CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP CRITIQUE

This is a critique of a young promising future genre writer; Daniel

• The writer describes the setting exceptionally well. He gives character to the setting by using creative metaphors to describe it,"as if the life of the city had been drained with the setting of the sun" The style he employs to write the setting draws the reader in instead of boring the reader about useless info about a setting. The writer has a fluid style in describing setting
• It is obvious that the writer is well-versed in the genre he is writing about. He describes the elements such as weapons "sword and mace." and dress "rusty maille under his rags." This proves that the writer knows what he's talking about thus rendering the suspension of disbelief to be credible and authentic in the portrayal of the story
• However, the writer makes minor and careless grammatical errors with tenses. He starts out the narrative with using the past tense but tends to divert to present tense a number of times "emerge from their dark holes when the night rises"
• The other minor error the writer makes is "There were dark, dangerous men dressed in a dirty tunic" I believe what the writer wants to describes the dress of both men therefore he should use "dressed in dirty tunics" instead. This is just a minor error of singular/plural.
• Another weak point in the writing is that the writer might sometimes tend to put in information which is not relevant to the flow of the story. However this is subjective, because that information given in this paragraph such as the skills of Jarl could explicate further turn of events in the story
• Overall, it is an exceptional piece of work, for it does show high caliber of someone who is well-read and knows a genre well. The writer has a good style in writing because he makes the reader believe they are at the setting of the story and that everything is plausible

Arththi Sathananthar

A129086

CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP PARAGRAPH

The leaves of the mango tree protected me from the scorching sun, as I sat in a circle with my friends in the playground near my school. My school shirt was plastered to me, drenched with sweat. Trickles of sweat rolled down the sides of my temples. I felt sticky, stuffy and slightly sick from the heat of the sun, yet I couldn’t help myself by being seduced by the fumes of smoke dancing between me and my friends. The source of the smoke laid in Halim’s hands, then in Fikri’s and round and round it went, like a twisted game of passing the parcel. When the little cylinder of “grass” reached me, I stared down at it as though I was trying to see past the paper film, the tobacco and of course the ganja which were infused merrily together to give me and my friends an enjoyable high. Randomly I thought of mother’s curry, of how her wide array of spices produced a delicious end product. This made me think about the effect of me getting high. I asked myself, was the result of this high in any way helping me to escape my troubles at my home?

Arththi Sathananthar

A129086

creative writing workshop practice

so then here's a dry run to continue with the story of that boy
p.s. this is totally a random paragraph not necessarily in linear form

The rich aromas of cardamon, coriander,tamarind, cumin, saffron, turmeric and various other spices greeted my nostrils. I was just about to turn the leaf of the latest book I borrowed from the library, Robinson Crusoe. My mother was definitely a good cook, it saddened me that she always got berated by the monster for her cooking. It was obvious that his taste buds were paralyzed due the amount of alcohol he guzzled down each day, for he couldn't appreciate her cooking. I was thinking to myself what curry mother would dish out for dinner when she called, "Boy, come and eat!"

As I quickened my pace to mother, eager to gobble up her delicious curry, my face fell. It was as though, someone had clicked delete on my smile when I saw the monster already at the dining table. Although I avoided looking at his face as I sat down, I could hear the clinking of ice cubes against his glass tumbler. No doubt containing amber liquid; either Jack Daniels or Johnny Walker, it never made a difference which bourbon he chose to drink. I didn't have to look at him to know he was full of drink. The pungent smell of whiskey assaulted my nostrils. I hated being near him. I hated the wrath that always accompanied that smell. I hated the monster with every fiber of my being. I know I was full of cliches, but that's what happens when one immerses themselves in many books.

"Eh boy, what you staring at? Faster eat, you waiting for who the PM to come is it?" he said.

"Boy, you want some more rice or not?" mother said, as she ladled the spoon of rice onto my plate which was already brimming with rice, fish curry, kankung, fried prawns and long beans.

"No thanks, this is quite enough," I said, as I looked into mother's face, and smiled at her.

"Hmph, hear how he talks. He thinks he's some English man lah, reading all those books. Can't get a grip of reality," he said.

Once again the smile slid off my face like water off a duck's back.It was precisely as he said. I couldn't get a grip of my reality. It wasn't fair that I , a 12 year old boy was to be saddled with an alcoholic father and a mother who couldn't even stand up for herself or let alone her only child for that matter. Books were my refuge. Books kept me sane. Books didn't hurt me like the monster nor disappoint me like mother. " What? You too good to answer me is it? You're too high and mighty to talk to your own father?" he said, his voice rising gradually, like the scales of a music key.

I refused to rise up to his rattle. Mutely, I spooned my food into my mouth with my fingers. In a nano-second my plate was on floor, my rice, prawns, and the likes scattered like marbles at me feet. Mother just kept on eating, her eyes glued to her plate, though I detected her forehead creased with tension. "If you're not going to answer me when I talk to you, you can get out of my sight and don't even dare bring food to your room. Understand or not?!" he said, as he took a long swig from his tumbler and stared daggers at me.

"Yes," is all I said, as I quickly cleaned up the mess he had made and bolted to my room. I saw Sergeant at the front door, wagging his tail, his face bright with excitement for me to go and play with him. I gave him a quick pat and smiled sadly at him. As much as I wanted to spend time with my faithful dog, I didn't want to be in an area where the monster was so close by. Reluctantly I left Sergeant and retreated to my room.

I tried to escape through the pages of Robinson Cruesoe, yet even that couldn't keep my mind from meandering to tonight's turn of events. It made me think about what those boys had offered me earlier in school. I was afraid to accept, for I didn't need that for escapism. I had my books. However, lately ,I couldn't deny that even my beloved books weren't doing their job of numbing the harsh blows of reality from the monster. Maybe it was time for a new alternative. Maybe it was time to explore different types of escapism.

so there you have it
i was only supposed to write 1 paragraph but it panned out to this
oh well

Arththi Sathananthar
A129086

Critique exercise

Critique of Daniel's "I never want to see you again" dialogue exercise

• overall it is a creative piece of work
• i like that it is told from the 3rd person limited POV of an innocent child
• this is a creative manner with delving with the adult subject matter of 2 adults fighting about adult things
• there are minor grammatical mistakes, it is written in present tense but sometimes deviates to past tense
• "he stomp" should be "he stomps"
• "she grinded" should be "she grinds"
• "stripper slut" should be "slutty stripper"
• "she continued" should be "she continues"
• wrong vocabulary, "the women" but actually he means " the man and woman"
• the dialogue is informative and exposes the context of the situation
• it is well crafted and has good technical english skills
• however it lacks the author's voice because it could have been written by anyone
• perhaps the author should include some nativization to give his piece some identity
• in a nutshell, a promising piece of work with lots of potential to be crafted better if equipped with the right skills and guidance

Arththi Sathanthar

A129086

Dialogue exercise

"I never want to see you again!" she said, her voice rising as she jabbed her index finger at his chest.

"What?"he asked, his eyebrows knitted; confusion written all over his face.

"I know what you did last night,"she said, although now that she had heard his response, her tone was uneven, as though she was unsure of her accusation earlier.

"Please lah , I was at home with abah and ibu," he said, his eyes searching her face, imploring her to see reason and truth behind his words.

She fidgeted with her schoolbag strap, shuffled her feet, she looked to the ground and said, "I heard it from Yaya. She said you were there when it happened."

"You know better than to listen to her stories," he said, his temper getting the best of him as he balled his fists and took heavy breaths.

"Fine lah, I'm sorry ok. I wont butt into your business anymore," she said in a low tone, with her eyes still pinned to the ground. She knew she had been duped by Yaya. She thought to herself that she knew her brother well and he wouldn't do something like that.

"Jom, let's go before the school bus leaves us," he said, putting his arm around his sister's shoulders and giving a light squeeze, and a charming smile to boot. She looked up at him with a slight grimace on her, but returned his smile. He looked away from her and smiled inwardly to himself. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He was fortunate he had a naive, trusting and gullible sister to not get in the way of his affairs.

Arththi Sathananthar

A129086

exercise in fiiction writing - SETTING

Setting - the new house

• a semi- detached house, corner lot
• new, piled with boxes of things
• family just moved to a new town
• in a middle-class neighbourhood
• they're the only Indian family in the neighbourhood
• neighbours don't socialize with each other
• house isn't cosy; foreign, detached
• the decor of the house is modernistic, cold, no comfort
• the porch, garden, interior of house very minimalistic, no sense of cosiness

It had only been two days in the new house, yet his mother had managed to banish all the dust-bunnies and kept the house spotless and sparkling. Piles of boxes still remained stacked unceremoniously at random crooks and crannies of the house. The house was very empty and bare. Not because they had just moved in, but the smell of barrenness vifted through the air. The monster had forbidden his mother from bringing possessions from their previous home. Only the necessities were allowed; according to the monster the clutter was suffocating and made him trip all over the place. If he had the courage, he would tell the monster that it was drink that preventing him from walking straight. He felt the clutter from his previous home comforting, the tokens and souvenirs from his childhood a close friend. This new house seemed a far cry from his childhood home. The naked walls, monotonous white and stiff furniture permeated hostility instead of hospitality.

exercise in fiiction writing - CHARACTER

BOY - deliberate choice to not name the character

• 12 year old boy, Malaysian Indian
• just about to start secondary school
• bookworm, well-read
• father is an alcoholic
  
• mother is a battered woman
• he suffers from verbal abuse from father and some rough man-handling, father has not hit him yet
• mother isn't affectionate, resents his presence because he is the reason she is tied to the father
• he seeks comfort from neighborhood kids, school friends
• has no prejudices - mingles with kids from different ethnic backgrounds
• his dog Sergeant serves as his confidant
• shy and somewhat broken due to his family background
• easily influenced, eventually picks up bad habits from peers
  
• longs for belonging because he doesn't belong at home
• longs for identity, eg. parents always refer to his as "boy"

He runs to his room, slamming the door behind him. He's heaving with anger and frustration. He immerses himself in a book, trying to drown the sounds of the monster's barking. However, curiosity gets the better of him and he puts down Robinson Crusoe. His mother is silent as a mouse, as the monster berates her with petty attacks. "Don't you know how to cook a God-damn thing?!Such a blady useless bitch you are lah!!" He squeezes his eyes shut and expels a soft sigh. He hopes his mother wasn't the appetizer of the monster's anger, because that would mean he would serve as the main meal for the monster to dish out his verbal abuse. He goes to bed early, dreading the start of tomorrow. He didn't want to start his first day at secondary school with thoughts of the monster resonating in his mind.

Arththi Sathananthar
A129086