Secret Story Writing Skill

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[jvjvjvjv]

I laughed when you dropped your phone and swore

[nitricacidd]

Hello Mr Salles, could you please grade my negative weather description?

Light. Warmth. Calmness. These were all now alien, almost unimaginable concepts. It was as if the Earth was now smothered in a thick blanket of inky void. Not a single spark burned against the what is normally a sky speckled with stars. The clouds from the west, saturated with darkness, strode across the sky, lightning bursting from them like the spears of a Roman legion. The thunder followed shortly after, booming with the energy of a nuclear bomb. The wind raged across the land, buffeting the trees and howling with the cries of a thousand rabid wolves. No matter from where a being looked, be they a mole, a person or an eagle, one thing was an absolute universal constant - Chaos. Entropy. Instability.

Any criticism is welcome and appreciated, thanks!

[JonnesTT]

Gotta be honest, I hate in medias res (for irrational reasons).
Most of the time when I notice it, I do because the story doesn't have the emotional contrast I need for a crisis to feel like a crisis.
When I don't notice it, it's great though. Going from a tragic in medias res to a story about empowerment or using it to illustrate a change in perspective of the protagonist (or the POV) can be sooo emotional!

[adeshewaadebayo]

Hi Mr Salles thanks for everything i watched all your vids and managed to get an 8 in english Lang and a 9 in english lit getting 30/30 on my inspector calls essay.

[Dr-bxwi]

Hello mr salles, your videos are amazing, would it be possible to get some feedback on this paper 1 question 5 and how many marks it could be out of 40? Thank you.

Despair, degradation, desolation : Tom sat on the tattered wooden bench which had a green paint covering flaking away as if it was being sucked into a black hole. Slowly he adjusted his position hoping to reduce the pain. However unfortunately a sharp pain jolted up his once gorilla-like legs like a comet. Tom wanted to howl in frustration. However he internalised his supernova of emotions within himself, frustratingly clutching tightly to his silver crutch which seemed to imprison him like handcuffs. His life felt like it was a hell on Earth. No longer, no longer he can endure this frustration. He wished it was the past.
Ninteen-sixty seven. The good days.

There were times when he has sat on this very bench; wondering how life was before. Running, kicking, scoring, and winning. For many days Tom sat in that very place; during times when the winds flexed their muscles in the East, kicking the clouds into shape; which forced them to retreat along the sky. There were black leather like boots of rain which stamped across the horizon booting cold onto Tom’s rusty body as if it was a football. He seemed to reminisce over this life during times when the sky seem to put on a black cape, and the clouds seemed to put battleship grey, working together to create a tryrant which blasted its winter fury.

But now, tom looks down and sees a red football-with a logo of a rooster-propelling through air. The child looked nervously towards hoping it would not hit him. To his surprise the man with wrinkles that looked like waves, caught the ball with ease. Imagine, a life where you have freedom, prosperity and good health. Imagine if you could kick a ball with freedom, and no pain. No pain.

Freedom.

Nineteen sixty seven. Derby football ground.


The field glows with light, the heat so strong it dazzles. The horizon looks a gold shield beaten by a hammer, as though some Greek God has been reborn to hurl shafts of glorious light upon my youthful spirit. The sky shows off its artist trickery: cobalt blue depths, azure outlines to the few white clouds, a sapphire halo around the sun.


With great precision, Tom dribbled the ball across the crispy blades of grass, moving past many player with skill like a missle that was ejected from a fighter plane. Tom established dominance over the field. Even the sun was behind him. Beatings its sunbeams onto the players sweaty backs, while spraying them over Tom. His foot, full of power, greatness, and strength, launched the football with great accuracy to its target soaring through the air.
“One nil to Liverpool!, ” read the commentator.

Looking at the child’s red football, Tom smiling, mouth formed the shape of a crescent moon. After one more glance at the football, he rolled to towards him. His life life was not so dull then.