Showing posts with label TextualIntervention. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TextualIntervention. Show all posts

Saturday, 19 January 2013

University Grades - The Final Semester


Creative Voice II: Critical Evaluation – 68%
Creative Voice II: Sketches - 67%

Year 2 Semester 1

Media Writing: 1500 Word Critique of Article – 67%
Textual Intervention: Rationale – 66%
Creating Short Screenplays: Film Script The German – 64%
Creating Short Screenplays: Essay Film Analysis of Valgaften: Election Night – 65%

Year 1 Semester 2

Creative Non-Fiction: Essay – 54%
Creative Voice I: Critical Evaluation – 60%
Creativity II: Evaluation – 63%
Poetry and Poetic Expression: Rationale – 68%

Year 1 Semester 1

Language – Writing – Reading: Essay – 62%
Fictional Writing: Rationale – 63%
Creativity I: Presentation Evaluation on A Written Affair – 63%
Creativity I: Research Essay on Oscar Wilde – 68%
Script Writing: Essay on Rob Reiner's Misery – 64%
Script Writing: Pitch Presentation – 72%

I recently received my grades for last semester and while they are good I am disappointed with the comments I got. None of them were particularly constructive. They were like 'Good story, but I would have written it with this person as the protagonist'. Well, I didn't, so please mark my work by what I've written not how you would have written it.
This was especially annoying for my Margaret Jones and the Weedy Dealer piece as the marker wrote: 'What occurred to me on reading it again was it could make a great teen (young) book if only Margaret was at home/base camp and Andrew (something I can't read) was the protagonist - doing his mother's bidding because she was (something else I can't read)'.
It's annoying because he's missed the point of my piece entirely! Margaret is this eccentric botanist on the run from a drug lord, it's weird and funny. Having a teenage boy do it is so mundane.
I always used to think I was better at the creative pieces but strangely it appears I am actually better at the essays. I only have one semester left and I am going to try my hardest to get a First again. Hopefully in my ECP.

Sunday, 11 November 2012

The Tell-Tale Heart Intervention

I am working diligently on the third draft of my ECP ( go and read the Second Draft too) and I am now over 8,000 words. Which means it's technically completed.

Whoa!

But they may not be 8,000 amazing words thus the work continues. One my supervisor's criticisms was that some parts weren't developed enough. So I thought I'd post a section that I've been working on and see if you think it's developed enough. It is also a reworking of The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe, of course! I've always had an affinity with this story, I did my A-Level Art course work on it. I illustrated the whole story on one canvas, and believe me that took a while. Here are parts of it:

The Eye

The Old Man

Part of the Final Piece 
Anyway, here's the story of Greg and his granddad. Tell me what you think!

Greg and the Eye


Greg Sullivan had never liked his granddad. Although he would never admit it. Every time his mum told him that his granddad would be visiting he felt the dread settle in his stomach. His granddad wasn't like ordinary granddads. He never told funny stories, or gave him money, or even commented on how big he was getting. He would bang on the front door, demand Greg get his bags from the taxi, collapse into the red armchair, and order Greg's mum around. Even when she tried to talk to him all he would do was moan.
   ‘Put on the heating, woman. This place is freezing.’
   ‘You call that tea, more like piss.’
   ‘I suppose you’ve never heard of a duster then.’
But the complaining wasn't the worst part. The worst part was his eye. He had been blind in one eye ever since Greg could remember. No one had ever explained why he was blind and Greg never dared to ask. It was a taboo subject in their house.
So when Greg's mum said that his granddad would be staying for an entire week Greg seriously considered running away. Same as usual his granddad collapsed into the red armchair and ordered Greg's mum to get him a tea: no milk, no sugar. Greg sat on the sofa on the other side of the room watching his granddad and thinking of the blank eye; how did he get it? And why did nobody want to talk about it? His granddad sharply looked at him, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. Greg immediately stared back at the TV.
   ‘Got something you want to say, boy?’
   ‘No, Sir,’ Greg mumbled.
His granddad grunted in reply. Greg didn’t stick around long after that, he ran upstairs to his room and shut the door with a snap. A week was definitely too long.

*

The eye plagued his mind more than usual. That night while he lay on the sofa - his granddad always got his room, another reason to hate his visits - his thoughts kept returning to the eye. White and milky, like a full moon in a cloudless sky, but as sharp as a greedy vulture stalking it’s pray. Such a gross thing. So repulsive. He should wear a patch or glasses, Greg thought. Hide it. Get rid of it. Gouge it out. Destroy it. Kill it. Greg flinched. His heart was pounding and his body was moist with sweat. Where had that come from? He shook his head and tried to think of something else, like the new computer game he had bought. But when he closed his eyes and finally drifted off it a fitful sleep he could still see the eyeball. It watched him in his dreams.
Even at school he could see it. It was the circle equation during maths, the petri dish during science, and the football during lunchtime. His mind would wander during class and when he finally snapped back to reality he found eyeballs staring at him from his notebooks. He had covered every page in drawings of eyeballs. His chemistry teacher Mr Waldman had written a note in his dangerous red pen.

See me after class. We need to talk about this

Greg had torn the page from the book and hurled it in the bin, his breathing ragged. As soon as the bell rang he legged it from class. He even ignored Mr Waldman calling after him. He knew he’d be in big trouble the next day.
That Thursday he was relieved to think that in twenty-four hours his granddad would be gone. No more staring vulture eye. But when he walked into the living room and saw his granddad sat in the same red armchair his usual sneer upon his face and the staring milky white eye, the relief vanished and anger seared through his veins. Vile eye. Grotesque eye. Have to get rid of it, Greg thought. Have to destroy it. Have to kill it. Have to kill him! Greg faltered. Kill him? Surprised at his rage, he ran upstairs to his room. He collapsed against the door and forced himself to calm down.  His breathing slowed and his pounding heart returned to normal but that voice in his head continued. Greg clamped his hands to his ears and forced it to go away. He put on his music and turned it up to the highest volume and didn’t turn it down even when his mum yelled at him.
At dinner he avoided looking at his granddad but he could still feel the eye upon him and the throbbing rage in his head grew. The voice screamed at him. Kill it. Kill it now! His hand clenched around his knife.
   ‘I’m not feeling well. May I be excused,’ he burst out. His mum most have noticed his pale, sweaty face and let him go without questioning him.
It wasn’t until he closed his bedroom door that he realised he was still holding the knife.

*

Greg hid in his room until it was time for bed, then he slunk down the stairs without a glimpse at his granddad. He tossed and turned on the sofa for hours but the feeling that he was being watched never left him. The eye, it was there. Through ceilings and walls it could see him. Disgusting eye. Revolting eye. Had to stop it staring. Had to stop it living. Had to…to kill it. He leapt from the sofa as if under a spell, mind and body focused on only one thing. He crept to the kitchen and picked the largest knife from his mum’s knife rack. It would be quick. It would be gone. It would be dead. He had to do it. Had to kill it.
Careful of the creaky ones, Greg took the stairs two at a time. The door was ajar and he was sure that the eye knew he was just outside. Hateful eye. With the knife thrust out in front of him, Greg pushed the door aside slowly and entered the room. His granddad was asleep and yet the eye was still open, Greg could see it gleaming in the darkness. He was pulled towards it. Kill it…Kill him. The voice urged him. He lifted the knife up high above his head, the sharp tip pointing directly at the offensive eyeball. Loathsome eye. Nasty eye. Kill it. Kill it now! Greg plunged the knife downwards into the socket just as his granddad's other eye popped open. 

Tuesday, 4 September 2012

Writing Motivation with Kittens and Gods

So it's now September and I never did post a Character Profile Sheet in August like I said I would. Woops. Don't be too mad. I did attempt to do one but my heart wasn't in it. However, I have written the beginnings of two drafts - one is 4000 words long, that's half my ECP already!

Part of this massive amount of writing was due to this cute writing site called Written? Kitten! It gives you a photo of a kitten every time you write 100 words. It is so great, it even saves your work. I think simply not writing on a Word document is so freeing. I would definitely give it a try. But if you're not fond of cats, just Google 'written (insert anything you like)', they literally do anything. I was using Written? Chihuahua! earlier.

Another reason for this amount of writing was a huge burst of motivation, which may have had something to do with reading the Percy Jackson series. I feel like I've been going on about this series for a while now but I had forgotten my love for it. I'm not saying it beats Harry Potter or anything, but it's definitely up there! I just love the writing style and it has obviously influenced my own. It's so natural and easy to read. I fear that reading any other books, especially grown up books, will interfere with my writing and it'll be naff again.

I did start getting some weird withdrawal-esque symptoms once I had finished reading the Percy Jackson series. In the end I resorted to buying Rick Riordan's new series, Heroes of Olympus, which has satisfied my need somewhat. It's not as good as the original but is still fun. While it includes some of the same characters, the writing style is different. For starters it's is the complete opposite of Percy Jackson, with multiple viewpoints (like I'm planning on doing) and the third person (also something I'm going to do). This works out perfectly as it is a best seller and current, something that I will be required to mention in my rationale. This series is also a textual intervention on the Greek myths, so even better as mine is a textual intervention on Gothic authors and their novels.

It has also given me new found confidence in my story as I was worried that having a female viewpoint would put the boy readers off, and I want mine to include both genders. Piper, the main female protagonist in The Lost Hero, is not a super girlie girl, and my character Lenore won't be either, so I don't think the boys would mind reading her sections (fingers crossed). I was worried that boys wouldn't want to hear about bitchy girls and love issues, but Riordan deals with this well, and it's not OTT or too cliché.

Sometimes I do feel that you lose intimacy with having too many viewpoints but it works well in both this series and the Gone series, which I am also obsessed with at the moment. I suppose it can go either way, but I hope I can pull it off.

I will probably post the two beginnings soon to see what you guys think, comments would be really helpful. Then, once I'm back at university I will be having meetings with my supervisor to see what she thinks. It is a complete change to what I started off with, but I have a good feeling about it.  

Tuesday, 12 June 2012

The Simpsons and Edgar Allan Poe

I realised that some people may not know who Edgar Allan Poe is. I first heard of him through The Simpsons, not the most intelligent of TV shows but still informative. There are three episodes that makes me think of Poe; The Telltale Head, Lisa's Rival, and Treehouse of Horror I. Clearly Poe is a great author to intervene with, his stories are creepy as well as memorable. I hope my story will be just as good as Poe's work and as The Simpson's re-tellings.

Watch The Telltale Head here: http://www.cucirca.com/2010/01/10/the-simpsons-season-1-episode-8-the-telltale-head/

Watch Lisa's Rival here: http://www.cucirca.com/2010/01/10/the-simpsons-season-6-episode-2-lisas-rival/

Watch Treehouse of Horror I here: http://dotsub.com/view/58591756-7128-488c-bfe9-22463d46d907

I know they're not the best representation of Poe's work, but they're very enjoyable. And I do love a bit of The Simpsons. 

Friday, 8 June 2012

ECP Plot Synopsis

I have spent the last three weeks working on my ECP idea. I've suffered a few bumps, one being my laptop breaking and losing all my original ideas, but today I was ready for my meeting with my ECP supervisor. Sadly, it did not appear that my supervisor was ready...she didn't turn up. She did say that her partner was going to hospital this week, but she also said she'd email me if it was a problem, and I received no emails. Safe to say I am a little annoyed. I will have to email her my work, although it's more constructive talking through work face to face rather than over the internet. My supervisor is nice enough but it's becoming clear that she is a bit of a scatterbrain.

My biggest fear is that I'll do lots of work and research over the summer and when I return in September she'll say it's not a good or suitable idea. This is just typical!

I'll just post the synopsis here and you can tell me whether it seems like an appropriate idea for a young adult novel for girls, and maybe some boys.

ECP Plot Synopsis


Lenore Corvus and her parents move to a new town, Ravensborough, on the edge of Nevermoor. They had to move because her mum, Madeline, became sick. She suffers from Catalepsy, a disease which makes one appear dead. Her Doctor prescribed country air and rest. Lenore didn't like the idea of moving, she liked living in the city.

The house they rented was very cheap and Lenore's dad, Roderick, thought it was a great bargain. It was big and old, and hadn't been lived in for a long time. The landlord, Mr Usher, was in his sixties and had one blind eye. He came over to welcome the Corvus's to Ravensborough, and Lenore found him disturbing, she couldn't wait for him to leave.

Once Mr Usher left, the family moved into the house and Lenore's dad settled her mum into her new room. Her mum's illness was so severe that her dad has to look after her constantly. Lenore went to her room and noticed a large, dark, body shaped mark on the ceiling. She asked if she could swap rooms but her dad tells her to stop being silly, it's just a room. She has to grow up now that her mum is sick. Bored and lonely, Lenore explores the rest of the house. Lots of the rooms still have many of Mr Usher's belongings covered in dust cloths. Lenore makes her way up into the attic. The attic is filled with more belongings, boxes of books which she flicks through (The Gold Bug), photos (lots of a blonde woman, some with her face scratched out), and even a box of teeth. This only confirms her suspicions that something creepy is going on involving the house and Mr Usher. Lenore decides not to tell her dad about the things she finds in the attic, he would just tell her she's being silly again.

That night Lenore can't sleep, there is a strange scratching and howling coming from the attic, right above her room, where the dark mark is. She tried to rearrange her room so she couldn't see the dark mark on the ceiling but it still scares her.

On Monday it is her first day of school. She's worried that she won't fit in, or that the students will be horrible. When she gets there she realises that it won't be a problem. The school is eerie and quiet. All the students are silent and incredibly well behaved, the opposite of her old school. No one talks to her or tries to make friends with her, they all seem scared. During assembly Lenore realises that the headmaster is Mr Usher, her landlord, and he's incredibly strict.

The next day, after another terrible night's sleep, someone talks to her at school. His name is Perry and he has recently moved to Ravensborough himself. He thinks that everyone is weird because of the headmaster and his strict ruling. Lenore explains that he is also her landlord. She mentions all the odd things that have happened to her since she's moved into the house. Perry says it sounds like something that would happen in an Edgar Allan Poe story. Lenore doesn't know who that is so they go to the school library to find one of his books. The only book there is a compilation of his poems. On one of the pages there is a cryptic message. Perry has no idea what it means but Lenore realises that she has seen this sort of code before. It was in one of the books in the attic, The Gold Bug.

They check the book out and after school go back to Lenore's house. Her dad isn't bothered by what she does, he's too focused on her mum. Lenore and Perry go up into the attic and using The Gold Bug, crack the code. It says something about a one eyed man, something called Ligeia, and a body buried under the floorboards. They don't know what Ligeia is but guess that the one eyed man is Mr Usher. They decide to go the town library to see if they have any more Poe books.

At the library they find a short story by Poe called Ligeia. When they go to check it out the elderly, gossipy, librarian talks about a woman called Ligeia who lived in the town, and she was an odd one. They ask what happened to her and the librarian tells them that she went crazy and now lives up at the Nevermoor Asylum.

At Lenore's house they read Ligeia but it doesn't have any more cryptic messages. Perry suggests that they visit the Asylum. It's only a few miles away, they could go there at the weekend. For the next couple of days they go to school like normal but Lenore feels like Mr Usher knows what they are doing.

On Saturday they walk to the Nevermoor Asylum. Once there they ask to see Ligeia. She doesn't seem too crazy to them. They ask her about the code and Mr Usher. At first she seems frightened but she soon tells them what happened. Nearly 25 years ago her sister, Rowena, was married to Mr Usher. It was a marriage of conveience and she didn't love him at all. But she had an affair with someone she did love. When Mr Usher found out he went crazy and attacked her. He knew her smile was the most beautiful part of her so he pulled out all her teeth. In the end he killed her in a rage and buried her under the floorboards. Ligeia had witnessed the whole thing. She was going to tell someone about Mr Usher but he convinced everyone that she was crazy; people already thought she was odd and readily believed him. He told the towns people that Rowena had run away with another man and that he was devestated. Ligeia was too afraid to tell anyone, even if they did believe her, in case Mr Usher killed her too. After a few years Ligeia was admitted to the Asylum and hadn't left since. She had written the code in the book years ago hoping that one day someone would find it; if she couldn't talk about it she would write about it.

Before they had left, Lenore and Perry called the police and asked them to hurry to the house. Lenore and Perry didn't know, but once they had left, the head Doctor and personal friend of Mr Usher, Doctor Tarr, had called Mr Usher. He always wanted to know if anyone visited Ligeia in case she told anyone the truth. When he found out it was Lenore he rushed over to the house.When they arrived home Mr Usher was waiting for them. They tried to escape him by running into the house and up to the attic, Mr Usher followed them. A policeman, Mr Dupin, arrived and, noticing the door wide open, walked in. He bumped into Lenore's dad and together they followed the commotion upstairs.

In the attic Lenore and Perry accused Mr Usher of killing his wife. He denied it but he was becoming more nervous. He hadn't been in the house for years. The strange howling noise started again and this scared Mr Usher. Crazed by guilt he confessed and pulled up the floorboards. Mr Dupin and Lenore's dad arrived just in time to see the toothless skeleton. Mr Usher was arrested straight away. The howling noise had turned out to be Rowena's old cat who had mysteriously survived for over 25 years.

Soon the school had a new headmaster and the quickly the students became more relaxed and Lenore made new friends. Ligeia, after spending years in the Asylum was now crazy and so couldn't leave. Lenore's mum eventually came out of her Cataleptic state and her health improved greatly. They could now move back to the city, but Lenore found that she rather liked it in Ravensborough with Perry after all.

The End.

So there you have it. I'm not sure if the ending is too abrupt and hopefully the whole murder mystery thing makes sense. All the names are taken from Edgar Allan Poe stories, and so are most of the scenarios. Do you think this would be too scary for teenagers (aged 12 upwards), or do you think they could cope?

Leave a comment below if you have any ideas or constructive criticisms.

Friday, 18 May 2012

The Bloody Chamber - An Intervention

This piece was my last assignment of my second year; I still can't believe it's gone by that fast. This was part of the Textual Intervention II module, you may have seen the essay I had to do for this module - The Worst Essay Ever. The creative side of this module is so much easier, and a lot more fun. Last term it was all about the Gothic, this term it was about fairy tales and their morals and messages. Well, something like that. I found last term more understandable, leading me to receive a First. I swear I will stop going on about that one day. Or maybe not.

While I am happy with this piece, I am not certain it will receive a First like I was last term. We didn't have much time to workshop, but my friend The Student Housewife helped me a lot. She's an editing genius.

Looks lovely...
So this story was inspired by Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber, which I've mentioned only a few times before...I'm not exactly enthralled by the story but it is better than the original Bluebeard. I guess after studying it for A-level English and Art I do feel somewhat attached to it. The guidelines for this creative piece was to retell a fairy tale, or explore the themes, or add a message. Something. It's pretty bad that I don't know this by now. But I stuck with something simple and did a retelling. This may sound boring to you, but it's a creepy, jazzed up version. I spoke of it before in a post called Mark De Sade Idea. It's a play on words of the S&M 'inventor', Marquis de Sade. He wrote a book on the reading list called The Misfortunes of Virtue and Other Early Tales. It's supposed to be all sexual and grim, but the parts I read were really boring. This story has the basic plot of The Bloody Chamber/Bluebeard, with the theme of curiosity, with some of de Sade's sexual fantasies thrown in for good measure.

I'll stop yabbering on and let you read it now.

Mark Desade’s Misfortune of Curiosity

EDIT - 31 March 2012: I am removing this post temporarily as it is entered in Short Fiction's Competition. It will be back in July.

EDIT: My lecturer's comment at the end was 'OMG! She took pictures of him? I didn't see that coming!' I got my lecturer to say OMG! That must be a sign of a great twist ending. 

Sunday, 22 April 2012

A Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde Intervention

This was actually from last term's Textual Intervention. I didn't post it before as I did not like it very much, I prefer writing contemporary rather than period pieces, which is worrying as I chose to do history writing module next year. Anyway, this is rather obviously inspired by the Gothic novel The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and is about what would happen to a woman if she were to take Dr Jekyll's concoction. It also has a little hint of a Succubus, a female demon who seduces men and does demony things.

The Strange Case of Lady Jacqueline and Mistress Heidi 


17 November 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

The wedding is now less than a month away and I am dreadfully excited. Roger has been sweet and kind, and his family have been so generous; they have allowed me to stay with them until the day of the wedding. I cannot wait to become part of their family as Mrs Dr Roger Stevenson. He has asked after you and I have assured him that you will be coming to the wedding; I know you would not want to miss it. You’ll also get to meet all of Roger’s eligible bachelor friends, they’re mostly doctors. I think you’ll particularly like Dr Jekyll; he would be the perfect match for you. He’s quiet but has a good heart.

Last week Dr Jekyll had an odd proposition for me, he asked me to take part in a scientific experiment, he apparently needed a well-bred female, which I thought was a peculiar variable for an experiment. Of course, I asked Roger about it first, he has such high respect for Dr Jekyll that he didn’t think anything of it and gladly accepted on my behalf. Roger says that I should feel honoured to be chosen for such an experiment and I Assured him I was.

Dr Jekyll gave me a vial of clear liquid and said to take a tablespoon of it every evening before bed. He says I must tell him if I have any adverse side effects. I have been taking this liquid for a week now and everything had been going fine. But Stephanie, something quite queer happened this morning; I awoke in my bed with absolutely no memory of the last evening, I do not even remember going to my bedchamber. The oddest thing was that I was still fully clothed, but the outfit I was wearing, oh Stephanie! it was shameful! The bodice was cut so low, my skirt was short enough to expose my calf and I wasn’t even wearing any undergarments. I am ashamed to think that someone may have seen me like this. And when I undressed myself this morning, for I dare not call in a maid, I found a man’s handkerchief tucked down the front of my bodice, it was monogrammed with the initials H.G. I was so shocked I threw it into the fire right away. I am dreadfully worried about what has happened to me. I shall have to contact Dr Jekyll immediately.

Much love Jacqueline.

20 November 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

It has been three days since my last letter and I am afraid that no one has seen or heard from Dr Jekyll for five days. Roger is terribly worried about him and as am I, though for different reasons. I have not told Roger anything about the other night; I dread what he may say.

Stephanie, something worse has happened. Roger has told me that one of his close friends was murdered three days ago and no one knows who could have done it. His name was Mr Henry Groome. The same initials that were on the handkerchief I had. I fear I have done something rotten. What should I do, Stephanie? I am so worried.

Much love Jacqueline.

23 November 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

It has happened again! I awoke this morning with no recollection of last night. I was dressed as wanton as before, in fact my lips were still heavily rouged. I have tried desperately to get in contact with Dr Jekyll but he is still missing; it’s been over a week now. Roger keeps asking me what is wrong but I simply cannot tell him. I am sure if he knew about what I think I have done he would call off the wedding immediately. Oh, Stephanie I desperately need your help.

Much love Jacqueline.

24 November 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

I have overheard from the maids that one of Roger’s friends, Dr Hastie Lanyon, has also been murdered. Apparently he was found in his bedchamber and no one even knows how he died; there were no marks but he was completely naked. The rumour is he was seen that evening with an immoral woman that seduced him and took his soul. Am I that woman? I wish Dr Jekyll was here for me to talk to. Is this what he meant by ‘adverse side effects’? I shall stop taking the liquid that he gave me, hopefully that will stop these strange and horrifying occurrences.

Much love Jacqueline.

30 November 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

I thought it could not get any worse. I do not remember the past three days at all. Roger says that I have been in bed sick, he says he’s been awfully worried about me, he does not want me to catch a fever so close to the wedding. He cautiously asked me if the liquid Dr Jekyll gave me had anything to do with this sickness. I said that I have stopped taking it and he seemed relieved. He has me bundled up in bed with many blankets and the maids bring me warm broth regularly. I am so grateful but I still cannot tell him the truth. I asked about Dr Jekyll again today but Roger says that he is still missing and that his friend Mr Utterson has been looking for him for days to no avail. The wedding is less than two weeks away and I hope that all this madness stops soon.

Much love Jacqueline.

1 December 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

Last night I remembered what happened over the past three days. I keep getting flashes of it when I close my eyes. I remember lying to the maids, saying that I was feeling ill but then changing into such shameless clothing and climbing out of the window. I remember this but I do not feel like myself, it is as if it is someone else using my body. I see myself in a bedchamber with a man that isn’t Roger; I do not know who he is. Oh, Stephanie, I did terrible things to him. Such terrible things that I cannot bring myself to repeat. I pray that God shall not punish me for such sinful acts. If Roger was to find out he would not dare to marry me, or even talk to me again. But Stephanie, I know now. It was me. I was the one that killed Henry Groome and Dr Hastie Lanyon. It was me but at the same time not me. It seems that this immoral woman and I are the same person, using the same vessel but for different purposes. I do not understand; I have tried to live a life of purity and now this other side of me has developed. If only Dr Jekyll were here. Did he know something like this might happen? If so, why did he give it to me? Why would he bestow these horrors upon me? He is truly a cruel man. But how I wish he could be found! I know I should tell Roger the truth now, but I simply cannot. Revealing this sordid truth would devastate him. If only you were here, you would know what to do.

Much love Jacqueline.

6 December 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

Since my last letter there have been two more deaths. These men were all honest, hard-working people, Stephanie, and I have killed them. I remember it all this time. I remember going to these men, seducing them, killing them. But it wasn’t fully me. It was this other woman using my body, my own consciousness forced back for this other woman to take over. She steals their souls, she devours them whole, and she gains pleasure from this. She sickens me. I sicken me. Roger asks me many times if I am okay, he worries about me greatly. I feel deep shame that I do not have the courage to tell him the truth. I do hope Dr Jekyll is found soon.

Much love Jacqueline.

11 December 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

Dr Jekyll has finally been found, dead. I have no fears that it was me for now I remember every moment that this wanton woman robs from me. Roger told me this morning that Mr Utterson found Dr Jekyll dead in his study; apparently he had been there the whole time. They suspect that a seedy fellow by the name of Mr Hyde had been harassing him and might have murdered him, too. I hope that my next victim is this Mr Hyde.

Oh no, Stephanie! That was not me thinking, that was her, the other woman. She is seeping into my normal life; the day is mine and the night is hers but not anymore. Despite the fact that I have not taken the liquid in weeks this madness is getting worse. More and more I am having unholy and wicked thoughts. Her thoughts. This murdering harlot is trying to steal my body for her own demonic ways, but I shall not let her. I fear the worst now that Dr Jekyll is dead. I fear the worst because my wedding day is tomorrow. But I have a plan. I shall lock myself in my room, I shall tell the maids to not let me out, I shall tell the gardener to keep a look out around my window. I will not let this demon out to kill another man. I will be the strongest being. I shall win back my body and mind.

Much love Jacqueline.

12 December 18—

Dearest Stephanie,

Oh I pray for much forgiveness as truly there is no more hope. I thought my plan would work, and in a way I suppose it did. I did not leave my room to kill. This time the man came to me. And oh Lord, it was Roger! Oh, Stephanie! I did it, I killed him! I killed the only man I have ever loved.

I felt her. I felt the shift from my mind to hers; my soul to hers. I felt her anger when she realised the door was locked from the outside, her fury when she saw the gardener patrolling beneath the window. Her rage was terrifying and yet I felt satisfaction in the power I had over her. But later in the darkness of night, there was a soft knock at the door and I felt her excitement. When the door opened and we saw Roger enter I wanted to scream at him, yell at him to go away. How had he gotten in, I thought, the door was locked and the maids were meant to keep watch.

Oh, but Stephanie, I was pushed further from my body; this other woman was in charge now. She greeted him as sweetly as I would have. And when he said that he could not wait another day to share a bed she blushed so prettily. But I knew what she was really thinking. She was thinking about all the ways to seduce him and to take his soul. I felt her take over fully then. My mind and body was lost to her completely. I don’t remember what I did to him, Stephanie. I woke up this morning and his body was lying in bed next to me, stone cold. His face was already as waxy as a corpse’s and frozen in an expression of pure fear.

I shall have to confess, there is no way of escaping this. I shall do it now. I will tell Mr and Mrs Stevenson that I killed their son and all those other men. I will accept the punishment gladly, for I know that the real murderer will also be suffering. Stephanie, this is the last you will ever hear of me.

Farewell.

Much love Jacqueline.

13 December 18—

Dear Stephanie Campbell,

As you are no doubt aware, your sister Jacqueline Campbell was supposed to marry our son Roger Stevenson yesterday. Only that morning we found our dear son dead in your sister’s bedchamber and Jacqueline missing, as well as most of our silverware and jewellery. If you are in contact with your deceitful, murdering sister please inform us as the police are very interested in finding her. These letters were the only thing left in her bedchamber, and as we are decent well-meaning people, not only did we not read them, even though there may be clues to her whereabouts, we have also sent them to you.

Again, if you hear from Jacqueline, contact us immediately.

Mr and Mrs Stevenson.

Monday, 2 April 2012

The Worst Essay Ever - Grade.

Last Friday I recieved my grade for the Worst Essay Ever. Outside the faculty office everyone was upset or mad; their grades weren't very good (but they had also received so Script Writing grades, too) so I was nervous to get my grade.The lady took ages finding my work, I was scared they had lost it again - it happened to me last year. But then, when she handed it to me I saw at the bottom of the page 67% hurray!

The marker was impressed by my bibliography, which she should be, it was a lot of books. And the only bad comment was that I needed to be more judicious with my use of quotes. Admittedly, I put in lots of quotes to make me seems smarter, also because sometimes I just don't know what to say!

Either way I am a very happy bunny. Let's hope that my creative piece is equally good, or better! 

Thursday, 22 March 2012

Mark De Sade Idea

I haven't posted in ages, and believe me I feel awful about it. But I'm just finding it so hard to write at the moment. Well, anyway, here is a piece of writing that I have struggled through. I'm not feeling too pleased about it but I would like you to read it despite that. Maybe you can give me a few tips as to where I should take it next. Just a hint, it's based on Bluebeard and The Bloody Chamber. 


Mark De Sade



I sat on Mark’s bed awkwardly. I had never been in a boy’s room before. It had blue wallpaper with clothes all over the floor, school books thrown on the desk, and a poster of a girl just wearing a lacy thong. I now regretted wearing the plain white knickers that I had had for years.

I waited for a couple of minutes before checking my watch; Mark was taking forever considering he was only getting drinks. I got off the bed and wandered around the room. I peeked in his wardrobe and nosed at some of his school books. He was not doing too well at Trigonometry - all D’s. I scanned the rest of his books on a small shelf, not that there were many. I picked a footballer’s autobiography off the shelf and another book came out with it. It landed with a thud.

I picked up the book; it looked like a scrap book, although I didn’t imagine Mark was very creative. I turned the book in my hands and one of those old Polaroid types of photographs fell to the floor. A photo of Amber. I scowled; this was probably a scrap book she made for Mark on Valentine’s Day or something. Irritated, I opened the book.

The page was covered in photos of a busty blond with a dazzling smile on her face. Mark’s ex-girlfriend, Vicky. Her name was written in pen at the top of the page along with the date 27th August. I remembered her distantly. Mark had gone out with her for ages a few years back; they were the ‘It Couple’. But I guess they weren’t that great together as he dumped her and she changed schools instantly. I ran my hands through my shoulder length brown hair, would Mark like it better if I was blond? Absently, I turned to the next page. There were more photos of Vicky. But in these photos she was dead. Her body was naked, mutilated, and covered in blood.

I dropped the book in shock and stifled a scream. I closed my eyes but I could still see Vicky’s disfigured corpse in front of me. I counted to ten before looking back at the book.

It had fallen open to another page. These photos were of a girl I had never seen before. Joanna was written at the top along with 20th May. She was wearing a tight bikini and had sun bleached hair with beautifully tanned skin.

I didn’t want to know what was next but I couldn’t stop myself. My hand shaking, I knelt down and cautiously flicked the page over. Joanna’s skin was now a deathly grey and her hair was matted with blood from all the cuts on her face. I leapt away from the book as if Joanna’s massacred corpse was decaying in Mark’s bedroom. I lay on the floor, breathing quickly, my hands covering my face. After a moment I sat up.

My heart racing, I looked back at the book, trying not to see the photos. With a quick glance at the bedroom door I turned the page once more.

Amber 14th March.

Amber’s beautiful face stared up at me from the photos; her auburn hair curling around her freckled face and her mouth frozen in the perfect smile.

My heart stopped. The 14th of March was only last week. The day before Mark asked me out. Thinking about it, I hadn’t seen Amber in a while. That’s when it hit me. These dates were the day they died. The day Mark killed them.

I dreaded to see what was on the next page but I couldn’t control myself. I reached for the book when I heard a creak on the stair. He was coming back. I snatched the book off the floor, shoved it back on the shelf along with the footballer’s autobiography, and leapt onto the bed. Mark opened the door just as my head hit the pillow.

‘Hey, we only had water, hope that’s okay,’ he said as he entered the room. He stopped as he noticed me lying on his bed breathing quickly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just thirsty.’ I sat up and took a glass of water from him. As I drank I saw him looking at something on the floor.

The photo of Amber that had fallen from the book.

My glass slipped from my fingers with a crash.

‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry.’ I sprang from the bed and headed for the door. ‘I’ll just get some tissues.’

‘It’s fine, it’s just water,’ Mark said as he grabbed my wrist. I stopped suddenly, unsure about what was going to happen. He led me back to the bed and sat me down. He then stood in front of me.

‘You’re really pretty, did you know that?’ he asked. I shook my head dumbly. He gave me one of his lopsided smiles, more predatory than it was charming. ‘You really are. Would you mind if I took some photographs of you?’

My heart stopped as Mark reached under his bed and pulled out an old Polaroid camera. I tried to get off the bed but he shoved me back down.

‘I think on the bed will do.’

Before I could move again he snapped a picture of me. After it was printed he looked at the photo.

‘Try not to look so terrified this time,’ he said as he took another photo.

I lay on the bed, my whole body tense. I smiled tersely as Mark aimed his camera at me. I looked about the room. He was stood too close to the door; if I was to run he would definitely catch me. I could try the window. We were on the first floor, but I would rather risk broken legs rather than death. But how did I even know if the window was unlocked. 

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Writing Woes

Do you ever get to that moment where you just can't be bothered to write?

I'm feeling like that right now. I literally can't think of any ideas for my Textual Intervention piece based on fairy tales. Everything I write seems to be boring, flat, and already done to death. And yet I need at least 500 words by tomorrow!

Another problem are my Creative Voice 'sketches'. They're four 500 word pieces about image, voice, character, and setting. I just looked at some examples from past students and they are more original, inspired, and generally much better than any of mine are.

And then there's my Fiction for Children piece, Royalteen. Every time I hand a draft in to my lecturer, she  rips it to shreds. I do everything she says, but then next time I give her a copy there's even more scribbles and notes on it. I feel like I'm doing it all wrong. I so want it to be good but I bet I only get a 2:2 for it.

I just don't think my writing is good enough. My style isn't fun, lively and bright. It's bland. I don't write creatively at all. And I still have to pick my FYP! I don't have the confidence to do a piece of young adult fiction any more, not after having Judy as a lecturer!

I'm at a complete loss!

Friday, 9 March 2012

University Grades

This is a pretty braggy post. I got my Critical Evaluation for Creative Voice back today, and I won't lie, I was worried about what mark I was going to get. My Evaluation last year was 60%, so I wasn't too hopeful this year. However, I got 68% yay! Anyway, my friend said that she kept a record of all the grades she has got and I thought I would, too. I don't want to seem like a show off posting them on here, but it means I can link them to the exact pieces of work so you can see what I wrote and what grade I got for it. Also, if you can't show off your grades what's the point of getting them?


Year 2 Semester 2 so far...
Creative Voice: Critical Evaluation – 68%

Year 2 Semester 1

Media Writing: 1500 Word Critique of Article – 67%
Textual Intervention: Rationale – 66%
Creating Short Screenplays: Film Script – 64%
Creating Short Screenplays: Essay – 65%


Year 1 Semester 2

Creative Non-Fiction: Essay – 54%
Creative Voice I: Critical Evaluation – 60%
Creativity II: Evaluation – 63%
Poetry and Poetic Expression: Rationale – 68%

Year 1 Semester 1

Language – Writing – Reading: Essay – 62%
Fictional Writing: Rationale – 63%
Creativity I: Presentation Evaluation – 63%
Creativity I: Research Essay – 68%
Script Writing: Essay – 64%


My particular favourites are the Pitch Presentation; my Creativity I essay, which was on Oscar Wilde; my poetry pieces; my Creative Non-Fiction piece which was on Doctor Who; my Short Story Parody, and finally, my Textual Intervention piece, which was a First!

The Worst Essay Ever Completed.


Yesterday I finally handed in the Dreaded Essay. It took me ages to understand the question and then ages to answer it, too! I wasn't the only one to find it difficult, so that makes it slightly better. However, in the end I was a little bit proud of all my hard work, I read through so many books from the library, and I most of what was said went right over my head. I can't imagine all my work will account to much though, but as long as it's over a 2:2 that's fine. Oh no, I'm worried I've jinxed it now!

Anyway, I was so proud of it I though I would post it here, you know, creative work and academic work; I'm so versatile! It's over 1500 words and has a lot of footnotes, which don't look so bad spread over six pages, but the list looks endless here.

If you see any mistakes please don't point them out, I've already handed this essay in and I can't do anything about it now!

I used to recommend reading The Bloody Chamber but now I warn you to stay away from it! It will eat your soul!

 ‘All works of art either uphold the status quo, or challenge it.’ 


This essay will focus on Angela Carter’s story The Bloody Chamber. It will examine whether the text challenges or upholds the status quo through comparison of traditional fairy tales, the exploration of the feminist movement, heterosexual relationships, and the importance of the mother figure.

In 1979, when The Bloody Chamber was published, the women’s movement, referred to as ‘second-wave feminism’[1], was already in motion. These feminists arrived in a society where gender relations had been changed dramatically after the war when women had joined the workforce. During the 1960s and 1970s ‘detraditionalization processes occurred which transformed the institutions of marriage, the family, and gender’[2] which is apparent in Carter’s writing. Carter twists the traditional fairy tales and gives the female characters new, stronger, more sexual roles. Carter had been re-reading fairy tales and Sade’s The Misfortunes of Virtue together and ‘bleakly contemplating the fate of good, powerless girls, the Red Riding Hoods and Sleeping Beauties of the world.’[3] The protagonist in The Bloody Chamber is more heroic and active than in Charles Perrault’s Bluebeard. The bride in Bluebeard waits for her brothers to come to her rescue, reinforcing Zipes’s theory of ‘The male acts, the female wait’[4]. Although Carter’s protagonist is also saved by another, her mother, she does try to save herself by using sex as a weapon: ‘I forced myself to be seductive…and I saw how he almost failed to resist me. If he had come to me in bed, I would have strangled him, then.’[5] While her plan did not work, it is this activeness, rather than passivity, that saves the protagonist from a gruesome end. The protagonist through this experience is no longer naive about situations, ‘though she may be naive about her courage and ability to kill her husband.’[6] This is different from Perrault’s Bluebeard in which ‘Earth-shaking events have taken place in the story and nobody is better for them.’[7] Whereas Carter’s protagonist realises it is not all about money and security but about finding someone that loves you no matter what, like the blind Jean-Yves, who sees her ‘clearly with his heart’[8] and is preferable to the Marquis.

Fairy tales, and their underlying morals, were used to construct the roles children were to grow into. Perrault’s Bluebeard was written in the 1600’s in a time when writers ‘created their fairy tales for the most part to express their views about young people and to prepare them for the roles that they idealistically believed they should play in society.’[9] The Bloody Chamber was written in the 1970’s, a similar time to many radical feminist texts, and ‘the work of the women’s movement from the early nineteenth century onwards has done much to set new agendas for the liberation of both women and the relations between the genders more widely.’[10] Carter’s daring writings about ‘women’s waywardness, and especially at their attraction to the Beast in the very midst of repulsion’[11] made her unpopular in some areas of the feminist movement. The Bloody Chamber allows readers to explore the other agendas the classic fairy tale offers through intervention. By challenging the preconceptions of the fairy tale Carter’s work ‘excites contradictory and powerful feelings…while openly challenging conventional misogyny they also refuse the wholesome or pretty picture of female gender and deal plainly with erotic dominance as a source of pleasure for men – and for women.’[12] The heroine and Marquis engage in sexual relations, and the first time is all about the male taking the girl’s innocence, while later the protagonist uses sex for her own gain, showing she is not so inexperienced due to seeing the chamber.

Zipes says that ‘Perrault argues for the total submission of the woman to her husband. Feminine coquetry disturbs and upsets him: it could be the sign of female independence’[13] hence many of his tales have passive female characters like Patient Griselda and Beauty. In Bluebeard ‘the heroine is beautiful and well-bred but too curious…The moral explains that it is sin for a woman to be curious and imaginative and that women must exercise self-control.’[14] In contrast, men’s disobedience or curiosity is often seen as a virtue: ‘In contesting civil injustice or in resisting tyranny, the rebel’s disobedient methods are called revolutionary and courageous; but woman’s disobedience, forever coloured by traditional interpretations of the first biblical instance of it, is seldom admired.’[15] However, Carter challenges this by having her protagonist saved by her curiosity. Bluebeard wanted his wife to see the chamber and tempted her with the knowledge that she should not go there: ‘but he had given me the box, himself, knowing I must learn the secret. I had played a game…and I had lost.’[16] Nevertheless, if she listened to her husband she would not have known about this chamber full of his dead wives and would have ended up there herself.  Consequently, because she disobeyed her husband she found out about the chamber and was able to avoid being taken there. Through finding the chamber she is also able to ‘understand and survive the deadly peril that kind of marriage holds for her’[17] and realise he is not the man she thought he was.

Many of the books the heroine finds in the Marquis’s library all hint towards the motifs of the story: ‘The Initiation, The Key of Mysteries, The Secret of Pandora’s Box’[18] yet she ignores them. She finds the pornography ironically captioned ‘Reproof of curiosity’[19] not knowing the fate her husband has planned for her is worse. So, while old fairy tales preach that curiosity and disobedience are bad, and one should not stray from the path like in Little Red Riding Hood, this curiosity can lead to knowledge, which in turn leads to power.

The Bloody Chamber may challenge a female’s passivity in gender roles but also encourages a traditional heterosexual relationship. In both versions, Bluebeard successfully woos his bride with extravagant gifts and parties, ‘Bluebeard threw a house-lavish party at one of his country mansions’[20] showing that he has much wealth and can offer security. Carter takes this relationship one step further by having Bluebeard and his wife involved in sexual interactions, a common feature in conventional heterosexual relationships as ‘sexual consummation of the marriage became consequently of crucial importance in the Christian world’. However, the heroine’s attitude towards wealth, sexuality and marriage change after viewing the chamber, ‘Carter exposes her reading audience to a radical view on the fairy-tale marriage’[21] it is not about getting married and living happily-ever-after anymore, for in the privacy of his home the Marquis is brutal, power wielding Sadist.

It is not unheard of a young woman marrying an older man, and the girl’s inexperience is arousing for Bluebeard: ‘it must have been my innocence that captivated him’ [22]and ‘she accepts the stereotypical patriarchal view of a young girl in relationships to an experienced man; he is to initiate her and to enjoy his conquest.’[23] Many countries in the 70’s, including France, started petitions calling for the decriminalisation of all consenting relations between adults and minors. In 2006, in the Netherlands, the ‘Love Thy Neighbour, Freedom and Diversity’ Party’s aims were to ‘decriminalise sexual activities at any age unless dangerous or coerced’[24]. However, many Western cultures still find adult-child sexual relations to be controversial and taboo, though Carter does push the boundaries of this ideal with many of her protagonists being on the cusp of womanhood, such as the girl in The Company of Wolves: ‘her breasts have just begun to swell…she has just started her women’s bleeding’.[25]

Carter also challenges the status quo by having the heroine saved by a woman rather than a man. From the beginning it is made clear that the protagonist’s mother is a strong female character, she has ‘outfaced a junkful of Chinese pirates, nursed a village through a visitation of the plague, shot a man-eating tiger with her own hand’[26] The protagonist respects her mother deeply and is pleased to have her ‘nerves and will’[27] as well as her ‘mother’s spirit’[28]. Not only is she strong but she went against the social norms and married for love rather than money and security. Carter has questioned ‘the usual pattern of separation, transition, and return by making the girl’s mother, as a role model for her daughter, as one who has clearly operated outside the normal status quo of community expectations’.[29] However, the mother suffered the consequences of this decision as her husband died and left her in poverty. None the less, the protagonists embraces her mother’s marriage values, and even takes them a step further by not marrying at all but is happy to be ‘engaged in setting up house’[30] with Jean-Yves.

The mother and the protagonist share a special bond, in the first moment of crisis she goes to call her mother only to find the telephone line dead and yet this does not matter as the mother still arrives at the perfect moment. The protagonist explains it as ‘maternal telepathy’[31] but archetypal ideas say that ‘mother and daughter are a single complete unity’[32]. They also say that fairy tale mothers are different from real mothers as they often ‘possess subhuman or superhuman traits. For one thing they are better or more evil than the average human women.’[33] The mother kills the Marquis ‘without a moment’s hesitation’[34] suggesting she is more evil than average. It can be said that although the mother is strong and independent she still has to use the father’s gun, she could not possess her own.

Carter manages to both uphold and challenge the status quo in The Bloody Chamber through her portrayal of her heroine and the experiences she has. While traditional fairy tales condemned those who are too curious, Carter promotes the idea that a woman’s curiosity will lead to knowledge and power. Carter allows readers to question the original tales they were told as children and expose them to a darker and more sexual adaptation.


[1] Veronique Mottier, Sexuality: A Very Short Introduction, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008) P.55
[2] Veronique Mottier, Sexuality P.55
[3] Eds. Roemer, Danielle M. and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale, (Michigan: Wayne State University Press, 2001) P.67
[4] Jack Zipes, Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion, (Great Britain: Routledge, 2006) P.41
[5] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, (London: Vintage, 2006) PP. 34-35
[6] Eds. Roemer, Danielle M. and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale P.86
[7] Eds. Roemer, Danielle M. and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale P.96
[8] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.42
[9] Jack Zipes, Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion, (Great Britain: Routledge, 2006) P.30
[10] Ken Plummer, Telling Sexual Stories, (London: Routledge, 1995) P.149
[11] Marina Warner, From the Beast to the Blonde, (London: Vintage, 1995) P.310
[12] Marina Warner, From the Beast to the Blonde, P.313
[13] Jack Zipes, Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion P.41
[14] Jack Zipes, Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion P.40
[15] Eds. Roemer, Danielle M. and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale, P.103
[16] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.34
[17] Eds. Roemer, Danielle M. and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale, P.98
[18] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.12
[19] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.13
[20] Angela Carter, ‘Bluebeard’, in The Fairy Tales of Charles Perrault, (Great Britain: Penguin Classics, 2008) P.4
[21] Eds. Danielle M. Roemer,  and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale, P.98
[22] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.16
[23] Eds. Danielle M. Roemer,  and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale, P.86
[24] Veronique Mottier, Sexuality P.106
[25] Angela Carter, ‘The Company of Wolves,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.133
[26] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.2
[27] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.26
[28] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.26
[29] Eds. Danielle M. Roemer,  and Cristina Bacchilega, Angela Carter and the Fairy Tale, P.97
[30] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.42
[31] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.41
[32] Sibylle Birkhauser-Oeri, The Mother: Archetypal Image in Fairy Tales, (Canada: Inner City Books, 1988) P.29
[33] Sibylle Birkhauser-Oeri, The Mother,  P.13
[34] Angela Carter, ‘The Bloody Chamber,’ in The Bloody Chamber, P.41