Author Biography

Dominic Salles, that’s me, teaches hundreds of thousands of

students every year, through his YouTube channel, Mr Salles Teaches
English.

He went to 9 different schools as a child. His parents took him to

Ibiza for 7 years, where they lost everything. Amazing fun while it
lasted, though. When he was 10, he became an illegal immigrant in
Canada, got deported to London, became homeless at 11, living for
17 months in a bed and breakfast.

But this isn’t a sob story. It is a rags-to-riches-to-rags-again story.

But that’s not the point of the story. It meant he learned how to do
well in exams without properly going to school, and that’s why he
believes 50% of students can get grades 7, 8 and 9.

You really can teach yourself, or build on the work of a great teacher
at school.

He still believes he can be good at anything, and reckons he’s going

to train as a snowboard instructor.

Lee Simpson is a writer, teacher and, in his spare time, runs a

Teaching School. He’s passionate about football, Sunderland (which
he thinks is the same thing) and is learning to box. His coach has
trained over 10 world champions. So, you can see he’s pretty
convinced everyone can aim to be brilliant at anything, with the right
teaching.

They both live in Swindon, jewel of the M4. Where dreams come
true.
Introduction
So, you’re probably wondering, “Is this book for me?”
1. You want to write a good, perhaps a really great, short
story. Check.
2. You want to learn this to pass an exam. Check.
3. Or, you just want to write a story which people will want
to read, and to enjoy writing it. Check.
4. And teachers have taught you all about setting, character
descriptions, dialogue, rising tension, climax, flashback,
circular narrative, first and third person narrators, similes,
metaphor and personification, but you’re not sure how
they all fit together. Check.
5. And no one has shown you 10 short stories which you
could write in 45 minutes. Never mind 15. And 20? No
way! Check.

(Now some of you may be thinking, can I just read 5? Yes. You can
get a grade 6 or 7 after just reading the first one, and doing what it
says!)

See Inside!
22 short stories which you can learn from and imitate, so that you
can write brilliant short stories. There’s no other guide like this,
anywhere.

You’ll learn the real secrets of story writing, which will become
obvious to you, because you keep seeing them, again and again in
novel, fun and interesting ways.

You’ll get a checklist from each short story telling you what you
should learn from each one.
What’s not to like?

You’ll also learn where short stories come from, so that you will
never lack for inspiration. Other writers, movies, childhood
memories, poems, photographs, the news, celebrities, someone you
admire, sports, and the things that are happening to you in your
own life, right now! That’s 10 different inspirations.

And finally, this is a book of really, really short stories, so it will take
next to no time to read (especially if you only read 5).

Happy writing.
Contents
Introduction

Understanding the Mark Scheme

6 Camera Method

Wings

Trust Your Memories, Especially if They’re Wrong

The Act of Killing

Top boy

How to Turn a Description into a Story

The Invitation

Kurt Vonnegut’s Advice to Writers

Image of a tropical beach used as stimulus – Sci-Fi style

narrative

Reyes’ Rebels

How to Write in a Monologue

The Face*

Where do ideas come from?

Headache

Base Your Story on Your Childhood Memory

 Learn to Spot and Use Descriptive Techniques

Can I Deviate from the Picture?

Ok, but what does the examiner really want?

How to Write a Description Based on Your Childhood

A Look at Descriptive Techniques and Interesting Writing

(More Than Just SOAPAIMS)

How to Write a Story Based on Your Childhood*

A Sense of an Ending

Question 5: How to Write a Short Story Using Celebrities

and the News

How do you get ideas from the news?

Short Story Based on the News

The Swindle *

How Can This Teach You to Write Stories?

Think Like a Writer

How to Imitate a Writer You Admire

Who to Copy?

Amarillo Slim

Isn’t it wrong to copy?

How to Write About a Film

Princess Mathilde and Cupid’s Arrow

 I Know Where You Keep Your Gun

How to write about a game

Duty Calls

Tycoon

Andrew Motion’s Advice

Write a Story Based on Someone You Admire

Revolver

How to Use Your Poetry Anthology to Write a Story

Narrative Based on Storm on The Island

Write a Story Using Extended Metaphor

What I Did

End of the Line

Just Say Yes

The Championship

Write a Story Based on a Sports Person or Sport You Know

Well

The Boxer

Stories Based on Social Media (and the weather)

Ten Things I hate about you

Write a Story Using Extreme Copying

 Queen of Hearts

All the Fun of the Fair

Redraft: All the Fun of the Fair

*These three stories first appeared in The Mr Salles Guide to

100% in AQA English Language GCSE. This guide has more
comments on Amazon from readers who got grade 9 than any other
guide.
Understanding the Mark Scheme
In 2018, the grade boundary for a grade 6 was 97 out of 160. That’s
an achievable 61%.

To score this, you only need 15 marks, and to get that you only need
to:

Marks 13, 14 and 15

Content
Usually pick the vocabulary that works, but sometimes
fail.
The reader can tell you are trying to achieve effects with
your vocabulary.
It generally feels like a proper story, but has some parts
that don’t fit.
You use linguistic techniques to fit your story, not just
because you feel a need to bung in a simile, metaphor,
alliteration and personification.

Organisation
You are trying out an interesting structure, but some bits
might not work well.
You don’t have any boring bits of conversation or
description which aren’t needed in your story, because
they don’t add to our understanding of the character or
the plot.
All your ideas are in paragraphs, for changes of time,
topic and talk.

For grade 6 the two key words are “clear” and “consistent”, which
means this:
 1. Has the writer tried to experiment with vocabulary?
2. And with the structure?
3. And with the descriptive techniques?
4. A mix of long and short sentences?
5. Some interesting sentences?

Ok, so long as there is nothing in it that makes it difficult to

understand, or just doesn’t fit the story, let’s give it a grade 6.

How to Use the Guide

1. Read all the stories, to soak up good writing.
2. Pick one of the stories as a model and write your own
story inspired by it.
3. Use the checklist that follows the story as success
criteria. Redraft your story until it has as many of those
skills as you can fit.
4. Grade it using the grade 5/6 criteria above.
5. Redraft it.
6. Try again with a new story.

If your story does meet these criteria, take a look at grades 7 - 9:

Grade 7 starts at only 68%. Grade 8 at 74%. Grade 9 at 80%. I

hope many of you are looking at these and thinking, “that’s hard,
but not out of reach.”

80% is 19 to 20 marks.

Ok, but what does the examiner really want? (Grades 7 – 9)

The examiners will judge your story with two words: is it

compelling and convincing? If the answer is yes, then you get
grade 7. Then it is a question of how compelling, or how convincing.
Here we are at the mercy of gut reaction.

So, to help the examiners in their gut reaction, they are guided to
ask 10 questions:
 Content:
1. Does it have the right vocabulary choices to match the
intended audience?
2. Does it have extensive examples of that vocabulary?
3. Are there lots of ambitious choices of vocabulary?
4. Does it have the right literary devices which fit the story,
rather than just being chucked in to show you’ve used
some?
5. Do these occur in all parts of the story, or are any of
them sustained, like a recurring motif, or an extended
metaphor?

Organisation
6. Does it have interesting structural features (for example
repetition, a circular narrative, a motif, foreshadowing,
purposeful repetition, paragraphs which mirror each
other, contrast, flashback, backstory, show off long
sentences to slow down the action, short or curtailed
sentences to speed action up?
7. Does it have complex ideas in it? See show off sentences,
flashback, backstory, an interesting point of view from
your main character?
8. Do you drop clues as to what will happen next, or by the
end, so the reader wants to find out if they were right?
9. Is the character so interesting that we really want to find
out what happens to them?
10. Is it always paragraphed, and are those paragraphs used
for an effect – like mirroring, slowing down the action,
speeding up the action, using flashback, or backstory.

So, that’s your personal checklist for grades 7, 8 and 9.

Experiment
Reading this guide will help you tremendously with questions 1-4 on
each paper. You will understand the writer’s craft really well.

But, to get good at writing, you know you have to write.

Get to it. Try writing five stories if you want grades 7 to 9.

Pick your two favourites, and redraft them. Two or three times!

This will give you two stories to fall back on – there is a very high
chance that one of them will exactly fit the exam. You can use the
gist of your story to fit, or remember it word for word if you choose.
I personally wouldn’t do this, as I really enjoy this question. And I’ll
get a grade 9 anyway. But, if you feel you want to prepare this way,
why not? It will guarantee you top grades.

Ask your teacher for all the past questions and see if your two
stories fit. My prediction is that one of them will – every time.

What if I am still just hoping for a grade 5 or 6?

Then memorising a story which is better than a 5 or 6 will surely

help.

Alternatively, one of the following stories teaches you three

paragraphs of description. You can remember these, word for word,
and use them as the beginning of any story. You’ll see how that
works when you meet them.

AO6 Technical Accuracy

16 out of 40 marks are available for your technical accuracy.

This means that you might only write 100 words of a short a story,
not even finish the question, but still bag 100% of these ‘technical
accuracy’ marks.
So, what is it that the examiner is so generously giving away?

The top band, 13 – 16 marks

1. All your punctuation at the end of a sentence is correct:
?!;.()
exactly in the right place.
This means never having a comma splice (where the
full stop is missing, and you have put a comma where the
full stop should be)
2. A wide range of punctuation is used with a high level of
accuracy.
3. Uses Standard English – unless the story has a brilliant
reason for changing this.
4. Don’t make mistakes in grammar, especially when moving
between the past and present tenses, and knowing when
to use ‘would’ and ‘will’
5. High level of accuracy in spelling, including ambitious
vocabulary
6. Extensive and ambitious use of vocabulary
7. Start sentences in lots of different ways (starting
with a different word will mean some start with
adverbs, verbs, connectives etc)
8. Uses a wide range of sentence forms: short,
curtailed, complex with lots of clauses, a show off
sentence or more, a one sentence paragraph

You can see that the last three of these, 6, 7 and 8 in bold, also give
you marks in the 24 marks available for content and organisation.
They count double!

So, these are the ones you must practise most. I’ve put them in bold
in all the checklists you find in this guide.
Six Cameras Method
This is a technique adapted from one taught to me by Nick Wells, a
great teacher who adapted his technique from another teacher who
probably came across it watching a Steven Spielberg film. This is a
guide where we steal ideas. It is what great writers do.

The six cameras technique always works, whatever your subject. It

works whether you are writing an exam answer, or taking your time
writing a story for pleasure or for publication.

It works best when the action takes place over a short amount of
time.

Six Cameras is a good name. SixCam if you want to sound trendy.

ZMZMZM if you want a weird brand name.

This is it:
1. Zoom out – flock of geese
2. Motif – symbol or image – guitar
3. Zoom in – face stewardess
4. Motif – music
5. Zoom out – space eyed view, God
6. Motif – guitar

On the left is the structure. On the right is what I jotted down in

front of my class. The picture we were looking at was of a mother
and young son, looking out at a runway with a plane on it. I asked
my students to write down anything that came to mind. My class,
being teenagers, mainly wrote about plane crashes.

“Write about a plane crash sir.”

Left to their own devices, 50% of teenagers will probably kill

something when they write a short story. That’s how entertainment
works these days – guns, explosions, zombies, terrorism, computer
games with mega-slaughter…

So the rule is nobody dies.

Now, take your six cameras and place them around the scene. The
cameras gave me the list on the right. I just wrote down the first
thing for each that came in to my head. That’s it. That’s your whole
plan.

Now all I had to do was crash my plane, but not describe anybody
dying.

Easy.

Wings
Zoom Out – flock of geese

The V followed its normal trajectory, the lead swapping as though by

telepathy, in a strange choreography which had developed over
millions of years without planes. Perhaps why the lead bird did not
notice the Airbus, rising towards it. Perhaps that is why the flock
followed blindly, faithful to the goose in front, as the engines rose to
meet them like a greeting on a warm summer’s day.

Motif – symbol or image – guitar

At the window, Lisa sat, cradling her new guitar. She was eight years
old, and going to Nashville, to join her father at last. He had given
her this red guitar as a present, and a promise that he would teach
her to play like an angel. Her eyes turned to the window, registering
the silent disaster as the birds met the engine on her left-hand side.
Something was wrong with this picture, and she thought she heard
the guitar begin to play.
Zoom In – face stewardess

The stewardess with the blond hair, and the tired eyes, fed up of
passengers asking her question after question, trip after trip, felt it
first, as though she were a Jedi knight feeling a disruption in The
Force. She smiled, realising that her boyfriend would be surprised at
the Star Wars reference. But something was wrong. This wasn’t
turbulence. There was a disruption in the Force.

Motif – music

In slow motion, the theme tune played. Dum dum dum, dum – de -
dum. An image of black boots and a black helmet appeared.
Instantly, she knew the symbol for what it was. She suddenly
realised why he was called Darth, a short syllable away from total
blackness, eternal blackness, the coming blackness.

Bart was playing on his phone again. At sixteen he knew better than
to have the volume turned up, so that the middle-aged couple next
to him could hear his appalling music leaking out of his ears, in a
slow trickle that had built up to a flood, drowning them both in
unexpressed anger as the flight wore on. How the music had
droned. The wife saw the geese first, and some part of her brain,
the reptilian part she knew, suddenly kicked in. Anger rose in her
like fire, no like petrol thrown on to a fire, and flames of rage, huge
and overwhelming strobed the back of her skull. She turned to the
boy, placed one hand on his earphones, and prepared for what she
knew was coming.

He looked into her eyes, and watched her lips move: “we don’t need
no education, we don’t need no…” But he would never know what
she didn’t need.

Zoom Out- space eyed view, God

Who was it who gazed down silently at the scene? The pilot looked
up, as though in prayer. He had felt it too, and knew the procedure,
the checklist that he and his co-pilot would jump into, the years of
training kicking in. But he feared this would not be enough. He
looked up, hoping for a sign.

Only the clouds gazed back at him. Lisa noticed them too. Fluffy, like
a child’s drawing. Unreal. But they looked down with indifference.

In seconds the entire flock was gone. The engines roared with
flame, and triumph or rage, it was impossible to tell. The clouds
looked on sightlessly, without care.

Motif

The stewardess turned toward the flash of red. Lisa had lifted her
guitar, and was taking it out of the case for the very first time.

564 words

What to learn from this story:

1. The 6 changes of camera angle always work, because
they give you different perspectives.
2. Because the cameras are filming within the same sixty
seconds (or even shorter), they easily build up to a
climax, which is the ending. You don’t have to plan it in
advance.
3. Start with a contrast, as this automatically presents a
crisis or conflict. The whole camera structure makes sure
that each shot is a contrast to the last.
4. Camera angles allow you to think in moving pictures,
which make it easier to think of similes and metaphors.
5. Give your character’s backstory quickly, so we know their
thoughts and some history.
6. Try to start each sentence with a different word.
7. Slow down time with adverbs – notice they appear
in my ‘slow motion’ paragraph.
 8. Enjoy writing, using allusions. You should spot The
Simpsons, Star Wars, Pink Floyd.
9. Have a circular ending, referring back to the motif you
started with.
10. Twist the reader’s expectations at the end. It is more
tragic if the girl has never played her guitar before.
11. End it just before the death. Let the reader add up two
plus two.
12. Having a motif will always give your story structure. In
the days when every newspaper published short stories,
a writer who got stuck might follow this advice, “just
introduce a man with a gun.” But, as we know, we are
trying not to kill anyone! Our equivalent is the motif. It
gives your story structure, and as you keep going back to
it, it will give you a focus for your ending.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Find a picture, a random picture, and try this yourself. You can even
ignore the rest of the book, and just practise this first technique. It
works. Every time!
Trust Your Memories, Especially if
They’re Wrong
So, I grew up in Spain, on the island of Ibiza, and everything in this
story is true. It didn’t have to be, though, because our memories
aren’t wholly true, they change a little each time we think about
them.

Your memories are just a starting point. Start with something that
interests you. It can be anything, because when you are a small
child, only the really vivid memories stick. The memories you have
are special that way. Your brain has already picked them out,
polished them, rehearsed them, turned them over and inspected
them. It is why, so often, our parents or brothers and sisters have
different memories of the same event.

These are the memories that will help you, because your brain has
been shaping stories about them for years. Trust them.

Now, just write. You don’t have to think about the story, as your
brain has already done that in secret over the years. As you write,
you will connect with new memories.

So, in the story that follows, based on my memories, I don’t suppose

I punched another boy on the same day as the pig slaughter. He
probably didn’t really look dead.

I had forgotten that I never killed any fish with my spear gun. I’m
not sure if I ever tried. I remember how to kill an octopus, but I was
too cowardly, or too kind to do it myself.

I had forgotten about the dynamite, and the day my friend and I
spent the morning catching crabs and cooking them. I still can’t eat
crabs now.
My brain just knew it was more interesting to end with the decision
not to kill, rather than the great crab killing, so the crab killing does
not appear in my story.

Ordinary memories work in just the same way. In Cider with

Rosie, Laurie Lee tells a story about his first day at school. Later in
the book, he tells the story of a villager who made it rich, getting
drunk and boasting about his riches. On his way home on dark
country lanes, he was beaten to death by the locals, who all got
away with it. Try the book – you’ll find that his memory of his first
day at school is much more memorable, and nobody dies. Ordinary
memories are often much more powerful! You have loads of those.

The Act of Killing

The killings always happened in bright sunlight. The smell of burning
hair brings the first killings straight back to me, and I am five again,
thirsty in the hot sun – all of us at break time queueing at the well.
No running water.

Just down the hill, in a hollow, squatted an open shell of a

building– whitewashed walls splashed with blood.

Once a month, the snuffling pigs ambled up the path, to the pen.
They gathered nonchalantly. Then the show started. First, a hook
like a giant question mark was stabbed through a snout. The
disbelieving pig was pulled, squealing in shock, and just as
suddenly, three shirtless men lifted it. The hook fitted onto a rail
above head height. Below, a bucket, for the blood. The screaming
pig hung from its snout, legs kicking at the empty air.

Yes, we children watched it all, perched on the wall above the

hollow. The teachers at The Hippy School were elsewhere (it was
their break time after all).
Like pirates boarding a ship, the men set-to with blade and flame.
A neck was slit, and blood burned out in a lava flow. The
watching pigs understood and began to scream. We ignored
them.

Once dead and drained, the carcasses were slapped on a slab and
a blowtorch skimmed the skin– hair flared, flaming like sudden
sparklers, and the smell hit our throats.

The men laughed and took the time to notice us. Like circus
clowns, they picked up buckets and pretended to splash us. We
screamed, stumbled backwards, and returned for more.
Suddenly, the blood was released; fountains of red reached
towards us with wet fingers, then slapped the white walls with
colour, beneath our hanging feet.

Later, queueing at the well, a boy tried to push in front of me. I

punched his face. He fell backwards onto limestone and lay there
like a corpse.

On the beach, the fishermen were brutal. Once, we marvelled as

they tossed dynamite overboard and the dead rose, belly-up to the
surface, bone-white against the blue sea.

To kill an octopus took bravery. Thrust a fist into a crack, and wait
for the electrified tentacles to take hold. Swim to the surface. Turn
its head inside out, like a pocket, to trap in the squirting ink. The
panicked tentacles release. Grab some and swing it like a mace,
dashing its rubbery head on the rocks. Repeat until dead.

The summer when I was eight, I dreamed of spearfishing. I washed

up for ‘pesetas’– months in my parents’ bar: hours and hours,
dreaming of the clear blue waters, the firework coloured fish, snake-
like eels and carpet-sized manta rays.

My heart burst with pride, as I strode out that first sunlit morning,
spear gun cradled like a bomb. Mask, snorkel, flippers – already an
expert swimmer, I slid into the sea.

The silent burst of colours throbbed with life. Each fish I hoped to
hunt swum brilliantly past, and my heart sang with the thrill. Yet my
fingers would not fire. My eyes would not take aim.

Astonished, I returned home, my prize spear gun stowed like a

secret, beneath my startled bed.

527 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Start with a crisis.
2. Make horrible things happen to good people.
3. As so often, start with a contrast. The ending is also a
contrast. Contrast is the king and queen of good writing
4. Use colour to symbolize ideas.
5. Make your similes unusual – in a class of 30, you don’t
want anyone using the same simile.
6. Start each sentence in a different way.
7. Concentrate on your verbs. They are the most
important words in your story. I’ve put some of
them in bold. Notice how a violent verb often
appears near an ordinary, emotionless one.
Contrast is king.
8. Starting sentences with imperative verbs, as I do
when killing an octopus, creates both a sense of
urgency and a lack of emotion – they are like
instructions. This is a useful contrast, where the
narrator or character refuses to be emotional
about things which we should be emotional about.
9. Use adjectives in pairs, sometimes hyphenated.
10. Play with the soundscape of your sentences.
Alliterative words don’t have to be next to each
other. Look at how much alliteration sneaks in this
 way. Notice how many of the verbs start with the
same sound.
11. Enjoy sibilance, it either creates a sinister
atmosphere, or silence and peace. This is really
useful, as this contradiction drives contrast. If the
verbs are the engine of your story, contrast is the
body of the car which gets you to the end of the
story.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Sometimes, we are allowed to kill then, Mr Salles! Ok, I’ll give you
that. But no person died here, and killing is the whole point of the
story.

If you are a vegetarian, you should find a story like this easy to
write. Your passion will help you describe such killing as wrong.

Narrative inspired by a childhood memory and an image

which showed an abandoned warehouse.

Top Boy

I see what looks like the end of a medieval battle – it’s brutal.

Lads from both sides lie in broken heaps on the floor. Some of the
faces are unrecognisable. They look like meat – red, raw and
swollen. Limbs are twisted, clothing torn, and there are wounds in
serious places.

I notice one boy whimpering to himself. His back is propped up

against a wall and he slumps over to one side. One of his feet is
bare. Much of the skin has been scraped from it and sickeningly his
foot seems to be pointing in the wrong direction.
Nearing him, I hear a whisper. He is calling for his mother. I grab his
tie, pulling his face near my own. But I already know that he is not
one of ours, so I let his head fall roughly back against the wall.
There is a thud as his skull connects with brick. He grimaces, so I
boot him in the guts.

He isn’t from my school.

When it was clear that the fight was on, we chose the venue. It was
better to choose your territory, any warrior knew that. Around
halfway between both of our schools was an industrial estate with
an abandoned warehouse. We had been inside it plenty of times to
know that it was big enough for a decent scrap and full of tools for
anyone with sense enough to pick them up.

We knew we had a good bunch of lads up for it. So when their Top
Lad sent a message that they were on the move, we made sure that
we would be there first. We weren’t taking any chances. Our boys
had come prepared: thick planks of wood, chains, some knives. One
of our lads was carrying a small cardboard box. It looked damp on
the bottom and the cardboard was discoloured. When I asked him
what was in it, he wouldn’t say. He just laughed and said that I
would be impressed.

The warehouse was deserted when we arrived. On the outside, the

windows were fangs of sharp glass where kids had smashed the
majority of the windows out. Inside, the walls were damp and
stained with a rust coloured fluid like dried blood.

Surveying the floor around us, we could see plenty of useful items:
half-bricks, savage angles of glass and varying sized lengths of
metal. We stood together, forming up like a Greek style military
phalanx, each of us knowing that we were responsible for each
other.

Within minutes, we could hear noises outside of the warehouse.

They were here, and advertising the fact – probably trying to psyche
themselves up. We didn’t move as they came into the building, just
watched and waited.

Seconds passed, allowing us to make a judgement of their strength.

They formed a loose group about ten metres in front of us. Their
Top Boy stood at the front holding a decent sized metal bar,
gesturing for us to come and get a battering. Some of his lads were
on their tip toes, which was always a bad sign. Would they stand, or
would they be off? If their feet weren’t firmly planted on the ground,
you could never be sure.

Their Top Boy seemed ready. But he wasn’t ready for our lad with
the cardboard box. Opening it, he threw something towards him. A
round, furry thing flew through the air – slimy gobbets of its flesh
dripping downward throughout its journey.

The projectile of fur hit the floor a few feet in front of their Top Boy,
then rolled over a couple of times in the dust, until its dead eyes
looked right up at him.

He recognised the severed head of his mother’s cat instantly.

Screaming with rage, he ran at us. Most of the rest of his lads
followed, a few slipping off the other way.

We stood firm, tight and unshakable, as we waited for the medieval

battle to begin.

By Lee Simpson

660 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Start with the end. In a short story, the reader can simply
be desperate to find out how your character got there.
This is an original structure.
2. Write in the present tense at the beginning to mark out
how this is a different time from the rest of the story – it
 feels odd, because it lets the reader know that the ending
is coming first.
3. Use contrast – the youth of the boys and the violence of
the battle is the point of the story. The apparent concern
the narrator feels for a victim, only to boot him in the
guts. They line up in a loose group, while the narrator’s
gang stand shoulder to shoulder. The iron bar of a
weapon juxtaposed with the small, soft contents of the
cardboard box.
4. Give details that explain the rules of this world. There are
rules to all our worlds, which is why all families are
different. Bring out those differences.
5. Use short sentences to build a sense of drama and
pace.
6. Use adverbs as little as possible, as they slow
down the pace. Lee only uses two, “sickeningly”
and “instantly”, when he wants us to slow down
and pay attention to a crucial moment.
7. Enjoy alliteration. Notice how often Lee uses
words which begin with F. This is a fricative, and
we naturally associate it with violence. Look in the
mirror as you say words beginning with F, and you
will see you are constantly baring your teeth. It is
an animal instinct, and our evolution has taught us
to do it to threaten. That’s why we use the F word.
8. Use one sentence paragraphs for a dramatic
moment or idea.
9. Drop a clue or detail which will be vital later – the
cardboard box.
10. Use allusions which connect to a bigger world. The
medieval battle and the narrator’s knowledge of a Greek
phalanx.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
How to Turn a Description into a Story
Imagine the descriptive/narrative question is based on this picture:

Description/Narrative Based on the VW picture

Something wasn’t right. The van didn’t belong here. It stood out,
orange in the sun’s haze, and seemingly brand new. Although it’s
windows were clean and unbroken, in dramatic contrast to the
house, I could see no one inside. Yet the engine growled
menacingly, like some hunting leopard, crouched in the scorched
grass.

Standing miserably beside the VW was a dilapidated house,

squashed and ripped, a toddler’s discarded Christmas present
chucked away as soon as opened. The windows, cracked into sharp
and jagged pieces, looked out at me like a miserable face. Its
brickwork appeared shoddy, built by workmen who knew they
wouldn’t be paid much for doing a good job. One sad door hung on
its hinges, groaning like a teenager watching a black and white film.
Above, the roof sagged and decayed, revealing wooden struts to the
merciless midday sun.

But strangely, perched on the top of one wall, was an oversized

satellite dish: pristine, modern, and so out of place. Like the van, it
seemed to purr, although satellite dishes don’t do that, do they?

Scanning for strangers, I decided to inspect the scene a little more

closely. Cautiously, I stepped forward, feeling curious, yet afraid.
Noticing a brown smudge and a whimper, I realised that I was
seeing a dog, soft and sleek, but straining on a leash tied to a steel
pole. Coming closer, I found I was holding my breath. It all felt
wrong, very wrong, and all my senses heightened, like soldiers on
alert.

A voice whispered hoarsely, inviting me to come closer.

I froze. Time seemed to slow down. It wasn’t just the tone of the
voice; it was the sensation that it was both coming from the dog,
and inside my head at the same time. Without looking, I knew, I just
knew, that there was no living person in the van, and no living
person in the decaying house. There was only the staked-out dog.

Reluctantly, I made eye contact. She stared back at me with green

eyes. Dogs do not have green eyes, I knew. She stared at me with a
look that may have been recognition. The hoarse whisper echoed
more strongly in my skull this time.

Dogs can’t smile, but this one seemed to curl the edges of its snout,
like a leaf curls in a fire. It was unpleasant and threatening. I
became more aware of the heat of the sun, and wondered if the
glare was causing me to hallucinate the worrying grin. Was I
imagining the voice and the clear, green eyes?

She held my eyes, and I walked across the parched earth. Almost
hypnotized, I barely noticed the satellite dish begin to swivel, barely
noticed the VW’s engine turn off, barely noticed a hawk carving
through the sky ahead. I walked towards the dog, and her fur
seemed ever softer, and to take on a glossier shine.

But a memory startled me. Villagers used to stake out a goat, didn’t
they, to catch a tiger? A temptation, a trick, before the villagers
sprang out in a blizzard of spears or arrows. What was I being lured
to?

525 words

What to learn from this story/description:

1. Contrast always works. The first paragraph describes
everything with contrast, between right and wrong, which
helps show the reader something is wrong.
2. A story doesn’t need quite as many metaphors and
similes and personification, but an examiner loves them.
Enjoy playing with them.
3. Nearly every sentence starts with a different word.
It just feels more interesting to read, and it is
more fun to write.
4. There’s no such thing as a dumb idea – the talking dog
will work so long as you make it a believable part of your
story. Treat it as real, and the reader will.
5. The reader knows this is a trap – they add up two plus
two, and I don’t have to do the sums for them.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Problems with this story:

Too many adverbs! Elmore Leonard and Stephen King both advise
against them, and I’ve only included them to show I am describing,
and bag points in the mark scheme.
Because I was writing this as a description, that could also be a
story, I haven’t planned a proper ending, but a cliff hanger. This is
always a bit unsatisfying.

We know the narrator will ultimately be fine, because it is a first-

person narrator.

Although it will get full marks, it isn’t really a proper story. Could I
improve it?

Rewrite it as a Proper Story

The Invitation

Something wasn’t right. The van didn’t belong here. It stood out,
orange in the sun’s haze, and seemingly brand new. Its windows
were clean and unbroken, in dramatic contrast to the house. Dashiell
could see no one inside. Yet the VW engine still growled menacingly,
crouched in the scorched grass.

Dashiell took out the photograph of the blond, green eyed heiress
he’d tracked to this unlikely part of Utah, famous for its UFO
sightings, the drug-taking counter culture, the rumours of alien
abduction. The case was paid well. An offer he couldn’t refuse. If the
beautiful and wealthy Vonnegut-Trapp really was here, it was surely
against her will.

Squat and dilapidated, the house sat beside the van. The windows,
cracked into sharp and jagged pieces, watched him like a miserable
face. Its door gaped like a surprised mouth.

Perched on one wall was an oversized satellite dish: pristine,

modern, and so out of place. Strange markings, not quite writing,
shimmered on its surface. It seemed to move, he thought. Some
new branding, he wondered? Like the van, it seemed to hum.
Curious about the noise, he stepped forward, scanning for
movement. Three scorched circles were baked into the ground. At
their centre a golden-haired dog whimpered, straining on a leash,
tied to a steel pole.

He held his breath. It all felt wrong, very wrong, and his senses
heightened. He became aware of the smallest sounds: her paws on
the scorched grass, a drip from a tap he couldn’t see, and then the
smells flooded in, of earth, and oils, pheromones like perfume, and
now something metallic, strange, totally alien to him, but somehow
everywhere.

A voice whispered hoarsely, inviting him to come closer.

He froze. Time seemed to slow down. It wasn’t just the tone of the
voice; it was the sensation that it was both coming from the dog,
and inside his head at the same time. Without looking, he knew, he
could smell that there was no person in the van, nor in the house.
There was only the staked-out dog.

He made eye contact. She stared back at him with green eyes and
recognition. Panic and curiosity fought for his attention. The hoarse
whisper came again, in words he could hear, but not quite make out.

She seemed to smile, to curl the edges of her snout, like a leaf curls
in a fire. It was unpleasant and threatening.

She held his eyes, as he walked across the parched earth. He heard,
but ignored the satellite dish begin to swivel, barely noticed the VW’s
engine turn off, barely noticed a pair of wings carving through the
sky ahead. He walked towards the dog, and her fur seemed ever
softer, and to take on a glossier shine.

A memory startled him. Villagers used to stake out a goat, didn’t

they, to catch a tiger? A temptation, a trick, before the villagers
sprang out in a blizzard of spears or arrows.
He looked down at the scorched earth, and smelt something he
somehow knew was fuel. Above him, the wings took shape. Three
giant cylinders descended, each one angled like a cup used to trap a
wasp. Dashiell ignored their three shadows, because he fell, putting
out his hands and landing on all fours. He looked down in time to
see his fingers shrink, his fingernails begin to thicken and curl into
claws.

He knew. The cups descended, but he already knew. Vonnegut-

Trapp spoke softly to him, and her scent overwhelmed him, like an
invitation he couldn’t refuse.

586 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Contrasts still work.
2. Let the reader know who, what, where and when as early
as possible. Here you also find out why the detective is
there.
3. Don’t tell the reader too much of the solution, but include
all of the clues, here that it is an alien abduction, and an
alien transformation of a human into a dog. Let the
reader add up two plus two.
4. Have fun with names – Dashiell Hammet was a famous
writer of detective stories. Kurt Vonnegut was a brilliant
writer of science fiction, whose hero, Billy Pilgrim, was
taken to the planet Tralfamadore and exhibited in their
zoo with a Hollywood star, Montana Wildhack. Trapp fit
my idea of a character being lured to a trap, and also fit
the idea of performance and escape – the Von Trapp
family are at the centre of The Sound of Music. Steal
ideas!
5. Get rid of adverbs and tone down the similes and
metaphors compared to a description.
6. Have some short paragraphs for impact – here the
one which links with the title.
 7. Use short sentences for impact – look how many
of the paragraphs start with a very short sentence.
8. Steal ideas from other books you are studying – the
transformation of my main character is inspired by the
transformation of Jekyll into Hyde, which is also why I
concentrated on Dashiell’s hand. Jekyll’s hand is the first
part we notice changing into Hyde.
9. Vonnegut asks us to put our characters in danger.
Remember, it is much better if none of the characters
have to die.
10. Make your ending echo something that occurred earlier,
so it has a circular structure.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Kurt Vonnegut’s Advice to Writers

1. Start as close to the end as possible.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root
for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only
a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal
character or advance the action.
5. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your
leading characters, make awful things happen to them—
in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
6. Write to please just one person.
7. Give your readers as much information as possible as
soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should
have such complete understanding of what is going on,
where and why, that they could finish the story
themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.
Image of a tropical beach used as
stimulus – Sci-Fi style narrative.

Reyes’ Rebels
Manuel Reyes, Manolo to his friends, Corporal first class in the
United Planets’ Mobile Infantry Division, buckled himself into the
seat in his deployment transport shuttle. He looked around at the
other Privates in his division – they were scared. He could see it in
their faces. Why wouldn’t they be? They had no idea what was
coming. Reyes did.

When the engines of the shuttle began to roar and shake, like an
angry animal trapped in a metal cage, Reyes gripped the
supports. Within seconds, the vehicle’s speed hit them with such
force it was like they were being pressed and squashed against
the spaceship’s outer walls. It was like his guts felt thin as
cardboard. And then, they were in space, moving downwards into
the planet’s atmosphere – where they would complete their mission.

Or they would die.

Hovering above the surface, the transport doors opened suddenly

and vomited out soldier after soldier onto the surface – weapons
charged and armour blazing in the sunshine. Reyes called the
names of his squad members – all present and correct. The scanners
that flickered and processed information in his element detected
little life – now. And Reyes was not surprised. When the insects
attacked, they very rarely left any prisoners.

Outside there was intense heat from the midday sun. But Reyes felt
cool inside his temperature-controlled suit and instructed his soldiers
to fan out in equal distances to survey the area. They were standing
on a beach. The sand was like white gold, reflecting the sun’s
warmth back at it. The beach stretched back around fifty metres,
and then was fringed by palm trees and half hidden beach huts
where the people who had inhabited this planet must have lived.
The trees’ thin trunks stretched up into the sky and spread out in
sharp green leaves that, in Reyes’ soldier’s eyes, reminded him of
knives.

The habitations the people had lived in were splintered and

damaged, with snapped wooden beams sticking out threateningly.
It looked as if a giant weapon had been used to smash these
houses apart. Reyes knew what those weapons were. They were
insects, the warrior caste: giant, savage, unfeeling – and deadly.
Their sight was as good as any machine that The Mobile Infantry
had invented. Their legs ended in spikes that seemed to be made for
pushing through the fleshy sacks of human stomachs and their
serrated jaws were capable of tearing a man in half - in a single
bite.

Reyes knew that the insects were somewhere near. It was too quiet.
To his left, Reyes saw the head of what looked like a large cat: sleek
black fur and piercing eyes. Its mouth was wide open, showing the
teeth that could puncture a man in seconds. Its face was forever
trapped in a grimace, presumably capturing the pain it felt as its
head was separated from its body.

When Reyes noticed the first of his men disappear through the sand
into what were pre-dug holes, prepared like a bird-eating spider
created its trap door lairs to capture its prey, it was already too late
for them. They were gone.

“Buuuuuuugggs!” shouted Reyes before ordering his unit into battle

formation and positioning his flame thrower at the front. Flames,
spewed out in a sticky fluid designed to cling to insect shells, formed
a curtain of pain in front of Reyes’ Mobile Infantry Unit – Reyes’
Rebels.
Soldiers’ shells flew through the flame thrower’s incendiary curtain,
exploding into insects and pulling limbs from bodies. Reyes
messaged the transport circling the planet requesting reinforcements
as he surveyed the situation – thousands of insects rushing up from
hole after hole in the beach and the forest floor.

Reyes’ experience told him that the insects had been in situ for a
while. Long enough to dig under the planet surface and create a
nest.

Firing his rifle at insect after insect, Reyes looked to the sky. If
reinforcements didn’t hit the ground in the next ten minutes, his
experience told him another thing – Reyes’ Rebels would be
celebrated in The Mobile Infantry’s archives as D.I.A – Died In
Action.

By Lee Simpson

683 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Start with a crisis!
2. Give details at the beginning that tell us who, when and
where we are. Here we know we are at war in the future,
in a world like our own.
3. Describe things from your character’s viewpoint.
4. Make your similes fit your story.
5. Vary paragraphs – have a really short one where
you need impact because of what it says.
6. Use powerful verbs to convey action, and gentler
ones to convey tranquillity. Contrast the
preparation for battle with the description of the
beach. Notice them above in bold.
7. Notice the number of verbs and adjectives in pairs,
to really layer a three-dimensional description.
 8. Make your metaphor fit the mood – ‘vomiting’ is brilliant
in this context.
9. Use contrast – sunshine and beach v death, heat v
Reyes’s cool, experience v inexperience, etc. It should run
through the whole story.
10. Explain your future world from the character’s point of
view, not the narrator – then there is a reason for the
explanation which doesn’t interrupt the story.
11. Did you spot those fricative F’s again?
12. Under exam conditions, you can get away with the cliff
hanger ending, as though it is a first chapter of a novel.
But I hope you also feel that it is a little bit unsatisfying in
a story.
13. If you craft your other techniques well, the lack of a
satisfying ending might stop you getting 100%. However,
you will still get into the top band and achieve a grade 8
or 9.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
How to Write in a Monologue (Also Using a Picture)

Write a short story suggested by this picture:

(This could be the picture for the first option, the descriptive
question. Now look again at one of the story questions above:
“Describe an occasion when you felt unsure or challenged. Focus on
the thoughts and feelings you had at that time.” Because I am
writing about a crisis that my character has, it will easily fit that
question. But I got all my ideas from the photograph. You can do
this too.)

The Face
I don’t think you understand, do you? I mean, how could you, how
could you possibly? I suppose, when you look at me, when you truly
look at me, you don’t really see what’s there. That’s the point. My
eye, how it fixes you with an open stare, how it dares you to look
away. You’re not used to that, are you?

You remember me. Everyone remembers me. England’s queen of

starts, going on the B of Bang. The gold medals, always the gold
medals, the impossible comebacks. 2020, 2024. I’m a legend, a
national treasure, an inspiration. And of course the honours – Sports
Personality of the Year, twice, Dame: Kathy Stringer, invincible,
indomitable, incredible me.

Can you feel it? The roar of the crowd like a train rushing past you,
threatening to carry you off your feet, to carry you to glory. Your
name, chanted in two rhythmic syllables. Ka-thy, Ka-thy, Ka-thy by
eighty thousand people, of all nationalities, of all ages, united,
spellbound, as the clock shows another world record.

And I’m white. White girls don’t run this fast. But I do. Oh, I really
do.

And then of course, come the spin offs – the early mornings, looking
wonderful on TV – I know you’ve watched me countless times, and
the cooking show spinoffs, and the recipe books, and Bake-off and
Strictly. The heat of stardom – you can feel it can’t you, like a
bonfire; I light up like a beacon, like hope.

Because it isn’t just about me. Sure, my clothes are pored over by
the press, and my fashion label is a byword for quality in gyms
across the country. I am fitness. I am health. But look at all the girls,
ready to give up sport in their early teens, who are inspired by me to
try harder, to play a little longer. I fill the netball courts and the
athletic tracks, and the lycra temples where girls crave fitter bodies,
stronger bodies, better bodies. I did that. Girls becoming confident
women, healthier women – women who will live longer, better lives.
Yes, it isn’t the added years to your life, it’s the added life to your
years. The secret ingredient – me, Kathy, girl-next-door Kathy,
sporting legend Kathy, darling of the nation Kathy.

That’s what you see.

But you don’t see what I see. The mirror tells me the truth. Perfect.
Cute. Too perfect. It isn’t there in the early photographs of me, but
you haven’t noticed. My gorgeous eyes, yes, “cobalt” in The Sun,
“azure pools” in The Daily Mail – how often have you swum in their
gaze as I advertise a world of health and beauty?

This is what you should see. One day soon, you will. My blood
passport will be revoked. My borders will have been crossed. Gene
therapy, new, wonderful and powerful, like an avalanche, wipes
clean my muscles, pristine as fresh fallen snow. Muscles made more
powerful, forged in a furnace of gene splicing. It won’t be long now
till the scientists catch up, till their tests on my stored blood samples
will reveal the truth. I am not what I once was, but genetically
enhanced. Genetically better.

Will I cower in the public gaze? Will I crave forgiveness from a

deceived public? Will I beg to be accepted for what I truly am?

What do you think?

574 words.

The Importance of Planning the Ending

This is difficult. I know that the ending is what students do worst.
You remember that the mark scheme demands a crafted ending. But
in the exam, I have very little time to plan this. In normal story
writing this is very difficult, because I will probably need lots of
events to get me to the desired ending. But there is not enough time
in the exam for loads of events.

Writing as my character, however, liberates me. I don’t know how

the story should end, but when I look at it through her eyes, it is
easy. She will be found out. She won’t regret a thing. She will
remain defiant. This tells me how to end.

Then, I simply rely on the trick of repeating an idea from the

beginning at the end: “What do you think?” The challenge for the
reader is in deciding on her tone – is her emphasis on ‘think’,
wanting the approval of the reader? Or is the emphasis on ‘you’,
emphasising her contempt for the reader?

This isn’t a cliff hanger, as the reader will jump one way or the other,
towards a definite conclusion. And the actual end is clear – she will
get caught.

What to learn from this story

1. Contrast, contrast, contrast. The public face, and the
hidden truth. I and you. Celebrity and sport.
Sportsmanship and cheating. Regret and lack of regret.
Innocence and guilt.
2. Write a monologue from the character’s viewpoint.
3. Address the reader directly, as “you”.
4. Start immediately with a challenge, a crisis.
5. By starting mid thought – the character knows what she
is talking about, but the reader really has to concentrate
to try to catch up.
6. Give your character a voice. Her characteristics are
repetition, contrast, vanity and pride. They didn’t have to
be, the picture just suggested that kind of character to
me, so I went with it.
7. You’ll notice that having a monologue allows me to use
some of the rhetorical techniques: contrasting pairs,
repetition, emotive language. They all count.
8. Craft an ending that echoes the beginning, and forces the
reader to fill in the blanks. This gives it a circular
structure.
9. Load up with similes and metaphors, because descriptive
techniques still count. Make sure they fit your story or
character, and aren’t just there to prove you can use
them.
10. But avoid adverbs!
11. Load up complex sentences in which you can show
off your control of dashes, commas, colons and
question marks. Yes, it does make the examiner
 happy, but it also involves a sense of play both as
you write, and I hope for the reader. Sentences
become interesting.
12. Interrupt the reader with short, one sentence
paragraphs and short sentences.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Where do ideas come from?

Ok, what is the source of the story about the athlete (The Face)? For
now, I’ll try to avoid films, as films are too long for a short story.

I have in mind Dafne Schippers, an extraordinary athlete, who

became a sprinter late in her career, winning 200m silver in the Rio
Olympics. In 2015 she beat all the world’s top sprinters, and very
unusually in sprinting, she is white.

In the news in the week I wrote this are the medical details of
athletes, stolen by Fancy Bears, the Russian backed hackers, who
want revenge for being banned from the Olympics. Russian athletes
were banned because of state sponsored doping – compulsory
cheating. But the hackers reveal some of our athletes take legal
medicines when perhaps they don’t need them, to enhance their
performance. I ask myself, why would an athlete do that? Why
would they do it, knowing that, at some point, science will catch up
with their blood sample. Fame and glory can be bought, but will not
last.

I don’t know this is what I am going to write when I sit down and
look at the picture. I just let my thoughts wander for a minute, and
then begin writing. I wander over the photo. What catches my
attention? It is the details that don’t look quite right. The extra-large
eye, the strange ridges below the bottom lip. I ask myself, what
could have caused this?
I could have written about a woman who felt constantly judged for
her appearance, but was so much more than this.

I could have written about an actress, who overcomes her looks to

become a star, like Dame Judy Dench.

I could have written about a mother who stares defiantly at the

camera, having killed her disabled child (something similar had
happened in a book I have just finished reading).

I could have written about a woman who refuses to be judged on

her looks, but demands to be taken seriously as a writer, or head
teacher, or gay, or whatever.

My point is, if you wonder about the image, you will wonder about
the details. Zoom in on them, and ask what they tell you about the
person. You need to practise this. It is very easy to do. Pick any
photograph in a newspaper. Or do it with real people, in a queue, in
the street, on the bus. What is their story? What choices are they
having to make?

This bit is crucial. Characters always make choices that are difficult,
and that are different to the choices we make. This is how your story
will come to life.

Start with their choice, and that will be your crisis.

All stories are like this. Little Red Riding Hood chooses to leave the
path. The Three Little Pigs choose to make houses quickly but
cheaply. Jack and the Beanstalk chooses to sell the cow for magic
beans. Cinderella chooses to flee the ball before her real identity is
uncovered. Once you have your character, you have their choice,
and you have your crisis.

Pick your stories from life, not film or TV (though I will show
you how to do that too, later)
My next choice, as a writer in the exam, is to think differently to
everyone else. I know I will be different because I have based my
story on my observations of real life, rather than copied a film, TV
series, or a book. I am willing to settle for an idea inspired by a book
– after all, a very good writer will have given me the idea – writers
know how to write stories. But, I will be more original working from
life.

I’ve also stolen words that I’ve heard this weekend – the one about
‘not the extra years on your life, but the extra life in your years’ I
head on TV, in response to Mark Zuckerberg’s announcement this
week that he wanted to eradicate disease. ‘It’s not about me’ is a
line in the book I just finished reading a couple of hours ago. ‘The B
of Bang’ was a phrase used by Linford Christie, a famous British
sprinter and drug cheat when I was younger.

In other words, be alert to the world around you. The world is

shoving information at you all the time. Let it in – then you won’t
have to go looking for it. Stories will just come to you.

Writing a Monologue

Headache

They asked me to sit in the corridor that day, while Mum and Dad
talked to the Doctor about my headaches. They asked me to sit in
the corridor, and they left me there on my own.

I was only thirteen then. Now I’m not. But this is what it felt like.

I was probably only there a few minutes, but it seemed longer – so

much longer. The buzzing of the overhead lights infiltrated my
ears like there was a flying insect barrelling around inside
my head, smashing itself against the walls of my skull and
getting angrier and angrier with each attempt.
One of the tube-lights, nearer than the others because it was
directly above me, began to make my head hurt even worse. It
was flickering on, then off, then on again, and it magnified the
stabbing pain pricking repeatedly behind my eyeballs to a
greater intensity. I blinked and blinked, hoping to blink away my
pain.

It struck me then, as I sat there, that I had forgotten to breathe. I

inhaled deeply. The smell of chemicals hit me, suddenly, and
like a truck. The caustic burn in my nostrils and chest
shocked me into the realisation that while I was taking the
necessary oxygen into my body that I needed to survive – I was
doing this inside a germ house.

And I was supposed to be here to get better?

Retching involuntarily, I experienced the acid burn that always

comes with vomit that almost finds its way out of your throat. I
swallowed the bitter tasting fluid back down. Sick people were
being pushed through the corridor in pre-operation gowns. They
moved along, whispering and murmuring as they did. I imagined
them as giant white insects looking for somewhere rotten to feed.

I began to feel itchy, dirty even. I imagined myself getting ill. After
all, I had no idea what diseases and infections I was breathing in,
and scratched, a little harder each time, at my arm. When I looked
down, my arm was red – painfully red.

A man coughed to my left. He made a noise somewhere between a

car trying to start and a chainsaw cutting through trees. His face
moved through a traffic light of colours: pale pink, red, and then
purple. His spluttering and choking was so strenuous it was a
miracle he hadn’t puked his own damaged lungs up on the floor in
front of me.

I just wanted to be away from the sickness. Away from the coughing
man’s staring eyes that seemed to be accusing me of not caring at
all whether he was in pain. Away from the Doctors doing their
Doctor-type things. And away from the nurses dodging and spinning
around the trolleys and beds lining the corridor like dangerous
obstacles.

Then they came to talk to me about the “It” in my head – my

parents, and the Doctor. If I’m totally honest, I knew that “It” was in
there, making “Itself” heard, giving me headaches to let me know
that “It” was here to stay, and that regardless of the brand of
painkillers I might take, “It” simply wasn’t going to go away. And I
knew too that however hard this was going to be, I was going to
have to learn to live with “It”.

The “It” that was my tumour.

By Lee Simpson

557 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Start with a crisis.
2. Focus on one detail, and build the whole story around it.
3. Use the surroundings to reflect the inner thoughts and
feelings of your character.
4. Make your character uncomfortable.
5. Include detailed similes in show off sentences.
6. Focus on the senses. Look at the words in bold. Notice
how sound, taste, sensation (here of pain) and smell are
evoked.
7. Notice that nostrils are not described with smell, but with
pain!
8. Pick a setting which makes it easy for you to describe a
range of sounds.
9. Use repetition to create a rhythm and develop the
character’s mood.
 10. Vary paragraph lengths, and have really short
ones for moments of quick emphasis.
11. Use colours which are visual, but also match the mood
you are trying to create.
12. Very few things need to happen in a short story.
13. An ending still works even if we can guess it, like Kurt
Vonnegut tells us.
14. As with Reyes’ Rebels, this doesn’t have a fully rounded
ending – we don’t know how long he has survived with
his tumour, and we don’t know what the prognosis is. It
feels like the first chapter of a novel.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
Base Your Story on Your Childhood
Memory
This particular idea was given to me by a children’s author, Laura
Dockrill, (http://www.​lauradockrill.co.uk) which is how we know it
will be a good one. She asked us all to imagine our first bedroom.

Shut your eyes and visit it. What time of day is it? What do you see,
or hear, or smell? What was your favourite part? Is anyone there
with you? What are you doing, and why are you there? You are
there at a different time. When? Why? What do you remember?

Do this for a minute or two. Your room will come vividly to life in
your imagination.

Now, write a letter to your bedroom. This will force you to think
differently. Your bedroom will suddenly have a personality, as well as
memories. And that will make your writing much, much more
interesting.

Dear Bedroom,

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Perhaps you remember me, as little
as I remember you. You were literally another country. Is it Spanish
now you speak, or another, immigrant tongue?

Do you remember the cowboy fort? What did I do there? Jacey was
there, we had a bunk bed. But I don’t remember what we did. We
had the wide, wide world, miles and miles across. Roaming. And the
sea, not foaming, but calm. A whole other world we took to without
fear. Yes, a childhood, free and unafraid. Is it different now?

You were windowless, a fact which now I find impossible to believe,

like being blind. Perhaps that was my parents' genius, making the
inside so prison like, (with its bunk beds and plain white walls) that
we fled outside. Adventure. Health. Derring-do. Remember when the
roof crashed in as we sped across it, and we clung to electric cables
tied to the wall, while a thousand bottles in the bar's store room
splintered below, and gaped like sharks' teeth?

Do you remember our dogs who had to be put down? They were so
dumb, they'd claw each door until the right occupant opened, on the
second floor, four doors away. Mum killed them rather than train
them. She felt the loss terribly, but not as heavily as we did. A world
without light and windows. I didn't blame her, nor feel guilt for the
bar owner, just the unspeakable relief that we were still alive. Selfish
and unquestioning, like survivors of a natural disaster.

And then the bankruptcy, and fleeing at dawn. You were suddenly
empty. The new owners, what were they like? Did they drop bombs
from the balcony at the unsuspecting tourists below, a blitzkrieg of
origami and water? Did they run out on school days, without eating,
saving their appetite for the chocolate sandwich on the way? Do the
adults still return at 4am, when the bars are shut? Does the kitchen
still sizzle to the sound of live crabs, just caught, being grilled on the
‘plancha’?

I imagine now your flat is full of rebellious pensioners, determined to

chase the sun in their final days. Raging against the dying light, they
freeze vodka in their ice cubes so that their party guests get quickly
drunk, like teenagers downing cider in the park. They are European
now, a united nations of those who have left conformity behind: a
travelling band, killing off the zombies of roast dinners, endless TV
soaps, Jeremy flipping Kyle, talent(less) shows and pimp my
property shows.

They don’t need windows when the real life’s outside.

Much love,

Mr Salles
444 words

Learn to Spot and Use Descriptive

Techniques
Here it is again for you to test yourself on the use of descriptive
techniques in SOAPAIMS (I is a bit of a cheat, by the way, as they
are all imagery).

Simile, Onomatopoeia, Alliteration, Personification, Adjectives,

Imagery, Metaphor, Senses.

Go back over the story and see how many you can find.

The Answer
Dear Bedroom 1,

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Perhaps you remember me, as little
as I remember you. You were literally another country. Is it Spanish
now you speak, or another, immigrant tongue 2?

Do you remember the cowboy fort? What did I do there? Jacey was
there, we had a bunk bed 3. But I don’t remember what we did. We
had the wide, 4 wide world 5, miles and miles across. Roaming. And
the sea, not foaming 7, but calm. A whole other world 6 we took to
without fear. Yes, a childhood, free 8 and unafraid. Is it different
now?

You were windowless, a fact which now I find impossible to believe,

like being blind 9. Perhaps that was my parents' genius, making the
inside so prison like, (with its bunk beds and plain white walls) that
we fled outside. Adventure. Health. Derring-do. Remember when the
roof crashed in as we sped across it, and we clung to electric cables
tied to the wall, while a thousand bottles in the bar's 10 store room
splintered 11 below, and gaped like sharks' teeth? 12

Do you remember our dogs who had to be put down? They were so
dumb, they'd claw each door until the right occupant opened, on the
second floor, four 13 doors away. Mum killed them rather than train
them. She felt the loss terribly, but not as heavily as we did. A world
without light and windows.14 I didn't blame her, nor feel guilt for the
bar owner, just the unspeakable relief that we were still alive. Selfish
15 and unquestioning, like survivors of a natural disaster.16

And then the bankruptcy, and fleeing at dawn. You were suddenly
empty. The new owners, what were they like? Did they drop bombs
from the balcony at the unsuspecting tourists below, a blitzkrieg of
origami 17 and water? Did they run out on school days, without
eating, saving their appetite for the chocolate sandwich on the way?
Do the adults still return at 4am, when the bars are shut? Does the
kitchen still sizzle 18 to the sound of live crabs, just caught, 19 being
grilled on the ‘plancha’?

I imagine now your flat 20 is full 21 of rebellious pensioners,

determined to chase the sun 22 in their final days. Raging against
the dying light 23, they freeze vodka in their ice cubes so that their
party guests get quickly drunk, like teenagers downing cider in the
park.24 They are European now, a united nations 25 of those who
have left conformity behind: a travelling band, killing off the zombies
26 of roast dinners, endless TV soaps, Jeremy flipping Kyle,
talent(less) shows and pimp my property 27 shows.

They don’t need windows when the real life’s outside.

Much love,

Mr Salles

Answers: (The letters are from SOAPAIMS)

1P
2A
3A
4A
5M
6M
7O
8A
9S
10A
11A
12S
13A
14M
15A
16S
17M
18O
19A
20P
21A
22M
23P
24S
25M
26M
27A

Can I Deviate from the Picture?

Breaking the Vase

Now, before I go through the descriptive skills, let me tell you about
Philip Pullman, a brilliant author, who used to be a teacher.
(http://www.philip-pullman.com). So there he was at Swindon’s
literature festival, and the audience full of readers, and you can
imagine a fair few teachers. We all loved what he had to say about
loving writing, being creative, having something worth saying. “But,”
asked a primary school teacher, “how can I allow my children to be
creative, when at the end of the year they have to sit a SATs paper,
with a title they have to write about, no matter how boring?”

Philip Pullman’s reply was genius, and I have used it ever since.
“Imagine,” he said, “the most boring title in the world. The Vase.
This is what you teach your creative child to do.

‘The boy strode into the room, picked up the vase, and smashed it
against the wall.’ Now,” he said, “you can write whatever you want.”

So, let’s imagine a picture of a train, or a road, or a park, or some

other boring photo that means nothing to you in the exam. But, this
morning, you just happen to be thinking about your childhood. And
you want to write about that.

Well, now you can.

Here’s how mine might start if the photograph were of a

train.

“Dear Bedroom,

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Perhaps you remember me, as little
as I remember you. You were literally another country, more than a
train journey away; many stations have separated us, more with
each passing year. Is it Spanish now you speak, or another,
immigrant tongue?”

Or imagine it was the park.

“Dear Bedroom,

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Perhaps you remember me, as little
as I remember you. You were literally another country. Is it Spanish
now you speak, or another, immigrant tongue? Is the park still dark
outside, full of white, chalky turds the Spaniards let their dogs leave
behind?”

Or, the ultimate vase breaking, you can simply have it as the
photo in the room. Imagine a photo of a road.

“Dear Bedroom,

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Does the bizarre picture of the road
still hang where my mother left it? How I hated it. Perhaps you
remember me, as little as I remember you. You were literally
another country. Is it Spanish now you speak, or another, immigrant
tongue?”

So, now you have seen how you can be as creative as you like, let’s
look at the advantages of writing to your bedroom. This is just a way
of writing about your childhood, by the way, it didn’t have to be your
bedroom. The point was to think creatively, and this is why we were
asked to write it as a letter. Even more creative, we were asked to
write to a noun, an object, something that would transport our
minds in time and space, like a Harry Potter portal key.

Therefore, it could have been a letter to your favourite toy, your first
bicycle, the park you played in…you get the idea: anywhere that
would spark memories and feelings.

Let’s look at some descriptive skills – there are plenty of them that
make each paragraph original, but I will try to confine myself to
three to tell you about in each paragraph. Feel free to spot more of
your own, and use them in your writing.
A Look at Descriptive Techniques and
Interesting Writing (More Than Just
SOAPAIMS)
Dear Bedroom,

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Perhaps you remember me, as little
as I remember you. You were literally another country. Is it Spanish
now you speak, or another, immigrant tongue?
1. It starts by addressing an inanimate object as
though it were human.
2. Rhetorical question.
3. Use of contrast (then and now, English and
foreign)

Do you remember the cowboy fort? What did I do there? Jacey was
there, we had a bunk bed. But I don’t remember what we did. We
had the wide, wide world, miles and miles across. Roaming. And the
sea, not foaming, but calm. A whole other world we took to without
fear. Yes, a childhood, free and unafraid. Is it different now?
1. The description of the place also introduces
people.
2. Deliberate use of repetition for emphasis.
3. Deliberate use of alliteration and internal rhyme,
to make the words memorable.

You were windowless, a fact which now I find impossible to believe,

like being blind. Perhaps that was my parents' genius, making the
inside so prison like, (with its bunk beds and plain white walls) that
we fled outside. Adventure. Health. Derring-do. Remember when the
roof crashed in as we sped across it, and we clung to electric cables
tied to the wall, while a thousand bottles in the bar's store room
splintered below, and gaped like sharks' teeth?
 1. Similes
2. Introduction of another perspective (my parents).
3. Curtailed sentences (where they are not real
sentences as they have no verbs) to provide drama
(which has to fit the dramatic subject matter).

Do you remember our dogs who had to be put down? They were so
dumb, they'd claw each door until the right occupant opened, on the
second floor, four doors away. Mum killed them rather than train
them. She felt the loss terribly, but not as heavily as we did. A world
without light and windows. I didn't blame her, nor feel guilt for the
bar owner, just the unspeakable relief that we were still alive. Selfish
and unquestioning, like survivors of a natural disaster.
1. A brief anecdote (a little incident that helps you
picture a character – here my mother)
2. Simile and metaphor.
3. Deliberate use of contrast again.

And then the bankruptcy, and fleeing at dawn. You were suddenly
empty. The new owners, what were they like? Did they drop bombs
from the balcony at the unsuspecting tourists below, a blitzkrieg of
origami and water? Did they run out on school days, without eating,
saving their appetite for the chocolate sandwich on the way? Do the
adults still return at 4am, when the bars are shut? Does the kitchen
still sizzle to the sound of live crabs, just caught, being grilled on the
‘plancha’?
1. Direct questions
2. Metaphor
3. Anecdote

I imagine now your flat is full of rebellious pensioners, determined to

chase the sun in their final days. Raging against the dying light, they
freeze vodka in their ice cubes so that their party guests get quickly
drunk, like teenagers downing cider in the park. They are European
now, a united nations of those who have left conformity behind: a
travelling band, killing off the zombies of roast dinners, endless TV
soaps, Jeremy flipping Kyle, talent(less) shows and pimp my
property shows.
1. Metaphor and simile
2. Anecdote
3. Alliteration

They don’t need windows when the real life’s outside.

Much love,

Mr Salles
1. An ending that refers back to an idea introduced
near the beginning
2. Metaphor
3. Contrast

How to Decide What to Include

I simply based this on my childhood: these were the images that

came to me as I considered my bedroom. This forces my memories
to have a shape. If I had just written about my childhood, growing
up in Ibiza, I would have written about the outdoors. In fact, none
of the details above would have made the cut: I have dozens of
memories which are more interesting, as I am sure do you.

But, how would I decide which memories to include? How would I

decide which order to put them in? How would I work out how to
end it? This is the problem with most creative writing - we just don’t
know where to start, and how to get to an ending.

However, Laura Dockrill saves us from this uncertainty, this

avalanche of choice. She says, just focus on one thing, and trust
that everything will flow from that. And we should trust her, she is a
writer, and moreover her favourite author is Roald Dahl. Double
trust.
How to Write a Story Based on Your
Childhood
Just as with description, a story is best if you focus on only one
thing. The thing that must always be at the forefront of your
thinking, is the ending. Endings make stories in the same way that
flavour makes a meal. Otherwise, you are just chucking lots of
ingredients together and hoping for the best.

If we look back at my descriptions, there are two possible endings –

those moments when things finish. One is when we went bankrupt
and lost everything, including the flat. The other is when my dogs
were put down.

I can begin writing with both or either of those in mind. Here is the
same description, now written as a story. Because I have the dogs’
death in mind, I can just focus on this moment, the moment when
the boy realises not just that death is real, but that his mother has
chosen to kill. That’s a pretty dramatic ending right there.

However, because my mother has now also died, in my mind, her

death is also linked to the death of our dogs. I’ll choose to combine
these deaths. But don’t read it and think, well, thanks Mr Salles, I
can’t do that, I’ve only been around for 16 years, my life isn’t full of
dramatic endings. But actually, it probably is:
1. When you first realised your parents were human beings
and not perfect.
2. When you stopped talking to your parents about the
things which really mattered to you.
3. Perhaps a divorce.
4. The first death of a friend, family member or pet.
5. Your first fight, or your worst fight.
6. The end of a friendship.
7. The end of a relationship.
 8. Puberty and the end of a time when childhood seemed
simple and so easy to enjoy.
9. Leaving primary school.
10. Moving house.
11. When you gave something up – a sport, musical
instrument, a hobby, a faith.
12. A new year’s resolution, when you tried to end a previous
habit.
13. When you didn’t care what other people thought about
you. Suddenly, one day it seemed to matter a lot.
14. A fashion in clothes or music you used to follow and now
reject because it is so last year.
15. A mistake you wish you hadn’t made.

You get the idea! Practise writing a story with any one of those as
your task.

Story Based on Your Childhood

A Sense of an Ending
Dear Bedroom,

Two years after my mother died, I think of you. When did childhood
end? Was it when I gave the eulogy, told the impossible, hilarious,
tragic, extraordinary life she had? There were earlier endings. At
five, my grandmother died, and I didn’t speak for a week. You
remember me then, in the womb of your white walls, weeping,
kicking against the sides, against the tides, against death.

It's been a long time, hasn't it? Leaving Spain was another
death – when dad left, and mum started dating the bank robber,
and the dream of Disneyland died, our savings taking us only as
far as Canada – right continent, wrong country.
I didn’t say goodbye, or send you a postcard from the border,
leaving the sun and crossing into the snows. Nor a photograph, a
snapshot of me ballooning to eleven stone: ten years old, and a
giant snowball of a kid, out of place. Yes, that was a kind of
ending, but really, I think the damage was already done, further
back, when you still knew me.

We had the wide, wide world, miles and miles across. Roaming. And
the sea, not foaming, but calm. A whole other world we took to
without fear. Adventure. Health. Derring-do. Remember when the
roof crashed in as we sped across it, and we clung to electric cables
tied to the wall, while a thousand bottles in the bar's store room
splintered below, and gaped like sharks' teeth?

But do you remember when the dogs were put down? They were so
dumb, they'd claw each door until the right occupant opened, on the
second floor, four scratched-up doors away. Mum drove them to the
ends of the earth, unsuspecting in the back seat of the car. But
Ibiza was small, and the earth ended only 25 miles away.

Fred smelt his way back, tracked us like an Indian scout, his
happiness matched by mum’s distress. Mum killed them rather than
train them. She met us on the road from school, so the empty flat
wouldn’t swallow us up. She meant to spare us the goodbye, so
they were killed while we weren’t looking.

She felt the loss terribly, but not as heavily as we did. I didn't blame
her. Selfish and unquestioning, like survivors of a natural
disaster, we clung on to our childhoods then. We tried to
rewrite the world.

When I looked back, it was the fun and freedom I remembered.

Dropping bombs from the balcony on the unsuspecting tourists
below, a blitzkrieg of origami and water. Rushing out on school
days, without eating, savouring the chocolate sandwich and the
cream filled doughnuts on the way. Endless sun and summers:
beaches, picnics and swimming in secret coves, living inside a
holiday which didn’t end after two weeks, but stretched to twelve. I
imagine now your flat is full of rebellious pensioners, determined to
chase the sun in their final days. Raging against the dying light,
they freeze vodka in their ice cubes so that their party guests get
quickly drunk, like teenagers downing cider in the park. Life,
joyful, refusing to give in. That’s the way mum died in the end,
staring death in the eye. The ward sister rang, while I was still
two hours away. “Hurry,” she said. “Your mother wants to say
goodbye.”

We got it right this time.

Much love,

Mr Salles

564 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Focusing on one part of your home allows you to link
ideas together and gives you a structure.
2. The importance of simile and metaphor in giving your
narrator’s feelings.
3. Because the story is how your memories link together,
rather than a plot, you can just order them
chronologically. So you only have to plan what the final
event or memory will be.
4. Because you don’t have to worry about the plot, go large
on similes and metaphors. I have placed them in bold.
There are 20! That’s large, and fun to write.
5. List adjectives for a full picture.
6. Learn to love alliteration, as it gives a soundscape
to your memories – that’s the job of alliteration: to
make things memorable.
 7. How to give sentences rhythm through repetition,
listing and questions.
8. Short sentences have an impact. Even ones which
are one word long, for an idea you really want to
emphasise.
9. Try to start each sentence with a different word –
it forces your sentences to be more interesting.
10. Contrast! The safety of the bedroom compared to the
kinds of deaths described. Safety v fear. The mother who
kills, but believing it is out of good intentions. Childhood
anger compared to adult forgiveness. Violent imagery
used to describe childhood fun and play.
11. Like the monologue, the letter allows you to invent a
character’s distinctive voice.
12. It also allows you to have a conversational tone, which
invites your reader to participate. It is a form of direct
address.
13. Letting the reader add up two plus two at the end – they
can work out what ‘got it right’ means.
14. Nobody dies is a rule I’ve broken, I know, but I had no
choice. I didn’t kill them, and it was necessary to my
story. But it isn’t entirely broken – the death is not
described and happens off stage.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

As with the 6 Cameras Method, this technique always works. Every

time! This guide has already paid for itself. But do read the rest – it’s
really good.
Question 5: How to Write a Short Story
Using Celebrities and the News
How do you get ideas from the news?

The news is full of stories. For you, it might be easier to pay

attention to your family. There will be many stories right there – but
you may be too close to them to see them for what they are. So
take a look at the news.

Here is some stuff from the papers just on one day:

1. Kim Kardashian has been robbed by highly intelligent and
effective jewel thieves. They monitored her Facebook,
Twitter and Instagram accounts, worked out when she
would be in her hotel, bound the hotel concierge, tied her
up and robbed her of millions of dollars of jewellery. How
did they escape? By bicycle. Imagine writing the story
from the point of view of the youngest member of the
gang. Or you could write it unsympathetically about Kim
Kardashian – Graham Norton’s joke was, Kim was asked if
she thought it was an ‘inside job’, and she replied, “what’s
a job?” Or you could write it from her point of view –
staging the whole thing to keep her name in the
headlines.

2. Or Donald Trump, presidential nominee in America. A ten-

year-old video of him and the president’s son, Billy Bush,
has just been released, in which Trump boasts of
grabbing women’s privates, forcing kisses on them:
“when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do
anything.” Total sexism. Of course, you might know
nothing about politics – you could translate this as a story
involving the most popular boy in year 11, and how he
 gets revealed as sexist by the girls he has abused with
“banter”.

3. Or you could write it from the point of view of the soap

star who greets Donald and Billy. Her name is Arianna
Zucker. What revenge might she have planned? Here’s
the actual transcript.
Zucker: Are you ready to be a soap star?
Trump: We’re ready, let’s go. Make me a soap star.
Bush: How about a little hug for Donald? He just
got off the bus?
Zucker: Would you like a little hug, darling?
Trump: Okay, absolutely. Melania (Trump’s wife)
said this was okay.
Bush: How about a little hug for the Bushy? I just
got off the bus.
Zucker: Bushy, Bushy.

What might she do to them on the set of the Soap? What

if they made it a live recording? What if she recorded this
conversation, and stored it for just the right moment?

4. Two Ukip members of the European parliament were

involved in a fight, after which one collapsed and spent
days in hospital. One was called Mr Woolfe, who got
blown down, and the other Mr Hookem! What if all
political debate were carried out through boxing, or
mixed martial arts? What if each party had to nominate a
champion MP to fight for them where the party could not
agree on a policy – for example whether we should let in
more refugees? Whether we should have more grammar
schools? Whether we should agree on Brexit.

5. In California, a concert was held with the most famous

old rock stars: Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones, Paul
McCartney, Bob Dylan, Roger Waters and The Who, in a
 production costing over $100 million. The average age of
the rock stars was 72. What if one of them died on stage
with a heart attack? What if they formed a secret group
who controlled the world – brainwashing the rich
audience of 50 and 60 somethings who control all the
wealth in America and the UK? What if they turn out to
be aliens, and the musical gathering was a cover for a
signal to their mother ship, that would come to transport
them home?

6. A greater percentage of female soldiers are fitter than

male soldiers. Women soldiers are also now allowed to
fight on the front line. What would an army look like in
which the best soldiers were women? Would they be
more caring peace keepers, or would they be more
daring and violent? What kind of story could I put them
in? A female soldier rescuing her colleagues under fire in
a warzone? A fight between a female soldier and a sexist
male officer? A teenager fighting her mother’s desire for
her to become a doctor, and choosing to join the army…

7. The pound dropped in value by 6% in 4 minutes of

trading this week because traders were using a computer
programme that reads the news, and judges whether
reactions to Brexit are positive or negative. It had
counted too many negative stories, and told all its offices
to sell pounds and buy dollars. What would you do if you
could control the computer programme – would you cost
the country billions, if it meant you could earn those
billions? What if the computer programme took control
itself – how would you stop it before it devalued the
pound too far and sold the country to the highest bidder?

8. Archaeologists have just uncovered the tooth of a 7000-

year-old hunting dog that walked with hunters near
Stonehenge. What if we didn’t train dogs to be
 domesticated, by they instead trained us so that they no
longer had to hunt? What if this was the first dog to do
so? What if it persuaded human kind to stop hunting and
settle down as farmers, feeding it and its descendants
forever? What if we told the story through the dog’s
eyes?

You get the idea: stories are everywhere. All you have to do is keep
your eyes open.

Just tell me what to do.

Pick a story from the news
Think of a source of conflict
Decide on which point of view write in order to explore
that conflict
Plan an ending that resolves the conflict
Start straight in with the conflict and make the reader
catch up with you
Short Story Based on the News
The Swindle

Kanye was exhausted. Another night shepherding the most

photographed woman in the world around the Paris nightlife.
Nothing was private. No trips to the patisserie or the boulangerie, no
casual stroll to the Eifel tower, no romantic walk along the Seine.
No, treats were ordered in; the atmosphere was artificial
and air conditioned, in SUVs with blacked out windows. Even
the Lamborghini involved endless goes at the outfits, each one
posed and carefully styled for Instagram, before he could even turn
the engine on. Tanya, the make-up artist, and Tony, the very
camp dresser, would be called for 20 minutes before the
photographs, taken with professional lighting and made to feel
authentic by the hand-held iPhone, limited edition – a diamond
encrusted gift from Apple. Priceless. Like the jewellery – diamonds
from Tiffany’s.

Yes, the rich got richer. Everything Kim touched turned to

gold, or platinum, or diamond. Always in the headlines, always in
the press, but much more importantly, always on social media –
Snapchat, InstaG, Facebook, WhatsApp – she might just as well
have invented them all. She played them all, like a grand master,
moving pieces around countless boards, seeing patterns and moves
that took him days to catch on to. She made sure the paparazzi
were everywhere, and where they weren’t, her social media stepped
in like a presidential campaign. Everything and anything to keep Kim
in the news.

So, it had been another night club, another night of

impossibly expensive champagne – Chateaux this, Don that.
Kanye marvelled at how caviar had lost its flavour, how the
exquisite bubbles of champagne felt flat the moment they
met his tongue. He shut his eyes and sat back in the chair –
the only furniture in their suite that felt real and not
manufactured for tasteless millionaires. He tried to
remember the feeling, before Kim, when he used to love
music. He made music, and his music made headlines.
Kanye and Kim. That’s how it began. But now, it was Kim
and Kanye. No, it was Kim, Kardashians and Kanye.

He remembered when he first heard Kardashian as a name.

He had thought they were evil aliens in a Star Trek movie.
With his eyes closed he could hear Kim next door, dropping millions
of pounds worth of diamonds on the glass dresser. Then he
imagined the faint clicks of the safe, before the jewellery rattled the
table tops with the warning hiss of a rattle snake, before being
silenced by the kiss of the closing steel door.

A sixth sense caused him to suddenly start. Time moved in slow

motion. The sound of a card swipe at the lock, the handle turning;
the grunt as he sprang forward, pushing hard on the arms of his
chair; the door swinging open; a glimpse of two masked figures
charging through; his lunge for the brass lamp; two more figures,
dressed entirely in black, a sinister background to the first two: the
inevitable realisation that they would overpower him…

He reached the lamp anyway, even had a hand on it, when the first
figure made eye contact with him, holding between them a silver
colt, gleaming and beautiful, and very definitely loaded. Kanye
opened his mouth to warn Kim, but the second figure was already
slamming a black hood over his head. His last image was of two lean
and wiry shadows bursting through her bedroom door. Strong hands
thrust him down, and the pounding of his own heart frightened him.
He fought the terrible feelings of powerlessness and fear.

It can’t have lasted more than a minute. His ears listened

desperately to hear what might be happening next door. He fought
down each fear, tried not to think the worst. He heard footsteps, no
words. A harsh male laugh, but where he expected a scream from
Kim, he was sure he heard her laugh. Impossible.

Hands suddenly left him, and he stumbled to her door, ripping the
hood from his dazed eyes, not realising his feet were bound, until
too late. Darkness.

He came to, and crawled to the doorway, “Kim! Kim!” he yelled, and
fell through the door. The safe gaped open, like a mouth with each
of its pearled teeth missing. Not a gem was left.

Kim sat, bound on the bed, her eyes bright with triumph. One
eyebrow arched, daring him to think.

723 words.

This is an easy length for me to reach in my 45 minutes. You will

probably write more slowly, so I have got rid of all the words in bold
– reread it without these words, and it will make perfect sense, and
use only 543 words.
How Can This Teach You to Write Stories?

Ok, you know my starting point was simply something in the news.

The next, and most important skill, is in deciding on an ending. I

really liked the twist where Kim Kardashian turns out to have
planned the whole robbery herself. I had originally imagined writing
it from her point of view. But then I realised this would not provide
enough conflict, so I moved my narrator to her husband Kanye.

My first idea was to set this up with a radio conversation between

the thieves and their behind the scenes leader. I would make sure
the voice was synthesised, to disguise it. This would lay the ground
for my twist when it turns out to be Kim’s voice, so that even the
gang don’t know that she is the leader behind the heist. Then Kanye
would come into the room at the end, just as Kim is hiding her radio.

I was pretty pleased with this. However, this would cause me to split
the action into two places – Kim talking to the gang, and then the
separate robbery. The more scenes you have, the more words you
need, the less likely to get it done inside 45 minutes. I haven’t tried
to write a short story in this time limit since I took my O level English
language in 1980.

In other words, I didn’t need to be an English teacher to know that

adding extra scenes would cost me too many words and too much
time. You can know this too. I just needed to think like a writer. You
should do the same.

So, I changed the ending so that Kanye still discovers it is his wife
who has orchestrated the whole robbery. Without the exposition,
where the gang receive instructions from a synthesised voice, how
would I prepare the twist? For the ending to work, the reader has to
think, “ah, so that’s why you wrote such and such earlier on.”
This actually improved my story, as I had to think much harder
about the clues I was going to drop. This is only possible if you plan
the ending first. Indeed, the ending is the only bit you need to
plan. Once that is firmly in your mind, you will find you think on
your feet as you write.

As I was writing, I also realised that the conflict in Kanye’s

perspective of his wife and their lifestyle was quite interesting. Here
I do have the advantage of being married – it is amazing but also
totally normal for spouses to have very different interpretations of
the same events.

This allowed me to create an ending in which Kim’s sense of triumph

could be caused by her refusing to be a victim and working out how
to use this robbery for publicity. In this reading, she has been
genuinely robbed. It is then only Kanye’s perspective that suggests
he suspects her. This ambiguity forces the reader to think hard about
the story and notice the clues I have planted. This is the definition of
“crafting” – the reader has to notice how I have structured it.

Let’s look at the clues that I planted, to suggest that Kim was the
mastermind. You will find them in my thought process in the next
section.
Think Like a Writer
1. Show a motive – but do not tell the reader this.
The first paragraph links her jewellery to the desire for
publicity through social media. This gives her a motive.

2. Show your main character through the eyes of a

different narrator. This forces the reader to have
to infer, and forces you to drop clues.
The second paragraph links her control of social media to
a highly intelligent plan, like a grand master at chess, and
like a highly rehearsed political campaign for president. It
also reveals that Kanye works things out eventually – this
is important, because he needs to work out what has
happened at the end, just as we do.

3. Develop the viewpoint of your narrator.

The third paragraph makes sure that my narrator has a
reason to notice things. He is my most important
character, because if he doesn’t notice, Kim keeps her
secret, and there is no twist. The last line of the
paragraph suggests that Kim is ruthless, so that the twist
will also seem in character.

4. Use description only to advance the plot.

Here it will help us realise she is behind the robbery. The
description of the jewellery does not focus on its beauty.
Instead, the simile to describe the diamonds, and sinister
sibilance describing the safe, which mimics the hiss of the
snake, suggests that the jewellery is dangerous. This
plants the seed of the idea that Kim uses them as a
weapon to draw out the gang and feed her need for
publicity.
5. Slow time down for the action, by focusing on tiny
detail and brief moments.
The next two paragraphs introduce the action and the
crisis. Here it was necessary to keep Kim plausibly out of
the room, so it had to happen quickly. Paradoxically, a
great way to show actions happening quickly is to slow
time down, focusing on individual moments which you
wouldn’t notice when events play out in real time. Here I
am helped by the long list of events happening both in
sequence and simultaneously. As a stylistic choice, I could
have written this scene with very short, punchy
sentences, with one action coming quickly after another.
This would work – but because I wanted the gang’s
actions to be described at the same time as Kanye’s,
drawing out these long sentences helps me juxtapose
their actions. A further advantage is that it builds up my
narrator’s perspective. These long, convoluted sentences
help us see his thoughts and feelings.

6. Show the thoughts and feelings of your character

or narrator to make the reader sympathise with
them.
Because his thoughts keep turning to Kim, and keeping
her safe, I build greater sympathy for him. However, I
mainly do it to give my twist more power – her
manipulation of the media will seem much less of a
betrayal than her manipulation of him. For this reason, I
also have a loaded gun pointed at his face, so that we
can see that even though Kim has planned the robbery,
she cannot have been sure that the gang would not have
killed her husband. Yet her thirst for publicity was so
great she was willing to take that risk.

I labour this point by having him fall and knock himself

out as he tries to reach her. This increases our sense of
his love for her, and so magnifies her betrayal. If I had
 simply had the gang club him, I would be painting Kim as
too inhuman for my story – I don’t want the reader to
see her as a Lady Macbeth villain, willing to justify
murder.

7. Choose an ending that makes the reader infer. Do

this with ‘Show, don’t tell’.
The ending, in which we infer that she has planned this
all along, comes entirely from advice given to writers and
by writers at every opportunity. Show, don’t tell. This is
what “show, don’t tell” means. Of course, it also means
all my other points above – each clue is a show, not a tell
– I never tell you the significance of any of the clues, so
that they only make sense at the end. Here, at the
ending, the reader has to ask themselves why she is so
triumphant, and why she is daring her husband to think. I
added that last sentence to show that she expects her
husband to be proud of her, and proud for himself when
he works out the detail of her plot. I’ve done this because
I want the reader to look again at the marriage and
wonder just what is it that keeps Kim and Kanye together.

8. Kill Your Babies

You should also have noticed all the things I left out of
this story. I deliberately chose Kim and Kanye because I
know almost nothing about them – I know that Kim has
sisters, that her father got OJ Simpson acquitted of a
murder he almost definitely committed, and that she is
famous for selfies of her improbably large bottom. Kanye
is a singer. I know he is either mixed race or black, and
that she has dark hair. If you showed me a photograph of
either of them, I would have no idea who they are. This
helped me a great deal, because it meant I would not
waste time describing them. Firstly because many of my
readers would spot mistakes in my descriptions. But most
importantly, because description slows down the story. I
 only use description if it is going to help suggest the
characters’ thoughts and feelings, or if it will prepare for
my plot twist.

I knew a deal more about the gang – that they come

from eastern Europe, probably Montenegro. That they
have carried out a string of multimillion pound jewel
robberies, that the pieces are likely to have been stolen
to order, not to be cut up and sold as individual
diamonds; that they get fake identities for the stolen
diamonds, showing them as coming from war torn
countries like Sierra Leone; that they are always armed,
but have never fired a shot, and finally the rather brilliant
detail that they made their escape by bicycle. I was
desperate to include this last detail, but it would have
ruined the impact of the twist of my ending. Writers call
this “killing your babies”. Your favourite things might not
fit your story. And everything, everything, has to fit your
story. Them’s the rules. And to work out how everything
fits, you start with the ending in mind.

Now, when I write about my planning this way, I do make

myself sound pretty damn smart. But here’s the
interesting truth – all I planned was the ending. Because
I knew I had that twist in mind, all the other details
automatically fit in place, as I was writing. Worse than
this, I had to stop part way through to try not to have an
argument with my 21-year-old daughter (I failed); and
finally, I didn’t start writing it till 11pm on a school night.
This isn’t false modesty – I think the story is pretty good.
However, what it does mean is that I know some basic
rules which have helped me tremendously when I write.
Here they are:

These are my Diamond 9

1. Start with the ending in mind
2. Show, don’t tell
3. Kill your babies
4. Always include the character’s or narrator’s thoughts
5. Don’t have more than three characters, preferably two
6. Keep the action in one place
7. Keep the action in one time
8. Plant clues that will make sense when the ending is
revealed
9. Have some conflict between the two characters
How to Imitate a Writer You Admire
I once heard a brilliant teacher tell a hall full of high achieving
students, “the Japanese word for ‘learn’ is the same as the Japanese
word for ‘copy’”. Sadly, I don’t think this is true, but for today, it is.
Go with me.

Then he told them how Japan rebuilt after defeat in the second
world war, and the terrible catastrophe of being bombed twice by
atomic bomb (Hiroshima we all remember, but also the city of
Nagasaki).

The Japanese visited the top economies in the world, saw how their
factories worked, and copied them. And then improved them.

That part is true. So, the Japanese word for ‘learn’ could well be
‘copy’.

How did their industry get so much better than the industries they
copied? Why is Detroit no longer the car manufacturing capital of
the world? Why have American cars been replaced by Toyota,
Nissan, Honda?

Kaizen. This is a business philosophy of continuous small experiment

and improvement.

This is a perfect model of how we should learn. When you copy, you
constantly try to improve. You choose exactly how much or how little
to copy, so you can improve as quickly as you want.

Of course, when I start copying, my stories won’t be as good. But

they will be a lot better than I can do on my own!

Who to Copy?
First, find a short story writer. I’m going to introduce you to Damon
Runyon, a New York writer from the 1920’s. New York was gangster
town, in the middle of the prohibition, when all alcohol was illegal,
and consequently gangsters thrived. If you’ve seen the TV series
Peaky Blinders, then you’ve seen 10% of what’s great about
Runyon.

He writes about this world with great humour, and uses a language
which he claims is the dialect of the time.

You can probably work these all out, but if you don’t want the fun of
doing this, try this glossary:

Broadway – street where all the theatres are in New York

Brooklyn – a rough district of New York
Burlesque – sexual dance, with tasteful, mostly hidden, nudity
Citizen – person living in the city
Commodore – commander of a ship
Doll – woman
Five card stud – poker (card game)
Flyweight – a boxer who is fast, because not heavy
Havana – capital of Cuba
John Roscoe – gun
Liquor – alcohol
Loaded - rich
Martha’s Vineyard – part of the coast near New York where the
richest families live, especially in the summer.
Merchandise – what you can buy (here, alcohol)
Noggin – head or brain
Nose – instinct for
Potatoes – dollars, money
Prominent – famous, but more likely, infamous
Rod - gun
Stetson – cowboy hat
Vig – the interest on a loan or profit on a bet
Wager – bet

In real life Runyon had the idea for indoor horse racing as a relay,
which he and a British actor, David Niven, set up. They were going
to make a fortune. But they were shut down by these same
gangsters he describes in his stories!

I’ve also borrowed from the book: Amarillo Slim in a World Full
of Fat People: The Memoirs of the Greatest Gambler Who
Ever Lived by Amarillo Slim Preston as told to Greg Dinkin, whose
story of a bet on table tennis inspired me.

The table tennis stool story was told to me by my Spanish father,

who played against the champion in the 1930s in Barcelona. And
Miklos Font is the name of my Hungarian father. This is where ideas
come from – the stuff rattling around in your brain.

Amarillo Slim

So it happens one time in Mindy's, which is a favourite with many

prominent citizens on Broadway, when I get to talking to Amarillo
Slim about this and that. Amarillo Slim is well known to one and all
on account of his nose for the Vig. Indeed, many have got plenty
potatoes following Slim’s nose and like many citizens, I am always
happy to put more potatoes in my pockets.

I notice Slim is not holding his whiskey and soda, which is his usual
liquor, but is holding a bottle of cola which, as most citizens will tell
you, does not offer a good time. Slim talks about this and that, being
mostly horses, and five card stud, and I notice he has the Daily Post
open to a page that has no horses on it.

Slim says nothing about this and I ask him about the disappearing
whiskey. He says, "you should try this cola, there's plenty potatoes
here."

Slim is not seen at Mindy's for some time, but I get to thinking about
him anyway, because he leaves behind the Daily Post open to a page
on table tennis, which is little followed on Broadway. Indeed, there
are many guys and dolls who suppose it is another name for making
eyes and sneaking peaks at each other in a crowded restaurant
when plans are made without words.

But in this table tennis story is Miklos Font, who it seems is the
world table tennis champion from Hungary, and is touring the west
coast and playing some exhibition matches, with a stool. It seems he
plays the local champions who hit back and forth with a regular bat,
but Miklos uses the stool, and beats one and all. I wonder where is
the Vig, and up and down Broadway I keep an eye out for a tall
cowboy in a Stetson hat, but no one sees Amarillo Slim for some
weeks.

Now it happens that a very prominent citizen at this time is The

Commodore, whose family has more potatoes then a farmer’s field
and in fact is well known by one and all to own half of Martha's
Vineyard. The Commodore likes the theatre, which is to say that he
likes actresses and dancers, which is just the way a doll like Rhonda
Rowsey, the burlesque queen, likes a guy, especially as The
Commodore gets his name because he has a big white yacht named
“Martha” on which many citizens can sail without ever actually
having to see each other because it is so big. In fact, Big Nig, who
runs merchandise from Havana says if he has The Commodore’s
yacht, he can supply the whole of East Brooklyn with liquor in one
trip. And the citizens of East Brooklyn are most prominent in this
regard.

The Commodore has a son who is plenty handy with a bat, on

account of spending all his summers at the beach house with all the
sons of other prominent and loaded citizens, and in these circles he
is somewhat of a champion.
It seems someone mentions to The Commodore that Amarillo Slim
will play The Commodore’s son, and soon a wager is made, and then
a thousand wagers, and by Christmas The Commodore invites one
and all to Porkies, the theatre off-Broadway.

The Commodore’s son appears on stage, light and quick like a

flyweight, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Amarillo Slim slides in,
holding two three-legged stools.

This is more than somewhat unusual, and Amarillo Slim says,

"Challenger’s rules," which is known by one and all as fair and just in
the matter of a wager.

Little Commodore serves clumsily and Amarillo smacks it back with

spin. It's all over before it's begun, and the gathered citizens know
that Amarillo Slim has used his nose and his noggin to worm the
biggest Vig of the year. Plenty potatoes change hands. And I notice
Rhonda’s eyes share plenty looks with Amarillo Slim.

But this is not the end of the story.

The Commodore demands revenge. He is not a guy who is rodded

up, and no John Roscoes are involved. The Commodore says like
this, "Let's return in two months and quadruple the Vig."

Amarillo Slim says like this, "I will challenge you and match the Vig.
But my challenge, my rules."

Two months later, I'm in Mindy's, and Amarillo Slim finds me. He is
holding two bottles of cola. He seems to think I am a good luck
charm, and he invites me to join him on the day. He says I bring him
luck tomorrow as I am there when he gets the idea from Miklos Font
when he drinks cola with me.

It seems most citizens of Broadway turn up next day with a lot of

action on the Vig. But on stage, who should appear with The
Commodore and Rhonda, but Miklos Font, carrying two stools. This
is not a sight that makes many prominent citizens happy and it is
just as well that The Commodore makes sure that everyone is
frisked coming into Porkies, so that all the John Roscoes are sleeping
under their pillows.

Now Amarillo Slim smiles at Miklos and gives me a bottle of Cola. He

says good health, we clink and drink, and he now holds two empty
bottles, one of which he gives to Miklos and he says like this, “My
rules. Take your bat. Let’s play.”

Well the game is won and lost in the instant. Miklos sees the ball
plenty big, but the ridged cola bottle has no sweet spot he can find
and the ball flies everywhere. The Commodore turns redder than an
Irishman in Miami, but the Vig is paid.

Months later Big Nig is in Mindy’s and he says he swears he sees

The Commodore’s yacht flying a new flag out Havana way, flying a
Stetson and spurs. He gets close to be neighbourly, and what does
he notice but a tall, slim cowboy on the deck, and standing next to
him a very prominent doll indeed, dressed in such a way that is apt
to be memorable. They wave from above the yacht’s new name, The
Rhonda.

I buy Big Nig a cola.

1038 Words

What to learn from this story:

(You will find all the skills I have been teaching you about
paragraphs, sentence starts, simile, metaphor, powerful verbs,
contrast etc. But for this I want to focus on the extras you get from
imitating a writer)
1. Find a voice. Do this by making a list of all the terms that
writer uses that you don’t – (this is a list of all words
 which are unfamiliar to you in their story or stories). Then
use as many as possible yourself.
2. Next steal their tone of voice by picking on the kinds of
phrases they use, especially to describe people and
events.
3. Imitate the sentences of your writer. Depending
on your level of expertise, write them the same
length, with the same punctuation.
4. Write everything in the present tense, so even
past events feel as though they are happing now.
5. Make your ending refer back to something earlier, with a
new twist.
6. Plant clues early but disguise them so that they fit the
story first time, before the ‘aha’ moment when their true
reason for being there is revealed.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
Isn’t it wrong to copy?

No, all stories are full of copies of other people’s ideas and words,
many of which we are not even aware of borrowing.

I could have changed Amarillo Slim’s name here, but I am sure he

would like the homage. His table tennis game involved frying pans
and cola bottles, but he stole it from the world champion my Spanish
dad actually played in the 1930s. My two dads would probably be
delighted by my homage to them. When you steal like this, you pay
them a compliment, a tribute.

Plagiarism is a problem – it means you steal a writer’s words in the

same order they appeared. This is morally wrong. But it also teaches
you nothing as a writer, so is no fun.

Trying to copy the style of a writer is lots of fun. And you get
immediate pleasure from comparing yourself to the original. Sure,
yours won’t be as good. But you will easily see all the little
successes, and these will make you happy.

In this story, and in The Swindle, I have followed this advice from
Billy Wilder:
1. Grab 'em by the throat and never let 'em go.
2. Develop a clean line of action for your leading character.
3. Know where you're going.
4. The more subtle and elegant you are in hiding your plot
points, the better you are as a writer.
5. Let the audience add up two plus two. They'll love you
forever.
6. Build, build, build in tempo and action until the last event,
and then—that's it. Don't hang around.
How to Write About a Film
First, pick your film. Quite a few films begin with a short story of
their own, to set up the rest of the action. This is perfect, because
the great problem of films is that you launch into a two-hour story,
and try to tell it in 5-600 words. Inconceivable! (Fans of The
Princess Bride will know what I mean).

This first story never runs the risk of copying a whole film. I simply
retold the 2-minute trailer. The film is Brave. Lee’s one is the
beginning of Casino Royale, a James Bond film. Because this is
only the beginning of the film, he didn’t have to worry about
cramming too many events in.

Films are always prepared with a story board. This means that they
automatically have a story structure. But, even more useful to you
when you are learning to write a story, is that a picture describes
each scene. Like the 6 Camera Method, it trains you in what
pictures to show, and in what order, to tell you story.

Film teaches you to think visually.

It teaches you what details to focus on, and how quickly to move on
to another. It helps you learn about pace.

You’ll notice how little conversation there is in all but the grade 6
story. Film will also teach you how to use dialogue only to give you
an idea of the character. But notice what the camera lingers on. It is
easy to think everything in the screen just happened to be there at
the time, while the director concentrated on the actors. It wasn’t.
First it was in the storyboard.

Play the film without sound, and you will see what I mean.
I hope you enjoy the way Lee and I have played with gender
stereotypes here. We are both boys, of course, so some of our
stories are deliberately skewed a bit to getting boys to write stories.
If you are a boy who doesn’t like writing, these are aimed at you.

But I have also tried to write from a woman’s point of view. Writing
in a different gender is a great way to understand characters.

Princess Mathilde and Cupid’s Arrow

Mathilde knew she looked amazing. But then it was her duty as a
princess. She loved being the centre of attention, loved dressing up:
the chiffon and silk; the velvet, the fun of display. She was a girl,
wasn’t she?

She was sixteen. Her father, the warrior king, McArthur Glen the
Great, was a wonderful father, she had to admit, but he was still first
and foremost a king. And a king is bound by tradition, much the
same as a princess. So, today was Suitor Day, when the 16-year-old
princess must begin the long and frustrating selection of a husband.
They would compete for her in an archery contest.

Problem number one: she was beautiful, but Mathilde didn’t want a
husband. Problem number two: the suitors on offer, even if she had
been in the market to buy, wouldn’t have made her part with a bag
of farthings, let alone gold. Jacob the Just from the McDuff clan was
‘duff’ by name and nature, and ‘just’ about had a brain, was skinny
and ‘just’ barely male.

Martin the Mighty (McClean clan) was very buff indeed, and looked
beautiful: rippling muscles, a to-die-for face and of course great
teeth. But the mightiest thing about him was his head – if he could
be any more vain, he’d be an artery.

And then there was Daniel the Daring, who might well have been
kind and brave but was - how could she put it – so ugly that his own
mother had probably removed every mirror in the mansion. Mathilde
was sixteen, and looks still counted.

Now problem number three: suppression. Here she sat, her flaming
red hair (normally a riot of curls - the true expression of her
passionate nature) was plastered flat inside a white head-dress. One
rebellious curl peered over her forehead like a question mark. Her
whole personality must be suppressed because she had to be seen
to be the perfect princess. Normally, she could stand this. But today,
these idiot suitors were too much.

Problem number four: her bow and arrow. Her first memory -
picnicking in the forest. Father had crafted the bow, carved from his
favourite Yew – strong, flexible, lethal.

It fit her hand like a son’s. She had loved it immediately.

Laughing, she’d fired arrows into the air, then chased them into the
forest. Her final arrow had gone farthest – she remembered now the
cool darkness of the woods and the strange lights that flickered, as
she followed. Will-of-the-wisps, her mother called them – magical
creatures who point us towards our fates. She had followed them all
the way to her lost arrows, and back to her beautiful bow. Fate.

Her father had encouraged it, till she had grown as good as any
man. No, better. She stood now as tall as a soldier. The draw on her
bow now was more powerful than many soldiers could manage. Her
wide shoulders accentuated her narrow waist. Of course fashion hid
her strength beneath silk sleeves, so that muscles tightened
discretely, lean and long, and always ready.

Determined, she jumped from her throne, and strode to the target
range before anyone could stop her, her mother calling in alarm: too
late. Her three suitors, intent on their targets, only felt her pass. She
drew the bow at speed, but calmly, her mind ahead of her senses;
notched the arrow, drew to her soft cheek, sighted while striding,
and released. The arrow zipped towards the first bullseye as she’d
already notched the second, striding past the bemused Martin, and
thwack, mid-stride she pierced his bull, until finally she paused. The
astonished crowd had now awakened, and began to roar her name
as the final arrow flew.

It shattered Daniel’s shaft in an explosion, and drove clean through

the target to the wood beyond. Cupid be damned. She would choose
her own love.

664 Words

What to learn from this story

1. Start with a stereotype, and then turn it upside down.
Malorie Blackman famously does this with Noughts and
Crosses, where the most powerful in British society are
black, and the oppressed classes are white.
2. Introduce your backstory and characters quickly. Tell your
readers as much as you can in two or three paragraphs.
3. Introduce your conflict and crisis quickly, so there is a
difficulty to be overcome.
4. Use contrast, especially to illustrate the conflict.
5. Use flashback to give relevant information about the
current conflict and character.
6. Use humour to convey your character’s thoughts. (If you
live near a McArthur Glenn Outlet Village, you’ll know
what I mean. McClean is a brand of toothpaste – get it?
Vein and artery? That’s a bloody good dad joke!)
7. Start as many sentences as possible with a
different word.
8. Load your sentences with verbs to create a real
sense of action.
9. Use your character’s colloquial language
inventively to reveal their thoughts.
10. Focus on a small number of characters (in the film, her
mother is furious at how her Princess is defying
convention, but in a short story I had to choose just one
 relationship, and I chose the father because of the
flashback).

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

I Know Where You Keep Your Gun

It is late when Joe sits down at the desk to wait. He is panting

slightly, having used the stairs to the thirteenth floor. The security
guard on the ground floor is dispatched – collateral damage, but a
minimum. There are others who will never know that Joe has been
here.

He knows that his target will come tonight. What he has in the
drawer next to him, is something that his target wants - dearly. Joe
takes the small container out of the drawer and moves it around on
the desk slowly. There are no lights on in this office. Joe can see the
outlines of furniture in the room, but not the detail. He can see
outside into the street through the office window. Large flakes of
snow are falling like shreds of paper and lying on the pavement. He
makes sure that the silencer is tightly attached to the handgun he
has placed out of sight on his lap.

Joe sees everything in Black and White – in both senses of the

words.

Outside, a man approaches the building where Joe is waiting. He is

tall, athletically built, and wearing a long winter coat and hat. He has
his collar turned up and his right hand in his pocket.

When he reaches the entrance, he looks up at the office building. It

is almost entirely made of glass. The only light that he can see is the
one in the reception area. Normally, elevators push up and down the
veins on the outside of the building. But now they are still. It is 3am
he thinks, so this is not unusual.
When he enters the building, the security guard at reception is not
there. He can feel sweat gathering at his armpits and beginning to
trace a pattern from his brow to his nose; he checks his right hand
pocket and takes a deep breath.

Joe is in no rush. He is tempted to shut his eyes, just for a minute,

but does not. He is a professional. It was not easy securing the
information that gave him his target’s name. He does not want to
increase the margin for error and clenches his fist over and again in
order to concentrate on something mechanical. He makes sure that
the silencer is tightly attached to the handgun he has placed out of
sight on his lap.

Joe thinks back to two weeks ago: the dirty toilet area in a London
nightclub where he extracted the information that implicated his
target. It was a typical men’s nightclub toilet: an almost
overwhelming stench of urine with sinks that doubled as toilets in
busy periods and wore an increasingly darker yellow stain on their
porcelain as the years went by. Anyone who looked down at his feet
could see damp pools on the tiled floor – of dubious colours and
consistencies.

He had been forced to deal with the situation by hand. After five
minutes, he extracted the required information, but not before
extracting most of his opponent’s teeth. Drowning him was easy
after that. It was hardly Joe’s first time.

Joe watches, carefully, as his target comes in and walks straight to a

desk 5 feet from his own. He observes his target rummage through
the drawers, looking for what Joe has placed on his own desk.

After a few seconds, Joe flicks the switch to a lamp on his desk. He
is illuminated in its glow. His target looks over at Joe and Joe is not
sure who is paler now; himself, in the light of the lamp, or the
terrified face in front of him.
They talk, briefly. Joe eyes him closely. He explains to his target that
he must accept the fact that what he has done has compromised
Her Majesty’s government.

Joe’s target smiles uncomfortably, remarks that Joe must of course

carry out his orders without question, and moves his right hand
towards his pocket.

Joe fires from the small handgun he has secreted in the shadows
underneath the desk.

His target falls with a sigh, and no fuss.

Joe waits patiently, making sure that his target is eliminated and the
incidental noises caused by his death have not been noticed.

Satisfied, Joe switches off the lamp, picks up the container, and
leaves the room. The door shuts with a sigh as he descends the
stairs.

By Lee Simpson

728 words.

What to learn from this story:

1. Give the back story quickly, so we know who, where,
when and probably why.
2. Contrast, as usual. Notice how calm and relaxed Joe is
about killing. Similarly, the calm acceptance of his final
victim, despite the violence.
3. Use the present tense to increase a sense of drama.
4. Use the weather as pathetic fallacy to show the coldness
of the character.
5. Use flashback to give more details about your character.
6. At the end, refer back to the beginning, with a circular
structure.
 7. Personification at the end echoes the final action of the
victim, with a “sigh”.
8. To reflect the lack of emotion of the main character, avoid
emotive language – stay matter of fact. This is often a
brilliant form of contrast. You can do the reverse. Imagine
writing about a character who becomes vitriolic and
uncontrollable with rage over something trivial – a spilt
drink, not being able to find the right clothes to wear, a
child being late for a family get together, etc.
9. Notice how many verbs are deliberately
emotionless when contrasted to the violent
actions they describe. For example “extracted”
rather than “tortured brutally until he revealed
everything he knew”. Or “dispatched” instead of…
10. Go easy on the adverbs, as they slow the action
down.
11. Notice the matter of fact tone is matched to
matter of fact sentences. They are often short, to
the point.
12. Use humour to convey the attitude of the main character.

Ok, ok, we did kill someone. But it was only one. And it was the film
opening, so Lee had to. And, because it was already in the film, we
know the killing is necessary to the story. It’s the way it reveals the
character of both men – and conveys how they live in a world which
simply accepts violence as normal.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
How to Write about a Game
Duty Calls

Darkness is all around me. Time has drained away over the last few
hours – or days. There is always smoke – thick, chemical and
poisonous. Breathe it in and you choke. It is the remains of
buildings, tyres and machines. There is a scar across the earth – as
far as I can see. The entire landscape seems fractured.

I can’t remember whether it’s morning or night anymore. At least, it

never seems like daytime.

There is a crackle inside my helmet and I automatically pay

attention. The voice tells me it’s time to move out. Good luck Ladies
and see you on the other side of Hell, says the comedian at
Headquarters. I check my rifle: 1 clip locked in and 5 spares. There
are twenty of us crouching behind a shattered wall. For some
reason, it reminds me of a row of broken teeth. Our target is a
building 500 metres away. Take it, and we can end this conflict. The
man to my left kisses a cross; we know that we won’t all make it.

Six men to my right, the Sarge gives the signal to move. As soon as
we are around the wall I see two of us hit the floor. They twitch their
bodies like they are having fits and try to turn onto their backs.
They must be screaming as their mouths are wide open
gaping holes like the craters we move around. I just can’t
hear anything over the constant thud and boom of
explosions.

Without warning, we start to fragment. Panic everywhere. Radios

are down, just spewing static into my ears. I throw my helmet
to the floor and bend slightly, just in time for a part of a car I might
be able to name if it weren’t travelling at such a speed, to fly past
my face and graze my cheek. There are lads down all over. I keep
moving. Stop moving equals death – rule number 1, boot camp.

The target is two hundred yards away as I throw myself into the dirt
behind the burnt out carcass of what was once a garage. The
ground is wet and sloppy. I look at the floor and see my arms
are half submerged in a brown/red/greyish slush. The Sarge lies
next to me, looking up at the sky. I turn him over to see the back of
his head is gone and I realise that I am lying in whatever dropped
out of the cavity.

Seconds pass, or maybe minutes. I’m on my feet again, running,

dodging, swinging to the left, to the right, to the…

….I must be hit because I’m not moving anymore – at least not
forwards. I feel the strangest sensation. It is not pain. Not sadness.
It is frustration. I’m locked in the slow motion of a movie as I’m
forced upwards and backwards, before I hit the floor and take a
view of the smoke filled sky.

There is a voice coming through to me as I lie there, unable to

move. It gets louder and louder, from static fuzz to a clear
and insistent shout. Get down here the voice shouts. Get
bloody down here now. Your dinner’s getting cold and I don’t slave
over this hot stove for nothing!

With a last look at my fallen comrade, I knock off the X-box and
begin humming one of my favourite tunes, just with a slight change
in the lyrics, “I got 99 problems – and my Mum is one!”

Bloody Parents!

By Lee Simpson

584 words

What to learn from this story:

 1. The game you choose has to reflect real life, so we are
fooled. For example, snakes and ladders wouldn’t work.
2. Start straight into the crisis.
3. Make the description of the setting give the readers facts
about the conflict.
4. Contrast the character’s feelings with what is going on
around them – calmness within chaos.
5. Despite the matter of fact tone, try to start
sentences with different words.
6. Short sentences create a faster pace.
7. Write about lots of events happening in quick succession,
over a short amount of time. This makes events appear
to happen in slow motion.
8. Describe what the characters see, so that we can infer
feelings from them.
9. Describe things that invite us to imagine using our
senses. Notice how the smoke invites us to imagine
smelling, but we are never given a smell, and no mention
is made of nose or nostril. We also infer the taste from
his choking. Similarly how the screams are seen and not
heard, which makes us imagine them even more vividly.
10. Write about the end of the game in a way which is also
true of real life endings.
11. Use humour in the final twist.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Tycoon

I loved being a Geezer, a wheeler, a dealer. Loved it. Every Christmas

we’d celebrate; a great family get together. And I was always The
Man, Top Dog, El Numero Uno.

I started out in stations, really small. You’d barely notice me: one
more worker bee in the beehive. Nostalgia was my USP then. I set
up as a shoe shine boy and many passengers enjoyed the
anachronistic joke. I made a few bob. But coins, and I wanted some
of the folding. Who doesn’t love money? The crisp feel of it, fresh
out of the bank.

And then it hit me. The Victorians. Top hats, bowler hats, starched
collars, canes. I started to dress the part, and the customers began
to flood in.

What next? Moved to a bigger station: King’s Cross, then franchised

a mate in Euston. Then St Pancras. And then it hit me, like whiskey
and gin hits a drunk man. Absinthe. That’s what the Victorians
drank. So, I opened a gin palace – fifty kinds of gin, dark porters
and Absinthe to help the drones forget their monotone lives. I made
proper dosh, notes with nicknames, like ‘monkey’ and ‘pony’.

But you know what (and this will surprise you) the money wasn’t
what gave me the buzz. The Geezer Strut…yeah, that comes with
cash. But real joy? That came with closing the deal, creating another
brilliant idea.

I’m a genius with money really. Next, I branched out to utilities.

London’s roads are dug for gold. Every time the utility companies
dug a whole, I was there – “here’s a pony mate, let my boys lay
some fibre optic, will you?” And so I piggybacked on their business,
cash moving like electricity through a web of trenches across
London. And the fibre optics we lay were gold, better than anything
the internet providers were laying.

Sweet money. I went around the providers and sold my connections

to the highest bidder. 3G! 4G! I’m talking grand per day, mate, not
just bandwidth.

What did I do next? Housing of course. Not rip off housing, six-
Romanians-to-a-room, let's-vote-for-Brexit, housing. No, brownfield
sites. Conversions. Smart pied-à-terres and warehouse lofts.
Everybody wants a piece of London, and because money is the new
God, they worship here, where dreams come true on the Old Kent
Road.

You rub up against the rich this way. Sure, I fantasise about the
gorgeous girls I meet. But I'm too young to marry. There are too
many rolls of the dice left, and when I look at life, I'm always
excited. It's still my turn!

Next, I bought into hotels. For the rich, you understand. Yes, the
Arabs like to buy palatial homes, and the Russians love their million-
pound basements and security systems. I'm not yet in their league –
they live like princes and kings, because they have, well, a monopoly
– they own oil, they own gas, they own the economy.

But me, I’ve grown rich from the hangers on – the average
millionaire visiting London. They fly into my discrete hotels. Mayfair,
Park Lane. High spec, high security, high fashion – supermodels
everywhere, wrapped up in designer gear, like gifts.

It's the same every Christmas.

And then it's the Queen’s speech, and we pack the Monopoly board
away, and in 10 days’ time, it's back to school. January, and I start
again at the bottom: Geezer, a wheeler, a dealer. Watch out for me
next year.

569 Words

What to learn from this story:

1. The game you choose has to reflect real life, so we are
fooled. For example, snakes and ladders wouldn’t work.
2. Write about lots of events happening in quick succession,
so that you can cover all the events of the game, or
decades of person’s life, quite quickly.
3. Give your character a distinctive voice, using their turns
of phrase. This is easiest to do with repetition and listing,
 rules of three.
4. Address the reader directly, as ‘you’ which involves them
in your story.
5. Use humour in the final twist, and elsewhere to fit the
personality of your character.
6. Short sentences create a faster pace.
7. Start as many sentences as possible with a
different word.
8. Avoid adverbs, as they slow down the action.
9. Plant clues which will lead to ah ‘aha’ moment when we
find out the twist. They have to fit the story first.
10. Have a circular ending, which refers back to the
beginning.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Andrew Motion’s Advice

Lee and I, in Duty Calls and Tycoon, have also tried to follow the
advice of Andrew Motion:
1. Think with your senses as well as your brain.

2. Honour the miraculousness of the ordinary.

3. Remember there is no such thing as nonsense.

4. Think big and stay particular.

Lee is much better at using the senses than I am (although he has

chosen a setting which lends itself to sound and smell. He works it
brilliantly).

When it comes to smell, none of our characters, in any of these

stories, ever mentions noses or nostrils. This is because those details
are obvious – everybody knows you smell with your nose and your
nostril – telling the reader that just irritates them.
Imagine writing, “she ran with her legs” and you’ll see how dumb it
is.

We’ve taken the ordinary experience of playing a game, and based

our whole twist on this. So, our ‘particular’s always had to fit the
small picture – the game – and the big picture – real life.
Write a Story Based on Someone You
Admire
This story is based on Amy Winehouse. I’ve cheated here a little,
because I don’t really look up to Amy Winehouse at all. She is an
interesting singer, with some emotional songs, but I’m not really into
it. I’m not a fan of her tattoos, or addiction. Her dad and boyfriend
seem to have exploited her, so I can sympathise with her, but really,
I know very little about her.

But the little I do know lets me write about all kinds of conflict –
with drugs, with fame, with boyfriend and father. And you know that
is the main ingredient of a story – conflict. This is how you can start
with a crisis. Conflict is also a way to get contrast. Or flipped the
other way, contrast always creates a mini conflict. That’s why you
must use it.

Knowing these details about my character’s life also means I don’t

really need much thinking time in the exam. I know what to describe
in the flashback without having to think about it. It’s just there.

Even better, I know how the story ends, because I am going to base
it on the real ending faced by the person in real life.

It just so happens that this ending is death, but it didn’t have to be.
I could have chosen Mohamed Ali, winning the wold championship
for the third time, or Andy Murray having to retire through injury,
Nelson Mandela coming out of prison, or my sister starring in Cold
Feet, or my Dad pulling off a casino heist, or my daughter becoming
an international at Australian Rules Football…you can pick anyone.

But it means I have a story from the get go, from the moment I
open the exam paper. In fact, if I write one story about a positive
figure, and another about a negative figure, I will have pretty much
planned a story which will fit every exam paper!

You won’t have to use it if you get a better idea in the exam.

But you can.

Revolver
Impossible colours exploded in her head, her skull, her head, her
skull. The images flickered like a strobe light, like Morse code, like a
stroke…Christ she was high. No, she was low, so low. The song
would not come to her; its words fled from her: birds in a field. Did
that make her the hunter?

Guns. Revolver. She gazed at her tattoo – the revolver was famous,
her first. Thousands of fans had copied it in homage to her music, to
her pain. Everyone identified with her pain. Was her pain a drug? It
fuelled her writing. She didn’t write happy songs, did she? No, her
voice was the voice of longing, of longing, of longing…she needed
another hit. But she should pace herself. Revolver, and the memories
revolved in her head. The album had gone platinum, global, crazy,
and her life had changed for ever.

How far away that innocent 19-year-old seemed now. Where was
she? Hiding beneath the beehive hair, buried by her tattoos? Or
freed by them, a record of her loves and passions inked on her skin
for all to see, even God. Johnny loved them.

Her heart rate slowed. The downer was coming, and the cold white
walls of her flat swam into focus like a swimmer who had been far
out at sea. White soothed her. She gazed down at the glass top table
and the lines of white already lined up by, by…had she done it
herself, after the concert? London, Camden Town, her home town?
Her last concert, definitely her last. Charlie, the Americans called it
Charlie, like an old friend. But they also called the Viet Cong Charlie
– Charlie killed them in the end, didn’t they? She laughed.

She stared at the white lines. Last week she had laughed after
Berlin, no Paris, where the French had introduced her to straws and
suppositories. Whatshername, the EastEnders girl, whose nose had
dissolved through snorting? So the French blew each other with a
straw – a little Vaseline, and straight between the cheeks. It tickled,
and then hit the blood stream. Like a suppository. Dr Charlie.

Rehab. Oh how she had needed rehab, “I wanna go to rehab, but

Daddy said no, no, no”. Daddy had said the fourth album, the wold
tour had to come first. And Daddy always got what he wanted. Why
did she do that? By the sixth gig she had snapped. Rio, it was Rio,
“golden brown, texture like sun” … such a gentle image.

Her limbs and head were aglow now, as she sucked the lines in. Her
eyes opened and seemed to travel in space and time. Like warp
speed, she watched the future coming, now and now and now. She
was in space, space walking.

But tonight it was not enough. “Ground control…there’s something

wrong”. Johnny was not here. Like Daddy. Why did she need them?
She didn’t understand. With a sob she suddenly saw him, a mile
away, in one of the posh clubs, spending her money on some slutty
hangers on. Bimbos, attaching themselves to him for the glamour,
for the Charlie, for the high, for the little bit of gossip… “what’s she
like? Does she really have a tattoo of your face on her…” Christ, she
did. He’d come back tomorrow as though nothing had happened.

She ignored the other lines. They were road markings, telling her to
overtake, to take over, to take control. “Ground control…there’s
something wrong...” She stood and went to the kitchen where the
strong stuff was. H for Heaven, H for the ultimate high. The rubber
band, the gold-plated needle and syringe, a gift from Johnny, lovely
Johnny, loyal Johnny, fit perfectly in her hand. The needle knew its
way.

Johnny’s face appeared, as she pumped the H further in. She’d

longed for Yin and Yang, but really they were Fire and Ice. She
glanced finally at the revolver on her arm. Russian Roulette. She
knew that. Tonight, she promised, tonight would be the last time.

668 Words

What to learn from this story:

1. Start with a crisis.
2. Make horrible things happen to your main character.
3. Use contrast, between positive and negative. Here it
happens all the way through the story.
4. Show the characters confused state of mind by
using word association. One idea or sentence is
suggested by the sentence before.
5. Use lots of repetition to show the obsessive nature
of the character’s mind.
6. Only use adverbs to slow down the action. This is
why they only appear at the end of the story,
when she is wondering whether to risk on
overdose.
7. Use short sentences to create a sense of pace or
panic. Curtail some of them, without putting verbs
in them, so they are even more dramatic.
8. Use surprising similes and metaphors to convey the
confusion of the character.
9. Use flashback to reveal crucial details about the character.
10. Have a theme which goes through the story, a motif. Here
the main one is the lines of song. But it can be anything
you want – reality TV, shoes, models of car, film titles,
breeds of dog…
11. Make allusions to real events from the news or from
history, which will help us understand your character.
 12. The ending refers back to the beginning, in a literally
circular ending – that’s why I called it ‘Revolver’ (and
because it is a destructive image of course, and also
reminds us of the old record, a 45 – which is also the
name of the revolver in cowboy films, the Colt 45).
13. Have an ending which lets the reader add up two plus
two – don’t tell them whether she survives. Notice how I
try not to kill anyone.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
Narrative Based on Storm on The Island
Wizened by hope, the old man sits in the waiting room. His mind
dives from the cliffs of cancer - yes, the tests will show if it has
spread, Mr Stook - it twirls through fear, spins at the thought of
nothing, of nothing waiting beyond the dark, of emptiness, and
summersaults towards hope, spread before him like a sunlit lake.
Perhaps they have caught him in time.

He chuckles optimistically to himself, fingers curled in a ball upon his

walking stick, his back stooped by the blows of time, the blasts of
age, rounded, like a ball. He thinks, "I ought to be easy to catch!"

He coughs amusement. The receptionist catches his eye, and he is

alarmed at his germs strafing the waiting room, but it is crammed,
and she has been bombarded by an explosion of sneezes, coughs
and wheezes all day. All week. All year.

God, what must it be like to watch the dead and dying who get spat
out by the indifferent nursing homes, or wheeled in by resigned and
fearful children, themselves already beginning to feel afraid of time,
of last times, of final goodbyes? The future pummels them with
certainty.

Death waits beyond the glassy lake. Mr Stook's mind dives again.
He listens to the receptionist, her European accent harsh, but
increasingly familiar.

"The doctor will be with you soon," she says.

It sounds like a threat. He suddenly laughs, and all eyes turn to him.
His eyes are on her name badge, blue as steel. Miss T. Ragic, it
reads.

259 words
The Technique Explained

The words in bold are the words stolen from the poem, Storm on
the Island, by Seamus Heaney. It is one of the poems in the
Power and Conflict Anthology for AQA.

I love this technique, because it helps me to remember quotations

from the poems I’m studying.

It also forces me to use interesting vocabulary, because I choose the

vocabulary that interested me in the poem.

Then, I just let my mind drift across the words, to find where to
start. So, it is the word ‘wizened’ which makes me think of age.
This gives me my old man. The word ‘tragic’ and the many
references to bombs and bullets invites me to think of his death.

And remember, I don’t kill him. I let my reader add up two plus two.

Now, this is also a really short story! Can it still score really high
marks?

Let’s look again at the criteria. I’ve placed in bold the skills that it
definitely demonstrates.

Ok, but what does the examiner really

want? (Grades 7 – 9)
Content:
1. Does it have the right vocabulary choices to match
the intended audience?
2. Does it have extensive examples of that
vocabulary?
3. Are there lots of ambitious choices of vocabulary?
 4. Does it have the right literary devices which fit the
story, rather than just being chucked in to show
you’ve used some?
5. Do these occur in all parts of the story, or are any
of them sustained, like a recurring motif, or an
extended metaphor?

Organisation
6. Does it have interesting structural features (for example
repetition, a circular narrative, a motif,
foreshadowing, purposeful repetition, paragraphs which
mirror each other, contrast, flashback, backstory, show
off long sentences to slow action down, short or
curtailed sentences to speed action up)?
7. Does it have complex ideas in it? See show off
sentences, flashback, backstory, an interesting
point of view from your main character.
8. Do you drop clues as to what will happen next, or
by the end, so the reader wants to find out if they
were right?
9. Is the character so interesting that we really want
to find out what happens to them?
10. Is it always paragraphed, and are those
paragraphs used for an effect – like mirroring,
slowing down the action, speeding up the action if
short, using flashback, or backstory.

Is it “compelling” and “convincing”? Yes, I think so. In point 6,

the easiest part to insert before the final paragraph would be the
backstory.

This is a great learning point for you if you find that you don’t have
enough ideas for a longer story. Introduce more backstory and you’ll
get there. A scene with his children? His wife? A contrast to him with
his new born daughter long ago? Himself, swimming and diving as a
child?

What to learn from this story:

1. Sonnets used to be the most famous sort of poem,
because they had to be 14 lines long, with exactly 10
syllables on each line. This forces a writer to be creative.
Blank pages are not creative. They are scary: help, I
don’t know what to write! But if you just have to start
writing following the rule – use these words in your story
– your brain takes up the challenge.
2. Give the backstory straight away so we understand the
character and his context.
3. Start with the crisis.
4. Include dark humour to match the dark mood of your
topic – cancer and old age.
5. Use contrast. He is happy, though dying. The present
compared to the future. His day, compared to that of the
receptionist. His death and the loss his children will feel.
6. Use lists and word association to reveal your
character’s thoughts quickly, without slowing the
story down by explaining them.
7. Slow the pace down, with long sentences, filled
with clauses. Then speed it up again with short
sentences.
8. Repeat words within a sentence, which builds up
towards a climax, and shows thoughts coming
quickly to your character.
9. Include some sentences with no verbs. These
curtailed sentences jolt and jar, and create a sense
of urgency, which fits the conflict in the story.
10. Play with sibilance. The softer sound can be linked
to images which are peaceful or to images which
are sinister and threatening – think of the soft
sussuration* of waves on the shore, or the sharp
 hiss of snake as it strikes. (*it means a soft
whispering).
11. To convey moments of threat or harshness,
alliterate with harsh sounds. C, K, D, T, B are go-to
favourites for this.
12. End with a twist and humour.
13. Plant the clues for the ending without being obvious
about it – she had to be eastern European to have Ragic
as a surname. But this information looked like it was
there to describe a health service which relies on foreign
workers, which leads the reader a different way.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
Write a Story Using Extended Metaphor

This is another way to force your mind to be creative. Like writing a

sonnet, you force yourself to follow rules.

Here are the rules:

1. Write down words you associate with the picture, saying
yes to everything that comes into your head, for 60
seconds.
2. Look at your list and ask if they could be used to write
about something else. Let your mind wander over all the
words, rather than zooming in.
(The brain has evolved to see patterns. It is why when
you look up at the cloud filled sky, you will see the clouds
reminding you of other things. Everyone’s brain does this
– it is an evolutionary habit we can’t unlearn.)
3. Pick on one idea and stick to it no matter what. Just say
“yes”.
4. Start writing and trust the first thing that comes into your
head. Each idea you write will lead to a new idea.
5. Make sure that new idea fits with what you wrote before.
What I Did

I simply noticed the colourful houses and picked out the idea of
colour. I noticed the waves attacking the train. And obviously, I
noticed the train.

(The trick here is not to get into the train. In normal story planning,
I would. You saw how to do this with an aeroplane, and the 6
Camera Method).

But for this image, the rule was I had to write an extended
metaphor, so whatever I write about has to remind me of a storm,
or waves, or colour, or train.

So, I wrote a list of anything that came into my head:

Waves reminded me of hands. The storm reminded me of an attack,

a fight, so I had the image of a fight using hands – punching. Then I
asked myself, could the attack be like a storm? Could it be like a
train? (The answer to these questions is always ‘yes’!)
This means I just start writing, knowing that I must set up a fight.

(Read my first paragraph – notice that I don’t know what to write, I

feel a bit dumb, I’m staring at a blank page, I’m coming up with
ideas I think are stupid. But I start writing anyway, and use these
feelings in my writing!

We all have the voice in our head which says, “No, that’s a terrible
idea. No, don’t write that.” Your job is to practise silencing that
voice. When you get the idea, say yes, and yes to everything that
follows it. But make sure you follow rule 5 above).

End of the Line

(Extended Metaphor Story)

I was minding my own business, staring blankly into space,

munching on my mid-morning skittles, wondering how many I could
eat before I felt sick. And then I started to wonder if the red ones
were better than the yellow ones, which is the sort of dumb thing I
do when I’m bored, and they reminded me of parasols on a beach
front, and my mind was suddenly transported into sunshine at the
seaside when…

Noah chugged up towards me, shrieking something about his

girlfriend, spit flying from his mouth in waves, slow motion droplets
firing my way like pellets. Yellow skittles, said the dumb part of my
mind, as Noah strained, and I noticed his right shoulder jerk,
which could only mean that his right hand was on a train track, its
steel rails pointing to my head.

Another part of my brain said “duck” and then the part that is the
class clown pointed out that it was nice weather for ducks, which
was a) true, but b) very unhelpful, because Noah’s fist sped further
along its track, intending to use my right cheek as a buffer.
Obviously, the cooler part of my brain, the mixed martial art
aficionado part, registered that I was about to get my ticket
punched, so obviously I kept on ducking. Unfortunately, as you’ve
seen by now, this wasn’t the most active part of my brain and so,
like South West Trains, it had arrived a little late, and bam,
there it was: fist, face – fiddlesticks.

My face in slow motion probably looked like this:

1. Raised eyebrows, because no one called Noah ought to be able

to get the better of me, but there I was, wrong again.

2. Shut eyes, tight as a miser’s you know what, because we all

shut our eyes when the pain’s coming, hoping it will not see us, like
a toddler playing hide and seek.

3. An explosion of lips, as skittles scatter like cannon shot from

the right cheek to freedom, and all the colours of the rainbow
released to delight whoever was lucky enough to be watching.

4. Red. The red of bare knuckles smashing cheekbone. The red of

blood stinging where my teeth met the soft fleshy inside of my
cheek. The red of rage, as the cooler part of my brain said,
“fiddlesticks, what, are you a minstrel?”

So I opened my eyes, wondering if Mercutio had really taken over

the MMA part of my brain, but simultaneously twisting with the force
of the blow. Spin right. Extend right arm to its full length, as the
longer pivot drives with greater force. Drive it along its track by
planting right foot, the jolt of its brake flinging power back into
the spin, and the iron rails riding the curve to where Noah’s head
must be. Hit the buffer.

Noah’s brain probably went like this:

1. Got you.
2. Taste my bloody vengeance!
 3. Oh look, a skittle rainbow, how beautiful.
4. Ow.
5. Oh f…

I don’t know if Noah knows the word fiddlesticks, but we never got
the chance to find out because the back of your head isn’t just on
the rail journey, it is the HQ, the nexus where all the
trainlines interlink, and nerdy types with spectacles watch the
flashing lights on computer screens making sure that the trains
pulsing along each track don’t meet.

Noah’s HQ had had a complete power cut and all his lights
went out.

I looked to see his girlfriend Estella watching me with a half-smile.

She opened up a packet of skittles, and flicked yellow hair from her
green eyes as she contemplated the choice before her.

Safer to pick red next time, the smarter part of my brain said.

629 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Start with a crisis, even a small one like this about skittles
(because you aren’t planning this story, it is writing
practice).
2. Start your first paragraph using words from your list, no
matter what – it will just help you get started.
3. Try to keep your metaphor going in as many parts of the
story as you can. Look at the number of words I use
which can also be used to describe a train, or railways.
(They are in bold).
4. Try to start each sentence with a different word.
5. Repeat words to create a specific effect. Look at
how often I have repeated ‘red’.
 6. Keep using words that you associate with your list
– for me it was the stormy weather, and colour.
7. Because you haven’t planned the story, it is easier to
keep your mind open to allusions. This is more fun for
you, and rewarding for the reader who spots them. See
below*.
8. If you want to have fun, include jokes (but make sure
they fit your story, and aren’t offensive. I push this as far
as I can with ‘fiddlesticks’).
9. You can play with the story form and structure. List
things you want the reader to see. You can number the
list.
10. Only describe things that are important to revealing the
plot or something about your characters. (Notice how it is
different for each character – the narrator has a more
detailed list than my minor character).
11. Write in the first person so you can give your character a
distinctive voice. This allows you to use humour, and
gives you an excuse for any humour that doesn’t quite
work – it tells the reader that your main character is not
as funny as they think they are, and you are off the hook!
12. Craft an ending which makes sense with the rest of your
story.

Initially, I ended with “all his lights went out.”

This was the end of the fight, and the end of the whole railway
network in my metaphor.

That was pretty neat and tidy. Great!

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

However, every detail in your story needs to be there.

Remember Vonnegut.
I had a detail which didn’t fit this rule. It was the girl they were
fighting over. This felt like a random reason, because she was only
referred to once. They could have been fighting over football, or
fashion, or a bullying instance – anything to get them to a fight. So,
why the girl? This meant I added to my ending. There had to be
another reason for the girl.

The new ending ties in my other motif (a repeated image) of colour.

It also shows that my narrator is not entirely a victim – he has
definitely been playing around with Noah’s girlfriend.

The description of her adds another layer of possibility too, that

Estella has provoked Noah into the attack for the pleasure of
watching the boys fight over her.

*Allusions

Story writing should be fun. Nearly every story in this guide involves
me or Lee stealing ideas from other people – books, film, games.
Then we steal from our own memories. In other words, when you
are writing a story, you never make everything up. Stealing is great
fun if you can get away with it.

You steal as much as you can, and then add your own stuff to it, to
make it feel like your own. That’s how to get away with it.

So, on the one hand, my story is totally made up.

But on the other hand, I am constantly stealing from other books.

1. “Taste the rainbow”. OK, it isn’t a book, it’s an advert for
skittles, but that is simply a 15 second short story to
make us buy something with no chocolate in it.
2. Noah. Yeah, that’s right, who suffered the stormiest
weather ever in the Bible?
3. “Let the train take the strain”. Ok, another 15 second
advert telling us to ditch the car and love the train.
4. “Nice weather for ducks”. This is a line from Alfie, by
Shirley Hughes, which I used to read to my kids as
toddlers.
5. Tight as a miser’s…I have just been teaching A
Christmas Carol, and Scrooge, the main character, is a
miser.
6. Cannon shot…this week I wrote three essays about The
Charge of the Light Brigade, which repeats the word
“cannon” a lot.
7. “Fiddlesticks, what, are you a minstrel?” This comes
directly from Romeo and Juliet.
More importantly, the words come from the beginning of
a fight.
“What, dost thou make us minstrels?
An thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
discords.
Here's my fiddlestick. Here's that shall make you dance.”
It is also an allusion to another packet of sweets to go
with my skittles. (And they do have chocolate).
8. ‘The longer pivot drives with greater force.’ This use of
the language of physics to describe the fight I stole from
Lee Child and his Jack Reacher books. He does it really
well.
9. Estella. She is the main female character in Great
Expectations, and has been trained to flirt with boys
and break their hearts. As a child, she engineers a fight
between the narrator, Pip, and a boy who later becomes
his best friend, Herbert. This perfectly fit my story.
Just Say Yes
This is a story by Samantha Grace, having watched my video on the
story you have just read. I called the thumbnail ‘Just Say Yes’ in
order to show you how to accept your thoughts as you write and
improvise a story.

You can see how just following her thoughts lets her have fun with
vocabulary and literary techniques, especially contrast and
alliteration. Her vocabulary is very adventurous, which means that
she hits so much of the assessment criteria.

The other thing I want you to realise is that this story could help
Samantha answer virtually every question that might come up, as
the five examples below show you. This means that you can prepare
a positive and a negative story in advance. You know that one of
them will fit any question. I’m not suggesting you memorise it word
for word. But it will give you calm and certainty, knowing you don’t
have to plan.
1. Write About a Game Which Goes Wrong…

2. Write About an Experience…

3. Write About a Place…

4. Write About a Time When You Were…

5. Write About a Person Who…

Alternatively, don’t plan at all. ‘Just Say Yes’, as Samantha does. This
means that you just have to make sure each new idea you say ‘yes’
to is made to fit what you have written before.
The Championship, by Samantha Grace
Phobias.

We all have one: revealed or concealed, it’s always there. Like a

parasitical burden, it’s always there... A forfeit is a forfeit and at the
beginning of the game, I had foolishly agreed to it – I was blinded
by darkness.

My heart racing as fast as a cheetah, to quote a cliché; in disturbing

times, it’s difficult to think creatively and even more so originally! Yet
I waited: sat crossed legged in my cousin’s walk-in wardrobe; ‘classy,
bespoke, the best – it simply beats the rest’, the jingle for the advert
sang. Though annoying, it was extremely comforting to have at least
one bright star of reality in this consuming, bleak night sky.

I gently caressed my teddy: soft and secure. I couldn’t believe I was

relying on this babyish object - in all its inanimacy – to stabalise my
ever increasing blood pressure. Such a childish championship... and
that’s when it happened.

Imagine. Imagine rapidly losing grip of the single thing that was
soliditating your sanity in a split second. Not only have you lost your
pulse but you also begin to distinguish the whitest silhouette in the
darkest of places. “Classy, bespoke, the best – it simply beats the
rest.” I was beyond inaudible. My face whitened and my limbs
became numb... the silhouette had disappeared?

I remained quiet.

Now, I assume my expression was almost identical to a deer in

headlights as the silhouette reappeared – but now it was only inches
away from my face!

Quickly, I drew my legs closer to my body and took a long glance at

the silhouette: a white dress shirt, white suit trousers (the luxury
type that mum forces us to wear.) I think it’s just to state that: a)
this was no longer just a silhouette but an intricate replica of
something or someone’s shadow and b) it was the most disturbing
thing I have ever cast my eyes on.

As if on cue, it put out a marvellous grin: the ear to ear type,

fashioned by the Cheshire Cat from Alice in The Wonderland, though
this is The Torture of Dani in Dystopia.

Ignorance: it always helps black out my problems. Frantically, I

buried my head into my knees, praying and begging that it would
block this nightmarish beast out. I chanted the jingle over and over
until it’s assonance no longer made sense to my brain... ignorance
could no longer rescue me. I was forced to face the fearsome feline
in the room.

Who did he think he was deceiving? You can dress in angelic white
as you’re obsessively sinning but you’ll remain a demonic monster
that lurks in rich children’s wardrobes.

“Dani,” it called out. Every syllable was an alarm in my ear that my

death was ever approaching. Truthfully, nothing from the beginning
to the end of this game had been somewhat amusing. Terrifying, of
course but sitting in a wardrobe alone with a demon on a blood
moon night just didn’t echo ‘amusing, child-friendly game’ to me.

“Dani.” It called out again.

But this time it was followed by many rays of light and the face of
my delinquent cousins. The light highlighted the secret silent tears I
wasn’t aware I had cried. I do acknowledge that it was only 7
minutes in hell with my phobia, but I am submissive to it.

Curiosity... Urged to look back at what was the catalyst of my panic

attack now that I was allied with the omnipresent light, I glance
back. Proud and mighty as the lion in charge of its pride would stand
but instead this was an extra friendly stuffed cat dressed in a
customisable cat suit.

Phobias. I despise them. These were not my most heroic tears, oh

what a tragedy.

625 words

Notice how Samantha chooses a circular structure, to make sure that

she has an original structure. However, she realises that the stuffed
cat in a cat suit is a little weird, so writes an alternative.

Samantha’s Alternative Ending

Rays of light embraced my face as the faces of my delinquent

cousins welcomed me. The brightness highlighted the secret, silent
tears I wasn’t aware I had cried. I do acknowledge that it was only 7
minutes in hell, but I am submissive to it.

Curiosity... Urged to look back at what was the catalyst of my panic,

I glanced back in cold fear. It stood proud and mighty like the
alpha in a pride of lions, but instead this was an extremely friendly
stuffed cat dressed as James Bond. Licensed to chill.

I’ve added in the bold, to try to give the ending a bit more neatness.
Which makes me think, can I make more of the James Bond theme.

My Alternative Alternative Ending

Curiosity... Urged to look back at what was the catalyst of my panic,

I glanced back. It stood proud and mighty like the alpha in a pride of
lions, but instead this was an extremely friendly stuffed cat dressed
as James Bond.

Phobias. Licensed to thrill?

Why You Should Play with the Endings

Because Samantha has had so much fun with vocabulary,
punctuation, contrast, alliteration and sentence types, she is always
‘compelling’. But examiners are more likely to have different views
on whether it is ‘convincing’. The most important element in reaching
that decision is your ending.

Write alternative endings till you find what works.

Write a Story Based on a Sports Person or Sport You Know
Well

It may be that you are a dancer, or a netballer, or a footballer.

Rather than write about the whole event, pick on a single player.
Give them a conflict which is personal within the wider conflict of the
game or show.

This will give you instant access to the language of the expert. It will
also give you real insights into how that person would think, because
this is an activity or sport you do yourself.

You could broaden the definition of sport here. It might be a game

you used to play in primary school, or the character you take on in a
computer game, or you might choose an expert at promoting
themselves on Instagram.

All you’re after is a good knowledge of an expert in any activity. The

‘no’ part of your brain will be saying you aren’t an expert, but you
are. You have an experience that the reader probably won’t have.
This gives you an insider’s view. Write about it.

The Boxer
I know that this isn’t exactly how I want it to be when I look out of
my dressing room window – and I see a blizzard.

The omens aren’t good.

And you know what they say in boxing, “Every man has a plan, until
you hit him in the face.”

I wrap my hands carefully, winding the cloth around my fists like

they are the most precious of objects. Which they are, in a way –
precious and devastating. I protect each small bone against the
absolute certainty of the impact that is to come. An impact force that
will travel through my waist, to my shoulder, and to my clenched fist
before striking my opponent with focussed intensity. I mean to hurt.

The dull thud of music outside the dressing room gives my team
good vibrations. But I know I have bad intentions. There may be
serious injuries tonight: shattered eye sockets, broken bones,
perhaps even the risk of death. It is a chance we will both take –
willingly.

While my gloves are checked, I shadow box, throwing out jabs,

crosses and hooks. I look hypnotised, or in a kind of trance, as I
move around in a dance with an imaginary dance partner. I slip and
roll, bob and weave, as I imagine my invisible opponent trying to
connect his punches with my body and face.

When the buzzer goes, I know it is time. My coach slides on my

gloves. I make two fists and I am ready.

Man versus man. Fist versus fist. The most basic, the most brutal,
and the most difficult of contests.

No retreat and no surrender.

I know the music that I walk out to, but I don’t hear it. The whole
room in the hotel where we will fight is dark. I know there are
people inside. I can hear them cheering for me – encouraging me.
Suddenly, lights laser down from the roof and illuminate my route to
the ring. I move at a swift pace, eager to start, keeping myself loose
with feints and shovel hooks as I half walk and half skip.

He is already in the ring when I get there, in the opposite corner. He

stands statuesque, staring over at me with eyes that try to burn into
my soul. He wants to know if I have what it takes – really have what
it takes to win. We come together in the centre of the ring as the
referee talks to us. I don’t hear what he has to say. I look at the
slabs of concrete that are my opponent’s chest and abs. I wonder if
he has a good chin or if his ribs are strong. I want to snap them like
twigs.

We are equally matched and I know he is thinking about me too.

When the bell for round one signals, we come out strongly against
each other. My jab snaps back his head like he is a rag doll. I am
confident. I am quick. I am a predator. He is my prey. And it seems
to me that I am just that fraction of a second quicker than him. The
fraction of a second that I need to pull the trigger on my double jab,
load up the ballistic missile of my devastating right hand, and put my
fight plan into action.

And then it hits me.

The left hook that I didn’t see coming. My saliva sprays out like a
fountain as I stumble back a step and realise that this is only the
beginning of the war, and there are plenty of rounds to go.

You know what they say in boxing, “Every man has a plan, until you
hit him in the face.”

By Lee Simpson

624 words

What to learn from this story:

1. The description of the weather is changeable. If you have
a narrative question that is inspired by a picture, you can
adapt your story this way. It means that you can plan a
couple of stories for the exam in advance. This is why I
have underlined the blizzard. Imagine that had been in
the image you were given in the exam. Your prepared
story on the boxer probably had rain, or perhaps fog.
What it really had was a gap near the beginning which
said: (insert weather that fits the picture!)
 2. Begin with contrast. This always helps us understand the
conflict or crisis.
3. You will find contrast all the way through this story.
4. Zoom in on details which allow us to get inside your
character’s mind very quickly. They also let the reader
know exactly where and when the story takes place.
5. List movements and description, so that we find
out a lot, at a fast pace. The more verbs you use,
the more full of action your story is. This is much
better than having a lot of events, which won’t fit
into a short story.
6. Use powerful verbs to build an active picture.
7. Use short sentences when you want to increase
the pace. Some of them will be curtailed, with no
verb.
8. Go easy on the adverbs.
9. Describe things that are noisy, rather than describing the
noises themselves. This uses the sense in a clever way –
the reader adds up two plus two.
10. Include metaphor and simile. Go for an extended
metaphor – look at the vocabulary which could describe a
war.
11. Have a circular ending which refers back to the
beginning. This works even where the ending is actually
just an interruption, a cliff hanger. Remember, there has
to be a reason for stopping here, rather than just running
out of time.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).
Stories Based on Social Media (and the weather)

This is a tactical story. It is a cunning idea, used in Lee’s school. He

teaches his students to memorise three paragraphs about the
weather. These will fit any story and any description. If you are not
confident in writing, you simply begin with the paragraphs you
memorised earlier.

Yes, you have to fit them to the rest of your story, but that will
happen anyway. Your brain will have been mulling the story over
while you write. And meanwhile, the description you write is already
scoring you marks. It won’t be a great story. But, if you are
desperate for a grade 6, this is an easy way to get there. Even if you
are currently writing grade 3 stories, it is a quick way to jump a
whole grade.

To make this work 100% of the time, you may also need an example
of three paragraphs which are a positive description of weather. But,
because we are interested in a crisis and conflict, in any story we
write, that won’t be pleasant. We don’t want the gorgeous sunshine
of a beach in early morning. Instead we’ll choose an oppressive
heat. As Benvolio warns Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet:
“I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.”

Ten Things I Hate About You

Outside, the furious winds were stabbing anyone who
walked through them – then disappearing, invisible. An
army of clouds gathered in the sky, blocking out all sunlight
and all hope, and casting an ominous shadow on the ground.
The clouds were almost at bursting point: rain was
imminent.
The storm began. The clouds began to hiss and spit like a
savage cat, and the rain fell with the force of bullets. It was
as if the day itself was as angry as she was – and she was
about to explode.

Icy cold gusts of wind knocked the dark, grey, malevolent

clouds across the sky. A weak, pale yellow sun struggled in
vain to penetrate the bank of cloud; it was no use. The cold
and the dark won that battle, hands down.

The cold and dark that Dani could feel in her heart.

Dani was staring across the room at him. She was filing her
fingernails to points. She was ready to use them, if necessary. He
looked over. He was ugly. His bloodshot eyes were as red as Hell.

She was ready to pounce. Inside her heart’s fury built up, pumping
poison through her veins. She flicked her fingers back and forth,
scratching them against the table and making a sound like fingers on
a blackboard.

As Dani slyly moved across the room, silently edging towards her
victim, her victim was unaware of her presence…

Then she pounced.

“Hi John,” Dani said smiling.

“Oh, it’s you,” John replied, hardly bothering to look up at her. “What
do you want?”

Dani sat down, making sure that she was close to him. She made
sure that he could see just how beautiful she was and took delight in
the fact that he couldn’t look at her.

Each of her words was like a small explosion in John’s skull. He

didn’t have to look at her for her to recognise that and she loaded
each of her words carefully, before firing them out at him.

“It’s over John.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out myself last night.”

John was speaking through gritted teeth. He was trying to control

himself – trying, but almost failing.

“You didn’t leave me any choice,” said Dani, stroking her hair. Her
eyes were drilling holes into John’s head. Her stare was fixed and
cold. “You shouldn’t have said what you did.”

John turned to face Dani and flinched as he met her eyes.

“Ten things, Dani. Ten things you hate about me! And all over Social
Media? That was too far.”

Dani stood up. She felt the ends of her fingers, the sharp nails, and
imagined dragging them down John’s pathetic face. She smiled
slightly as she pictured the red stripes of blood she could leave on
his cheeks.

“I could have said more. I should have said more. But I felt sorry for
you.”

“Don’t do me any favours,” snapped John.

“I won’t,” said Dani, “Not anymore.”

John turned his back to her.

Suddenly, John felt Dani’s hand grip his shoulder and turn him
forcefully around.

“Just tell me one thing.”

Dani could see John’s face reddening, almost swelling with anger
and embarrassment.

“How much was I worth?”

John ignored her and tried to turn away.

“How much was I worth!” Dani shouted, shaking John with both of
her hands.

“Ten quid! Alright, he gave me ten quid to say those things about
you.”

Dani smiled, “Ten quid. Yeah, I know.”

Dani shook her head and John walked away quietly.

After he had moved a few steps, Dani straightened her back, raised
her chin and shouted, “Hey John!”

John turned, eyeing Dani suspiciously.

“Ten quid, eh?”

John nodded with hate in his eyes.

Dani laughed out loud, “Ten quid for ten things I hate about you.”

By Lee Simpson

628 Words

What to learn from this story:

You can ‘game’ or ‘cheat’ the exam question:

1. Prepare three paragraphs to begin any story or
description. Memorise them. Practise writing them
 at speed from memory, so you don’t have to worry
about what to write.
2. Repeat an idea from the second and third
paragraph to link to the character in your story –
I’ve placed this line in italics.
3. To do this, use the weather as pathetic fallacy, to
link to your character’s feelings.

Normal advice:
4. Use the senses early. Describe things that will suggest a
sound or a texture – did you notice the sharp fingernails?
5. Give the backstory immediately – see how quickly the
word ‘victim’ does this – we automatically infer that Dani
is powerful and out to hurt.
6. Go straight in to your crisis or conflict. The very easiest
conflict is an argument.
7. Dialogue is very difficult to do well. When characters
speak, make sure that you describe them in ways which
help the reader infer their feelings and personality.
8. Lee has included lots of dialogue as students who are
currently getting grade 3 or 4 often write lots of dialogue
in their stories. So, if this is a habit you can’t break, this
story is to help you do it to a decent enough standard to
get the grade 5 or 6 you want.
9. If you are going to use speech, make sure you
know how to punctuate it!
a. Each speaker starts a new paragraph.
b. Speech marks always go after the other
punctuation.
c. If the speech happens in the middle of a
sentence, the first word starts with a
capital letter.

10. Write the title of your story last. Make it refer to how the
story ends, so it looks as though it was planned all along.
 11. Because you have memorised the description, you can
easily get 500-600 words.
12. The ending will take care of itself, as this is the end of the
argument.

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

What Grade it That?

Let’s grade this story. I’m going to make bold everything which is
achieved by the three-paragraph description at the beginning.

Marks 13, 14 and 15 (Grade 6 starts at

15)
Content
You usually pick the vocabulary that works, but
sometimes fail.
The reader can tell you are trying to achieve
effects with your vocabulary.
It generally feels like a proper story, but has some
parts that don’t fit.
You use linguistic techniques to fit your story, not just
because you feel a need to bung in simile, metaphor,
alliteration and personification.

Organisation
You are trying out an interesting structure, but
some bits might not work well.
You don’t have any boring bits of conversation or
description which aren’t needed in your story.
All your ideas are in paragraphs, with changes of
paragraph for changes of time, topic and talk:
So just adding the description on its own is likely to give you lots of
grade 5 and 6 features. If the rest of your story is a grade 3, it will
be impossible for you not to get at least a grade 4 overall.

Notice how it will give you very high marks for AO6 – those 16
marks available for technical accuracy, vocabulary and sentence
control! Money in the bank.
Write a Story Using Extreme Copying
Story based on the AQA June 2017 Paper, Katherine
Mansfield Extract

The beginning of the Katherine Mansfield short story is this:

“At the corner of Oxford Circus, Rosabel bought a bunch of violets,

and that was practically the reason why she had so little tea – for a
scone and a boiled egg and a cup of cocoa are not sufficient after a
hard day's work in a hat shop.”

To really understand how a writer thinks about the structure of

writing, you can imitate all aspects of the structure, or as many as
you can manage. Mansfield’s story is about a poor, working class girl,
Rosabel, who works in a shop in the early 1900s. She meets a
female customer and her boyfriend who are rich and full of
themselves. They are a contrast to her struggles in life, and she
dislikes them.

So, I set my story in modern day. I made my main character Regina,

and placed her in conflict with a woman, and a boyfriend. I decided
Regina would not be poorer financially, but in another form of
currency: popularity on social media.

Rosabel in some ways wants to be the woman she dislikes. So I took

this idea a step further, and made Regina fall in love with the other
woman.

Now I had my conflict ready, I tried to copy as much of Katherine

Mansfield’s structural choices as possible.

Where she used a noun, verb, adjective or adverb, I did the same.
Where she used a piece of punctuation, I tried to use the same, in
the exact same spot in the sentence. If she used a simile or a
metaphor, I tried to do the same.

Come at it at your own level. You might just focus on the same
length sentences. Or add a layer of difficulty with the verbs. And so
on. It will help you think like a writer.

My opening paragraph:

“Over the face of her keyboard, Regina began a barrage of abuse,

and that was usually the way she spent such a brilliant evening –
because a Twitter account, and a poisonous tongue and a quiver of
quips are just perfect for some social media trolling on a laptop.”

Mansfield’s opening paragraph:

“At the corner of Oxford Circus, Rosabel bought a bunch of violets,

and that was practically the reason why she had so little tea – for a
scone and a boiled egg and a cup of cocoa are not sufficient after a
hard day's work in a hat shop.”

I hope you can see how I have tried to copy every aspect of her
structure. You can find the whole Katherine Mansfield extract on the
AQA site. Look for June 2017, English Language Paper 1.

Queen of Hearts
Over the face of her keyboard, Regina began a barrage of abuse,
and that was usually the way she spent such a brilliant evening –
because a Twitter account, and a poisonous tongue and a quiver of
quips are just perfect for some social media trolling on a laptop. As
she tweeted the world on the web, swigged her wine with one gulp
and spat at her victims in 140 characters, Regina decided she could
have sold her mother for a viral tweet, something vindictive and
destructive and glorious.
Regina gazed down at the screen; her fingers were buzzing and
furious, the tweets whipping through the ether lacerated her victims
with sarcasm and emojis, and their pathetic replies tweeting about
this were drowned kittens. Her eyes were blazing hot, and she
imagined the tips of her fingers and teeth could be sharpened with
cold, merciless steel. There was an exponential trend of outraged
followers – it seemed to be exploding out of every screen in the city
– and each sought the same target, crying so softly, sobbing in her
room. Regina laughed delightedly and shrieked at the 10 best tweets
from her followers… she felt almost invincible. Inside her power
crazed mind, the whole Internet of users across the planet seemed
to worship her blank, airbrushed face.

She started to remember all who had upset her that week. Could
she ever forgive that dreadful head teacher in her sleek Jimmy
Choos, or the deputy who had examined every grade in her class
and then pronounced she would “come back tomorrow to discuss
these properly”? Regina could not resist a sneer; her students were
just thick.

Yet there was still her best friend – Amelia, most followed on Twitter
with a sensational Instagram and a blog with the influence of a giant
black hole sucking up followers she harvested from Twitter all week.
Regina had hated her face all this time; no blemish had marked it,
such a beautiful face, and so unfair. “How perfect is the life I lead,
Regina?” this face had asked, as Regina sharpened her revenge
drawn from her envy, gazed at her reflection, and cursed at Amelia’s
profile.

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” she had crowed, “just a string of

followers that stretches around your ego and lingers on your photos
and salivates in droves across the globe – an obscene web print.”

Regina gazed at Amelia longingly. “How many girlfriends have you

had?” Regina had been very slow to love. Harry would seem to be
perfect, yet Regina was not fully happy. Then she imagined the
pristine, untouched bed upstairs.

“Oh-my-God, Amelia,” she had messaged “I’ve just read a post that
will shock you badly.” Regina had rerouted, delightedly, doctored a
profile, created a trolling account, and now, here was the brilliant
rumour – surprisingly single, beautiful, with a fine, fat following and
a perfect online life, Amelia was gay.

“It says you are a lesbian.” Regina had pressed 'send' and then
waited for mayhem.

“Let’s see how the world judges me,” Amelia replied. Regina turned
to the mirror and noticed a brimming tear, then gave in to them.

“Hi, Regina, I’m home,” Harry called. “Have you heard!” he

exclaimed entering the living room. “Your friend Amelia, gay!”

A sudden, overpowering sense of envy now gripped her. She longed

to throw the whole, pinging laptop in Harry’s face, and bent over her
screen, stunned.

“You’re trapped in your own lies, Regina,” she realised. Her love
bravely faced her public, and left Regina with Harry to take to bed
with her.

Harry understood immediately, and turned back to the front door.

“Poor Regina,” she heard him say.

606 words

What to learn from this story:

1. Start with long, show off sentences, like the first
three here. These are filled with detail which gives
a very full picture of the main character.
2. How to add lots of phrases and clauses to add
detail of character and plot.
 3. Why adverbs get in the way (I put them in
because I had to, but I don’t like them).
4. Powerful verbs drive the story, showing the
characters’ feelings, rather than telling us.
5. Use conversation sparingly. (You’ll notice I rarely
use it in the other stories, as it slows the story
down, and you only have 500-700 words).
6. Use a variety of alliteration. The fricative F works
if you want the tone to be spiteful or vindictive.
7. Use flashback to give your character’s motives.
8. The ending lets the reader add up two plus two.
(They work out that Regina is in love with Amelia,
but has denied this to herself. She has denied that
she is not sexually interested in Harry, because she
herself is gay. But Harry has realised this. Regina’s
tragedy is that the person she loves will now hate
her forever, because she used Amelia’s sexual
identity as a weapon).

(Bold means these count double, as they are also in the 16 marks
available for AO6 Technical Accuracy).

Notice how copying a writer has given me many more skills with
AO6 – Technical Accuracy.

Why I’ve Written about Social Media and Homophobia

My story is also a personal one. It is quite common for people to be

abused on Twitter, and I have deleted my main account. Sadly, it is
also common for people to be homophobic. When I first published
this story, many teachers felt that I was portraying Amelia in a
negative way, simply because I said she was gay.

This is exactly why I chose this topic. Amelia is a noble character,

who is ‘outed’ in public, but decides that she would rather face the
public as herself, than as a ‘perfect’ stereotype of womanhood, with
cosmetic enhancement, touched up photographs on Instagram etc,
and pictures of a heterosexual lifestyle on her timeline.

And it works out well for her – she is accepted for who she is.

It is also an attack on our use of social media. If only Regina had not
loved her social media persona so much, she would have had the
opportunity to explore her own sexual identity, and lived happily ever
after with the person she loves most, Amelia.

You will know several people who will one day identify as gay or
bisexual. Your job is to help them to be themselves so that this isn’t
an identity they fear.

But there are also ideas and beliefs you are passionate about. Don’t
be afraid to use them.

Redrafted: Queen of Hearts

Over the face of her keyboard, Regina began a barrage of abuse.

Her weapons were a Twitter account, a poisonous tongue and a
quiver of quips perfect for an evening’s trolling on her must-have
laptop. Swigging her second glass of wine, she tweeted the world on
the web, swilling before she spat at her victims in 140 characters.
Regina decided she could have sold her mother for a viral tweet,
something vindictive and destructive and glorious which would get
retweeted a thousand times.

Her fingers were buzzing and furious, whipping tweets across the
ether, lacerating with passive aggressive sarcasm and emojis. Her
victims’ pathetic replies were drowned like kittens as her followers
throttled them with invective.

Now her eyes blazed heat in the cold blue glow of her phone. Her
teeth shone blue, cold steel, as she smiled. An explosion of outraged
followers – it seemed to be exploding out of every screen in the city
– and each sought the same target, crying so softly, sobbing in her
room. Regina shrieked at the 10 best retweets from her followers…
she felt almost invincible, knowing the whole Internet of users
across the planet seemed to worship her blank, airbrushed face.

She ticked off a list of all who had upset her that week, and picked
them off one by one.

Yet the final name on her list was her best friend – Amelia, so much
more widely followed on Twitter with a sensational Instagram and a
blog with the gravitational influence of a giant black hole, sucking up
followers like a vacuum.

Regina had envied her face all this time; no blemish had marked it,
such a beautiful face, and so unfair. “How perfect is the life I lead,
Regina?” Amelia’s face had seemed to ask. Her photographs were
natural, Regina knew, and Instagram worshipped her for it. Christ,
even Taylor failed to look as natural.

Regina brooded on her best friend. “You don’t have a boyfriend,” she
crowed, “just a string of followers that stretches around your ego
and lingers on your photos and salivates in droves across the globe –
an obscene web print.”

She gazed at Amelia’s homepage, her eyes filled with envy and
desire, each emotion fighting the other for control.

“How many girlfriends have you had?”

Regina had been very slow to love. Harry would seem to be perfect.
Everyone said he was gorgeous. She could see that, yet Regina was
not fully happy. Then she pictured the pristine, untouched bed
upstairs.

Harry would be here soon. She pushed thoughts of her boyfriend to

the back of her mind.

“Oh-my-God, Amelia!” she began to text, “have you seen this post?!”
Regina had rerouted, via a secure server connection in Denmark,
created a trolling account, and had posted a brilliant rumour, a
‘trumour’: surprisingly single, beautiful, with a fine, fat following and
a perfect online life, Amelia was gay.

“It says you are a lesbian.”

Regina hit 'send' and then waited for mayhem. It was the truth, she
told herself, and Amelia’s public deserved to know. Must know.
They’d leave her in droves.

Amelia’s text seemed to take forever to arrive. Regina waited, her

heart racing, bursting, aching.

“Let’s see how the world judges me,” Amelia replied.

Regina turned to the mirror and noticed a brimming tear. She gave
in to them, like grief.

The laptop and her phone glowed as if with magic, as the web
responded.

“Hi, Regina, I’m home,” Harry called, clutching at his phone. “Have
you heard!” he exclaimed entering the living room. “Amelia. Amelia,
they’re saying she’s gay.”

A sudden rush of feelings gripped her. She longed to throw the

whole, pinging laptop in Harry’s face, and bent over her screen,
stunned. “You’re trapped in your own lies, Regina,” she realised.

Amelia bravely faced her public, and they responded with wave after
wave of support.

Harry watched her face, and read the passions there. Envy, desire
and regret. He understood then. The wine before bedtime, the
evenings simply talking, watching TV, so, so often followed only by
sleep.
Harry understood everything. He turned back to the front door.

“Poor Regina,” she heard him say.

688 words

What you can learn from this story:

1. It’s taught me to include more dialogue than I normally
would.
2. It’s forced me to write with many more short paragraphs.
3. I’ve managed to keep three characters, each of whom
want something, as Vonnegut instructed.
4. I got rid of Regina’s job, as it wasn’t relevant to my crisis
or the other characters.
5. This gave me more room to increase more of Harry’s
part, so that perhaps the ending would be easier for the
reader to follow, to add up two plus two.

I hope it teaches you that redrafting is always worth it. It will teach
you to make better choices. Sure, that’s great for the exam.

But many of you will love to write, and a few of you will actually
become writers!

I look forward to reading your stories on YouTube, or email me at

[email protected] if you are willing for me to make a video
on your story.

How to Write a Dual Narrative Story in

40 Minutes for Your GCSE Exam
Like me, some teachers decide to sit the exam paper in order to find
out what can be achieved in the time.
Nichola Brookbanks-Parry, a brilliant teach​er, decided to sit the mock
exam with her class. She set herself the really difficult task of writing
a dual narrative, as that would automatically score top marks. Dual
narrative is a high scoring structural feature.

But can it be done in a 45-minute short story?

Write about a childhood experience.

All the Fun of the Fair

The scarf, although blood stained now, still smelt of the young girl’s
sweet scent. Sauntering down the dark, midnight streets towards
the dilapidated building, he deposited the scarf calmly into the
nearby bin. He contemplated disposing of his slim, steel blade as
well, but the trusty tool had served him excellently. Pocketing it
safely instead, he reminisced gloriously about the previous times he
had used it.

The pure adrenaline rush he received after each use was addictive –
if not more addictive – than a line of premium quality cocaine. He
could still smell the aromatic scent of blood wafting from his
previous victim and the surge of electrifying power he felt after each
encounter.

As the wondrous memories ran through his brain like a high-speed

train, he found himself at the door. Opening it furtively, he went
inside and collected his scant belongings. She would be found in a
few hours and by then he would be long gone.

***

The squeals and shouts of the fairgoers permeated the balmy

evening. It was Rosie's 13th birthday and the first day of the
summer holidays: six long weeks of glorious freedom stretched
interminably out in front of her. For the first time, her parents had let
her out on her own at night with her mates, and she was having
such a fun time. Admittedly, the fun had been helped by the large
bottle of vodka her friends had persuaded her to steal stealthily from
her parents’ cabinet.

Taking a quick swig of the vodka, Rosie felt a warm, fuzzy feeling
suffusing through her body after the warm, tantalising liquid had
trickled down her throat. Giggling, she passed the bottle on to her
friends and joined them in the long, serpentine queue for the
waltzers.

***

He was prowling through the fields behind the fair when the fizzing
lights and childish laughter drew him in, like a moth entranced by
lurid light. The air was rich with pungent spice and the intoxicating
smell of diesel oil and brandy snap. Warm and sugared fear coated
the children's faces as their feigned screams splintered through the
air like exploding dynamite.

Moving closer towards the rides, he saw her: the young girl from
Wycross Road. He had spent weeks now heading down the street,
hoping to catch a glimpse of her silken, alabaster skin through the
half-closed curtains of her bedroom window. Now, he couldn't
believe his sheer good luck; she was quite clearly inebriated, and
this was clearly the opportunity he had been waiting for.

***

The waltzers, although excellent fun at the time, had made Rosie
feel extremely queasy and her white, porcelain skin had turned a
putrid shade. Stumbling off the ride breathlessly, Rosie was the first
victim for a game of hide and seek. Although her whole world was
still spinning furiously from the ride, her friends tied her oversized
scarf around her eyes, spun her again, and ran off squealing,
shouting "count to 20… Then find us if you can!"
Rosie never found her friends. Before she had even counted to 5,
she crumbled like dust into a tangled heap on the muddy ground,
hidden from view.

***

Hours later she would be found, soiled and crumpled, like a fallen
glove, with a scarf missing and her head battered to a pulp.

By Nichola Brookbanks-Parry

553 words

Write about a childhood experience.

All the Fun of the Fair

The scarf, although blood stained now, still smelt of the young
girl’s sweet scent. 2. Sauntering down the dark, midnight streets
towards the dilapidated building, he deposited the scarf calmly
into the nearby bin. 3. He contemplated disposing of his slim, steel
blade as well, but the trusty tool had served him excellently.
Pocketing it safely instead, he reminisced gloriously about the
previous times he had used it.

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension
and conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
 10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

The pure adrenaline rush he received after each use was addictive –
if not more addictive – than a line of premium quality cocaine. He
could still smell the aromatic scent of blood wafting from his
previous victim and the surge of electrifying power he felt after
each encounter.

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

As the wondrous memories ran through his brain like a high-speed

train, he found himself at the door. Opening it furtively, he went
inside and collected his scant belongings. She would be found in a
few hours and by then he would be long gone. ***

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
 6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

The squeals and shouts of the fairgoers permeated the balmy

evening. It was Rosie's 13th birthday and the first day of the
summer holidays: six long weeks of glorious freedom stretched
interminably out in front of her. 4. For the first time, her parents had
let her out on her own at night with her mates, and she was having
such a fun time. Admittedly, the fun had been helped by the large
bottle of vodka her friends had persuaded her to steal stealthily from
her parents’ cabinet.

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

Taking a quick swig of the vodka, Rosie felt a warm, fuzzy feeling
suffusing through her body after the warm, tantalising liquid had
trickled down her throat. 6. Giggling, she passed the bottle on to her
friends and joined them in the long, serpentine queue for the
waltzers. ***

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

He was prowling through the fields behind the fair when the
fizzing lights and childish laughter drew him in, like a moth
entranced by lurid light. The air was rich with pungent spice and the
intoxicating smell of diesel oil and brandy snap. Warm and sugared
fear coated the children's faces as their feigned screams splintered
through the air like exploding dynamite.

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
 9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

Moving closer towards the rides, he saw her: the young girl from
Wycross Road. He had spent weeks now heading down the street,
hoping to catch a glimpse of her silken, alabaster skin through the
half-closed curtains of her bedroom window. Now, he couldn't
believe his sheer good luck; she was quite clearly inebriated, and
this was clearly the opportunity he had been waiting for. ***

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

The waltzers, although excellent fun at the time, had made Rosie
feel extremely queasy and her white, porcelain skin had turned a
putrid shade. Stumbling off the ride breathlessly, Rosie was the first
victim for a game of hide and seek. 7. Although her whole world was
still spinning furiously from the ride, her friends tied her oversized
scarf around her eyes, spun her again, and ran off squealing,
shouting "count to 20… Then find us if you can!"

Key to the Writer’s Craft

 1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

Rosie never found her friends. Before she had even counted to 5,
she crumbled like dust into a tangled heap on the muddy ground,
hidden from view.

***

Hours later she would be found, soiled and crumpled, like a fallen
glove, with a scarf missing and her head battered to a pulp.

Key to the Writer’s Craft

1. Ambitious vocabulary
2. Use of contrast and juxtaposition to create tension and
conflict
3. Alliteration and consonance
4. Sense of smell
5. Sense of touch
6. Simile
7. Metaphor
8. Adverbs
9. 1 to 8 = Complex sentences needing at least two
commas. Usually used to slow down time.
 10. *** = structural device to denote the change in dual
narrative

What the Writer has Deliberately Left Out

1. The names of other friends – concentrating instead on
two main characters
2. Likewise, references to her parents are minimal – we
don’t need to meet them
3. Dialogue, which would have slowed down the action
4. An explanation at the beginning – it starts straight away,
in mid-action. We have to catch up
5. A chronological order – we actually start at the end, but
do not yet know this

Why You Should Redraft Your Writing

The story you’ve just read would get a grade 9, no problem. But,
you will always become a better writer by redrafting. All writers do
this. It is how you become a writer. So, when I redraft Nichola’s
story, I’m not saying it’s not good enough. I’m challenging myself to
see if I can make it even better.

The bold paragraph is my redraft. I’ve placed in italics the words I

needed to change. See if you can work out why.

All the Fun of the Fair

The scarf, although blood stained now, still smelt of the young girl’s
sweet scent. Sauntering down the dark, midnight streets towards
the dilapidated building, he deposited the scarf calmly into the
nearby bin. He contemplated disposing of his slim, steel blade as
well, but the trusty tool had served him excellently. Pocketing it
safely instead, he reminisced gloriously about the previous times he
had used it.
The scarf, although blood stained now, still smelt of the
young girl’s sweet scent. Sauntering down the dark,
midnight streets, he slipped the scarf calmly beneath his
jacket’s zip. He contemplated disposing of his slim, steel
blade, but the trusty tool had served him excellently again.

The pure adrenaline rush he received after each use was addictive –
if not more addictive – than a line of premium quality cocaine. He
could still smell the aromatic scent of blood wafting from his
previous victim and the surge of electrifying power he felt after each
encounter.

A pure adrenaline rush overwhelmed him with the surge of

electrifying power he felt after each encounter, like first
love.

As the wondrous memories ran through his brain like a high-speed

train, he found himself at the door. Opening it furtively, he went
inside and collected his scant belongings. She would be found in a
few hours and by then he would be long gone.

***

His mind strobed ecstatic images, a magic lantern in his

skull. He found himself at the door. Inside he collected his
scant belongings. She would be found in a few hours and by
then he would be long gone.

***

The squeals and shouts of the fairgoers permeated the balmy

evening. It was Rosie's 13th birthday and the first day of the
summer holidays: six long weeks of glorious freedom stretched
interminably out in front of her. For the first time, her parents had let
her out on her own at night with her mates, and she was having
such a fun time. Admittedly, the fun had been helped by the large
bottle of vodka her friends had persuaded her to steal stealthily from
her parents’ cabinet.

The squeals and shouts of the fairgoers permeated the

balmy evening. It was Rosie's 13th birthday and the first
day of the summer holidays: six long weeks of glorious
freedom stretched interminably out in front of her. For the
first time, her parents had let her out on her own at night
with her mates, and she was having such a fun time.
Admittedly, the fun had been helped by the large bottle of
vodka her friends had persuaded her to steal from her
parents’ cabinet.

Taking a quick swig of the vodka, Rosie felt a warm, fuzzy feeling
suffusing through her body after the warm, tantalising liquid had
trickled down her throat. Giggling, she passed the bottle on to her
friends and joined them in the long, serpentine queue for the
waltzers. ***

Taking a quick swig of the vodka, Rosie felt a warm, fuzzy

feeling suffusing through her body after the warm,
tantalising liquid had trickled down her throat. Giggling, she
passed the bottle on to her friends and joined them in the
long, serpentine queue for the waltzers.

***

He was prowling through the fields behind the fair when the fizzing
lights and childish laughter drew him in, like a moth entranced by
lurid light. The air was rich with pungent spice and the intoxicating
smell of diesel oil and brandy snap. Warm and sugared fear coated
the children's faces as their feigned screams splintered through the
air like exploding dynamite.

He was prowling through the fields behind the fair when the
fizzing lights and childish laughter drew him in, like a lurid
penny dreadful. The air was rich with pungent spice and the
intoxicating smell of diesel oil and brandy snap. Warm and
sugared fear coated the children's faces as their feigned
screams splintered the crackling air.

Moving closer towards the rides, he saw her: the young girl from
Wycross Road. He had spent weeks now heading down the street,
hoping to catch a glimpse of her silken, alabaster skin through the
half-closed curtains of her bedroom window. Now, he couldn't
believe his sheer good luck; she was quite clearly inebriated, and
this was clearly the opportunity he had been waiting for.

***

Suddenly he saw her: the young girl from Wycross Road. He

had spent weeks now heading down the street, hoping to
catch a glimpse of her silken, alabaster skin through the
half-closed curtains of her bedroom window. Now, he
couldn't believe his sheer good luck; she was quite clearly
inebriated, stumbling over her smudged innocence,
shrieking with abandon.

***

The waltzers, although excellent fun at the time, had made Rosie
feel extremely queasy and her white, porcelain skin had turned a
putrid shade. Stumbling off the ride breathlessly, Rosie was the first
victim for a game of hide and seek. Although her whole world was
still spinning furiously from the ride, her friends tied her oversized
scarf around her eyes, spun her again, and ran off squealing,
shouting "count to 20… Then find us if you can!"

The waltzers had made Rosie queasy and her white,

porcelain skin had turned a putrid shade. Stumbling off the
ride, Rosie became the first victim for a game of hide and
seek. While her whole world was still spinning furiously
from the ride, her friends tied her oversized scarf around her
eyes, spun her again, and ran off squealing, shouting "count
to 20… Then find us if you can!"

Rosie never found her friends. Before she had even counted to 5,
she crumbled like dust into a tangled heap on the muddy ground,
hidden from view.

***

Rosie never found her friends. Before she had even counted
to 5, she crumpled like discarded clothes, and her head
lolled as her porcelain cheek began to pitch to the muddy
ground. A gentle hand caught her like china.

***

Hours later she would be found, soiled and crumpled, like a fallen
glove, with a scarf missing and her head battered to a pulp.

Hours later she would be found, soiled and crumpled, like a

fallen glove, her scarf missing and her eyes glazed with
fireworks from the fair.

What to learn from this story:

Less is more! When we write a first draft, we tend to
overdo the descriptive techniques. (I’ve had a purge on
adverbs).
Remember to let the reader add up two plus two.
The dual narrative is the ultimate way of using contrast,
as you switch from one point of view to another. Notice
how the ending uses the gentle actions of the killer – a
contrast.
See how ‘porcelain’ becomes a motif, with ‘china’.
Even though someone dies, and breaks my golden rule,
we never see it. Two plus two.
 In the first draft we do picture the murder from the
description of the victim – her head is bashed in. In the
redraft we are made to infer. The missing scarf suggests
she was strangled. So does the gentle hand which did not
want to smash the china.

This section is not a bonus feature. It is fundamental. If you don’t

know these terms perfectly, you won’t get a grade 7 or above.

Learn them!

Glossary of Terms

Simile: where you use the word “like” or “as” to make a

comparison, describing why one thing is like another.
His smile was like honey, sweet, alluring, promising a
lifetime of plenty.
The moment passed, like a rescue ship, and she was left
alone, all alone, the sole survivor of the wreck of her
marriage.
The snake was as beautiful as a well told lie. It waited for
the gullible dog.

Metaphor: where you make a comparison, by saying one thing is,

or was something else.
The moment passed, like a rescue ship, and she was left
alone, all alone, the sole survivor of the wreck of her
marriage.
The music played silver notes, and the singers voice was a
diamond, a gift of love.
Summer blazed in the wood, colour exploding up the tree
trunks, licking the branches with warmth.

Personification: where you use a simile or, more often, a

metaphor to describe something that is not human, with
characteristics which are human – like a person.
 The inscrutable police car sat motionless as a judge
weighing up a death sentence.
The sword quivered with joy, ready to punch, slash and
stab.
The TV winked open its giant eye, inviting me to get lost
within.

Alliteration: where the sounds of consonants are the same in

words that are close together. Usually, but not exclusively, the
sounds will be at the beginning of words.
Creeping carefully, the dog tracked the scent of my
cooking, and pounced as I poured the gravy.
“Forget the phone, you fool, it’s bugged, and we’re so
busted.”
“It’s not a party, it’s a get together,” complained Candace,
while Phineas and Ferb laughed loud and long.

Sibilance: alliteration of the ‘S’ sound.

The moment passed, like a rescue ship, and she was left
alone, all alone, the sole survivor of the wreck of her
marriage.
Soft waves swept the shore, and the sand whispered like
a waking lover.
The pen scratched and scribbled, never stopping to make
sense.

Onomatopoeia: words which recreate sounds. Usually they are

spelt in such a way that they sound like the sounds they are
describing. Note that alliteration can have an onomatopoeic effect.
Soft waves swept the shore, and the sand whispered like
a waking lover.
The pen scratched and scribbled, never stopping to make
sense.
The sword quivered with joy, ready to punch, slash and
stab.
Imagery: uses descriptive features like those listed above to
recreate one or more of the senses. Don’t just think of it as visual,
but also sound, smell, taste, texture.
The blue sky was bright with hope.
The bed fought back, each lump in the mattress was a
fist, both pillows slick with sweat like a boxer’s chest.
I stepped off the plane, tasted the heat of the sun, an
exotic spice to the main course of my holiday to come.

Symbolism: something that stands for or represents something

else, often an idea.

In Little Red Riding Hood, her name is symbolic of sexual

experience, the Wolf is symbolic of male sexual desire which is
portrayed as destructive. The mother’s instruction to stay on the
path is symbolic of following society’s rules, and in particular
preserving Little Red Riding Hood’s virginity. The woodcutter who
kills the wolf is symbolic of either the father’s protection, or the
finding of a true partner, depending on how you want to read the
story. Now, you might not read the story this way at all, which is
fine. However, you will need to provide your own symbolic
interpretation – deal with the symbolism and you will ace grade 7
and beyond.

Contrast: two things that are put close together in order to

emphasise the difference between them.
The parental expectation that Jack is a useless son who
has reduced them to poverty when selling their cow for
beans, is contrasted with the resolution where the
courageous, resourceful and lucky Jack raises the family
to riches.
The fate of the first two pigs, who built their houses
quickly, is contrasted with the fate of the younger but
wiser pig who builds his house of bricks.
 The warmth and promise of spring is contrasted with the
melancholy and cold of winter.

Juxtaposition: two things that are put close together in order to

emphasise the difference between them.
“Give us a pound, mister,” said the beggar, scrolling
through the internet on his phone.
The mother, tortured with pain, now smiled beatifically,
while the baby, newly released, screamed incessantly.

•While the battle raged, the generals sat behind the front lines,
drinking beers and stuffing three course meals.

Repetition: repeating a word, phrase, or idea. This can be done to

emphasise, to create a rhythm or tone, or to reveal a contrast or
comparison.

Register: In linguistics, a register is a variety of a language used

for a particular purpose or in a particular setting.

What words give this the register of colloquial, American teenage

language?
“(Candace runs out to the backyard, she stares in shock
upon seeing the
rollercoaster, along with horror music)
Candace: Phineas, what is this?!
Phineas: Do you like it?
Candace: Ooh, I'm gonna tell Mom, and when she sees
what you're doing, you are going down. (runs off) Down!
Down! Down! D-O-W-N, down!”

Which words deal with the idea of writing a novel?

“In my mind, I continually entertain myself with fragments of
narrative, dialogue and plot twists but as soon as I’m in
front of a blank page, they evaporate. I feel stuck.
Sometimes I think I should give up, but I have convinced
 myself that if I can find a way to write more freely and
suppress my inner critic, I could finally finish that first draft.”

Allusion: is a brief and indirect reference to a person, place, thing

or idea of historical, cultural, literary or political significance. It
therefore depends on the reader being well read.
Jose Mourinho attacks the game like a man who has been
told that no man born of woman can ever defeat him.
Unfortunately, it may be that Pep Guardiola was born by
caesarean section. (Check out Macbeth for the allusion).
Donald Trump loves ice cream. Forget Ben and Jerry’s, he
only likes Walls. (Ask a Mexican for the allusion)
2B or not 2B? Picasso picked up his pencil and wondered
whether to paint or write a play. (You need to know
something about Hamlet and the names of pencils for the
allusions)

Reference: to mention or allude to something.

Synaesthesia: a figurative use of words that intends to draw out a

response from readers stimulating more than one of the senses.

From The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: “The lights grow

brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun, and now the
orchestra is playing yellow cocktail music, and the opera of voices
pitches a higher key.” Here the colour yellow invites us to imagine a
happy sound to the music.

From Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband: “I believe they have got a

mauve Hungarian band that plays mauve Hungarian music.” The
music sounds dull and tuneless, as mauve is a dull and muted form
of purple.

In Red, by Taylor Swift, “Losing him was blue like I’d never
known//Missing him was dark grey all alone.” The colours reflect the
singer’s emotions. “Loving him was red.” See – Little Red Riding
Hood lives on!

You need to practise using all these words accurately. Then you need
to practise memorizing them, so that you don’t have to think about
them – they need to be on the tip of your tongue, and on the tip of
your pen in the exam.