Here is the first task for the subscribers I replied to yesterday.
This post is to help you see how to use AI to improve your writing.
It is a difficult task, because AI writing is brilliant in some places, and terrible in others. You need to be a good reader to spot the difference between the two.
I’m going to try to show you how to work it out. Along the way, I hope you will learn a lot about how to write, and then how to get AI to mark your writing, so you can improve it.
Anyway - Gemini can’t read pictures, only words. Let’s begin!
My Instructions to Gemini
The image is of a man, aged between 60 and 85. His face is very weathered and lined. He looks directly at us, with clear, unwavering eyes. His face is heavily lined, but lean, as though the man is still active and lives an outdoor life. He has a greying beard and moustache. The moustache is long enough to cover his lips, and appears to sprout directly from his nose.
I would like you to use this as prompt to the description task you read earlier in the chat.
Write the description as though he is a character in a novel. Include simile, metaphor and personification. Include a setting and season. We must get some sense of the weather. Include the character's thoughts, a flashback and a clue as to what is going to happen next to the character, perhaps in a later chapter.
Gemini
A crisp autumn wind whipped across the harbor, tugging at the brim of Silas McGregor's woolen cap. The salty spray stung his weathered face, a familiar sensation that felt more like a greeting than an annoyance. He leaned against the weathered railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the angry sky bled into the churning sea. The waves, like hungry beasts, crashed against the jetty with a relentless roar, a sound that resonated deep within him.
Silas's face, a roadmap etched by sun and hardship, creased into a tired smile as a memory flickered to life. He was a young man again, barely a beard on his chin, standing on this very spot with his father. They'd watched a similar storm roll in, the sky a bruised purple, the waves a frothing white. His father, calloused hand resting on his shoulder, had said, "The sea, Silas, it's a fickle mistress. One minute calm as a millpond, the next a raging tempest. But even in its fury, there's a kind of beauty, wouldn't you say?"
Silas looked back at the churning water, seeing not anger, but a fierce determination. It mirrored, in a strange way, the churning in his own gut. He'd received the letter this morning, the one that would change everything. He fingered the worn leather pouch tucked inside his coat, its contents a weight as heavy as the storm clouds above. Leaving this harbor, this life, had always been a possibility, a dormant ember in his heart. Tonight, the wind of change had fanned it into a roaring inferno. He had a choice to make, and the wild sea seemed to urge him on, its roar a deafening challenge.
My Thoughts
Because this has been written by AI, I now it is following a kind of formula for:
The rhythm of sentences
How to structure each sentence around contrast
How to include the senses
How to use metaphor
How to impress with vocabulary
So, go back over this and find where it does each of the 1-5 well.
But, because it is basing its writing on the average of what it can predict on the internet, I also know that it won’t do this perfectly. It is very likely to do too much of each.
So, go back over the 1-5 and see where you think it is trying too hard to show off, where it goes OTT. Are there any bits you would tone down?
For example, this is the first sentence which I would have an issue with: “The waves, like hungry beasts, crashed against the jetty with a relentless roar, a sound that resonated deep within him.” It’s too much.
“He watched the hungry waves suck the jetty” is much more economical. “The waves sucked at the jetty” is even better. We can imagine the sound through “sucked” and we get a sense that they are dangerous from this as well.
Or, if I want to emphasise anger, “the waves roared at the jetty with relentless spray”.
My Instruction to Gemini
Rewrite the description to include all my previous instructions. But the character is now in North America some time in the nineteenth century. Make him remember at least two specific events in his life. Make the writing 300-500 words long.
Gemini
A relentless Wyoming wind, smelling faintly of sagebrush and the promise of snow, clawed at Jeremiah’s beard, tugging at the unruly strands that sprouted from his chin and nearly obscured his lips. His weathered face, a tapestry woven from sun, wind, and the passage of a hard life, bore the brunt of the assault with stoicism. Squinting against the glare reflecting off the snow-dusted plains, he leaned against the rough-hewn log of his cabin, a solitary sentinel against the vast emptiness.
The howl of the wind, a mournful cry echoing across the desolate landscape, stirred a familiar ache in Jeremiah’s bones. It was a sound akin to the mournful wail of the Comanche warriors that had ripped through his childhood, leaving behind a trail of fire and ash. He was just a boy then, barely ten summers old, herding sheep with his younger brother, Caleb, when the raiders descended. Screams, the stench of burning wool, and the glint of stolen knives under the merciless sun – those were the memories etched deepest in the canyons of his mind.
Another memory, gentler this time, surfaced alongside the horror. He saw himself, a young man again, standing hand-in-hand with Sarah beneath the shade of a cottonwood tree. Her laughter, like the tinkling of a spring hidden amongst the rocks, had filled the air as they’d dreamt of a future filled with children and a life built on their own patch of land. Sarah. The name, a bittersweet whisper on his lips, brought a pang to his chest.
She wouldn’t have survived this winter, not with the illness that had sapped the life from her frail frame. Just two weeks ago, he’d buried her beneath the cottonwood, a stark white mound against the endless brown of the winter landscape. Grief, a cold, heavy cloak, had settled around him then. But the wind, that constant companion, had whispered a different story today. It spoke of change, of leaving behind the ghosts that haunted this place.
Jeremiah’s calloused hand drifted to the worn leather satchel tucked beneath his worn wool coat. Inside, nestled amongst meager supplies, lay a crumpled map, its edges softened by years of being unfolded and refolded. It was a map to California, a place whispered about in hushed tones around flickering campfires – a land of sunshine and opportunity. The promise of gold, a chance to build a new life, flickered within him, a tiny ember against the vast emptiness of his grief.
He looked back at the cabin, a simple structure that had housed both joy and sorrow. Leaving felt like an act of betrayal, a desertion of the memories that clung to every weathered log. Yet, the wind seemed to urge him on, its mournful cry morphing into a triumphant call. Tonight, he would pack his meager belongings, leaving only the memories behind. Tomorrow, with the first light of dawn, he would ride west, towards the unknown, the map clutched tightly in his hand, a promise scrawled across its faded surface.
The relentless wind of change had fanned the embers of his heart into a roaring fire, propelling him forward on a journey that would redefine his life.
My Thoughts
I go through 1 to 5 again, as above.
Which one do you prefer? Write down 3 reasons.
I prefer this one because I have given Gemini more specific instructions. How did I come up with them? I asked myself this question:
How can I make this more like a novel?
The reason for that is that I want to learn to write like a novelist. This will make my writing good enough to get a top grade at GCSE. But it should make me a better writer for life.
However, Gemini’s idea of a novel is still too OTT.
My Instructions to Gemini
Rewrite this so that it would fit a novel written for 12 year olds. The language would not be less adult, but the style would be less literary.
Gemini
The wind howled like a lonely wolf across the Wyoming plains, whipping Jeremiah's beard and stinging his eyes. Snow dusted the ground, turning the endless landscape into a sea of brown. Jeremiah leaned against his rough log cabin, the only building for miles around. The wind always seemed to be blowing here, and today it was especially fierce.
It made him think back to another time when the wind howled like this. He was just a kid, maybe ten years old, herding sheep with his little brother Caleb. Then, screams ripped through the air and the smell of burning wool filled their noses. Comanche warriors, their faces painted like demons, attacked! Caleb… Jeremiah squeezed his eyes shut, the memory still raw.
But not all his memories were bad. He could almost hear Sarah's laugh tinkling like a stream as they stood under a cottonwood tree, dreaming of a future filled with kids and a cozy home. Sarah. Her name ached in his chest. She wouldn't have made it through the harsh winter. Two weeks ago, he'd buried her beneath the same cottonwood, a small mound against the endless brown. Grief, heavy like a wet blanket, had settled over him since.
But today, the wind seemed to whisper a different story. It talked about change, about leaving the ghosts that haunted this place. Jeremiah reached under his coat, feeling the worn leather satchel. Inside, nestled amongst his meager supplies, was a crumpled map. It was a map to California, a land whispered about around campfires, a place of sunshine and gold. A chance for a new start, a tiny spark against the vast emptiness of his sadness.
He looked back at his cabin, a simple place that held both happy and sad memories. Leaving felt wrong, like abandoning the past. But the wind seemed to push him forward, its mournful howl turning into a cheer. Tonight, he'd pack his things, leaving the memories behind. Tomorrow, at sunrise, he'd ride west, towards the unknown, the map clutched tight in his hand, a promise of a whole new adventure.
My Thoughts
Write down 3 things you prefer about this version.
And 3 things you prefered about the previous version.
The thing I like most about this one, is that it feels much more natural, less forced. Now I just have to find the parts from the first version which feel more sophisticated, but are still not OTT.
You might try to put the two together to write a best version, which feels sophisticated, but natural.
My Instructions to Gemini
I want to teach 18 year old students to get full marks in this question: Write a description of an old person.
The mark scheme will be a point value for content and organization (24 marks) and technical accuracy (16 marks) for a total of 40 marks.
Students are rewarded for a range of punctuation, especially colons, semi-colons and brackets.
Students will need to write 400-600 words to get full marks.
The examiners favour the use of flashback and a circular structure.
The writing must include the character's thoughts, as well as details about the setting, and possibly about the season and weather.
The description should feel different to the hundreds of other exam answers an examiner will read.
Pick an interesting genre for the novel the description will appear in.
I would like to teach them from a full mark answer. Write that answer for me.
Gemini
Full Marks Answer: A Steampunk Clockwork Heart (Fantasy with Steampunk elements)
The acrid tang of gear oil hung heavy in the air, a counterpoint to the rhythmic hiss of escaping steam. Agnes hunched over her workbench, a wizened figure dwarfed by the fantastical contraptions that surrounded her. Her once fiery red hair, streaked with silver now, was pulled back in a tight bun, revealing the intricate network of wrinkles that mapped her face like a weathered parchment. Each wrinkle seemed to hold a story, a testament to a life spent elbow-deep in the whirring guts of automatons and the pulsating hearts of airships.
A pair of magnified goggles perched precariously on the bridge of her nose, their brass frame as worn as her calloused hands. These hands, gnarled and stained with oil, were currently fiddling with the delicate filigree of a clockwork heart. It lay open on the workbench, its intricate gears glinting under the single gas lamp that bathed the room in a warm, flickering glow. The heart, destined for a new automaton, pulsed with a steady rhythm, a mesmerizing dance of cogs and pistons that mirrored the beat of Agnes' own heart, a testament to her ingenuity.
The workshop, nestled beneath the bustling underbelly of the floating city of Aetherium, was a haven for Agnes. Stacks of blueprints competed for space with half-finished automatons, their gleaming metal bodies gleaming in the dim light. Gears and springs spilled from overflowing drawers, and the walls were adorned with sketches of fantastical creatures dreamt up by Agnes's ever-active mind. A half-completed automaton dragonfly dangled from the ceiling, its mechanical wings catching the occasional puff of steam.
The rhythmic clinking of her tools provided a comforting soundtrack to her thoughts. They drifted back to a younger Agnes, her eyes alight with the spark of invention. Back then, the city of Aetherium pulsed with a different kind of energy. The airship docks teemed with activity, airships soaring majestically through the smog-filled sky. Agnes, barely out of her teens, had been at the forefront of it all, a prodigy in the world of clockwork engineering. Her creations, from self-playing music boxes to automatons that could mimic human conversation, had marveled the city.
A bittersweet smile played on Agnes's lips. Time, the relentless clockwork maker, had taken its toll. Her inventions were no longer the talk of the town. The younger generation, with their sleek, electrified contraptions, had relegated hers to the realm of quaint antiques. Yet, there was a quiet pride in her gaze, a knowledge that her creations, born from ingenuity and fueled by steam, had a soul that the new, cold machines lacked.
She glanced at the clockwork heart on the workbench. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, a testament to her enduring spirit. Perhaps, she thought, the world wasn't ready for the magic of steam just yet. But Agnes, with the tenacity of a woman who had built a world of cogs and gears, knew she would keep tinkering, keep creating, her heart beating in time with the machines she loved. The rhythmic clinking of her tools resumed, a defiant melody in a world increasingly dominated by electricity, a testament to the enduring spirit of a woman who refused to be silenced by the ticking of time.
My Thoughts
Ok, this is a fascinating genre, one which I had never considered. Writing in a genre of writing you enjoy is a sure fire way to be interesting and original and, I really mean this, enjoy the exam.
Although there are lots of bits I don’t like, the standard is really high in terms of grade criteria - this would get a grade 9.
The italics are where I think Gemini is trying too hard to impress. There are other odd phrases, but on the whole this is much less OTT than I expected.
I define OTT where the words are telling us something which could be much more easily shown.
Showing, Not Telling
For example:
The rhythmic clinking of her tools resumed, a defiant melody in a world increasingly dominated by electricity, a testament to the enduring spirit of a woman who refused to be silenced by the ticking of time.
Could be shown as:
She began again the rhythmic clinking of her tools. Electricity was for fools.
We can infer everything that was in the italics, and more - that she rejects those who prefer the ease of electric machinery. Showing, not telling, is the key.
Once you think this way, it is much easier to spot where Gemini goes wrong. I hope you will learn a lot by trying to modify it.
Pick your own bits - or mine - to rewrite as showing, not telling. I don’t want you just to get a grade 9. I want you to be able to do it by writing like a real writer, not AI.
(Did you notice it totally ignored my instructions about punctuation?)
My Instructions to Gemini
I want to use this model answer to teach my students the 10 most impressive things about it.
Can you list those things, and explain them with examples from the model answer.
List them so that the last 5 things earn the most marks.
Gemini
High Marks (1-5): Content and Organization (24 Marks)
Vivid Setting: The description paints a clear picture of Agnes' workshop through details like the smell of gear oil, flickering gas lamp, and overflowing drawers with gears and springs. (Example: "The acrid tang of gear oil hung heavy in the air...")
Detailed Character Description: The passage goes beyond basic physical description and highlights Agnes' wrinkles, calloused hands, and magnified goggles, giving a sense of her profession and life story. (Example: "A pair of magnified goggles perched precariously on the bridge of her nose, their brass frame as worn as her calloused hands.")
Show, Don't Tell: Instead of directly stating Agnes' expertise, the description showcases it through her workshop filled with fantastical contraptions and the intricate clockwork heart she works on. (Example: "...intricate gears glinting under the single gas lamp that bathed the room in a warm, flickering glow.")
Circular Structure: The description starts and ends with the rhythmic clinking of her tools, tying the passage together and creating a sense of completeness. (Example: "The rhythmic clinking of her tools provided a comforting soundtrack to her thoughts... The rhythmic clinking of her tools resumed...")
Flashback Integration: The flashback to Agnes' younger self is seamlessly woven into the narrative, providing context for her skills and the bittersweet sentiment surrounding her work. (Example: "The workshop...was a haven for Agnes. They drifted back to a younger Agnes, her eyes alight with the spark of invention.")
Top Marks (6-10): Technical Accuracy (16 Marks)
Punctuation Variety: The description uses a variety of punctuation marks, including colons to introduce explanations (Example: "...their brass frame as worn as her calloused hands:") and semi-colons to separate contrasting ideas within a sentence (Example: "...a haven for Agnes. Stacks of blueprints competed for space with half-finished automatons...").
Genre Specificity: The details about the floating city of Aetherium, airships, and clockwork hearts establish the steampunk fantasy genre effectively. (Example: "...nestled beneath the bustling underbelly of the floating city of Aetherium...")
Figurative Language: The description uses a simile to compare the clockwork heart's rhythm to Agnes' own heart, highlighting their connection (Example: "...a steady rhythm, a mesmerizing dance of cogs and pistons that mirrored the beat of Agnes' own heart...").
Strong Verbs: The passage uses strong verbs like "clinked," "pulsed," and "dangled" to create a sense of movement and life within the workshop. (Example: "...The rhythmic clinking of her tools provided a comforting soundtrack...")
Word Choice: The vocabulary choices are rich and descriptive, using words like "acrid," "magnified," and "pulsating" to create a vivid sensory experience for the reader. (Example: "The acrid tang of gear oil hung heavy in the air...")
By focusing on these aspects, your students can craft descriptions that not only achieve high marks but also truly capture the essence of the character and their world.
My Thoughts
I think the way AI marks writing is very helpful.
When we look at the strengths it picks out, they are genuine.
The exception to this is Point 6 - here Gemini has found examples where colons and semi-colons could have been used. This is incredibly helpful. It them pretends that this punctuation actually was used - which is just funny.
This is a useful reminder that the criteria are a little stupid. A real writer doesn’t ever think, oooh, let me impress my reader with a range of punctuation. That’s nonsense. They just focus on meaning.
So, what Gemini is really saying is: look, there was no need for a colon or a semi-colon, but if you have to play that game, then this is where you could put them, and why.
Figurative language is interesting - AI knows the difference in the definition of simile and metaphor, but in practice usually confuses them. This happens a lot. But, using figurative language is a strength, and both simile and metaphor are examples.
The italics are the good bit of the metaphor. This bit is too much telling: ‘that mirrored the beat of Agnes' own heart.’
I would definitely rank the skills a little differently. So, the top 5 for me are 9, 8, 7, 2, 1. I don’t think Gemini properly understands Show, Don’t Tell.
But, I am particularly impressed with strong verbs - many teachers and students ignore that. I agree with Gemini, that it is essential to practise choosing the best verb.
My Instructions to Gemini
Rewrite this in a completely different but interesting genre.
Gemini
Absolutely, here's the passage rewritten in a different genre – a Southern Gothic mystery:
Spanish moss draped the gnarled branches of the live oak like a shroud, its tendrils reaching towards the dusty window of Agnes' ramshackle cabin. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of damp earth and forgotten dreams. Agnes, a wisp of a woman with hair the color of faded moonlight, hunched over a cluttered worktable. Her hands, gnarled as the ancient oak outside, traced the intricate patterns etched on a weathered skull.
A magnifying glass, its handle cracked and tarnished, perched precariously on her nose. Beneath its gaze, the skull seemed to whisper secrets, its empty sockets holding glimpses of a life long gone. Scattered across the table were an assortment of oddments: tarnished silver buttons, a doll's porcelain eye, and a rusted pocket watch, its hands frozen in time. Each held a story, a fragment of a life Agnes was piecing together.
The flickering gaslight cast grotesque shadows on the walls, where faded newspaper clippings chronicled a string of unsolved disappearances. Agnes traced the faded ink, a grim determination etching lines on her weathered face. The whispers in the swamp spoke of a darkness lurking in the moss-draped woods, a creature that snatched souls and left only bleached bones behind.
Her thoughts drifted back to a younger Agnes, her eyes burning with a fierce curiosity. Back then, the swamp held a different kind of allure. She'd roam its labyrinthine paths, collecting curious trinkets and listening to the mournful cries of unseen creatures. But the swamp had taken something from her too, a youthful innocence stolen on a moonless night.
A bittersweet ache settled in her chest. Time, that relentless reaper, had left its mark. The townsfolk considered her an eccentric hermit, her fascination with the macabre a source of amusement and unease. Yet, a silent fire still flickered in her eyes, fueled by a desire for justice.
She glanced at the skull, its emptiness a stark reminder of the lives lost. It pulsed with a chilling energy, a silent plea for answers. Perhaps, the world wasn't ready to face the darkness that lurked beneath the swamp's surface. But Agnes, with the unwavering spirit of a woman who had stared into the abyss, knew she'd keep searching, keep unraveling the secrets the swamp whispered, her determination echoing through the moss-draped silence. The rhythmic click of her magnifying glass filled the air, a defiant melody in a world shrouded in mystery.
My Thoughts
Southern gothic - I never saw that coming.
The gothic elements are overdone - too much telling instead of showing. In the first two paragraphs I’ve placed in italics the words which do this.
If you delete those words, the passage reads well:
Spanish moss draped the gnarled oak branches like tendrils reaching towards the dusty window of Agnes' cabin, filling it with the scent of damp earth. Inside, Agnes hunched over a cluttered worktable and traced the intricate patterns etched on a weathered skull.
A magnifying glass, its handle cracked, perched on her nose. Beneath its gaze, the skull. Scattered across the table were an assortment of oddments: tarnished silver buttons, a doll's porcelain eye, and a rusted pocket watch: each a fragment of a life Agnes was piecing together.
This is a useful exercise for you to try with some of the other paragraphs.
My Instructions to Gemini
I want to find a way for Gemini to write in a way which feels more natural in a novel. So, I am defining Gemini’s writing as trying too hard to be literary. Here goes:
Rewrite it so that the vocabulary is just as good, but so that it is in a less literary novel for 12 year old readers.
Gemini
The smell of old oil hung heavy in the air, like the sound of a leaky faucet next to the constant hiss of a boiling tea kettle. Agnes hunched over her workbench, looking small next to the amazing machines all around her. Her hair, once fiery red, was now streaked with silver and pulled back tight. Wrinkles crisscrossed her face like a roadmap, each one telling a story of a life spent fixing robots and spaceships.
A pair of magnifying goggles sat crookedly on her nose, the metal frame as worn as her hands. These hands, covered in oil and bumps, were carefully putting together a tiny clockwork heart. It lay open on the table, all the shiny gears spinning smoothly under the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. The heart, meant for a new robot, beat with a steady rhythm, like a tiny metronome. It reminded Agnes of her own heart, strong and steady, thanks to all the amazing things she'd built.
Agnes' workshop, hidden under the busy streets of the floating city Skyhaven, was her happy place. Papers with robot plans were piled everywhere next to half-finished robots with gleaming metal bodies. Drawers overflowed with springs and gears, and the walls were covered with drawings of crazy creatures Agnes had dreamed up. A half-built robot dragonfly hung from the ceiling, its metal wings catching the puffs of steam from a nearby pipe.
The rhythmic clanging of her tools filled the air, a comforting sound to Agnes. It made her think back to when she was younger, her eyes sparkling with excitement about building things. Back then, Skyhaven buzzed with a different kind of energy. Spaceships took off constantly from the docks, filling the sky with smoke. Agnes, barely a teenager then, was the best robot builder in the city. Her creations, from robots that played music to ones that could hold conversations, amazed everyone.
A small smile touched Agnes' lips. Time, the nonstop clockmaker, had changed things. Nobody cared about her steam-powered inventions anymore. Kids these days loved sleek, electric robots. Agnes' creations seemed old-fashioned now. But a small spark still flickered in her eyes. She knew her steam-powered machines had something special, a soul that the new, cold robots lacked.
She looked down at the tiny clockwork heart on the table. It beat steadily, a reminder of her never-ending love for building. Maybe the world wasn't ready for the magic of steam just yet. But Agnes, with the spirit of a person who had built a whole world of robots and spaceships, wouldn't stop. She would keep tinkering, keep creating, her heart beating in time with the machines she loved. The clanging of her tools started again, a cheerful song in a world full of quiet electric whirring, a promise that Agnes wouldn't be forgotten.
My Thoughts
Ok, Gemini went back to the steam punk writing.
But this feels much more natural. There is very little which is too much telling - see my italics.
What would you keep from the original? Go back and see what you would prefer, and play around with rewriting some paragraphs.
My Instructions to Gemini
Choose another interesting genre and rewrite this. Make sure the ending is the end of the first chapter of a novel, so that it gives some clues as to what we might discover in the next chapter.
Gemini
Agnes the Alchemist (Fantasy with Alchemy elements)
The pungent aroma of crushed herbs and simmering potions filled the air, a counterpoint to the rhythmic gurgle of bubbling alembics. Agnes, a diminutive figure shrouded in a worn leather apron, hunched over her cluttered workbench. Her once fiery red hair, now streaked with silver, was pulled back in a tight braid, revealing a face etched with the wisdom of a life spent deciphering ancient grimoires and coaxing magic from raw ingredients. Every wrinkle held a secret, a testament to years of brewing potent elixirs and enchanting mundane objects with fantastical properties.
A pair of ornately carved spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of her nose, their silver frames as weathered as her work-roughened hands. These hands, stained with vibrant alchemical dyes, were currently manipulating a delicate vial filled with a swirling emerald liquid. It lay open on the workbench, its luminescent glow illuminating the dusty tomes and bubbling concoctions surrounding it. The potion, destined for a young apprentice, crackled with raw magical energy, reminiscent of Agnes’ own inner fire, a testament to her lifelong pursuit of arcane knowledge.
Agnes's ramshackle laboratory, nestled beneath the bustling marketplace of Eldoria, was a haven for the curious and the forgotten. Stacks of ancient scrolls competed for space with vials of shimmering liquids and enchanted artifacts of unknown origin. Strange, pungent powders spilled from overflowing cabinets, and the walls were adorned with cryptic diagrams and symbols from obscure alchemical texts. A half-enchanted amulet, shaped like a soaring griffin, hung suspended from the ceiling, its magical aura pulsing faintly.
The rhythmic clinking of her mortar and pestle provided a comforting soundtrack to her thoughts. They drifted back to a younger Agnes, her eyes burning with ambition as she devoured dusty alchemical treatises. Back then, Eldoria pulsed with a different kind of magic. Guildhalls buzzed with activity, alchemists vying for breakthroughs in magical potions and enchantments. Agnes, barely a young woman then, had been a prodigy, her natural talent for manipulating arcane energies unmatched. Her creations, from elixirs that granted temporary flight to potions that could heal the most grievous wounds, had astonished the city.
A bittersweet smile touched Agnes' lips. Time, the relentless alchemist, had taken its toll. Her groundbreaking concoctions were no longer the talk of the town. The younger generation, with their flashy, mass-produced enchanted trinkets, dismissed her methods as archaic and unreliable. Yet, a spark of defiance still flickered in her eyes, a knowledge that her painstakingly crafted potions possessed a potent magic the new, synthetic enchantments lacked.
She glanced at the emerald potion bubbling in the vial. It crackled with energy, a symbol of her enduring spirit. Perhaps, she thought, the world wasn't ready for the subtle power of traditional alchemy just yet. But Agnes, with the tenacity of a woman who had unlocked secrets the Guild wouldn't even acknowledge, knew she would keep brewing, keep enchanting.
A knock on the rickety workshop door startled her. Agnes frowned. Visitors were rare these days, and the rhythmic clinking of her pestle usually served as a sufficient deterrent. Placing the vial carefully back on the workbench, she wiped her stained hands on her apron and called out, "Who's there?"
A young woman's voice, laced with urgency, answered, "It's Elara, Master Agnes. There's been… trouble at the Guild."
The clinking of the pestle ceased. A new kind of energy, a mix of curiosity and apprehension, flickered in Agnes' eyes. Trouble at the Guild? This could be the opportunity she'd been waiting for.
With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and called back, "Come in, Elara. Let's hear what this trouble is all about."
My Thoughts
There’s a lot of OTT literary stuff again.
But my instructions to end the chapter like a real chapter in a novel have resulted in the bold section.
I think this is a good example of showing, not telling. It feels much more natural. It’s really good writing.
Go back to the rest of it and see what you would want to change to make it more natural - and what you would keep because it sounds right.
Your Task
Write down 5 things you liked or learned from reading this post. It can be anything - I don’t have 5 in mind. Try not to cheat by writing 5 things you know you already do well - genuinely try to find 5 things you had not properly thought of before, or are completely new to you.
Now, write your response to the question at the beginning of the post. Make sure you pick a genre of writing that you would enjoy reading.
Write it as the first chapter of a book. The examiner will be happy to treat that as either a description or a story.
At the end, show me where you have included those 5 things in your own writing.
The ones I will definitely mark are those from paid subscribers I replied to in yesterday’s comments. Only paid subscribers can enter their writing into the comment section on this post.
I may mark others, depending on what I get.
Hi Mr Salles,
I had a go of your Vomit and Viking idea.
Desperately, Lola tried every trick in the book to lure Sahil but it was no use. Sahil did not seem to grasp Lola’s endeavours: overtly, making eye-contact, tossing her hair, laughing ostentatiously and heavy-flirting. Sahil was slow on the uptake and did not reciprocate Lola’s desperation – Sahil seemed keener on tensing his biceps, standing like an Adonis-type statue, and not spilling a drop of his vanilla protein shake.
Lola had fancied Sahil since kindergarten; he had a chiselled torso, olive-skin, raven-coloured hair, and a pearlescent smile. What’s more, he was adept in a myriad of sports, and a multitude of sporting clubs wanted his signature. His future was bright. From a distance, Lola observed – observed from a distance, because she was an A* student, unpopular and not aesthetically pleasing on the eye: a wan complexion, glasses, gaunt-looking and beehive bob.
That’s why, when Cha-Cha DiGregorio, the most-popular girl, with the worst reputation at St Bernadette’s, invited her to the party, Lola could not believe her luck. Lola thought that this was her one opportunity to change the landscape of her popularity and prize her prince charming (Sahil) from the clutches of any vultures.
As the night progressed, three bimbos, all with svelte-like figures, shoulder length hair, bronze finishes, and a fragrance of hubris, homed in on Sahil. Lola was distraught, because the three weird sisters has made her life hell at school. She was always the butt of their derisory comments. Lola decided to escape her misery and decided to dowse herself in strawberry daiquiris.
Before long, Lola was in a corybantic dance and devoid of any social etiquette. Gyrating against any male that moved. Unfortunately, the room started spinning, the lights started to reverberate, and the chequered kitchen tiled floor started to wave; thus, sending Lola…
CRASH! WALLOP! THUD!
It was fair to say that Lola’s face had startled the buffet.
“What a loser,” remarked one of the bimbos, her voice so cutting, “she’s always been an embarrassment.”
“Be quiet – Kim what a crass thing to say,” exclaimed Sahil.
Like a knight in shining armour, Sahil grappled the Damsel in distress and proceeded to take her to the living room. After placing her on the sofa, wiping the remnants of embarrassment from her face, and ensuring that she had a blanket, Sahil watched like a doting nurse.
After a couple of hours, Lola started to make a strange noise...unfortunately, for Sahil he had forgotten to get a bowl: Lola, reminiscent of ‘The Exorcist’, and immerse the dashing knight in a coat of vomit.
Fortunately, for your mother children, despite the backlash of Cha-Cha for ruining her mother's Porada softbay sofa, this vanilla-type hero, felt sorry for her and decided to end her misery and ask her on a date. Thankfully, she accepted and now, we have created the three musketeers with use three.
Hello Sir! Not part of your 3, but I gave the story prompt a try written within 1 hour which is usually the amount of time I have left in this question. I had written it by hand and scanned it, so apologies for any typos I might have missed! (Italics didn't carry over for some reason)
5 things I tried to include based on the article:
1. Using ambitious vocabulary
2. Maintaining the rhythm of the story
3. Natural writing but still sophisticated
4. Show not tell
5. Don’t go overboard with the literary techniques
Prompt: write a story about a time things turned unexpectedly
Bunting was strung across the rooftops like a criminal hanging from the gallows. It fluttered in the weak wind and the rustling of paper, bleached with age, echoed in the silent night. Every house had some semblance of haphazardly thrown together decoration, coupled with patriotic signs and the country’s symbol— a rather pretentious golden eagle soaring into a shimmering sunset— was painted on each door and window with a shaky hand.
However, not a single person in the town displayed them for a celebration— they did it to avoid the noose.
Rowan had been a young boy when the cruel tyrant and his fiendish wife had stormed his homeland. Their soldiers had ravaged his home. They burned his village’s crop and destroyed the water reservoirs so, when the population was weak from malnourishment, they could slaughter them with ease. To further add to the humiliation and pain, they forced every person in their empire to celebrate the days of their conquest. Any that failed to do so before the checks would be viciously murdered and their head displayed on a pike to serve as a warning to other dissidents. Rowan never had a restful sleep after he escaped the genocide; his loved ones screams still echoed in his ears and he would wake up, convinced he was drowning in their blood again, but it was only sweat. He would lament, day and night, for many years as to how the universe could be so cruel to him.
Then, Rowan grew up and realised the universe didn’t care about him any more than the next person. So he allied himself with a powerful criminal gang who taught him how to fight, eventually rising through the ranks and taking the place of the country’s number one assassin. There was no job he wouldn’t complete as long as the price was high enough, of course.
Even today, as he sped through the rows of ordered houses, his mind was furiously conjuring a plan to complete his newest mission.
A rumour had spread throughout the lands: the Emperor’s two children from his first marriage were cursed. Tales of how they disembowelled servants, decorated the walls of their rooms with the corpses of animals, and even guzzled on raw meat which could never sate their never-ending hunger for blood. Rowan was convinced at least half, if not all, of the reports were false, but it wasn’t his role to care. The despot’s second wife had contacted him and ordered him to get rid of the princess and prince discreetly, promising him enough gold and riches to last a lifetime.
However…
As Rowan approached the castle, which glittered in the twilight like shimmering gossamer, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He kept to the shadows that were thrown against the grassy ground as he approached the smallest tower within the block. No sentinels stopped him and no servant bustled about as they prepared for the night. A heavy silence was draped over the atmosphere like a lead shroud, pressing down on Rowan as he stole toward the thick wooden gates. The hairs on the back of his neck raised and he tensed, gripping the twin knives he always kept strapped to his side.
The gates were unlocked.
“This is too easy,” he muttered, shouldering it open. He held his breath as it creaked open, but no guard came rushing out to greet him with weapons. The luscious red carpet muffled his footsteps as he crossed the hallways, plumes of dust erupted with his every step. A layer of grime coated the oil paintings on the wall and a heavy stench of urine permeated the air.
No pictures. He noted with a small frown. No fine clothing, no animal corpses, no toys scattered about. This is not a palace fit for royalty. No, this is more like a prison.
Finally, he reached the last door. A thin stream of light flickered through the crack at the bottom of the door. Rowan replaced one of the knives in his pocket and rest his hand on the cool metal handle, unease pooled in the pit of his stomach. He took a deep breath, pushing the door open and—
A teddy bear flew across the room. It smacked him in the face and landed on the ground with a soft thump.
“Don’t some any closer!” A shrill voice screeched. “I— I’ll hurt you if you do!”
Rowan blinked, dropping his gaze down to the source: a little girl, no older than seven, was huddled in the corner of the room. Her tangled, dirty blonde hair was jagged and stopped just past her shoulders. She glared at him with sharp, golden eyes, arms raised with a stuffed doll in one hand and lion locked and loaded in the other.
“Princess Cassandra?” Rowan blinked, taking in her soiled nightgown— presumably once white— and fierce glower. He squinted at the boy shielded behind her. “Prince Edward?”
“Cass, who is that man?” Edward whispered.
Cassandra snarled, “He’s the bad man who’s going to kill us. Now, stay behind me, Ed. D— don’t approach him.”
Suddenly, the missing pieces of the puzzle shifted and clicked into place. Rowan closed his eyes and groaned. The Empress had fooled him: she wanted him to get rid off the young royal children to make way for her own son to take the throne. Judging by the tremble in the princess’ shoulders and the dire state of the palace, this was not the extent of the Empress’ cruelty.
If there was one thing Rowan hated, it was being taken advantage of.
“Well.” He sighed and took a step forward. The children scrambled back and he paused, raising his hands in surrender. “That was part of the plan. But I don’t feel much like doing it now.”
“So, what?” Cassandra tilted her chin upwards, her hands curled into tight fists by her side until her nails dug bloodied crescents into the calloused flesh. “You’re going to let us go?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t do that. The Empress would not stop until she tracked me down to punish me.” Scratching his chin, an idea popped into his mind and a slow grin stretched across his face. They were young, but seemed to have sharp instincts and a hunger for survival. Weapons forged by grief and rage were the most powerful in the world. “Tell you what, why don’t you both come with me?”
Edward pulled his sister back. His words were shaky and uncertain, “Why would you offer us that?”
Rowan shrugged. “I’ve always wanted kids, and you two seem pretty intelligent.” He pulled out the knives from his pocket, not missing how the children flinched. He flipped them around, offering them the hilt. “So, what do you say?”
The prince and princess looked at each other, then silently accepted the handles.