Composing Task One

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Random prompt thingy that I did when I was young, disillusioned and on 4 hours of sleep

1. Mimic the stylistic features of one of the stories from the Year 12 Feminist Literature Reader to create an original text. In your authentication, justify your choices. What did you determine to be that author’s style, and how have you tried to reflect it in your own writing?

inspired story: Fall in their own good time, by Helen Gardner

We went for a run one morning. My husband thought it would be good for me to get out, to ‘get a breath of fresh air’, in his own words. I thought it was a bloody waste of time. Why run when you could drive? The sun’s illumination highlighted my lack of fitness for the world to see, the flesh of my body flapping around as I struggled to catch up to him. My legs began to hurt, further cementing my grief. Across the sunlit park, I could see others trying to burn off their puppy fat, trying to make themselves more fit. Panting, I caught up to Jarred, feeling betrayed that he would make me feel this humiliated.

“Why are you making me do this?”

His eyes flicked shiftily to me.

“…To help.”

“It’s because you don’t like how I look, isn’t it?”

He turned away without an answer, and without another word, we both ran home. Fast.

Jarred swiftly left for work when we arrived home, while I went to look in the mirror. My once-perfect skin was now marked with liver spots, my lips were now chaffed, and my former slim build had now thickened out. I didn’t see the problem. Yes, I had gained weight, but not much.

Draft 1

Annotations in bold

Question 3: Take one of the poetry or drama texts from the Year 12 Feminist Literature Reader and adapt it into a narrative. In your authentication, reflect on the challenges of converting the text into a prose.

Suburban Sonnet: Boxing Day - Gwen Harwood

Change syntax, maybe 2 spaces in between each “part”

She wakes up at 6 am to make their breakfast. At first, she just lies there, too tired to move. A sense of apathy comes over her, and she tries to go back to sleep. She turns on her side, and sees a fresh magazine, probably from the children. Through blurred sight, she manages to make out the words, “How to keep your husband’s love.” If only. She rolls over to look at him [Later, it says that she wakes up alone, so this must be changed]. Yes, when they were younger, they were in love, but now, all she could see was how pathetic he was. Always sleeping, never working, he leaves everything to her. Everything. Nostalgia floods her heart, but she pushes it away, and gets up, and walks to the kitchen. Slowly. It is Boxing Day today. Might transition to the flashback with a dizzy spell, instead of spontaneous

The switch between past/present is not very evident, may need to use “yesterday” and “today” The children were so happy yesterday, and delightful, waking her up at 5 in the morning, her husband still sound asleep. They paraded through the house with not a care in the world, squealing with delight when they found presents under the glimmering, shimmering tree. Sleepily, she had made them chocolate pancakes, which they left half-eaten, and as soon as she had sat down to eat her own, he had come down, demanding to be fed. He didn’t care that she hadn’t eaten, he just swiped her food and grunted at her in dismissal, leaving her dumbfounded. He’d wolfed it down, flecks of pancake spraying from his open mouth, half-chewed food and spittle firing out like bullets [Too obscure of a simile, might change it]. And like bullets, they had found their mark. Her. He left his plate at the table, wiped [change to a more animalistic word] clean by his greed, leaving her to pack up everything, and then, finally, eat her own breakfast. Alone. In the living room, they had shrieked with happiness and laughter as they ripped open their presents. The boy had started shouting with excitement, and she had to quiet him down, because the “man of the house” was sure as hell not going to do it [originally, it had an angry tone and words, but I wanted the persona to be passive, instead of openly aggressive, as if she’s given up]. Excitedly, the boy had waved around his Lego, while her daughter had managed to conceal her disappointment when she opened her present and received a doll. Her husband had gotten the presents. The children had gotten into a fight. Again. They had thrown not only paper and toys, but also words at each other. Their words cut each other like knives, whereas the paper and toys were harmless. The girl had wanted to play with the boy’s soldiers, but their father had refused, saying that they should stick to what they were given. The girl had hurled insults at the father and the boy. They both retreated to their rooms. She went to the girl’s room first. Inside, the girl had strewn every worldly possession of hers and was curled up, crying on the floor. She whispered sweet praises and honeyed phrases [switch out “phrase” for “words”, seems more appropriate] in the girl’s ear, until she stopped sobbing and unfurled herself. She then went to the boy. He had glared at her when she first entered. He told her to get out. She ignored that, and bluntly told him to respect his sister. He refused. She just looked at him silently until he averted his gaze and mumbled an apology. Feeling satisfied, she left the room. They both came out of their rooms. The boy looked at the girl and held out his soldiers as an apology. The girl positively beamed with happiness, and they both ran to the living room to play. Meanwhile, she watched on in envy. If only her problems could be solved like that. They had lunch, then the husband and children slept while she did gardening for the rest of the afternoon. It was a nice break [perhaps more descriptive language], having something to do with her hands, only having to worry about the plants, and not her fragile family. [not family, perhaps marriage instead] Dinner came and passed, and again, it was a trying ordeal for her thinning patience. He then drank beer and watched the game on the television, while she gave the kids a bath and tucked them in. The latest episode of her show was on, so she watched that for a bit. She had glanced at the stairs, hoping to see her husband walking up, but he would not appear. She went outside on the balcony for a smoke. The night sky shimmered with stars. The stars, in an empty void, that shone on. The stars, that would endure without fail, until their timely demise. Even then, they would live on, either as dwarf stars, or black holes. She remembered the night he confessed, the night he proposed, the night he swore to love her, “through hell’s own fires”. Look where that had left her. She stomped out her cigarette, and walked back inside. She went to bed alone, and will wake up alone, with her husband passed out on the couch downstairs. What a wonderful day.

The transition is too sudden, again, might use “yesterday” and “today” She cooks breakfast for all of them. Eggs, bacon, sausages, the lot. It takes her an hour to finish, and she calls them down for breakfast. 15 minutes pass, and they finally come down [Too obscure, might change]. They complain that the food is cold, to which she replies that they should’ve woken up earlier. They had been planning on going to the shops today, to buy some new clothes, but he says he is too tired. He probably has a hangover from all the beer he drank yesterday. Straight after, he lurches upstairs to their bedroom to sleep it off. The children go outside to play soccer. She stays indoors, cleaning, washing dishes, cooking, doing laundry. She is mopping the floor when she collapses, overcome with tiredness. Her daughter comes and crowns her with a tinsel wreath, laughing, not noticing the state she is in, thinking that they are playing a game. She smiles a grin [change to “sickly sweet smile”, as it further accentuates her hidden feelings] that threatens to split her face into two, and continues to clean. She steps on something. The boy’s soldier, which he gave to the girl, is now snapped into two. Dismembered. Like their family. Like yesterday, and today.

Final Copy

She usually wakes up at six in the morning to make their breakfast. Today, however, she woke up at three. At first, she just lies there, too tired to move. A sense of apathy comes over her, and she tries to go back to sleep. A dizzy spell comes over her, and she finds herself remembering yesterday.

Yesterday, the children, a boy and a girl, were so happy and delightful, waking her up at 5 in the morning, her husband still sound asleep. They paraded through the house with not a care in the world, squealing with delight when they found presents under the glimmering, shimmering tree.

Yesterday, sleepily, she had made them chocolate pancakes, which they left half-eaten, and as soon as she had sat down to eat her own, he had come down, demanding to be fed. He didn’t care that she hadn’t eaten, he just swiped her food and grunted at her in dismissal, leaving her dumbfounded. He’d wolfed it down, flecks of pancake spraying from his open mouth, half-chewed food and spittle firing out like buckshot. And like buckshot, they spread everywhere. Her. He left his plate at the table, slurped clean by his greed, leaving her to pack up everything, and then, finally, eat her own breakfast. Alone.

Yesterday, in the living room, they had shrieked with happiness and laughter as they ripped open their presents. The boy had started shouting with excitement, and she had to quiet him down, because the “man of the house” had other things to do. Excitedly, the boy had waved around his Lego, while her daughter had managed to conceal her disappointment when she opened her present and received a doll. Her husband had gotten the presents.

Yesterday, the children had gotten into a fight. Again. They had thrown not only paper and toys, but also words at each other. Their words cut each other like knives, whereas the paper and toys were harmless. The girl had wanted to play with the boy’s soldiers, but their father had refused, saying that they should stick to what they were given. The girl had hurled insults at the father and the boy.

Yesterday, they both retreated to their rooms. She went to the girl’s room first. Inside, the girl had strewn every worldly possession of hers and was curled up, crying on the floor. She whispered sweet praises and honeyed words in the girl’s ear, until she stopped sobbing and unfurled herself.

Yesterday, she then went to the boy. He had glared at her when she first entered. He told her to get out. She ignored that, and bluntly told him to respect his sister. He refused. She just looked at him silently until he averted his gaze and mumbled an apology. Feeling satisfied, she left the room.

Yesterday, they both came out of their rooms. The boy looked at the girl and held out his soldiers as an apology. The girl had positively beamed with happiness, and they both ran to the living room to play. Meanwhile, she watched on in envy. If only her problems could be solved like that.

Yesterday, they had lunch, then the husband and children slept while she did gardening for the rest of the afternoon. It was a calming experience, having something to do with her hands, only having to worry about the plants, and not her fragile marriage. Dinner came and passed, and again, it was a trying ordeal for her thinning patience. He then drank beer and watched the game, while she gave the kids a bath and tucked them in. The latest episode of her show was on, so she watched that for a bit. She had glanced at the stairs, hoping to see her husband walking up, but he would not appear. She went outside on the balcony for a smoke.

Yesterday, the night sky shimmered with stars. The stars, in an empty void, that shone on. The stars, that would endure without fail, until their timely demise. Even then, they would live on, either as dwarf stars, or black holes. She remembered the night he confessed, the night he proposed, the night he swore to love her, “through hell’s own fires”. Look where that had left her. She stomped out her cigarette, and walked back inside. She went to bed alone, and will wake up alone, with her husband passed out on the couch downstairs.

Yesterday. What a wonderful day.

Today, she awakes again with a start. She turns on her side, and sees a fresh magazine, probably from the children. Through blurred sight, she manages to make out the words, “How to keep your husband’s love.” If only. She rolls over to look at the blank space beside her, devoid of her husband. Yes, when they were younger, they were in love, but now, all she could see was how pathetic he was. Always sleeping, never working, he leaves everything to her. Everything. Nostalgia floods her heart, but she pushes it away, and gets up, and walks to the kitchen. Slowly. It is Boxing Day today.

Today, she cooks breakfast for all of them. Eggs, bacon, sausages, the lot. It takes her an hour, and she calls them down for breakfast. 15 minutes pass, and the children finally come down, while he clambers off the couch and lumbers towards the bathroom.

Today, they complain that the food is cold, to which she ignores, and mentally replies that they should’ve woken up earlier. They had been planning on going to the shops today, to buy some new clothes, but he says he is too tired. He probably has a hangover from all the beer he drank yesterday. Straight after, he lurches upstairs to their bedroom to sleep it off. The children go outside to play soccer.

Today, she stays indoors, cleaning, washing dishes, cooking, doing laundry. She is mopping the floor when she collapses, overcome with stress and fatigue. Her daughter comes and crowns her with a tinsel wreath, laughing, not noticing the state she is in, thinking that they are playing a game. She beams a sickly sweet smile that threatens to split her face into two, and continues to clean.

She steps on something.

The boy’s soldier, which he gave to the girl, is now snapped into two.

Dismembered.

Like their family.

Like yesterday, and today.