OMG-we have to do this real quick or we just might have our throats ripped to shreads...!
Task: To produce a 300 word insert that will fit like a glove into the named stories-The Snow Child-The Company of Wolves-The Werewolf. You have the snow white sheet with the detailed suggestions but you may-if you so desire and if you dare, decide upon your own points of digression.
To get the juices flowing you will need to produce the following and number them in the following way:
1-a 50 word proposal that outlines your intentions and all the twists and turns your plot will contain.
2-an outline of the themes, settings, symbols you intend to include.
3-a brief description of the literary devices you will use and their intended effects.
If you fail to post then stay out of the shadow and on the path............
69 comments:
Mr Gibbons Class
Oh hello-I don't know how to use this thing you call a blog because we don't have blogs in the deep dark forests of Wimbledon common!
My proposal is as follows:
Story 1 'The Werewolf'-Task a) 'leaving a trail of blood behind it' (Pg 109-126 in our version of the book!)
I intend to use the same dispassionate, detatched slightly cynical and slightly casual tone to map the wolf's journey physiologically and geographically to grandmother(s). As it transforms its perspectives will become less wolf-like and more grannie-ish as will it movement until finally it crawls under the sheets to wait for…(50 words)
Themes: Pain/Hurt/Confusion/Identity/Family/Nature-Nurture/God and the Devil
Settings: The forest (geographical) at night (temporal).
Symbols: Blood (color/family ties). The Moon (color /nature/evil/temporal connotations. The tangling forest (restriction etc)
Literary Techniques
I will attempt to copy the narrative style of the story:
-the narrative voice having no distinct tense or tone and I will aim to recreate the disorientating effect that not knowing who the focus of the authorial voice is.
-I will also attempt to replicate the anthropological nature of the text and how it almost reads like non-fiction at the same time as having many of the generic conventions of ‘Fairy Story”. The language and sentence structures I employ will also reflect this mixing of styles.
...leaving a trail of blood behind it the wailing, whining wolf, for that is its nature, half ran, half stumbled through steeply sloping forest looking up when and where it could for guidance from the hanging moon. For if anyone is the wolf’s friend then it is the moon. But the forest is an unforgiving place even for a wolf and the tree’s with their weedy tresses and their bone hard winding tendrils did not afford her an easy passage. The red of her eyes, a trick of the devil said by those that know to aid the beast in its nocturnal prowlings, was seeping out now: replaced by a whiteness that looked out of sorts on the snouty face of the night stalker. And so the story goes on.
Take a good look now. Look through the night at the shape that moves not like wolf or human. Forest dwellers; who share their homes with all manner of creatures talk of these things. Fourlegs? Twolegs? Chimera they say but they don’t know what them mean. They only know to stay inside when the moon is out and to always stay on the path. This is their learning. This is all they need to survive.
If you narrow your eyes now you can see the shadowy outline of a house. The gable end, I believe. All neat and pointy: warm and welcoming and in a clearing of course, because who would want the forest tap tap tapping at the window pane. And she is home now, feeling the pain in a way that drains her. Upright now and dying to lie low. Look at how she crawls under the snow white linen; her bloody stump making a living bloom. Waiting she is. Waiting for herself to come and join her.
I hope this is alright sir-it's the best I can do as I find writing stuff so hard. Anyway I am sure you will ley me know what improvements I need to make for the second draft.
I will give that an A- the slight spots you have not mastered are when you discribe you do much more than needed an it makes the story boring in places try harder next time.
Themes:
violence/femenisim/distress/transformations physically and emotionally/good and evil.
Symbols: weather. enviroment, religous, colour
settings: forest
I will use a narrative style and incorporate the use of syntax , complex use of punctuation , sounds and the use of symbolism ,colour and other stylistic devises.
(outline of possible story)leaving a trail of blood behind it, it staggered painfully weaving in and out of the constricting vines of the callous forest; towering trees weep and the wind rages on. The poignant crimson of the missing paw contrasts the deep ominous brown fur wolf. Examine it’s eyes with absence of light but exuberated a malicious and vile glare.
Isabella lamptey (mr gibbs class)
Good work Isabella. Get the first draft done asap and we will have something to work with.
OMG! I forgot That I have to do a critical review now. Here goes:
Recreative Commentary
I decided to enter the story at this point because I felt it gave me he opportunity to pick up on the wolf’s story and focus on that alone. The first significant vocabulary choice was the word ‘wailing’. I feel this word is suggestive of both a wolf, in terms of its howling and also have a wailing old woman, at a funeral, perhaps. I decided to make this reference to the aural qualities of the wolf more dramatic through alliteration and to reflect Carter’s narrative style-seeming to directly address the reader in an informative almost educational manner, ‘for that is its nature’, a technique I repeated later in the piece when describing he red to white transformation of the wolf’s eyes and in the first paragraph transition which by way of imperative, compels the reader to, ‘Take a good look now’. I felt the Carter text frequently employed this writing to inform style to blur the fictional nature of the text and to make the reader, even if only on a subconscious level, feel that what they could be reading is factual text. The moon has strong associations with werewolves so was an obvious but potent symbol to use. It also has pagan connotations and is suggestive of the ‘night’ and evil in literature in general (Victor created the monster is similar circumstances) Carter references the forest on numerous occasions so I decided to personify the forest through use of words like ‘tresses’ and ‘bone’-both words also contrasting in sensory terms, for added effect. The use of color-especially red and white, figures not only in ‘The Werewolf’ but in the text as a whole and I felt it was important to include this in my text. I used it in reference to the the wolf’s eyes-eyes are arguably the most expressive parts of an animal as well as being thought of as being windows to the soul- so I felt that was an opportunity to intensify the readers engagement with the text through the red eye imagery. Towards the end of the piece I returned to this red/white imagery and attempted to create a slow movement-even a cinematic effect-through the use of the word ‘bloom’ which means slowly spreading. I also felt that ‘bloom’ is suggestive of a flower and the red nature of the bloom further suggests a rose, a powerful ,sensuous symbol highlighted by being positioned next to the ‘snow white linen’.
I picked up and tried to develop the (intended) narrative by attempting to chart the transformation of the wolf back to a woman-perhaps too explicitly-‘not like wolf or human’. The use of the two single word sentences: rhetorical questions were intended to reflect this transformation as well as engage or involve the reader in the text. By describing the house in such a way, using words like ‘gable’ and warm and welcoming’, I felt I was touching on the fairy tale elements of Carters style as well as reinforcing the contrasts set up in my story and Carters’. I again attempted to appeal senses of the reader, ‘tap tap tapping’, and again personifying the forest making it a central character in itself. Towards the end of my digression I focused on the universally known section of the Red Riding Hood story, the wolf/granny tucked up in bed waiting –in ambush-for the approaching child. I included references to human posture, ‘upright’ and wolf movement, ‘crawls’ again to highlight the transitional fluxing nature of the creature. I tried to finish enigmatically so as to build tension and to leave the reader thinking. The syntax in, ‘Waiting she is.’ was an attempt to make the climax more dramatic as well as being philosophical, ‘she is’. Repetition of ‘Waiting’ is also intended to create tension. The concept, ‘Waiting for herself is intended to conjure up the idea of the she wolf waiting for the reappearance of the human ‘she’ as well as waiting for the innocence, as exemplified by the approaching child.
The Snow Child
Themes- jealously/desires/identity/revenge
Symbols- colour/age/clothing
setting- Forest covered in snow
I intend to use the same narrative style, with the use of syntax, sensory language with use of colour and images.
Outline of possibe story- How shall i be rid of her? This thing who tries to take my place. Desire of his she could be but i am so distressed(syntax).Brown imperceptible eyes of the Count, now Glistened at the sight of her.(developing thoughts of her husband)Death to be the end of this foolishness. (twist is whose death is the countess talking about)
Raisa Valimahomed
Very enigmatic Raisa-aim to to the narrative stlyle more consistent with the original text. Your ideas are good and are engaging.
The snow child:
themes: sexual tension / lack of. Sexism. Resentment. Description of the count
Setting: in the forest before the count starts to wish for the girl.
I will use highly descriptive narrative to convey my themes through my writing. I want to give more of an insight to the disfunction of the couples relationship before the idea of the girl is introduced. I will do this using a variety of syntax and the description of body language, appearance and setting.
My inpoint will be after "the whole world was white" in the first paragraph
Josie Joseph-Gaunt
Themes:
Sexual desires, confusion, good and evil, sexual tension
Seting:
Based in the forest covered with snow.
I aim to use the same narrative style as the story, with reference to syntax,setting and body language.
...How shall i be rid of her? haven't though what to right next!
Zaynab Islam
The Snow Child
'How shall I be rid of her?'(pg105)
Themes:
Death/Violence/Jeolousy/Revenge
Settings:Snow everywhere in a forest.
Symbols: Blood-Colours, Time-Night/Day
I will write a monologue of the countesses thoughts of how to get rid of her and her feeling towards her husband.Her thoughts on how she could be killing her with her own hands.
Theres still a lot of thinking to do!
Rumana Islam
Themes: Violence/Horror/ Identity/Confusion/Good vs. Evil/Pain/Hurt.
Symbols: Colour/ Atmosphere/ Environment/ Weather
Setting: Forest
Story 1 'The Werewolf'-Task a) 'leaving a trail of blood behind it'…
I intend to use the same narrative style, with the use of syntax, sentence structure, descriptive language with use of colour, images, emotions and build up suspense of the atmosphere to create a piece of writing through my judgment.
Leaving a trail of blood behind it as it's coal black layer began digging a hollow in it's bulk. The canines developed as the saliva thickened in it's original state, the tongue began to slither whilst the glowing of it's beetle eyes glared deeply in the pale darkness where the moon shone radiantly, sitting in between the thick layer of mist allowing it to dense the fog.
Howls echoed the shadowy obfuscation as it urged for destruction. It remained comfortable in its private territory and it awaited its prey's fate eagerly. The devil's reflection corrupted his thoughts. Acknowledging the origin trace of a hut as it became more observant whilst still looking isolated at its most vulnerable stage.
They clearly know to avoid the mystery of the woods, as soon as the natural source of illumination threatens to transpire or they themselves fathomed the reality of what lurked there, for it is needed in order for them to endure. She expected his arrival; she anxiously lingered as she rested herself amongst the sinister atmosphere, welcoming the arrival of her infinite sleep to occur; dreading her fearful predestination.
Click clock click clock responded the wooden souvenir repeatedly as she finally approached, crawling amongst her rigid legs. Watch, watch now at how she sits there comfortably in the warmth of her living room. She lies there, lying effortlessly for her to be accompanied...
Annie
The Werewolf:
I'm aiming to use the same casual, slightly mocking tone that Carter uses to describe the wolf's and the young girl's journey to the house of her grandmother. I decided upon the idea that the young girl will sense movement (the wolf) a number of times on the way to her grandmother's, but convinces herself it is just a hallucination due to the trauma she has just been through. It is then revealed that she was not hallucinating, when she discovers the wolf in her grandmother’s bed at the end of the story.
Themes: Violence, Confusion, Familial love, Betrayal.
Settings: The forest (during the night).
Symbols: Night time (Typical 'horror'), Unknown movements (Unwanted surprise, thriller-like quality), Blood (Colour, death, gore - mocking of traditional fairy tales?)
Literary Techniques:
I'm writing this with an aim to adapt my style of writing to Carter's mysterious tone which leaves the reader wondering what will happen next. I will do this by using the same lack of information about the narrator. This creates confusion for the reader as they do not know if the girl is replaying the event, or if there's another human present in the forest.
I am going to add my insert after "track or spoor that might have been upon it were obscured".
Georgia Perkin
The Snow Child
Themes- Feminism, sexual desire, jelousy, revenge and explicit sexual behaviour.
Symbols- Horses, possesions, snow, blood, black raven, roses, death and sexual power.
Settings- Snow in midwinter
I will write an interior monologue based on the Countess's thoughts and feelings about the snow child and hew own relationship with her husband.
How shall i be rid of her? I with my glittering pelts of black foxes are more desirable than her black raven hair, my hsining boots with scarlet heels and spurs make her scarlet mouth look dull. I dropped my lavish glove in the snow and waited for her to fetch it, but he denyed my order and carried galloping on with her on his lap. He made me rage with fire in my blood and with that my furs sprang off my shoulders and twined round the naked child. With no effect i swung my precious diamond brooch through the ice of a frozen pond and again told her to dive in and fetch it; with this motive i prayed for her to drown. But of course my 'beloved' bastard of a husband turned to me questiongly and denyed my orders again!! He cares about the cold weather affecting her but not me when i'm bare as a dog bone. I was then despearately cooking up a plan as i saw a bush of divine roses, i knew he couldn't deny me this time, so i told the child with the chapped red lips to pick me a rose. And with that she pricked her little finger and bled to death, oh the sound of her scream brought joy to my ears! Until i heard my husband weeping like a little infant. Just as the fire in my blood was turning into stimulation of accomplishment it turned much much worse as he unfastened his breeches and thrust himself into her. I felt the venom in my blood suffocating me, as i stroked my furs. He stupidly bowed and presented the rose, i touched; it bites.
Sarah Elizabeth Drif
Theme: jelousy/deceitfulness/desire/violence/death/pain
Symbools:
blood/black horse/raven/snow/rose
Setting:
forest covered in white in contrast with the blackness of the sky
yinka lawal
How shall i be rid of her,for she cannot withstand my alluring beauty,flawless clinquant pearls and my exquisite glimering heel.she had a taint of innocence in her eyes,with a brimfull of angelic white teeth, bright enough to light up the whole room.
Story 1) The Werewolf. a) “leaving a trail of blood behind it.”
Themes: Pain/Anger/Sadness/Family/Death/Passion
Setting: The forest.
Symbols: Blood, Snow, Moon, environment, weather.
Literary Techniques:
I intend to use the tone of the author to portray the journey the wolf makes home, whilst transforming into the grandmother.
I will use punctuation to create a sense of violence and urgency from the wolf.
I will use colour to convey different feelings about the situation the wolf is in, as well as other stylistic devices.
(start of the story)… leaving a trail of blood behind it. The wolf howled in agony as the pain resided in its stump of a hand. She limps off as thick pelts of snow continued to fall through the forest, the blood stained trail mixing with it to leave harsh symbols in her wake.
Jasmine
Themes: Jealousy, desire, revenge, control, hatred
Symbols: Colours (gothic - red & black, and also white),
Setting: Snow-covered forest
How shall I be rid of her? She, who could ruin all that I have, all that I deserve, all that is rightfully mine. And he, who does not realise how much he will pay for what he has started, he is so shallow, so naïve as to think that I will not be rid of her, that I will not get my revenge…
The girl is as foolish as she is magnificent, hair black as ebony, but not as dark as mine. Skin white as snow, but not as pale as mine. And lips… Lips red as blood, but not as deep as mine. She has not a patch on me.
I aim to carry on in this style, but switch the Countess’s views frequently to show that although she deems herself as superior, she is still subject to human emotion. She will switch moods frequently to get different perspectives on the child, and try and make herself out to be the victim in all of this.
Zahra Rashid
Hi Annie-Some very nice, emotive, sensual writing here. I feel that more clarity in terms of your plot and more controlled expression would enhance this work. It is important that the reader feels that they know where they are going/been taken. If your intention is to disorientate the reader then that is fine but you must make a conscious decision to do this.
MORE CLARITY AND CONTROL NEEDED.
Good work Annie.
Hi Georgia-Your plan would benefit from being a little clearer and more specific. This would also help you in terms of producing the first draft. Don't worry about it too much. You WILL do well and produce a very good piece of writing. I will support you as much as you need but you must get the first draft done or I have nothing to work with.
Hi Sarah-Style/expression is a little uneven and gives the impression of a certain lack of control on your part. ' With no effect I swung my precious diamond brooch through the ice of a frozen pond and again told her to dive in and fetch it; with this motive i prayed for her to drown.' This extract shows your writing to be out of character with Carter's style and even with YOUR style. It is too plain and not dramatic enough. It also doesn't really make sense-'with this motive I prayed ...'.
I really like the bits where you compare the red shoes to he red lips of the child'. I also liked the 'venom in my blood' bit but am not sure that 'suffocating' is the best word. Do a little redrafting and post again.
Well done.
Hi Yinka-I like the white snow/black sky contrast in your plan! With regards to your writing I feel you could be over doing it a little in terms of your vocabulary choices-do not become over reliant on the thesaurus. Not sure what the 'glimmering heel' is referring to. Also, 'taint of innocence'? Is taint the right/best word to use? The phrase 'angelic white teeth' is also an image that I feel doesn't work that well.
I get the feeling that you really like language and enjoy using new words in a creative way. I think that you have the capacity to produce a really good piece. Post the rest of your story as soon as possible.
Hi Jasmine- Not convinced by the first sentence, 'The wolf howled in agony as the pain resided in its stump of a hand.' Not sure about 'resided' in this context. 'The pain resided in its stump of a hand', works better for me. Also, 'thick PELTS of snow'. Not sure about your use of 'pelts' in relation to snow falling. I like 'harsh symbols in her wake'. It make me think of a ship moving through a stormy sea. Get going on the rest of your story. Write it quickly and do not think about it too much.
(start of the story)… leaving a trail of blood behind it. The wolf howled in agony as the pain resided in its stump of a hand. She limps off as thick pelts of snow continued to fall through the forest, the blood stained trail mixing with it to leave harsh symbols in her wake.
You show a talent for tightly controlled expression. I feel, however, that you could be a little more adventurous in your vocab choices. Also, phrases like,'She has not a patch on me' are a little clumsy(also, does it make sense or do you mean 'is not'.
Your comparisons in the second paragraph are good but get a little tired, I feel.
I am confident that you are capable of getting a top grade on this piece of work if you put a little more into it.
Sir this is my whole 1st draft
Leaving a trail of blood behind it, it staggered painfully weaving in and out of the constricting vines of the callous forest; towering trees weep and the wind rages on .The moon a solitary source of light illuminates the crevasses and the labyrinth of trees. The poignant crimson of the missing paw contrasts the deep ominous brown of the wolf. Examine its eyes with absence of light but exuberated a malicious and vile glare. A fiendish ear piercing howl emanates from the wolf which could be easily mistaken for the devils cry. As it staggers on the fur begins to reside as feverish pink flesh begins to take its place, it howls, its empty eyes begin to take colour the colour of pearls.
A portentous silhouette slithers in the hours of darkness. it begins to walk on it’s hind legs an unravelling of pale skin covers the flesh and now the howl, the ear piercing howl has manifested into a droning scream, glinted white hairs sprout from the scalp it’s razor-sharp teeth reside and rounded teeth take it’s place. It smiles.
The naked cold body of an elderly woman gallops through the forest as she laughs manically, she stops and sniffs the air she is close her den of safety and lies . She stops in front of an angelic cottage with vines and roses intertwining with the cottage. The suns rays penetrate the angelic cottage she walks through the white picketed fence and slowly opens the door and creeps in. She licks her wound and places herself in a luxurious bed. she smiles. And conceals herself with the covers and lies there waiting .
isabella lamptey
Well done is a bell a. Find me asap and I will help you sort some stuff out. I like your work. It has atmosphere and style. Some fine tuning of your syntax and punctuation will help a lot.
draft:
Leaving a trail of blood behind it. Each step accompanied by a piercing wail, reminiscent of the devil’s cry. Frail, damp branches replied with whistles of hope as the beast continued its journey through the bewilderment. A foul-smelling odour, similar to that of mouldering bodies, replaced the distant hand of the creature. A sent reminiscent of its hunting nature. The forest grew unsympathetic to the creature’s agony and increased the groaning of the winds which blew rapidly in and out of the surrounding trees. The wolf peered up at the beaming moon for guidance; it opened life to the desolate trail, as she continued to stumble through the estranged environment. Masked in frost, foot-beaten poppies lay among the few sprouts of green erect from the cracked mud slabs printed into the jagged ground.
The wolf took to its back legs, limping along as its fur dropped to dust, dispersed on the forest floor. In its place grew a loose skin overlaid with wrinkles which rippled as the unidentifiable creature half ran, half staggered, her cottage now in sight. Reduced redness within her eyes allowed the beauty of her emerald circles to sparkle. Her lips began to curve, she smirked. Her face covered in revenge. Disrobed, she hobbled along with intervals of hesitation, in which to regain her breath. Bitten by the cold, hairs upstanding, she began to rub her hand to her abandoned wrist and puffed out balls of air, attempting to generate body heat. The dainty cottage stood before her gracefully. The tangling branches and slivering tree roots were eliminated. Circling the lodge were divine winter roses elegantly swaying in the soft winter breeze. A sigh was let out as she placed her self attentively in her bed, duvet heaved up high. She layed there patiently; waiting.
Leila
Excellent work Leila. I have emailed you some suggestions to help with your redrafting. keep working on it - I feel an A is in the air!
How shall I be rid of her, for she cannot withstand my alluring beauty, flawless clinquant pearls and my exquisite glimmering pelts of black foxes. She had a look of innocence in her eyes, coated with a young and tender body. Her teeth and skin were as white as the snow which was at rest in the forest. Her hair was as black as the night sky and her lips blood-red. Her posture was almost angelic. The countess was beyond any doubt the more prestigious of the two, but the girl had inner beauty, mindless of all the countess’s pearls and glamorous belongings.
The countess had a malevolent look, at the girls landing on this bleak wintry night. She stood there bare in the snow looking at the count with her beaded eyes of recognition, while the countess stood there with a look of envy at the count interest in this girl.
The countess discarded her glove in a deceitful manner and told the girl to pick up the glove hoping to leaver her isolated in the forest to perish, but the count denied her intention and said, “ ill buy you new gloves.” This deeply embittered the countess, who decided to strive again to achieve her single minded objective. She hurled her diamond brooch into the crystal grazed icy pond: “dive in and fetch it for me,” she said; with the intention to drown the girl, but once again the count denied her and said “is she a fish, to swim in such cold weather?” The boots of the countess sprung off her feet and onto the girl’s legs. Now the countess was exposed and helpless in the cold, while the girl was conceived from head to toe; now the count felt sorry for his wife. Then they approached a bush of adequate roses and the countess said to the girl “pick me on.” The count couldn’t deny her for this third time.
So the girl plucked the rose; cut her finger on the thorn; shrieks; tumbles onto the ghastly bloodless snow.
yinka lawal
Draft:
Leaving a trail of blood behind it as it's coal black layer began digging a hollow in it's bulk. The canines developed as the saliva thickened in it's original state, the tongue began to slither whilst the glowing of it's beetle eyes glared deeply in the pale darkness where the moon shone radiantly, sitting in between the thick layer of mist allowing it to dense the fog.
Howls echoed the shadowy obfuscation as it urged for destruction. It remained comfortable in its private territory and it awaited its prey's fate eagerly. The devil's reflection corrupted his thoughts. Acknowledging the origin trace of a hut as it became more observant whilst still looking isolated at its most vulnerable stage.
They clearly know to avoid the mystery of the woods, as soon as the natural source of illumination threatens to transpire or they themselves fathomed the reality of what lurked there, for it is needed in order for them to endure. She expected his arrival; she anxiously lingered as she rested herself amongst the sinister atmosphere, welcoming the arrival of her infinite sleep to occur; dreading her fearful predestination.
Click clock click clock responded the wooden souvenir repeatedly as she approached the isolated house, she crawls, amongst her rigid legs. The door creaked as she pulled the aphotic mahogany handle. She is there now at her final destination draining in pain her eyes agonising in torture, in which she squints from. There she observes and makes herself comfortable with the surroundings. Watch, watch now at how she sits there securely in the warmth of the living room, as the devil in her soul once again replaces her. She lies there, lies effortlessly for her to be accompanied...
Annie Siddiqui
Any possible trace of the wolf’s whereabouts had been obscured by the fresh white snow. The child cursed it, praying for the blood trail to re-appear. As time went by, the child grew more and more confused as to the direction she was heading; but the child carried on trudging though the snow until she heard a piercing yelp - she stopped dead in her tracks. The injured and vengeful wolf kept appearing in the child’s mind, but she convinced herself she was imagining it all. The sweet child stumbled upon a gnarled tree stump - one that had been decapitated many years ago. She mourned over the tree that was once so beautiful and healthy, but was now just a stump. This was a good sign - a sign that she was on the right path - the snow had not fooled her yet! The child winced as the hairs on her neck rose; she heard a faint crunch of snow in the distance. Not once had she met a single being in the forest - she would never have expected to have such an encounter, especially in such inhospitable weather! She focused on her route to the cottage, aiming to stop her shivers. Her body was aching and she felt too faint to carry on; so when she was only a little way away from the house, she stopped to rest. She sat down by a large oak tree and caught her breath for a moment, then reached for an oatcake that her mother had baked and finished her milk. As she opened her eyes she could have sworn that she saw a movement in the foreground, but silence remained and everything returned to stillness forcing the child to believe it was just an illusion. She stood up, gathered her belongings and set off again. After hours of trudging through the snow she reached the house, and stepped inside; thanking God for proving her suspicions to be false.
It's a little over, but I'll make it shorter in the final draft!!
Georgia Perkin.
Hi Yinka-very good work. Have a look at the suggestions I have made up to 'interest in this girl and redraft this section and the rest of the story accordingly.
'How shall I be rid of her, for she cannot withstand my alluring beauty, flawless clinquant pearls and my exquisite glimmering pelts of black foxes. She had a look of innocence in her eyes, coated (BEST WORD?) with a young and tender body. Her teeth and skin were as white as the snow which was at rest(rested) in the forest. (can you link these sentences more effectively?) Her hair was as black as the night sky and her lips blood-red. Her posture was almost angelic.(the three sentences that describe the girl need to be linked/structured more effectively) The countess was beyond any doubt the more prestigious of the two, but the girl had inner beauty(cliché?); was mindless of all the countess’s pearls and glamorous belongings (does not fit in stylistically). The countess had a malevolent look, at the girls landing on this bleak wintry night(clumsy?). She stood:(there) bare in the snow looking at (does not fit in stylistically ) the count with her beaded eyes (could you make more of this, perhaps link her eyes to the dead foxes eyes etc?) of recognition, while the countess stood there with a look of envy at the count’s desire (interest in this girl). '
Well done Annie-look at my comments and start to think about redrafting.
Leaving a trail of blood behind it as it's coal black layer began digging a hollow in it's bulk (I am not entirely sure what you mean in this opening sentence!). The canines developed as the saliva thickened in it's original state, (again, I don’t follow this!) the tongue began to slither whilst the glowing of it's beetle eyes glared deeply in the pale darkness where the moon shone radiantly, sitting in between the thick layer of mist (could you express this idea more effectively) allowing it to dense the fog (‘dense the fog’?). Howls echoed the shadowy obfuscation (best word?) as it urged for destruction (I like this-could you have made more of this?). It remained comfortable in its private territory and it awaited its prey's fate eagerly. The devil's reflection corrupted his (His?) thoughts. Acknowledging the origin trace of a hut as it became more observant whilst still looking isolated at its most vulnerable stage (not sure this is a well expressed sentence). They clearly know to avoid the mystery of the woods, as soon as the natural source of illumination threatens to transpire or they themselves fathomed the reality of what lurked there, for it is needed in order for them to endure (Again, I really like what you are trying to do here-try to polish and sharpen your expression).
She expected his arrival; she anxiously lingered as she rested herself amongst (?) the sinister atmosphere, welcoming the arrival of her infinite sleep to occur (expression?); dreading her fearful predestination. Click clock click clock (tick tock?) responded the wooden souvenir (word/concept seems out of place here!) repeatedly as she approached the isolated house, she crawls, amongst her rigid legs (?). The door creaked as she pulled the aphotic (best word?) mahogany handle (does one ‘pull a handle?). She is there now: at her final destination: draining in pain, her eyes agonising in torture, in which she squints from (clumsy?). There she(She) observes and makes herself comfortable. with the surroundings. Watch (, watch now at) how she sits there securely in the warmth of the living room, as the devil (death) in her soul once again replaces her(?). She lies there, lies effortlessly for her to be accompanied...
Well done Georgia. Your narrative is strong - now you need to get the style right and you will do well. Look at my suggestions and try to redraft accordingly)
'Any possible trace of the wolf’s whereabouts had been obscured by the fresh white snow. All traces of its black and bloody existence were obscured by the freshly falling snow (can you make this (very nice) idea more dramatic and express it in a more dramatic way? The child cursed it (it’s disappearance), praying for the blood trail (road/path) to re-appear. As time went by,(Time passed.) (The)the child grew more and more confused (as to the direction she was heading;) but the child carried on (trudging) though the snow until (she heard a) piercing yelp (– she) stopped her dead (in tracks).'
First draft:
...leaving a trail of blood behind it. The pain resided in its stump of a hand; the wolf howled in agony. It limps off as daggers of snow continued to fall through the forest, the blood stained trail mixing with it to leave harsh symbols in her wake. She looked up to see the blinding white moon smiling at her, standing out horrifically from the black emptiness of the night’s sky. The beast raised her head to howl sadly through her pain. As she did so, her features distorted with rage; her wolf heart – pounding beneath her fur cut – gave a flutter of panic as she licked her wound, sobbing now, until she could see quite clearly a dismembered median antebrachial vein, tattered, like a body the beast had once killed, whose skeleton still lay beneath a layer of snow. The wolf stumbled through the forest, falling now and then over tree roots in her way. The moon slipped – as she did - behind a dark grey cloud, creating a darkness so absolute that a small nocturnal animal ran into the beast. But she took no notice as she wove through the trees.
She had not meant to harm the child. Her senses had overtaken her heart so that in one instant, the smell of fresh blood and the pounding of a small bloody heart had overridden the family ties.
But now she realized; now she cried. Cold, harsh town. Bitter thoughts; grim reality. Remorse struck her like the hunting knife. And it was that sudden raw emotion which filled her wolverine heart that forced her face to distort – for the second time – and twist until she lay, panting, on red snow, naked, with a human heart pounding beneath her bare chest and tears still falling fast onto her cheeks. She staggered to her feet and saw a black robe lying on a tree trunk; waiting for her fierce embrace. Her bloody arm stained the robe; she did not care. She hobbles towards the light until she reaches her front door – which she wrenches open – and huddles up in bed – duvet tucked beneath her chin – where she lies; waiting.
sorry it's over 300 words - i'll cut it down for the final draft!
Jasmine
1st Draft
How shall I be rid of her? This child who attempts to take my place. Desire of his she could with her skin as white as snow, unlike the rest of the forest she was warm with her lips red as blood and hair as black as a bird’s feather, sparkling through the frostiness but I am the countess with hair as gold as then sun, skin as smooth as silk and exquisiteness that nothing can be compared too. The counts brown imperceptible eyes, now glistened at the sight of her, in front of him, looking intently into her innocence. Death is to be the end of this inanity.
As they travelled along the icy white forest, the countess caught a glimpse of a ivy bush with the reddest, juiciest looking, possibly poisoned berries, if the child’s red lips were to touch these berries, then perhaps she would be poisoned and die. The countess directed the count to halt and advised him that the child must be famished and she saw succulent berries behind them but the Count said: “She shall feast at the castle.” They continued to ride on through the forest. Raging with fury the countess began to conspire other ways to finish the child. At that moment the countess intentionally dropped her necklace of white gleaming pearls on the velvety snow and told the girl to fetch it for her, in hope that she might accidentally trample the child over with her black mare. However the pearls melted instantly away into the snow, the count said: “Is she a dog? To search for something so concealed?” Yet again the Count, Countess and the girl journeyed through the white forest.
Raisa Valimahomed
Umm Umm Umm First Draft
…how shall I be rid of her?
This foreigner, this intruder, with scarlet lips, hair as black as shining boots and skin as white as invincible snow. The naked child of my husband’s yearning rides before me, her body luminous with the warmth of innocence. He coils his arms around her bare bones, shielding her from the bitter winter air. How shall I be rid of her? This child that seeks to devastate me; that seeks to whip away my Count.
The Countess dropped her glove in the snow and ordered the flawless girl to dismantle the Count’s horse and fetch it. The smug Countess began to gallop away on her ebony mare, but she noticed her husband had stopped, and was again lifting the nude child onto his horse. “I will buy you new gloves” said the Count, and he turned away to smile at the beaming girl. As he did so, the dazzling pelts of black foxes leapt from the Countess’s shoulders and enveloped the girl. The Countess burned with resentment, her cheeks as red as a smouldering fire. How can it be that this child has consumed him? What enchantment has she cast on him? The Countess hurled her diamond broach into the frozen lake; surely the angel could not swim. The Count blazed, “is she a fish to swim in such treacherous conditions?” The Countess felt the frost bite her toes as her boots sprang from her feet and snuggled on the girl’s legs. She sat shivering, her skin a tinge of arctic blue, her face frosty and distraught. The Count admired the fiery glow emitted from the young girl’s smile and pitied his wife’s state. “Go, fetch a rose from that bush” he whispered to his beloved child. She pricks her thumb on a thorn, bleeds, screams, falls. The Countess accepts the rose. “It bites!”
Zaynab Iman =] (that smiley face has nothing 2 do with the way i felt about this work!)
Re – Creative Assignment:
Akin to poison, the sentence
pulsated inside the Countess, galloping through every vein and artery she thought – ‘How shall I be rid of her?’ The girl was something she was not. The girl was someone her husband desired while she was left feeling unwanted and hideous. There was a roaring in her ears, as if she was drowning in a rush of tidal wave. In her calculating mind, swarms of ideas nudged her, prodded her and at long last she held her breath. Only through calm she’d be able to conspire against this evil witch with the snow waxen skin, rose cherry lips and jet coal hair who had bewitched her beloved disease.
Smiling sweetly at the girl, the countess unobtrusively dropped her glove afar. “Oh!” the Countess wailed. “Do be a dear and fetch my glove,” she implored. A disintegrating apple she was as she was dipped and immersed in venom and what better than to leave the girl stranded behind. However, the Count would not hear of. He waved the Countess’s plea aside and clung onto the snow girl. Frustration beat down on her making her sweat, but the next instant brought icy winds to her shoulders as her fur snapped off her shoulders and landed gracefully onto the snow girl. The Countess snarled and bared her teeth like an undomesticated animal.
As the stunning scenery whizzed past the unfocused eyes of the Countess, she idly fiddled with her brooch. Her eyes landed on glittering water, shimmering within the spongy white snow. The water captivated her. Allured her to it. Whispered to her...
“Oh,” the Countess wailed. “Do be a dear and fetch my sacred diamond brooch.” But again the Count turned and frowned at his wife. “Leave us be,” he snapped and rode up ahead. Pain sliced through the Countess’s heart and shards of glass pricked her feet as her boots landed on the snow girl’s feet. Revulsion increased for the snow girl and sheer desperateness made her venture for her last plan. Innocently, there sat a small bush with intertwined leaves and blood red roses. It was almost comical to see in a white drop background, with red piercing its foreground. The Countess took it as a sign and bent down to pick one. The snow girl too had been captured with the beauty of the bush and leaned forward too. Abruptly, the Countess jerked away and thus the sudden movement caused the snow girl to prick herself between her forefinger and thumb. A hissing sound enveloped the threesome. One looked on dumbfounded and shaken while the other self-righteous and content. The third...sadly was left writhing away into a black, red and white hole...
Zaynab Islam
Hi Jasmine. Very impressed I am. Look at the suggestions I have made. I have stopped half way through your piece. See what you think. You can write girl!
..leaving a trail of blood behind it. The pain resided in its stump of a hand; the wolf howled in agony (effectives Sentence Structure?). It limps off as daggers of snow(very nice image) continued to fall(cut?) through the forest (canopy), the blood stained trail mixing with it to leave harsh symbols in her wake (really like this –can you express it more effectively?). She looked up to see the blinding white moon smiling at her(.It stood out horrifically from the black emptiness of the night’s sky.Think about the sentence structure), standing out horrifically from the black emptiness of the night’s sky. The beast raised her head (and howled sadly through her pain?) to howl sadly through her pain. As she did so, her (Her) features distorted with rage; her wolf heart – pounding beneath her fur cut(?) – gave a flutter (spasamed in?) of panic as she licked (lapped at?) her wound, sobbing now, until she could see quite clearly a (the) dismembered median antebrachial vein, tattered (and torn), like a body (cadaver) the beast had once (feasted upon) killed, whose (pure white skeleton still lay (invisibly) beneath a (an ever increasing) layer of snow.
Hi Raisa - good work. I have made some suggestions up to a point in your story. Look at them and consider what I am suggesting.
How shall I be rid of her? This child who attempts to take my (My) place. Desire of his she could (Is this what you mean?) with her skin as white as snow, (unlike the rest of the forest she was warm with her lips red as blood and hair as black as a bird’s feather) (your expession is too laboured and plodding here-what about something like - unlike the rest of the forest she was hot: her blood red lips screaming against the blackness of her wolframite hair), sparkling through the frostiness (Best word?) but I am the countess with hair as gold(en) as then sun, (S)skin as smooth as (slow moving) silk and (an) exquisiteness (beyond compare.) that nothing can be compared too. The Counts brown, imperceptible(?) eyes glistened now at the sight of her, (n front of him,) looking intently (intensely) into her innocence. Death is to be the end of this inanity. As they traveled along(through) the icy (ice) white forest, the countess caught a glimpse (glimpsed) a (solitary) ivy bush (with the reddest, juiciest looking, possibly poisoned berries, if the child’s red lips were to touch these berries, then perhaps she would be poisoned and die.THIS BIT IS FAR TOO EXPLICIT. YOU ARE TELLING THE READER WHAT TO THINK RATHER THAN LEAVING A SPACE FOR THEM TO BRING THEIR OWN THOUGHTS/EXPERIENCES INTO THE NARRATIVE )
Good work Zaynab-if a little prosaic in places. Look at my suggestions and consider them. Once again-good work.
…how shall I be rid of her? This foreigner (best word? Stranger/), this intruder, with scarlet lips, (with) hair as black as shining boots (odd simile I feel) and skin as white as invincible snow(interesting description of the snow-could you qualify the word ‘invincible’ a little more?). The naked child of my husband’s yearning rides before me, her body luminous with the warmth of innocence (very good-well expressed and appropriate to context). He coils his arms around her bare bones, shielding her from the bitter winter air. How shall I be rid of her? This child that seeks to devastate(best word?) me; that seeks to whip away(not sure about this phrase(whip away)-it detracts from the dramatic atmosphere of the writing) my Count. The Countess dropped her glove in the snow and ordered the flawless girl to dismantle (dismount) the Count’s horse and fetch it (this sentence is a little dull). The smug Countess began to gallop away on her ebony mare, but she noticed her husband had stopped, and was again lifting the nude child onto his horse (again, to dull in terms of expression-seems out of place in terms of style although not in content). “I will buy you new gloves” said the Count, and he turned away to smile at the beaming girl. As he did so, the dazzling pelts of black foxes leapt from the Countess’s shoulders and enveloped the girl. The Countess burned with resentment, her cheeks as red as ( smouldering embers.) fire. How can it be that this child has consumed him (so)? What enchantment has she cast on him(does one ‘cast’ enchantment?)? The Countess hurled her diamond broach into the frozen lake; surely ( such an angelic creature) (the angel) could not swim. The Count blazed, “is she a fish to swim in such treacherous conditions?” The Countess felt the frost bite her toes as her boots sprang from her feet and snuggled (best word ‘snuggled?) on the girl’s legs. She sat shivering, her skin a tinge of (tinged) arctic blue, her face frosty (frost bitten) and distraught. The Count admired the fiery glow emitted from the young girl’s smile and pitied his wife’s state. “Go, fetch a rose from that bush” he whispered to his beloved child. She pricks her thumb on a thorn, bleeds, screams, falls. The Countess accepts the rose. “It bites!”
Have you posted two different pieces Zaynab?
Ummm no there are two zaynabs in our class..i think my name is Iman on the registter !
SORRY TO ALL ZAYNAB TYPE PEOPLE! I will look at the islam Zaynabs work on Monday. Apologies etc...
ZIS LAM you write so well and count so poorly!
The Werewolf
...leaving a trail of blood behind it. As if begging to be followed into the doom of the forest, but woods and werewolf are of great acquaintance and with the devil on his side, the snow conceals his tracks. Now completely full, the moon beams low in the deep blue ocean of the sky. Lighting up the inauspicious world of a wolf.
Stopping to lick his wounds, the loss of blood makes him shiver, whimpering from the betrayal he feels. This pain swiftly becoming shock and his pounding head gradually developing into a dull numbness.
Naturally, he limps deeper into the forest, unsure of his whereabouts in this estranged environment. As disorientated as the creature is, the calm of the night seems to shepherd him. It is the trees, heavy with the fall of snow, that open for him, whilst the owls, in a twitter of apprehension, toot him and the bats flap, guiding him in the right direction.
On account of what looks like a moist rubber-end stop that obtains a heightened olfactory sense, he smells the smoke of a chimney, sensing familiarity. Receiving an urgency within his soul to make haste. But who does his soul belong to? They believe the devil. Exploiting the vicinity, this fiend sent a wind which whispered nearly there.
Through the red of her lethargic eyes we see only a blurred silhouette of the cottage that lies at the bottom of the hill. The fresh, crisp smell of the snow which once covered his bloody three-paw trail departed to dust. The scrunch of dead leaves and twigs underfoot. A stark howl whipped the air as each claw turned into a finger. Bitten by the cold, aware of the sodden ground on her ripened skin. She delicately prowls past the residual of the forest where the aroma of salt and flesh, which should come so logically, converted into a stench of fermentation.
Into a bed of lilies, the fur shrivels. Stepping out of the fleece, she crawls into the entrance of the cottage. Rocking she is. Rocking, awaiting the presence of her traitor.
Laila Milne-Thabet
The Werewolf ...leaving a trail of blood behind it. (As if )Begging to be followed into the doom of the forest(,) But woods (Know well the wolf) (and werewolf are of great acquaintance and) with the devil on his side, the snow(, with all her whiteness) conceals his tracks. Now (completely) full (and fat,) the moon beams low in the(her) deep blue ocean of (the) sky; lighting up the inauspicious world of a wolf stopping to lick it’s wounds. The loss of blood makes him shiver, whimpering from the betrayal he feels. This pain swiftly becoming(turns to) shock and (the) his pounding (in it’s) head gradually developing (transforms) into a dull numbness. Naturally, he limps deeper into the forest, unsure of his whereabouts (location) in this estranged (strange) environment.
LOOK AT MY SUGGESTIONS AND APPLY ACCORDINGLY. BEAR THEM IN MIND AS YOU WORK THROUGH THE REST OF YOUR PIECE.
I AM VERY IMPRESSED WITH YOUR WORK.
As disorientated as the creature is, the calm of the night seems to shepherd him. It is the trees, heavy with the fall of snow, that open for him, whilst the owls, in a twitter of apprehension, toot him and the bats flap, guiding him in the right direction. On account of what looks like a moist rubber-end stop that obtains a heightened olfactory sense, he smells the smoke of a chimney, sensing familiarity. Receiving an urgency within his soul to make haste. But who does his soul belong to? They believe the devil. Exploiting the vicinity, this fiend sent a wind which whispered nearly there. Through the red of her lethargic eyes we see only a blurred silhouette of the cottage that lies at the bottom of the hill. The fresh, crisp smell of the snow which once covered his bloody three-paw trail departed to dust. The scrunch of dead leaves and twigs underfoot. A stark howl whipped the air as each claw turned into a finger. Bitten by the cold, aware of the sodden ground on her ripened skin. She delicately prowls past the residual of the forest where the aroma of salt and flesh, which should come so logically, converted into a stench of fermentation. Into a bed of lilies, the fur shrivels. Stepping out of the fleece, she crawls into the entrance of the cottage. Rocking she is. Rocking, awaiting the presence of her traitor.
Laila Milne-Thabet
The Werewolf ...leaving a trail of blood behind it. (As if )Begging to be followed into the doom of the forest(,) But woods (Know well the wolf) (and werewolf are of great acquaintance and) with the devil on his side, the snow(, with all her whiteness) conceals his tracks. Now (completely) full (and fat,) the moon beams low in the(her) deep blue ocean of (the) sky; lighting up the inauspicious world of a wolf stopping to lick it’s wounds. The loss of blood makes him shiver, whimpering from the betrayal he feels. This pain swiftly becoming(turns to) shock and (the) his pounding (in it’s) head gradually developing (transforms) into a dull numbness. Naturally, he limps deeper into the forest, unsure of his whereabouts (location) in this estranged (strange) environment.
LOOK AT MY SUGGESTIONS AND APPLY ACCORDINGLY. BEAR THEM IN MIND AS YOU WORK THROUGH THE REST OF YOUR PIECE.
I AM VERY IMPRESSED WITH YOUR WORK.
As disorientated as the creature is, the calm of the night seems to shepherd him. It is the trees, heavy with the fall of snow, that open for him, whilst the owls, in a twitter of apprehension, toot him and the bats flap, guiding him in the right direction. On account of what looks like a moist rubber-end stop that obtains a heightened olfactory sense, he smells the smoke of a chimney, sensing familiarity. Receiving an urgency within his soul to make haste. But who does his soul belong to? They believe the devil. Exploiting the vicinity, this fiend sent a wind which whispered nearly there. Through the red of her lethargic eyes we see only a blurred silhouette of the cottage that lies at the bottom of the hill. The fresh, crisp smell of the snow which once covered his bloody three-paw trail departed to dust. The scrunch of dead leaves and twigs underfoot. A stark howl whipped the air as each claw turned into a finger. Bitten by the cold, aware of the sodden ground on her ripened skin. She delicately prowls past the residual of the forest where the aroma of salt and flesh, which should come so logically, converted into a stench of fermentation. Into a bed of lilies, the fur shrivels. Stepping out of the fleece, she crawls into the entrance of the cottage. Rocking she is. Rocking, awaiting the presence of her traitor.
Laila Milne-Thabet
Re-creative Writing
‘…: how shall I be rid of her?’
I can be white as snow, I can be red as blood, and I can be black as the bird’s feather, so why does he need her if I’m here.
What is so special of her that she should be given more importance to than me?
I have been with him for many years and it doesn’t take a second for a girl to come and takeover.
Am I so bad looking that he wishes to have a girl like her?
Can I not give him a girl like her?
I will tear her white skin, rip her red lips, pull her black hair, and leave her to rot in the white snow.
I will drown her in the pool of blood and crush her under my scarlet heels.
I feel unwanted, how can an hideous girl like her come and take my place.
Rumana- I can;t think of anything else.
ISABELLA LAMPTEY REDRAFT
Leaving a trail of blood behind it, it staggered painfully weaving in and out of the constricting vines of the callous forest; towering trees weep and the wind rages on .The moon a solitary source of light illuminates the crevasses and the labyrinth of trees. The poignant crimson of the missing paw contrasts the deep ominous brown of the wolf. Examine its eyes with absence of light but exuberated a malicious and vile glare. A fiendish ear piercing howl emanates from the wolf which could be easily mistaken for the devils cry. As it staggers on the fur begins to reside as feverish pink flesh begins to take its place, it howls, its empty eyes begin to take colour the colour of pearls.
A portentous silhouette slithers in the hours of darkness. it begins to walk on it’s hind legs an unravelling of pale skin covers the flesh and now the howl, the ear piercing howl has manifested into a droning scream, glinted white hairs sprout from the scalp it’s razor-sharp teeth reside and rounded teeth take it’s place. It smiles.
The naked cold body of an elderly woman gallops through the forest as she laughs manically, she stops and sniffs the air she is close her den of safety and lies . She stops in front of an angelic cottage with vines and roses intertwining with the cottage. The suns rays penetrate the angelic cottage she walks through the white picketed fence and slowly opens the door and creeps in. She licks her wound and places herself in a luxurious bed. she smiles. And conceals herself with the covers and lies there waiting .
How shall I be rid of her, for she cannot withstand my alluring beauty, flawless clinquant pearls and my exquisite glimmering pelts of black foxes. She had a look of innocence in her eyes, young and tender in her body. Her teeth and skin were as white as the snow, which was at rest in the forest. Her hair was as black as the night sky and her lips crimson red. Her posture was almost angelic. The countess was beyond any doubt the more prestigious of the two, but the girl had a beauty, that paid no mind to the countess’s pearls and glamorous possessions. The countess had a malevolent look, at the girls landing on this bleak wintry night. She stood there bare in the snow looking at the count with her beaded eyes of recognition, while the countess stood there with a look of envy at the count interest in this girl. The countess discarded her glove in a deceitful manner and told the girl to pick up the glove hoping to leaver her isolated in the forest to perish, but the count denied her intention and said, “ ill buy you new gloves.” This deeply embittered the countess, who decided to strive again to achieve her single-minded objective. She hurled her diamond brooch into the crystal grazed icy pond: “dive in and fetch it for me,” she said; with the intention to drown the girl, but once again the count denied her and said “is she a fish, to swim in such cold weather?” The boots of the countess sprung off her feet and onto the girl’s legs. Now the countess was exposed and helpless in the cold, while the girl was conceived from head to toe; now the count felt sorry for his wife. Then they approached a bush of adequate roses and the countess said to the girl “pick me on.” The count couldn’t deny her for this third time. So the girl plucked the rose; cut her finger on the thorn; shrieks; tumbles onto the ghastly bloodless snow. yinka lawal
HI JASMINE
What about 'CORE" or some version/usage of the word.
'CENTER'
'NUCLEUS'
'QUINTESSENCE'
Leaving a trail of blood behind it. It's coal black skin transforming in it's bulk, the wind accelerated to almost intensify her pain as she saoked in pain whilst shivering in the sheered in agony. Her tongue began to slither whilst the glowing of her beetle eyes glared deeply in the pale darkness where the moon shone radiantly, for the woods and the Wolf are companions and with the Devil on their side their motive of avenge seemed evident. Howls echoed as the atmosphere darkened, the flaky snow settled on the brittle tree branches. It urged for destruction, as she sucked upon her blood to ease her irritation. It remained comfortable in its private territory and it awaited its prey's fate eagerly. The house became more observant as the lights allowed the outline of it to gleam, as she limps in it's direction.
She faced up towards the pearl shining moon for guidance for it is the moon who remained her companion and as it emerged the woods inhabitants avoided the mysterious surroundings for they themselves fathomed the reality of what lurked there; this is their key to survival. She was at her most vulnerable stage as her wolverine claws trembled, the soul which was believed to have been the Beast's rapidly reflected her thoughts. Her eyes agonised in torture as tears trickled towards her cheek, she could taste the revenge as she licked her lips. Finding it hard to crawl she staggered amongst her rigid legs.
The light led her to mark the cottage as she weaved through the dandelions; she approached the lodge as a sigh of relief was celebrated. The door creaked as the mahogany handle was turned and there she rested herself in the warmth of the living room. Look, look now at how she awaits for her betrayer. She lies there, lies effortlessly for her to be accompanied...
Quratulain (Annie)
The Werewolf
...leaving a trail of blood behind it. Begging to be followed into the doom of the forest. But woods know well the wolf and with the devil on his side, the snow, with all her whiteness conceals his tracks. Now full and fat, the moon beams low in her deep blue ocean of sky; lighting up the inauspicious world of a wolf stopping to lick it’s wounds. The loss of blood makes him shiver, whimpering from the betrayal he feels. This pain swiftly turns to shock, the pounding in it’s head gradually transforms into a dull numbness.
Naturally, he limps deeper into the forest, unsure of his whereabouts, in this habitual setting. As disorientated as the creature is, the calm of the night seems to shepherd him. It is the trees, heavy with the fall of snow, that open to him, whilst the owls, in a twitter of apprehension, toot at him and the bats flap along a sonic path, guiding him deeper into the heart of wood.
On account of what looks like a moist rubber stop-end that obtains a heightened olfactory sense, he smells the smoke of a chimney, sensing familiarity; receiving alarm within his soul to make haste. But who does his soul belong to? The devil they utter. Exploiting the vicinity, this fiend sent a wind which whispered nearly there.
Through the red of her lethargic eyes we see only a blurred silhouette of the cottage that lies at the bottom of the hill. The fresh, crisp smell of the snow which once covered his bloody three-paw trail did thaw to the scrunch of dead leaves and twigs underfoot. A stark howl whipped the air as each claw turned into a finger.
Bitten by cold.
Aware of the sodden ground on her ripened skin, she delicately prowls past the residue of the forest; where the aroma of salt and flesh, which should come so logically, twists into a pungent stench of decomposition, verging on fermentation.
Into a bed of lilies, the fur shrivels. Stepping out of the fleece, she crawls into the entrance of the cottage. Rocking she is. Rocking, awaiting the presence of her traitor.
Laila Milne-Thabet
I put whereabouts instead of location because I thought that sounded too technical and whereabouts created more of a sense of confusion?
Didn’t know how to describe wolf’s nose (rubber stop-end)
Re-creative Writing
‘…: how shall I be rid of her?’
I can be white as snow, I can be red as blood and I can be black as the blackest feather. So why does he need her if I’m here?
What is so special in her that so much importance is shown? I have been with this moderate man for many years and it doesn’t take a second for a cunning girl to come and takeover. Am I so bad looking that he wishes to have a girl like her; can I not give him a girl like her? I will tear her white skin, rip her red lips, drag her black hair, and leave her to rot in the white snow. I will drown her in the pool of blood and crush her under my scarlet heels. I feel unwanted, how can a hideous girl like her come and take my place. My husband held her around her smooth white arms. I stared. Wishing he had got rid of her, instead of taking care of her delicate but of course white as snow skin. So many years of togetherness cannot be wiped away so easily. I wish that my pelts of black foxes come alive and sink their teeth into her white skin.
Rumana
… leaving a trail of blood behind it. The pain settled in its stump of a hand; the wolf howled in agony. It limps off as daggers of snow continued to cut through the forest, the blood stained trail mixing with it to leave harsh symbols in her snow white wake. She looked up to see the blinding white moon smiling at her. It stood out menacingly from the black emptiness of the night’s sky. The beast raised her head: howled sadly through her pain. As she did so, her features distorted with rage; her wolf heart – pounding beneath her fur coat – spasmed in panic as she lapped at her wound, sobbing now, until she could see quite clearly the dismembered median antebrachial vein, tattered and torn, like a body the beast had once killed, whose skeleton still lay beneath a layer of snow. The wolf stumbled through the forest, falling now and then over tree roots in her way. The moon slipped – as she did - behind a dark grey cloud, creating a darkness so absolute that a small nocturnal animal ran into the beast. But she took no notice as she wove through the trees.
She had not meant to harm the child. Her senses had overtaken her very quintessence of being so that in one instant, the smell of fresh blood and the pounding of a small bloody heart had transcended family ties.
But now she realised. Now she cried. Cold, harsh town. Bitter thoughts; grim reality. Remorse struck her like the hunting knife. And it was that sudden, raw, emotion which filled her wolverine heart that forced her face to distort – for the second time – and twist until she lay, panting, amidst scarlet snow, naked, with a human heart pounding beneath her bare chest and still falling tears soothing her blazing cheeks. She tottered to her feet and saw a black robe lying on a tree trunk; awaiting her fierce embrace. Her bloody arm stained the robe; she did not care. She hobbles towards the light until she reaches her front door – which she wrenches open – and huddles up in bed – blanket tucked beneath her chin – where she lies; waiting…
(I'm not sure why, but I'm still not convinced about the "snow white wake" - am I not trying to say that her past - physically and metaphorically - is tainted, therefore not "snow white"?)
Jasmine
Leaving a trail of blood behind it: each step accompanied by a piercing wail – reminiscent of a lonely devil’s cry- ushered on by frail, damp branches that replied to it’s heartfelt howl’s with high pitched trembling whistles of hope, the beast continued its journey through the all encompassing bewilderment. A foul septic smelling odour emanated from its mouldering stump. The strange scent at once disgusting stimulated something deep inside the lurching beast. The forest grew unsympathetic to the creature’s agony, thus enhancing the wind’s groan, which rapidly raged through the trees. The wolf peered up at the beaming moon for guidance; it opened life to the desolate trail, as she continued to stumble through the estranged environment. Masked in frost, foot beaten poppies lay among the few sprouts of green erect from the cracked mud slabs printed into the foot of the forest.
The wolf took to its back legs, limping along as its fur dropped to dust, dispersed on the forest floor. In its place grew a loose layer of skin overlaid with wrinkles, which rippled as the unidentifiable creature half ran, half staggered, her cottage now in sight. Reduced redness within her eyes emphasized her emerald circles as her lips began to curve. She smirked, her face covered in revenge. Disrobed, she hobbled along, pausing, as she attempted to recover her engergy. Bitten by the cold, her hairs upstanding, she rubbed her hand against the abandoned wrist whilst puffing out balls of air, attempting to regain her body heat. The dainty cottage stood before her gracefully. The tangling branches and slithering tree roots vanished. Circling the lodge were divine winter roses elegantly swaying in the soft winter breeze. A sign was released as she placed herself attentively in her bed, duvet heaved up high. She lay there patiently, waiting. Waiting on the arrival of the enemy.
Leila
Hi Jasmine-Catch up with me when you can and we will wrap this up. I have gone over it all carefully taking into account your thoughts and feelings and have made suggestions accordingly. You write and think very well.
Well done Leila. I have gone over it carefully and have some suggestions. Find me when you are free.
Re-Creative Writing
The Werewolf
Leaving a trail of blood behind, soaking into snow, stumbling through the congested forest, howling with every limp as the pain grew stronger and stronger.
As the fierce glare of the moon slowly witnessed an unnerving transformation take place beneath it, within the dark forest.
Blood continuing to sail through its severed paw as the pain became to excruciating to bare.
The whistling of the wind echoing through the air, then silence… but a few howls carried off into the far distance, followed by the rustling of the leaves sweeping across the nights sky.
Then all of a sudden the wolfs fur began to disintegrate into ash, leaving its a grey, bony, ashy, wrinkled legs unveiled that fell back on two feet, now walking with a bit more ease.
The howls slowly turned to groans as a recognisable figure began to appear through the white blanket like mist that arranged itself throughout the treacherous forest.
Blood continuing to seep from the detached limb, as it continued to travel throughout the forest, weaving its way around each tree like a phantom.
As the wind made a sudden change in direction more burdened snow continued to descend down from the darkness, each drop as intensifying as the next, like a wrath of daggers falling from heaven.
Huffing and puffing, wheezing and sweating but with a ferocious bloodcurdling look in its eyes, as if it were to explode with fire, as it continued to press on, dragging itself across the forest floor finally reaching the front of a diminutive old cottage.
Diving through an open door, it moved attentively through the house as if it knew its way around.
Disorientated by the lack of blood it slowly spread itself into an open bed covering its hand and the rest its frail body, seemingly falling into a deep sleep...
Christine Newman
All traces of its black and bloody existence were obscured by the freshly falling snow. The child cursed its disappearance, praying for the blood trail’s path to re-appear. Time passed. The child grew more and more confused as to her direction; but she carried on trudging through the snow; she heard a piercing yelp - she stopped dead in her tracks. The injured and vengeful wolf kept appearing in the child’s mind, she was convinced she was imagining it all. The sweet child stumbled upon a gnarled tree stump - one that had been decapitated many years ago. She mourned over what was once so beautiful and healthy but was now just a stump. This was a sign that she was on the right path - the snow had not fooled her yet! The child winced as the hairs on her neck rose; she heard a faint crunch of snow in the distance. Not once had she met a single being in the forest - she would never have expected to have such an encounter, especially in such inhospitable weather! She focused on her route to the cottage, aiming to stop her shivers. Her body was aching and she felt too faint to carry on; so when she was only a little way away from the house, she stopped to rest. She sat down by a large oak tree and caught her breath for a moment, then reached for an oatcake that her mother had baked, and she finished her milk. As she opened her eyes she could have sworn that she saw a movement in the foreground, but silence remained and everything returned to stillness forcing the child to believe it was just an illusion. She stood up, gathered her belongings and set off again. After hours of trudging through the snow she reached the house, and stepped inside, thanking God for proving her suspicions to be false.
Georgia Perkin.
You havent commented on mine!!
Rumana
…how shall I be rid of her? This stranger, this intruder, with scarlet lips, with hair as black as shining boots (odd simile I feel) and skin as white as invincible snow (interesting description of the snow-could you qualify the word ‘invincible’ a little more?). The naked child of my husband’s yearning rides before me, her body luminous with the warmth of innocence. He coils his arms around her bare bones, shielding her from the bitter winter air. How shall I be rid of her? This child that seeks to destroy me; that seeks to steal away my Count. The Countess dangled her glove in the icy breeze, allowed the chilling gust to drive away her glove. She commanded the flawless girl to dismount the Count’s steed and fetch it. Content, the Countess began to gallop away on her thundering mare, a satisfied smile appearing on her crimson lips. “I will buy you new gloves” said the Count, and he turned away in dismissal, to smile at the beaming girl. As he did so, the dazzling pelts of black foxes leapt from the Countess’s shoulders and enveloped the girl. The Countess burned with resentment, her cheeks as red as smoldering embers. How can it be that this child has consumed him so? What enchantment has she placed on him? The Countess hurled her diamond broach into the bitterly frozen lake; surely such an angelic creature could not swim. The Count blazed, “is she a fish to swim in such treacherous conditions?” The Countess felt the frost bite her toes as her boots sprang from her feet and onto the girl’s legs. She sat shivering, her skin tinged arctic blue, her face frozen and distraught. The Count admired the fiery glow emitted from the young girl’s smile and pitied his wife’s state. “Go, fetch a rose from that bush” he whispers. She pricks her thumb on a thorn, bleeds, screams, falls. The Countess accepts the ruby rose. “It bites!”
(Zaynab) Iman
ohh crap i posted a half done one woops
Iman
Re-Creative Writing
How shall I be rid of her? This child who takes My place. She is, for him, desire made flesh with her skin as white as virgin snow. Unlike the rest of the forest she was hot: her blood red lips screaming against the blackness of her wolframite hair, sparkling through the frost but I am the countess with hair as golden as the sun, skin as smooth as slow moving silk and an exquisiteness beyond compare. The Counts brown, sharp eyes glistened now at the sight of her, in front of him, looking intensely into her innocence. Death is to be the end of this mockery.
As they travelled through the ice white forest, the countess glimpsed a solitary ivy bush with the reddest, juiciest looking, possibly poisoned berries, if the child’s crimson lips were to touch them. The countess directed the count to halt and advised him that the child must be famished and she saw succulent berries behind them but the Count said: “She shall feast at the castle.” They continued to ride on through the forest. Raging with fury the countess began to conspire other ways to finish the child. At that moment the countess intentionally dropped her necklace of white gleaming pearls on the velvety snow and told the girl to fetch it for her, in hope that she might accidentally trample the child over with her black mare. However the pearls melted instantly away into the snow, the count said: “Is she a dog? To search for something so concealed?” Yet again the Count, Countess and the girl journeyed through the white forest.
Raisa Valimahomed
How shall I be rid of her, for she cannot withstand my alluring beauty, flawless clinquant pearls and my exquisite glimmering pelts of black foxes. She had a look of innocence in her eyes, young and tender in her body. Her teeth and skin were as white as the snow, which was at rest in the forest. Her hair was as black as the night sky and her lips crimson red. Her posture was almost angelic. The countess was beyond any doubt the more prestigious of the two, but the girl had a beauty, that paid no mind to the countess’s pearls and glamorous possessions. The countess had a malevolent look, at the girls landing on this bleak wintry night. She stood there bare in the snow looking at the count with her pristine eyes of recognition, while the countess stood there with a look of envy at the count interest in this girl. The countess discarded her glove in a deceitful manner and told the girl to pick up the glove hoping to leave her, isolated in the forest, surely to perish. But the count denied her intention and said, “Ill buy you new gloves.” This deeply embittered the countess, who decided to strive again to achieve her single-minded objective. She hurled her diamond brooch into the crystal grazed icy pond: “dive in and fetch it for me,” she said; with the intention to drown the girl, but once again the count denied her and said “is she a fish, to swim in such cold weather?” The boots of the countess sprung off her feet and onto the girl’s legs. Now the countess was exposed and helpless in the cold, while the girl was conceived from head to toe; now the count felt sorry for his wife. Then they approached a bush of adequate roses and the countess said to the girl “pick me on.” The count couldn’t deny her for this third time. So the girl plucked the rose; cut her finger on the thorn; shrieks; tumbles onto the ghastly bloodless snow. Yinka lawal
Themes: Pain/Hurt/Confusion/Identity/Nature/Horror/Evil
Settings: The forest (geographical) at night (temporal).
Symbols: The Mood (nature/evil/horror/identity), The forest (protected environment/horror/restrictions), The Snow (atmosphere/tensions/suspense)
Literary Techniques
I will attempt to copy the narrative style of the story:
-I will aim to write in the same narrative voice of a women and replicate to how the audience portrays it as a non-fiction story.
-I will carry out the same sentence structure and use imagery to illustrate the characters well.
Through the use of symbolism, emotions and colour I tend to focus on the transformation of the characters and I will rely on these techniques to help me have a view of a traditional 'Fairy Tale Story' (Little Red Riding Hood)
Leaving a trail of blood behind it. It's coal black skin transforming in it's bulk. The wind accelerated to almost intensify her pain as she soaked in suffering, shivering in the sheerest agony. Her tongue began to slither whilst the glowing of her beetle eyes glared deeply in the pale darkness where the moon shone radiantly. For the woods and the Wolf are companions and with the Devil on their side their motive of revenge is evident. Howls echoed as the atmosphere darkened; Flakes of snow settled on the brittle branches of the tall black tree. It urged for destruction as she sucked upon her blood to ease her irritation. It remained comfortable in its private territory and it awaited its prey's fate eagerly.
The house became more observant as the lights allowed the outline of it to gleam, and she limps in it's direction. She faces up towards the pearl-like moon for guidance for it is the moon who remained her constant companion and as it emerged the woods dwellers avoided the mysterious surroundings for they themselves fathomed the reality of what lurked there; this is their key to survival, as they recognise the threatening danger the wolf's company can bring.
She was at her most vulnerable stage as her wolverine claws trembled. Her soul which was believed to have been the Beast's rapidly reflected her thoughts. Alarming visions; bitter truth. Her eyes agonised in torture as tears trickled towards her cheek, she could taste the revenge as she licked her lips. Finding it hard to crawl she staggered on her rigid legs.
There, a shady outline gleamed. It leads her to mark the cottage as she weaved through the golden dandelions. She approached the lodge as a sigh of relief broke th silence. The door creaked as the mahogany handle was turned and there she rested herself in the warmth of the living room. Look, look now at how she awaits for her betrayer. She lies there, lies effortlessly for her to be accompanied...
Quratulain (Annie)
I chose to enter my creative piece at this point in the story as I thought it allowed me to have a focal point which was the transformation of the Wolf to the Grandmother. This gave me an opportunity to grasp the audience's view and I was able to develop the writing in Carter's style.
This gap also allowed me to use literal techniques to write in a manner that was relevant to the format of the story. I made few referenced to the weather and the atmosphere around the wolf's character as I thought it offered a subtext. I made reference to the snow as Carter used it in many of her other short stories in this book such as the Snow Child and the Bloody Chamber. This led me to feel that the snow could have a meaning of not only the atmosphere being creepy and uneasy but also a hidden meaning of how the snow is pure and innocent so as the wolf is transforming into the grandmother from the evil it is also turning pure as we generally associate old ladies as innocent and naive. Through making reference to the weather a lot and using it as one of the main symbols I was able to grasp Carter's way of writing well as it allowed me to use subtext to illustrate characters in the story.
I varied the tense between past and present as Carter tends to develop her narrative voice through a confused female and by doing so it confused the reader. I used the change in the tenses to portray the characters from a feminist perspective. The use of colour allowed me to symbolise horror, I used the colour black to symbolise not only the description of the atmosphere but also the dark soul of the wolf, 'black' and it the use of the colour, 'black' also suggested the evil in the Beast so when the Wolf transformed the trees branches were described as black. The syntax in 'atmosphere darkened;' allowed me to build up the tension and it also portrayed a suspense atmosphere. Carter also used repitition and as a result I used repitition near the end of my piece where I said 'look, look now...' this gave me a chance to not only gain the reader's attention more but also to bring in a confused ending to the text, I done this to also create a sense of tension and discomfort.
Finally I ended by claiming 'she waits her betrayer' by this I made reference to both the wolf and the grandmother for they both are traitors to each other, as one is evil and one is good. As the story traditionally was based around Little Red Riding Hood I described the house as quite welcoming as I used word like 'warmth of her living room' which gave an insight feeling that the house must be like a cottage, this also associated with fairy tale stories and touched upon Carter's style of hinting at fairy tales. I used the weather as a symbol to suggest pain and hurt in situations, such as when the 'Wind accelerated'.
The transformation of the wolf allowed me to hint at the sexual identity that differs between men and women, and it also allowed me to show power in a sense, as when the wolf transforms to the grandmother we see her taking charge whereas traditionally the powerful character would have been one of which was a male. This allows the reader to question feminist views as Carter does this throughout many of her stories like 'The Tiger's Bride’ and ‘Bloody Chamber'.
My setting was the forest and I felt that focusing on the forest contrasted well with the wolf and the transformation. With my main theme being horror my setting of the forest portrayed a sense of insecurity and it created a horrific atmosphere. Finally I used the moon as one of the main symbols of imagery to relate to the wolf as the audience already have adapted to the clichéd view of the moon and the Wolf being of some relevance to each other.
If given another chance I would like to adapt another style of writing such as a monologue and adapt it in Carter's style.
Evaluation: Quratulain (Annie)
Recreative commentary
I decided to enter the story immediately projecting the countess’s perspective of herself in comparison to the young girl. I did this to reflect carter’s narrative style introducing the countess’s “IMACULATE” look. The first significant vocabulary choice was the word “alluring,” suggesting the feature that mars the perfection of beauty, being entirely without flaw, which is false as although she is described as flawless the count still has a desire for this young “pristine” girl, pointing out the countess’s pretentiousness and smug attitude. The syntax in “young and tender in her body,” was an attempt to emphasise her youth and innocence, “young” both suggestive of having a fresh appearance and being young at heart and “tender” suggestive of being delicate and not being able to withstand freezing temperatures, connecting to the simile of her “teeth and skin” being “as white as the snow” in the surrounding also being associated with freezing temperatures. I also used the simile of her hair being “as black as the night.” I used this technique to represent the environment of the forest covered in snow in contrast with the blackness of the sky, portraying the young girls “angelic” appearance (snow) in contrast to the girls awaiting fate of death (sky). Also the word “angelic” is a representation of the girl who manifests goodness, purity and selflessness, marked by utter benignity.The colour of “crimson red” was added was added especially, in order to give the reader a mixed feeling of love of which the count had for this young girl and death, the consequence of love. I felt this was an important theme in the story as it was the basis of the story. In the description of the girl I felt it was important to point out that the “girl had a beauty.” The most significant word in this sentence is “a” as it gives the girl a singular beauty, something that can only be possessed by her and her alone, creating a special awe about her. In describing the countess in such a way, using words like “malevolent,” meaning to wish harm on others, “deceitful,” meaning to deceive and deliberately mislead others and “embittered” the arising of bitter feelings to others. Also the countess had a look of “envy” showing her jealousy and feeling of discontent with regard to the girls advantage over the count.
All these quotes being representative of the counts emotions and motives as a result of the counts love for the girl. I thought it would be relevant to add in words like “bare” and “conceived,” representing offspring and being born, constantly reminding the reader of the girls youth. Throughout the story I decided to add many references to remind the reader of the countess’s “glamour,” by using words such as “black fox pelts” and “diamond broach and I also used the word “prestigious” in the comparison of the girl to the count, I did this in order to reinforce her high status and the more honourable of the two. I used the symbol of the “crystal grazed icy pond,” once again to reflect the high calibre of the countess and her superiority compared to the girl’s inferiority.” I decided to create an image at the end of her dying onto the “ghastly,” meaning horrifying and dreadful “bloodless,” meaning spiritless and creating a sense of emptiness and it’s also ironic as there will be blood if someone dies but I decided to use this quote in order to create an effect of an oxymoron. I also decided to use the word “shriek” to represent not only the cry of the young girl at her fate, but also that of the count on the inside as he has lost a most dear possession to him.
yinka lawal
Re-creative Writing
‘…: how shall I be rid of her?’
I can be white as snow, I can be red as blood and I can be black as the blackest feather. So why does he need her if I’m here?
What is so special in her that so much importance is shown? I have been with this moderate man for many years and it doesn’t take a second for a cunning girl to come and takeover. Am I so ugly that he wishes to have a girl like her; can I not give him a girl like her? I will tear her white skin, rip her red lips, rake her black hair, and leave her to rot in the white snow. I will drown her in the pool of blood and crush her under my scarlet heels. I feel unwanted, how can a hideous girl like her come and take my place. My husband held her smooth white arms. I stared. Wishing he was rid of her, instead of taking care of her delicate but of course white as snow body. So many years of togetherness cannot be wiped away so easily. I wish that my pelts of black fox would come alive and sink their teeth into her white skin.
I will let the wind take my glove and make this girl go and fetch it. She will become the ice of the lake and freeze to death on the white snow, and the flawless girl will never comeback with my gloves. I will give her a rose as red as her lips, and prick her with the thorns of a blooded rose.
Rumana
Re-creative Writing
‘…: how shall I be rid of her?’
I can be white as snow, I can be red as blood and I can be black as the blackest feather. So why does he need her if I’m here?
What is so special in her that so much importance is shown? I have been with this moderate man for many years and it doesn’t take a second for a cunning girl to come and takeover. Am I so ugly that he wishes to have a girl like her; can I not give him a girl like her? I will tear her white skin, rip her red lips, rake her black hair, and leave her to rot in the white snow. I will drown her in the pool of blood and crush her under my scarlet heels. I feel unwanted, how can a hideous girl like her come and take my place. My husband held her smooth white arms. I stared. Wishing he was rid of her, instead of taking care of her delicate but of course white as snow body. So many years of togetherness cannot be wiped away so easily. I wish that my pelts of black fox would come alive and sink their teeth into her white skin.
I will let the wind take my glove and make this girl go and fetch it. She will become the ice of the lake and freeze to death on the white snow, and the flawless girl will never comeback with my gloves. I will give her a rose as red as her lips, and prick her with the thorns of a blooded rose.Her existence is danger to my presence.
Rumana
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