Sunday, 22 February 2009

Coursework Essay. Draft 1. (This is entirely used for external memory)

Paragraph 1: Money
In each of the novels of focus, each of the protagonists disappears for several years: Gatsby for five years and Heathcliff for three. Neither even communicates with the objects of their desire: Daisy and Cathy. When they eventually return, each of the women have married other men, implicit in each case that they do not truly love them, they married them for a secure life because of their wealth. However when Gatsby and Heathcliff return they are both much richer than either of the husbands. The women both welcome back their protagonist back into their life once they are reunited with them. Gatsby takes his time of making his presence known to Daisy; he buys the house on the opposite side to the river on hers, invites people around in bog fancy parties, hoping to attract Daisy to them, and then himself, like a moth to a flame. However, when Daisy doesn’t appear on her own, he asks Nick Carraway, the narrator, to organise a meeting between them. From that point on their affair begins. When it ends, and Tom Buchanan, Daisy’s husband, discovered what Gatsby really did to get all his money, and it was dirty money, the affair ends. But before that, Nick noticed something in Daisy’s voice but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Gatsby did. “Her voice is full of money”[1] he explained to Nick. This could explain Gatsby’s motivation in the first place for becoming associated with dirty money: he knew that Daisy was almost obsessed with money, she more than wanted a secure home, it was for the material goods that came with it, and he may have thought that if he could provide this, then she would love him back.
It’s never quite explained as to how Heathcliff got his money, although it’s implied it was similar to Gatsby’s dirty money. His motivation for running away to achieve this was when he overheard Cathy tell Nelly Dean it would degrade her to marry Heathcliff. Nelly Dean being the woman retelling her story to master of the house, Lockwood, the narrator narrating her story, that this was taken out of context, and she also spoke about how she knew her feelings for the man who had proposed to her would change, like the seasons, but she would always love Heathcliff. This was, unfortunately, the part Heathcliff didn’t overhear. Naturally this has angered him, so when he returns he sets about getting his revenge on everyone who wronged him, possibly even Cathy.

“When Heathcliff returns, he immediately sets about seeking revenge on all who have wronged him. Having come into a vast and mysterious wealth, he deviously lends money to the drunken Hindley, knowing that Hindley will increase his debts and fall into deeper despondency. When Hindley dies, Heathcliff inherits the manor. He also places himself in line to inherit Thrushcross Grange by marrying Isabella Linton, whom he treats very cruelly. Catherine becomes ill, gives birth to a daughter, and dies. Heathcliff begs her spirit to remain on Earth—she may take whatever form she will, she may haunt him, drive him mad—just as long as she does not leave him alone. Shortly thereafter, Isabella flees to London and gives birth to Heathcliff's son, named Linton after her family. She keeps the boy with her there.

Thirteen years pass, during which Nelly Dean serves as Catherine's daughter's nursemaid at Thrushcross Grange. Young Catherine is beautiful and headstrong like her mother, but her temperament is modified by her father's gentler influence. Young Catherine grows up at the Grange with no knowledge of Wuthering Heights; one day, however, wandering through the moors, she discovers the manor, meets Hareton, and plays together with him. Soon afterwards, Isabella dies, and Linton comes to live with Heathcliff. Heathcliff treats his sickly, whining son even more cruelly than he treated the boy's mother.

Three years later, Catherine meets Heathcliff on the moors, and makes a visit to Wuthering Heights to meet Linton. She and Linton begin a secret romance conducted entirely through letters. When Nelly destroys Catherine's collection of letters, the girl begins sneaking out at night to spend time with her frail young lover, who asks her to come back and nurse him back to health. However, it quickly becomes apparent that Linton is pursuing Catherine only because Heathcliff is forcing him to; Heathcliff hopes that if Catherine marries Linton, his legal claim upon Thrushcross Grange—and his revenge upon Edgar Linton—will be complete. One day, as Edgar Linton grows ill and nears death, Heathcliff lures Nelly and Catherine back to Wuthering Heights, and holds them prisoner until Catherine marries Linton. Soon after the marriage, Edgar dies, and his death is quickly followed by the death of the sickly Linton. Heathcliff now controls both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange. He forces Catherine to live at Wuthering Heights and act as a common servant, while he rents Thrushcross Grange to Lockwood.”-Spark notes.
[1] Gatsby – page 115

Tuesday, 10 February 2009

English lit coursework, draft 1.

We get to do a creative response to a novel. I chose twilight because I wanted to read it. Meyer cannot write, reading her work is like reading something after Joey from friends has had a go on thesauras feature on microsoft word, but no matter. I did the same in a few places, as a sort of private joke to myself, but now you're included in this, lucky you.

Okay, so I wrote this from the point of view of Edward Cullen, a character I actually like, cause he's actually well written and quite cool, as opposed to Bella, the whiney main cahracter. God, she irritates me. I need to do commentary for this aswell, but that isn't due in tomorrow, unlike this.

I made Bella less whiney, partially because writing a character that whiney and annoying would make me want to shoot myself, but also partially because Edward Cullen was a bit of a retard, cause he fell madly in love with Whiney McWhineyson, so he must have been oblivious to the Whineyness. I like to believe Bella wasn't that whiney, just in her head, but you never know.

I still don't know what I'm going to call this. I want to call it a pun, but I can't think of anything. Perhaps "Dawn" which is like "Twilight" but the other end of the day....nah...that's gay.

Anywho...enough rambling, here is my coursework (:

I stubbornly walked up to the front door of the restaurant and held the door open for her. She looked at me for a moment and exhaled, but she went in. I smiled to myself for a second and then followed her in, I had won this one, I usually did, but like me, she was also infuriatingly intractable.

I glanced around when I entered, there was a few humans occupying a couple of slightly askew wooden tables, but the place wasn’t excessively busy. The crooked wooden floorboards, the cream walls with navy dashboards and the open fire on the far side of the room gave the place a homely feel. However, The vintage style posters and signs on the walls made the restaurant seem quite tacky. Evidently, Bella hadn’t taken in any of this. For all she knew, I could have taken her to Antarctica and she would never have guessed.

A woman came to greet us at the door, by the looks of her she was quite young, and she warmly greeted us. I was polite back and asked for a table for two, and for some reason Bella seemed to be a little bothered by this. Again, I felt my lips twitch involuntarily upwards.

The waitress began directing us to a table, and Bella followed her. I followed Bella, but at all times maintaining the personal distance of a few inches, as I did at all times. If she touched me, she would feel the icy cold contact of my skin. In a room that must have been warm, as the humans had all happily shed their coats and jackets, and the fire in the corner of the room was quite large, I knew this would only enhance her suspicions, and I wasn’t quite ready to confess the truth about what I was.

The waitress had led us to a table in the centre of the room, which I wasn’t happy with; this area was over-populated. Bella had begun to sit down, so I quickly intervened.

“Perhaps something more private?” I murmured to the hostess, inconspicuously slipping her a tip. She agreed and led us to an area of unoccupied ring of booths. It was perfect. We took our seats, and I gazed intently at Bella. Her eyes were full of amusement and mischief to which I replied in my expression with an inquisitive look.

“You shouldn’t dazzle people like that.” She said, with an element of mocking in her tone.

This completely confused me. “Dazzle people?” I asked.

“Yes. You must know the effect you have on people.” She replied, palpably still highly amused by this little private joke of hers.

“I dazzle people?” I asked, still utterly bewildered by this outburst.

“Yes. You always get what you want, have you not noticed no one else does?”

I saw an opportunity here, and I took it. “Do I dazzle you?”

She broke our eye contact, and looked down to her lap, her soft, long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, hiding her face, which had started to blush. “Frequently” she replied quietly. I was satisfied.

Another girl, different from the one who had shown us the table came over and introduced herself, and like the other girl, she was overly warm, it was a little sickening. I glanced over at Bella, and ordered a couple of drinks without taking my eyes away from her, and she bustled off back into wherever these employees went when they weren’t with a customer.

I felt another wave of concern sweep over me. I was still waiting for Bella to go into shock, any normal person would have done so already, but the sight of her when I found her with them still puzzled me. She looked as if she was concentrating very hard on something, not as if she was fearful. I knew she didn’t exactly know what her potential attackers had been thinking, like I had, but she must have still had some idea. I made a mental note to ask her about it later, but right now I needed to be sure she wasn’t going to pass out from the shock, I decided to wait until she had eaten.

“Are you alright?” I asked, I must have looked more concerned than I would have liked to let on, because when she answered she looked a little perplexed.

“Yes” she answered, her eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Are you sure? You don’t feel like you’re going to faint?”

“Am I supposed to?” She looked even more puzzled more, her eyebrows knitting tighter together.

“I’m expecting that you are going to go into shock,” I explained.

Her eyebrows returned to their normal position and she paused for a second. “I think I’ll be fine, I have a habit of bottling my feelings up inside, and repressing unpleasant things.”

“Same here.” I smiled for a second, but I was even more unsettled inside now. She was exactly like me, just more prone to danger. I knew that if she got too close to me, that wouldn’t exactly help her case of the “damsel in distress.” I knew that I shouldn’t be here, let alone befriending her to begin with, but I couldn’t help myself. I was addicted, and I knew that my morality could fail me, and I could kill her. Yet I was prepared to put her in this position. I truly was a monster.

Thursday, 29 January 2009


The sun had just begun to rise over the autumn trees. The leaves had only just started to turn, so they were at that magical point where they were still on the trees, but going bright colours of orange and red. The rising sun illuminated them, so it looked as if the trees they clung to were on fire. As rays of sunlight came pouring in, he felt his face become warmer, and the nights chill slowly leaving.
He gazed down the hill, and looked upon his hometown. To the eye it was picturesque: tourists came from all over to see its beauty. “The quiet little down in the heart of the Dyn Valley.” While he was sitting there, he could see why they thought this.
But he knew that there was more to this little welsh town than met the eye. Behind closed doors, he knew a different life, one that wasn’t so innocent. Ever since the death of his mother, he had descended into a downward spiral. “A real mummy’s boy” his father used to taunt.
But it wasn’t that why he knew he’d never forget that night. Three years ago he’d sat on his stairs staring down at her body, her broken neck making her pretty head stick out at a funny angle. He’d heard his father them tell the paramedics that she’d fallen down the stairs. This was so obvious that it was a blatant lie, but they’d believed him.
Everyone had believed this deceit. He honestly never understood why. Maybe they were all idealists, or maybe they didn’t want their precious little town to become tarnished. But then again, he always had been a fantastic actor. They gave him their pity that he’d lost his beautiful, doting wife, and now he was left to bring up a troublesome teenage son.
“Fucking idiots. They’re fucking stupid idiots.” He said to himself: a clear note of danger and rage in his voice. This scared him: he was in danger of becoming exactly like the man he hated: this was what his father sounded like when he was going to attack, when his nights out with the boys had turned into something more sinister.
He extinguished the cigarette he’d managed to forget about in his rather depressing trail of thought; the orange glow was growing dangerously close to his rough fingers. He found a little damp patch of earth to squeeze the little white stick that was destroying his lungs onto. The smoke went up into the air, a smell of tobacco lingering faintly. Somehow with this fire on his tongue life felt more bearable, even just for a little while.
People in the real world were starting to wake up. He could see light-switches flicker on in the houses. He knew that he had to leave soon; his father would wake up with them and just use the fact he’d disappeared as an excuse.

I wrote this a few weeks ago and put it on deviantart.
Here is what I put in the authors comments (if you are following my other blog, you know I love to ramble on about nothing.)

This was some english assignment that we had to do at the start of the year, and we had to include our hometown, our teacher wanted something all pretty and "isn't where we live great?" and I disagree with this, what with myself and my friend getting randomly beat up when we were walking through the park some night. Some girl was off her face on drugs, so I guess you could say if I wrote anymore of the story I could base a character on her. She will die (: (muhehehh)

The title is called "release". The smoking/drinking/drugs is a release for our nameless protagonist, the beating up of our nameless protagonist is a release for his father. (not dad, father...cause he's a crap dad, cause he beats him up...see?...I feel all emo now..)

The red leaves are meant to represent the blood that gets spilled by his dad, and the whole "red sky at night, shepherd's delight, red sky in the morning shepherd's warning" thing, the sky isn't red, but it looks red to him, which shows the story is gonna be pretty pessimistic or that's he's pessimistic, or the day is going to be baad for him which it will be...I kinda have the story mapped out in my head...but in no order in particular, but it all takes place over the course of the day, and it aint happy. (:

Also, I know that I used colons a few times. I like colons, kayy? :P

Monday, 26 January 2009


So...yeah..I like writing, it's a hobby.
I used to be pretty good at it, not so much anymore, so I'm going to attempt to try and get good again.
So I'm going to write stories: short stories or individual chapters of longer stories for y'all to read and comment/constructavely criticise/insult/say you like it/whatever
Enjoy. (: