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Urgent Need help for English Ext 1 (1 Viewer)
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Could you give feedback on my essay so far
He was a murderer.
A regretful act changed his feelings, it all began when he was a young boy, when he was surrounded by lush golden wheat fields, at which his father worked. His house adjoined the field, it was nothing but shameful. The walls were made of wood, exposing the paint that had chipped away and a pungent smell of sweat and sewage engulfed the house. Ewart hated that he had to share this minuscule house with four other families, which alienated the word privacy to him until he witnessed a mansion in the city from the outside that had gleaming windows and majestic exteriors. He dreamt of owning a splendid mansion and eating food that was not stale. One day as he gazed through the window, he noticed the plump and powerful chickens prey on defenceless worms; it made his eyes red, while he clenched his fist. He anticipated for the night and discretely scavenged a kitchen knife, which he hid earlier on. Resembling a wolf he set to prey on these heartless creatures. The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight, which ensured he had enough light to locate his victims. The chicken twisted and shook violently in desperation until a swift cut, unleashed streams of bright red blood, which oozed from its neck. One by one, they vanished facing the same fate as the first chicken. Content that he prevented injustice and disregarding the death of the chicken, he slept peacefully.
Unlike the majority of children, who had compassion Ewart emerged into manhood, with an inexhaustible quench for power and wealth, while a prominent group infiltrated British circles. Ewart was in a dimly lit coffeehouse that had a yellowish tint that emanated from the tungsten bulb, when a colossal man with broad shoulders wearing an unusual black suit entered. It was of Coal Black. A black, that conjured the evilest of spirits. The owner came rushing to serve this man named Henry, but instead of reverence in the owner’s eyes, one could see fear. The owner’s legs and hands shook heedlessly, while streams of perspiration sprang from his face. Thoughts cascaded his mind. Optimism won in the battle of thoughts and seizing this opportunity Ewart approached the cynical man. Before Ewart even asked a question the man responded by saying, “ I know you want to join, but you need to prove yourself to the masters and if you do so, unseen power and wealth will accompany you.” Ewart stood spellbound, theorizing how the man knew his feelings and later followed the man into an intriguing castle.
A large portcullis, made out of brittle rusted iron creaked as it rose slowly and revealed an image that sent blood-curdling tremors to Ewart’s body. It was like nothing he had previously experienced, vast and ancient. Through the dusk, the faint irregular texture of stones could be seen. Ewart was mesmerized and captivated by peculiar symbols. A shrill noise could be heard as the wild wind howled. He anxiously turned desperately searching for an exit out of the lustreless place. The heavy timber of the door groaned as it closed entrenching them in the gloom. Henry lit a torch in an attempt to dissipate the darkness. Henry led the way as they set foot in a chamber occupied by bizarre figures in identical clothing. Glancing at his own pearl white clothing, in contrast to the stygian clothing of the others, he felt estranged from the group.
He was a murderer.
A regretful act changed his feelings, it all began when he was a young boy, when he was surrounded by lush golden wheat fields, at which his father worked. His house adjoined the field, it was nothing but shameful. The walls were made of wood, exposing the paint that had chipped away and a pungent smell of sweat and sewage engulfed the house. Ewart hated that he had to share this minuscule house with four other families, which alienated the word privacy to him until he witnessed a mansion in the city from the outside that had gleaming windows and majestic exteriors. He dreamt of owning a splendid mansion and eating food that was not stale. One day as he gazed through the window, he noticed the plump and powerful chickens prey on defenceless worms; it made his eyes red, while he clenched his fist. He anticipated for the night and discretely scavenged a kitchen knife, which he hid earlier on. Resembling a wolf he set to prey on these heartless creatures. The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight, which ensured he had enough light to locate his victims. The chicken twisted and shook violently in desperation until a swift cut, unleashed streams of bright red blood, which oozed from its neck. One by one, they vanished facing the same fate as the first chicken. Content that he prevented injustice and disregarding the death of the chicken, he slept peacefully.
Unlike the majority of children, who had compassion Ewart emerged into manhood, with an inexhaustible quench for power and wealth, while a prominent group infiltrated British circles. Ewart was in a dimly lit coffeehouse that had a yellowish tint that emanated from the tungsten bulb, when a colossal man with broad shoulders wearing an unusual black suit entered. It was of Coal Black. A black, that conjured the evilest of spirits. The owner came rushing to serve this man named Henry, but instead of reverence in the owner’s eyes, one could see fear. The owner’s legs and hands shook heedlessly, while streams of perspiration sprang from his face. Thoughts cascaded his mind. Optimism won in the battle of thoughts and seizing this opportunity Ewart approached the cynical man. Before Ewart even asked a question the man responded by saying, “ I know you want to join, but you need to prove yourself to the masters and if you do so, unseen power and wealth will accompany you.” Ewart stood spellbound, theorizing how the man knew his feelings and later followed the man into an intriguing castle.
A large portcullis, made out of brittle rusted iron creaked as it rose slowly and revealed an image that sent blood-curdling tremors to Ewart’s body. It was like nothing he had previously experienced, vast and ancient. Through the dusk, the faint irregular texture of stones could be seen. Ewart was mesmerized and captivated by peculiar symbols. A shrill noise could be heard as the wild wind howled. He anxiously turned desperately searching for an exit out of the lustreless place. The heavy timber of the door groaned as it closed entrenching them in the gloom. Henry lit a torch in an attempt to dissipate the darkness. Henry led the way as they set foot in a chamber occupied by bizarre figures in identical clothing. Glancing at his own pearl white clothing, in contrast to the stygian clothing of the others, he felt estranged from the group.
The prompt was
This is not written for the young or the light of heart, not for the tranquil species of men whose souls are content with the simple pleasures…. Rather, I write to those beings like myself whose existence is compounded by a lurid intermingling of the dark and the light; who feel too keenly and churn with too great a passion; who have an incessant longing for happiness and yet are shadowed by deep and persistent melancholy.
This is not written for the young or the light of heart, not for the tranquil species of men whose souls are content with the simple pleasures…. Rather, I write to those beings like myself whose existence is compounded by a lurid intermingling of the dark and the light; who feel too keenly and churn with too great a passion; who have an incessant longing for happiness and yet are shadowed by deep and persistent melancholy.
Too much action without enough interiority.
also a bit too much descriptions of useless things. Not very clear sense of purpose in the text as well.
This is my first draft of the entire story
He was a murderer.
A regretful act changed his feelings, it all began when he was a young boy, when he was surrounded by lush golden wheat fields, at which his father worked. His house adjoined the field, it was nothing but shameful. The walls were made of wood, exposing the paint that had chipped away and a pungent smell of sweat and sewage engulfed the house. Ewart hated that he had to share this minuscule house with four other families, which alienated the word privacy to him until he witnessed a mansion in the city from the outside that had gleaming windows and majestic exteriors. He dreamt of owning a splendid mansion and eating food that was not stale. One day as he gazed through the window, he noticed the plump and powerful chickens prey on defenceless worms; it made his eyes red, while he clenched his fist. He anticipated for the night and discretely scavenged a kitchen knife, which he hid earlier on. Resembling a wolf he set to prey on these heartless creatures. The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight, which ensured he had enough light to locate his victims. The chicken twisted and shook violently in desperation until a swift cut, unleashed streams of bright red blood, which oozed from its neck. One by one, they vanished facing the same fate as the first chicken. Content that he prevented injustice and disregarding the death of the chicken, he slept peacefully.
Unlike the majority of children, who had compassion Ewart emerged into manhood, with an inexhaustible quench for power and wealth, while a prominent group infiltrated British circles. Ewart was in a dimly lit coffeehouse that had a yellowish tint, which emanated from the tungsten bulb, when a colossal man with broad shoulders wearing an unusual black suit entered. It was of Coal Black. A black, that conjured the evilest of spirits. The owner came rushing to serve this man named Henry, but instead of reverence in the owner’s eyes, one could see fear. The owner’s legs and hands shook heedlessly, while streams of perspiration sprang from his face. Thoughts cascaded his mind. Optimism won in the battle of thoughts and seizing this opportunity Ewart approached the cynical man. Before Ewart even asked a question the man responded by saying, “ I know you want to join, but you need to prove yourself to the masters and if you do so, unseen power and wealth will accompany you.” Ewart stood spellbound, theorizing how the man knew his feelings and followed Henry into an intriguing castle.
A large portcullis, made out of brittle rusted iron creaked as it rose slowly and revealed an image that sent blood-curdling tremors to Ewart’s body. It was like nothing he had previously experienced, vast and ancient. Through the dusk, the faint irregular texture of stones could be seen. Ewart was mesmerized and captivated by peculiar symbols. A shrill noise could be heard as the wild wind howled. He anxiously turned desperately searching for an exit out of the lustreless place. The heavy timber of the door groaned as it closed entrenching them in the gloom. Henry lit a torch in an attempt to dissipate the darkness. Henry led the way as they set foot in a chamber occupied by bizarre figures in identical clothing. Glancing at his own pearl white clothing, in contrast to the stygian clothing of the others, he felt estranged from the group. Suddenly a voice boomed “ I have apprehended that you want to take part, but before you do so go forth and prove your loyalty by selecting a task, and if you agree to do so, meet Henry at the same coffeehouse ” Ewart stepped forward carefully selecting a roll of parchment that was precisely wrapped. Delicately he opened the roll, while anticipating what he had to perform to reach the apex of his life. Sense of shock and despair overarched him, it was a brutal assessment, but for his future he willingly agreed.
An unexpected tempest ravaged the village that deserted the coffeehouse except the farthest grim corner remained occupied. A short middle-aged lady perched on an Elizabethan chair. She wore a long peacock blue, bell-shaped skirt with voluminous petticoat, with her shoulders hunched over the warm caffeinated drink touched her voluptuous red lips and proceeded to her throat. A deafening crack of thunder filled the room, as Ewart’s ears rang and the recoil jolted his amature firing hand. One by one the barrel of bullets entered the woman’s body and teared her flesh apart, until they reached her bones. Ewart’s numbness in his ears deafened the women’s agony as her soul left the body, but he did witness the transition from the saturated peacock blue skirt to soaking crimson red. A faint tear emerged from the darkness of his heart through his eyes, while his gun dropped to the ground. Disquietness inundated his core, when he gradually crept to the carcass. Blood stained his quivering hands; with great force he rotated the women’s body and what happened, it tainted his soul forever. The sole reason that caused heinous pageant dreams. Intricately Ewart removed the hat, covering the woman’s face revealing his aunt. He breathed heavily, contemplating the crime he committed. A memory of his aunt cut him deep, the day when his parents died, she was the only one to console and enlisted him into a factory for a reasonable wage. Having felt the arm she placed on his shoulders was now gone, It dug a nail deep into his heart and a void that may never be filled.
Amidst the tempest in his life he entered his home, which was modest, but was substantially improved from his parent’s house. Having sank onto the chair, puffs of smoke arose from his cigar, a way from him to suppress his anguish. It occurred to him the pearls of wisdom, a Christian father told him, that following the bible is a way for mortals to live their life to the fullest. It doesn’t mean to have riches beyond need and in fact these materialistic possessions are meaningless to those who have them. These exact concepts he brushed away, considering them to be for the weak and unworthy were ever so applicable to his life. Picking up the bible that had been covered for dust in his shelf, he caressed it and re-established himself in a religion, which he had left behind. Hoping until his death that god has forgiven him.
He was a murderer.
A regretful act changed his feelings, it all began when he was a young boy, when he was surrounded by lush golden wheat fields, at which his father worked. His house adjoined the field, it was nothing but shameful. The walls were made of wood, exposing the paint that had chipped away and a pungent smell of sweat and sewage engulfed the house. Ewart hated that he had to share this minuscule house with four other families, which alienated the word privacy to him until he witnessed a mansion in the city from the outside that had gleaming windows and majestic exteriors. He dreamt of owning a splendid mansion and eating food that was not stale. One day as he gazed through the window, he noticed the plump and powerful chickens prey on defenceless worms; it made his eyes red, while he clenched his fist. He anticipated for the night and discretely scavenged a kitchen knife, which he hid earlier on. Resembling a wolf he set to prey on these heartless creatures. The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight, which ensured he had enough light to locate his victims. The chicken twisted and shook violently in desperation until a swift cut, unleashed streams of bright red blood, which oozed from its neck. One by one, they vanished facing the same fate as the first chicken. Content that he prevented injustice and disregarding the death of the chicken, he slept peacefully.
Unlike the majority of children, who had compassion Ewart emerged into manhood, with an inexhaustible quench for power and wealth, while a prominent group infiltrated British circles. Ewart was in a dimly lit coffeehouse that had a yellowish tint, which emanated from the tungsten bulb, when a colossal man with broad shoulders wearing an unusual black suit entered. It was of Coal Black. A black, that conjured the evilest of spirits. The owner came rushing to serve this man named Henry, but instead of reverence in the owner’s eyes, one could see fear. The owner’s legs and hands shook heedlessly, while streams of perspiration sprang from his face. Thoughts cascaded his mind. Optimism won in the battle of thoughts and seizing this opportunity Ewart approached the cynical man. Before Ewart even asked a question the man responded by saying, “ I know you want to join, but you need to prove yourself to the masters and if you do so, unseen power and wealth will accompany you.” Ewart stood spellbound, theorizing how the man knew his feelings and followed Henry into an intriguing castle.
A large portcullis, made out of brittle rusted iron creaked as it rose slowly and revealed an image that sent blood-curdling tremors to Ewart’s body. It was like nothing he had previously experienced, vast and ancient. Through the dusk, the faint irregular texture of stones could be seen. Ewart was mesmerized and captivated by peculiar symbols. A shrill noise could be heard as the wild wind howled. He anxiously turned desperately searching for an exit out of the lustreless place. The heavy timber of the door groaned as it closed entrenching them in the gloom. Henry lit a torch in an attempt to dissipate the darkness. Henry led the way as they set foot in a chamber occupied by bizarre figures in identical clothing. Glancing at his own pearl white clothing, in contrast to the stygian clothing of the others, he felt estranged from the group. Suddenly a voice boomed “ I have apprehended that you want to take part, but before you do so go forth and prove your loyalty by selecting a task, and if you agree to do so, meet Henry at the same coffeehouse ” Ewart stepped forward carefully selecting a roll of parchment that was precisely wrapped. Delicately he opened the roll, while anticipating what he had to perform to reach the apex of his life. Sense of shock and despair overarched him, it was a brutal assessment, but for his future he willingly agreed.
An unexpected tempest ravaged the village that deserted the coffeehouse except the farthest grim corner remained occupied. A short middle-aged lady perched on an Elizabethan chair. She wore a long peacock blue, bell-shaped skirt with voluminous petticoat, with her shoulders hunched over the warm caffeinated drink touched her voluptuous red lips and proceeded to her throat. A deafening crack of thunder filled the room, as Ewart’s ears rang and the recoil jolted his amature firing hand. One by one the barrel of bullets entered the woman’s body and teared her flesh apart, until they reached her bones. Ewart’s numbness in his ears deafened the women’s agony as her soul left the body, but he did witness the transition from the saturated peacock blue skirt to soaking crimson red. A faint tear emerged from the darkness of his heart through his eyes, while his gun dropped to the ground. Disquietness inundated his core, when he gradually crept to the carcass. Blood stained his quivering hands; with great force he rotated the women’s body and what happened, it tainted his soul forever. The sole reason that caused heinous pageant dreams. Intricately Ewart removed the hat, covering the woman’s face revealing his aunt. He breathed heavily, contemplating the crime he committed. A memory of his aunt cut him deep, the day when his parents died, she was the only one to console and enlisted him into a factory for a reasonable wage. Having felt the arm she placed on his shoulders was now gone, It dug a nail deep into his heart and a void that may never be filled.
Amidst the tempest in his life he entered his home, which was modest, but was substantially improved from his parent’s house. Having sank onto the chair, puffs of smoke arose from his cigar, a way from him to suppress his anguish. It occurred to him the pearls of wisdom, a Christian father told him, that following the bible is a way for mortals to live their life to the fullest. It doesn’t mean to have riches beyond need and in fact these materialistic possessions are meaningless to those who have them. These exact concepts he brushed away, considering them to be for the weak and unworthy were ever so applicable to his life. Picking up the bible that had been covered for dust in his shelf, he caressed it and re-established himself in a religion, which he had left behind. Hoping until his death that god has forgiven him.
Lazzzzzyyyyyy...
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I think you add lots of gothic aspects, e.g. the spirits, thunder etc. but I feel like you're just sprinkling it in. Like the overall setting doesn't really feel gothic and if you could incorporate a more gothic atmosphere, including through setting it'd make it a lot more consistent. It does improve towards the end though.
Also, according to the prompt, did you analyse/interpret a meaningful idea out of it which you've centralised your short story around? Other than just taking it literally
Also, according to the prompt, did you analyse/interpret a meaningful idea out of it which you've centralised your short story around? Other than just taking it literally
Somewhat I guess
I included aspects of the prompt into my story like the protagonist being materialistic, shadowed by melancholy due to the murder.
In a conceptual level it was more so about what distinguishes a human between an animal, as animals do sometimes eat their own relatives or offspring.
I included aspects of the prompt into my story like the protagonist being materialistic, shadowed by melancholy due to the murder.
In a conceptual level it was more so about what distinguishes a human between an animal, as animals do sometimes eat their own relatives or offspring.
Lazzzzzyyyyyy...
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I think you should try to push the conceptual notion, and make it clear (I don't mean literal, but I do think you could have the idea be more present).
slightly_above_average
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feels too much like an essay and not a story.
A regretful act changed his feelings- What feelings?
Ewart hated that he had to share this minuscule house with four other families, which alienated the word privacy to him until he witnessed a mansion in the city from the outside that had gleaming windows and majestic exteriors. - longwinded, unclear and overly-wordy.
One day as he gazed through the window, he noticed the plump and powerful chickens prey on defenceless worms- reconsider how you use adjectives. If it doesnt add anything new to your description, what's the point? You could employ a simile or metaphor to make this more effective. Additionally really need to add more emotive language if you wanna justify your characters murders.
The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight- again, is the adjective "brilliant" really that effective or necessary.
The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight, which ensured he had enough light to locate his victims. The chicken twisted and shook violently in desperation until a swift cut, unleashed streams of bright red blood, which oozed from its neck - Too abrupt here. Need a sentence in-between of him approaching the chooks.
One by one, they vanished facing the same fate as the first chicken - "same fate as the first chicken" really not necessary.
Content that he prevented injustice and disregarding the death of the chicken, he slept peacefully. - reads like an essay. Really need to integrate some sort of personality/emotion throughout your story.
Unlike the majority of children, who had compassion Ewart emerged into manhood, with an inexhaustible quench for power and wealth- Show don't tell.
Ewart was in a dimly lit coffeehouse that had a yellowish tint, which emanated from the tungsten bulb, when a colossal man with broad shoulders wearing an unusual black suit entered- try and break things up more by using sentences.
My shitty version of ur scene: Ewart sat alone in a dimly lit coffeehouse fascinated by the moths and their strange obsession with light. The moths with their soot-blackened wings fluttered around the tungsten bulb which dangled from the roof. It was almost like they were hypnotised by the light, willingly colliding into the bulb and even each other. Ewart couldn't help but be amused. Suddenly, the heavy thuds of footsteps echoed sharply around the room, violently shaking the tungsten bulb as it swayed side-by-side like a pendulum scaring the moths away. A man with a black suit suddenly engulfed the room.
See how by breaking things up things flow a lot more smoother. (only a big issue in ur first 2 paragraphs)
The main issues of ur stories are:
-no feeling of progression
-ineffective description i.e adjectives
-need more show dont tell
issue is prevalent even in ur opening line. "he was a murderer" could have been : Blood wasn't a rare sight for Ewart. But he wasn't a surgeon.
-Your language is very convoluted. Focus more on simplicity and conciseness. Although sometimes complex words can be effective, the way you've done it just dilutes your ideas and distracts the reader. (although there are parts of your story showcase good language control)
- The emotional parts of your story don't land at all. You expect us the sympathise with a character's death when she is only introduced when she dies? lol
- I may just be a complete idiot, but i dont understand your story at all. The jumps from inaction to action are just too abrupt and things just dont make sense to me.
If i had more time i would give more feedback.
A regretful act changed his feelings- What feelings?
Ewart hated that he had to share this minuscule house with four other families, which alienated the word privacy to him until he witnessed a mansion in the city from the outside that had gleaming windows and majestic exteriors. - longwinded, unclear and overly-wordy.
One day as he gazed through the window, he noticed the plump and powerful chickens prey on defenceless worms- reconsider how you use adjectives. If it doesnt add anything new to your description, what's the point? You could employ a simile or metaphor to make this more effective. Additionally really need to add more emotive language if you wanna justify your characters murders.
The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight- again, is the adjective "brilliant" really that effective or necessary.
The knife gleamed reflecting the brilliant moonlight, which ensured he had enough light to locate his victims. The chicken twisted and shook violently in desperation until a swift cut, unleashed streams of bright red blood, which oozed from its neck - Too abrupt here. Need a sentence in-between of him approaching the chooks.
One by one, they vanished facing the same fate as the first chicken - "same fate as the first chicken" really not necessary.
Content that he prevented injustice and disregarding the death of the chicken, he slept peacefully. - reads like an essay. Really need to integrate some sort of personality/emotion throughout your story.
Unlike the majority of children, who had compassion Ewart emerged into manhood, with an inexhaustible quench for power and wealth- Show don't tell.
Ewart was in a dimly lit coffeehouse that had a yellowish tint, which emanated from the tungsten bulb, when a colossal man with broad shoulders wearing an unusual black suit entered- try and break things up more by using sentences.
My shitty version of ur scene: Ewart sat alone in a dimly lit coffeehouse fascinated by the moths and their strange obsession with light. The moths with their soot-blackened wings fluttered around the tungsten bulb which dangled from the roof. It was almost like they were hypnotised by the light, willingly colliding into the bulb and even each other. Ewart couldn't help but be amused. Suddenly, the heavy thuds of footsteps echoed sharply around the room, violently shaking the tungsten bulb as it swayed side-by-side like a pendulum scaring the moths away. A man with a black suit suddenly engulfed the room.
See how by breaking things up things flow a lot more smoother. (only a big issue in ur first 2 paragraphs)
The main issues of ur stories are:
-no feeling of progression
-ineffective description i.e adjectives
-need more show dont tell
issue is prevalent even in ur opening line. "he was a murderer" could have been : Blood wasn't a rare sight for Ewart. But he wasn't a surgeon.
-Your language is very convoluted. Focus more on simplicity and conciseness. Although sometimes complex words can be effective, the way you've done it just dilutes your ideas and distracts the reader. (although there are parts of your story showcase good language control)
- The emotional parts of your story don't land at all. You expect us the sympathise with a character's death when she is only introduced when she dies? lol
- I may just be a complete idiot, but i dont understand your story at all. The jumps from inaction to action are just too abrupt and things just dont make sense to me.
If i had more time i would give more feedback.