Descriptive Writing

This past few weeks we have been working on descriptive writing, Mrs Pearson has been trying to get us to be able to create a vivid image for the reader. We have been given different situations to write about, the first was "The Library" where we had to write about either being a book on a shelf, a student in the library, a teacher with their students, the author of a book or the lights in the library. The next we did with the head of english Mrs Slee, we had to write about a bedroom, weither it be your dream bedroom, your real bedroom or just a room in your house. you had to describe it using your five senses, touch, taste, smell, see and hear. We more recently had to write about the surroundings in the library again. A few days ago we got given the challenge of finding a book that had a good descriptive sentence or paragraph and from that we had to continue writing like the author we had selected. Our one we completed two days ago is The Beach, we got shown a picture of a beach for round 4 minutes and then had about 10 minutes to write about what we had remembered.

Here are a few examples from the class.

She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the fitting shadow of an elf owl. We did not know what to make off her. In our minds we tried to pin her to a corkboard like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew.


That was the last day we saw her. She has moved onto where the white mist hangs and the outside world was cut off. The trees curve and the mountains rise above the mist. Suddenly the thunderness sounds of water gushing, muffles her voice and panic rises like a lume in her throat. The ice rapidly moved down the hilly terane and soon her crys faintly drifted away and again she was gone like a owl in the night, off to adventure, the globe once again.
By Madeleine Park

She has large, wide set green eyes, and long brown hair that curled and turned gold at the tips.


She wore a dark blue dress that flowed neatly onto the floor, the delicate lace that coated the outside of it was still in tact piece by piece.


Her walk was peaceful, slow and unique, her gestures were small, her voice soft and calm. She was angelic.


She was there just there, no one realised. They were to tied up in their on un-imaginable lives.
By Shannon Cockerton

All in all room 23 has really enjoyed writing all of these stories and amazing pieces of descriptive writing.