MODULE C

S. Plath, "A Comparison"

P. Keating, “Speech at the Funeral

Service of the Unknown Soldier”

M. Lucashenko, "Dreamers"
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Ray Bradbury, “The Pedestrian”
 Writing is a powerful tool to reflect upon, and reveal, aspects of our own lives
and experiences. When we explore the ways that composers represent their
lives in personal and public contexts we can use these texts as models for
experimentation with our own compositions.

In this module, you will strengthen and extend your knowledge, skills and confidence as writers. You will write for
a range of authentic audiences and purposes to convey ideas with power and increasing precision.

You will appreciate, examine and analyse at least two challenging short, prescribed texts as well as texts from your
own wide reading, as models and stimulus for the development of your own ideas and written expression.
You will examine how writers of complex texts use language creatively and imaginatively for a range of
purposes, to describe the world around you, evoke emotion, shape a perspective or to share a vision.

Through the study of texts drawn from enduring, quality texts of the past as well as from recognised
contemporary works, you will appreciate, analyse and assess the importance and power of language.
Through a considered appraisal of, and imaginative engagement with these texts, you will reflect on the complex
and recursive process of writing to further develop your ability to apply your knowledge of textual forms and
features in your own sustained and cohesive compositions.

During the pre-writing stage, you will generate and explore ideas through discussion and speculations. Throughout
the stages of drafting and revising, students experiment with a range of language forms and features for example
imagery, rhetoric, voice, characterisation, point of view, dialogue and tone. You will consider purpose and
audience to carefully shape meaning. During the editing stages you will apply the conventions of syntax, spelling,
punctuation and grammar appropriately and effectively for publication.

You will have opportunities to work independently and collaboratively to reflect, refine and strengthen your
own skills in producing crafted, imaginative, discursive, persuasive and informative texts.

Note: You may revisit prescribed texts from other modules to enhance your experiences of quality writing.

In your responses you will be assessed on how well you:

• craft language to address the demands of the question

• use language appropriate to audience, purpose and context to deliberately shapemeaning

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Breaking Down the Rubric
Monitoring:
Highlight key verbs and compare these to your other module rubrics. Make a list of what is the same and what is
different. Are there any high modal words?

Circle key terms and or x them if you understand them or they need clarification.

Summarising:
Rewrite the rubric in VIPS for the core ideas in each paragraph. In 1-2 sentences, explain what you have to
do for this module.

Breaking it down ....

Reflecting on the craft

of exceptional writing

Demonstrating your
own well-crafted writing
You will:

• Gain insight into how texts are complex, challenging and have enduring quality

• Understand HOW writers use language creatively and imaginatively to:

o Describe the world around them

o Evoke emotion

o Shape perspective

o Share a vision

• Appreciate (and TEE+EE!) the importance and power of language

• Produce your own highly crafted texts, including a focus on grammar and structure

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 Learning intention: How do we strengthen and extend our writing?

The Craft of Writing Skill Sets

Cohesion how to make sentences into strong paragraphs

Cohesion is a core element in all good writing, as it creates a logical flow. Put simply, each sentence in a cohesive
script builds on the previous sentence, to create an idea that is fully revealed.

Note the colour coding below and how each word or idea from the first sentence is repeated or referred to in the
following sentence.

Good paragraphs build on each other. They do this by explaining and connecting ideas. These ideas can be
defended with evidence from the text. Whether this is offered as a summary or as direct quotes there needs to
be a clear explanation of how the evidence connects to the text. In this way, the paragraph develops a strong
argument.

Structure the relationship or organization of the component parts of a work of art or literature

The structure of a text depends upon a coherent series of sentences and paragraphs that are grammatically
accurate. This means that each sentence must have a noun and a verb. Sometimes, a noun or verb may be
implied, rather than written, for dramatic effect, which adds to the linguistic diversity of a script, but for the most
part, it is essential to ensure that sentences make sense when they stand alone.

When structuring a sentence, it is vital to remember that a participle is not a verb. A participle is a verb that has
been transformed into an adjective, usually with the addition of the suffix “ing”. It refers to participation in the
action or state of the verb, in phrases such as “the burning candle”. In this example, “burning” is describing the
candle, not the action, so it is not a sentence. The idea is not finished. However, if you were to write: “The
burning candle provided a warm light in the room.”, the word, “burning” is a participle and the word “provided” is
the verb. Therefore, the sentence is grammatically accurate. A good rule of thumb is to watch out for the “ing”
words If you’re using one, make sure that you also have a verb in your sentence.

Voice There are two types of voice in literature. The first is grammatical and refers to the form of a verb
that indicates when a grammatical subject performs the action or is the receiver of the action.
When a sentence is written in the active voice, the subject performs the action; in the passive
voice, the subject receives the action.

The passive voice is created by using a form of the auxiliary verb “be” (be, am, is, are, was, were, being, been,
had, have etc.) followed by the past participle of the main verb. Put simply, in passive voice, the subject of the
sentence is not doing anything active. So in the sentence, ‘Mary was walking to the shops.’, the verb ‘was’ refers
to Mary’s existence, not an action. This means that the participle ‘walking’ and the verb ‘was’ each depend on the
other to provide meaning to the sentence. In essence, the verb informs us that Mary existed and the participle
informs us of an activity that Mary performed as part of her existence. However, in the sentence, ‘Mary walked to
the shops.’, there is no dependent relationship. The verb directly describes Mary’s activity – she walked.

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Literary Voice In literature, the second type of voice expresses the narrator or author’s emotions, attitude, tone
and point of view, through artful and well considered word choice and diction.

A voice may be formal or informal; serious or light-hearted; positive or negative; and so forth, reflecting the
feelings and perspectives of a persona. A text’s voice directly contributes to its tone and mood; allowing the
writer to create the desired effect.

A piece of literature’s voice is one of its most defining and important features and can completely change the way
a text is read and received. For example, a story could be told through a very positive narrator, then retold
through a very negative narrator. It’s the same story but the voice used affects our own reaction to the events
described. Likewise, you could have two different authors or narrators addressing the same subject—the voice
will vary depending on their feelings about that subject, which will in turn affect the way it is presented.

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There is a sentence for that!
For each example given below, write an example of your own crafting.

Complex sentence with an inner clause: a sentence with an embedded clause, which is surrounded
by commas (comma sandwich)

The sun, which had been absent for days, shone steadily in the sky.

The bus, which was empty, sped down the street.

The writer's aside a sentence with an embedded comment to the reader

The computer, as you know, is quite slow.

I think, to be honest, it will never work.

Parallelism: a literary device in which parts of the sentence are grammatically the same, or are similar in
construction. It can be a word, a phrase, or an entire sentence repeated.

The more he worried, the more he felt uncomfortable, the more he wanted to leave the room.

There was one item, so small, so unrecognisable, it didn't register.

Sentence with present participles a present participle is a word derived from a verb and used
as an adjective, usually by adding “ing” to the verb.

The road unspooled on and on, rising, falling, rising, turning, falling.

A laughing man is stronger than a suffering man.

Prepositions after a verb a word or group of words used before a noun, pronoun, or noun phrase to
show direction, time, place, location or spatial relationships

I look outside, down, away, beneath, near the dazzling presents under the table

She drove slowly down the track, enjoying the sight of dappled sunshine through the trees.

Two similes sentence An accumulation of imagery that enhances the tone of the piece

It could have been Esther's hair, as black as jet, as dark as the night.

It' s hard to describe how I felt - like an object no longer of use, like a parcel packed up in string and brown
paper.

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 Semi-colons: used in the middle of a sentence to connect two independent clauses

Spider-Man was in trouble; he was surrounded by his enemies.

I’m not fond of the colours of tiger lilies; moreover, they don’t smell very good.

Colons to clarify introduces an element that illustrates or amplifies the information that preceded the
colon, thus directing the reader to the information following it

A strange hint of something filled his nostrils and made his stomach lurch: it was blood.

There are three types of muscle in the body: cardiac, smooth, and skeletal.

Rule of Three: The three-verb sentence, used to create a tri-colon that enhances the tone

The monster pushed, crashed, smashed its way through.

Not, nor, nor sentences Creates a tri-colon that makes the statement more emphatic

Nobody, not the postman, nor the housekeeper, nor Jim himself knew how the letter got onto the doormat.

Participle openings: A participle phrase can start with a past participle (ending in “ed”) or a present
participle (ending in “ing”) and must be followed by a clause

Wracked with fear, Tommy crept slowly towards the door.

Peering over the top of his glasses, her tutor shook his head.

Adjectives at the start sentence Used to vary the structure and emphasise the aspect of the
narrative described by the adjectives

Cold and hungry, Martin waited for someone to take pity on him.

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 Learning intention: How do we develop skills in composing discursive texts?

A discursive text, according to NESA, is: a text whose primary focus is to explore an idea or a variety of
topics. These texts involve the discussion of ideals or opinions without the direct intention of persuading the
reader, listener or viewer to adopt any single point of view. Discursive texts can be humorous or serious in
tone and can have a formal or informal register.

Discursive texts include: Auto-biographies, Vlogs, TED Talks, feature articles, opinion articles and even reviews for
movies and restaurants can use characteristics of this form.

Detail Discursive
Purpose To discuss an idea or issue

Content May approach the topic from different points of view, or have a single focus
or opinion that draws on real life experiences and / or from wide reading

Audience Any or all depending on the topic/s

Register (level of language) Can be a mix of formal and informal (colloquial), or exclusively informal
It can sound like you're talking (conversational)

Style and tone Aim to engage through a structured argument , but the tone and style can
be friendly and more openly subjective

Use of pronouns Discursive texts usually use first person pronouns: “I think” and personal
anecdotes and perspectives

Use of evidence and examples Logos: statistics, examples, facts, anecdote

Structure Introduction, main body and conclusion should be used

Can begin with an anecdote, event or quote
End may be reflective or open-ended. Does not need to reiterate one point
of view

Paragraphing Paragraphs can vary in length

Does not need to have PEEL or STEEL

Spelling, punctuation and Punctuation can be used to create emphasis and emotion but should not be
grammar over-used – too many variations reduce the impact
Can have stylistic variations for effect

Language techniques Rhetorical questions

Repetition, including anaphora, parallelism etc.
Tricolon, truncation, accumulation
Hypophora: asking a series of questions and then answering them
SMARHOP (not all needed)

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 Learning intention: How can we reflect on the writing process to
SHOW we have refined and strengthened skills?

As part of your HSC studies, you are required to write at least one reflection statement to demonstrate your
learning. The Reflection Statement evaluates the process of composition and the product you have crafted. This
includes:

• an analysis and evaluation of the relationship between the prescribed text and your own work

o explain why you have chosen to emulate this particular composer.

• an explanation of the intended audience and purpose for which it was composed

• an analysis of the relationships between concept, structure, technical and language features

• an explanation of how your script is an extension of the skills, knowledge and understanding developed in
the Stage 6 English courses.

• an evaluation of the writing process and the realisation of the concept in the composition

The reflection must demonstrate that you have made considered language choices, based on your understanding
of how language is used to shape meaning. This means that you should discuss how the text you are emulation
affected you and why you then chose to do something similar with your own script.

Remember

• The reflection is about the development of your writing skills, not the content of either your text or the
emulated text.

• You must discuss the ideas that you have sought to convey and why you chose these concepts

• You must explain why the language choices you have made are appropriate to achieving your purpose

Features checklist:

 First person
 Evaluative language
 Explanation of purpose and effect
 Analysis of writing choices (TEE+EE)
 Specific links to the prescribed text

The Craft of Writing Reflection needs to SHOW:

 What you have learned or gained from your set texts and the rubric
 What you did as a result in your own writing

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How to Craft Your Reflection Statement
In your reflection you need to adopt the following structure, in order to explain:

Purpose

My [intention, purpose, goal, idea, objective] was to compose a [persuasive, imaginative, discursive, etc] script to
engage the audience by [evoking, creating, engaging, developing] a [tone, structure, voice, style] that
reflects_______________________________________________________________.

Through my engagement with [chosen text/author] from Module C, I have attempted to focus on [content, ideas,
form, features] in my writing.

Through this process, I was able to realise my [final idea/concept/ style] through the drafting processes which
enabled me to __________________________________________________________________

I have [attempted to, achieved] my goal to [extend, experiment, explore this] by ________

_____________________________ [Make a clear final link to the rubric to link back to the topic sentence].

HOW you achieved this [TEE+EE)

In structuring my piece, I utilised [overarching technique] throughout to [demonstrate, enhance, exhibit, convey,
establish, denote, persuade, show] __________________________________________________________

I also used [structure, paragraphs, sentences, syntax etc.] to [achieve, suggest, evince, establish]
_______________________________________________________________________________________

My piece [challenges, encourages, illustrates, satirises, explores, highlights etc.] ______________________ and is
effective because ________________________________________________________________

[Repeat with another TEE]

What you have learned

The most useful thing I have learned about writing from this module has been developed through my study of
[Chosen writer and text] I found this text ___________________________________________ [identify your
response to the text and what aspects of their writing you engaged with]. This has allowed me to develop my
[persuasive, discursive, creative writing skills] by extending my understanding of [Vocabulary, simile, metaphor,
pathetic fallacy etc.] By reading and attempting to emulate [composer’s name] I have enhanced my
understanding of how language is used to shape meaning.

Note: The above cloze passage is to be used as a guide only. You need to demonstrate the improvement in your
writing skills by writing your own reflection, in your own words.

Sub-headings should NOT be used in a reflection. They have been used here to provide guidance only on
what your paragraphs should contain.

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Sample Responses
The examples below received the highest mark possible in their HSC examination, Module C responses. They were
valued for their clarity of purpose in explaining their language choices. They also address the module directly,
through rubric language. Read them both carefully and pay particular attention to the structure of the response.

Question: Explain how your study of the craft of writing has enabled you to create an engaging piece
of writing. In your response, make detailed reference to your use of language in part (a)

Sample 1
Part B – Discursive Reflection – Errors in the original text have not been corrected

Craft of writing has enabled me to consider different writing styles and break away from stereotypical creatives.
The discursive text I have written discusses the nature of contemporary society, that the experience of being
human has been flooded with the toxicity of business and productivity, having a hold on the perceptions of
individuals.

The use of rhetoric is paramount in considering the lifestyle of contemporary society and contemplative of what
we as individuals contribute to the work force and consumerism. The use of rhetorical question, “what do you
think?... Does this seem normal to you?” are symbolic of the questionable society in which humanity has
developed, as it is damaging to ourselves and the environment, we surround ourselves with.

My use of intertextuality is also important to recognise as it has given allusions to other artists and poets to which
discuss similar concepts as I have in my discursive. The allusion to “colin st:5pm” gives a distinct image of a blithe
society in a modern context in Melbourne. The use of sepia represents the aged nature of society in stripping
away youth due to prioritisation of productivism. The facial expression of the men also represents the sadness
and lack of life found within the consumeristic modern world.

My use of sensory image and synthesia embodies society overwhelming all the sense , eliminating a sense of
control over what we perceive. For example, the olfactory sense is flooded by a distasteful smell of smoke, to
which is the fault of consumerism and urbanisation. The visceral imagery employed also creates a dull vista by
painting societies in ‘black’ and ‘grey’, furthered instilling the idea of life within society.

The use of informal register, “at least she is growing from a young age, right” and the use of first-person narration
and inclusive language allows the discursive to be conversational between the reader and writer inviting ideas to
be discussed.

MARKERS’ COMMENT

This response maintains a clear sense of purpose, reflecting with detail and relevance on how part (a) was crafted.
The opening statement addresses the module in an explicit manner which frames the rest of the response. It
makes reference to rhetoric, intertextuality, sensory imagery, synaesthesia, and register.

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Sample 2
Part B – Creative Reflection – Errors in the original text have not been corrected.

My imaginative story follows a young man in a coma remembering a place his father took him to. The motif of
urging in the story is inspired by the poem “An absolutely ordinary Rainbow” by Les Murray.

The poem is about a man crying in the streets and is a commentary on the expectations of men in society not to
cry . I use that commentary in a speech my character’s father gives. In my story however, the speech is positive
and relays the message that a man’s tears are special and should be cherished.

The motif of crying in my story is inspired by the poem as well as the idea of contagious crying whereas as my
characters younger self cries, so does he. Similarly, the idea of feeling ashamed for your tears is something Murry
shows to be wrong.

My story uses many metaphors such as, “I sink into the mattress of beeps.” I also use lots of truncated sentences
to allude to my character being a teenager as it is a common theme in younger people’s language to talk in
shorter sentences. The idea of the ice cream shop is inspired by a real memory of mine from childhood. I choose
to focus less on the direct conversation in the memory because I wanted to focus more on the lasting effects of
memories.

I use my language through to build up certain suspense so the audience can build an idea of what will happen but
still get a satisfying payoff. This is best show at the end of the second paragraph where I say, “Then we pass an
accident and I remember which memory this is. Which time I beg my brain to make it stop. I Brace myself.” The
truncated sentences help build suspense.

At times in the story, I talk about the world around the character. This builds a sense of wonder and beauty. This
something Murry did well in his poem. This is best shown when he talks about the people surround the man and
touching him.

The language I use helps build tension and desire to know what happens. It also builds a sense of wonder in the
world as these are memories experienced by a man in a coma. The story ends with the boys passing away and we
discover that the alley is his passage to heaven. Heaven for him is the memories with his dad.

MARKERS’ COMMENT

This response is an effective reflection inspired by a prescribed text. The response engages with the purposeful
stylistic features used to create realistic characters and narrative tension. The discussion of deliberate conceptual
choices, such as “focus more on the lasting effects of memory’, is sustained. Minor language lapses appear to be
editing errors and do not detract significantly from the overall responses.

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 Learning intention: How do we strengthen and extend our writing
throughthe engagement with quality texts?

Discursive and Persuasive Texts

Term 4, Weeks 9 – 10, Term 1, Week 10 – 11
In this sequence of learning, you will focus on the prescribed persuasive and discursive texts and explore how
meaning is shaped through the skilful application of language devices. You will then use these texts as models for
the development of your own ideas and written expression.

S. Plath, " A Comparison " [non-fiction]

Sylvia Plath was an American poet, novelist, and short story writer. She is credited
with advancing the genre of confessional poetry and is best known for two of her
published collections, The Colossus and Other Poems (1960) and Ariel (1965). Plath
was awarded a Pulitzer Prize in Poetry in 1982, making her the fourth to receive this
honour posthumously.

Born in Boston, Massachusetts, Plath graduated from Smith College in

Massachusetts and the University of Cambridge, England. She married fellow poet
Ted Hughes in 1956. Their relationship was tumultuous and, in her letters, Plath
alleges abuse at his hands. They had two children before separating in 1962. Plath
was clinically depressed for most of her adult life, and was treated multiple times with electroconvulsive therapy
(ECT). She killed herself in 1963.

P. Keating, Speech at the Funeral Service of the Unknown

Soldier [speech]
After lying in state in King's Hall in Old Parliament House, the
Unknown Australian Soldier was interred in the Hall of Memory on
11 November 1993. He was buried in a Tasmanian blackwood coffin,
on which were placed a bayonet and a sprig of wattle. Soil from the
Pozières battlefield was scattered in his tomb.

The Unknown Australian Soldier represents all Australians who have

been killed in war.

These texts are significant accounts of the universal experience,

whether it be a personal or collective, of resilience and finding one’s identity.

The emphasis will be on:

• Didactic texts
• Voice, perspective, point of view, focalisation and anecdote
• Symbolism, motif, extended metaphor, allegory, allusion
• Imaginative and persuasive language
• Structure, syntax and lexical chains

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Text 1:

A Comparison
Sylvia Plath

Essay, 1962

How I envy the novelist!

I imagine him – better say her, for it is the women I look to for a parallel – I imagine her,
then, pruning a rosebush with a large pair of shears, adjusting her spectacles, shuffling
about among the teacups, humming, arranging ashtrays or babies, absorbing a slant of
light, a fresh edge to the weather, and piercing, with a kind of modest, beautiful X-ray
vision, the psychic interiors of her neighbours – her neighbours on trains, in the dentist's
waiting room, in the corner teashop. To her, this fortunate one, what is there that isn't
relevant! Old shoes can be used, doorknobs, air letters, flannel nightgowns, cathedrals,
nail varnish, jet planes, rose arbours and budgerigars; little mannerisms – the sucking at
a tooth, the tugging at a hemline – any weird or warty or fine or despicable thing. Not to
mention emotions, motivations – those rumbling, thunderous shapes. Her business is
Time, the way it shoots forward, shunts back, blooms, decays and double-exposes itself.
Her business is people in Time. And she, it seems to me, has all the time in the world.
She can take a century if she likes, a generation, a whole summer.

I can take about a minute.

I'm not talking about epic poems. We all know how long they can take. I'm talking about
the smallish, unofficial garden-variety poem. How shall I describe it?— a door opens, a
door shuts. In between you have had a glimpse: a garden, a person, a rainstorm, a
dragonfly, a heart, a city. I think of those round glass Victorian paperweights which I
remember, yet can never find – a far cry from the plastic mass-productions which stud
the toy counters in Woolworth's. This sort of paperweight is a dear globe, self-complete,
very pure, with a forest or village or family group within it. You turn it upside down, then
back. It snows. Everything is changed in a minute. It will never be the same in there – not
the fir trees, nor the gables, nor the faces.

So a poem takes place.

And there is really so little room! So little time! The poet becomes an expert packer of
suitcases:

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet black bough.

There it is: the beginning and the end in one breath. How would the novelist manage
that? In a paragraph? In a page? Mixing it, perhaps, like paint, with a little water,
thinning it, spreading it out.

Now I am being smug, I am finding advantages.

If a poem is concentrated, a closed fist, then a novel is relaxed and expansive, an open

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 hand: it has roads, detours, destinations; a heart line, a head line; morals and money
come into it. Where the fist excludes and stuns, the open hand can touch and
encompass a great deal in its travels.

I have never put a toothbrush in a poem.

I do not like to think of all the things, familiar, useful and worthy things, I have never put
into a poem. I did, once, put a yew tree in. And that yew tree began, with astounding
egotism, to manage and order the whole affair. It was not a yew tree by a church on a
road past a house in a town where a certain woman lived... and so on, as it might have
been in a novel. Oh, no. It stood squarely in the middle of my poem, manipulating its
dark shades, the voices in the churchyard, the clouds, the birds, the tender melancholy
with which I contemplated it – everything! I couldn't subdue it. And, in the end, my
poem was a poem about a yew tree. That yew tree was just too proud to be a passing
black mark in a novel.

Perhaps I shall anger some poets by implying that the poem is proud. The poem, too,
can include everything, they will tell me. And with far more precision and power than
those baggy, dishevelled and indiscriminate creatures we call novels. Well, I concede
these poets their steam shovels and old trousers. I really don't think poems should be all
that chaste. I would, I think, even concede a toothbrush, if the poem was a real one. But
these apparitions, these poetical toothbrushes, are rare. And when they do arrive, they
are inclined, like my obstreperous yew tree, to think themselves singled out and rather
special.

Not so in novels.

There the toothbrush returns to its rack with beautiful promptitude and is forgot. Time
flows, eddies, meanders, and people have leisure to grow and alter before our eyes. The
rich junk of life bobs all about us: bureaus, thimbles, cats, the whole much-loved, well-
thumbed catalogue of the miscellaneous which the novelist wishes us to share. I do not
mean that there is no pattern, no discernment, no rigorous ordering here.

I am only suggesting that perhaps the pattern does not insist so much.

The door of the novel, like the door of the poem, also shuts.

But not so fast, nor with such manic, unanswerable finality.

Activities
1. Identify three examples of an aside and explain what they reveal about Plath’s thought patterns as she
muses about the art of writing.

2. Comment on the use of lexical chain. Why has Plath employed this device and what is the effect?

3. Comment on the use of exclamation marks and colons throughout the text. What is the effect?

4. How does Plath use language to create a reflective tone?

5. How does Plath represent her feelings about her own writing? Comment on the perspective she creates
and how this is achieved.

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Emulating the Text
Choose two techniques employed by the composer and provide a detailed explanation of why you found them
effective.

Technique 1:

Explanation:

Technique 2:

Explanation:

Now draft a discursive paragraph on a topic of your own choosing (not Plath’s topic) and use the same techniques
in your response to create a specific effect.

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Reflection on the Creation of Your Script
Use the instructions on page 10 to explain your choice of topic and your use of the two techniques employed by
the composer. Ensure that you provide a detailed explanation of why you found them effective in the composer’s
text and whether they were also effective in your text.

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Sample Script – Discursive
The sample shown below is an example of how previous students have responded to the Module C HSC writing
task by composing a discursive text. Students who achieved better marks were judged to have used the stimulus
in integrated and interesting ways, including metaphorically. They shaped the features of their chosen form
(discursive) to sustain the engagement of the reader, using a range of language and stylistic features. These
students demonstrated confident and sustained control of language and the effective use of voice.

The question to which they responded included the stimulus printed below:

Question: Create a piece of imaginative, discursive or persuasive writing that ENDS with the provided image.

Have you ever looked over the seemingly beautiful? What most would consider
ordinary? I think contemporary society has slowly taken over our perceptions of the awe
and wonder found within our world. What do you think? You have to admit, modern
society is strongly driven by the busyness and productivity which we consider to be
normal. What time do you wake up? How many breaks do you have from work? I heard
a young boy say, “Rise and grind” as his motto. He’s 15. This is what is driving our young
generation – productivity and the success we thrive upon. What happens if we aren’t
productive – we fail! Do you agree or disagree with the direction of contemporary
society?

I personally think that we need to all step back and reconsider. What do we reconsider,
you may think? The driving force of our society is busyness. Picture this … You’re walking
down Pitt Street Mall in Sydney. What do you see? You see the crowds of men and
women. Men dressed in dull grey suits, like those from ‘Collins Street 5pm’. Women
dressed in black pencil skirts, tights and pumps. What do you hear? You hear the
deafening sounds of the tram and calls being made, toxic sounds of a young girl singing,
mostly horrific but hey, at least she’s grinding from a young age, right? What do you
smell? Your senses are flooded with the smell of toxic smoke, coming from the buildings
– toxic consumerist society. Does this seem normal to you? Is this a place we want to
continue raising future generations in?
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 The world has been taken over by productivity and the busyness of society, like 24
poems, ‘grinding’. If cities look like this, what will our rural areas look like next? Will our
outback towns and deserted areas be taken over by futuristic machinery, grinding to
gain the money of society. That’s what it’s all about right? Money?

How about you escape the seemingly busyness of Sydney – down an alleyway, deserted,
no cars, no people, no phone. The walls are covered in graffiti in a rainbow hallway,
greens, blues, purples, orange. You see a girl on the wall – her eyes wide and bright. But
not from the glare of her phone, from Instagram or work emails. Her eyes are bright
from contemplation.

What do you think? Are you curious to view the world from her perspective? Away from
the world in which our eyes have been enclosed to the media and work. What have we
overlooked? I think it’s important to acknowledge our lifestyle. You may be like that 15-
year-old boy – ‘rise and grind’. I wonder what it would be like to step back. What will
you see next?

MARKERS’ COMMENT

This response is an engaging piece of writing which displays effective control of language. A clear understanding
of the discursive style is evident in the variety of rhetorical devices, such as ‘Have you ever looked over the
seemingly beautiful?’ it maintains confident control of voice, exemplified by ‘we fail!’ and demonstrates an
awareness of audience. It uses varied vocabulary and sentence structures and integrates the stimulus effectively.

Your Response

Consider the aspects of the text that stood out for you as you were reading. What does this tell you about the
stylistic choices you could be making in your own discursive text?

19
Text 2

Funeral Service of The Unknown Australian Soldier

Prime Minister Paul Keating
Speech, 11th November 1993

We do not know this Australian's name and we never will. We do not know his rank or his
battalion. We do not know where he was born, nor precisely how and when he died. We
do not know where in Australia he had made his home or when he left it for the
battlefields of Europe. We do not know his age or his circumstances – whether he was
from the city or the bush; what occupation he left to become a soldier; what religion, if
he had a religion; if he was married or single. We do not know who loved him or whom
he loved. If he had children we do not know who they are. His family is lost to us as he
was lost to them. We will never know who this Australian was.

Yet he has always been among those whom we have honoured. We know that he was one
of the 45,000 Australians who died on the Western Front. One of the 416,000 Australians
who volunteered for service in the First World War. One of the 324,000 Australians who
served overseas in that war and one of the 60,000 Australians who died on foreign soil.
One of the 100,000 Australians who have died in wars this century.

He is all of them. And he is one of us.

This Australia and the Australia he knew are like foreign countries. The tide of events since
he died has been so dramatic, so vast and all-consuming, a world has been created beyond
the reach of his imagination.

He may have been one of those who believed that the Great War would be an adventure
too grand to miss. He may have felt that he would never live down the shame of not going.
But the chances are he went for no other reason than that he believed it was his duty -
the duty he owed his country and his King.

Because the Great War was a mad, brutal, awful struggle, distinguished more often than
not by military and political incompetence; because the waste of human life was so
terrible that some said victory was scarcely discernible from defeat; and because the war
which was supposed to end all wars in fact sowed the seeds of a second, even more
terrible, war - we might think this Unknown Soldier died in vain.

But, in honouring our war dead, as we always have and as we do today, we declare that
this is not true.

For out of the war came a lesson which transcended the horror and tragedy and the
inexcusable folly.

It was a lesson about ordinary people – and the lesson was that they were not ordinary.

On all sides they were the heroes of that war; not the generals and the politicians but the
soldiers and sailors and nurses – those who taught us to endure hardship, to show
courage, to be bold as well as resilient, to believe in ourselves, to stick together.

The Unknown Australian Soldier we inter today was one of those who by his deeds proved
that real nobility and grandeur belong not to empires and nations but to the people on
20
 whom they, in the last resort, always depend.

That is surely at the heart of the ANZAC story, the Australian legend which emerged from
the war. It is a legend not of sweeping military victories so much as triumphs against the
odds, of courage and ingenuity in adversity. It is a legend of free and independent spirits
whose discipline derived less from military formalities and customs than from the bonds
of mateship and the demands of necessity.

It is a democratic tradition, the tradition in which Australians have gone to war ever since.

This Unknown Australian is not interred here to glorify war over peace; or to assert a
soldier's character above a civilian's; or one race or one nation or one religion above
another; or men above women; or the war in which he fought and died above any other
war; or of one generation above any that has or will come later.

The Unknown Soldier honours the memory of all those men and women who laid down
their lives for Australia.

His tomb is a reminder of what we have lost in war and what we have gained.

We have lost more than 100,000 lives, and with them all their love of this country and all
their hope and energy.

We have gained a legend: a story of bravery and sacrifice and, with it, a deeper faith in
ourselves and our democracy, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be
Australian.

It is not too much to hope, therefore, that this Unknown Australian Soldier might continue
to serve his country - he might enshrine a nation's love of peace and remind us that in the
sacrifice of the men and women whose names are recorded here there is faith enough for
all of us.

Activities
1. Use a highlighter to identify examples of anaphora in the speech and explain their effect

2. Use a different highlighter to identify examples of accumulation and explain their effect

3. Use another highlighter to identify examples of parallelism and explain their effect

4. Identify three examples of high-modality language and explain their purpose

5. Identify an example of sibilance and explain its effect in the context of the sentence

6. Find three examples of antithesis and explain their effect

7. Comment on the effect of truncation in : “He is all of them. And he is one of us.”

21
Emulating the Text
Choose two techniques employed by the composer and provide a detailed explanation of why you found them
effective.

Technique 1:

Explanation:

Technique 2:

Explanation:

Now draft a persuasive paragraph on a topic of your own choosing (not Keating’s topic) and use the same
techniques in your response to create a specific effect.

22
Reflection on the Creation of Your Script
Use the instructions on page 10 to explain your choice of topic and your use of the two techniques employed by
the composer. Ensure that you provide a detailed explanation of why you found them effective in the composer’s
text and whether they were also effective in your text.

23
Sample Script – Persuasive
The sample shown below is an example of how previous students have responded to the Module C HSC writing
task by composing a persuasive text. Students who achieved better marks were judged to have used the stimulus
in integrated and interesting ways, including metaphorically. They shaped the features of their chosen form
(discursive) to sustain the engagement of the reader, using a range of language and stylistic features. These
students demonstrated confident and sustained control of language and the effective use of voice.

The question to which they responded included the stimulus printed below:

Question: Create a piece of imaginative, discursive or persuasive writing that ENDS with the provided image.

We live in a bubble. A colourful bubble. A wonderful world. Since birth, we have been
safe. This is proven by the fact that right now, everyone surrounding me is alive. No one
is physically mutilated, no one is fighting for their last breath. No one goes to sleep at
night with a worry that tomorrow may be their last. That their mother will be raped.
Their father executed.

We live in a bubble where school uniform is compulsory. Our children ride merry-go-
rounds, dive into colourful ball pits. Wait in lines for pink fairy-floss and cola-flavoured
chup-a-chup lollipops. We have markets. “Supermarkets” we call them. And super is
what they are. We have fresh fruit too. Tonnes of it. Our homes are warm when we
want them to be and at the click of a button, we can make them cool. We have seats to
sit on and tables to dive at. Beds to rest our heads on as we drift off into our dizziest
daydreams. We wake to the songs of birds for only in the movies do you wake to the
sound of warplanes and bombs. We have cars, trains, buses, planes! And if you feel a
slight cold coming along, a twinge, a cramp, a joint pain, then medical access is as easy
as saying please. Money her is abundant too. And whatever you have to say, whatever
you long to express, you can share in our world. Whoever it is that you love, you can
love.

But many do not live as we do. They live in a different bubble. A strange bubble. And
24
 theirs in not the subject of rumour, of fiction, not a tale. Their world is real. In their
world, school uniform isn’t something imposed, it is something they fight for. Their
children play in basements under warzones. Underground playgrounds. Their land of
childhood. First words, “shell” and “plane”. They have fresh fruit, but it will never taste
as sweet. Theirs will taste of savour and of hope. And when they close their eyes to rest
at night, they will dream of freedom. To wake to the songs of birds is quite something
for often they will wake to the screaming of death. Their waking sight, a half-formed
ghost.

But everything that we have accumulated in our great and prosperous bubble can assist
those who go to sleep at night with a worry that tomorrow may be their last.

Our intelligence, the education we have received, gives us unique status and unique
responsibility. The great majority of us belong to the world’s only remaining
superpower. How we live, how we vote, the pressure that we bring to bear on our
government has an impact way beyond our borders. It is a privilege and it is a burden.

We will live, we will survive. In our great bubble of prosperity and wonder. Our fresh
fruit will always be sweet. Out trains will keep running, our birds still chirping. We will
continue to say as we please and love our partners. Art will fill our streets and personal
expression will avoid suppression. But not in their bubble. Their fruit will remain the
flavour of hope, their streets and alleyways not the home of individual expression, of
murals and explosive colour, but of back-street bandits and brutality. Explosive bombs
and broken dreams.

MARKERS’ COMMENT

This response is a persuasive piece of writing that displays effective control of language, a sustained voice and
skilful selection of engaging ideas. The contrasting images of living in peace and war create empathy in the
audience by using the motif of a bubble. Inclusive language, such as ‘you’ and ‘our’ and ‘we will survive’,
demonstrates a purposeful awareness of the audience and the stylistic features of a persuasive text.

Your Response

Consider the aspects of the text that stood out for you as you were reading. What does this tell you about the
stylistic choices you could be making in your own persuasive text?

25
Imaginative Texts

Term 1, Weeks 10 – 11, Term 2, Weeks 9 – 10

In this learning sequence you will focus on the prescribed imaginative texts, through a considered and imaginative
engagement with the complex and recursive process of writing. You will use this process to apply your knowledge
of textual forms and features in your own sustained and cohesive compositions.

M. Lucashenko, "Dreamers" [short story]

Melissa Lucashenko is an Australian writer and recipient of the

1998 Dobbie Literary Award. She won the 2013 Deloitte
Queensland Literary Award for Fiction, the 2013 Walkley
Award for long feature writing and the 2014 Victorian Premier's
Award for Indigenous Writing.

Lucashenko’s text is primarily concerned with the unforgiving

nature of the Australian outback, which is reinforced by her
depiction of the racism experienced by Indigenous peoples.
She affirms the hardship suffered by those who call the outback
home, as despite their best intentions, they are trapped by the
obstacles that exist within it.

Ray Bradbury, “The Pedestrian” [short story]

Ray Bradbury was an American author and screenwriter. One of the

most celebrated 20th-century American writers, he worked in a
variety of modes, including fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery,
and realistic fiction.

Bradbury wrote many works and is widely known by the general

public for his novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) and his short-story
collections. Most of his best known work is speculative fiction, but
he also worked in other genres, such as the coming of age novel
Dandelion Wine (1957) and the fictionalized memoir Green
Shadows, White Whale (1992). He also wrote and consulted on screenplays and television scripts, including Moby
Dick and It Came from Outer Space. Many of his works were adapted into television and film productions as well
as comic books.

The New York Times called Bradbury "the writer most responsible for bringing modern science fiction into the
literary mainstream.

26
Text 3:

Dreamers
Melissa Lucashenko,
from The Near and the Far: newstories from the Asia-Pacific region, 2016

'Gimme an axe.'
The woman blurted this order across the formica counter. When the shopkeeper turned
and saw her brimming eyes he took a hasty step backwards. His rancid half-smile, insincere
to begin with, vanished into the gloomy corners of the store. It was still very early. Outside,
tucked beneath a ragged hibiscus bush, a hen cawed a single, doubtful note. Inside was
nothing but this black girl and her highly irregular demand.
The woman's voice rose an octave.
'Give us a Kelly, Mister, quick. I got the fiver.'
She rubbed a grubby brown forearm across her wet eyes. Dollars right there in her hand,
and still the man stood, steepling his fingers in front of his chest.
It was 1969.Twoyears earlier there had been a referendum. Vote Yes for Aborigines. Now
nobody could stop blacks going where they liked. But this just waltzing in like she owned
the place, mind you. No please, no could I. And an axe was a man's business. Nothing good
could come of any Abo girl holding an axe.
The woman ignored the wetness rolling down her cheeks.
She laid her notes on the counter, smoothed them out. Nothing wrong with them dollars.
Nothin' at all. She pressed her palms hard onto the bench.
'Are. You. Deaf?'
'Ah. Thing is. Can't put my hand to one just at the ah. But why not ah come back later ah.
Once you've had a chance to ah.'
The woman snorted. She had had fifty-one years of coming back later. She pointed through
an open doorway to the dozen shining axes tilted against the back wall. On its way to
illuminate these gleaming weapons, her index finger silently cursed the man, his formica
counter, his cawing hen, his come back later, his ah, his doorway, and every Dugai who had
ever stood where she stood, ignorant of the jostling bones beneath their feet.
Her infuriated hiss sent him reeling.
'Sell me one of them good Kellys, or truesgod Mister I dunno what I'll do.'
As twenty-year-old Jean got off the bus, she rehearsed her lines. 'I'm strong as strong. Do
a man's eight hours in the paddock if need be. Giss a chance, missus.'
When Jean reached the dusty front yard of the farm on Crabbes Creek Road and saw the
swell of May's stomach, hard and round as a melon beneath her faded cotton dress, she
knew that she couldn't work here. When May straightened, smiling, from the wash basket,
though, and mumbled through the wooden pegs held in her teeth Jean? Oh thank God
you're here, she thought that perhaps she could.
Ted inched up the driveway that afternoon in a heaving Holden sedan. Shy and gaunt, he
was as reluctant to meet Jean’s eye as she was to meet his. ‘This white man would not be
27
 turning her door handle at midnight. She decided to stay for a bit. If the baby came out a
girl she would just keep going, and anyway, maybe it would be a boy.
The wireless in the kitchen said the Japanese were on the back foot in New Guinea but
from Crabbes Creek the war seemed unlikely and very far away. What was real was endless
green paddocks stretching to where the scrub began, and after that the ridge of the Border
Range, soaring to cleave the Western sky. The hundred-year-old ghost gums along the
creek, the lowing of the cows at dawn: these things were real. A tame grey lizard came to
breakfast on the verandah, and occasionally Jean would glimpse the wedgetails wheeling
far above the mountain, tiny smudges halfway to the sun. May had seen both eagles on
the road once, after a loose heifer had got itself killed by the milk truck. You couldn't
fathom the hugeness of them, and the magnificent curve of their talons, lancing into the
unfortunate Hereford's flank.
Jean fell into a routine of cleaning, cooking, helping May in the garden, and sitting by the
wireless at night until Ted began to snore or May said ah well. Of a morning, as she stoked
the fire and then went out with an icy steel bucket to milk the bellowing Queenie, Jean
would hear May retching and spewing in the thunderbox. One day, two months after she
first arrived, there was blood on the marital sheets. Jean stripped the bed and ordered
May to lie back down on clean linen. Then she took Ted’s gun off the wall and shot a young
roo from the mob which considered the golden creek flats their own particular kingdom.
A life to save another life. Jean made broth from the roo tail. And you can just lie there 'til
it's your time, she said crisply. It's not like I can't manage that little patch of weedy nothing
you like to call a garden.
The life inside May fought hard to hang on. Her vomiting eased, and as the weeks passed
the terror slowly left her face. When her time drew very near, an obvious question
occurred to May. Didn't Jean want children of her own? A husband?
Not really, said Jean, and who would I marry anyway, and is that Ted home already.
May ignored the possibility of Ted. The war will be over soon, there'll be lots of blokes
running about the place. You said you like babies.
Yes, Jean said, expressionless. Other people's babies. Now lie flat, or I'll never hear the end
of it from Himself.
You mean from you, laughed May, for the doctor had said the danger was past. Baby kicked
happily now whenever it heard Ted's voice coming up the stairs.
The next week, Ted drove his wife into Murwillumbah at speed, churning dust and scaring
fowl all the way to the hospital. They returned three days later with a squalling bundle on
the backseat. Jean held her breath, waiting to discover if she could stay.
We called him Eric, Ted told the water tank proudly. After me old dad.
Eric, repeated Jean, reaching down to stroke a tiny pink cheek.
Later May reported the doctor's verdict: make the most of this one, because there would
be no more babies for her.
Eric was a plump, laughing baby, and then an adored toddler, always wandering, always in
the pots and pans.
Come to jean-Jean, she would cry, and Eric would ball his little fists and hurtle joyfully into
her, clutching at her shins. She lifted him high in the air, both of them squealing with
delight, until May came out laughing too, and demanded her turn. If the child cried in the
28
night, it didn't matter to him who arrived to comfort him. Eric was at home in the world,
because the world had shown him only love and tenderness.
'If it wasn't for the fact that I feed him, ‘May said casually, tucking herself back into her
blouse one day, I don't think he'd know that I'm his mother, and not you.'
‘Oh, he does!' protested Jean, feeling a sudden thread of fear unspooling in her gut. 'And
he's the spit of you, anyway. What would he want with a mother like me?'
May glanced at Jean's brown face, her black eyes and matchstick limbs.
'You're not all that dark. You're more like Gina Lollobrigida, ‘she said generously. 'Exotic.
Plenty of men would want you for a wife.
'But would I want them?' Jean retorted, a question that had never occurred to May.
After that, Jean held the boy a little less when his mother was around. She let May go to
him at night, and was careful to be outside more often helping Ted in the paddock when
Eric needed his afternoon bath. May thought they were pals, but Jean knew she could be
flung away from the farm with one brief word, catapulted back to the Mission even, if she
couldn't scrape a better life up out of her own effort and wits.
May confessed tearfully one day that she had briefly allowed Eric -now struggling on her
lap to regain his lost freedom to stray into the Big Paddock. 'I actually felt my heart stop.
I never knew you could love anyone so much.'
But I did, thought Jean, with a pang so fierce it made her gasp.
'He's a terror for wandering, all right. Pity we can't bell him like Queenie,' was what she
finally managed.
May caught the bus to town and returned with a tinkling ribbon which had had six tiny
silver bells sewn onto it by kind Mrs O’Connell. With the ribbon pinned between his
shoulder blades, Eric could be heard all over the house and yard, a blue cattle bitch lurking
by his side as constant as a shadow.
The second time Eric got himself lost, he was gone half an hour. They finally found him
playing in the mud on the far side of the duck house, three strides from the dam, the ribbon
torn off by the wire around the vegie patch. The women, who had each thought that the
other was watching Eric, quietly resolved to say nothing to Ted. That night Jean woke the
household screaming that a black snake had got in and bitten the baby­ but it was only a
bad dream.
It was the barking that alerted them to Eric's third disappearance, a few weeks later.
Peeling spuds on the verandah, Jean became aware of the dog's frenzied yelps, and
realised that she hadn't heard Eric's bell for a minute or more. She rocketed to her feet,
sending spuds all over the silky-oak floorboards, and ran blindly to the yard where the
dog was circling in agitation. Jean and May circumnavigated the house, then the
paddocks, with no result. Eric would not be found. A search party fanned out, desperate
for clues. Here the boy had scratched at the damp creek bank with a twig from the
largest gum. Here he had uprooted one of Queenie's dry pats, to discover what crawling
treasures lay beneath. But the signs petered out where the pasture of the Big Paddock
turned into scrubby foothills, and nothing was revealed - not that day, nor the next, nor
in the awful weeks that followed - that could bring Eric back to them. The boy had quite
simply vanished.
Nobody could fathom why Ted and May kept the dark girl on. But who else would
29
 understand why Ted could never go straight to the Big Paddock in the mornings anymore,
and took the long way past the dam instead? Who else shared May's memory of Eric tilting
his head to eat his porridge? The high tinkling bell-note of a king parrot's call made Jean
catch May's eye, and neither of them had to say a word. And so the terrible thing which
would have driven any other three people far apart instead bound them together.
In spring, Ted planted a silky oak sapling between the house and the gate. At its foot lay
an engraved granite boulder. May took to sitting beside Eric's rock at odd hours of the day
and night, gazing past the ghost gums, searching the distant hills.
When the wet season arrived they sat, waiting to see what would wash down to them
from the forested gullies. But the foaming brown floodwaters of the creek revealed as little
as the search parties. Their vigil, like all of Ted's endless Sunday tramping, scouring the
hills, was in vain.
Queenie still lowed at dawn, demanding to be milked. The eagles still wheeled over the
ridge. The tame grey lizard still came for crumbs in the morning. Jean ventured our from
the house more than before; she learned from Ted how to rope and brand calves, and then
to jerkily drive the cattle truck into town. Good as any man with stock, he told her boots.
Nobody blamed her; nobody asked her to leave.
Perhaps, Jean reflected wryly, after three more summers had passed, perhaps May was a
friend, after all.
It was two decades, and a new war in Korea come and gone, before the government letter
arrived. It has bun determined by our engineering division. Ted looked up from the Big
Paddock at the hills to be sliced in half by the new highway. May began slamming doors.
Soon bulldozers arrived, and men with dynamite. Ted scratched at his scalp. The jungled
ridge belonged to the memory of Eric, not to the government.
Bur then what if they turned something up. Hard to know what to think, really.
When the first young protestors came to the door, Ted walked away, but May dried her
hands on a tea towel and listened. Don't bother the stock, she told them, and shut them
bloody gates. A village of yurts and Kombis sprang up near the creek.
Jean and Ted shook their heads. Girls in muslin dresses staggered up to the house,
sunburnt, dehydrated, bitten by spiders. The trees are our brothers, Jean was informed by
a boy who needed a lift to hospital the next day, concussed by a falling limb. A jolly fellow
with an earring fell into the campfire and burned half his face off. At month's end, the
remnant kernel of protesters tried, and failed, to scale the largest of the gum trees to stage
a sit-in in its canopy.
It wasn't ultimately clear to the district who should bear· the blame for the inferno. Most
said the protestors, obviously, for lighting campfires in the first place, or May for allowing
the city-bred fools on the place. Some blamed the cop who had deliberately kicked coals
towards nylon tents, determined that the hippies be driven out. A few even blamed Ted
for failing to maintain his rutted driveway better, so that the fire truck couldn't get to the
paddock in time.
After the sirens had faded, and the night was at an end the firefighters had picked up all
their tools and taken them home, and the Kombis had pulled away from the charred
ground; in disgrace - Ted, May, and Jean slumped on the verandah, filthy and almost too
tired for sleep. A profound silence fell upon the farm. No stock remained alive to bellow.
The only sound was the faint shushing of a light breeze through the few pathetic trunks
30
 still standing in the blackened smear that had been the Big Paddock. That, and a strange
high tinkling from beyond the creek.
Bone-weary, Jean and May stared at each other. Then they ran, flinging great black clouds
of ash in their wake. They forded the creek and ploughed their way through the fire-
thinned scrub, until at last they stood below an enormous tallowwood, halfway up the
mountain. It was a tree Ted knew; he had eaten a sandwich beneath it more than once on
his Sunday treks. The fire had reached it, licked its trunk, caused it to shudder and tremble,
but not to fall.
'There.'
Jean pointed up. Ted and May craned their necks, squinting in the first faint streak of dawn
light. What tinkled above them was a narrow thread, dislodged from its resting place by
the force of the fire, and spinning now in the breeze which blew across the empty paddock.
The merest ghost of a belled ribbon, it had been wedged tight in the eagle's nest for thirty
years.
Get me an axe, thought Jean.
This story was born from experiences in the Scenic Rim of South­East Queensland and grew
to fruition in the very different setting of Penang, where I was lucky enough to be on a
WrlCE residency in 2015.
Surround ed by the sights and smells of Chinese-Malay George Town, good -luck
firecrackers making a noisy soundscape to work within, I drew upon a local Queensland
incident where a young woman disappeared, presumed murdered, in the high peaks of
the Border Ranges. Her body has never been found; when I lived in the Scenic Rim, we
always used to wonder what the summer floods might bring down off the mountains. I
ended up setting the story in a slightly different region, on the New South Wales side of
those mountains, in homage to Crabbes Creek, an area I love and have spent some time in
over the years. I incorporated the image of a wandering boy wearing a bell - in reality,
something that was pinned to my brother as a child, him being a great wanderer. This story
shows what can come out when there are absolutely no parameters to work within - no
theme was set, no length prescribed. I just had to produce something to share with a mob
of mostly unknown (to me) Asian and Australian writers. I didn't know this story was
waiting within me until I sat down in George Town. And that's always the best way to find
something truly original
Melissa Lucashenko

Activities
1. Consider Lucaschenko’s use of colloquial language and its effect on characterisation

2. Use a highlighter to identify examples of pathetic fallacy

3. How does Lucaschenko convey two distinct cultural paradigms and their effect on individual characters?

31
Emulating the Text
Choose two techniques employed by the composer and provide a detailed explanation of why you found them
effective.

Technique 1:

Explanation:

Technique 2:

Explanation:

Now draft an imaginative paragraph that describes a setting of your own choosing and use the same techniques in
your response to create a specific effect.

32
Reflection on the Creation of Your Script
Use the instructions on page 10 to explain your choice of topic and your use of the two techniques employed by
the composer. Ensure that you provide a detailed explanation of why you found them effective in the composer’s
text and whether they were also effective in your text.

33
Sample Script – Imaginative
The sample shown below is an example of how previous students have responded to the Module C HSC writing
task by composing a discursive text. Students who achieved better marks were judged to have used the stimulus
in integrated and interesting ways, including metaphorically. They shaped the features of their chosen form
(discursive) to sustain the engagement of the reader, using a range of language and stylistic features. These
students demonstrated confident and sustained control of language and the effective use of voice.

The question to which they responded included the stimulus printed below:

Question: Create a piece of imaginative, discursive or persuasive writing that ENDS with the provided image.

There is a place my father used to take me. I remember driving with him in his old work
van. Rusty tools rattled in the back. He used to drum on his steering wheel while he
drove. My bed shakes a little and I’m instantly taken back. I hear a car honk and I’m
there. It’s on e of those memories your brain begs you to relive. I’m scared of what
might happen if I do what it wants and let go of reality. I give in, and suddenly I’m back.

The van bounces as we hit a pothole. I hear Dad swear. He hates the council. He turns to
me and makes me promise not to tell Mum what he said. I promise. All is quiet. I’m
happy. Then we pass an accident and I remember which memory this is. Which time I
beg my brain to make it stop. I brace myself.

“Dad,” I say quietly. “What’s a divorce?”

I cringe, hearing myself say those words. I was so young. Dad tells me everything. When
I tell him I learnt it from Mum he has no choice but to tell me. I watch my little heart
break all over again. I watch from the back seat as a tear rolls down the younger me’s
cheek. Then I feel a tear roll down mine. Dad pulls over and I realise. I don’t remember
this part. He tells me a story. When he was young, he broke his arm.

His father said to him, “Son, a man’s tears are special. They’re full of magic. But if a man
cries too much, he runs out of magic. So buddy, you shouldn’t cry. Or your magic

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 leaves.”

I watch my father hug me. He starts up the car again and we drive. It’s silent. It’s the bird
of silence that crushes your soul. The silence rings in my ears. We keep going until we
are finally at the alley leading to the ice-cream place. I watch as he puts me on his
shoulders. I go to follow but I hear a beep and my body is pulled back. I’m playing tug-of-
war with the beeps but I’m too weak.

Suddenly, I’m back. Darkness again. And voices. But there are more voices than normal. I
hear a doctor say, “He’s going to a better place.” My mother cries. I hear beeps starting
to fade. These ones are softer. I sink into the mattress of beeps. “I wonder what he
says." My mother’s voice catches in her throat. Fading. Everything fades. The last thing I
hear is my father. He lets his magic out.

My eyes open and I’m in the alley. Leaving the ice-cream places, surrounded by colour. I
see a face. It’s new. It’s my grandma. I remember this old picture of her. At the end of
the alley my Dad’s van waits for me.

MARKERS’ COMMENT
This response is an engaging and powerfully evocative imaginative piece exploring memory and the present time.
A range of language devices and stylistic features has been used. The description of the relationships is poignant
and well-crafted, drawing parallels between the creaking van and the bed springs, allowing for seamless time
shifts. The exploration of the father in memory and near death is sensitive and controlled. For example, ‘The last
thing I hear is my father. He lets his magic out.’ The stimulus is incorporated throughout with the image of the
father’s work van.

Your Response

Consider the aspects of the text that stood out for you as you were reading. What does this tell you about the
stylistic choices you could be making in your own imaginative text?

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Text 4:

Text 5

The Pedestrian (1951)

Ray Bradbury

To enter out into that silence that was the city at eight o'clock of a misty evening in
November, to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to step over grassy seams
and make your way, hands in pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr. Leonard auditory imagery
Mead most dearly loved to do. He would stand upon the corner of an intersection and
Junxtaposition peer down long moonlit avenues of sidewalk in four directions, deciding which way to go,
but it really made no difference; he was alone in this world of A.D. 2053, or as good as
alone, and with a final decision made, a path selected, he would stride off, sending
patterns of frosty air before him like the smoke of a cigar.
Sometimes he would walk for hours and miles and return only at midnight to his house.
And on his way he would see the cottages and homes with their dark windows, and it was
not unequal to walking through a graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of firefly
light appeared in flickers behind the windows. Sudden gray phantoms seemed to manifest
upon inner room walls where a curtain was still undrawn against the night, or there were
whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomb- like building was still open.
Mr. Leonard Mead would pause, cock his head, listen, look, and march on, his feet making
no noise on the lumpy walk. For long ago he had wisely changed to sneakers when strolling
at night, because the dogs in intermittent squads would parallel his journey with barkings
if he wore hard heels, and lights might click on and faces appear and an entire street be
startled by the passing of a lone figure, himself, in the early November evening.
On this particular evening he began his journey in a westerly direction, toward the hidden
sea. There was a good crystal frost in the air; it cut the nose and made the lungs blaze like
a Christmas tree inside; you could feel the cold light going on and off, all the branches
filled with invisible snow. He listened to the faint push of his soft shoes through autumn
leaves with satisfaction, and whistled a cold quiet whistle between his teeth, occasionally
picking up a leaf as he passed, examining its skeletal pattern in the infrequent lamplights
as he went on, smelling its rusty smell.
"Hello, in there," he whispered to every house on every side as he moved. "What's up
tonight on Channel 4, Channel 7, Channel 9? Where are the cowboys rushing, and do I see
the United States Cavalry over the next hill to the rescue?"
The street was silent and long and empty, with only his shadow moving like the shadow
of a hawk in midcountry. If he closed his eyes and stood very still, frozen, he could imagine
himself upon the centre of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert with no house in a
thousand miles, and only dry riverbeds, the streets, for company.
"What is it now?" he asked the houses, noticing his wristwatch. "Eight-thirty P.M.? Time
for a dozen assorted murders? A quiz? A revue? A comedian falling off the stage?"
Was that a murmur of laughter from within a moon-white house? He hesitated, but went
on when nothing more happened. He stumbled over a particularly uneven section of
sidewalk. The cement was vanishing under flowers and grass. In ten years of walking by
night or day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not once
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in all that time.
He came to a cloverleaf intersection which stood silent where two main highways crossed
the town. During the day it was a thunderous surge of cars, the gas stations open, a great
insect rustling and a ceaseless jockeying for position as the scarab-beetles, a faint incense
puttering from their exhausts, skimmed homeward to the far directions. But now these
highways, too, were like streams in a dry season, all stone and bed and moon radiance.
He turned back on a side street, circling around toward his home. He was within a block
of his destination when the lone car turned a corner quite suddenly and flashed a fierce
white cone of light upon him. He stood entranced, not unlike a night moth, stunned by
the illumination, and then drawn toward it.
A metallic voice called to him:
"Stand still. Stay where you are! Don't move!"
He halted.
"Put up your hands!"
"But-" he said.
"Your hands up! Or we'll Shoot!" The police, of course, but what a rare, incredible thing;
in a city of three million, there was only one police car left, wasn't that correct? Ever since
a year ago, 2052, the election year, the force had been cut down from three cars to one.
Crime was ebbing; there was no need now for the police, save for this one lone car
wandering and wandering the empty streets.
"Your name?" said the police car in a metallic whisper. He couldn't see the men in it for
the bright light in his eyes.
"Leonard Mead," he said.
"Speak up!"
"Leonard Mead!"
"Business or profession? "
"I guess you'd call me a writer."
"No profession," said the police car, as if talking to itself. The light held him fixed, like a
museum specimen, needle thrust through chest.
"You might say that," said Mr. Mead. He hadn't written in years. Magazines and books
didn't sell any more. Everything went on in the tomblike houses at night now, he thought,
continuing his fancy. The tombs, ill-lit by television light, where the people sat like the
dead, the gray or multi-coloured lights touching their faces, but never really touching
them.
"No profession," said the phonograph voice, hissing. " What are you doing out?"
"Walking," said Leonard Mead.
"Walking!"
"Just walking," he said simply, but his face felt cold.
"Walking, just walking, walking?"
"Yes, sir."

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 "Walking where? For what?"
"Walking for air. Walking to see."
"Your address!"
"Eleven South Saint James Street."
"And there is air in your house, you have an air conditioner, Mr. Mead?"
"Yes."
"And you have a viewing screen in your house to see with? "
"No."
"No?" There was a crackling quiet that in itself was an accusation. "Are you married, Mr.
Mead?"
"No."
"Not married," said the police voice behind the fiery beam, The moon was high and clear
among the stars and the houses were gray and silent.
"Nobody wanted me," said Leonard Mead with a smile.
"Don't speak unless you're spoken to!" Leonard Mead waited in the cold night. "Just
walking, Mr. Mead?"
"Yes."
"But you haven't explained for what purpose."
"I explained; for air, and to see, and just to walk."
"Have you done this often?"
"Every night for years."
The police car sat in the centre of the street with its radio throat faintly humming. "Well,
Mr. Mead," it said.
"Is that all?" he asked politely.
"Yes," said the voice. "Here." There was a sigh, a pop. The back door of the police car
sprang wide. "Get in."
"Wait a minute, I haven't done anything!"
"Get in."
"I protest!"
"Mr. Mead."
He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed the front window of the car he
looked in. As he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no one in the car at
all.
"Get in."
He put his hand to the door and peered into the back seat, which was a little cell, a little
black jail with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of harsh antiseptic; it smelled too
clean and hard and metallic. There was nothing soft there.
"Now if you had a wife to give you an alibi," said the iron voice. "But -"
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 "Where are you taking me?"
The car hesitated, or rather gave a faint whirring click, as if information, somewhere, was
dropping card by punch-slotted card under electric eyes.
"To the Psychiatric Centre for Research on Regressive Tendencies."
He got in. The door shut with a soft thud. The police car rolled through the night avenues,
flashing its dim lights ahead.
They passed one house on one street a moment later, one house in an entire city of
houses that were dark, but this one particular house had all of its electric lights brightly
lit, every window a loud yellow illumination, square and warm in the cool darkness.
"That's my house," said Leonard Mead. No one answered him.
The car moved down the empty river-bed streets and off away, leaving the empty streets
with the empty sidewalks, and no sound and no motion all the rest of the chill November
night.

Activities
1. Consider the opening paragraph of this story and identify the techniques employed by Bradbury to create
an unsettling environment.

2. Explain how Bradbury represents the effect of television on the lives of ordinary people

3. What specific effect does Bradbury seek to create through the use of pathetic fallacy?

4. Explain why Leonard Mead whispers to the houses. How does this enhance our perception of the
environment in which he lives?

5. Consider the metaphors of the cloverleaf intersection. Why does Bradbury refer to people as insects and
what is the particular significance of the “scarab-beetle”?

6. Consider Bradbury’s use of dialogue to extend our understanding of the character and explain the effect
of the clipped exchange between Mead and the police car

7. Explain the symbolism of the lights in Leonard’s house.

8. Use different coloured highlighters to identify examples of the following techniques and explain their
effectiveness in this story:

a. Truncation

b. Accumulation

c. Pathetic fallacy

d. Tri-colon

e. Lexical chain

f. Metaphor

g. Symbolism

h. Repetition

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Emulating the Text
Choose two techniques employed by the composer and provide a detailed explanation of why you found them
effective.

Technique 1:

Explanation:

Technique 2:

Explanation:

Now draft an imaginative paragraph that creates a characterisation of your own choosing and use the same
techniques in your response to create a specific effect.

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Reflection on the Creation of Your Script
Use the instructions on page 10 to explain your choice of topic and your use of the two techniques employed by
the composer. Ensure that you provide a detailed explanation of why you found them effective in the composer’s
text and whether they were also effective in your text.

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Sample Script – Imaginative
The sample shown below is an example of how previous students have responded to the Module C HSC writing
task by composing a discursive text. Students who achieved better marks were judged to have used the stimulus
in integrated and interesting ways, including metaphorically. They shaped the features of their chosen form
(discursive) to sustain the engagement of the reader, using a range of language and stylistic features. These
students demonstrated confident and sustained control of language and the effective use of voice.

The question to which they responded included the stimulus printed below:

Question: Create a piece of imaginative, discursive or persuasive writing that ENDS with the provided image.

Every city begins in grey. A monochromatic world of yes and no and what a lovely hat
you’re wearing today sir. The world that we inhabit is black and white and grey, they
say. Anyone can throw up their hands and accept that’s the way things are, but some of
us realise that the black and white is but a canvas, waiting for the soft touch and tickle of
a horsehair brush …

Through the night, I run, buried underneath a hood and shadow, zipper up, feet moving.
The pat, pat, pat of old sneakers along hot, sticky asphalt, still glowing from the midday
sun’s scorching kiss. The air is thick with the heat and with potential, what is to come. I
stand still, still beneath the amber glow of buzzing lights overhead. A breeze passes
through, bringing with it a leaf, or a newspaper, a modern type of tumbleweed through
the quiet, lonely street. I can feel it. The grey. Black and white all around, a penetrating
plainness that the yellowish glow cannot hide.

I see the alley. Long, stretching on for more than the eye may dare. Here. I begin.
Stepping forward, the cool, slender can in my hand, the brushed aluminium close
against my palm. i shake it, up and down, the weight is reassuring, the rattle feels
musical. then I see colour. Red bricks, once grey, now red. Truly red. Not only red but
blue, or green. Some are gold, or vermillion. Others are chartreuse, fawn, orange. Aqua
and olive, or violet and chocolate. One colour I have never seen before, but shall call
new, for that is what I see it is. When I finish, I leave. I vanish into the night, from
42
 beneath a thousand sleeping noises.

The sun rises, casting a hard light down the side of a silent alley. The silence it finds is
not empty. It finds it full of colour, a soundless symphony of light and colour. Every
speck of paint singing with the voice of a thousand hues. Every brick weaving a melody
of colourful surprises. And the sun seems to shine a little brighter.

Every city begins in grey. But grey is one colour in a million, and any city worth its salt
will end, knowing them all.

MARKERS’ COMMENT

This response is a confidently crafted piece of imaginative writing. Engagement is sustained through the use of
powerful imagery such as ‘symphony of light and colour’ and ‘melody of colourful surprises’. The motif of colour
permeates the response and unifies the central idea of change. The writing has a strong narrative voice and the
stimulus is cleverly addressed in a conceptual way.

Your Response

Consider the aspects of the text that stood out for you as you were reading. What does this tell you about the
stylistic choices you could be making in your own persuasive text?

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 MY GLOSSARY
Term Definition

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Phrases I Want to Remember
This page has been provided for you to jot down ideas, techniques, phrases or sentences that you think could be
useful to you as you prepare a script for your portfolio.

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