Allow me to introduce my AMAZING Year 11’s. They have absolutly nailed the art of editing both their own and each others work. In just two lessons. (Proud? Yes I am. We all know self critique is a challenging skill) From first draft to last, the difference is phenominal. I love it. They are learning to ask questions, identify language that adds little to their work and swap it out for something more powerful. Check out some of their work below:
I remember pulling my arm away. “It’s nothing” the words rolled off my tongue. I dragged my sleeve down then changed the subject before she could question the wounds crossing across my arm. You’re Nothing. A single tear bled down my cheek as I found peace in my final breath.
-Tannar Findley Yr 11
I am trapped. The wooden walls agonizing against my frail structure. My body is contorted, tangled within my own ligaments. Fearing for my life. A sudden volume upsurges from above. The piercing voices shrieking to one another as the fires of bullets are triggered continuously. Time is no matter.
– Jenna Mack Yr 11
Slowly wandering down the inexplicable shadowy hallway, not knowing what to expect when I finally open the glistening, aged door. I stop spasmodically. Should I turn back? The craving to open the door is eating me up inside. Finally I open the ancient door; appalled at what I find inside.
– Chloe Webb Yr 11
Again, I lay there with silent thoughts going through my mind. The sounds of crickets chirping outside. The tap dripping spasmodically. There is snoring in the other room. Its dark, in and out. I close my eyes and begin to block out the sounds. Dusk.
Now, I start to dream.
– Brittney McDermott Yr 11
Looking over the vast stretch of blue ribbon, the memories are drifting though the wind. Drifting through one ear and out the other. Bethinking memories of an old man sitting on his front porch, sipping his whisky from the bottle. Not distressed. No heartache. Just him and the open plans.
– Taelyn Puglisi Yr 11
Hoping on the plane with my stomach jumping in excitement. Butterflies tossing like never before; their wings flapping against my rib cage, like an endless love. Through the air, soaring like a kid on red cordial. The humid, dry, sweaty heat hitting me for the first time. It is Bali.
– Tonia Lavalle Yr 11