Write on Wednesday - The Mighty Mighty Re-Write

Okay, firstly, if you get these blog posts as emails, I apologise. I am sorry that you will get yet ANOTHER email about this topic. You see, I thought the task was so simple pimple, I completed it in minutes. But really, it was not as easy as I thought. I didn't get it. So throughout the day I have tried to salvage what I had done. I read some other people's pieces and realised mine was rubbish. So I deleted the post and took myself off the link-a-doo thingamagig. I will try again though. 


I have been trying to push myself a bit lately. I want to write better. So I have joined a few link parties - which is how bloggers have fun I think. I has been fun. And challenging. Today I have linked up {for the second time} with inkpaperpen...




Here is the exercise...

Write on Wednesday Exercise 14 - The Mighty Mighty Rewrite...

Zanni: I did a workshop with literary author Mj Hyland, who teachers Masters in Creative Writing at Manchester University. She asked us to choose our favourite book, take the first paragraph and then write our own content into the paragraph, keeping the structure, tone, language etc. It's really helpful!

Here is the text I have chosen....

Picnic at Hanging Rock

by Joan Lindsay

Everyone agreed that the day was just right for the picnic to Hanging Rock - a shimmering summer morning warm and still, with cicadas shrilling all through breakfast from the loquat treess outside the dining room windows and bees murmuring above the pansies bordering the drive. Heavy-headed dahlias flamed and drooped in the immaculate flowerbeds, teh well-trimmed lawns steamed under the mounting sun. Already the gardener was watering the hydrangeas still shaded by the kitchen wing at the rear of the College. The boarders at Mrs Appleyard's College for Young Ladies had been up and scanning the bright unclouded sky since six o'clock and were now fluttering about in their holiday muslins  like a flock of excited butterflies. Not only was it Saturday and the long awaited occasion of the annual picnic, but Saint Valentine's Day, traditionally celebrated on the fourteenth of February by the interchange of elaborate cards and favours. All were madly romantic and strictly anonymous - supposedly the silent tributes of lovesick admirers; although Mr Whitehead the elderly English gardener and Tom the Irish groom were almost the only two makes to be so much as smiled at during term.

Here is my piece...

Everyone agreed that the day was just right for a bus trip - a stunning spring day of soft cool breezes and azure skies, the lorikeets and rosellas chatting noisily as they feasted from the fresh blooms of grevillias outside the dining room and chickens pecked at the geraniums that lined the walkways. Blue rinsed agapanthus waving at the passing breeze and the pristine grass gleaming with beads of sunshine reflecting the early morning dew. Already the cook was watering the impatiens as they were still in morning shade protected by the nursing home's new administration building. The old ladies of Mrs Orangeblossom's Home for the Aged had been up bright and early adorned in greys, pinks and whites chatting like a noisy flock of excited galahs. Not only was it Saturday and the long awaited occasion of the Carnival of Flowers, the most important day in the gardening calendar, but also the day to sit and watch the parade meandering down the main street of their beautiful mountain city. All the old dears were frantically snipping articles and programs of events from the local paper, desperate not to miss a single stunning bloom, wondrous display or fanciful pot of colour; even though their beloved Home for the Aged had won first prize in many of the competition categories.

I hope I have now done this piece justice!