_cartwheel_
Feb 27, 2009
Writing Feedback / Short Story (heart still aches for Darren) [6]
I'm doing my leaving cert and really need help with my compositions!
I'm doing my leaving cert and really need help with my compositions!
_cartwheel_
Feb 27, 2009
_cartwheel_
Feb 27, 2009
Writing Feedback / Short Story (heart still aches for Darren) [6]
I looked around and tried to fight back the tears. Every nook and cranny of the empty house had a story to tell and I was terrified that the memories we had made would be forgotten.
I stared out the bedroom window onto our garden. Although it was small, it was full of charachter and held for me more than an measure of memories. At the end of the garden was a small patio and cheap wooden furniture. It was on that very patio that Darren proposed to me one summer evening sixteen years ago. He wasn't exactly a romantic and randomly popped the question after a couple of bottles of red wine. He fell asleep soon afterwards and I wasn't even sure if he'd remembered the precious moment the next morning. I was pleasantly surprised when a week later he marked his relationship status as 'engaged' on an insurance form. It was one of his more romantic moments.
As I turned my back on the window and opened my wardrobe it was my wedding dress that immediately caught my eye. My hands carefully and slowly removed the her from the wardrobe and laid her out on our unmade bed. Although she had faded from a crisp white to a dirty cream I was still overwhelmed by her beauty and had to fight the temptation to try her on. Thirteen years and three pregnancies later my slender size six body was no more than a distant memory. As I stared and stared at her, memories of our special day came flooding back to me. The day was far from perfect to say the least. The morning was a rushed frenzy of screaming women with streaky tans and stringy perms. I was already in the early stages of pregnancy and trying to disguise my small bump was almost next to impossible with every female member of my extended family poking and prodding at my anatomy. As the tradition goes I was fashionably late to the church, but Darren was even later! Possibly one the most shameful moments of my life was sitting on a church step, a knocked up bride stood up by her groom. Eventually he arrived with his fly undone and his face unshaved. Easily pleased, I was the happiest bride in the world!
I packed my dress away with my other delicates and started to strip the bed. It was that bed that the our first of our three darlings, Conor was born. As usual, things didn't go to plan. I went into labour in the middle of the night. It was the coldest winter Ireland had ever seen and in the sleet and snow our '87 Micra hadn't a hope of taking off. During 24 hours of excruciating labour I was left alone with a clueless man who had one eye on me and one eye on the Ryder Cup. Suprisingly Conor's delivery was without complications and unsuprisingly Darren was more traumatised by the event than me. Some things never change, after the birth of our third child Darren was still uncomfortable with the concept of pregnancy and vowed never to have unprotected sex again.
I put my bedclothes in the washbasket and went to the boy's room to strip their beds. I directed my gaze to the faded patch of wallpaper where one Sunday morning the boys drew dragons and dungeons. It took weeks to persuade Darren to disguise the drawings, but six years later I wanted nothing more than to see those scribbles again. I stared at the wall pleading it to show me the array of colourful crayons but without success. A colony of super heroes and stuffed animals cluttered the floor but what used to seem like a chore was a moment to be cherished. This time I didn't mind tidying away the toys, each one I picked up reminded me of a birthday, a Christmas or one of Darren's fun days and I realised how lucky the boys were to have such a great Dad.
As I carried the washbasket down the stairs I was struck by the image of Darren staring at me from his condolence card. I stopped in my tracks as I felt as though he was trying to tell me something. It dawned on me as I let the washing basket slip out of my grip that I didn't want to leave this house. Darren and I spent the best years of our lives together in this house, building a home for ourselves and raising our children to be beautiful young men. I sat on the stairs surrounded by dirty clothes and bed sheets and stared long and hard at the card propped on the hall cabinet. His friendly face begged me to stay in the home we made together. Deep down I knew the boys were happiest here and that in years to come I would regret the move.
A year and a half later my heart still aches for Darren and his perfect imperfections. Sometimes life can be a struggle and the days seem dark but everything seems brighter when I look out my bedroom window.
Sorry I'm new to this and it took a while to figure out how to use it!
Please comment x
I looked around and tried to fight back the tears. Every nook and cranny of the empty house had a story to tell and I was terrified that the memories we had made would be forgotten.
I stared out the bedroom window onto our garden. Although it was small, it was full of charachter and held for me more than an measure of memories. At the end of the garden was a small patio and cheap wooden furniture. It was on that very patio that Darren proposed to me one summer evening sixteen years ago. He wasn't exactly a romantic and randomly popped the question after a couple of bottles of red wine. He fell asleep soon afterwards and I wasn't even sure if he'd remembered the precious moment the next morning. I was pleasantly surprised when a week later he marked his relationship status as 'engaged' on an insurance form. It was one of his more romantic moments.
As I turned my back on the window and opened my wardrobe it was my wedding dress that immediately caught my eye. My hands carefully and slowly removed the her from the wardrobe and laid her out on our unmade bed. Although she had faded from a crisp white to a dirty cream I was still overwhelmed by her beauty and had to fight the temptation to try her on. Thirteen years and three pregnancies later my slender size six body was no more than a distant memory. As I stared and stared at her, memories of our special day came flooding back to me. The day was far from perfect to say the least. The morning was a rushed frenzy of screaming women with streaky tans and stringy perms. I was already in the early stages of pregnancy and trying to disguise my small bump was almost next to impossible with every female member of my extended family poking and prodding at my anatomy. As the tradition goes I was fashionably late to the church, but Darren was even later! Possibly one the most shameful moments of my life was sitting on a church step, a knocked up bride stood up by her groom. Eventually he arrived with his fly undone and his face unshaved. Easily pleased, I was the happiest bride in the world!
I packed my dress away with my other delicates and started to strip the bed. It was that bed that the our first of our three darlings, Conor was born. As usual, things didn't go to plan. I went into labour in the middle of the night. It was the coldest winter Ireland had ever seen and in the sleet and snow our '87 Micra hadn't a hope of taking off. During 24 hours of excruciating labour I was left alone with a clueless man who had one eye on me and one eye on the Ryder Cup. Suprisingly Conor's delivery was without complications and unsuprisingly Darren was more traumatised by the event than me. Some things never change, after the birth of our third child Darren was still uncomfortable with the concept of pregnancy and vowed never to have unprotected sex again.
I put my bedclothes in the washbasket and went to the boy's room to strip their beds. I directed my gaze to the faded patch of wallpaper where one Sunday morning the boys drew dragons and dungeons. It took weeks to persuade Darren to disguise the drawings, but six years later I wanted nothing more than to see those scribbles again. I stared at the wall pleading it to show me the array of colourful crayons but without success. A colony of super heroes and stuffed animals cluttered the floor but what used to seem like a chore was a moment to be cherished. This time I didn't mind tidying away the toys, each one I picked up reminded me of a birthday, a Christmas or one of Darren's fun days and I realised how lucky the boys were to have such a great Dad.
As I carried the washbasket down the stairs I was struck by the image of Darren staring at me from his condolence card. I stopped in my tracks as I felt as though he was trying to tell me something. It dawned on me as I let the washing basket slip out of my grip that I didn't want to leave this house. Darren and I spent the best years of our lives together in this house, building a home for ourselves and raising our children to be beautiful young men. I sat on the stairs surrounded by dirty clothes and bed sheets and stared long and hard at the card propped on the hall cabinet. His friendly face begged me to stay in the home we made together. Deep down I knew the boys were happiest here and that in years to come I would regret the move.
A year and a half later my heart still aches for Darren and his perfect imperfections. Sometimes life can be a struggle and the days seem dark but everything seems brighter when I look out my bedroom window.
Sorry I'm new to this and it took a while to figure out how to use it!
Please comment x
_cartwheel_
Feb 28, 2009
Writing Feedback / Short Story (heart still aches for Darren) [6]
Thankyou!
I wish my English teacher agreed though!
=)
Thankyou!
I wish my English teacher agreed though!
=)
_cartwheel_
Feb 28, 2009
Writing Feedback / Write a short story in which the central character is a rebellious teenager [6]
It was the 31st of August 2003. I set my alarm to go off at seven o'clock to get myself ready for what was going to be the most important day of my life. I spent a good hour in front of the mirror but the more I looked at myself the more flaws I noticed. My frizzy hair stuck out in all directions and red blotches emerged out of my pasty white skin. Ceramic hair straighteners had not yet been invented and at the age of thirteen I considered myself too young for make up. On the brightside I had no real need to worry about my freckles as my nose managed to cast a shadow over the majority of my long face. No matter how long I spent in front of the mirror there was no disguising my horse-like looks. I hoped that the others would take my sense of humour and intelligence into account when judging me, who was I kidding?
Looking back now I can understand Rebecca. There was no doubt about it, I was an easy target. If I'm going to put the blame on anyone I'll put it on my parents. First of all, they should have known that my mothers predominant nose and my fathers wide jaw would combine to make a very unattractive baby. They should have considered this before having children. Secondly, they should have prepared me for the bullies, the torment, and the suffering I would be endured to during my teenage years. And thirdly, surely my parents could predict that my appearance alone would cause me enough problems, so why oh why did they make me join the homework club? Along with all of the other oppressed pre pubescent geeks I stayed in school two hours longer than the others, to learn nothing more than how important it was to date my page and rule my margin, every day for a year. Luckily it was cancelled after my first year due to the high number suicide attempts by members of the group. Yes, it was that bad.
But, not as bad as Rebecca. Being ugly has caused me a lot of heartache throughout my life. It took years to come to terms with the fact that I was too short to be a model, too ugly to be an actress and just not cool enough to be a singer. It was tough being measured for a bra at the age of eight and I stayed in bed for days when I was rejected by my first love. But nothing could ever compare to the torment that Rebecca subjected me too.
My first experience with Rebecca was on my first day of secondary school and marked the beginning of our beastly adventure. I knew trouble was coming towards me when I heard the jingle jangle of her abundant jewellery behind my back. She was constantly decorated in chains and jewels but despite the school rules no teacher ever dared challenge her. It was just too big a risk to take. As she neared me I heard her footsteps get heavier and my small group of friends slowly distanced themselves from me. They didn't dare to get involved and I can't say I blame them. I felt a sharp prod on my shoulder and as I turned around felt a sharp poke in my eye. Overwhelmed with pain and shock at this horrific attack I squinted through my healthy eye to try and figure out what exactly was happening. From the moment I laid that eye on her I feared her. I didn't know who she was or why she condemned me to this wicked random attack.
She was the typical, rebellious teenager. Effortlessy beautiful but exceedingly evil. Her long black hair flowed down to the very low of her back, rippling as she cackled at me, and her icy blue eyes cut through to my very soul. 'Look, she's crying!', she shrieked to her gang of giggling girls. I hadn't the guts to explain that I wasn't crying, the nerve endings in my eye simply picked up on the irritation which caused my brain to send a message to my tear duct which stimulated the production of water to cleanse my eye of any pathogenic substances. Thankfully I didn't give this response, I later found out that my interest in science only gave Rebecca more reason to bully me. Like a typical chubby fool I ran, I ran and I ran until I couldn't run anymore, which wasn't very far.
As the years went by Rebecca's attacks became more vicious. In P.E. she would pull down my trousers, in Art class she would cut my hair and on school tours she would hide my clothes. I was beginning to get used to her regular raids and usually knew what to expect and when to expect them. But just as I getting comfortable and accustomed to Rebecca it all changed. Maybe she just got bored with me, maybe she stopped caring or maybe she just matured. Personally I think she got too busy bullying herself to bully me.
I always dreaded the first day back to school. I usually didn't see Rebecca over the summer and was always the victim of a savagely unfriendly welcome. But the first of September 2007 was a pleasant surprise.
At first, Rebecca walked past me without breathing a word.I reckoned she just didn't recognise me, I had slimmed down and bloomed a lot over the summer. But as the days went by I started to worry about Rebecca. Her cackle didn't have the same feist that it used to and I could tell that her poor attempts to belittle me were only to impress her friends.
After a few weeks I discovered the source of Rebecca's sudden shyness. She had found herself a boyfriend. She'd had plenty of boyfriends in the past, more than I can count on two hands, but this one was older, much older! He drove a fast car for leisure and dealed soft drugs for a living. Rebecca was completely besotted with Aidan and spent every day helping him sell drugs and looking after his three children. During the year I closely observed and inspected her questionable behaviour. She cut her long dark hair and her slender wrists. She began ditching her friends and mitching school. We'd go weeks without seeing her but when we did she'd ignore us, clearly as she hurried along with the children, high on a mixture of cider and soft drugs.
Rebecca left school early. Nobody ever knew where she went or what she did. As the years passed I forgot about the misery she inflicted on me and began to wonder about the misery that may have been inflicted on her over the years. When I think of Rebecca I thank God that I was an ugly teenager. By the time I became popular I was way too wise for poking people in the eye, a point in Rebecca's life which, I think, ultimately lead to her destruction.
I have a serious case of writers block! Thanks for reading =)
It was the 31st of August 2003. I set my alarm to go off at seven o'clock to get myself ready for what was going to be the most important day of my life. I spent a good hour in front of the mirror but the more I looked at myself the more flaws I noticed. My frizzy hair stuck out in all directions and red blotches emerged out of my pasty white skin. Ceramic hair straighteners had not yet been invented and at the age of thirteen I considered myself too young for make up. On the brightside I had no real need to worry about my freckles as my nose managed to cast a shadow over the majority of my long face. No matter how long I spent in front of the mirror there was no disguising my horse-like looks. I hoped that the others would take my sense of humour and intelligence into account when judging me, who was I kidding?
Looking back now I can understand Rebecca. There was no doubt about it, I was an easy target. If I'm going to put the blame on anyone I'll put it on my parents. First of all, they should have known that my mothers predominant nose and my fathers wide jaw would combine to make a very unattractive baby. They should have considered this before having children. Secondly, they should have prepared me for the bullies, the torment, and the suffering I would be endured to during my teenage years. And thirdly, surely my parents could predict that my appearance alone would cause me enough problems, so why oh why did they make me join the homework club? Along with all of the other oppressed pre pubescent geeks I stayed in school two hours longer than the others, to learn nothing more than how important it was to date my page and rule my margin, every day for a year. Luckily it was cancelled after my first year due to the high number suicide attempts by members of the group. Yes, it was that bad.
But, not as bad as Rebecca. Being ugly has caused me a lot of heartache throughout my life. It took years to come to terms with the fact that I was too short to be a model, too ugly to be an actress and just not cool enough to be a singer. It was tough being measured for a bra at the age of eight and I stayed in bed for days when I was rejected by my first love. But nothing could ever compare to the torment that Rebecca subjected me too.
My first experience with Rebecca was on my first day of secondary school and marked the beginning of our beastly adventure. I knew trouble was coming towards me when I heard the jingle jangle of her abundant jewellery behind my back. She was constantly decorated in chains and jewels but despite the school rules no teacher ever dared challenge her. It was just too big a risk to take. As she neared me I heard her footsteps get heavier and my small group of friends slowly distanced themselves from me. They didn't dare to get involved and I can't say I blame them. I felt a sharp prod on my shoulder and as I turned around felt a sharp poke in my eye. Overwhelmed with pain and shock at this horrific attack I squinted through my healthy eye to try and figure out what exactly was happening. From the moment I laid that eye on her I feared her. I didn't know who she was or why she condemned me to this wicked random attack.
She was the typical, rebellious teenager. Effortlessy beautiful but exceedingly evil. Her long black hair flowed down to the very low of her back, rippling as she cackled at me, and her icy blue eyes cut through to my very soul. 'Look, she's crying!', she shrieked to her gang of giggling girls. I hadn't the guts to explain that I wasn't crying, the nerve endings in my eye simply picked up on the irritation which caused my brain to send a message to my tear duct which stimulated the production of water to cleanse my eye of any pathogenic substances. Thankfully I didn't give this response, I later found out that my interest in science only gave Rebecca more reason to bully me. Like a typical chubby fool I ran, I ran and I ran until I couldn't run anymore, which wasn't very far.
As the years went by Rebecca's attacks became more vicious. In P.E. she would pull down my trousers, in Art class she would cut my hair and on school tours she would hide my clothes. I was beginning to get used to her regular raids and usually knew what to expect and when to expect them. But just as I getting comfortable and accustomed to Rebecca it all changed. Maybe she just got bored with me, maybe she stopped caring or maybe she just matured. Personally I think she got too busy bullying herself to bully me.
I always dreaded the first day back to school. I usually didn't see Rebecca over the summer and was always the victim of a savagely unfriendly welcome. But the first of September 2007 was a pleasant surprise.
At first, Rebecca walked past me without breathing a word.I reckoned she just didn't recognise me, I had slimmed down and bloomed a lot over the summer. But as the days went by I started to worry about Rebecca. Her cackle didn't have the same feist that it used to and I could tell that her poor attempts to belittle me were only to impress her friends.
After a few weeks I discovered the source of Rebecca's sudden shyness. She had found herself a boyfriend. She'd had plenty of boyfriends in the past, more than I can count on two hands, but this one was older, much older! He drove a fast car for leisure and dealed soft drugs for a living. Rebecca was completely besotted with Aidan and spent every day helping him sell drugs and looking after his three children. During the year I closely observed and inspected her questionable behaviour. She cut her long dark hair and her slender wrists. She began ditching her friends and mitching school. We'd go weeks without seeing her but when we did she'd ignore us, clearly as she hurried along with the children, high on a mixture of cider and soft drugs.
Rebecca left school early. Nobody ever knew where she went or what she did. As the years passed I forgot about the misery she inflicted on me and began to wonder about the misery that may have been inflicted on her over the years. When I think of Rebecca I thank God that I was an ugly teenager. By the time I became popular I was way too wise for poking people in the eye, a point in Rebecca's life which, I think, ultimately lead to her destruction.
I have a serious case of writers block! Thanks for reading =)
_cartwheel_
Mar 1, 2009
Writing Feedback / "Unexpected Change" essay [6]
Does paediatrician not have an 'a' in it??
Or is it spelt differently around the world?
Does paediatrician not have an 'a' in it??
Or is it spelt differently around the world?
_cartwheel_
Mar 4, 2009
Writing Feedback / Write a short story in which the central character is a rebellious teenager [6]
I usually start with a date or a quote to grab the readers attention but I'll try that next time!
Thanks =)
I usually start with a date or a quote to grab the readers attention but I'll try that next time!
Thanks =)