud. Much like the mud that I had begun with. The magnificent and magical city was made into a muddy mess.
As time passes, this muddy mess has become infested with weeds and worms. I wince at the thought of touching it. I shiver at the sheer sight. I cringe at the smell of it. Though I wonder... I wonder about the joy it had brought to me. The childhood penchant remains somewhere possibly the size of a pin inside a haystack, but it will never be found. The decade of morals, education, pressure, and movies has reduced the playful childs perspective and endorsed right from wrong. It has defined black from white, denoting greys and shades between and subconsciously inscribed propaganda, law regulations mixed in with a hint of humour for flavour and spice.
Good job Righty-O. Better then what I can pull out of my a$$. However just have to remark about the grammer i.e. the boom boxes... that anology (sp?) doesn't suit the story too well. Overall a good piece. But hey i could be a leniant marker. 
