persuasive: taking part in competitions

 -developing skills; aptness for particular things, utilising them

-drive and competitiveness; you need motivation for success/inspiration to live a good life, e.g. hard work quote

-satisfaction from winning; self esteem, passion/motivation, better mental health and more recognised for your abilities anywhere you go

Some people partake in competitions just for the medals, for the praise. However, the process and the outcome of competing for the top spot goes beyond that. It's time we bring forth the real prizes we reap from competing-the skills we gain, the inspiration it gives us and even the pride it can instil in us. To you a ribbon or a trophy may mean nothing, but when you look at the people who own them then you may understand how fulfilling it is to take part in any competition.

More often than not we find that the process turns out to be more memorable than the reward. Competitions are the prime example for this phenomenon. Whether it be a chess, tennis or mathematics tournament in order you win you must put effort and time into the skills required, whether it be your calculus or your general fitness. If you are working towards a bigger goal or your future career requires those skills it is the easiest to prep and prime yourself for those aims by seeing how well your fare against others as well as being able to test your abilities. Practice makes progress, and the best way to practise is to develop and build on skills learnt as you get involved in competitions.

Not only do you get to work on your skills but you also have the added benefit of gaining the drive and motivation that is so essential for success in life. No matter if you are the smartest person in the world-if you are lazy then you can't lift a finger to work and gain anything from your intelligence. Competitions are high-tension and full of ambitious people. This sort of environment motivates you to be a dedicated worker and you will retain this drive well into your career. Success, after all, is 10% talent and 90% hard work. And how could you work hard if you have no competition to work against?

What can drive people to put in even more effort into their abilities is the actual result. Of course, it's nice to hear people tell you that you are smart but for some it's even better to have reminders-symbols of all the hard work they put in and what they can be capable of achieving. Everyone gets some sort of satisfaction from winning. Your mental health and self esteem improves and you get to be recognised and praised for your efforts. This is why winning competitions is therapeutic and motivational. It lets people believe in themselves.

1st 2nd, 3rd or even last place-everyone has something to gain from taking part in competitions. The journey we take along the way, the interesting force and drive we achieve in order to reach our goal and the rewards that acknowledge us for our dedication. Competitions are more than just a way to get another shiny gold medal. If you want a chance at success, taking that leap and signing up for that tournament will bring you intangible prizes that you wouldn't get from anywhere else.

Jack

 a creative piece of writing inspired by the ruby moonlight book by ali cobby eckermann that I did for schoolwork

Jack spits out the seawater, the mixture bitter and foul and lip-curling. Something sloshes in his stomach, lurching to the rhythm of the boat.  

His bones yearn for warmth.  

The air drains the fat from his skin, frigid, inching its way into the crevices of his mottled clothing. All he wants is his mother’s soothing touch, the warm soft pads on her fingertips traveling up his cheekbone and sweeping across his scalp. 

Jack’s heart is wracked with taut resignation. 

Jack slinks back to his bed, one foot behind the other. The linen is stiffer than the wooden floorboards. 

White faces spill out of the boat, chatter abundant in one corner with greenish, wan faces in the other. The only other signs of life are the paperbark trees, pared and stripped to the core by nature and reaching to the sky with shriveled, tenacious fingers. 

Jack is just another miner. There are grunts and inaudible murmurs of the others, mingled with the dull clank of beer mugs on tables. The sound is intermittent and indistinct in his ears, his vision blurring, yet his lips have not touched the mug of ale once. 

 

The makeshift hut is arid and plain, void of decoration. Rabbit skin rug. Three logs. A mirror. It is merely a place for rest, for Jack feels he has no home wherever he goes. As the sunlight dips and wanes below the horizon, dread settles like a stone in his stomach as he braces for the nighttime terrors. 

Someone watches Jack. He can feel their gaze as he washes, as he satiates himself with fire-roasted rabbit and billabong water. The presence is calming, tranquilising. He is a man of few words, but with an unquenchable thirst for company and solace. And pelts. 

Mellow gratitude warms him, and he leaves food for his companion. They reciprocate wholeheartedly. 

One day, the bushes crunch and black toes wriggle out the shrubbery. Something within Jack jolts. His veins tighten, pulse and his breath hitches. 

Her face is dark and smooth and glitters in the rural sunlight. Her arms are lean and supple, clinging onto the leaves. Her eyes are wide, radiant, like black rubies, like the gems he hunts for.  

He feels the spark, silent yet deafening in the air. A surge of fervent ardour, of fiery passion surges through his joints.  

She moves tentatively, with a bird-like grace. Head bowed, body crouched, legs loose and bent, she scuttles towards the hut. 

For she is his gem. His Ruby. His mind is less disarranged with the shrieks and the din of desolate nightmare and more with his ringlet haired dove. He watches her hip rise and fall, the padding of deep dark skin following the soft ebb and flow of inhalation and exhalation.  

But they will be caught. No such bliss lasts forever, however this realisation is ephemeral as he buries himself in the mild scent of wattle in her locks.  

But for now, they are one. Lover to lover. Person to person. Hand to hand, as Jack’s calloused finger traces the curvature of his lover’s palm. The deep rolling grunt of an emu echoes from outside the shack. 

creative: ivan the terrible

submission for my brother jack award

Slivers of warm afternoon sun emerged from the slits of the curtains, casting flattering ribbons on the coffee oak furniture and a not so flattering illumination of the Tsar’s features. The castle was mute, serene.  What servants had approached the room had already dispersed, driven away by the roars and splintering furniture reverberating down the halls.

The large oak door swung open. The swift clunk-clunk of high-heeled boots approached the ruler. Ivanovich observed his father’s hunched body and wispy hair, the cane clasped between his pasty knuckles. He cleared his throat with what he hoped was with a formidable air.

His father’s head whipped around in a frenzy. The coat flourished around his dress pants, revealing an attire dark as his expression.

Ivanovich strained to mask the horrified look on his face. His mouth trembled as he mustered a grimace, eyes sweeping over Ivan’s pallor. Tentatively, he ambled forward to get a proper look at the poor man.

A guttural, wretched shriek escaped from the Tsar’s jaw as he clasped a body to his chin. A gasp left Ivanovich, yet he was still glued to the patchy rug where warm blood still steeped through and stained his leather boots. Ivan rocked back and forth miserably, eye sockets hollow and dark enough to outline his wide, stunned eyes. Ivanovich helplessly watched his own father crumple to the ground, unblinking as the stared into the distance. He cast a glance around the room-upturned furniture, the wrinkled rug and the cane on the ground where its tapered end was spotted with gore. As his gaze moved up, his father’s shrivelled hands swathed in the dark coat shrouding  the blush pink of another’s silk garb. The man looked to the ruler’s chest helplessly, blankly, limbs mangled beneath him as he half-heartedly clung onto Ivan’s arm.

And at his hollowed cheek, the Tsar’s leathered fingers clamped tightly around the man’s head, attempting to staunch the violent gush of blood that flooded from it. Alas, his efforts were fruitless. It was evident in his blanch and doomed gaze that he had lost. Ivan mewled pitifully as he swayed, eyes empty with nothing but defeat. Yes, he had lost. No, not a precious son he loved- the only heir that would pass on his legacy.

Ivanovich looked over the scene dispiritedly, scrutinising the familiar arch of the jaw and sharp eyes he had always greeted in the mirror. He watched his pathetic father mourn the loss of the royal line, watched his living body crumple and his eyes dim. But try as he might, he could not feel any rising triumph overshadow the sinking feeling in his stomach.

inspiration

Hopefully I win or become a runner up lololol I'd love for people to see how awesome Russian paintings are

persuasive: learning how to cook

 30MIN

use in the future, develop skills

organisational skills, improvisation, problem solving

enjoyable, off screens, family time, doing a favour

It's not rare that a parent often has to deal with a child who is reluctant to cook at home-however they genuinely have a good reason for this. It turns out that cooking is highly beneficial for a growing child, proving that it is an essential life skill that cultivates other important traits from problem solving to organisation. Not only that, but it's merely a good excuse to just have some family time and find a new hobby. Cooking does more than provide a meal for a family-it brings us together, and leaves important morals that will stay with a child for the rest of their life.

Developing skills to use beyond school is important for every growing child, and cooking is one of the most helpful and enjoyable activities to do so. You'll find that balancing many things at once and assessing your own skills when preparing a meal helps organisation, problem solving and improvisation flourish in an environment where time, preparation and presentation is key. If you can serve up an appetizing dish in record time, then it's likely you'll also be able to submit papers to an important job with equal flair thanks to the well-maintained organisation skills you established at a young age. Developing these skills at a young age is imperative for competitive work environments where timing and dedication is key, and only cooking can help one practice such things.

Not only will be able to help yourself, but you can rest assured that your family will be much better off with your help in the kitchen. Even if you can't prepare a whole meal, just chopping the garlic is a huge help thanks to the saved time and stress that I'm sure a lot of parents go through when having to balance a lot of things. This means you have more free time to spend with your family, and children can rest assured they'll be in a less tense environment  because of all the burdens weighing down on their guardians. It may be a small favour, but while you're feeding your family you'll be making happier memories with them while you still can.

If that wasn't enough, cooking even benefits your wellbeing. It's a safe space where you can block out all thoughts and merely focus on being in the moment. The more negative thoughts linger, the more worse they'll seem and it only requires a small break from them for your mood to immediately lift-and cooking is just the thing. You can get up and moving, do a favour for others and perform some mental self-care all at once. Doing chores is more enjoyable than you think-especially when it's a space free of judgement, and just a place for you to showcase your culinary talents.

It's no wonder that cooking brings others around the world together, whether it be over the family dinner table or across different countries. People can express themselves, improve themselves and their mindsets and be in a place where only eating good food matters. They can help others who need it. Therefore, it's clear that learning such an important life skill is imperative in order for children to really make the most out of life. They'll never appreciate it unless it's too late.

creative-music making

 30MIN

Struggling rookie musicians and a fallen successful singer try an on spot audition

A whiny screech reverberated around the auditorium, causing the band in the desolate room to crouch, hands over ears. A couple of groans emitted from the members as the piercing noise faded. 

"Shut it Harry," a ruddy faced girl spat, dull eyes glaring at her fumbling teammate. The aforementioned boy settled himself right, jostling past her with the speakers. 

"Sorry, Carrie!"

Another girl, pierced face glinting in the artificial light, watched the pair with heavy set eyes. 

"4 o'clock in the damn morning," Gwen drawled. "I don't have time for your bantering. Shut it."

Carrie's head whipped around, mouth ready to spit an insult, however the click of a door in the muffled distanced alerted the girls that the judges had arrived. 

Even in the sea of felt seats, the three judges were pre-eminent in their sharp suits and piercing stares. They glided down the columns, evaluating the trio over their glasses and slid into their seats at the front. Carrie's harsh words dissipated from the tip of her tongue as she watched the clean cut, stocky men and panther-like woman enter smoothly. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the auditorium, yet they thundered to the scrawny gaggle of teens. 

This would be their one chance to prove themselves. This was the breaking point. How they had toiled for months to scrimp and save to get here-and if the judges didn't like their audition, they were back to square one. From Harry to Carrie to Gwen, the utter panic and dread in their faces conveyed only one message-there was no doubt the nerd, the goth and the horse girl would ever be considered at the same level as some of the bands had auditioned.

The band realised this as they exchanged frantic glances. Clad in dusty, plain shirts, with sleeplessness etched on their faces and spots scattered around their pale skin. They knew the judges were aware of this, as they eyed them up and down over the rim of their gilt eyeglasses. Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the thick tension in the air suffocating him. A caustic silence reigned, as the team awkwardly set up their instruments.

"Name?" A faint, yet low voice growled from one of the stubbled judges. Carrie swallowed, auburn hair bouncing on her shoulders as a sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead.

"Mortal Ruin."

Several eyebrows raised from the audience before them. 

"Show us what you've got then," the woman said snarkily as she looked at them, "I hope it's better than what your visuals promise, though."

And at that moment, something miraculous happened. From pretentious Carrie to snarky Gwen, and even frantic Harry the panic seemed to melt from their faces. They exchanged another glance-this time communicating some sort of hidden knowledge only the band knew.

"Oh trust me, lady." Gwen purred. "It's far from that."

persuasive job application

 30MIN 

academics

personality

passion, usefulness

JOB-CASH REGISTER

In a world full of disobedient, incapable young workers, it's once in a while that employers will find a diamond in the rough. An intelligent, well-minded girl who actually values the jobs for herself and for others. Of course, you may be thinking that you would never find such an employee however I have full confidence that I excel in these areas. You'll never know how much the business will be benefited unless you never employ someone like me-and when you do regret it, it'll be too late and another business will have reaped the rewards of my service.

If  you are intelligent, it's more than simple to acquire any sort of job you want. I have received top education from one of Victoria's most successful girls' schools, top of the class in anything I apply myself to. Thus I would be able to pick any job I wanted to start out my career, and out of all things I chose being a cash register! Learning at VCE math level would make basic financial math rudimentary, and my excellent organisation and punctuality at school could easily be applied to this job without effort. I even get excellent grades when it comes to persuasive language and design-therefore I could even help entice new customers into the shop with superb advertising. It's clear to see that school prepares you for careers-and if you're unparalleled in your academic abilities, then obtaining and maintaining a job is elementary.

It's one thing to excel in academics, but you also have to have the personality fit for a workplace. I also believe that I have the qualities required-I'm a dedicated teammate, cooperative, have been raised with good manners and politeness and apply myself to everything I do. What would staff and consumers say if there was a new worker who was rash, uncooperative and impolite? They would surely taint the shop's reputation-and that would be terrible for the business, as the employees are essentially the face of the company. I have contributed and even led successful major assignments in my school-but the thing I only value the most is the wellbeing of my teammates and their satisfaction. If you hire someone who doesn't have the personality for the job, you can say goodbye to your success.

I may have the qualities essential for this job, however this job is so much more important to me than how much I fit the requirements. I truly need this job to help me and others. Unlike most teenage cash register workers, I have a passion for the job for this reason. I can support myself instead of relying selfishly on my family, and will be able to build work experience and improve my knowledge of knowing how to interact with teammates and customers. This way I can aim higher for better jobs, thanks to my experience and capability. Meanwhile, I can also help out my community, bring smiles to peoples' faces and help out a small business who might be struggling. Hiring someone who doesn't have the passion to improve themselves and help others means they will never truly apply themselves to the job. 

I am fully aware that operating a cash register is more than scanning items, bagging them and engaging in small talk with customers. Like any other job, it demands a certain type of employee with specific qualities to invest their time in this job with success. That is why I am sure I can assist the business-being intelligent and having the right mindset. I can also make good use out of this job, and so will your business for employing me. I never let anyone down-and if there's anyone who is capable of doing this job successfully, I am confident that it would be me.

CRITICISM:

too long, shorten to TEEL paragraphs

body paragraphs more easy to discern into TEEL sentences 

better linking?

narrative-the old clock

 old clock

30MIN

Tick tock. Tick tock.

The clicking gears were the only presence disturbing the serenity of the desolate classroom. Angel screwed up her face, scrutinising the endless pages of math. Her efforts were fruitless. Meaningless figures swarmed about her head, buzzing in between her ears like mere fruit flies. She looked helplessly towards the open window, where only the after-school netball team were horsing around in the empty court. And she had to stay back and do practice sums?

Her gaze slipped back to the book before her, yet her mind was clearly somewhere else. It was Mr Parania's stupid grandfather clock- always ensconced upon the frail wooden floor, pendulum glinting in the punishing heat as if taunting his pitiful students. Merely having that darned clock in the room already reminded her of her math teacher. Leering at his students with his wet, thin lips beneath that toothbrush moustache ready to spit insults or criticism at his victims. 

Envisioning her tormentor's face made her shiver, then flinch. The clock seemed to tower over her in a similar manner, its dark grooves at the ready to spout eyes (and perhaps a ridiculously small moustache) and tell her to focus on the bloody work.

Angel snapped out of her dreary reverie, eyes travelling to the piece of paper. Her neatly pencilled initials burned into her guilty gaze-the only thing she had managed to write so far.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Angel writhed in her seat. Her stomach growled lowly. The ticking was beginning to burn at her ears, as it began to thunder  in her head like never before. Her clammy hands gripped the pencil. Her chapped lip lifted, revealing her grinding teeth. She glared up at the clock, panting heavily.

The table flew forwards, a few papers floating towards the floor with a hideous screech. 

"Shut it!" the girl roared, spittle flying from her mouth.

Red cheeked with rage, she stomped towards the clock and latched two hands around its bulky waist. 

"Stupid-old-noisy-clock!" Angel shrieked. Her eyes glazed over with rage, the antique rattled on the ground as she vigorously assailed it. She envisioned her grip around Mr Parania's stocky neck instead, giving her the energy to keep shaking it. 

Her hand brushed a foreign bump around the clock. Angel froze in her tracks, eyes wide with her ruddy, sweaty cheeks still present. She carefully pushed the clock back. Her arms fell back limply. 

The classroom was now thick with silence, for the clock had stopped ticking.

Angel's anger simply melted away from her features, an open-mouthed expression now on her flustered face. She leaned forward. Curiously pressed the bulge. 

A flash encapsulated the dim room, filling every crevice with a stunning light. 

Sharp footsteps thudded along the corridor, increasing in volume. The doorknob clicked. A portly, middle aged man with horrendous facial hair burst into the room, mouth twitching and ready to spout some sort of criticism at his worst student.

But all that greeted him were the papers scattered on the floor, the furniture strewn across the room-and the winking grandfather clock, clinking with an unfound vigour that it had never possessed beforehand.