Writing with Stardust: The Ultimate Descriptive Guide for students, parents, teachers and writers (28 page)

I made it to the oak tree just in time. A clanking sound could be heard from the sky. It was if a huge anvil was being dragged across the vault of heaven against its will. Branched lightning lit up the Stygian sky. They were like liquid, golden ore streaks that were being moulded and forged into forks above my head. Buzzing and hissing, they trembled with the anger of being shackled to the sky since time began. They say that there are no atheists on a storm-tossed ship. I had my Damascene moment also and I prayed to the Lord above. He mustn’t have heard me over the awful thunderclaps and the fizzing sound of electricity in the air, nature’s nylon-shock. A single vein of lightning, large and fearsome, blazed out in the sky. Writhing and wriggling with the pain of its existence, it flashed once, glossy and polished, like a cold, gold prong of the Apocalypse.

Then it hit the tree. Lightning is the megawatt smile of nature, but there was nothing friendly about the terrawatts of violence it unleashed. It hit the shaggy head of the tree with an explosion of branched lightning-flame that shook the old man to his core. He tottered, staggered and then had time to squeak once in terror before the lightning splintered him in two. With a mighty crash that shook the ground, he came apart like a split pear. Three hundred years from little acorn to mighty oak meant little to nature. Three hundred years of brooding silence, dripping memories and questing roots were paid for with his destruction. Three hundred years of survival only to see his heart tasered into oblivion.

My own heart wasn’t doing too well either. My left ear was on the ground, my eyes looking at the world from an ant’s point of view. Wreaths of steam were rising slowly from the oak, all that was left of its soul. I could smell the sweet, sickly smell of singed grass and the faint perfume of scorched clothes told me I was in trouble. The quote from Mussolini came to me again, and although I strained my ears to hear, all I could hear from the fields next door, before drifting away, was the silence of the lambs.

 
    USING A DICTIONARY AND PSYCHOLOGY

Twenty years of teaching English to a wide range of ages, abilities and personalities has taught me one valuable lesson.
Very rarely does the product matter; it is the packaging that
counts.
This means that bringing knowledge, pedagogical skills and energy to a classroom is sometimes not enough to guarantee a successful lesson. The one formula that always works is a reward system, however. It may be the remarkable power of praise. It may be the incalculable benefits of raising someone’s brittle self-esteem. It may even be as simple as massaging an ego. Sometimes, however, even these fail. What does one do then?

The two rewards I find incredibly uplifting have a transformative effect on a child. They guarantee success every time. That is because they are tangible, immediate and separate the student from his peers. Deep down, every growing child and adolescent want to be acknowledged as unique. In a school environment where they can feel they are reduced to the lowest common denominator, they crave that extra bit of validation.

That is where pear drops and homework off come into the equation.

Every day, in every class, one pupil gets to win a pear drop. It has gone to the stage where I’m being offered bribes and the keys to Shangri-La if I could just rig the outcome. I kid you not. That is because the pear drop has become a symbol of excellence, a glistening pearl of perfection in a world gone mad. I very rarely give it out to the most educationally gifted, however. They win homework off if they get an ‘A’ in their assignment and they leave the class feeling vindicated for their brilliance. So who gets the pear drop?

The pear drop is normally reserved for the student who needs it most. I often wonder sometimes if, deep down, they don’t realize what I’m doing. From my perspective, even when dealing with nineteen year old students, it doesn’t seem as if they do. Occasionally, some lone student with highly developed emotional intelligence will suspect it, but that’s as far as it goes. Meanwhile, I’m looking for the student with the crumpled face, the stricken look or an apathy that is not common to that student. I will ask a question I know that student can answer, all the hands will shoot up and, remarkably, I will ask him or her to answer. On the rare days that the entire class is lethargic or feeling the pressure of school, the whole class gets one. What does this have to do with a dictionary, you might ask? The answer is simple.

A method or system, any system, is only monotonous if the outcome is predictable
. Then it becomes mundane and self-defeating. That is particularly true of education.

The same rule may be applied to dictionary work. The dictionary must remain a constant but the methodology of its use does not have to be. A dictionary is the bible of English. There is no greater gift to a child than to encourage its use as the most important aspect of their development in an English context.
How
you achieve that is the trick. Underneath are some tips for its use.

1. It should always be accompanied by a ‘New Vocabulary’ notebook. If the ability of the student/s is low, two or three words a day to look up is sufficient. If they are operating at a very high level, ten words per day is the absolute maximum.

2. Every new word they look up in the dictionary should be written into the notebook with its definition. As part of the homework, they should be asked to learn off X amount of definitions commensurate with their ability. Either you as their educator, or their peers, should ask them to repeat the definition the next day.

3. It is a myth to think that extremely weak students cannot keep up with the class or their peers. Certainly, they will need more time. Grant it to them. I have had to reteach the alphabet to twelve year olds and I thought it was very rewarding to see them flourish once they had the tools to look up the dictionary. It is the number one method for realigning the neuro-linguistic processes of a weak student. The most important thing to remember about the Intelligence Quotient test is that it is not immutable. Students who test as geniuses may re-test as average or worse in later life. The opposite is also true for those with so-called ‘chronically weak’ test results but who can be encouraged to be lifelong learners. A zest for learning and the ability to adapt is the ninth intelligence and the most under rated.

4. After a certain amount of time, perhaps a month or less, the New Vocabulary notebook will reach ‘saturation point’. This means that the student will start forgetting the words he/she originally learned. Don’t let them! Encourage them to look back at the words every so often. Put aside a certain amount of time for this. Revision is next to Godliness in the land of the educator.

5. Read a story with challenging diction. Encourage them to stop you when a new word is encountered so that they can look up its meaning and write it down.

6. Encourage the dynamic of paired excellence. Give them a break from your voice and let them challenge each other by asking the questions you normally would.

7. Offer them a pear drop if they can find a word in the dictionary that you can’t define. Welcome to their world. At the start it is humbling, but that will pass. You are teaching them and yourself a valuable lesson; nobody has a monopoly on knowledge, but empathy is a gift.

                   
THE DARK FOREST

                                                    
COLOUR

LEVEL 1         LEVEL 2         LEVEL 3         LEVEL 4         LEVEL 5          OTHERS

1.
Ghastly ferns
pockmarked the floor of the bile-brown forest.

2.
Gruesome toadstools
pitted the floor of the toxic-brown forest.

3.
Grotesque fungi
stained the floor of the mottled-brown forest.

4.
Ghoulish hummus
blemished the floor of the blotched-brown forest.

5.
Grisly spores
sprinkled the floor like gremlin-dust. They glittered as wickedly as the devil’s pennies.

                                        
A MONSTERS FEAST

1. The
hellish dire wolves
were champing and crunching on the bones.

2. The
malformed ogres
were gnawing and gnashing on the bones.

3. The
accursed vampires
were slurping on and slobbering over the blood.

4. The
hellacious hobgoblins
were gurgling and guzzling on the remains.

5. The
abominable cannibals
were munching and masticating on the crunchy bones.

                                                  DARK WOODS

1.
Combs of moss
hung in shady glades.

2.
Bristles of moss
swayed in murky thickets.

3.
Spikes of tough moss
trailed from the trees in sunless copses.

4.
Needles of prickly moss
swung uneasily from the dusky wealds.

5.
Daggers of sharp moss
dangled and brooded in the lucifugous hursts.

                                                       
BAD AIR

1.
Wailing
sounds echoed through the stale air of the dark forest.

2.
Whooping
sounds rang through the mouldy air of the dark forest.

3.
Whimpering
sounds resounded through the dank air of the dark forest.

4. The dreadful sound of
weeping and gibbering
resonated in the clammy air.

5. The macabre sound of
ululating and moaning
reverberated through the fusty air.

                                                
YE OLDE FORESTE

1.
Pools of dark light
hung between the trees in the ancestral forest.

2.
Pockets of doom-black light
hung between the trees in the unearthly forest.

3.
Collars of chaos-black
light
moved between the trees in the primeval forest.

4.
Reams of dire-black light
seemed to fill in the spaces in the arcane forest.

5.
Screens of damnation-black light
menaced the open spaces in the preternatural forest.

                                                 
OTHER IMAGES

1. Strange creatures
crept
under the reaching and sprawling limbs of trees.

2. Brutish animals
crawled
for food under the thigh-thick creepers.

3. Grim-faced reavers
padded
silently around the nutrient-slurping, deadly hellebore.

4. Fiendish monsters
prowled
around the stygian-black, syrup-slow streams.

5. The pestilent steam of the forest rose up like spooky incense as the night walkers
stalked
their prey.

                                             
FOREST POISONS

1. The flowers around the fool’s parsley were all
hanging weakly
.

2. The flowers around the cuckoo pint were all
drooping
.

3. The last surviving flower in the bed of panther cap was
flagging
.

4. A single flower survived next to the deadly nightshade. It was
sickly and sagging
.

5. A lone flower withered next to the hemlock. It was
palsied and wilting
.

                                                            SMELL

1. The musty smells of the forest
leaked
up to the inky shadows between the trees.

2. The fetid stench of the forest
trickled
up to the ebony shadows between the trees.

3. The rank miasma
oozed
up to the curtains of corruption-black between the trees.

4. The toxic reek
drizzled
up to the sacrilege-black shrouds of shadow.

5. The mephitic nip of the forest
seeped
up to the desolation-black drapes of shadow.

                                                 SENSATION

1. The
blunt clubs
the cannibals carried were spine-chilling.

2. The
stout cudgels
the cannibals raised in the air were throat-constricting.

3. The
crushing bludgeons
the cannibals flourished were blood-churning.

4. The cannibals wielded their
fiendish
knobkerries
and it was marrow-congealing.

5. The cannibals brandished their
diabolic shillelaghs
and it was nightmare-inspiring.

                         
THE TASTE OF BLOOD

1. The oily taste of our own blood was
sickening
.

2. The sour taste of our own blood was
nauseating
.

3. The vampirish taste of our own blood was
vomit
-
inducing
.

4. The acidic taste of our own blood was
macabre and stomach-churning
.

5. The astringent taste of our own blood was akin to
gall and wormwood
.

                                       
LEVEL 1: BASIC SENTENCES

1. The trees in the forest were
bladder-brown
.
COLOUR

2. The trolls were
chewing and chomping
on red meat.
A MONSTERS FEAST

3. They ate under the
shadowy groves
.
DARK WOODS

4. The air was
stuffy
.
BAD AIR

5. The forest was
old and antiquated
.
YE OLDE FORESTE

6. The trees were staring at me like
silent sentries
.
OTHER IMAGES

7. I crept around the poisonous
wolfs bane
.
FOREST POISONS

8. There was a
yucky pong
in the forest.
SMELL

9. It was a
hair-raising
place.
SENSATION

10. I injured my mouth. The
fishy
taste of blood was disgusting.

                                       
LEVEL 2: A BASIC PARAGRAPH

The trees in the dark forest were
nicotine-brown
. Orcs were
gobbling
meat and grinding
on bone.
Gloomy scrubs
hid dangerous creatures. The
musty air
was difficult to breathe. The forest was old and
otherworldly
.
Oxblood-red toadstools
littered the ground.
Poisonous cowbane
grew next to them. An
acrid odour
hung off everything. It was a
teeth-gritting
experience. I bit my tongue with nervousness and the
metallic taste
of blood filled my mouth.

                                       
LEVEL 3: CREATIVE PARAGRAPHS

The trees in the forest were
malady-brown
. Grains of poison begrimed the bark and gleamed like witch dust. Trolls haunted the
sooty coppices
, salivating over their prey and
smearing
the blood over their heavy faces. The
decaying air
and stifling atmosphere provided the perfect abode for those who worshipped the darkness rather than the light. In the dense shadows, spiders clutched their snare-strings. Their webs shimmered like meshed steel dipped in silver. Eyes a-flame with hunger, they were hoping to dine on bloated bodies and slurp on hot blood.

The forest was
primordial
. Centuries-old trees with sprawling limbs guarded the darkness, blotting out any sunlight. Their bark was mottled and splotched, as if
bubbled soup had been
frozen in time
on its surface. Clumpy combs of wet moss dangled from their rotten boughs. Underneath the moss,
lethal larkspur
peppered the mulchy floor. A
pungent tang
oozed from every sentient being in the forest. Bewailing sounds ghosted through the trees. Whether it was from victim or victor, only the forest could tell. It was truly a place to make your
veins freeze
over. Everything considered edible in another forest was nauseating here. It left you with the same,
sickening taste
of your own blood. It was a forest to be avoided.

LEVELS 4 AND 5: COMPLEX WRITING

The Dark Forest: Womb of Pandemonium

Transylvania- circa 1350

“Cannibals always feast under a blood-red moon.”

Every child in his village had laughed at the forest-lore passed down by the woodcutters all those years ago. Now the villagers themselves were gone, swept away as if by some invisible hand, and he knew the saying to be true. Looking at the Godless scene unfolding in front of him, the king’s monster hunter believed he would die here today. He was duty bound to help, but there were too many of the heathens to fight. Their spice-blue eyes and waxy skin pallor marked them out as flesh-eaters. He watched, spellbound and revolted in equal measure, as they danced a ghastly ritual around a huge fire, ululating to the beat of a rumbling drum. Their limbs were akimbo and their expressions frenzied as they dragged the first victim towards the pig-spit. Mounds of old, gnawed bone, a midden heap of gleaming ribs and grinning skulls, caught the fires blaze and sickened him. His flesh crept and the hair on his neck rose like the hackles of a dog. Fear, a feeling he was unused to, felt like melting tallow under the surface of his skin, feverish and hot. The sanguine-red moon flooded the holt, giving off an unearthly glow of flame and fire.

The vast, contorted tree he leaned against leaked its sticky sap like the poisoned back of a toad, burning his hand. He snatched it away. He was at the outermost edge of the fires glow, concealed in the murky shadow of the tree's massive vines. They twisted up insanely, like the despairing limbs of the damned begging for forgiveness. Above him, ghostly horsetails of moss were hanging from barrel-thick boughs like a poltergeist's entrails. A large pearl of rain gathered at the bottom of one of these spectre-strings. It alone had made its way through the labyrinthine canopy of hoary limbs and leafy bowers. It teetered there for an age. Then with a slimy pop it released itself. A solitary moonbeam speared through the trees at that moment. The globule glowed red, like the vile drop of a blood oath, before splashing onto the rotten humus. The wraithy horsetails shivered once with a swished whisper of hatred and settled back into their silent spite. The hoary tree knots glared at him like baleful eyes. He felt like the forest was infecting him with its alien pox.