(The guide contains multiple exam answers at every grade, so you can see exactly how to get the grade you need).
In yesterday’s post, I took you through a story which had elements of grade 6, 7, 8 and 9. I scored it at 18 or 19 out of 24.
I took paid subscribers through each success, and each time it fell short.
Today, I’ve taken as much of that story as I can, and tweaked it slightly.
The main structural problem was that the brilliant ending seemed impossible. Chandler had a church roof fall in on him, and survived. But how? Our writer didn’t say.
But she did give me a clue. What if the gargoyles fell through the roof and this somehow saved him?
The Revised Story
Time paused. Nothing moved. A perfect summer sky held its breath.
Below, the church stood, ancient and worn, the solid stone walls mossy and damp. Stained-glass windows threw glistening rainbows in the blinding sun. The giant slate roof sat untouched since it was laid so many centuries ago. Two gargoyles stood sentinel, silently watching from above. They seemed to awaken in the sun, their eyes swivelling to the scene below.
Sparkling in a black Bentley, sat a beautiful bride. Her white dress was framed by the blushing, peony pink leather of its seating. She gazed out of the window at the huge mahogany doors. The vicar swung them open as the chauffeur helped her out.
A gleaming smile swept across her cheeks. Her face glowed. She looked down at her bouquet, pristine white, its soft pale petals delicate to the touch. Monica traced the intricate details of the inter-lapping petals with her fingers; the rose heads were perfectly symmetrical, and the emerald stems with the piercing thorns were carefully wrapped in blush-pink silk.
Sunlight danced in the stained glass, softening the looming gothic face of the church. Her free hand took the cold iron handle of the door, and swung it further open. Outside sunlight gave way to a cool stone interior. The congregation turned and seemed to hold their breath. She scanned them, her eyes drinking in the colours, the silks, the perfect backdrop to the painting of her day.
She noticed a new-born baby, in cyan blue, perfectly matching her mother, who cradled her with an exhausted smile. The baby turned and stared at Monica. All was settled until the first shake - ever so slight - barely perceptible; the baby began to wail, startling the mother, sending her into a frenzy of hushing noises before the ceremony started. As though in sympathy, Monica thought, the building seemed to tremble.
Monica focused on her day. She looked to her bridesmaids, her closest friends, waiting to escort her down the aisle. Dressed in pink silk, matching her perfectly made-up bouquet, already the girls were shedding tears of joy as they each privately reminisced upon the years of their friendship, culminating in this very day: her day.
As they glided forward, Monica suddenly glanced down to her left, something catching her eye. Discarded, shrivelled petals lay in the corner, wilted and decaying, from a past wedding. She shuddered, closed her eyes, and composed herself.
First, absolute silence. The day seemed to hold its breath.
Then a low groaning sound from above; the ground seemed to tremble underneath her. A spiral of grey dust slowly made its way to the ground as fragments of stone dissipated in the air around her. The air was filled with an unfamiliar musty odour: ancient and stale. She looked up.
Her eyes widened as a distorted scream reached her, as though from a great distance. Suddenly, time sped up, and a deafening crash sent shockwaves through her. The single scream became a chorus as the vaulted beams of the ceiling splintered. They snapped down like hinges, and great slates and brickwork of the roof plunged downwards. Staring at her from the centre, beneath the falling roof, was Chandler. She lost him in a halo of debris, crashing to the altar.
The congregation raced to the walls, to the doors, a surge of people desperate to escape the falling wreckage. Confusion and chaos. She found herself cowering on the floor on a patch of dust-filled cobbles. Panic-stricken, Monica stood up, her eyes scanned the distraught, dishevelled guests, taking in each blood drained face, trying to find the familiar features of Chandler.
She knew he would not be among the standing. Her hands and feet flew forwards to scramble through the debris, acting independently of her numbed brain.
Her pristine white bouquet fell to the cobbled floor, petals scattering the dust. The once glistening glass windows were fragmented as her heart. Her eyes were icy with shock as she let out a soul-piercing scream. Adrenaline flowed through her; her stomach turned. Not thinking of her own safety, she clambered over the rubble, digging through it to find him.
To find out how the gargoyles saved the day, you need to read the rest of the story. But, so far, if you have read this and yesterdays’ post, you should have learned:
How to keep everything in the past tense.
How to zoom out and zoom in, as though you are seeing things through video cameras placed at different parts of the scene.
How to use contrast.
How to zoom in on a motif, a recurring image which is symbolic.
How to foreshadow disaster and hint at a sense of foreboding.
How to focus on details to create a feeling of slow motion.
How to use lots of verbs to speed time up.
How to show and not tell.
You might also have noticed that Ingrid (our student) describes a lot. The full story is around 1000 words, and I’ve tried to keep as much of Ingrid’s description as possible. When I get my exam paper back in January, I expect my story to be at least as long - so you can write this much under exam conditions. But you don’t have to.
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