Gothic Creative Writing Ideas????!?!?!?! (1 Viewer)

georgia_crowley

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Hey can someone please help me make this into a gothic creative writing piece? I am really struggling
Or if anyone has any ideas?!

The swings moved gently in the wind, their chains were rattling and screeching, as if announcing something. The moonlight shone over the secluded park as I watched my little angel throwing her legs back and forth forcing the swing to travel higher. She exchanged her beautiful smile with me as she continued to go higher and higher. I swept my gaze over the rustling metal frame, with vines and grass creeping their way up the poles. The seesaw would not move; it was so old and stiff from disuse. The trees howled and I felt the cool breeze run down my spine. The monkey bars were in an even worse condition; bars had actually broken in the middle, whilst others were showing cracks. I appraised the big slide in the very centre of the park, watching the droplets of water attempt to clear the thick layer of moss and dirt covering the plastic surface.
“Mummy, Mummy come and push me higher!” I heard these words echoing in the distance, “Yes darling coming now”, as I turned around she was gone! Leaves continued to fall from the trees and they began to howl similar to a scream. She’s gone; she’s left me again. My head began to spin one hundred miles per hour the screams still haunting me.
“Mummy help me ahhhhhh”.
Silence returned to the desolated parkland. That day still haunts me and keeps bringing me back here. I reached into my pocket, my phone reading 11.50pm. Its approaching midnight I better get out of here. My body temperature started to decrease rapidly, my hands began shaking uncontrollably, I felt my eyes beginning to roll back towards my forehead, and bang I’m out again.

“Amy, Amy, it’s time to wake up now and get ready for work” It was my husbands low monotone voice. He takes care of me, as if I am his child not his wife. My head was still pounding as I rolled out of bed. Breakfast all made on the bench, this was not a surprise. My eyes caught gaze of the pink room in the corner. She was never going to come back, never. But something always takes me back to that park.
 

Tim_Monash

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Hi Georgia, I think the key to emulating any creative writing style is to really emphasise the elements that are common to the mode of writing you are undertaking. You have a good start here, but some points to consider:

The setting — you have set it at night which is a great start, but I think the most identifiable aspect of gothic writing is often the location of the scene itself. So perhaps I would suggest changing the location so that your protagonist is living within an old Abbey. And then I would keep a similar opening scene but move it to a stable which is situated within the grounds of the Abbey and in front of a once grand, but now crumbling (probably Catholic) church. That way the church can serve as a gloomy and foreboding omen which stifles and suffocates the emotions/energy of your characters.

Psychology — following from that last point is the effect that the setting has over the thoughts and feelings of the characters, for instance, the church imports a feeling of unease, reluctance and fear whilst the Abbey might be similarly dark and dreary, but perhaps less malevolent.

Villain — I think as a natural extension of this would be to have a priest who dwells in the church as your villain who is conspiring against the other occupants of the Abbey.

Supernatural — There are allusions to it in your piece, but just ensure that you have a supernatural event/presence throughout the story. I think keeping it subtle for the most part is a good idea and then have it reveal itself late in the second act.

Language — Personally, I think the best way to convey meaning, especially in a creative sense is to use short, sharp sentences. A simple example may be: I could hear the church bells clanging in the distance. Midnight had arrived. The bushes behind me began to stir. I could feel a hot prickling down the back of my neck. A helpless feeling of desperation took over me. Paralysed by fear, I didn't dare look up.

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Tim Wells

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