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Belonging Creative Writing Essay Sample

Matrix Blog

English 11-12.

A creative writing piece for the Area of Study: Belonging.

hsc belonging creative writing

Creative writing is part of the HSC English Module 1 exam. Through a creative writing piece, students are required to demonstrate the concept of Belonging.

Here is a sample of a Belonging Essay written by a Matrix English Tutor.

“In the Room the Women Come and Go Talking of Michelangelo” [1]

Dinner is at half past seven, she called over her shoulder. The screen door banged shut and she was gone. Jackie stood at the door long enough to see the red Chevrolet roll out of the driveway, bearing Judith down a sun-drenched street lined with freshly painted, white picket fences. The talk had been unfruitful, completely unfruitful. She shouldn’t have sought out her sister. But what did she expect? Judith was of another world. She would just have to leave without saying goodbye, and send a letter back home when she got there.

‘Honey, do you know what they’re saying about you? They’re saying you’re uncouth,  uncouth ’ .  Judith spat the word out like a seed in a cherry, her red lips forming a perfect circle.

Jackie had a sudden thought of leaning forward and kissing them, just to see her sister’s reaction. She imagined the outrage in Judith’s eyes and snickered to herself. But she merely sat there and drew on her cigarette, waiting for her to finish. ‘When  are you going to get married, darling?’ Judith had a habit of stressing particular words in her sentences, so that they left indelible marks on the listener’s impression of the conversation.

‘When I find someone to marry. That seems sensible enough doesn’t it?’‘Ha!’ Judith exclaimed, crossing one leg over the other and tossing her head back in that regal fashion she did things in, as though she was not sitting in a kitchen talking to her baby sister, but dining with the Duchess of York under a painted ceiling.

‘Darling, I’ve told you so many times. Why won’t you listen? Husbands don’t simply fall into a girl’s lap – you have to seek them  out.  You’ll have to go to parties, dinners, meet people, meet friends of those people. Of course it’s too late for you to have a debut, god knows you’re almost twenty-five. But you have to do  something,  before it’s too late –’

‘You make it seem as though I don’t socialise. I go out, I meet men –’

‘Oh you meet men, sure you do!’ Judith’s voice shot through the air like a stream from a disturbed wellspring.

‘I’m well sure of that. Oh, the stories people tell me about you and those  men  you meet. Well, where are they all? Have any of them so much as hinted at a proposal?’

‘No, they haven’t. And I wouldn’t necessarily want one either. The truth is we don’t  want  anything from each other. Charlie and me for example, we’re perfectly happy seeing each other when we want to, and being apart when we want to be’.

Judith rolled her eyes. She had met Charlie and dismissed him as an arrogant Bolshevik.

‘Charlie, that Russian? Didn’t he go to China or somewhere like that?’

‘ Half- Russian. And he did, but he’s back. He says there’s more he can do here-’

‘That man is dangerous’, said Judith almost in a whisper. ‘One day they’ll go to his house when he least expects it, and they’ll take him away. Let’s just hope you’re not in it when they do. Is he still writing for that awful paper? I heard it got banned’.

‘It did. It’s still circulating though,’ Jackie smiled, ‘you just won’t see it handed out on the streets anymore’.

‘Thank god for that. That man is full of codswallop. You know why he makes all those noises don’t you? He’s  jealous,  jealous of what other men have achieved –

‘Jealous of Richard?’ Jackie asked. Sometimes she found it easier to indulge Judith.

Judith sighed an almost conciliatory sigh, ‘Oh honey, if I could find another Richard for you I would. I’m just lucky, I suppose. Oh but Jackie you have to  try.  Sometimes I just don’t understand you darling. This is the single most important thing in your life and you don’t seem like you give a damn half the time!’

‘To tell you the truth, I don’t.’ Jackie paused as Judith’s eyes widened in indignation.

‘Judith, I called you here to tell you something’.

But Jackie had touched a nerve in Judith, and she realised soon after that nothing she said from that point onwards would matter.

‘If this is about wanting to go into politics, I don’t want to hear it. It was all fun and charming in your student days Jackie, but now it’s time to sit down and think about your future. Open your eyes and look around you! Your best friend had her second child last month, and all your other friends from Wellesley are married. All  my  friends have children! That is the  way  of things, darling. Women just don’t go meddling in the affairs of men. That has  always  been the way of things and there’s not much you or I or anyone else can do about it.’

Jackie waited for her to finish, and Judith’s voice fell into a hushed whisper.

‘They’re saying you’re  uncouth’.  She said again.

Jackie couldn’t believe she said it again. She stood up and stared hard at Judith. A flicker of alarm passed through the perfectly sculpted face and it lowered its gaze onto the kitchen table.

‘You really think I care about what they’re saying, don’t you?’ Jackie said, ‘Well let me tell you something Judith, I  don’t  care. I actually couldn’t give a toss what you or any of your friends think’.

Judith lifted her face. ‘But you  will  someday Jackie. You’ll care when people start closing their doors in your face, when you can’t get up any further in that newspaper office, when you’re a forty-five year-old typist living with her parents – then you’ll regret it. You think I didn’t have desires? You think I never think about leaving Richard and going – oh god, I don’t know, to France or somewhere, anywhere! But those are fantasies Jackie, stories our minds make up to distract us’.

She paused, realising the effect her words had had on Jackie, and felt encouraged to go on.

‘I just don’t want you to end up alone, husbandless, penniless, childless. I don’t want that for my baby sister’.

Jackie searched for something to say but she knew that argument would be futile.

‘Sit down, honey.’ Judith said, taking her by the arm, ‘you deserve to be happy. Now, I’m having Karen and her brother Marcus over for dinner at seven-thirty. Marcus has just come down from New York. He’s recently been promoted to Head Risk Analyst and they’ve given him a company car! Isn’t that wonderful? And the best thing is, he’s not married, hasn’t even had a steady one for years! Karen says he’s had a bad case of commitment phobia, something to do with a girl in college – I can’t remember. I suppose it makes sense, I mean how could a man like that still be single? But she’s convinced him that it’s time to move on, and he’s agreed to let her introduce him to some of her friends. Now, how does it sound?  Good! I think the two of you will get on perfectly. Oh, look at the time! I’ll have to get back to start preparing, Richard will be home in an hour and he likes a freshly brewed coffee before dinner.’

She snapped her clutch closed and stood up, smoothing the front of her lilac dress. She gave Jackie two pecks on the cheek and turned to walk out of the kitchen.

‘Dinner is at half-past seven,’ she called over her shoulder. The screen door banged shut and she was gone.

[1] T.S. Eliot: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

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Creative Writing


hsc belonging creative writing


Essay about Creative Writing - Belonging

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Growing As A Writer Essay

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hsc belonging creative writing

Band 6 Belonging Creative – A Recurring Motif

Her small feet sprang spritely across worn, marble smooth cobblestone. Her heels clicked musically as she made her way towards the crossroads just outside of town. Along side the path, daffodils and tulips blossomed into yellow, marine and carmine.

The red paned door of the glass telephone box open slid open soundlessly; admitting her. The light within was dimmed by a dozen plastered prints that smothered an entire section of the booth. “Women of Britain say Go!” announced one, “Your King and Country Needs You!” demanded another. She took a glance outside and was glad that no one else was in queue. The shiny, beetle black telephone sat on the hook; a patient messenger waiting for delivery.

“Burrrrrring! Burrrring!” The handle bursts into activity.

She reached for it instinctively, but paused to suppress a sudden onset of butterflies.

She took a deep breath, felt the air filling her lungs like a hot air balloon.

“Dad?” She meekly murmured.

The voice that answered her is boisterous and full of good cheer. He tells her that glory and service for his country awaits, and that he could barely wait to show her his medals and the new stripe across his shoulder.

“Please be careful, Daddy… I’ll miss you,” She pled insistently.

He laughed, assured her not to be worried; that he would be back home by Christmas, to enjoy their traditional pudding. Think about the future, he told her. Think about us.

“Just promise you will be careful,” she repeated, like a mother worried about her lost child.

He promised.

“Promise!” She repeated apprehensively.

He agreed, reassuring her that he would be back by Christmas. She should be sure of it. He is sorry for the fact that she is left with her aunt until he is back.

The phone is replaced. She exits the booth, just as the blue English sky had began to turn grey with the spring rain.

Her feet moved languidly down the path, dragging oversized gumboots through the chaotic maple leaves that was scattered all over, crunching every time she took a step.

Trees were stripped bare; skeletal shadows of their old gory; the cobblestone a scarlet carpet of burnish orange fading to decay. The door squeaked open with a groan, neglected by time and disuse. She slid the door shut and let herself inside. The panes are thickly covered with desperate posters, “Your fellows are fighting. Why aren’t YOU?” implored one, and another which made her weary, “Oh please do Daddy, buy me a victory bond.” It portrayed a little girl naively requesting to join the forces.

The phone hung black and ominous, like a dread messenger. She wondered if there would be a call for her at all.

Father did promise though. So she stood and waited. Time and hope ticked away slowly, her mind felt like a limestone bored through by the insistent drip of her growing anxiety. Disquieted, she begins to slide the door open when…

“Burrrrring! Burrrring!”

She snatches it right up immediately, with no time to dwell upon whether or not it is for her. “Father?” she frantically inquired. The voice on the other end of the phone is frayed and tired, but with a warm, embracing tone of good cheer. She asks about the war, when he would return.

“Soon,” he told her, but no details; he declined to tell her anything else.

Loose lips sink ships.

He promised her again that he will leave as soon as possible.

“Promise me.” She sobbed, her voice no longer the girl he knew, but a young woman. He promised. A smear of rain began to splatter against the panes of the tattered telephone booth. She replaced the phone; outside the autumn rains began their carpet bombing, sweeping up the dead leaves in eddies of brown and black.

Worn, second-hand boots make their way down a snow-smothered path. This winter had being especially cold. The town is completely empty, no people are outdoors, and no automobiles grace the roads. Even the sedge are withered in the lake, and no birds sing. The trees were dead and bare, not even one leaf occupied the branches. The day is quiet and frozen.

Approaching the red panel door, she wipes the pane; no one was inside; it is a casket of old waste paper. The doors take some coxing to open as it shudders agonizingly along it’s demented guide-rails. She allows herself to squeeze inside, into the freezing little booth. All the pamphlets had rotted away, it smells strongly of mould.

The black telephone hangs like death over the green bronze mantle.

She waits by the telephone like a faithful hound. The sky grayly whispers of patient, silent minds.

The frost outside grows a little across the window panes. Inside, her own warmth was building up a foggy residue, locking her into a world of her own.

The phone rests, quiet as a tomb.

She clutches an old pocket watch until the final moment; that final tick in which promises long made where broken by the inevitable march of time. As the needle neglectfully passes the mark, she felt her wintery world change to that of an alien, hostile landscape; the clinical whiteness of the snow accentuating her onset of desolation.

“You promised father.” As the late snow fills the corridors of the township, the girl sits upon the damp floor of the worn, red booth, a red stain upon the pure white snow; and wept silently for her childhood.

Marker’s Notes : The reason I very much enjoyed this piece is because of it’s ability to utilise a rarely seen style of ingenuity – a time shift narrative. Each core section utilise (with some errors) tenses which signify the passage from Spring (Belonging) to Winter (Disconnection). A very solid piece of work with no overt techniques, but lots of small, subtle descriptions that build mood and atmosphere. 

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One thought on “ band 6 belonging creative – a recurring motif ”.

this is good

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hsc belonging creative writing

'Belonging' or 'Not Belonging' creative writing ideas.. (1 Viewer)

I'm doing Standard English and I really need ideas for a piece of creative writing! I am the MOST uncreative person alive. The only points I can come up with for belonging/not belonging are: + appearance + school groups + religion I need to write about something that isn’t too cliché, and something that will stand out for markers. HELP! --Lauren  


Retired Nov '14

lollyxb said: + appearance + school groups + religion Click to expand...



doing a belonging creative based solely on appearance won't let you write a story that will get you a good mark imo, it's quite a superficial topic that will be hard to go in depth with. and also stay away from school groups as well, it's extremely overdone and teachers really don't like it. have you tried looking through the belong creative writing ideas thread in the english section? you could also draw inspiration from movies and books and things you've noticed in your daily life.  


Think of anything, really. If it helps, my creative writing was about a girl who was born out of rape. Born into a family that never truly wanted her, that blames her for a sin that wasn't hers, yet is plastered on her skin. In this way it transgressed the ideal preconceived idea of what a family should provide. It always got top marks.  



Write what you know, markers can tell when you bullshit about things that you have no idea about. The best stories come from something within your own life, experiences, stories or whatever. The simpler the better.  


Don't write something like a girl trying fit in with the "popular" group or immigrants fitting into a country. Think belonging = attachment to a thing or place as well as to people. E.g. you can talk about one's strong sense of belonging to a place (e.g. a garden, a room in the house...make it specific) and then kind of give some background on why this person is attached to this place (e.g. because they use to go there with their close friend/relative etc...)  

Remember: It doesn't need to be literal - it doesn't need to be like - "I moved to a new school - must find new friends". It could be like say asylum seekers - "I left my country, my friends, my home the relaxing and refreshing culture it gave me. My family and I were escaping one of the most unfortunately countries..."  


A word of advice, considering it was on places this year, i would avoid doing one on places, because it is unlikely to come up again. But wow, your preparing creative writing now. I did mine 3 weeks before the exam.  

I would definitely say write about YOU and your own life - i'm sure your first excuse is nothing happens in your life, but think outside the box and you will come up with a good idea! I would say just lock yourself in a room, grab yourself a piece of paper and then start writing about anything even if you think the story won't go anywhere. Then come back the next day and read over the written piece of paper and this should trigger a story in your mind which you can work with. Remember I'd say most of the marks in your creative comes from unique and original ideas more than how literate you are. As a suggestion, try these ideas (again, this may be cliched but if you can give it a good twist it WILL work): -Migrating from another country --> belonging or not dis-belonging in the new country -A person getting fired from work -A person revisiting an old home Big DON'Ts: -Stay away from anything school related (i.e. schoolies, new student at school) -Violence, drugs, crime, sex etc. -Death (unless it is done in an appropriate manner) -Waking up from dreams -Fantasy, science fiction (don't think its worth the words to spend describing elaborate settings) And remember your creative writing only needs to be around 800-900 words which allows some time for adapting  

As i said above, no matter how 'boring' you think your life is, there is something there which people want to know and read about, try thinking outside the box - maybe a funny random cousin you have or some place which you visited when you were younger  


Sammy2011 said: Think of anything, really. If it helps, my creative writing was about a girl who was born out of rape. Born into a family that never truly wanted her, that blames her for a sin that wasn't hers, yet is plastered on her skin. In this way it transgressed the ideal preconceived idea of what a family should provide. It always got top marks. Click to expand...


Rubric: People, places, groups, communities, larger world, belonging through time Hopefully this'll provide a scaffold at least before you worry about the nitty gritty bits  

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Try to be fine

Belonging creative writing example for hsc english.

The HSC sucks.


It’s hard, I know. It will be over soon.

If you are lucky enough to not be aware of this special sort of torture, you are not missing out on anything, trust me.

This post is only for those poor souls who are currently in the Valley of Death. If this is not you, you should go NOW. You have better things to be reading than 1000 words forced onto a page to get marks from an English teacher.

Go on without us! Save yourselves! Etc, etc.

Now, my poor, dear HSC victims, I post this story up because when I did the HSC, I spent a good few hours sitting blankly at my desk trying to think of ideas for my Belonging creative writing. What eventually helped, was of course our best friend and worst enemy during the HSC, the internet*.

Things I found useful

Look for stories and situations (apart from your own teeny issues) that spark your interest and ones that you could use to explore an element of belonging. Then research it!

For example, I wrote one story about a woman in the air force and another about a postal officer working in Kandahar Afghanistan.

2.  Reading tips on blogs such as Tutor Tales

When I say such as, I really mean just. Tutor Tales is great. I highly suggest that you drop in and soak up some of this guy’s Englishy wisdom.

Here is the entrance to the portal that will teleport you to this amazing place.

http://www.tutortales.org .

This doesn’t just have to be the ones that appear when you google ‘need creative writing band 6 due tomorrow plz’. Though they may help, try ‘short story competition 2010’ or something like that. Normally they will have the winners up. This way, you can see what good, non-student writing, looks like. And it might just give you a good idea for your own story*.

Now, to the actual thing I have here.

This is a practice creative writing I wrote during the year for a stimulas that went something like

‘A pale face emerges from the darkness’

Lovely, isn’t it? Now, although I did receive a band 6 for English, I can hardly say with certainty that this is a band 6 response because a) I didn’t end up writing this story in my exam as it didn’t fit the question, and b) The creative writing only makes up a 6 th of your overall English mark. Nevertheless, I hope you find this useful! Remember that you must, must, must ATBQ*** and clearly explore an aspect of belonging!

‘To the guards!’ the men around the table lifted their glasses, grinning to each other as they leaned back in their wide chairs. The meal was much appreciated by the guards, who having forced the prisoners to eat their watery stew, now felt like kings. As the bell rang, bouncing through the passage of the small rooms, Mark and four others pushed their chairs back and stood together, ready for their next shift. ‘Give prisoner 310 a bit of a push! Yelled one of the guards at the table, ‘he’s being a pain, barricaded the door of his cell with his bed today.’ Mark nodded, pulling his eyes as he filed into the hall behind the other uniformed men.

Once inside, with the door locked, they checked each cell. Each room was small with two narrow beds filling most of the space. Sitting or lying on each bed was a man clothed in a thin white smock. 310 lay under his square blanket, his bare feet hanging off the edge of the mattress. Mark hit the bars on 310s cell with his baton, breaking the humid hush that had settled over the rooms and causing him to sit up. The skin on his face was pale and strained and with no natural light his eyes looked like shallow pools, murky and still.  Mark hit the door again and again, the stinging sound growing louder until it reverberated through each of the rooms as if the building was shaking causing yells of complaint from the prisoners. Mark looked to the other guards, smiling behind their matching glasses. Tom, the guard closest to him motioned for Mark to pause and cleared his throat, ‘You can blame 310 for the noise’ his voice was loud but unsteady ‘Repeat! “310 is a bad prisoner.”’ The prisoners waited in silent defiance. Tom walked towards the cell next to 310s followed by the other guards. The silence in the cells making the sound of their thick boots scuffing the ground unnaturally loud. Grinning to each other they all began to hit each prisoners door, the sound joining into a shuddering thunder. Mark felt their power as they moved together, each strike of the baton becoming stronger and faster like a train, each wheel spinning with more force, pulling the train from the station and sending it with momentum as it races down the tracks. In these rooms, together, they had control.

When they stopped, Tom reiterated his demand. This time his voice was low and firm. ‘Repeat my words. “310 is a bad prisoner, 310 is a bad prisoner.”’ Two voices joined his and then another and another. ‘310 is a bad prisoner. 310 is a bad prisoner. 310 is a bad prisoner.’ As the chant picked up the guards stood back from the doors, moving back to their chairs on the opposite side of the narrow hall. Tom sat upright on his chair, tugging his uniform straight as he watched 310 from a distance, his hands over his ears, his face pulled even tighter with dread.  ‘We did that well’ said Mark as he lowed himself to the chair beside Tom, ‘We’ll have a good laugh to share with the others’.

Three hours into the shift, a key turned in the lock and the professor entered the hall. He walked to the center of the room, pulling back the blind that had been tied close for the last four days. ‘Students, we are ending the experiment early.’ Tom stared out of the window, shocked by the sunny courtyard outside, filled with students moving from class to class.

Four days earlier, Professor Zimbardo stood in a classroom with twelve students, half the number he had selected for the experiment. The twenty-four young men were considered the most emotionally stable and normal of the many more they had tested. ‘In just a moment’ the Professor explained ‘I will show you where the mock prison has been set up. In this place, your new identity is to be a guard. I will give you your uniforms’ he motioned to a pile of clothes, boots, sunglasses and batons ‘It is your job to control your prison. In those rooms you will have superior food and sleeping arrangements than the prisoners. Together you can create in the prisoners a sense of fear to some degree. They’ll have no freedom of action, they can do nothing, say nothing without the guards permission. They will be divided into cells, locked behind bars, you will move freely in the prison and act together as one unit.’ The men sat still, glancing uneasily at those around them, unsure if they had the authority or desire to fulfill this role. The Professor opened the door, ‘Come let me show you your prison.’

An hour after the Professor ended the experiment all twelve prisoners emerged from storage rooms at Stanford University, their faces pallid and eyes blinking in the sunlight, pulled unexpectedly from a life that had consumed them in just days. With them were the guards. The prison was gone. Tom walked home alone, blending in with the crowds of students as they left for the weekend. His mother answered the door when he knocked, her eyebrows raised. ‘I thought you weren’t back for a week at least?’ Tom stepped inside the house kicking of his sneakers.

‘They finished it early.’

‘Oh, no! Did you get paid for the two weeks?’

‘Yeah they paid us the full amount anyway.’

‘That’s great luck! Well go and clean up Tommy, and then we will have dinner’ Her smile wasn’t returned by Tom. ‘Actually, dear, would you mind going and bringing the bins in first?’

‘No, I won’t get the bins’ Tom pushed past his stunned mother, feeling his frustration growing like a hot cloud within him. He wanted to be back with the guards; the keys to each of the cells strapped to his uniform and striding through the dark halls with the other men. He climbed the stairs, his frustration swirled around his chest, winding itself around him like a serpent around its prey. He was so much more than this, if only they knew what he was in his territory, with the power of the pack around him. Now he was alone, the tendrils wrapping tighter around him. Trapped. Unlike the prisoners who emerged from their prison, there were no keys to unlock this cell. The tendrils closed tighter and harder, pushing the blood from his face.

One last thing….

As one victim of the HSC to another, I really want to help you in any way I can, so comment/ask questions/give me feedback/tell me it was useful/I need positive affirmation/whatever, but please don’t use this content as your own!

*Yes, technically it is Facebook that is your worse enemy, but you know,he is just an evil son of the internet, isn’t he?

**I realise it doesn’t have to be a narrative so hey, feel free to do something else, just never ever do an acrostic poem. EVER. Don’t do it.

***Answer. The. Bloody. Question.

Image muchly appreciated from the great David Castillo Dominici @ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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6 thoughts on “ belonging creative writing example for hsc english ”.

Pingback: Belonging Creative Writing Ideas

Thanks for the kudos to Tutor Tales and linking to my blog. 🙂 We are moving to http://www.tutortales.org . If you would like to keep linking to us, please update your links to this new address. Cheers,

This was a fabulous story! For my HSC our creative writing needs to be based on Discovery – sounds easy, but it’s really hard to come up with a storyline. My teacher says that it should be based on some part of our lives to make it authentic, but there’s nothing exciting enough to write a story on. And I have other restrictions like no dialogue and must be in first person, which makes it really hard to sound like anything but a mopey diary entry. I was hoping you could help me a storyline with a unique twist, or something of the sort..

So Brianna for my super late reply! They are some pretty serious restrictions. I’m not sure if I can come up with a storyline, particularly if it has to be something from your life. Not really an expert on that funnily enough… Have you got any preliminary ideas?

Hi, I need to write a story on an individual enriching or challenging a community or group. Would your story relate to that? I was thinking of using it as inspiration. You’re a brilliant writer. Thanks.

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hsc belonging creative writing


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