I've been told my original writing is in the 31-35 band (out of 50) and want to push it up some marks, any advice?? I regret doing the novel opening, but my teacher said it was the best one for me to do, which now I'm very angry about and it's too late to change!! CRY.
(Formatting is off here as I just cut and paste) Here it is:
The American Renaissance; it’s the coming of age era, with new technology and inventions, a new style of architecture and big dresses accompanied by extravagant balls. In the middle of this national self-confidence, the city of New Orleans seems to be shining out amongst the rest. The city bursts with ethnic and cultural diversity, with festivals seeming to happen every other week and the streets drowned with the sound of Dixieland Jazz. With New Orleans comes a very European influenced society, with a range of multi-cultural cuisine, fashion and lifestyle. But above it all the only important thing is, who dominates the city. Of course the Americans own the city and call it theirs, but who was it to establish La Nouvelle-Orléans? Jean-Baptiste. The city is mainly French based; architecture, cuisine, people. However, there are Britons, Spaniards and Italians living in the city as well, and to no surprise this causes problems.
I live in the Lower French Quarter. Having emigrated from Sicily only four months ago, I live with my father, Cesare Augello. In these short four months, my Mother, Catarina, left us for a Frenchman and it didn’t take me long to realise that Italians are not welcome here, but instead we’re met with an unnecessary amount of discrimination. Although I live in the Lower French Quarter, there are no French here, only Italians. The French have the rest of the French Quarter, the Vieux Carre; we don’t go there.
I think New Orleans is a beautiful city; I enjoy walking the paths, especially at night – that’s when the buildings and the streets and the hidden secrets of the city come alive. It’s when you feel as if any troubles from the day just don’t matter and it’s a time of fun and excitement. Drunkards dance, badly, to the Jazz and women in big dresses become shockingly flirtatious - they also tend to show a lot more of their personal assets at night! However, I know that this city is not just beauty and fun, it's a puzzle full of mystery and evil. I know that my father isn’t just an innocent Italian who owns a grocery shop; I know that he’s a part of the Secreto Paucos. I also know they won’t hesitate to wage war, or even kill. All they care about is the legacy.
This Place of Death
The sky’s a deep, dark blue tonight. Sometimes it’s black or a musky grey, but not tonight. Tonight’s is the prettiest of them all; with it freckled with stars, a subtle glow is emitted from it, and the shine from the moon creates the silhouette of the skyline. Stars have kept me going through the hardest of times, they always lead me along the right path, and they provide me company when I’m feeling alone. If you look at them long enough, you can see the different colours; polar-white, sequin-silver and apatite-blue. The personalities of them can also be perceived. The stars are beautiful, a fact that cannot be disputed. Night has always been my favourite, it’s when the buildings and the streets and the hidden secrets of the city come alive. From my window in my attic bedroom I can see the whole of the Lower French Quarter and some of the Vieux Carre - a rather magnificent view. I lose sleep because of this view; I sit at my window and dream about touching one of those stars, how it must feel to touch something so royal! Hopefully, one day, the stars will lead me to somewhere else. A place of beauty, tranquillity and love. Somewhere conflict isn’t in existence and where people from every different corner of the world get along in perfect harmony. However, the night sky is as beautiful as it is deadly. Although my view is picturesque, I see things I’d rather not. For the last month, people have been going missing; mostly council members but also a fair few young innocents. The city is slowly entering a state of panic; mothers mourning their murdered children, workers too scared to walk to work and children crying out of fear every night. New Orleans has never had to deal with a mysterious fear before! Yes, it’s gone through a Civil War, however, this is different; it’s invisible. The bodies of the dead never to be seen again, only a letter is left. On this letter, a symbol – The Secreto Paucos emblem, a secret society planning to carry out the Italian legacy. The ordinary people of New Orleans don’t know this though and of course I can’t say anything.
It’s been a few days since the last victim, it must be soon. With the sky freckled with stars, I can see every detail of each of the roofs in front of me, and the silhouette of a tall man. It’s clear he’s a big bloke, not fat, just big; muscles and broad shoulders. I can’t say much for his is actual looks as its dark, but after seeing the other men I see walking the roofs at night, I can sure make a guess. I can imagine that he’d have long and sleek brown hair, blue or hazel eyes, his cheekbones would be incredibly shapely and prominent, highlighting his handsomeness, and he’d have a long torso, one the ladies would fancy. You can see his cloak swaying in the gentle midsummer breeze, occasionally revealing the deep red inside lining. You can also see the outline of a heavy loaded belt of weapons; a pistol, some daggers and a bottle of something. This is how the killings begin; in the heart of the night when the city is asleep. After the late-night parties have stopped and the prostitutes and drunkards have retired for the night, the ‘ring leader’ strolls the rooftops as quiet as a falling leaf, and moves as swift as an eagle, making sure no one can see or hear him hunting his prey. However, he has one watcher - me.
Tonight is a big one, I can tell. The mysterious man watches over peoples windows, checking he won’t get caught. He spots me. His eyes piercing through me, I can’t move and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my hands get all clammy. Scary as his glance may be, I can’t help but see the beauty in him. Now, I can see every detail of his face. As I guessed, he has long brown hair that sways along with his cloak, and big, blue, daring eyes. His cheekbones are incredibly defined, as well as his dimples, his nose, perfectly symmetrical, his brows too, making him very attractive. His frame is so firm and perfectly shaped; broad shoulders and clear collarbones. I can’t take my eyes off of him, partly out of fear but also attraction. His mouth slowly curves into a sly, sleek smirk, he brushes his hair back and over his head and places his index finger over his pursed lips. As doing so, I could hear a subtle ‘shhh’ travel from his mouth to my ears. Never have I ever felt so scared and strangely captivated at the same time. In that moment, four other men appeared; he broke the stare, but carried on looking back to me as he carried on with his parole.
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- Thread Starter
- 20-01-2015 16:29