Travel Literature: A Bombing Ground.

Part I 

I find that Old Glory: A Voyage down the Mississippi to be the most effective out of the rest because of the diction that the writer uses was able to engage me throughout the whole extract. 

The diction, was as if he was writing a thriller, and he wasn't really concentrating on his car or mood, what he really was thinking about was the landscape, "the white-painted farms set back behind good fences, each one with its grain silo topped by an aluminum cone like a witch's hat, the long sweep of freshly harvested valleys reduced to hog's bristle". This helps me imagine the environment he was driving through.

The thought of no one but himself was on the road, seemed suspicious. At first, I thought that he was on a somewhat busy road, but when the first line had said, "the road was empty - not a truck or a car in miles," it seemed like he wasn't welcomed into the place he is travelling to.

Part II

On the 15th of April 2013, an ambulance blared its horns in the city of Boston. I had laid inside, staring at the blank ceiling, with my mother and a doctor by my side. The pain in my right arm and my right leg was excruciatingly painful. I couldn't help it, but I cried. My mother was staring at me, with horror and tears in her eyes. I could hear people outside crying like there's no tomorrow. I wished it could all stop.

After 30 minutes, I was rushed straight into a room, which we all call, an ICU. I saw my mother pushing away the nurses and she ran towards me, only to be caught in the doctor's arms. I heard my mother shouting and screaming at the doctor, so she could follow me inside the cream coloured room. She kept screaming and I could still hear her, even when the doors were shut tight.

Mother... I had thought while crying out salty tears, stop... I have heard enough shouting, screaming and crying today, so please, just stop.

The next second later, I saw the world darken, the few hours of surgery was about to commence.

After two weeks, my limbs on the right were still not healed, the doctor had warned me about the third-degree burns, saying that it would take more than a month to heal. I sat on my bed, thinking about that afternoon, and how frightful it was, and I could still remember the bright light, flashing in my bloodshot eyes.

Three people were killed and there were 264 casualties, and that is including me. I was glad to watch the police arresting of the two brothers that planned the 'party', they both deserved it.

"Dear, do you need help? Are you able to walk?" My mother would call me from the kitchen.

"I'm fine!" I would reply, usually.

I still remember that sickening day, especially the horrible sounds that echoed through my ears.

The 15th of April 2013, was the day I nearly lost my life.

Travel Literature: The Korean Threat

Part 1

I found the extract Old Glory: A Voyage Down the Mississippi  to be the most interesting and effective because of its use of diction to set the surrounding, and atmosphere. The diction is used very well to create a suspicious and thriller like genre. The suspicion is what  grabs the readers attention, because he starts talking about dead racoons. Also the thought that they were no people anywhere to be seen. It gives the reader a chill factor into wondering where they must all be? and what is going on?
The tone of the extract is also quite interesting. The way he talks about the death of the racoons so easily, without a trace of scarce or worry in it.


Part 2

The city was clean, not a single speck of dirt in sight. The people don't look scared one bit, but how can they be they've been hearing these threats for years now. I had that feeling in my stomach that this wasn't a good idea, that this threat was the worst of them all.

Yet here I was going up to the mountain that was the closest point to the Enemy just to see the people. My father joked about how they could see us, and just reach for me and take me away. It wasn't funny, frankly it annoyed me how little he cared about the threats. How little any of them cared!

We drove up the mountain round after round, it only hit me then that I hadn't seen a single animal through out the whole trip. It didn't help with the anxiety of going up there. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. I was getting sick of the drive, I just wanted to get out and let the cold, breezy air consume me and take me away from this place. Yet I knew this dream, no wish wouldn't come true, who could stop a taxi going up the mountain, it's not like he could even understand what I was saying.

Before I could say anything to my mum about my wish, I saw the building. It peeked beautifully through the winter trees. Shiny black, plastered with clear glass windows and binoculars standing up in every possible gap. I heard my brother say something in their language but i was to overwhelmed to listen. But then he said it again in English "The connecting and observing point". "Connecting" the word practically broke every nerve in my body! my thoughts went screaming all over the place, "can they get me!" "why would they build this place!". My mum put her hand on my shoulder, almost as if she could read my thoughts and said "hes just joking, you can only observe their country here, they wont get you I promise"

I felt only anger at that point, towards my brother. I was so mad that the heat I produced could completely warm me, from the killer ice. The place was so technologically impressive, i nearly got over my paranoia. But the best moment was when i got to see the enemy side through my binoculars  they looked so poor and helpless. They were there, there crops looked horrible and this icy weather did them no good. I felt so bad for them, how could their leader put them through all this. At that exact moment I realised why everyone was so calm, South Korea will always have the upper hand, to North Korea. Not matter what it is, even if its the threat of bombing them today. They wont be scared because they've got the US military, they've got the plan, and they've got the leader!

Travel Literature: Malaysian Mount Doom

Part One

I find Old Glory: A Voyage down the Mississippi to be the most effective because of its engaging diction and atmosphere. His road trip is told as if it is a thriller. He focuses on describing the landscape more than his car and his mood, which makes it more about the area he travelled to than himself: “The road sliced through a broken, hilly landscape of forest, corn and cattle.”

The way he turns his road trip into a thriller not only engages the reader in the story, but also draws the reader into the situation he is in: “I twiddled my way through the burble on the radio.” He makes himself sound superior to his surroundings, which is necessary in travel literature, even vice-versa.

Part Two

After what a madman might call “rest”, my father and I woke to prepare for our journey in the darkness. Once we had eaten a mediocre breakfast, we walked into the chilly night.

Endless wooden steps began to mark a pathway through mountainous forest. Crickets spurred on the walkers with their soothing chirps, as did frequent breaks. Each step seemed like an arch-nemesis as we crawled up the beginnings of the peak.

Massive slabs of rock painted the second section like a post-apocalyptic final frontier. Torn ropes were our only support now, with a three thousand kilometre drop either side. But as the steepness died down, we had nut bars to feed our hungry leg and arm muscles.

With only half a kilometre to go, frozen plants were illuminated by the beginnings of a sunrise. The top of this mountain seemed like the end of the universe, like a rocky heaven with clouds far below. “We’re so high,” we joked.

Half a kilometre turned into a third as we dragged our dying legs over the desolate plateau of frosted rock. Little cracks where slabs joined gave me comfort, providing me with something to observe.

The peak was a random arrangement of boulders into a wave shape. Ropes were draped down our destination, although they were of little help.

After fifty thousand photos were taken, we edged back down the peak. Then galumphed over the plateau before I leaped down the steps.

The nut bars had kicked in.

With little rest, I sped down the forest, rocks and ridges I had climbed before. Pitcher plants turned into signposts as rock turned to dirt. The vapour dripped on my shoulders no more, because tropical air was in its place.

It was only when I hopped on the coach that I realized how hard climbing Mount Kinabalu was. 

Travel Literature

Travel Literature

Part 1

To me the extract from Old Glory: A Voyage down the Mississippi was the most effective. To me it is attention grabbing from the start when there was the part where he compared the raccoons to a school boy and a beggar, he says they are good at somethings but not at others. He says this when he said that they were "Supremely talented, in a schoolboy way, at night exercises, at noisy raids on garbage cans, at climbing trees, they had no gift at all for crossing roads. Bright lights mesmerized them, and they died careless hobos' deaths on the wooded edges of tiny unincorporated towns." This added some humor into the text already. To me some of the most important parts of a Travel Log are things like humor, interesting happenings and being able to relate, which I mean like when you say "that could happen to me". But things also have to be close to the truth and not exaggerated to get it right or else you won't believe a word of the text.

Part 2

A Cross Country Tour

I cruised along in my car, the highway was relatively empty with only a few 16 wheelers and travelers like me. Besides the roadkill every once in a while and some big dairy farms once every twenty five kilometers where wasn't much, maybe those diners too. I turned on the radio and skimmed through the stations, there were your news stations, pop stations and so on. I stayed on a  country station and hummed to the tune of the song. I checked my gas meter and saw it was running low but I was fifteen kilometers to the nearest town and my remaining gas would only last eight. Either I had a long walk ahead or I had to be really, really lucky. I decided to get as far as I could then try my luck.

Eight kilometers and an empty gas tank later I pulled over to the side of the road. I got out and I tried to flag down some cars for some help but none would stop, but God help me when I looked and saw what was maybe, ten or twenty bikes riding towards me. The riders looked bad to the bone, part of a biker gang most likely. I hoped they would keep on going but of course, that didn't happen they stopped. Their leader, or at least what looked to be approached me. I was expecting some mean words or something from them but maybe that was my naivety. He flashed me a great big smile. His voice was deep and rich, not unlike that of Morgan Freeman's. He said five words. Five words that were those of an angel's.

"Do you need help son?"

Turned out they were quite nice guys despite everything that's said about them. They even gave me some gas, free of charge. I thanked them and they went on their way, even giving me an extra gasoline can in case I needed it. And so, I started up my car and drove on, towards Juarez.

A Wishful Torture + openings

Part:1

The 7th opening had to be the most intriguing, and mind babbling opening of the texts. I loved how it starts of confusing the reader, this is really effective because it draws in the readers, almost forcing them to continue reading. The reason why its so confusing is because, it starts of with a tragedy like mystery. We are left wondering what happened to that mam? how did he get into this state?

The diction gave a very good picture of what was happening. "colourful mixture of spit, snot, urine, vomit and blood" I could easily tell from this description, he was hurt badly and the situation is devastatingly bad. The reason why I chose this opening is because, with out revelling  to much they gave a perfect picture of what was happening, and made me want to unravel the mystery that was behind the accident.

Part: 2

It's nearly 12am, and im still waiting for that call. I knew it was a foolish thought! a girl like me short, straight plain black hair that consumed most of my face, and that stupid freckle that sits nicely in place and mocks me. Should of listened when they told me I was heading for heart break. 

The silence of the room, doesn't help with the tension. Neither do the millions of faces plastered all over my walls, I have everyones face except for his. The one thats putting me through all this pain! Since his prense i've been through all hell, and torture. All because I believed this one wish, and to my misery he was to be part of it. But tonight, this call will determine everything thing, if all this hell was worth it!

The darkness consumes me and all this thought of hatred and torture surronds me. The only source of light, is the golden turing lamp, with the animal cut outs. Its almost like the shadows are chasing the light, just like im chasing my wish. But how could I forget, this day, this moment all started with the golden lamp........

Task 6: Travel Literature

This week, I am going to ask you to experiment in a genre usually associated with non-fiction (although there have also been plenty of fictional accounts): travel literature.

Just like the others this term, your task will consist of two parts; however, unlike the other tasks, which will predominantly deal with genres with which you have some familiarity, your success with this task will depend massively on how much you are able to learn from Part One - and how much you are able to demonstrate what you have learnt when you write your own piece in Part Two.

Part One

Mrs Gougeon will put on the weebly all FIVE EXCERPTS from famous and successful pieces of travel literature. You need to READ them carefully, CHOOSE which one you thought was the most effective of its genre, and EXPLAIN, in some detail and with examples (i.e. quotations), why you made your choice.

This is your chance to identify some of the most successful ingredients of good travel literature - e.g. witty anecdotes, figurative descriptions etc. - in order that you can try to embed those very same techniques in your own travel writing in Part Two.

Part Two

First of all, you will need to DECIDE on your subject matter. Unless you have spent the last 12-16 years locked 24/7 in a darkened room, you have all travelled considerably, whether it be internationally, nationally or just in the local area. And it is important to realise that good travel literature does not need to be about some exotic location: one of my favourite pieces by American travel writer, Bill Bryson, is simply about a small section of the Central Line on the London Underground.

Then, using some of the techniques you have observed in one/some/all of the excerpts I have sent you to bring your writing to life and engage and sustain the interest of your reader, you should WRITE (approx) 300-400 words in which you describe an episode from one of your own travels. N.B A tip: don't try to write about an entire holiday, as you will, inevitably, end up just skimming the surface; a brief episode, a particular segment of a journey, one chance encounter - these are ample around which to base such a short piece of travel literature.

The DEADLINE for this task is midnight on Saturday 1st June 2013.

Finally, here is my attempt:

When I was 21, I nearly died.

It was only on 31st October 1996, from the tectonic safety of a house I shared with another trainee teacher, the right side of the walls of H.M.P. Wakefield, home to some of the country's most dangerous and violent criminals, that I first realised quite how close I had come to extinction just under a year earlier. A brief item towards the end of the news mentioned that Gunung Merapi, an active (and, evidently, rather angry) volcano in the middle of the Indonesian island of Java, was erupting. Burning ash was raining down on houses on the mountain's flank, after part of the lava dome itself had collapsed earlier that day.

January 1996. In hindsight, certain details should have spoken louder to us, as we unpacked our rucksacks in the Merapi View hostel the night before our ascent: the eery absence of life emanating from almost all the houses we passed as we strolled around the village upon arrival; the still raw, lifeless canyon carved where half the village had been only two years previously; the fact that the puddles by the side of the road were all bubbling! The incessant plume of smoke from the summit should have warned us that someone was definitely at home; and the distinct absence of any vegetation whatsoever around the entire peak should have made it perfectly clear that visitors were definitely not welcome.

Was it the arrogance of youth? Or the naivete of the foreign traveler? Perhaps we were guilty of exactly the same disrespect we had villified in the hoards of tourists who scaled the holy arc of Uluru in Australia the month before? Deaf to common sense and blind to our own mortality, we duly rose in the middle of the night, donned our waterproofs and walking boots, and joined our brave guide as he took us on the three hour hike to the treeline. Had the sound of the rain abated, had our feverish pace slackened just for a moment, I might have called out to him, and asked him if this was really safe.

However, to be honest, the blackened stumps which spiked the grass as far as the eye could see gave me my answer; as did the thunder which shook the mountainside several times during our climb and descent. For it wasn't thunder. At the end of the news item back in Wakefield, the reporter explained, in sober tones, that the recent eruption was, in fact, nothing more than a continuation: Gunung Merapi had actually been erupting constantly since late 1994.

Note to self: if in close proximity to the fiery peak of an active volcano, walk the other way.

An Eternity + Openings

Part I

     I really found the seventh opening really fun to read, it holds a mystery behind the words and it left me thinking, 'what had happened to this man?' It had held a conversation between himself and the flight attendant, so I was given a personal window into the story. The description of his face and torso was really interesting; it gave me a really good estimation on how this would have looked like.

     In the end, when he had said, ‘I look around for anything I might have with me, but there's nothing. No ticket, no bags, no clothes, no wallet. I sit and wait and I try to figure out what happened. Nothing comes,'’ it somewhat makes me feel like he had been moved to another place, like Chicago, for his own good, or for a mission. It also seems like he has faced amnesia, somewhat.

Part II

     Getting into trouble was the only thing I could get an A* for. Usually, I would be tortured for several minutes, but now I could be tortured for days, I had done something really dreadful to get me into this mess, but I shouldn't tell you because you may be targeted after they finish me off.

     It was midnight, and I was busy hiding myself between two buildings, it smelled horrible. Why didn't I pick another stupid alley? I quietly shivered in the coldness, even though I was sweating madly. I had been running for hours. I heard a sudden click towards my right and I quietly mumbled a curse, or two.

Click...

     His shoes dragged shadows and his arms dragged blood. His sneer glistened ever so brightly under the dazzling moon's rays as if  he seemed so thrilled to say, "have a wonderful time being tortured," to my bloodied up face.

     I gulped when I could feel he had stopped and when the air had tensed around me. I shut my eyes and a split second later, I could feel his coldness seeping into my skin. When I slowly opened my eyes, I saw that his clothing was ripped as if he had fallen into a gigantic blender. Everything he wore was black, and the semi-dry blood on his top had made his scent strong. The stench was disgusting.

     He slammed the gun into my ribs and I nearly choked.

"Have a pleasant time being tortured by my men. I can't wait to hear your screams in the shadows."

     Well my wonderful readers, I'm about to be tortured soon, and the only thing I can say to you is: don’t wish you can live for an eternity; it too as a matter of fact, has its downsides.

Death Solstice: Opening

Part One

★★★★

In my opinion, the purpose of a story’s opening is to set the scene, and the best way to do so is through imagery. Within the ten openings, I believe that number three had the better imagery as it revealed vivid colors that are easy to imagine as well as surprising contrast choices that are presented extraordinarily well.

The line that captured me the most was “black crows gorge on bright mangoes”. My first impression was that black crows and bright mangoes are not compatible as crows are known to feast on rotten leftovers or dead carcasses. The choice of the bird crow seems unexpected but it also foreshadows further into the story as crows symbolizes both magic and deception, whereas the mango fruit signifies an eternal love. This presents a pleasantly unsettling mood as the readers envision a pitch black splotch on a bright love story.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Part Two
★★★★

The colorless sky, no gray, nor blue, held the ardent, gleaming sun as its core; it mocked me. I felt the noon time ravens glare holes into me with their deep white eyes, threatening me.

A summers day terrorized my very existence; its heat enough to make me bawl.

I tasted the sweetness of my saliva accompanied by the common saltiness of sweat; an overwhelming yet familiar bitter sensation. Licking my lips, I laughed so subtly.

Then my body moved accordingly.

The cicadas sang to my steps as I waltzed past a blistering red light. Nothing could stop me; not even myself.

Laughing so coldly, tears streamed down my pale cracked skin, falling into an uncontrollable leer, trapped in a meaningless chortle.

A discriminating impact destroyed my questionable sanity. An indescribable rustic red stained the ashen reality I lived in; my walls crumbled under the pressure.

Exposed to a new world, I closed my eyes. Lying on a crossroad, I smelled the heat; a sour numbness choked my senses.

A scream; a crowd; a corpse; an endless routine.

Then I awake.

In a silent bedroom, an inharmonious heart beats. 00:00, June 21^st. It was the summer solstice; a death solstice.

Devilish Little Creatures - Openings

1

I think that the seventh opening is the most effective because it is engaging. Sometimes, an introduction to the character can be effective, but novels that tell you more and more as you go along keep you hooked, as you want to know more.

As far as we are aware, he knows as little about where he is as we do. This puts us in his shoes and engages us by making us empathise with him – a little.

The structure of the sentences also helps to engage the reader. It breaks certain grammatical expectations: “No ticket, no bags, no clothes, no wallet.” This short, sharp structure makes the novel fast-paced, less dreary, and therefore more engaging.

2

I try not to drink the dirty water splashed onto my face. I can’t blink out the liquid in my eyes. And I’m not sure that’s water.

My brain suddenly wakes up at the sharp pain in my legs. They’re being stretched out. The skin is starting to rip, showing arteries beneath. The agony is indescribable.

“Are you going to talk?” Torture is not often done monotonously. This guy obviously loves it, though.

I grimace and breathe through my teeth. One foot is ripped off. My scream is just a shriek of utter despair.

“You can’t cope much longer, you know.” He turns around. The darkness still shrouds him. “Everyone has a breaking point.” My other foot has gone numb.

Sweat rids my face of the water. The agony persists.

“I don’t care. You’re not getting anything!” I scream the word “thing”. Although I don’t, my ears have a breaking point.

The stretching slows down. The agony is increasing so fast I can’t scream.

“Who are you?” Whimpers often get you the most attention. He still doesn’t care, though.

“That’s why you’re here.” He swivels around, slowly. “That’s what you told Jenny.”

Jenny! “What have you done with her?”

I can only see his mouth. It grins sadistically. “She’s safe.” The grin turns into a smirk. “For now.”

I writhe uncontrollably. “Let her go, you freak!” I yell again. The yell echoes around the metal room. My ears ring, pleading for quiet.

“Do you know who I am?” I don’t care. I just want this to stop.

“Who?” I wish I hadn’t asked that. I would have rather died. He stands up and walks into the light.

“No.” He walks to me.
“No!” He looks over me.
“NO!” She smiles.
Jenny.

The Tyler Hike Recording(s) (Openings)

Openings

Part 1

To me opening 7 appealed to me, I mean don't you want to know what happened to the man and what is going to happen to him? It opens up the story in a abrupt but interesting way and the description of the state of the man is attention grabbing. The rapid fire conversation going on between the flight attendant and the protagonist is enough to tell you why the protagonist was in there but not enough to slow down the pace set by the opening. The short closing of the opening (or prologue?) is enough for me to want to know what is going to happen to him and what has happened to him.

Part 2

I can't die. Are you happy now? I've said what you wanted me to say.

No?

Still listening to me?

Yes?

So you want to know what happened and what I know is going to happen?

So to clarify the "I can't die" statement let me explain who I am and what I am.

I'm immortal and invincible, trapped forever in my bodily age of seventeen, though I'm technically twenty two right now as of this recording. My name is Tyler Hike though I didn't remember that at the beginning, just after I woke up, after I escaped from you. I know you're just documenting me and that the more secretive side of your agency will handle the data afterwards and they want to know what I've been doing from my own view, even when you know everything. In case you don't know the project and specimen, which is me, was called Zeus. Power and Invincibility packed into one package, one body. No matter what happens come explosions or gun fire, I'd just knit myself together again, well more specifically the things in my blood. They'll heal me no matter what happens. I could push my self to the limits and beyond because of the things in my blood. I'm no longer human, I'm better than human, better than you. But you're going to keep me locked up here because I'm tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of escaping. You may laugh at that but I don't really care since it's true.

So I'm going to tell you everything I have seen, everywhere I've been, everything I've done.

But let me warn you I don't give a damn about anything you can do to me, since you can't kill me, not since I killed Heckler. Now I'm just going to tell you about everything. I'm not going to do anything to help me escape.

At least not yet.

(I went over the limit at 319 words but is that fine?)

Task 5: Fantastic Fiction

Much of the best prose is, in itself, poetic, and it would be a sad mistake for you to ditch all you learnt over the past few months in writing fiction this term, as many of the techniques (even rhyme and meter) can sometimes be applied to prose too.

After this introductory task, the rest of this term will work through a number of different genres, with each task challenging you to embrace another genre but to do so with panache, flair and originality. Every submission should be between 200-300 words (any shorter and you will not be able to develop your skills to the full; any longer and not only will it become harder to moderate, but you will also be in danger of waffling).

But first the introductory task...

Mrs Gougeon has put a .zip file which contains 10 OPENINGS to different novels on the English department weebly (under "Home"). Unzip the file (let me know if you need guidance on how to do this) and read the openings carefully several times. Then your Task 5 consists of two parts:

1. Decide which opening you like the most and regard to be the most effective. Once you have done so, in one paragraph (approx 100 words) explain/justify precisely why you have made that choice. This part of the task is VERY important, as it sets the perameters for the second part.
   
2. Now you must write your own OPENING to a novel. This should consist of 200-300 words which could begin your own piece of fiction. Your moderators, as well as discussing with you your choice for Part (1), will assess your own opening according to a) how well it meets your own criteria identified in Part (1); and b) how effective an opening it is according to their own opinion. As usual, they will comment on the main strengths and areas for development in your piece of writing.

The deadline for your submissions (which must be LABELLED, and must also have a TITLE of your own choosing) is midnight on Saturday 18th May.

Friendship

You had disappeared for a year or two,

I still remember how you had soothed me

And the times when we laughed and played the blues,

We would argue, sometimes we would agree.

You were always my cloud's silver lining,

You were always there to brighten my day,

You had a smile that sent my world shining,

I wish you had visited today.

Please come back, we are all waiting for you,

Why, why must we always be miles apart?

When you are with me, the sky is so blue,

But now, it is broken like a sad heart.

If you were there when I needed your aid,

Then my friend, why are you rare like a jade?

Friendship

A single soul that grants my every chance

A single soul who only watches me

To be the life that catches my falling hands

I hope to give the same amount of glee

You alone hold the golden key

That unlocks this shattered heart

And releases a damn of a miracle sea

So that makes you top the chart

The friend in friendship stands alone          

The symbol of a unique like bond
Never to break like a shield zone
To only make miracles like a wand
The one where my secrets flee
And with you it makes a symphony 

Friendship

A medicine that heals with just a drop;
The one and only force of gentle love.
If life's a sentence, this is the full-stop.
Eternal peace without a mourning dove.
When life betrays your childhood hope and dreams,
When fear invades your brain and rips apart
The love you built: it segregates the seams.
Your friends can press the button marked .
The joy in life cannot be made alone,
For only two or more can see the light.
As one, the friends can kill the evil hate
To show that love should be a human right.
The ones in power never seem to care
About the love of friends: so pure, so bare.

Friendship

A train that runs impromptu; back and forth.

It holds surprises; sometimes worth a shout.

I stay behind and watch it wander north,

Or east, or south, or west; without a doubt,

I wait for its return. I wait and wait

Until the train brings home another friend.

From days to years, a friendship built so great

Was torn by blares of trains that marked the end.

Again, I wave goodbye to what was once

A flash of happiness within my reach.

The next from Canada, or Spain, or France,

Or simply separated by a beach;

My train will journey even on the sea,

To find a friend who’ll stay just steps from me.

Task 4

So many of you have either cracked this now, or, if you haven't then you have ALMOST done so.

I am REALLY very impressed. Best of all, some of you are managing to do so without sacrificing the power of your poetry itself. And those of you who are struggling simply need to keep practising in addition to what you're doing on the blog, and come and see me if you need any extra help.

This is the real challenge: a synthesis of CONTENT (choice of language and what it is about) and FORM (rhyme, rhythm etc.). In fact, you can look at it mathematically:

powerful CONTENT + disciplined FORM = effective POETRY

Now for this week's task - and it's a DIFFICULT one.

These are the rules of the English (or Shakespearean) SONNET:

• It must be written in IAMBIC PENTAMETER (i.e. x5 dee-DUMs)
• It will be 14 lines long, and consist of x3 quatrains and x1 final couplet
• It will have a strict rhyme scheme (abab cdcd efef gg)

You should, by now, be familiar with the rules of IAMBIC PENTAMETER.

As for writing in three quatrains, well you have all written ONE quatrain (4-line poem), so it is just a question of writing three different ones of these, which link together in subject matter to form ONE poem - a poem which is concluded by a couplet (i.e. two, rhyming lines).

And as for the RHYME scheme, I am sure you will be fine with this.

The challenge is putting all these things TOGETHER! (Click HERE if you want to find out some more tips on the building blocks of sonnets.)

And what should your sonnet be about?

Friendship. This is your topic and your title. Now it is up to you...

Your deadline is midnight on Saturday 13th April.

As an exemplar, I have dug out one I wrote a few years back, in case it is of any help...

Friendship

Inchoate yet invincible, a bond
Beyond and past the purview of my prose;
I have no words, they’ve all been said, no wand
To wave, no spell to keep it safe; it grows
Despite my pestilential clutch; too much
For me to tend, my friend, it perseveres
By virtue of your anodynic touch,
Immune to all that festers in my fears.
While reciprocity eludes me yet,
I will requite the comfort you bestow;
Find something to repay this ample debt.
How can I pay you back? I do not know –
I cannot comprehend – but I intend
To merit and deserve to be your friend.

Ringmaster

Many People say I am often shy
But hear my roar and retreat inside
Best describe me the owl that's patient
My passionate soul ill never hide

MAny PEOple say I am OFten SHY
BUT hear MY roar AND reTREAT inSIDE
BEST  desCRIBE me THE owl THAT paTIENT
MY paSSIONate SOUL ill NEver HIDE

Allspark

Me? At school I often go insane.
Friends are like my constant remedy:
Always there when I need to explain
Fears and my curiosity.

ME? at SCHOOL i OFten GO inSANE
FRIENDS are LIKE my CONstant REmeDY
ALways THERE when I need TO exPLAIN
ANger AND my CUriOsiTY.

Narcissus T

I am a girl, who is not too loud

Surrounded by books, and cats, and cars,

As the only child, I am so proud

To be one of the eighteen bright stars.

I am A girl, WHO is NOT too LOUD

SURrounDED by BOOKS, and CATS, and CARS,

AS the ONLY child, I am SO proud

TO be ONE of THE eighTEEN bright STARS.

Lemonic T

Just a simple girl and nothing else;

Living life, no factual motive shown.

Books that uniformly fit in shelves,

Paint the dullness; paint it like a clown.

JUST a SIMple GIRL and NOthing ELSE;

LIving LIFE, no FACTual MOtive SHOWN.

BOOKS that UniFORMly FIT in SHELVES,

PAINT the DULLness; PAINT it LIKE a CLOWN.

Task 3: Trochees

All of you have managed iambic meter some of the time.

Some of you have managed iambic meter all of the time.

If you are still stuck, it is really important you go back over all the previous posts. Look again at your attempts; look again at the others; and, most importantly, reread all the comments.

You are all perfectly capable of this; it just takes practice and perseverance. As I keep saying, this is not SUPPOSED to be easy. It is supposed to be fiendishly difficult. But all the more reason to ask you to do it.

When you finally get there, think how satisfied you will feel. And, most of all, think what a skilful mastery of language you will have developed. If you can control language to THIS extent, think how much better ALL your writing will be - whether iambic verse, a persuasive speech, an ordinary essay, or the sonnet I hope we can attempt on this blog soon...

* * * *

And now for this week's task...

Well, in addition to reworking, redrafting and revising your previous attempts, until you master that dreaded IAMB, I am going to set you a slightly different exercise which should achieve TWO things:

1. It will teach you ANOTHER type of foot (i.e. the TROCHEE);
2. and, in doing so, it should also reinforce your understanding of the IAMB.

Or at least that is the plan... :)

So, let me introduce you to the TROCHEE.

Where as the iambic foot goes dee-DUM, the trochaic foot goes DUM-dee. (Some of you have used lots of them already by accident - see Line 4 of 'Man's Best Friend', for example.)

Here are some simple words which directly fit a trochaic rhythm:

• English
• International
• Basketball
• Savage
• Borneo

Look at how they are ALL words we say with the stress on the FIRST syllable (and, if they are more than two syllables, the third syllable too). 

With 'trochaic' verse, the stresses fall on syllables 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 etc. (i.e. the ODD numbers) and so you need to choose and order your words so they fall in the correct place to fit those stresses. And remember that, with monosyllabic (1-syllable) words, you need to use your 'ear' to decide whether they work best stressed or unstressed - which sometimes depends on the context in which they are used.

Here is a line of perfect trochaic pentameter:

People often ask me why I bother.

Let me write it again, with the stresses in capitals:

PEOple OFten ASK me WHY i BOTHer.

See how this fits with the way we say the words anyway, in a way that saying this line IAMBICALLY would not fit, e.g.:

peoPLE ofTEN ask ME why I bothER.

Nobody talks like that!

Now look at this piece of trochaic pentameter:

Monday's never been my favourite day.

What is missing?
The first four feet are perfect trochees:

MONday's NEVer BEEN my FAV'rite...

(because we usually say the word 'favourite' as if it were two syllables and not one).
But look at the last foot:

...day.

It is a stressed syllable, but it lacks the unstressed syllable to make it a complete trochee.

This type of INCOMPLETE foot, often used at the end of a line, is called a catalexis (making it a catalectic foot).

Here's another example of a line of trochaic pentameter ending in a catalectic foot:

English isn't my idea of fun.

Look how the first four syllables are purely trochaic:

ENglish ISn't MY iDEA of...

But, again, the last foot is catalectic, i.e. it has no unstressed syllable:

...FUN.

So, surprise surprise, your task this week is to write:

1. a quatrain (four-line poem)
2. with an abab rhyme scheme (like Task 2)
3. with a trochaic rhythm (i.e. DUM-dee)
4. apart from the final foot in each line, which should be catalectic (i.e. DUM);
5. (leaving it with 9 syllables in total).

AND

6. write the poem AGAIN underneath, but this time with EACH stressed syllable in
CAPITALS, to show how it fits the DUM-dee-DUM-dee-DUM-dee-DUM-dee-DUM
rhythm.

N.B. As with any poetry, it will be even better if you also think about sound (e.g. alliteration, assonance etc.) and image (e.g. metaphor, personification etc.)

And your topic this week? Yourself. 'A poem about me'. In fact, as your title, simply give it the name of your blogger ID...

Here is my attempt:

     Englishguru

     Artifice and anonymity
     Make a mask behind which I can hide.
     Here within my pseudonym, I see
     All. But no one else can see inside.

     ARtiFICE and ANoNYMiTY
     MAKE a MASK beHIND which I can HIDE.
     HERE withIN my PSEUdoNYM, i SEE
     ALL. but NO one ELSE can SEE inSIDE.

Good luck!  And come and speak to one of your teachers if you get impossibly stuck! :)

Please ensure you have submitted your post by MIDNIGHT on Saturday 9th March 2013.

Mans Best Friend

Mans Best Friend

A faithful heart to be forever mine
Golden fur to bury my teary face
Never to walk in a straight line
Pouncing paws, I hope he doesn't race 

A Feline's Silhouette

A murky, pale moon masks a silhouette;

A silhouette so eminent to night.

With eyes that gleam, she waltzed a swift duet.

Her paw, so quick, leads dances, not a fight.

The Cheetah

Before it pounces to the prey with claws

The animal must run an extra mile,

Running has always been the special flaw

Since a cheetah is always so agile.

Owl

A bird of prey that glides with grace: so slow
is she. The mice are cars below this plane.
The shrews flee too. Her chest is white like snow.
Her claws rip through the night. She's inhumane.

Task 2: Mastering the dreaded iamb

A couple of things before I begin:

1. PLEASE make sure you have all posted your weekly posts by the deadline. Some of you fell a bit behind to start with, and, as a result, the blog has made a slightly slower start.
2. PLEASE make sure that, as well as completing each task yourself, you ALL find time to comment on each other's posts that week too. Wait until the teacher comments have been posted, and then add your own thoughts. Be positive, of course, but don't be afraid to point out how it could be improved too. 

Right, now for this week's task. Conquering the horrible IAMB!!!

I will start by quoting from some of your poems, to show where you went wrong (and right).

This is a successful iambic pentameter:

A stunning view of Glasgow in my room

Look at the stresses, which will be obvious when you read it out loud:

a STUNning VIEW of GLASgow IN my ROOM

It is a perfect 'dee-DUM' rhythm, with 5 iambic feet, as is this one:

My mind, my fear begins to chill my skin.

These are successful iambic tetrameters:

The crowded sounds of Chinatown...
I know this place, I know its feel...

With each one, notice how it begins with an UNSTRESSED syllable, and then follows a dee-DUM pattern throughout.

And these are each a perfect iambic trimeter (3 feet):

But what else can I say?
While playing in the snow...

And now for some which didn't quite work...

Here's one from 'The City of Singapore':

The colours and lights of downtown.

'Downtown' is tricky, because I guess you could argue it sort of works with either stress - and if you argue strongly that it is pronounced "downTOWN", then I suppose we can tolerate the preceding "of" being stressed. But even if we accept all that, the rhythm is still wrong in the middle, because "and lights" has been placed so that we stress "and" rather than "lights". See how swapping the two nouns around solves this though:

The lights and colours of [downtown].

And what about this from 'A Cold Night in Glasgow':

Watching the building glow

Almost a perfect iambic tetrameter too, if it weren't for the first word, which would have to be pronounced watchING. How about:

i WATCH the BUILDing GLOW...

And this one from 'A memorable place':

Beaches cleaner than the sky

The reason this one slips up is because it only has 7 syllables. All we need as an extra syllable at the start, so push the first syllable of "beaches" into second place, and the whole line then works perfectly:

the BEAches CLEANer THAN the SKY

This pentameter (from 'Stonehenge') is ALMOST iambic, except for the words "my dog", because it sounds much more natural with the emphasis on "dog", but that throws out of kilter the iambic beat:

A life, a dream, concealed in my dog days

It's difficult to remedy that without messing up the rhyme, so this might be an example of where a different idea or phrase is necessary, and just 'tinkering' with the line might not be enough.

So, you see, it IS possible, in ALL your poems. It just takes perseverance, and a CLOSE study of:

• all the Task 1 poems (including the comments);
• last week's task (in full);
• and the whole of this post.

Feel free to redraft your attempt and post it for comments, as an extra piece, if you want. You will feel SO satisfied when you master this - just as you will feel SO annoyed if lots of the others master it this week and you are left behind.

Right, so what do I expect you to do for Task 2?

Well, we're not quite ready for a sonnet yet, but we should be by next week. This week, I simply want:

1. a four-line poem (otherwise known as a quatrain);
2. with an a-b-a-b rhyme scheme (i.e. Lines 1 and 3 rhyme, as do lines 2 and 4);
3. written in iambic (i.e. dee-DUM) pentameters (i.e. 5 feet/beats/stressed);
4. about an ANIMAL of your choice.

Here is my attempt...

Orang Utan

A flash of rusty fur enflames the air;
A branch breaks off and crashes to the ground;
I squint to catch a glimpse of orange hair:
This fiery beast refuses to be found.

See what you can come up with, and remember:

• quatrain
• a-b-a-b
• 5 beats
• dee-DUM

Have fun, and good luck!

Your deadline is: midnight on Sunday 24th February.